by Ember Lane
“Dreaming again, Merl?”
Merl sat up, yawning and stretching and trying to click his neck back in. “Always, but the nighttime ones are the worse. Is it your turn to be on watch yet?”
Frank snorted but refrained from commenting. “Tell me about them.” Frank walked the few steps to the bluff’s edge, and he sat with his legs dangling over. “Tell me about the dream you always have.”
Merl crawled over to him and sat beside the older man. “Well, it starts the same and it’s always the same. I’m on a hill and the hill has flat parts, like big shelves, and the shelves get smaller the higher they go. The top shelf is like the summit of a hill, and yet it can’t be, because a waterfall cascades from the heavens.”
“A waterfall?”
Billy woke, and he strolled up and sat next to Merl. “Tellin’ him about yer hill?”
Merl nodded. “Sure am. Yes, Frank, a waterfall, and the water gathers in a small lake before spilling down each of the tiers, one after the other.”
“You see a hill, and it has been leveled so the ground can be farmed. Is that about right?”
“’Bout right, but wrong all the same, you see, tha fields are weird. They have brown squares dotted all around, like fields that ain’t been planted, an’ the mud’s been trampled down nice an’ flat. The bigger the shelves, the more of the brown squares there are.”
“Well, Merl, I can honestly say that you have the strangest dreams.”
“That ain’t the ‘alf of it. You wait ‘till he tells you the rest,” Billy interrupted.
“What’s the rest of it, Merl?”
“Thar’s a set of steps that go right from the bottom, all the way up to the top, and they’re gray stone, and cracked, and riddled with moss, and the whole place is overgrown with tumbles of weeds like rollin’ fog and prickles as long as ivy.”
“What happens next?”
Merl shrugged. “I start walking up the cracked, stone steps, but halfway up I get tired, spin around, and dump myself down. And then I point at one of the brown squares on the second-from-bottom tier.”
“And…?” Frank asked.
“And the strangest of things happened. A shaft of golden light appears, and it rises right up into the sky, and when it eventually vanishes, a pretty little cottage is sitting where the brown patch was.”
“Wow,” said Frank. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, the cottage has LEVEL 1 written above it, and if I point at it again, another shaft of light appears, and when it vanishes, the cottage is bigger, and it has LEVEL 2 written over it. Weird, plain weird, I don’t mind tellin’ you. Point an’ build, point an’ build. But…” Merl looked around at Frank. “Don’t you go getting’ excited, coz I’ve tried to do it. Me an’ Billy even cleared a bit patch o’grass once, an’ I sat there, an’ I pointed until I thought my arm was goin’ t’fall off. Guess what ‘appened?”
Frank cocked his head. Merl thought he looked older now, but then chalked it up to his heavy stubble. “What happened, Merl?”
“We got wet, that’s what happened. It started raining an’ it didn’t stop fer a week.”
“That it?” Frank asked, but he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah, that’s it. That’s the whatever of whatever you said it was.”
“The Power of Construction. Yeh, I suppose, but you got farther than Ricklefess or any of the others.”
“But what if it was just what it was?” Merl asked, and in the asking confused himself as well.
Frank scratched his head. “You mean, what if it was just a dream?”
“Yeah. What if it mean’s nothing at all?”
“Have you ever seen a hill like it, with a waterfall dropping down and a lake and steps and the like?”
“Nope.”
“Then it’s something,” Frank said. “It’s definitely something.”
They crouched low and loped through the fields. The first line of dawn fringed the eastern mountains with a thin belt of glowing amber. Merl wondered if one of those mountains was Three Face mountain, but he couldn’t really tell. He’d never seen it from a long way away before.
Frank was in the lead, and Billy was right behind. Merl tailed after the two of them. He had his sword sheathed and his cleaver in hand. They emerged from the fields and onto the westbound trail but headed east and toward the closest bridge. The valley stank of cinder, of embers, and of smoldering grass.
Merl tried to breath as quiet as a mouse. He tried to soften his footfalls so the bastard goblins wouldn’t hear him come. Ahead, Billy huffed and puffed like a wheezing sow, and stomped one foot in front of the other like sordfall giant.
