Book 2: Dirt Diver’s Dance

Cast Away Ch: 9

The team of kids and their veterans rode lazily along with the drover, Gannet and his two chestnut familiars. Sammy and Joony were gregarious and excited, frisking in their harness under their light burden.

“We’re going to be traveling slowly, hunting for food and gobbs as we go.” Malus rumbled from atop the wagon.

“All the girls and horses will stay with Gannet, riding with the wagon. The boys will trail along silently, waiting to rush anyone who gets ideas.”

He grinned down at the bike riders. “It’s sexist, but we’re dealing with goblins… they’re predictable if you give them a shiny lure.”

On Goblin physiology, anatomy and sociology

By Lady Trelawney Helene Belen-Kinnis

Excerpts from the field notes of an Adventurer

…As goblins are not native to our plane, but are drawn in through voidmaws or ‘dungeon entrances’ as they are colloquially known.

A little understood quirk of goblin biology or culture prevents females of the species from entering this plane. While the cause is unknown, the results are obvious. Sexual hormones and reproductive drives are complex and delicate arrangements, magically and biologically speaking; goblins represent an extreme example of this.

The goblinoid reproductive system balances on a precarious hormonal cliff, always on the edge of frenzy and barely restrained. The results of transit through the veil are catastrophic to their already unstable minds, resulting in the homicidal, rapacious monsters we know.

Rarely, this phenomenon can result in spontaneous evolution into a more ‘advanced’ form of goblinoid, often an ogre or troll.

These beings, while outwardly dissimilar and very different in habits, habitat and capabilities, are essentially offshoots of the humble goblin line.

Both of these beings are biologically and spiritually sterile, possessing neither the spark to give new life nor the ability to form new spiritual or divine Contracts. They do retain non functional genitals and are male in all the least socially acceptable ways.

They are without sex drives or function, instead diverting those energies to gluttony, cruelty and sadism.

We can only speculate on goblin culture and behavior in their native habitats…

#

The wagon was far less comfortable than riding behind Barry… and Malus was not a talkative companion. Fortunately Gannet was his equal in the conversational arts, which left Lindsey free to explore the world through Flash’s senses.

She felt his restrained eagerness to run, as they plodded along, out of town and into the rocky, forested hills and steeper slopes. His energetic, frisky soul longed for a good long stretch, pushing himself as far as he could run… and a little bit more, just for funzies.

“Oh, My.” She whispered happily, as the feeling overtook her.

Barry had pressed a silver ear ornament on her before they parted, and pinned a silver button to her collar, just like all the boys and most of their kin wore.

She’d tried to protest, but he was already gone, fading back into the woods until the wagon was well out of sight.

“Lindsey, are you ok? Can you hear me?” Barry asked in her ear, a heartbeat later, sounding as if he were on the wagon bench beside her.

“Yes?” She asked nervously, drawing a glance from the cart driver, who kept chatting when she didn’t continue. “I’m ok… can you hear me?”

“Good, and yes, this is a private channel… ‘cause my brothers are idiots.” Barry murmured in her left ear. “We can only hear each other right now. If you tap your earcuff twice you’ll be in the group voice chat.”

“What does that mean?” She asked quietly, drawing concerned glances from both men and Larsong, who was riding alongside Gannet’s seat up at the front.

“I’m hearing… Barry’s voice…” She mumbled awkwardly to the onlookers.

“Hmmm…” Malus grumbled. “Troubling, deeply troubling, girl.”

“No, I mean I’m hearing his voice from this thing…” She pointed to the earcuff, as Larksong peered at her as if she were an interesting bug.

“Hmm, could be road madness, early stages… have you had your moons yet, girl?” She asked, her voice rich with concern.

“My moons…? Are you asking about my… My menses?” Lindsey stammered… and then remembered that Barry was listening.

“Oh gods… I’m dying…”

“Lindsey…” Harry butted in. “Tell Malus and Larksong exactly this… ‘Amy says no hazing the new girl.’ All right? Can you do that?”

She repeated the phrase and suddenly, her tormentors fell silent.

Larksong fell back a yard to speak directly to her from horseback with an apologetic look on her face.

“We know about the magic earrings… I’m sorry. It’s one of the reasons the Clownshoes are on this job.” She murmured softly.

“Please, don’t tell Amy I made fun of your lady time…”

“I warned you…” Running tree called from the lead position. “Don’t play with the Ragamuffin’s toys.”

Somehow that made Lindsey feel both better and worse…

#

“Sorry, Barry.” Harry muttered as they rode in formation.

