by SJB Gilmour
Mel shrugged. ‘I was dying,’ she recalled. ‘It hurt, I remember that much. Then Apollo took me to Mount Olympos.’
‘Really?’ Jerrit seemed sceptical. ‘I was told you never left the hospital.’
‘My body stayed there,’ Mel explained. ‘I could see myself. Apollo told me that I did actually die, and since He couldn’t take the silver out of me, He had to change me so that the silver wasn’t poisonous any more.’
She looked at the veins in the back of her hand. They did not appear to be any different. She shrugged and got up off the couch and walked to Jerrit’s desk. Like every other desk she had ever seen, this one had a pencil holder stuffed with chewed pens and pencils. She tipped it out onto the desk.
‘What are you doing?’ Jerrit asked her, tilting his head sideways.
‘Sarah should be here for this,’ Mel muttered as she rummaged through the mess on the table. There were pen lids, paperclips, a rubber band, and a tarnished coin. There were also a number of pins and grey, inky wads of lint and dust. She picked up a pin and grinned at the confused goblin monarch.
‘Guess there’s one way to find out what’s in my veins,’ she said casually and then deliberately stabbed the pin deep into the fleshy part of the side of her palm. She grimaced in pain as she withdrew the pin. A large drop of blood oozed out of the hole she had made in her hand. A shiver ran through her as she stared at the blood. It was not red, but black.
‘Oh, bugger,’ she muttered as the blood ran down the side of her hand and began dripping onto the stone floor.
‘Are you alright?’ Jerrit asked her intently. He took Mel’s hand in his claw and examined it carefully. ‘‘Tis but a scratch,’ he said, relieved. ‘Odd colour for a human though. Quite a mystery. I wonder if this shade of your blood is related to your teeth and nails?’
Mel rubbed her hand and muttered ‘Santicularus.’ Her hand suddenly itched dreadfully as the wound healed over. She rubbed it for a moment then looked up at Jerrit. ‘That Babylonian thing mentioned some bloke called the Smith of Ages. Who is he?’
‘Why, he is your opposite, Mistress,’ Jerrit replied calmly. ‘You are the one who will return our moon to us. The Smith of Ages is the one who took it away. He should also be more able to explain just how a moon would clear the silver from our lands and waters.’
‘Stop being so mysterious!’ Mel retorted impatiently. ‘Who the hell is this guy? What the hell is going on here?’
Jerrit took her teenage temper quite calmly and kept smiling gently. ‘That’s all I can really tell you about him,’ he told her. He paused for a moment. ‘He is old,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘His memory wanders sometimes and he’s prone to crankiness—’
Melanie was getting angrier. Oliver Cromwell Senior had been infuriating, but he was crazy. She did not expect the ruler of Jilde to be so annoying.
Before she could explode, Jerrit continued. ‘You’ll just have to meet him,’ he said in a much simpler tone. He then turned and marched out of his study. Mel stared after the most powerful goblin in the universe. At least he didn’t know about her ability to see through things yet, she thought to herself as she hurried to follow him.
Chapter Nine
Instead of all the finery that Mel could wear, she chose instead to wear what she was most comfortable in — black jeans or cargo pants, combat boots, a black t-shirt and black leather motorcycle jacket. This seemed to cause no end of frustration for the goblin attendants assigned to see to her comfort. The two rooms full of clothes in her suite went completely ignored in favour of her normal clothes. Another thing which really upset the goblins was that she also made sure she was always armed. For her eleventh birthday, her father had given her a ceremonial blade for use in necromantic rites. Out of habit, she had kept it in her jacket. Until recently, she had rarely thought about it and almost never took it out of its sheath. Now that it was the only weapon she had, she thought about it a lot more frequently.
‘Rule number one,’ Angela had told her. ‘Always carry a knife.’ This was one rule Mel was quite happy to follow.
As she rushed to keep up with Jerrit, the Imperial staff of the palace and all the various dignitaries she passed, all stared in consternation at this strangely-dressed human girl. If Jerrit was concerned by her appearance though, he kept it to himself. Mel herself wasn’t really worried about what these goblins thought of her at that moment however. This Smith of Ages character knew how to make The Star of Planes work. All she had to do was read his mind the way Sarah did and she’d be able to leave this stinking planet!