Frank waved them down, crouching low. He turned, his face cloaked in shadow by his robe’s hood, and he brought his finger to his lips. Billy farted as he bent, whispered,” Oops,” and then stifled a giggle. Merl had to hold his laughter, but his shoulders shivered hard, and his mirth fought to burst out of his lungs, making his throat ache and his eyes water. Billy muffled another snigger, and that finished Merl’s resistance. His laughter broke free and he fell back away from the trail and into the tall grass that lined it. He smothered his wails by burying his head in the crook of his arm. Billy collapsed right by him and brought the terrible stench with him. He was snorting like a warthog and saying, “Sorry, Frank,” every breath. That only made Merl laugh all the more, and then Frank finally broke and rolled back into the grass, and his resounding laughter was only muffled by him biting his baggy cloak.
It took them a while to recover and brush away the tears from their eyes.
“That stank some’it awful,” Merl said, taking the water bottle from Frank and gulping plenty down.
“New plan,” Frank said. “We send in Billy and bundle him into the goblin chieftain’s tent. He drops a cracker and then hoofs it out.”
“That’ll work,” Merl said, and Billy grunted in protest, but Merl knew it would.
Frank stalked away, approaching the bridge like he was going to slit its throat. Billy and Merl followed. Merl had a spring to his step now. The laughter had cleared his nerves. It had erased the headache of remembering his dreams and replaced it with a clear purpose. If the goblins spread to Morgan Mount, he’d never see Portius again. He’d never get to go home.
His cleaver glinted in the moonlight. Frank darted across the bridge, sidling into a small copse aside a tiny track leading to a smoldering farmstead. Billy and Merl followed, and once they were sure they were clear, Frank darted out and loped along the track. The stench of burned flesh was overpowering, and guilt riddled Merl when he thought of their laughter and how they’d been sitting on the rock while the goblins had created merry hell.
And hell it was too, twisted, charcoal wrecks, scattered ash, and smoldering clothes. A stone chimney still stood, charred, cracked, and broken. Bones poked out from the wreckage, with blackened flesh clinging hopelessly on.
“They mean it,” Frank hissed. “They mean to drive us humans away forever.”
“How are we going to find the dirty bastards?” Billy asked as he practiced with his sword.
“We follow their trail. They’d have left a good’un. Goblins always do,” Frank told them. “Anyhow, why bother hiding where you’re going when you think you’ve killed everyone?”
Frank stalked toward the woods. Merl had never seen him so angry. Billy glanced at Merl, and they nodded, knowing that the next few hours were going to be tough going for a muckspreader and a sheepherder. They marched into the trees and nearly clattered into Frank as the darkness enveloped them.
“Hold for a minute and let your eyes get accustomed to the dark.”
Merl could hear Billy gulping air down like he was about to dive underwater for treasure. “Got the blinking hiccups now,” Billy lamented, and then promptly burped.
Frank scowled at him. He wasn’t making a sound, just standing there, taut as a pulled bowstring.
“See the trail?” he asked.
Broken twigs and stomped brambl
es led off into the gloom. Even though the forest was all gray and black, and the moonlight just poked through the trees in thin, silver shafts, the path was quite clear to Merl. His dad’s croft hadn’t ever had much more than a fire and couple of candles for light. Candles were costly, and his dad had always said the croft was close to the stars anyhow, so that was enough light for him and Merl.
“I see it. Looks like a whole load of cows have stomped through.”
“Billy?” Frank asked.
“Kinda, Frank, only kinda, like.”
“Then I go first. Billy, you’re in the middle, and Merl can follow. If we get separated, head back to the rickety bridge. Got it?”
Frank didn’t wait for an answer. He whipped around and began creeping along the trail. Merl hung back, fiddling with his shield’s holding straps and trying to get them just right. He had his cleaver at the ready and his sword fastened by a belt Frank had fashioned for him. Frank had his hand ax hidden in his peculiar ring along with a whole bunch of lamb they had left over. Together with Billy’s meat parcels and the chivers cheese, Merl doubted they’d starve, although they’d had to leave a bunch of stuff in the monster wagon, like cooking pots.
