by R. A. Mejia
I jump in my seat, startled by the sound so close to my ear. I turn and see Mary hovering in midair, holding her stomach laughing, “You were writing so intensely I couldn’t help but look over your shoulder to see what it was about. I’m sorry I startled you…,” Then considering her statement she amends with a broad smile, “Well, not really. A girl has to have her fun you know.”
“How much did you read?”
“All of it.”
I roll my eyes and can feel myself redden from embarrassment, but since Mary has been my guide to girls I ask, “So, what did you think? Too much?”
She tilts her head and taps her chin, “Hmm, maybe a little. It kind of depends on how she feels about you and how much of a sharer she is. You might have scared her off, or you might make her feel like you want a future with her.” Shrugging she gives me a pitying look, “Guess you’ll find out when she writes back.”
I might have scared her off? That’s totally not what I wanted to do. I just wanted to share how I was feeling. Mary told me before that ‘sharing was caring’!
My expression must bother her because she quickly adds, “But it’s always better to know sooner rather than later if she’s not that into you.”
At least she agrees with me on that. I sigh and hope Sonya writes back soon.
By mid-day, our wagon enters the pass, and we begin our journey through the mountains. The road is rough, old, and winds around the peaks of the mountain. As we slowly travel along the road, the sound of the wheels on the rocky ground reverberate off the stone walls around us. I notice that there’s an odd silence as we travel. It’s as if the few animals that live here are afraid to speak and risk offending the mighty mountain. I can understand how they may feel. I look around us and feel tiny and insignificant next to the massive pillars of rock that pierce the sky above.
The first couple days through the mountain pass are rather uneventful. We switch to a normal schedule of traveling during daylight hours and resting at night. Many of the trails through the mountains are so narrow that only one wagon at a time is able to pass through and any deviation could result in falling off the edge of a cliff. Where possible, there are rest areas carved into the side of the mountain every ten to fifteen miles allowing a spot for travelers to take a break or for traffic to pass.
Since Kitsune is the only one among us that knows how to drive the wagon, she’s the one that determines our travel speed and when we’re done for the day. How she determines this, is not exactly clear to me. When I ask her she says that it depends on a number of factors including steepness of the trail, the horses conditions that day, how high we are up on the mountain, the last time we’d watered and fed the horses, condition of the trail, the weather, the temperature, the state of the wagon and harnesses, and the expected state of the trail the next day. On a good day, we travel thirty miles. On a bad day, when a sudden storm catches us, we only travel for ten miles before we have to stop.
Regardless of how long we travel the journey is mostly the same for Vrax, Mary, and myself. During the day we’d take turns sitting up front with Kitsune to keep her company. Anyone seated in the back of the wagon with the supplies would either nap, read, practice some skills, or talk.
When we stop for the evenings, Kitsune and I take care of the horses, and we all have dinner together over a small campfire. While we’re eating together, Mary and I tell Vrax tell stories about the Boy Who Lived. We have to work from memory, but we get most of the points. Oddly enough both Vrax and Kitsune seem more interested in the parts that take place in the non-magical world. They’re fascinated by the descriptions of cars, trains, televisions, light poles, electricity, and indoor plumbing. The magic stuff they find less interesting, even if it is different from what they’re used to. When we’re done telling the story from the first book, Vrax says he wants to be a muggle and wouldn’t mind living under the stairs of a house with water that turns hot and cold. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side of the magical hill.
I wake up on the third day of our journey, my back sore and my body tired. The back of the wagon just wasn’t designed to sleep four comfortably. Half the night I had a kobold foot in my face as Vrax tossed in his sleep. I open the back of the wagon and get out. It’s still early in the morning, and I hear Mary groan as the light hits her sleeping form. Yeah, I’d rather not be up either, but it's my turn to make breakfast. I take some of the firewood we gathered before entering the mountain and make a small cooking fire. It’s easy enough to get the fire going using spellwriting. I take our cooking pan out of my [Inventory] and chop up some of the vegetables we got from Sam and Sarah. I cook the vegetables in the pan over the fire giving them a nice little char, then I add some water and dried rabbit meat. The smell of the cooking breakfast wakes the other members of the group, and they file out of the wagon, one by one.
We still don’t have proper plates, but no one seems to mind using the crude ones I made and eating with their fingers. It’s not the most amazing meal I’ve ever made but makes a passable attempt at being a stir fry. I really need to buy some spices if I’m going to keep cooking. Heck, just some salt would go a long way in improving the taste of our meals.
Kitsune harnesses the horses to the wagon after feeding, watering, and grooming them. We pile into the wagon, it being my turn up front with Kitsune this morning. As I look out at the barren, gloomy mountains, I can’t help but get a feeling of foreboding. I hope we leave the mountains soon, we only have a few more days’ worth of supplies for the horses.
A few hours later we come across a woman in the middle of the road waving her hands over her head. I knock on the wagon to wake up the snoring Vrax. Mary flies up front to see what’s up and I hear Vrax say sleepily, “What’s happening? Are we there?”