“You gotta admit, you almost fell off your bike when Lark asked about…” He shrugged in manly denial of any knowledge on the topic.

“She was alone out there and you choked, bro.”

“Yeah… thanks, Harry.” The lad in light green mumbled.

“I’ll focus up.”

“We didn’t say anything.” Larry offered helpfully, while Perry nodded.

“Thanks.” Barry grumbled angrily. “Now get your heads out of your asses… and do you smell that?”

“Pine trees? Or maybe the fir trees?” Harry asked. “Cause that’s all I smell.”

“Decay, a dead animal, a big one or lots of little ones, up the mountain.” He answered calmly, before speaking into his collar button.

“Cart team, halt, secure your area. We have dead things nearby.”

#

Perry stripped off his heavy armor, leaving a suit of lightly reinforced spiderweb mesh, monster leather and sculpted wood. He and Larksong slipped into the woods, paralleling a disused mining track leading up the hillside off the main road.

“Goblin lair confirmed, a big one, probably our friends from before. Looks like they found a flock of sheep. We have two or three gobb corpses jammed in a crevice up the rock wall. Trollsign, but several days old.” Harry reported back a half hour later.

“No active goblin or troll signs.”

“That’s pretty impressive, Barry. Even Flash didn’t smell them, nor the other horses.” Runningtree murmured quietly. She leaned close, peering at him with her eyes oddly unfocused, or gazing a thousand yards away behind him.

“What manner of spirit have you Contracted? Your aura is all… frilly… around your neck and throat. Are those spiritual gills and sensory organs?”

“I don’t like to talk about it…” He whispered. “I can smell… everything.”

“Yes… a strong bond and a strong spirit of earth, air, water and something deeper… more profound.” She muttered into the quiet camp.

“That’s our buddy Axio… He’s super chill.” Larry supplied in the stillness that followed.

They encamped for the night a half mile away; for sanitary and wildlife reasons, in a high meadow protected from the winds by a towering crag and a pine forest.

“We’ll investigate the area, see what we find and stay safe. No shenanigans, no pranks, no bloody Clownshoes.” Malus ordered calmly, nailing the team name down with finality.

“Sweeeet!” Larry and Flash cheered, while the others groaned.

“All right kids, I’m ready to be impressed!” Larksong whispered to the boys as they started setting up camp.

“Uh, don’t get your hopes up too high… We’re new at this, we’ve only been Contracted for a few days… and nobody can watch. If anybody looks it gets all screwed up.” Harry told the grownups firmly.

“Now look out into the woods, you two as well, Lindsey, Flash. No peeking.”

They vanished into the meadow, just the four of them. Through the screening plant life and behind their admonitions against peeping, the four boys did something quiet, softly melodic and nearly lost among the woodland sounds that continued undisturbed by their subtle workings.

There was something going on though, they were singing together in choral rounds, accompanying their song on softly played instruments. A sense of something gathering, just out of sight rushed into the glade, filling the place with a sense of almost and possibility.

A distant sound, a clanging, chiming instrument seemed to drift down from the mountain peak above the clearing, taking their song higher.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The trees seemed to groan softly, as if taking a deep, cleansing breath of fresh mountain air. The brook running through the corner of the meadow babbled a little more clearly and sweetly. The songbirds and crickets had more to say and lightning bugs flashed in the tall grasses and under the trees.

“All right, it’s ready.” Harry called, sounding exhausted. “That worked surprisingly well.”

#

Gandree woke to Daisybelle tapping him on the forehead with one manicured claw. “Eveningtime is best time. We warm up before it gets cold, then we find a good good camp, not a cold goddestemple in the wind.

With few better options and a growing curiosity about this girl, he shrugged.

“I’m heading west. If you want to come along…” He suggested.

“West is best, then downvalley and see king papa… You should play your shitshovel for him!” She chirped, while she packed her modest gear. “We travel by night, sleep days… Goblinways are best ways in these cold times. Warm doggies to hug as we runs, warm sun to sleeps.”

“As you say, princess Daisybelle.” He replied with a bow that was only slightly in jest.

All her things were of simple materials, natural fibers, simple cured hides and worked bone or stone… but they were all well made and fine, fitted and… fancy.

Little details here and there showed an attention to aesthetics and a deep care for the user and her personality.

Tiny peach colored blossoms and fresh green twining vines were embroidered on her vest, evoking a tangled cocklebur briar in the full flush of spring growth. That exquisite artwork was hidden under her jacket at all times, save when she slept concealing the work, making it an intimate secret.

He blushed at that thought and tried to consider other things as they bustled about clearing the camp.

