I feel him call me, again. This is unlike the euphoria of the first time. The elation of finally being released from the black when thought impossible as he did promise to return our spirits before his death so we wouldn’t be trapped. The celebration was agonisingly short as the isolation gave me ample time for reflection, and I considered my confinement in the black apt punishment for one like me and if he had released my spirit before his death, I would have been let off lightly. In the vague period of spirit existence between my body death and the first of his callings, time went by uncountable yet more than enough to recall all my deeds and misdeeds, and each time to reach the same conclusion. I refused his first call with simple reasoning without explanation; I needed to serve my penance in the black a while longer. This second call though demanded more from me to resist, needing to explain my crime. I am not here because I am afraid to face him, I am here because my mistake is so momentous it is unforgivable. There will be a third time and most likely a fourth and each will be a test of my willpower and stubbornness, and I am uncertain if I can resist again, yet I must. My shame is such I cannot face any of them, because if I have refused twice then two of his wives must have taken my place.
In the black there is nothing. I sink into despair and repeat what I have done previously, I relive the nightmare once again by starting with joy.
---
I smile at my sister while we lay side by side in our Lord Hob’s cabin placing our trust in Rora of the Blood Suns tribe, our husband’s appointed Head Goblin of Childbirth to care for us and our large swollen bellies as does Milga, although she prefers “outside”. First Wife Rexa in her way of course refuses to have anything to do with the enemy tribe as she proclaims them. Upon her order, all the Blood Suns who volunteered to become bodyguards for the Head Hob were ruthlessly hunted down and slain. She wanted them all slain, yet most were mothers with children, some with newborns and as a compromise, they agreed that they would never visit the Head Village and offend the First Wife of Lord Hob with their presence. Looking back now, this extreme act, of blaming all for the actions of a few by Rexa should’ve been an early warning to us all. One result though was to create a divide in Lord Hob’s territory. Rexa and her favourites in Head Village, any outcasts sent or to remain on The Farm. Rexa summoned several from The Farm to care for and protect her, the strangest choice being Zoria, although she became secretive in her own way requesting Ligia and Karo to accompany her. Their behaviour like others in the “days after” dismissed as ways of coping with Lord Hob’s death.
With the death of the Smith Hob, half of the potters relocated to Copper Village, to continue the production of copper while also prospecting for iron ore, since before now the ore held no value and could be in the copper tailings. The Ten Spears became the keepers of the peace, although the only real threat, the Flint Arrows remained quiet, as mysterious as ever. The Farm harvested a bumper crop and in exchange for peace Luda and I negotiated with the Laughing Tusks to stay within their borders. Rexa as First Wife demanded the deal be cancelled but others, including my father, convinced her, the deal had been done and we couldn’t afford to break our word. Rexa nevertheless leapt upon our audacity considering she and most in Head Village considered us unrepentant traitors and therefore already untrustworthy due to following our mother and appointed Lord Hob’s former bound wives, Bekto, Zuxa and Lazsia to govern The Farm by committee. Their tribal origins mix meant none could claim favour as all decisions were made unanimous or not at all. Secretly, I believed Rexa choose four, assuming any even number committee wouldn’t be able to agree on anything and consequently need to petition her to break the deadlock. Her mistake was not keeping the fourth … luckily. Or more strangely, this could explain why Zoria requested Ligia, who Rexa originally nominated as the fourth to join them. How Zoria could claim Ligia against Rexa’s wish was anyone’s guess.
Sweating yet happy my sister and I glance at each other, our babes on our chests feeding on our breasts. All but Rexa gave birth to goblin babes. All but Rexa gave birth to female babes. Without question, the wives of Lord Farmer Hob enjoyed every moment of their first six months of motherhood. Then Rexa as First Wife, mother of the sole male hobgoblin babe intervened and weaned or not, all our babies were taken from us. This order was not only a test of her right to rule but also a trap. Any resistance would clearly identify those who didn’t support the First Wife of Lord Farmer Hob.