The forest closed in on Merl like a sinister dream. Its trees hung over, brambles reached and its moonlit shadows shifted and skulked. The air smelt like a manure heap, but it wasn’t because of the forest. Frank had plastered them in dung. A few days ago, it would have been the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to Merl, but that accolade was all a bit muddled now. Apparently goblins could smell humans a long way away, but they couldn’t smell a mobile crap heap.
Merl trod softly on. Billy blocked the way ahead like the lumbering half-giant he resembled. Sinister trunks rose up, bent and twisted. Their leaves glinted like frost in the night’s silver light. It was a silent place, apart from Billy’s clomping boots and stifled hiccups. Merl wondered if the goblins had killed everything the zombays had missed. He wondered what the land had done to deserve it.
They eventually crested a ridge that overlooked a small valley. Frank clambered up a tree, barely stopping until he’d gotten to the top, and dropped down just as fast.
“The goblin camp is by a small lake, and that means they only have three sides to defend. Let’s hope they’re as drunk as drunk can be.”
“Are we attacking now?”
“Nope. We get in position, then we wait. Any of you hungry? Need to…?”
Merl and Billy shook their heads. Merl wasn’t overly sure he liked this bit of being a warrior. He preferred the part where they rode into a town atop a monster wagon. It was much better than skulking around in the night, and so much better than attacking a camp full of goblins with just the three of them. It seemed a bit ambitious. But Frank was as close to a God as Merl had ever met, and he’d said the girls would be in trouble, so that was that, and that was good enough.
“Merl?” Frank asked.
“Err what?” Merl replied, aware he’d wandered off daydreaming again.
“Do you need to take a shit or anything?”
Merl furrowed his brow. It wasn’t something he was used to considering. “Don’t think so.”
Billy stifled a snorted laugh. “I’m with you, Merl. That business is not something you think about.”
“Well?”
“No, Frank,” Merl replied, feeling like a little kid again.
“Then let’s go, but we don’t follow their trail anymore. We can’t risk one of them coming or going.”
Frank slid into the undergrowth. Billy gave Merl a quick wink, but Merl could tell he was afraid. He could hear the butterflies in Billy’s guts.
The goblin camp was not exactly what Merl had in mind, and hiding in a forest all night wasn’t much fun. Those two thoughts dominated Merl’s head as he attempted to shift the dead leg he’d got from staying in one position for so long. Frank hadn’t let them say a word in an age. They’d just crouched in the bushy hollow while Frank had stared at the goblin village as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
At first, the goblin’s party had been a raucous affair, with shouts and whoops, fights and grunts, all making a raucous chorus. A long thin wailing had taken over for a while, and Frank had whispered that it was goblins singing. Merl had never heard anything so bad in his life. It was worse than the wailing ballads Walinda Alepuller had sung when she’d visited his dad’s croft, and that was saying something.
The camp spread out from the lake in a semi-circle. Each of the huts was made from sticks and skins and not much else. It stank like an open latrine, not that Merl could smell anything anymore. Even Billy’s rippers meant nothing to him. All in all, it had been one godawful day and night. Come sunrise, every single one of Merl’s bones ached, and he was desperate for a leak and what not. There was no way he was going to ask Frank though. Frank had taken a sinister turn since they’d descended toward the camp. Merl guessed it was because he was worried about stuff, but he couldn’t help but think if Frank had let the girls come with them they’d be on the road still, and a good deal closer to Quintz.
The camp had been quiet for an hour, just the booming goblin snores rolling out from their run-down huts. Merl thought he’d never be able to stretch again, let alone walk, and his heart sank a little when Frank finally signaled them to move out. The wizard sprung up easily. Billy let out a groan and shook his legs out. Merl wanted to let out a hundred moans but concentrated on holding on to his cleaver instead, since even his hand felt weird and tingly. He placed his boots carefully, like he was walking in slow motion. The ground was still thick with last year’s leaves. It had formed a squidgy mush that made a dirty sucking noise when you stepped on it too quick. Merl’s heart thumped against his ribcage, and his mouth was dry. They stalked between the first two huts, every footfall sounding like an avalanche.
Merl struggled for breath. The air seemed rather thin. He wanted to gulp some more down but was too scared to make anymore noise. He tried to see around Billy, but Billy’s huge frame obscured all. Holding his shield across his body, and his cleaver up and ready, Merl inched forward, but constantly glanced behind in case any of the dirty goblins had followed them in.