“You leave the petty goddess smiley here?” She asked, gazing up on the face again.

“Of course. I worked that in her name. It belongs to lady Cowl.” He answered reverently. He kissed his three fingertips and placed them to the goddess’ own, in a quiet and tender moment that seemed to thrum with potency.

“Lift me up, tall boy. I would pay reverence to pretty smiley spirit too.” She stood under the graven face and stamped her foot at him until he complied…

His hands really could encompass her waist, with a knuckle to spare.

And she was so light, he barely felt her weight. It took a moment to understand: she was using her own slight mass and superb sense of balance to place her mass and weight in the best possible place… it was an impressive display of muscular control and athleticism that he felt flew over his head like an eagle, among the peaks.

She bussed her own little green fingertips and placed them to the goddess’ for only a moment. In that brief time, Gandree felt a jolt through her muscles, since he had his hands wrapped around lots of them at the moment.

“Are you ok?” He asked carefully, a few seconds later, when she remained still.

“Your goddess smileyface kissed me back… and I like it.” She whispered softly. “I’ll take this goddess from you. Teach me her ways.” Daisy writhed in his arms, clambering down the stunned boy after stealing a kiss on her way by his face and lingering for a hug.

“Yeah, she’s pretty amazing.” He sighed. “I think, if you follow your drum, you’ll find the way…” He murmured cryptically as she landed lightly on her feet a few long, cozy seconds later.

“You taste spooky ghostie… but not in a bad bad way…” She muttered, licking her lips. “Are you haunted? Boy who carries a goddess in his pocket?”

“I suppose… maybe…” He answered slowly. “I can see ghosts… But I’m not a necromancer! I swear!”

“Neckromancer? Sounds cuddly… Those who play with dead things smell different. You taste like welcome home, dearly departed, find your rest in my song…” She muttered, still smiling and looking a little dazed. “Come boy who kisses ghosts, let’s ride.”

“Ride what…-?!” Strong jaws grabbed him up by his belt and tossed him bodily onto Nightshade’s back. In the thick, black ruff, his hands found a wide leather harness with bags and handholds. There was even a small saddle he could perch on, if he wanted to put his tackle in peril.

It was a Daisy sized saddle of shaped wood; riding that would be like taking a shovel to the bits with every loping stride the fast moving warg took… and he took a lot of strides.

Gandree clung on for dear life for the first mile, until he tried a hint of what Daisybelle had done in his hands… He remembered her warm body, writhing and shifting subtly in time with his own movements, like a dance… With an almost audible *click* he got it, becoming a part of the huge wolfhound’s movements.

“Better.” The creature rumbled, with a little actual warmth in his ‘voice’ of subtle growls, ear positions and assorted body language tics.

#

Gary sat up from his workbench, exhausted and worn thin, but it was done… With deft fingers he began assembling the instrument, tiny screws and bolts almost flying into place as his long practiced hands did their work.

By long habit he reached out to strum the sweet, butterscotch yellow Teleblaster™, emblazoned with the Ward Instrument Co. brand and the starry sky treble clef logo inlaid in the headstock in intricate detail.

The swooping figure was in rich, blue-black high mountain ebony, with the two moons and a spangling of stars picked out in exotic shells, metals and small jewels. By sheer habit, still clinging from the time before he’d been cursed; the craftsman reached out to tune and strum his creation.

“Hold it right there, primate...” Kree hissed from behind his ear. I know you’ve been dreaming, under my sting…” She whispered. “Those are shadows of the mortal mind, wishes and desires made manifest, more than simple mortal dreaming, but far from what you once knew.”

“I can play… there. All I want…” He sighed. “I know it’s not real… but I need it…”

“Don’t let the call of the far dreamlands draw you away from your waking life, your family lives here; not in the distant shadows and illusions you see when my venom stills your waking mind.” She scolded. “There are, in the dreamlands… gateways into stranger realms and farther places, where the untutored might stumble into peril.”

With a long sigh, he draped a dust cover over the instrument and began cleaning up his workbench as evening began to fall...

#

Ghnash stretched and yawned deeply, exhausted by the tidy scattering of tiny stone, shell, antler and wooden parts scattered over his workbench. Evening was just gathering, he’d been up all day working on his project.

Each component, each intricate detail and incised symbol was critical at this point.

With care he grasped the first tiny star ornament and slipped it into the slot incised just for it, in the long, smoothly rubbed length of troll bone.

