White Stag

by Kara Barbieri

  Next to the sleeping platform I found a pair of hunter’s clothes. The good kind. The tunic was the color of the sun peering through forest leaves, and the warm wool was soft against my dark skin. Over that went a jerkin of light-brown leather, already soft and supple enough for immediate use. Next to a pair of hunting leggings, made with the same supple leather as the jerkin, were woolen wraps. Carefully, starting at the knees and working my way down, I wrapped the warm fabric around my legs, then slid on the leggings. A half cloak of wolfskin wrapped around my waist and hung down to my knees. With the boots, the ensemble was complete.

  The person in the mirror was a stranger: a girl with wild, dark hair and eyes that reflected the green of the tunic, she was in fine clothes and looked less human than I would have liked. But they made me seem fierce and brave.

  I couldn’t reason why I was wearing such clothes. Goblin clothes, made specifically superior by the most talented of humans to endure endless combat and hunting. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths as nausea churned in my stomach.

  “You have to go now,” I said to myself. “Soren doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  So, with a straight back and a face wiped of emotion, I slid the door open and entered the darkened hallways of the Erlking’s palace. From holes in the ceiling, light hit gleaming crystals and shattered into rainbows. Around me the steady drips of water worked to slow my racing heart. Compared to the grandness of the courtroom, the darkened, cavernous hallway was calming. This was my element. You could hide in the dark, listen in the dark; in the dark you could see your enemies but they couldn’t see you. In the harsh light of day, the sun shone on things that should never be brought to the light.

  I came upon Soren’s door, knocked once, and waited.

  The door slid open. Soren was dressed in almost identical clothing to me, though his were tailored for a man and decorated with embroidery that indicated a higher rank. The complex, looping designs of golden thread in his dark tunic could’ve only been made by a skilled, human hand. A female thrall probably spent hours perfecting it, aware that her skills in embroidery were going toward the enemy’s clothing.

  His hair, normally loose around his shoulders, was pulled back in a series of intricate braids. His eyes were still the same cold lilac I expected, though. Those eyes looked me up and down for a long moment, before meeting my own.

  “Yes,” he murmured, almost to himself, “that suits you.”

  I bowed my head. “Thank you.”

  “Come in. We have much to discuss.”

  I followed him inside his chambers, eyeing every nook and cranny. The room was made of the same gray quartz, but there was a mahogany table and cluster of chairs, the furs on the sleeping platform looked untouched, and his favorite weapons hung on one side of the wall. Other than that, the space was much like my own. Sparse and bare, with little attempt at decoration. I had to chuckle at the irony of it.

  “Something funny?” he asked.

  “For someone who scoffed at the lack of decorations in the palace proper, you seem to dislike decorating yourself.”

  His eyes flashed quickly to the walls. “It would be a high inconvenience for everyone if I decided to carry all my things with me every time I traveled. Especially with a hunt going on.”

  And how did you know a hunt would happen? I left the question unsaid.

  He sat at one end of the table, waving me to sit at the other.

  “You’re very tense,” he noted.

  “Is there any reason I should not be?” I shot back.

  Soren steepled his fingers. “Do you not feel safe in my presence?”

  I sat down roughly. “I never feel safe.”

  Some emotion flitted across Soren’s eyes, so fast I might’ve missed it if I didn’t know to look for it. Sadness? I couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  Are you? I forced my shoulders to relax, surprised at the ache in them. “What am I here for?”

  Soren smiled, baring his sharp teeth. “You know what’s happening, I presume?”

  “As much as any human could,” I said. “You’re going to hunt the stag.”

  “And one another.” The smile disappeared. “And whoever gets in our way.”

  “And you enjoy that?”

  “Don’t be coy, Janneke. You know exactly how this works, even if you like to think you don’t.”

  I lifted my chin. “I know what you are and what you do. I know this hunt will bring death until the stag has been reborn. And I know you all will probably enjoy it much more than you will fear for your lives.”

  Soren raised an eyebrow. “Would you fear for your life?”

  “I think fearing for my life would be a waste of time in my position.”

  Soren chuckled drily. “That is true, although I’d say the same of myself.”

  “Well, you’d be infinitely safer than me,” I said, forcing myself not to be unnerved by his laughter. “You can bring hunting hounds, sworn shields, healers, anything you’d like. And very few would take it upon themselves to kill you alone. On the other hand, I’m not you, and my worth, as well as the measures in place to protect me, would be dramatically lower.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, however.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Do you fear for your life around other goblins? Around me?” He put his elbow on the table, leaning forward with one hand.

  “That wasn’t your original question,” I said, eyes narrowed. “I can play the word game just as well as you, Soren.”

  He gave another dry laugh. “Almost as well. But humor me, are you afraid?”

  I was silent, chewing over the words before I spoke. Yes, goblins could rip me apart so easily, torture me until my mind unraveled. Goblins stole humans for work the Permafrost wouldn’t let them do themselves. So many of the things they had—their clothing, their agriculture, their buildings—were thanks to the humans living among the monsters who possessed the skills they didn’t. Humans created, goblins destroyed. It was known.