“No buddy, there’s some lady on the road trying to flag us down. I just think it’s weird and I’d rather you be awake if there’s trouble,” I answer. The kobold perks up and I hear him loosening the shortsword in his scabbard.
Kitsune pulls on the reins bringing the wagon to a stop. The dumpy brown haired woman runs up to my side of the wagon. I see that she’s sweating profusely and she’s covered in dust. She waves her hands frantically as she talks, “Thank you for stopping. I’ve been walking for miles. Our wagon broke down, and we’ve been stranded for days. Do you think that you could help us?”
I look around and don’t see any signs of a wagon on the road ahead of us, and we certainly didn’t pass one on the path behind us. Before I can ask more about it, Kitsune leans across the wagon and tells the woman, “Why of course we’ll help you. Get in, and we’ll drive you back to your wagon.”
I try to give the fox woman a look that says, ‘What the hell are you doing? You don’t pick up strangers on the side of the road!’ However, she must not be able to read my expressions yet because she just smiles at me. To be fair, my viewpoint on the subject is based on adults in my world driving into my mind the phrase ‘stranger danger.' That and my education from horror films on the perils of picking up hitchhikers. Still, this isn’t my world, and maybe I should give Kitsune credit for knowing the local customs better than I do.
As I scoot over to make room for the plump woman, I still can’t help but think of what I’ll do if she pulls out an axe and gets a crazed look in her eyes.
Once the woman is seated, Kitsune snaps the reins, and our wagon takes off. The road through the mountain passes has had many twists and turns. There have also been a number of trails that led off the main road, but every one of them had been marked by a sign saying where they were headed and we knew which way to stay if we wanted to get to Monstrum. So, I find it more than a little odd when the woman tells us to turn left at onto an unmarked trail.
“Where were you folks heading? I didn’t see a sign for where this trail leads,” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Her eyes locked forward, she answers after the briefest of pauses, “We were heading to Tidnab, a small village north of there. It’s nestled agai
nst the mountain. My family are traders, and we make supply runs up there. We trade for some of the rare herbs that only grow in these mountains.”
“Oh, I know a little herbalism. What kinds of herbs does your family trade in? Maybe we can buy some from you?”
She bites her lip and answers, “Uh, well. We only have regular trade goods on this leg of the journey. We don’t get the herbs until after we visit Tidnab, but I’m sure my father would be more than happy to reward you with something if you can help us get back on the road.”
The trail our wagon follows runs through a narrow passage with high sheer cliffs. The high walls on either side of the path cast long shadows that blanket the trail. Even though the sun is still high in the sky, the shade gives the wind a sharp bite as it runs through the passage. Goosebumps prickle my skin as the wind hits me. We have to slow down to follow the twisty passage. Yeesh, how far away is this wagon? We’ve been traveling for an hour already.
The brunette woman must sense my unease because she assures us that her family and the wagon are only a little farther ahead around the next bend in the road.
As our wagon follows the path around the next curve, I see a beat up old wagon leaning to one side blocking the path forward. Kitsune pulls hard on the reigns and our horses protest loudly as they’re forced to come to a sudden halt. While there is indeed a broken wagon as promised, what I don’t see is a family of traders. Instead, behind the wagon are six dirty looking men of various races holding drawn bows, their arrows pointed in our direction.
It’s a trap! I knew I should have listened to my ‘stranger danger’ sense. I turn to grab the woman we picked up off the road, hoping to trade her for safe passage but I only catch a glimpse of her sticking her tongue out at me as she slips off the wagon bench and runs towards the armed men. I stifle my anger at being tricked like this and ignore the instinct to chase after her. Instead, I turn and ask Kitsune, “Can we turn around?”
Kitsune shakes her head in the negative, “Not quickly. The road is too narrow here.”
I ask Mary, “Do you think you could fly away and find help?”
Before she can answer a high pitched voice calls out, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I turn to look for the source of the sound and see a short goblin with light green skin, a long pointed nose, and short pointy ears step out from behind the wagon. He smiles, his mouth full of sharp needle like teeth. Then brushes away a speck of imaginary dirt from his dark leather armor with his gloved hand, “Goblins have rather good hearing you know. I heard what you told your fairy friend. If she even so much as twitches her wings, we’ll fire so many arrows that you’re corpses will look like porcupines.”
I count the number of fighters I can see. I still think that we could take them. I mean we fought those Imperare soldiers, and there were a lot more of them than this. I get ready to give the order to fight when I hear the sounds of footsteps to my right. I turn and see more men and women holding bows and crossbows flanking us from the sides. A quick mental count ups the number of opponents to fourteen. I intently stare at the space above the nearest bowman and see that he’s level six. If that’s the average level, then our chances of beating them just dropped.
The goblin in front of us sighs dramatically and waggles his finger at us, “Don’t make us kill you. We’re trying to do this peacefully. Just surrender, and I can assure you that you won’t be harmed.”
I grudgingly raise my hands up in the air, and motion for Mary and Kitsune to do the same. The two follow my lead and raise their hands in the air too. A hand shoots out and pulls me roughly from the wagon. I land on the ground hard. I look up and see the front of a crossbow, and the point of a crossbow bolt pointed at me. Behind it the grinning face of a young man. With long dirty hair and what can only generously be called the wispy beginnings of a beard. He growls, “Just you try to cause trouble. I’d be more than happy to kill you and get the experience points.”
