Goblins

Chapter 1-2

Reluctantly, Garnet stood below the window and hoisted me up. My claws scrabbled at the cloth covering, trying to get in. There was a small opening, a tear in the cloth, and a break in the spell.

“Careful,” Garnet warned.

Squeezing my body wouldn’t work, as the space was too small. I was forced to change; spreading my arms into wings and shrinking in size, I burst through the cabin window as a blackbird. I heard Garnet swear as he stumbled outside, then he was back at the window. “Now what, Wulf?” he hissed through the cloth.

I flew to the window, changing back into a goblin because I was so excited. Lifting the cloth, I peered out at him. “Aren’t you coming in?” I hopped from clawed foot to clawed foot with sheer joy.

“No fear.” Garnet sniffed. “I can feel his magic from here. Just do what you want to do, Wulf, and hurry up.”

“Very well!” I rolled my eyes. All the more fun for me, then. I ran around inside the cabin, causing a great mess by knocking things and tipping them over. There was a table with neat little rows of plants and herbs; I scrubbed my hands through the piles, disorganising them. I rummaged through stores, upended bottles, and swapped things around, thoroughly enjoying myself.

When the bark came from outside, I knew I’d stayed too long. The warlock had returned. Panicking, I changed into a blackbird and flew up to the top of a wooden shelf stack. The door opened. I should have flown straight for it to make my escape, but I was far too curious for my own good. I wanted to see what the warlock did, maybe even watch his reaction to the mess I had made.

He set down his basket of plants, and the torch which still glimmered in the dark. He threw back his hood, revealing a head of ash blond hair. When he swept the cloak away I got my first look at him.

He was a much younger man than I’d expected. Upon seeing the full length of his hair fall free, like a waterfall of silver down his back, my first thought was, he’s an elf.

I tilted my head to watch. No, he was far too manly to be an elf. Too rugged, and yet, he was too handsome and graceful to be a man. He was somewhere in between, and very pleasant to behold. I greedily drank in his image, my eyes growing owl-wide. Another bark outside from Garnet, and I unwittingly answered with a soft hoot.

Pausing as he lit a lantern, the warlock looked up at me. “How did you get in here?” His voice was a caress on my sensitive ears. A shiver passed through me and I ruffled my feathers. Smiling, the warlock went to his door, all the while keeping his eyes on me. He pushed it open, then moved back to his table. “I suggest you leave, little one.”

Despite a strange tug of regret, I knew I had to go. Flapping my wings, I hooted once then took to the air. I half expected—and curiously hoped—that he would stop me. He didn’t though, and I flew away. Once outside in the night air I tucked myself into a ball and changed mid-flight, springing into a fox. I hit the ground running.

Garnet caught up to my side in his fox form. “What happened?” he panted. “Did he see you?”

“No,” I lied. “Nothing happened.”

We ran home, and we didn’t mention the warlock again. But I’d lied; something had happened to me. A seed of curiosity was sown, and I found I couldn’t leave the warlock in peace. I wanted to see him again, but without Garnet I didn’t feel brave enough to pester him. Instead, I ran out to his cabin at night on my own, and simply watched him. I found him fascinating, now that I knew what he looked like. Why did a man so young choose to live by himself, away from his people? I half expected someone to visit him, a human girl perhaps, or even some friends.

The only person that came at times was a woman, dressed in layers of grey fabric and a patchwork shawl. Her hair was long and dark blonde, but she was not nearly as nice as the warlock. She was older than him, too. I watched them inside the cabin from my corner, concealed as a rat. The woman balanced her wicker basket on her knee, placing bottle after bottle on the warlock’s table. They bartered business and drank tea, seeming friendly enough. While the woman’s laugh was a shrill cackle, the warlock’s laughter was soft and warm. I hadn’t known a rat’s heart could beat so fast.

I became consumed by my desire to spy on him. I liked to watch as, by fire light, he ground his plants on the table. Sharp scents of tangy nettle and sweet herbs filled the air. He mixed them together in bowls, then into different vials. When he did this, his handsome face became a placid mask as he concentrated, and his lips moved only slightly as he murmured spells over his work. Sometimes his magic made my head spin with its power, but I continued to watch him.

One night, the warlock sat in his chair by the fire, quietly carving a piece of wood into the shape of an owl. When he was finished he smiled at it and set it on the table. He picked up his kettle, filled it with water from the barrel, and set it over the fire to boil.

I wondered if he was expecting company, and felt slightly put out at the thought. Anxious, I watched him set out two cups. He took the freshly boiled kettle and mixed hot water with milk thistle into the cups. One cup was set at the empty seat. He picked up his own cup, then said quite suddenly, “Would you like some tea?”