They tiptoed farther in, past the first huts of the large camp. Billy stopped and crouched. Merl saw Frank had too. He inched alongside the wizard. A large fire pit sat central, smoldering and surrounded by a half-dozen comatose goblins. Frank pointed at a large hut right over the fire.
“That’s the chieftain’s hut, that is. Billy, you go that side, Merl, you take the other. I’m gonna go in there and do the deed. All you’ve gotta do is stand and wait, and when I’m done, we melt back into the forest.”
“An’ that’ll do it? That’ll keep the girls safe?” Merl hissed.
“They’ll be fightin’ over a new leader ‘till summer’s over.”
Merl held his breath as they edged through the camp. The end of his cleaver trembled uncontrollably as his hand refused to stop shaking. A twig snapped in the fire. A bird called across the lake. Frank vanished into the big hut, and Merl drew aside it, crouching low.
A deep, guttural scream rang out, shattering the silence of the camp. The side of the hut bulged. A grunt followed another, wood splintered, and hanging skins were ripped from their frame. Another loud crash and Merl was shoved backwards, falling under a heap of writhing, fighting bodies. He struggled, trying to wriggle out from under them. A great green body reared up, yellow fangs bared and dirty blue hair slapping about as the beast searched for its prey. Then Frank scrambled back, stretching out and reaching for Scaramanza. The great blade had landed by the fire pit. Frank didn’t have a chance of grabbing it.
The goblin chief roared, foul spouts of gob spraying down, strafing Merl as he cowered under the beast.
“Merl! Chop his filthy legs off!” Frank screamed as the goblin chieftain freed himself from the remnants of his hut and stomped toward Frank.
Billy skidded around the corner, coming to a stop right in front
of the chieftain. “Bloody hell!” he cried, eyes wide with fear.
The goblin swiped Billy as if he was nothing more than a dune bug on a dune dog’s nose. Billy flew through the air and crashed into the fire pit. A plume of embers and ash erupted upward. One by one the comatose goblins woke.
“Chop his filthy bloody legs off!”
Merl raised his cleaver. The blade trembled worse than before. The giant goblin turned, looking down at Merl, who shut his eyes and hoped for the best as he whipped his cleaver around. It struck soft flesh and hot blood soaked his hands. The goblin chief screamed. Merl screamed. His eyes shot open to see the green bastard looking down at him while roaring hot, foul breath over him. Merl scrambled back as the thing lunged at him, screaming and growling terrible curses.
“Get away from me, get away!” Merl rolled, splashing into the lake. Its cold shocked him, and he jumped up, springing to the side as the chieftain crashed in after him. Frank flew through the air after the beast. He held Scaramanza high, ready to strike, and sliced down, its blade soon buried in the foul goblin’s shoulder. Frank somersaulted over, flying through the air and landing with a mighty splash. Merl stood, dumbstruck, as Billy came charging through the remnants of the hut and stabbed his sword right into the beast’s back, bringing the bastard to his knees. Spurred on by the other two, Merl waded toward the fallen chieftain, drew his massive head back, and slit his throat.
“Oh shit!” Frank said, wading back and then stopping still.
Merl looked at the lake’s bank to see a line of angry-looking goblins all marching toward them.
“They don’t look none too happy,” Billy observed.
“Can you two boys swim?” Frank asked.
Arrows whizzed around him, plunging into the lake with a dull thwack. Merl dove underwater, swimming frantically as he tried to will himself out of range. Silver spears split the blue. The arrows hunted him. Bursting through, he swam desperately toward the lake’s center, following in Billy and Frank’s wake. The wizard lurched sideways and was spun around, then Billy was too, and before Merl knew it he was scooped up by a powerful current that forced him deep underwater. He wanted to scream, to cry out as his lungs burned and emptied. He smashed against a rounded rock and careened through banks of reeds. Bubbling water swirled, its confused fingers curling around him, pulling him and launching him on and straight into another rock before being yanked upward. He hit the water’s silvery top and gasped urgently. Unseen hands yanked him back under and span him around. In that small sliver of time, he’d spied riverbanks and the receding lake.