RUSTY
When Rusty awoke once more, dawn had yet to rise. Chul was gently rocking his shoulder, and the other goblins were still sound asleep.
“Surprise…” Chul whispered, “I made you a surprise.”
Rusty was still bleary as the young goblin threw a blanket over him, only it was not a blanket. It was a cloak sewn out of the hides of dozens of rats. Parts of it were still wet, and it smelled very fresh.
“What…what’s going on?” Rusty asked, keeping his voice low because Chul was doing so. “What is this?”
“Disguise,” Chul whispered, straining to contain his own excitement, “I made you a disguise.”
Rusty rolled out from under the cloak and got a good look. It was a horrific sight, with lots of little rat appendages still attached, but sized appropriately for a hatchling, and it had straps where it could be tied onto to his legs and under his belly.
“Now you will really be my scaly dog,” Chul said, scratching behind Rusty’s skull. It wasn’t a bad feeling, and the dragon didn’t mind being treated like a pet as long as it was only Chul who did it. “Let me put it on you, will you? Please?”
Rusty, still half asleep and groggy from the Dankroot tincture, stood still while Chul wrapped him in the disguise and tied it tight. If someone saw him now, covered in tiny furs, with a hood of rats strapped under his chin, it would certainly be hard to mark him as a dragon at first glance. The disguise didn’t make him look like any natural creature in particular, certainly not a dog, but it would serve well enough to confuse the issue.
“You’re beautiful,” Chul said. “You can come out with me now. I want you to meet my friend.”
“What about the gang?” Rusty asked, still getting his bearings.
Chul put a finger up to Rusty’s snout as if to shush him. “They don’t know about my friend. And you can’t tell them. She’s my secret. Okay? You promise to keep my secret?”
Rusty looked into Chul’s wide, bright yellow eyes, the urgency in his gaze nearly palpable, and nodded. The gang might be his family now, but Chul was his brother, his boon companion, and he would do nothing to hurt him. He was a little concerned to discover that Chul was keeping a secret from the others, but if it was a problem, he could keep his friend safe himself. He was stronger than any of them, and it gave him a warm feeling to know that Chul was trusting him with something that he hadn’t shared with the others.
“I promise, Chul. I will keep your secret.”
They crept out of the den together, though the creeping was hardly necessary. Jiwoo was snoring so loudly that they could have left dancing and singing and no one would have been wiser. Rusty followed Chul through the sprawling junkyard of Midden, his small wings fluttering as he took in the precarious landscape. Towering mounds of discarded items cast jagged shadows across the uneven ground, while the wind carried the salty scents of rust and decay.
Chul gestured to various landmarks as they navigated the labyrinthine paths, going over under and around the mounds as it suited them.
"Over there is the Rotten Throne," he said, pointing out a chair set atop a heap of stone. It looked like it had been cobbled together from nautical parts and pieces. It was hard to make out the details from a distance, but the back was clearly a ship’s wheel. "That's where the Great Goblin gets made great."
"I like it," Rusty said. It was too far away for his material sense to communicate its value, and it was too big to have fit into his lair, but that didn’t stop him from wanting the seat for himself. Not to sit in, just to have.
Chul continued the impromptu tour, taking Rusty to high places so he could point out some of the more distant monuments of Midden. The Creaking Forest, made up of countless beams and planks that groaned and shifted in the wind, and the Shattered Sea, a wide plain filled with broken glass that glittered like a dangerous ocean. Each landmark seemed more marvelous than the last, and Chul warned him they couldn’t get too close to them; the Midden tribe claimed these territories. They would not take kindly to trespass from a member of the Gang of Fools.
As they walked, Rusty couldn't help but notice the incredible variety of discarded treasures around him. His Material Mastery skill was making his whole body tingle, guiding him towards objects that would be worth experience if he added them to his hoard.
"Hey, what's this?" Rusty asked, nudging a small, tarnished object with his nose. He picked it up carefully with one claw, studying the dented and damaged pocket watch. Despite its battered appearance, the intricate gears inside hinted at the effort that must have gone into its creation, though they were locked in place by rust and sediment.