Distraught, I then sunk into a madness of sorts. My climb out the slowest of all his wives and I clung onto one glimmer of hope. I needed to resist Rexa’s power and if I did others would follow. To do this, I needed to throw off the stigma of my betrayal of Lord Farmer Hob, I needed to improve my reputation. Recovery of the Flint Arrows Warrior Hob Armour seemed to fit both objectives, two birds, one stone. Milga was the easiest to convince, although she insisted her babe would come with her. Luda leapt at the chance, while Kor considered the quest unfinished business. Duzsia though questioned everything about us going. What if this stirred the Flint Arrows to attack the Farm instead of the Blood Bones? What if the armour was useless given the years? Who would be able to wear the armour and what would they be trying to achieve if they did?
In the end, blinded by my need I played dirty, and I wish I hadn’t now, given the benefit of hindsight. I remember our conversation.
“You disagree?” I replied, venom in my voice. We had been kicking around the pros and cons for half a night already, whispering like conspirators in a secluded clearing with dense forest all around us.
“There is no purpose for the armour now. Lord Hob had a plan and while we don’t know what that was, it would have invariably included him as a key figure.”
In all our discussion this night, her words were the first to mention Lord Hob, previously I spoke about other consequences, ones which weren’t dependent upon Lord Hob being a beneficiary.
“Then you refuse to carry out our Lord Hob’s final quest, Duzsia the Relentless?”
Even the shadows couldn’t conceal the colour drain from her face, as near pale green I will ever see on a goblin. I attacked her name and linked this to our husband. A direct challenge to her title Relentless and accusing her of failing our husband after his death.
“Take that back …” The colour in her face returning quickly, a heat emanating instead and her body puffing up and leaning forward and over me. I held my ground before her gathering storm, banking on the fact we were sister-wives.
“No,” I reply. “The truth is the truth, you must surrender your Relentless Title, Lord Hob would demand nothing less of one who refused a quest of his. He would consider your past service of course I am certain and allow you to live.”
Her fingers were around my throat, and I didn’t resist. Gasping for my last breath, she realised the futility and flung me away. Rubbing my throat I quip from the ground, “Does your answer still remain no, now?”
She glares at me. “Nothing good will come of this.” She points her finger at my heart. “You will see, you will see, yet as Lord Hob’s wife I will join you on this foolhardy quest.”
I smiled in triumph remembering even now, her look of disgust when I did. “That is fortuitous because we need you to lead us through the mountainside brambles, which I believe is crucial to your original plan … which erm, we will need to follow as well.”
Hands on her hips, she opens her mouth to reply, instead, she closes her mouth and storms off. None remember seeing her for ten days and then she snaps her fingers and gathers all of us on the spur of the moment to investigate something. In the early days of Rexa’s dictatorship Duzsia the Relentless was the single wife of Lord Hob immune to any of Rexa’s whims. Either Rexa sensed she was untouchable given her naming and subsequent fame or Rexa considered Duzsia’s training of every goblin willing to take a weapon of great benefit and didn’t wish to interrupt that. The other possibility was her size, bigger than any male goblin and all Lord Hob’s wives, current or former as well as Milga and most assumed stronger. A one-on-one confrontation with Duzsia could only end one way. Yet of all of us, Duzsia grieved the most, in silence and in her own way. Which is why my taunt succeeded. How would any of us feel after earning our name and our Lord no longer alive to command us? Duzsia expected to be commanded by Lord Hob, she would have been very comfortable as a follower having never been in a position of leadership. She of all of us could have walked into the first wife’s chambers, throttled Rexa and appointed herself first wife, but then she would have been in command of everyone and everything. Therefore, she turned to what she knew and took to drilling goblins so they could at least defend Lord Hob’s vision of civilisation much to Rexa’s relief I suspect.
Mid-morning, we jogged out of the southern gateway of The Farm, with the weapons and clothes we could fetch within several heartbeats. No food, tents, bedrolls or supplies in any form. She set a cracking pace, our impromptu group reaching the foothills of the southern mountains by dusk. Lord Hob’s wives, Duzsia, Luda and I still of reasonable condition, Milga tired and needing rest while Kor jogged into camp on dark guided by campfire light I suspect, grabbing food and crashing onto the nearest bedroll. The food, camping equipment and backpacks waited for us, including a choice of iron weapons. Duzsia had been busy while absent.