  “I think I feel equal measures fear, hate, and anger toward your kind. The one that shows the most probably depends on my mood and whether or not I’m likely to have my heart ripped out by another brute in a grand hall.”

  “You’re under my protection,” Soren said with a bit of a growl.

  “All of your thralls are,” I retorted.

  “You’re not just any thrall.” His words made me swallow. I was painfully aware that despite Soren treating his thralls with a considerable amount of respect, honor, and social mobility, the way he treated me surpassed all of them.

  “Aren’t I?”

  Soren rolled his eyes. “Must we do this every time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Janneke,” he said. The softness of his voice, the way the corners of his lips were threatening to rise, caught me off guard. “You do know I regard you as a close friend, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think you know what a friend is,” I said. “I accompany you when it suits your needs.”

  “Most people would call that a companion. And if I’m right, that’s the definition of a friend.”

  “In this case, companion is a polite word for concubine.”

  “Usually sex is required to be a concubine.” A small grin flickered on his lips. “You don’t think after all these years, we have something?”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t, because I knew he was right. I could deny it all I wanted, act as obstinate as a child, but there was some type of relationship between me and Soren. It was evident in the fact that I accompanied him to most places and events he was invited to, the way we spoke freely to each other, and the good-humored banter we couldn’t help but throw. Perhaps “friends” wasn’t the correct word to use, but we weren’t enemies, and I didn’t have it in me to truly hate him.

  He sighed. “Fine. I protect you because you’re my property. You’re my property because I like you. I like you because you amuse me. Is that what you want me
to say?”

  The door slid open and a young man bearing a silver tray walked in, saving me from responding. His eyes were narrowed and shrewd, his cheeks a little gaunt, and his frame thinner than it should’ve been. I didn’t recognize him as one of Soren’s thralls and judging from the bronze collar around his neck, he wasn’t. A slight look of disgust passed across Soren’s face as the man came over. Back at his manor, thralls were only used for skills he or his household didn’t have themselves, and preparing and serving food wasn’t on that list. Pompous as he was, Soren hated being waited on.

  When the man saw me sitting there, his eyes narrowed and he paused, before thinking better of his action and continuing toward Soren. As much as I did not want to, I understood the hatred in his gaze. Why was I sitting here, treated in a way he was not? Why did he work under someone who treated him poorly, but I didn’t? I knew the treatment of thralls varied highly depending on the goblin who had captured them. From the beginning of time, humans had been stolen across the border of the Permafrost in raids, along with many other types of plunder. Those brought across the border had the status of a thrall, expected to work and do the bidding of the lord who had stolen them. They were put under that lord’s protection by the laws of winter. To harm a thrall who was not your own was a grave offense, but there were no hard and fast laws in place for the treatment of a thrall by their captor. The concept wasn’t new; humans had done the same to their own kind for generations as well, and I would’ve been lying if I said that back when I lived among humans, our village didn’t have its share of thralls, all of whom varied in levels of status, safety, and treatment. Before the Permafrost, it was something I’d never thought about and I’d accepted it as the way things were.

  The burning difference here, though, was that our captors weren’t human.

  The elder goblins especially were known to be more focused on domination, on supremacy over the thralls they had. While younger ones, like Soren, tended to view them as members of their household, the thralls were still officially captives held against their will. The dynamic among humans was slightly different, but the concept of the situation was the same.

  If I was under someone else, I’d never be brave enough to sit here, seemingly without care, exchanging fire back and forth with a goblin whom I’d seen hunt down others for sport. But I’d been by Soren’s side for a hundred years—though the decision hadn’t been my choice in the first place—and after standing by the side of the young goblin lord for so long, I’d grown to know him, maybe better than I knew my own self.

  The man set down trays of food, raw liver and heart, some type of fleshy, poisonous tubers, and an assortment of eggs in varying stages of development. I’d never consider eating any of them.

  Human crops didn’t grow in the Permafrost the way they did in the human world. Stalks of corn would strangle a harvester, cotton would choke those who held it, fruit would assault you from the air, and harvesting was always a risky business.

  The man’s gaze shifted back to me before he bowed to Soren. Soren beckoned him forward with a finger, and the man came on wobbling legs. Fear flashed in his eyes until Soren whispered something in his ear. Then he noticeably calmed and exited the room.

  I couldn’t help the stab of pity I felt for this man. He might’ve seen me as Soren’s lapdog, but I understood where he came from. If I found Soren to have some … interesting idiosyncrasies and was occasionally baffled during the time we spent together, then others must’ve found him a complete enigma. It didn’t help that the young lord was now ripping through the raw meat with long, clawlike fingers and tearing through the tough flesh with sharp canines.

  “You should eat,” he said, as I stared at the blood staining his hands. “You never eat enough.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you? The last time you ate anything real was at least two weeks ago. Not to mention you look so exhausted, the bags under your eyes have bags. Have you been having nightmares again?”