Jerrit led Mel through the palace halls and down through the staff rooms and kitchens until they arrived at the cellars. ‘He likes being underground,’ Jerrit apologised over his shoulder. He pressed on through the cellars and down even further through more corridors and long tunnels. Eventually they came to where the corridor forked off into two directions.
One corridor was neat and well-cared for. It looked clean and seemed as though it would lead off to somewhere important. At its end, Mel could see two armed guardslins standing in front of a large wooden door which was banded and studded with iron and brass. These guardslins’ armour was not the same as the Imperial uniform. Mel looked at Jerrit curiously.
‘Nunjuxu,’ he replied with a nod.
‘Wait… I thought the nunjuxu were part of the Imperial—’
Jerrit shook his head. ‘Strictly Moon Cult.’ He shrugged. ‘After all, without real deities to pray to, very little revenue makes its way into the Cult’s coffers. The nunjuxu answer to the Cult, and the Cult hire them out to the highest bidder.’
‘Wasn’t Guntex a nunjuxu?’
Jerrit nodded. ‘That’s what got him into so much trouble, Mistress. His religious and political leanings got him thrown out of The Imperial Guard, so he joined the nunjuxu. He didn’t last long there either. Too undisciplined. In the end, I was forced to send Jax and some others to arrest him.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Messy. Very messy.’
Mel looked down each corridor in turn. While the first was neat, the other corridor was dusty and cobwebbed and seemed as if it got very little use. Mel went to walk down the nicer-looking corridor towards the nunjuxu guardslins.
‘Not that way, Mistress,’ Jerrit advised.
Mel looked at him curiously.
‘That leads down to Exlam. That’s why it’s guarded by nunjuxu.’
‘Exlam?’
‘The Hall of The Dead,’ Jerrit explained, leading her down the dusty tunnel. ‘One of the oldest temples on Jilde. Legend says it was built by Oxae Himself, our old god of war.’ He shrugged. ‘That was before He disappeared, of course… Before the apocalypse.’
‘Apocalypse?’
Jerrit smiled sadly. ‘I know what the word means in English, Mistress. Here, it just translates to a cataclysmic event. The palace above us was destroyed. In fact, a whole section of the city just disappeared. All that’s left is a crater.’
Mel nodded. ‘Jax showed me when I first came here. It’s just a toxic lake now.’
Jerrit smiled sadly. ‘Yes. It was first built more than nine thousand years ago — long before I was born. It was small back then. There were only a few dozen heroes in there. Then everything changed. The apocalypse, or whatever it was, happened. It was around that time that most experts agree that our gods abandoned us. It was also when our moon disappeared.’ He waved a claw in the direction of the sacred tombs. ‘Anyway, Exlam survived. Some say it was thanks to the dying efforts of Oxae as He tried to protect it from the destruction. Some say it was just because it is so far underground. Whatever the case, it’s old and it’s sacred. Some of the goblins in there were resting there while most mortal humans were still living in caves. It’s where our fallen heroes are interred in state. Not even I’m allowed down there without good reason.’
Mel was surprised. ‘Good reason?’
Jerrit chuckled. ‘To gain entry, first you have to be considered a hero.’
‘And second?’
‘You have to be dead, or a priest, and even then, The Moon Cult won’t let just any priest in. There are all sorts of ceremonies involved.’
‘Wait, you’re not considered a hero?’ Mel was surprised. ‘And don’t you outrank the church?’
Jerrit merely chuckled. ‘I suppose I do outrank them, but if an emperor wants to stay on the throne, it’s wise not to upset the church, as you call it. Marching into Exlam without a valid reason is sacrilege — the kind of sacrilege that gets people crucified. As for me being a hero? Well, I’m an emperor certainly. Some consider me a conqueror too. Hero? Hardly. I leave fighting to soldiers and goblins far braver than I. Stupider perhaps, but certainly braver…’ He paused as a thought came to him. ‘They might let you in though, given that the Moon Cult knows you’re here and why. They might consider you to have some religious significance.’ He shrugged the matter aside and nodded at her to continue walking. ‘Come. We’re nearly there.’