The next day we reached the great cliff and found ropes conveniently hanging down ready for us, not one continuous rope but in stages which ended where a climber could rest. Duzsia led the way and we all followed. Kor managed to keep up due to Duzsia hauling an overfull backpack. No one questioned Duzsia, yet we wondered if Kor would last the entire roundabout trip.
Keeping to the forest above the cliffs we backtracked north until reaching the Copper Village – Head Village pathway. At dusk we crept across the open path and surrounding light brush, somehow Duzsia knew where she was going and we blindly followed, even wading across the stream, which the trail roughly ran parallel to. Once across we entered heavy forest almost immediately. I couldn’t help feeling this was by design, confirmed when we found an abandoned camp, deep firepit and a couple of lean-to shelters waiting for us. Kor collapsed under a shelter and apart from light snoring we heard nothing more from him until morning. A shame, as Duzsia struck a fire and prepared our first hot meal of this trip. In the morning while we broke our fast, she explained her plan.
Kor wouldn’t be following us all the way.
“What?” he asks, as do we all.
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“You are sworn to serve Lord Hob yet not a wife, former or present. If we succeed, I am still not convinced how this armour will change anything for the good, therefore we only continue if you agree with me that Kor will prepare a hiding place for the armour known only to him. That way when asked, under oath or threat of death we can all answer in good conscious we don’t know where the armour is.”
As the protests die down, none come up with an alternative, because all the others wish to go on the quest, and none can suggest what becomes of the armour afterwards.
“It is pleasing you have reached the same conclusion as I. To speak plainly, I believe the recovery of this armour is a folly, but Koria called my honour into question so here we are.”
Their eyes turned upon me and for several moments I felt the weight of their judgement, yet at the time I knew the armour could make a difference. Looking back now, how right I was and how wrong at the same time.
“Kor, you remain here the rest of this day and tomorrow morning head out to find your hidden place and prepare a body-sized cavity at least. We should return in nine, possibly ten days to hand off the armour to you, any longer and assume us lost. You will need to decide your own future then,” says Duzsia.
I reach over to Kor and hug him. “Find a place with running water, anything of Lord Hob’s does best in running water,” I add.
“And sunlight sister, don’t forget sunlight,” says Luda with some excitement.
His voice weak, he replies, “I will try.”
“One last thing.” She captures our eyes in turn with hers. “I will not be returning.” She needs to hold up a hand to quieten us. “I am lost without Lord Hob to guide me and while I thought Rexa would be better placed to be First Wife I sense too much of Jotor in her, which means, her way or no way. When you return from the South, if all goes well, Milga if she agrees will report to The Farm that we are injured and need help at the pass into the other valley. When rescue arrives, I will have fallen from the mountain path, defending our retreat.” She smirks. “Please feel free to embellish my final act of courage as my sacrifice will allow Koria and Luda to get clear and survive.”
“What about me?” asks Kor.
Duzsia quirks an eyebrow. “What about you? You can write your own future … did you fall with me? Did the rescuers find you with Koria and Luda? Or … and here it gets interesting, did you join your mother the Matriarch to see if you can make it work? She and Lord Hob’s daughter will be crying her lungs out by now …”
“Why did you release my mother?”
Milga answers, “Duzsia and I released your mother, the reason though belongs to Duzsia.”
“Call me sentimental, but purely for this moment. Parents and their children should be reconciled, life is too short for us all, especially with sudden death lurking around every corner. I didn’t know my parents and while Zeb Stone Grim was a handy replacement he had his own family. Plus, I didn’t know what Rexa would do with her, possibly wary of a tribal heir with Lord Hob’s blood running through their veins and seeing a rival instead of an innocent babe. Given all goblins born of Lord Hob were females, the danger is probably less now, but I didn’t know that then.”
“Do you think there is a possibility?” I can hear the pleading in Kor’s voice, genuine heartfelt yearning. I assume all are blessed like Luda and I with caring parents, yet this is more a rarity than normal beyond the tribal lands of the Flint Arrows. With the tribal war that could be a result of our theft, there will be many children without a father and mothers without sons.