Great. Just what I need. Some stupid kid looking to get his first kill at my expense. I shake my head, pick myself up off the ground, and raise my hands above my head. The young man sniffs in disdain and motions for me to walk forward. As I do so, I also look around. In addition to the fighters I’ve already counted, I only now see that the goblin has stationed even more bowmen on high rocky cliffs above us. He wasn’t kidding when he said he could have killed us. I doubt even Mary could have avoided all the arrows this group would have fired.
I feel a boot on my back, and I stumble forward. I turn back and see the young man laughing as he motions with his crossbow for me to continue moving forward. I know he’s only looking for an excuse to shoot me and I turn forward and keep walking towards the goblin. When I get there, I see that Kitsune is already there and that her hands are being tied together in front of her. The woman we picked up on the road is tying a leather cord around Mary’s waist to prevent her from flying off. I look around but don’t see Vrax anywhere. Is it possible that he was able to sneak away and not get captured?
Before I can think about the possibility further, the goblin in dark leathers walks up to me and smiles, “Thank you for surrendering. I always hate to have to kill unnecessarily. You have to understand that us robbing you is not personal.”
Glancing back at the crossbow wielding youth, I say “It sure feels personal…err...what should I call you?”
“Oh, how impolite of me. I forgot to introduce myself.” The short goblin only comes up to my waist, but he manages to bow rather elegantly, “I am the brilliant bandit. The prince of purse cutting. The uncatchable thief. I am Rythys Spicyfingers.”
Focusing on the area above his head I see his name and level.
Rythys Spicyfingers, level 8
This little goblin is twice my level? I guess looks can be deceiving.
Already tired of this showy goblin, I ask, “Ok, Spicyfingers. What’s next? You just going to rob us and leave us in the middle of the mountains?”
The smile on the goblin’s face falters for a moment, “Oh, we’re not so cruel as all that. You’ll accompany us to our base, we’ll relieve you of all the items in both your wagon and inventories. Then we’ll drop you off near the main road where some other righteous person can pick you up.”
Confused, I ask, “Wait, you’re going to take us to your base? Aren’t you afraid of showing us where you live?”
Spicyfingers laughs and produces three burlap sacks.
Interlude 1
I’m walking into arcane studies building A, when a small hairy student rushes past me. I yell for him to slow down but he ignores me as he runs down the hall and into a classroom up ahead. I shake my head at his attitude. When I was his age, I would have given anything to attend classes on magic. Hells hoofs, I would have been happy having regular meals.
For a moment, my mind races back to the dirty slums of Rearden. I grew up in the filthiest part of that human city. My poor goblin mother had to raise my seven siblings and me all by herself near the sewers. We lived with all the other ‘monsters.’ I didn’t know that the humans meant it as a term of derision when I hear them call us that. I just that’s what we were. When I asked my momma about it later, she washed my mouth out with, well not soap. We couldn’t afford that, but something else terrible tasting. It didn’t understand what I’d done wrong until my older brother Faulkner explained that we weren’t monsters. That we were goblins and that humans call us monsters to justify why they should be allowed to hurt and kill us.
I shake my head and continue to walk towards room 120. Today is the first day of the semester, and I have to set up for the introduction to spellwriting course that I’m teaching. I reach room 120, only to find that the door is locked. I make a low, angry, growling sound and instinctively reach for a knife at my waist that is no longer there. I have to remember to push down the instincts from that other life. Stabbing someone will not solve this problem. Instead, I look around to make sure no one else is around. Confirming no one can see me, I slip an old set o
f lockpicks out of my [Inventory] and slid the appropriate tools into the door lock. It’s been awhile since I’ve done this. However, the skills come back to me, and soon I hear the distinctive click of the tumblers falling into place and the door is unlocked.
The click of that lock takes me back to the first time I picked a lock on a job. I was seven and had just graduated from being a lookout and runner for a group of street thieves. My older siblings had been pickpocketing and stealing food for years to help feed the family. However, I wanted more. I knew from an early age that I didn’t like sleeping in filth and not having food every day. So, when I was five, I joined a crew of thieves in my neighborhood. Well, they were less of a crew, and more a group of seven to ten year olds that would nick clothes, and occasionally break into homes when the owners were away. Still, they made more money than anyone in my family, so I joined them hoping to learn something. My brother Faulkner taught me how to use pieces of metal to open locked doors, and it was finally my chance to show the crew what I could do. After what seemed like an eternity at the time, I’d finally unlocked the back door to the baker's store when it was flung open, and a massive human grabbed me. The other boys took off of course, and I was left to take the beating from the baker, who happen to be working late that night. He might have beat me to death that night if my brother hadn’t shown up and stabbed the human. The boys in the crew had gotten him. Though, I almost wish they hadn’t since he was sent to work in the mines by the city for his crime. I never saw Faulkner again. He died of some lung disease in that mine.