"Nice find!" Chul said, clearly impressed by Rusty's ability to locate such a treasure amid the detritus. “You’ve got a good nose.”
“It’s my skill,” Rusty said.
Chul grinned at him. “I knew you made the right choice. The others were just jealous.”
Continuing their walk, Rusty also found a torn, water-damaged parchment that looked like it had once been part of a map. Between the faded ink and the missing pieces, it wouldn’t lead them anywhere, but his material sense told him it had value, and he wanted it for his hoard.
They also came across a few exquisite shells. Their iridescent colors shimmered in the sunlight, captivating Rusty with their beauty. He carefully scooped them up with his tail and passed them over to Chul, who put everything Rusty had found in a sack.
“These are some of the best I’ve ever seen,” Chul shouted, forgetting himself in his excitement, and Rusty ducked his head in response, looking around, but there were no other goblins as far as he could see.
“Sorry,” Chul said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Don’t worry though, most gobbos sleep late. So, I come out early for the best finds. I just have one more thing to show you, then we can meet my friend.”
Rusty's eyes widened as he took in the colossal wall that served as the border between Midden and Harborfell, a testament to the human desire to contain the ever-growing madness of the junkyard, or at least pretend that it didn’t exist. A steady stream of wagons rolled in through a wide gate, carrying the garbage of the city.
"Don’t touch those," Chul said, whispering again, though the wall and the human drivers were far away. "Attacking the wagoners is a big no-no."
"Who's in charge of all this?" Rusty asked, his curiosity piqued. There were roads through Midden, though the goblins rarely used them, and the wagons all seemed to have their own places to go.
"Junkmaster," Chul said, glancing around as if the very mention of the name made them more likely to be overheard. "He’s a big bad. A [Ranger], and he’s got a nasty dog who doesn’t even have any scales. The dog comes around on its own sometimes, and if we ever see it, we run, okay?”
“Okay,” Rusty said. He had no desire to interact with the humans or any beast that served them.
Chul continued to lead Rusty through the convoluted heaps of waste and detritus, and they emerged into a sanctuary that defied the degraded nature of Midden, a clearing of freshness and life amid the sea of forgotten and unwanted things. Here, the sun casts its golden glow over a field of flowering plants, lending an almost sacred aura to the space, concealed on all sides by towering heaps of shells.
The ground beneath them lacked the familiar crunch of the junkyard. There was real soil here, and it made Rusty a bit uncomfortable to be treading on it. Wild grass sprung up between their toes, an expanse of fertile earth and wildflowers, each petal vivid against the background of browns and grays; purples deep as twilight, yellows bright as the sun above, and crimsons intense enough to satisfy the tastes of the most persnickety [Red Dragon].
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A stone column stood sentinel in the center of the clearing, worn by the elements, yet enduring. A hornet's nest looked like it was growing out of its side, several of them, some as big as Rusty.
“Those are my favorite bees,” Chul said, “but you shouldn’t play with them. They’re meaner than Jiho when you touch his hair.”
Hornets were crawling over the column as others flitted among the flowers. Rusty had no desire to play with any of them.
As Rusty took in the clearing, absorbing the tranquil atmosphere, he heard the barest rustle from behind the weathered pillar. It was a sound so delicate; it could have been mistaken for the wind playing among the petals of the wildflowers. From the shadow of the post emerged a figure, a girl no taller than Chul, but not a goblin.
There was a grace to her that made her seem to float above the ground rather than walk upon it. Her feet barely seemed to touch the soil; a whisper of a person, unable to disturb the tranquility of the incongruous grove even if she had wanted to.
Her hair was a blonde waterfall, shimmering in the sunlight, even brighter than the flowers. Each lock could have been spun from the light itself, cascading around her face and framing her features like a radiant halo. Her eyes were the clearest blue of a summer’s day, cloudless and inviting, empty of any fear or unease even at the sight of a tiny dragon wrapped in dead rats accompanying a goblin.