“You won’t know until you return. If it helps, you can say you petitioned for her release, but given she has an heir by Lord Hob, and you have no ambitions to be Matriarch I don’t see an obvious conflict.”
I listen in admiration as Duzsia speaks her truths. Where is the awkward fun female goblin of barely a year ago? How could she doubt her ability to lead, handing off to Rexa who seems consumed with rulership as First Wife to maintain a selfish grasp on power?
“I have time to consider, thank you Duzsia the Relentless.”
Duzsia waves her hand and smiles. We finish breaking our fast and leave Kor to her thoughts as we jog onwards according to Duzsia’s plan reaching the northern river as it tumbles down the cliff providing us with an easy way down, over and around the boulders and a way across the river, swift water notwithstanding. Well before dusk, we make camp in the old-growth forest nearby. Ten Spears did at one time hunt this forest but since being converted to peacekeepers they no longer do, and we shouldn’t accidentally run into them.
The next morning, we head north, skirting the edge of the forest with the tall trees providing a pleasant shade as the sun rises throughout the day. As we lose our shade under the afternoon sun, we struggle up the foothills of the mountain range following a small stream until the start of the brambles.
Duzsia doesn’t pause, taking an axe from her backpack and hacking at the brambles cutting a door-like opening after inspecting a section before us. We hear her efforts well enough yet can’t see her through the thickets. Before dusk, she returns to us.
I point. “That axe, is it … was it Lord Hob’s?”
She wipes some sweat from her brow and smiles. “Yes sister-wife, a gift from Rexa when I declared I was going to explore the valley over, given the death of all their Hobs and where we are supposed to be now. The best part, she believes only she knows and our going there is her idea.”
I chuckle. “Her idea?”
“I simply posed the question about wondering what or who oversaw the valley now all their Hobs were slain. She agreed we should send someone to investigate and placing the axe in my hands let me know I would be Lord Hob’s successor in all things martial and she was certain I would succeed and could go alone or take whomever I wanted with her blessing. If you look at things from her point of view, she wins any which way it ends. Failure and I and those with me are removed as future rivals, partial success with losses, a similar result while total success we learn if we need to defend our valley or not.”
Luda steps forward. “Did you see our babes? Were they healthy and happy …?”
My heart sinks and I know Duzsia shares my distress, mothers not allowed near their children and their father dead. This is not the Flint Arrows way and yet the Ten Spears who visited were in a bind, they swore an oath to Lord Farmer Hob and all recognised his First Wife inheriting that loyalty. They were following orders. Resistance would lead to bloodshed and then what? Where could a mother with a child run to? The Tribes would not offer any refuge, the valley over even less so … Initially, we were permitted to visit and spend time with them and then as the days went by, every visit meant Rexa had more work for us which meant our return visits became further apart.
“The healthiest and the happiest as they were all in the one house and seemed to recognise their father in each other. The bonding is obvious, such that the nannies overseeing them are in wonder. Rexa’s son has his own nanny and is kept apart from them and if our daughters are any measure to go by, I suspect her son to grow into a giant.”
“Thank you Duzsia,” says Luda, while wiping her moisture-filled eyes.
Trying to put on a bright face, I add some energy to my voice and ask, “What now Duzsia the Relentless?”
“Welcome to our overnight camp. The opening is in a small grotto, so any searching for the entrance will take days of guessing. Please walk in my footsteps and follow.”
Milga follows last of all and sweeps away our single file footsteps.
Our camp is exactly that, a cleared space cut from the brambles about the size of Lord Hob’s cabin with a low ceiling. Another hot meal, then bed.
After breaking our fast, the hard work began and in turns, we wielded the iron axe of Lord Hob. There was no direct path as we needed to follow the contours of the mountainside and after two days, we reach the source of a river. Flint Arrows know this river well; it marks the western border of our tribal lands. I knew we started a fair distance from our former tribal lands but two days. No wonder Kor was asked to wait ten days. Duzsia, Milga, Luda and I enjoy the cool of the river naked until bedtime and even eat there by which time we are covered in wrinkles from the water. In the morning all the aches and pains of the days before were gone, much to Milga’s envy.