I held my breath. Did he know I was here? Who else was he talking to? My heart pounded fast, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

The warlock smiled, regarding his tea cup. “You can skulk in that corner all night, or you can have tea. Makes no difference to me.”

I cursed inwardly. How did he know? He sipped his tea calmly, as if it really didn’t make any difference to him what I did. I was annoyed at being caught, but even more so that my presence would cause so little fuss. Being ignored wasn’t something I was used to. I scurried from the corner, my claws scratching on the wood. In the centre of the room, I glared up at the warlock. He turned his head to look down on me, disregarding me as no more than a rat.

Of all the nerve! I’ll show him. In a fiery storm of indignation, I burst into my larger form, the one closest to human. To him, I’d look like a youth dressed in leaves and tatters, with wild, dark hair and pointed ears.

The warlock looked me up and down. A slow smile spread across his lips, and he made a sound which I took for pleasant surprise. “And who might you be?” he asked.

“Wulfren,” I said breathily, not sure why I was so worked up, or why I felt it so important that he know my name.

“Wulfren,” the warlock said with a smile.

At the sound of my name I could feel the magic around us draw close, threatening to make me dizzy. Shaking my head clear, I demanded, “Who are you?”

A gentle breath of laughter was on his next words. “You may call me Ash.”

“Ash?” I repeated, eyes immediately drawn to his hair, the silken blond lengths that framed his face.

He smiled at me. It was strangely hypnotic.

“Won’t you sit with me, Wulfren?”

“Wulf,” I mumbled, as I darted around the table to sit opposite him.

“Wulf, then.” Ash gestured to the second cup. “Please.”

I grasped for the cup, trying my best not to stare at him. I gazed instead into the tea and took a sip. Nettle, milk thistle, spice…and something else. I gulped it down greedily. Its sweetness trickled down my throat, spreading out inside me.

“Many nights you have visited here, without invitation,” Ash said calmly. “I wonder, how did you get inside my home?”

I bit my lip, realising that I was in a delicate situation, and decided to stay silent.

Ash made that noise again, a thoughtful hum. He took a sip of his tea then placed it on the table. Raising his hand, opened palm up, he stretched slender fingers toward me. “Tell me, Wulf, who are you?” His fingers curled back into his palm one by one, pulling invisible strings on my will. He simply made me speak.

“I’m the seventh son of the goblin king.”

No! My hand clamped over my mouth as soon as the words were out.

Ash laughed darkly. The sound sent a shiver up my spine. “Well, well,” he said. “No wonder you found your way in. And tell me, who was that with you before?”

My hand fell like a dead weight and my mouth betrayed me again as I said, “My brother, Garnet.”

“I see. And where is he now?”

“I don’t know…at home, perhaps.”

“Where is your home?”

I tried biting my lip, but it was no use. “The goblin city.”

“City? Where is this city?”

“North of here,” I said. “Across the river. Past the line of hornbeams, next to a bracken pond.”

“What would the city look like to me, I wonder?”

“A ring of rotten tree trunks.”

“Very interesting.” Ash smiled at me. I was caught in his gaze, trying to determine the colour of his eyes. They were pale, like the silver of his hair, with a flash of violet. “You’re the seventh son, you said?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flicked down, raking over me. “How old are you?”

“Summer green, by my last birthday.”

“How old are you in years, Wulf?”

Years?

“I…I have over seven hundred seasons, now. Seven hundred and twenty,” I added.

“Seasons? The seasons…But that would make you…” He sounded surprised, his eyes widening. “Age aside, you must be a young spirit.”

“I’m not young!” I said, indignant. “I do everything the adults do.”

“Including spying on me?”

My face flushed. I didn’t answer.

“Who knows you are here, Wulf?”

“No one.” My heart thudded all the louder in my chest.

“And what do you suppose I should do with an uninvited guest? Even a royal one, such as yourself?”

I swallowed hard, watching his lips move as he spoke. Full, lush lips. They distracted me from the very real danger I’d stumbled into.

“My home clearly needs a greater spell around it,” he said. “I could use your help with that. I’m sure I could coax the magic out of you.”

His words set me alight. What was he saying, exactly? Take my magic? But that would involve…Us, together.

Desire, then confusion, and very real fear washed through me. In a panicked move, I snarled at him. My face changed as fangs filled my mouth. Ash jolted back in surprise. Good. I wanted to frighten him for toying with me, I wanted to spring up and kick his stupid tea over. I’d show him. But when I tried to raise my clawed hands, I found them stuck fast, rooted to my sides.

Ash’s low laughter caressed my ears. “You can’t move, Wulf. You’re sitting on a chair twined with silver birch, upon a sigil of propriety. And now that you’ve tasted the tea with silver leaf, I will bind you, Wulfren, inside and out.”

Horrified, I turned wide eyes up at him. The warlock smiled as he leaned across the table and whispered, “You are mine.”