Her clothing was simple but fine, certainly finer than anything the goblins wore, bereft of any sign that she had ever set foot in a dump, let alone the largest junkyard in Elswyre. Her cloak and tunic were woven in soft greens and tans, unembroidered, and yet exquisite enough to have been worn by a princess. Rusty had beheld nothing more lovely or more strange.
“Hello Chul,” she said, her voice musical and light, “I see you’ve brought another friend.”
“My best friend,” Chul agreed, before his cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “My other best friend, I mean. His name is Rusty, and he’s a scaly dog.”
She smiled, and Rusty’s breath caught in his throat. Not that he found her attractive. She looked like a child, and he was a dragon, but considering the world he had been born into, he struggled to believe that anything of such beauty could exist. He instantly understood why Chul had been so adamant that she be kept secret from the others.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, “it’s only right that he be your best friend. You’ve bonded, I can see that, and I am very happy for you.”
“Thanks,” Chul said, removing his straw hat and holding it against his chest. He turned to Rusty, “this is my friend, Aila, she’s an elf.”
Aila frowned. “I’ve told you we don’t use that word, Chul. Elf is a human word. I’m a lillit. We don’t call ourselves that.”
Chul wrung his hat between his hands. “Sorry.”
Aila came forward, gliding across the grass, to put a comforting hand on Chul’s arm, causing the color in his cheeks to deepen. “It’s alright, Chul. I’m just glad you’re here, and glad that you brought your friend to meet me. It means a lot.” She knelt and held out her hand for Rusty.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Scaly Dog.” There was humor in her eyes that left Rusty in no doubt that she knew exactly what he was. He put his claw in her hand, and she shook it.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said.
Her eyes widened, almost impossibly large in her small face. “You have a unique voice, Rusty.”
“He always sounds like that,” Chul agreed. “Isn’t it weird? It didn’t seem right to me at first, but now I’m used to it.”
“What’s wrong with my voice?” Rusty asked, perturbed.
“Nothing,” Aila said quickly, “nothing at all. It’s just that you sound like an adult, and that’s very odd, considering how small you are. It’s also very clear. I’ve heard dra-ah, scaly dogs speak before, and it’s sometimes difficult for them to be understood, given their anatomy. They have their own speech, which differs greatly from ours, and I’m sure I would sound strange to them if I tried to imitate it, but you don’t sound strange at all that way.”
“Rusty’s always sounded like this,” Chul reiterated.
“That’s very interesting,” Aila said, still kneeling. “Were you hatched here, Rusty?”
“He was,” Chul said proudly. “I hatched him myself.”
She waited for Rusty to speak for himself.
“They found me here,” he said. “I don’t know my parents. I’ve never met anyone else of my kind.”
“I have,” Aila said, and then paused, her gaze roaming over the dozens of rat pelts that concealed most of Rusty’s body. “Well, not exactly like you, but still.”
Rusty’s heart beat a little faster. “Can you tell me about them?”
That smile again. “Of course, I can,” Aila said. “Why don’t we all have a seat and I’ll tell you what I know.”
The trio settled on a set of flat stones beneath the hornet nests. Rusty was nervous about taking that position, not for himself, as his scales would protect him from their stings, but for the other two. The hornets, however, seemed quite fond of Aila. They barely buzzed at them as they sat down, and one insect landed atop her golden hair to rest there peacefully while she spoke.
Seeing how he was eyeing the nests, Chul nudged Rusty’s shoulder and grinned. “These are my favorite bees,” he said. “They only bother you if you bother them, and they never bother Aila at all.”
“I hope you haven’t been sitting here without me, Chul,” Aila warned, “that could be dangerous for you.”
“No ma’am,” Chul told her, “Never.” Then he winked at Rusty.
Aila laughed, a sound like the tinkling of bells. Usually, when that sort of phrase is applied to a person’s voice, it is purely metaphorical, but in Aila’s case, it was simply accurate. Her laughter really did sound like bells, and her voice really was music to listen to.