Our meals were hardtack and some of the longer-lasting foods, like cheese and apples, sadly no more hot meals. Three more days of hacking and we chanced upon the cave by accident. Lord Hob had told me a huge beast long ago visited our valley. So huge, the elder’s cave marked where one foot landed and across the valley the sacred cave of the Flint Arrows would if his guess was correct, mark the other. He also thought two more caves should exist closer to the plains which would mark the placement of the rear feet. The cliff marked where the creature’s huge jaws stopped taking another bite. He named the creature a machine called a planetary excavator. All these words were new to me, yet I had no reason not to believe him.
Our brambles exit sat halfway up. A short effort would take us to within striking distance although, from the cliff face side, more effort would take us over the cave by cutting the brambles further into the mountain and working our way down the other side, the one closest to the Blood Bones tribal lands. We decided to cut over the cave and at the apex ran out of brambles. The sight before us was incredible. The vastness was impossible to describe. The typical mountain range didn’t exist, into the next valley, a huge continuous slope now exists extending out forever.
“The view answers at least one question Lord Hob wondered about,” I say, without any weight to my words or talking to anyone in particular.
“What do you mean,” asks Milga.
“Lord Hob described a creature called a machine to me. The Planetary Excavator could scope up huge amounts of soil, the cliff face represents its last bite. Inside the beast a sorting would happen, keeping what it wanted and expelling what it didn’t, and Lord Hob wondered where this discarded soil ended up.” I sweep my hand over what we see. “I believe the creature sent the unwanted soil into this valley.”
“Could we simply walk down the slope?” asks Luda.
Milga replies, “Grass and low brush hold the slope together although I wonder why those of this valley haven’t climbed the slope and as we can, look into our valley.”
I ball up some brambles and let the mess tumble down the slope. At the edge of our vision the ball disappears, as in taken, not lost to our sight.
We share a knowing look and take the easy passage across the top of the cave until we find more brambles and continue our tunnel until nightfall. While convenient to open near the cave entrance, goblin hearing would investigate any hacking so our exit, with door, was deliberately a safe distance away. Another night of sleep then a predawn waking. Milga would guard the exit, our exit. We could mark the place but then anyone, however unlikely, could take an interest as well. Duzsia insisted she stay given Milga carried her daughter. Duzsia led me and then Luda. All Flint Arrows, all betraying our tribe for a Lord Hob, not knowing to what end.
Knowing there exists a cave entrance and finding the cave entrance are two different things entirely. After fumbling about taking plenty of false trails, mainly of them game trails, careless chatter drew us to the correct trail. As we crept along in pursuit, we overheard details. The four ahead of us, the relief guard. One new to her duty, two veterans, most likely husband, and wife pair and an experienced fourth. After much debate, the pair would guard the “front door”, the new one the “hidden nook” and the experienced one the “sacred cave”. None of the names meant anything to us of course, although the hidden nook could be a challenge to find, given the name.
The four new arrivals meet and greet the two guards at the front door, which isn’t a real front door, simply a stone-lined narrow leading into the cave proper. Building a door wouldn’t help, simply inconvenience as anyone could climb up either side and still gain entry. The two new guards take up their positions. The two former guards follow the two new guards deeper into the cave and we lose sight of them all in the shadow. Torch light glows now and again within so we obtain a general sense of which side of the cavern they use. Shortly after disappearing the former guards return to the front door carrying their backpacks and begin chatting with the husband-and-wife pair. The wait isn’t long and two more stroll through the front door with their backpacks, some backslapping and the four former guards leave down the trail.
“Three archers and two targets. Koria, you target the male’s throat. His silence is more important than death. While I will aim for the female’s head and Luda her chest. We will seek her quick death. Iron arrows but remember we must recover them all and replace them with bone arrows,” whispers Duzsia.
We rise from our hide, arrows nocked and drawn. The two guards are no longer... guarding. Have they gone somewhere?
Duzsia waves us down.
After a moment we share a knowing look as we don’t need to voice the obvious.