They walked for a little while longer in silence until the corridor turned a corner and led to what Mel could tell was an enormous cave. At the end of a corridor, they met a crotchety female goblin smith, pottering about at a small steam-powered engine on a workbench. She didn’t look up at Jerrit as he approached. She simply waved a spanner at him.
‘Do you know how long it’s going to take me to fix this thing?’ she demanded. ‘Why don’t you take it back to Earth where you bought it and get a new one?’
Jerrit gave Mel an apologetic look. ‘One of The Smith of Ages’ students. Sort of a secretary or personal assistant.’
The goblin made a rude sound. ‘I’ll assist you outta here,’ she muttered, still tinkering with the engine.
Mel glanced at the machine. Out of pure mischief, she reached out and opened a valve that had been in the closed position. The machine spluttered and hissed and the piston began to pump energetically.
The goblin gave a startled squawk and leapt back in surprise. Finally she looked up at Jerrit and Mel. ‘Who are you?’
‘Vickix, this is Melanie. Mel, this is Vickix Axis, Assistant to The Smith of Ages,’ Jerrit said over the noise of the machine. He gestured politely to Mel.
Vickix gaped at him for a moment then hurried to turn off the noisy machine. Once everyone could hear again, she frowned at Jerrit.
‘You can’t see him. He’s too busy.’
Jerrit didn’t seem so sure. ‘Indeed? Is that why he has you out here in the hall instead of in the workshop?’ He waved some of the steam and smoke from the machine away from his face. ‘You do know I’m Emperor here, don’t you? I’m pretty sure I can see anyone, any time I choose.’ He began to approach the door at the end of the corridor.
Vickix scrambled out to stand in his way. Before Jerrit had time to react, Mel waved her hand at the annoying smith.
‘Ichtumblat!’ she commanded, using the Magaeic spell for “take it over there!” Instantly, Vickix was several metres back down the corridor.
Jerrit grinned at Mel. ‘You’re quite handy to have around. Tell me, do all you humans have such impatience with bureaucrats?’ He held the door open for her.
Vickix howled several profanities and began scrambling after them. Mel shook her head and grinned wickedly. She waved at the furious goblin again.
‘Stickum!’ she commanded and this time, Vickix’s feet were suddenly stuck fast to the floor.
Chuckling at Mel’s impudence, Jerrit led her into the cave. The cave was simply furnished with a small cot and bedside table. Several large workbenches were scattered about and were all heavily laden with all kinds of strange tools, scrolls, diagrams and all sorts of junk. At the far end was a furnace and a forge and various other smithing equipment. The only light in the room was what came through the doorway.
Melanie was quite glad to be so far underground herself. At least it was dark down there. When she shut her eyes, she could still see quite clearly, but she wasn’t about to let anyone else know that.
‘As I said, Mistress,’ Jerrit said to her. ‘He likes being underground, and this is about as underground as we can get.’
‘Who does?’ Mel asked, even though behind one of the benches, she could make out clearly the crouched form of a small wiry male goblin. The figure froze as soon as it heard them enter the room.
‘I do!’ a harsh voice rasped. The voice came from the huddled figure behind the bench. He shambled out, revealing himself as an incredibly old goblin. His wrinkled skin was so tanned it was almost black. He wore simple leather breeches and jerkin. Over that, he had a large leather apron that bore the marks of years of working with hot metal. He wore a black blindfold across his face that almost hid his empty eye sockets.
The old goblin shuffled towards Mel and Jerrit. ‘You took your time,’ he accused Mel gruffly. He turned to face Jerrit and made shooing gestures. ‘Go on,’ he ordered the ruler of Jilde as though he was no more than an errant child. ‘You’ve delivered her, so you can get back to playing king. Go on, get out. And give Vickix something more to do or she’ll be in here again getting under my feet as usual.’
Mel gaped at him, feeling shocked and disappointed. How was she going to read his mind now that she couldn’t establish a link between her eyes and his? He didn’t have any eyes! She was also surprised that he was even more abrasive than Vickix.
‘Of course I don’t have any eyes!’ the goblin snapped at her, tapping his head. ‘Nobody but nobody is gonna sink their mind into mine without my say-so. Go on,’ he challenged, ‘try to read my mind!’
Mel did just that but found the old goblin’s mind even more well-protected than Cromwell’s had been. She frowned. To cover her frustration, she turned to Jerrit.