  I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I can deal with it.”

  “You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

  “What are you going to do? Sing me to sleep?” I asked.

  “I’ll have you know, I have a beautiful voice.” Soren smirked, and my unladylike snort of amusement followed.

  “If you’re so worried about me, I’ll drink the nectar again.” Nectar was the holy food of the folk—the term for all sentient humanoid beings in the Permafrost—and it bound them to the realm. It could restore health to a human as long as they stayed in the Permafrost. I’d taken the drink a long time ago and more since. Despite its sweet taste, it always left bitter memories of the intense healing I’d gone through after Lydian had finished with me.

  “As you like.” He put down his food. “Would you like to know why you’re here?”

  A chill crept down my spine. Now we were getting to the point. I kept the emotions off my face and let myself fall behind the massive walls I’d built to protect myself. Before I was composed enough to answer, the door slid open again. The human was back, this time with a golden goblet. He set it down in front of me and then hurried out of the room without a second glance.

  I glared at the cup of gleaming reddish liquid before taking a sip of the sweet nectar. “Lucky guess.”

  Soren shrugged. “I know you well. Which is why we need to talk.”

  I took another drink of the nectar and energy began to pour back into my body. “Then let’s talk.”

  He propped his chin up with one hand. “Most humans die before they get this far,” he started. “They waste away in the ’frost after their first few years. You’re quite the anomaly; it makes you fascinating.”

  I stiffened at the warmth in his voice. Unlike other goblins, whose coldness I dreaded, it was when warmth came from Soren that he was most dangerous to me. Warmth meant he was trying to establish a connection, that he valued me enough to speak to me in such a way. Warmth was the difference between an enemy and a friend. It didn’t fit with my denial and Soren knew it.

  “I’m glad I please you.”

  “Oh, you do. And I’ve seen the growth in you these past months, which has led me to decide you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “A change.” His lilac eyes turned on me expectantly. “The change.”

  Understanding seeped into me like trickles of ice water. There were a few fates for humans in the Permafrost. Some ultimately died here, human until their last breath; sometimes thralls were released on their goblin captor’s death; and sometimes they stayed under the new lord who replaced them, depending on the binding spell holding them to the Permafrost and the will of the late lord. And sometimes … sometimes those who had certain desirable skills or traits, who were able to biologically adapt to the Permafrost, those who had a close camaraderie of sorts with the lord they served, who were judged as a good addition to the species … they changed. From rituals, time spent immersed in goblin culture, and the slow biological evolution their human bodies went through, those humans became goblins eventually. Changelings.

  No. I stood so fast the chair toppled over, realization hitting me like a wave. No. No. No. My heart raced, the emotions I’d tried so hard to rein in already spinning out of control. No. No. He’s lying. The look the serving man gave me flashed in my mind. His eyes called me a traitor, plain and simple, but they’d seen something else as they walked past. Something I was blind to until now. I was changing.

  “No,” I said, stumbling back. “You’re wrong. No.” Panic set in and I looked around me, anywhere for a way out. The only door was where the man had entered, and it sat directly behind Soren. “I’m not—my body isn’t—”

  No. No. I stopped all pretense of trying to hide my emotions; anyone with ears could hear the terror in my voice. Sure, I could think like a goblin. Sure, I knew how to reason like them. I knew how to be serious, and I knew how to weasel my way out of situations. I was as well-versed in their courtly life and laws as
a human could possibly be. But that was because I had had a hundred years to observe them. I was not like them. You can digest their food, wield their weapons, feel their power … The voice in my head wouldn’t go away.

  Sadness was not an expression Soren usually wore; it was one that terrified me now.

  Friends. For someone like him, a friendship was less about emotions and more about what you could get from someone; or at least that was all I was willing to accept from him. A friend was someone who you were more likely to protect, less likely to kill, whose company you sought even if it wasn’t required. A friend was someone who could technically insult you with sarcasm without you being compelled to kill them.

  A friend was someone you’d gift elaborate hunting clothes, clothes that now had much more meaning than they did a while ago. From the outside looking in, it would be hard for someone to think Soren and I were not friends.

  You do know I regard you as a close friend, don’t you?

  Soren stood, taking his time while coming toward me, as if I were some animal caught in his trap. That’s what I was, too. I stood completely still as he brushed his hand across my cheek. His fingers traced over the fresh scars.

  “Are you afraid of me now?” he asked.

  I turned away from him, unable to speak. But it wasn’t for fear of him, more for fear of myself and what I could become.

  “You’re still human enough to think I’m doing this to hurt you,” he said softly. “But I’m not. This is because I care for you. Because I see your potential, your power, the force you could become. The state you’re in right now—human—we’ve always known they were the weaker species. It’s written; your kind was made from ash and elm while mine was made from blood and fire. It’s not your fault the gods gave you the weaknesses you possess. Even the strongest of my kind feel the lure of emotions. We just can resist the temptation.”