Aila spoke, and Chul hummed happily to himself as if he was following a tune.
“My homeland is called Lumilinna. Another island. Like Elswyre, it is broad, and there are many lands therein, forests and mountains and fields, lakes and oceans, beaches and cities, but no deserts, and no junkyards, certainly none like this one. Lumilinna is the home of the lillits, our mother and father, full of deep wonders and bright dreams. It is a place of laughter and songs and dances that never cease. There are few dragons there, only a handful, but they are grand beings, as large as ships and houses, or larger. My mother took me to see one when I was young, and it spoke to me with a voice like the wind running through the leaves.” She paused, thinking back.
“Dragons that live long enough to become old live an exceptionally long time after that, perhaps forever, as long as they can feed. The very largest of them can go to sleep for a hundred years and do nothing but dream, and the doings of we little folk are of scant concern to them. The dragon that spoke to me was called Lehtikrunna, and she had many children, but most of them did not survive to become old. Dragons often leave their hatchlings to fend for themselves, and as they grow into youths, they compete with each other and older dragons for space and resources. An ancient dragon might claim an entire region for itself, and tolerate no intrusions from others of its kind, while dragons of distinct kinds can live peaceably with one another, because they do not hoard the same materials. There is an island of dragons somewhere, though I have never seen it, and I imagine it would be an exceedingly difficult place to live.”
“Do you think my parents are there?” Rusty asked.
“I do not know,” Aila said. “But if you are alone here, that is not so strange, from what I do know. Lehtikrunna did not keep her nestlings with her. They had to fend for themselves, and when they became large enough to hunger for their own territories, they flew to other islands, where there were no dragons of their kind to compete with.”
“So…my mother, she could have put me here to protect me?”
Aila nodded. “In a sense, yes. Dragons cannot thrive in families. To share a hoard is to weaken it, after all.”
“Rusty has a family,” Chul said firmly. “He has me and the gang.”
“And he’s very lucky to have found you,” Aila said.
Rusty had a hundred questions in his head, all clambering to be first. It sounded like Aila had little firsthand experience with dragons, but her presence in the junkyard itself was a mystery, as well as her relationship with Chul. He didn’t sense any ill will from her. She didn’t seem capable of deceit, let alone malice, but what was an elf doing making friends with a young goblin?
“Why are you here?” He asked. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here, and I’m grateful for anything you can tell me, but what are you doing living in a place like this, when your homeland sounds so beautiful?”
Aila lifted one delicate hand above her head, and the wasp that had been resting on her alighted there. “Men hate creatures like this because they think they have no use. But in truth, they play an important role in the natural order. Humans have trouble seeing anything beyond the ends of their swords, but lillits do not share that limitation. I’m afraid that is all the answer I can give you, Rusty, because what I am doing here is my business alone. But you shouldn’t worry about my intentions. I’m very fond of Chul, at least, if not every goblin, and I wouldn’t see him come to harm.”
“I believe you,” Rusty said.
The scene of tranquility lasted only a moment longer.
A great howl rolled over Midden, echoing in the winding paths, and washing over the clearing, sending the wasps into a frenzy. They buzzed and flew in wild patterns over their heads, though still not descending to attack.
Aila frowned. “The Junkmaster’s hound is out today. We will have to cut this short, but I hope we can meet again before too long, if I am not called away.”
“Away?” Rusty gaped. “Why would you be called away?”
“Go home, Chul,” Aila said, standing. “Midden isn’t safe for either of you with the hound about.”
The howl had seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and Rusty had to agree with her assessment. He had no desire to meet the beast that made a sound like that.
“But where are you going?” Chul demanded to know. “We can come with you,” his cheeks darkened once more, “if you want.”
Rusty blinked. Aila was gone.
Chul got up in a huff. “She does that sometimes. It’s very rude.”
Rusty looked around. The elf hadn’t run away from them. She had just vanished.
“Okay Rusty,” Chul said, sounding put out. “Let’s go home.”
The howl came again, louder this time.