DAYO AND THE KOBOLS

When everyone except the three of us had left the courtyard, Jack sat back down, picked up the guitar and began to play with only the light brush of his fingertips on the strings. “Mam used to tell me stories about England and Londinium, where she grew up, but she always painted them with a bright brush. Reckon it helped her survive being so alone all the time. Anyway,” his voice becoming brisk, “I’d like to hear you tell me what the place’s really like.”

I scratched my head as I thought about it. “I grew up in the estate my grandfather owned, so I do not know much about Londinium except for the West-end where my parents and my siblings live. However, I will do my best. “Londinium started out as a Roman town, but when the empire abandoned the island, one of its generals, Arturo, decided to stay. He formed an alliance with the Eldarion-Pict Merlyn and married the Iceni queen, Guindicia, becoming the kingdom of the Brittani. The central part of Londinium, called Old Town, is where the original city was.”

“Mam told me the old walls are still there.”

“More or less. I mean, they have been rebuilt several times, and they are still used to keep undesirable people out, especially on the East-end where all the poor people live. There are still a few structures from ancient times, like the ruins of Camelot and Merlyn’s Tower, while the rest are either old buildings or new ones designed to look old.

“In Old Town, Terramagica is heavily regulated, as are a lot of other things. Her Majesty’s government is there, along with the queen who lives in Buckingham Palace, and most of the important businesses and Gentlemale’s clubs.”

Kinubal asked, “Do Eldarions live there?”

“The upper class do, while the rest live on the South-side, which up until a hundred years ago was the richest and most fashionable part of the city. Then the Koncava and like-minded humans became industrialists and built up the West-end, building factories on the East-end, and the South-side began sliding into decay.” I smiled. “It is still my favorite part of the city, though.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I find Old Town stuffy and the West-end too intent on making money to care about anything else, while the East-end is a scary place. At least, that is what the papers say. But the South-side is like a bouquet of wildflowers: a riot of color and scents, where people on the street will stop and watch a half-blood Eldarion perform illusions while buying a pastry from a pushcart.

“The Jewish Quarter is where Eldarion craft-folk still make small Artifacts for anyone to buy, while the theater district always has new plays and old ones constantly performed, from Shakespeare to those awful Penny Dreadfuls. Most of the Gnomes live on the South-side as well.”

Kinubal raised her eyebrows. “Gnomes?”

“Mam told me they’re greedy little people only concerned with making money.”

“I have met some that are quite nice,” I shot back. “As a child, I once got lost on the West-end when my parents had moved into a much better house, and I was trying to find my way back. A business Gnome, who was in a hurry, stopped what he was doing and took me home, insisting he walk me to the front stoop and waited until the footman had opened the door and greeted me before he left.”

Jack’s face had grown hard, yet as I told the story, his expression softened. “Reckon mam was more than a little bitter at the way she was treated by the tribe, and sometimes it painted things a mite black. I’ve learned not to judge a fella until I get to know them, so I reckon if I meet any of these Gnomes, I’ll try to keep the door open, if you catch my drift.”

I nodded. “I have a hard time with Ogres. Even the half-bloods. And Kobols are the worst.”

Kinubal folded her arms across her chest. “Why, because they’re ugly?”

“No, because they are vicious little monsters. They are grey and spindly creatures who infest our lands-”

“Lands that you stole from them. My mother said Kobols used to hide from humans, until you grew so numerous you forced them to find other food-”

I stabbed a finger at my chest. “Yes, us.”

“Only because you left them no other choice. Mother told me you treat them like rats-”

“They are rats.” I took a step towards her with my fists clenched, Kinubal’s eyes widening though she stood her ground as my voice rose. “Kobols are vermin and I would kill every last one of them if I had the means.”

Jack had set the guitar down as he shot to his feet, and now put himself almost in front of me. “Reckon you might want to rein yourself in a mite,” he growled, his blue eyes hard as stone.

I had already recognized my error as I unclenched my fists, placing a hand to my face as I stepped back. “I am sorry, dreadfully sorry,” I said, mentally rebuking myself for losing control. A Goldspear must never lose control of his emotions. Ever. I took a deep breath to calm myself before looking past Jack. “Miss Kinubal, I must apologize for my behavior just now. May I explain to you why I have nothing except loathing for the race of Kobols?”

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Kinubal’s eyes were still wide as she nodded. “Please?”

Taking another deep breath, I began to speak. “It is on account of a little girl named Dayo, which means ‘Joy has arrived’ in her parent’s native African language. Have you ever seen an Ogre?” Kinubal shook her head. “They stand eight feet tall and are quite large, with great strength and limited intelligence. The English use them to haul heavy loads around Londinium.

“They have an enormous capacity for enduring abuse, yet if pushed too far they occasionally go berserk, rampaging and destroying everything and everyone in their path until they exhaust themselves, or are put down by police carrying ‘Ogre-guns’, which are large bore rifles. When it happens, people will yell, ‘Mad Ogre’, and get out of the way.”

Kinubal looked shocked. “They allow such creatures to walk the streets?”