‘This is the Smith of Ages?’ she asked sceptically. ‘What makes this shabby old fart so important?’
‘Don’t worry, Master Smith,’ Jerrit told the cantankerous old goblin. He ignored Mel’s indignant outburst calmly. ‘I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.’
‘I don’t have any hair,’ the goblin snapped rudely.
Jerrit smiled apologetically to Mel. ‘As I said, Mistress, he’s prone to crankiness.’ He turned to the old goblin. ‘We’ve just discovered something rather unusual,’ he went on smoothly. ‘It seems this young human has black blood.’
The Smith of Ages snorted. ‘That’s because she’s no longer human, you dolt.’
Mel was startled. She knew she had been less than polite to Jerrit at times, but she’d never been outright insulting like this. This goblin was either suicidal or more powerful than Jerrit himself. As for his claim that she was no longer human, she certainly felt human, despite the changes that were happening to her.
‘How many humans have silver in their blood instead of iron?’ The old goblin reached out and grabbed Mel’s freshly-healed hand with one claw. His grip was very strong for such an old goblin and his talons were very sharp. He turned her hand over, palm up. Though he had no eyes, he bent his head as if he was examining her hand. After a moment when he had obviously seen whatever it was that he had been looking for, he looked back up to Jerrit.
‘She’s turned into some kind of monster. Look at her! Silver nails, silver teeth… Fangs! Even her hair’s got silver in it!’ The goblin shook Mel’s hand violently. ‘You think of silver as pollution,’ he accused. He straightened and cocked his head for a moment and began reciting in a low, bored monotone, a lecture that sounded as though he’d given many, many times.
‘The relationship between silver and light is well-established,’ he droned. ‘Once silver comes in contact with an enchanted creature, it wakes up. Direct light like sunlight causes it to sleep again, but reflected light like moonlight re-awakens it.’ He paused for breath. ‘And of course,’ he went on, ‘there’s always a catch. You can’t just assemble a massive mirror. The reflective source must also be enchanted. Mere ambient light reflected off buildings, the ground and walls will not suffice, but I digress… Like so many other elements in the universe, silver will automatically seek out that wh
ich it finds attractive. If the source of the reflected light is stronger than the enchanted creature or object it’s in, the awakened silver will travel up along the reverse path of that beam of reflected light to its source. The catch is that the source of the original light must be extremely powerful. Mere torchlight, no matter how big the flame won’t do. Only the reflected light emitted by a source as powerful as a sun has the strength to draw silver towards its reflection.’
He shook off his bored expression. He turned Mel’s hand over and tapped her palm with long sharp claw. ‘To this one,’ and he shook Mel’s hand at Jerrit so harshly that she thought her arm was about to pulled from its socket, ‘it’s now an essential mineral. For others, it’s a poison that’s activated by the power of the enchanted blood it infects. The only way to get it out of the system is to offer it a more inviting place to stay and provide it the means of getting there. That’s why without a moon, we’re stuck with the stuff here.’
‘I understand that much,’ Jerrit said patiently. ‘But how will a moon take the silver away? The land isn’t enchanted, is it?’
Jeff snorted. ‘The land isn’t you dolt. Goblins are. Everything we eat drink, breathe and touch has silver in it and so we do too. If we go outside in the moonlight, the silver in us will leech out and filter up to the moon. Every breath we take in moonlight will breathe new life back into Jilde.’ He shrugged. ‘It’ll take a while to be sure. Probably hundreds, if not thousands of years, but sure enough, if we had a moon, Jilde would be free of the silver choking the planet.’
‘That long?’ Jerrit seemed disappointed.
Jeff made a face. ‘Well, we could probably create enchanted coffers of some sort to put silver into, which would keep it active... I don’t think that’s ever been tried before.’
After a pause, he shook Mel’s hand again and returned to the original subject. ‘Moonlight! Without moonlight, there’s no cure to silver poisoning. If there’s no moonlight, it stays in the body.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s ironic that the more enchanted power an individual has, the more vulnerable to silver they are. Some of the weaker sorcerers, those with more mortal blood than enchanted, are almost immune to the hideous stuff.’ He shuddered. ‘Would you believe some of them even wear it as jewellery? They put holes in their ears and dangle the stuff beside their heads!’