A dot of yellow forest slime ooze glue and a whispered spell began the fun part of his working. His long, sharply pointed claws picked up the tiny spangles and stylized animals carved in exotic materials, fitting each one in place with care and a dot of his terribly dangerous and highly sticky glue. Stars, planets and something he remembered from his dreams; moons… This world had none, yet three distinct moons graced his flute, each one vibrant and exacting in detail and craft. They even had names…

Beast’s moon, big, lambent and golden, carved in bone and stained to create the figure hidden in the craters. It could be a regal stag at one glance, or a leaping jackalope when next viewed. Next came the Madman’s moon, a polished agate swirled with green and blue with a tiny rune incised deeply in the flat facet of the stone, ‘Home’ it read, in a language he didn’t fully understand, yet knew intimately.

Finally Luna; a pale, sickle sharp crescent of white bone, worked in the image of a grinning, fleshless goblin skull in profile, with a tiny black fleck of obsidian filling the eye socket.

With reverent care he decorated his instrument with celestial bodies, as his subtle witchcraft and spells drew the attention of the world’s sleepy, lazy spirits to his greatest casting.

Only his whispered chant broke the reverent silence of the king of the goblins, working his arts

Palomar shalomar, swanee shore…

Let me kick that jive once more…

A few long minutes later he sighed, sat back on his simple stool and brought the instrument to his lips.

His flute was finished at last, after years of constant experimentation and careful hoarding of the materials needed, it was finished.

He felt something in the sway and flow of the world… something was moving, down deep in the mountains. The spirits and shades were agitated and excited, not concerned… Whispering in the dark shadows under the moonlight only he could see; telling of balance slowly returning, after so long being ‘out of balance’ that even the spirits of the land did not remember.

Something was changing, perhaps the mountains themselves might lift their skirts and dance for him, if he called the right tune. He was the goblin king… but no one king could do what needed done. He needed another ruler, or an embassy from that distant lord, the one who he heard sometimes for off in his dreams.

With his music, spells and slim, taloned fingers he made a long desperate call to the king of Pain.

#

As morning began to lighten the sky, they slowed, searching for a campsite. Daisybelle proposed a shady little nook under a cliff… rejected. A narrow cleft above the road on a hidden rock shelf? Rejected.

He settled on a wide, grassy clearing, where the wind would be cut by a pine forest below and a high, craggy peak behind…

“No good no good!” Daisy insisted. “Open sky and open fields! Maybe deep in that thicket of thorny trees… that looks cozy!”

“Nope, I wanted to do this last night but I was too close to the dwarfhold, and then I ran out of daytime.” He mumbled, while he tuned up his shov-ulele.

“You can’t watch, none of you. My magic fails if a living person sees what I’m doing before it’s done.” He said very soberly and seriously, for a boy playing with his turd-tomb-tool.

“No one wants to see how you poop, silly boy.” She scolded him. “We scout around… you do what you wish. Stinky fingers musician.” She grumbled as the four of them slipped into the trees around his clearing.

He sat on a rock near the edge of the open space and began to strum and pick his four string shovel instrument, calling on the lingering spirits that gathered so thickly, as they descended the mountain pass. His song drew several from the shadowy trees and even more from the reeds and weeds near the crystal clear, spring fed brook running across the corner of his mountain side clearing.

Something about this place felt… welcoming, comfortable… subtly homey. The meadow had no lingering spiritual or magical traces, no signs of prior habitation or clues to the feeling… it just felt like he was walking up to a place that welcomed him in, naturally.

The music rang and sang off the distant peak, seeming to become a chorus of voices singing the words to a song… the song he was playing, one he didn’t understand and couldn’t remember learning.

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out;

There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt.

There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed;

There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread.

When his song finished, the chorus of voices and soft, distant instruments faded away… but the sense of being among a company of close friends remained; a sensation that Gandree had only just discovered.

His four companions came tumbling out of the forest when he called, gaping at the tall, red roofed house, standing on a foundation of mortared river stones, surrounded by a small garden. A small hotspring bath swirled and bubbled under a flowering jasmine, while dark, shadowy bees flitted among the fruit trees, flowers and tidy vegetable beds.

“Just like king papa…” The goblin girl whispered reverently.

“You have a castle up your bottom too?”

The lad was sprawled on a stone garden bench, exhausted and nearly out cold, still strumming softly on his strange shitter digger, smiling inanely at her.

“I never did that before…” He gasped, swaying on his seat.

“It’s usually a little stone hut. This place felt… it feels like I had help.” He shrugged and smiled weakly. “Come on, I’ll show you around. No shoes inside.”