“Ogres are mostly used on the East-end, where life is cheap. Old Town forbids them, while the ones used in the rest of Londinium are well treated. Anyway, Dayo’s parents lived on the East-end, and did not realize what the shouts of ‘Mad Ogre’ meant when an Ogre hauling a wagon went on a rampage, killing them both as he passed. By some miracle Dayo was spared.

“The Londinium Times would have only mentioned the event in passing, except that a reporter, who was chasing after the Ogre, saw Dayo unscathed on the street beside her parents, and took a photograph with a Terramagica device called a daguerreotype. The paper put the picture on the front page, likely because Africans are a rare sight in England, and when my mother saw it, she insisted that the family take her in until the girl’s own family could be found.”

I grimaced. “My father refused to allow a lower class person to live in his house on the West-end, African or not, so my grandfather brought her to the estate. When efforts to discover the rest of her family came to naught, he encouraged her to become part of the household.” Memories I had not thought about in years returned, and I smiled as I went on. “Dayo became my little sister, in a sense, and her name rang true because she brought us nothing but joy in the time she spent with us. Once she got over her grief, Dayo became my shadow, tagging along as I led the local boys on adventures exploring the wild parts of the lands around us.”

The smile slid away from my face as the memories became grim. “Then my father insisted that my grandfather and I spend Christmas with the family, without Dayo. There was a fight, but my father insisted, while Dayo encouraged us to go and not worry about her. She had developed a close friendship with a boy a couple years older than her, Carl Peterson, and his family had invited her to spend the holiday with them.

“Grandfather spoke to Carl’s parents before relenting, giving Dayo her a stern warning about remaining close to their home, as Kobols had begun migrating into the area, attacking the sheep. She promised she would be careful, and Carl’s family and Dayo saw us off from the train station.”

“Reckon she didn’t listen to him,” Jack said.

“She never listened,” I blurted out before clamping back down on my emotions once more. I took another deep breath to calm myself. “We had been at my parent’s house less than a day when Drog, who oversaw the estate, sent word via the Terramagica messaging service that Kobols had attacked the sheep pens and both Dayo and Carl were missing.

“My grandfather departed at once and over my father’s objections, took me with him. Once we arrived, he began organizing a search. However, I had a hunch I knew where Dayo might have gone and took Baroda, who once served in her Majesty’s army, along with the estate’s two largest mastiffs, to a cave on the edge of our land quite close to the Peterson’s house. Dayo loved to explore there.”

The memories turned black as foul smelling pitch, and I stopped a moment to compose myself before they overwhelmed me. “When we got close to the cave entrance, the mastiffs caught a scent driving them into a frenzy. Baroda released them and ran ahead of me, wielding a hunting axe in each hand, while I followed behind with a Kobol Killer.”

“What in tarnation is that?”

“A Terramagica device like a polearm, with the top part delivering a shock from the metal strips along the front side, while the butt ends in a long metal spike. Once we entered the cave, we realized there were about thirty of them or so, but they scattered once the mastiffs attacked and fled the moment they saw Baroda. He went to give chase, but came back when I yelled for him to help me with Dayo and Carl.”

I had to stop and take another deep breath. “When we burst into the cave, we interrupted them in the middle of eating raw mutton and torturing Dayo. They had been using their thin clubs to beat her, and assaulting her in ways no female should ever have to endure. Carl, they had crippled and forced to watch, saving him to be tortured and eaten later. For that is what they do to their victims.

“Dayo was nude, so I wrapped her in my coat and carried her close to the fire for warmth, as December in England is always cold, Dayo nestling against me as I argued with Baroda, who did not want to leave me unprotected to go for help. She stopped our argument by touching my face with her bruised hand. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she whispered. ‘My parents are here to take me home’. Then she closed her eyes and never reopened them.”

Old rage boiled up inside me and I had to walk away, slamming my hand against a tree branch and gripping it hard. I knew it had not been my fault. Grandfather had been wroth with me for striking out alone, yet admitted the searchers would not have thought of going to the caves first, and might well have alerted the creatures by their actions. Had that happened, it was likely that neither Dayo or Carl would have ever been found, as the Kobols would have left and taken the two with them.

It did not matter. I had failed Dayo, failed her by not being there to protect my little almost-sister when she need me the most. Rage did nothing to help me, though, so I channeled it, as I had learned to do, turning around and facing the other two with a face hard and grim as obsidian. “That was when I began my vendetta against the Kobols.”

Kinubal moved from behind Jack and took a step forward. “Didn’t your grandfather try to stop you?”

I shook my head. “He said I would be doing the world a great service. However, he told me I had to control my anger, curb my emotions, and go about it in a way that would make the Kobols leave and never return. That was when I became good friends with the three half-Orku with us now.

“Drog taught me how to organize, how to bring all the local men, who wanted to help us, together and turn them into a team. Goro taught me cunning. He taught me it is not enough to go after them; I had to learn to think as they do, in order to anticipate their actions.”

“What about the big guy, Baroda?” Jack asked.

“Baroda taught me to fight, taught me discipline and how to endure pain and discomfort.” I shrugged. “I have to admit I was something of a spoiled child, growing up the way I did, but the whole experience changed me.”

“For the better or for the worse?” A strange male voice said.

Kobols, like the poor, will always be with us…