#

Malus looked over the little red roofed home in the clearing, the garden and hotspring pool were small, not even filling half the open meadow, but looked cozy and secure… There was a small barn out back, attached to the structure directly with windows in each stall that opened into the main room; bringing the horsies into the group, even though they couldn’t fit inside.

“You kids are super weird…” The veteran grumbled, as Larksong, Lindsey and Runnningtree headed for the bath, uttering the eternal cry of ‘Dibs!’.

“Yeah, let’s look around some… this is way more than we expected…” Harry yawned. “It almost felt like we had… help.”

The basement ‘workshop’ was small and held only the most basic and mundane tools and equipment, but still infinitely superior to any campaign forge.

The kitchen and common room were a less extensive and expansive reflection of Wilf’s place and by extension, of their parent’s strange home construct.

Where a stove and oven fueled by magic stood in the other homes, theirs was a mundane iron stove, fueled by real firewood that needed gathering. They had running water and a single lavatory and bath, but otherwise it was pretty basic.

Larry and Perry went around, lighting oil lanterns and stoking the fireplace and stove with brisk efficiency.

“It takes all four of us and we usually get a small stone hut, but we’ve been practicing…” Barry explained, sounding like he was convincing himself as much as anything else.

“It’s coming along…” Harry agreed, looking around the grounds and garden with concern and curiosity. “Maybe something else too…”

“Whatever you say, silly boys.” Larksong called from the bath. “I’ll take this over a cold camp on a windswept hillside any day.”

#

“Silly boy…” Daisybelle sighed from the hedge lined bath. “You have been keeping secrets…”

“We really just met…” He stammered awkwardly from the kitchen, where he was preparing a simple meal while she bathed… something he was trying to not think too much about.

“I’ve never shown this working to a living person before…”

“No?” She scoffed in disbelief. “You were hiding good good things, sneaky boy. Can all your people pull castles from shadows and this strange light?”

“No, just me.” He mumbled. “I think if they’d found out about this, I’d have been declared a witch, necromancer or an aberration, enslaved and thrown down a deep pit.”

“Double dum-dums then.” She declared with finality. “Slavey stuff is bad, king papa says no no to that.”

“Dwarfhold law declares slavery illegal there too…” He sighed. “The ‘strict, iron rod of the law’ gets awfully bendy and soft, when it gets near the wealthy and privileged.”

He could sense her elaborate and uncaring shrug even through the hedge and the walls of the house. “They took things from you… you took things from them. Tradises!”

“They made me clean their shitters, fix their boots, do the laundry and patch their underthings my whole life, just ‘cause I can’t work iron properly…” He grumbled at the girl in his bath.

“I have a belly full of revenge to shit out on those assbags… someday.”

“King papa says ‘venge is a snake eating its own tail… Justice bites what needs biting and leaves a lasting scar.” She called out amid a loud splashing sound.

“Faugh, not you Nightshade! Girls only!” She shouted and giggled at her familiars, while water sloshed into the runoff channel, splashing merrily into the brook.

Seconds later a loud, gurgling scream rang out from the pool.

Gandree dropped his pan of biscuits to the floor as he dashed around the concealing hedge and saw Daisybelle, sinking down deeper in the shallow pool than could ever be possible.

He dove into the waist deep bath and kept diving, down deeper and deeper until darkness gathered around and the sides of the pool vanished into the unguessable distance. He reached out and grasped Daisybelle’s reaching hand, just as darkness took them.

#

Together, all five of them popped right back to the surface, wet, exhausted, sputtering and otherwise, unharmed.

Gandree staggered up from the shallow bath, his soggy woolen clothes weighing him down. He stood on shaky legs and surveyed the house and garden he’d been dreaming about since he was a tiny lad, still messing his drawers.

It was still the same… except, the homey little house now stood on a tiny tropical island, with palm trees, waving grasses and reeds and even the teensiest little volcano smoking gently nearby.

Calm, blue ocean lay all around, vanishing in an impenetrable shoal of mist a few hundred yards offshore. The bright, cloudless blue sky held no sun, just a warm indirect illumination that didn’t seem to bother Daisybelle’s sensitive eyes at all.

“Super sneaky boy… this is quite a neat trick, if a bit mean.” She chittered at him, heedless of her slim, voluptuous nudity.

“Oh dear…” A tiny, golden haired human boy said softly.

“What ever are you doing here?”

He was standing on the beach in golden sandals and a robe of gauzy white linen banded with golden thread, his glowing golden ringlets forming a radiant halo around his head.

“I am Marduk, god of Knowledge… Welcome to the Madman’s moon…”

#