by Jean Rabe
“Safer up higher,” he told himself. “Safer at Godshome.”
34
GODSHOME
It took more than a day to reach the top of the mountain. After a few hours, the rain had turned into a soothing drizzle, and the drizzle didn’t stop until long hours after that. At times groups of goblins rested because someone’s legs gave out. Direfang carried one of the smaller goblins who’d been reluctant to climb. The knee and ankle of her left leg were swollen, and the hobgoblin said he would ask the priest to mend her ailments once they were at the top.
Direfang kept a vigilant watch to the north, observing the volcanoes. One was still erupting. How could there possibly be any fire and melting rock left inside the earth? he wondered. In the far distance, at the very edge of his vision, he saw more glowing mountains. Six in all, he counted.
Certainly nothing could remain of Steel Town, and the ogre village was also gone, destroyed. Perhaps all the ogre villages in that northern part of the Khalkist range had been obliterated. Had Jelek been swallowed too?
So traveling north might have been no safer, Direfang mused. Just as many in his army-perhaps all in his army-would have died if he’d chosen that direction instead. It buoyed his spirits a little to think that heading toward the Plains of Dust might have been the wise course after all.
But climbing the mountain they were on …
Once Direfang reached the top, he was convinced Spikehollow was right. They should have walked around it instead.
It looked as though the top of the mountain had been smoothly hacked off by a sword-a wide rim surrounded a bowl-shaped depression. And at the bottom of the depression sat a pool of black rock, polished like a shiny mirror and reflecting all the constellations of the summer night sky.
Well, at least they were far enough from the Maws of Dragons and the rivers of fire that they were safe-safe from those dangers, at least. There’d be other dangers, of course.
It might not even be night, Direfang mused. The clouds were still so thick, the sun or moons could not be glimpsed through the gray dark. But if the sky could not be seen, how could the black mirror reflect all the stars back?
A shudder passed from the top of his head to his toes, as he stared at the star formations twinkling up from the mirror surface of the black rock. The goblins around him were silent, spent from the climb, hungry again, captivated and frightened by the sky as reflected in the mountaintop basin. Not one of his five hundred followers spoke a single word. It was as if they were collectively holding their breath. All Direfang heard was the low whistle of the wind and distant boom of one volcano, along with the quickened beating of his heart.
He looked around for Mudwort but didn’t see her standing on the rim. Could she have fallen somewhere along the trail and no one noticed? No, he spotted her climbing down into the basin, following a staircase made of circular stones similar to the unusual stones he’d noticed at the base of the mountain. Someone, some folk, had marked the trail and that spot long ago. He watched her pick her way down, the path arduous because the steps had been made for someone with much longer legs.
No one followed her, though most watched her. When she reached the bottom, she looked up and locked eyes with Direfang, her gaze lingering on him before moving on to the wizard. She stared at the spellcasting knight for a long moment before turning back to the basin and stepping out onto the black stone polished like a mirror.
She padded out onto the center of the mirrored basin, the stars seeming to dance all around her.
After many minutes of moving around and exploring, Mudwort sat down in the constellation of Morgion, not for any particular reason other than the star pattern looked pretty and was near the exact center of the basin. She didn’t know what Morgion was the god of, and she had no desire to learn. She only knew a little about some of the gods and was not aware that all of them had constellations named for them. Indeed, if Mudwort had known in advance that the place was called Godshome, she would have resisted the tug that brought her there.
She had no regard for the gods, practically held them in contempt for ignoring and oppressing her race. Worse, while ignoring goblins and hobgoblins, the gods had bolstered the other races of Krynn-the Dark Knights who enslaved and tyrannized the goblins, the ogres and minotaurs who caught and sold them, the draconians and centaurs who looked upon them as rats to be eaten or bugs to be stepped on and pushed aside.
In short, the gods had conspired against the goblins, creatures they themselves supposedly had created.
“Mudwort does not need the gods, and the gods do not need Mudwort,” she murmured to herself. “Yesterday heard the skull man call this place Godshome. But no god lives here now, I think. And only one goblin sits in the stars. One goblin uses the magic in this place.” She thumped her chest and thrust out her chin. “Only one goblin is with the stars.”
Mudwort had heard and smelled the magic of that place back in the ogre village when she touched hands with Moon-eye and scried into the ground. That place tugged at her senses, teasing her with images of the basin and the stars that glittered always, even during the daytime. It had been too powerful of a lure for her to resist, so she’d urged Direfang to follow her and bring his diminishing army.
Moon-eye had marveled at the vision of Godshome too, asking her what “it” was. She’d told him she didn’t know because, in truth, she hadn’t, not at that moment.
But she knew that the place possessed power.
She was there selfishly, not to help Direfang or the rest of the refugee slaves, but only to sate her own curiosity. She’d never seen or dreamed of such a place, and when it called to her as she sat and spoke to the earth in that ogre village, she knew she had to answer its call. Mudwort wanted the others there merely for company and safety, realizing the security the army gave her. After the goblins and hobgoblins had slaughtered the once-feared ogres so quickly, she knew the army was good protection, even in their dwindling numbers.
If she’d come there alone, it might have been too dangerous. One goblin alone might not stand up to the power of that place.
Mudwort stared into the black surface, seeing her face reflected and haloed by stars. There, she was not an ugly rat. There, she was beautiful, her eyes gleaming and wide. Above all, there she felt strength and power. There was mysterious energy in the shiny dark surface of the basin-not the kind that led to earthquakes or volcano eruptions, but old, old energy of the sort present when the world was born.
Her heart racing, Mudwort placed her hands flat against the mirror black rock and let her senses flow into it.
The surface was at the same time icy cold and scalding hot, the wildly extreme temperatures constantly alternating and making her feel dizzy. She wanted to recoil from the sensation. She’d already suffered so much in the past handful of days. She did not want to sustain any more pain. And yet she forced herself to remain calm. The surface did not hurt her anywhere else except on the palms of her hands-not on her legs, which were stretched out wide, nor her heels, nor anywhere else on her body. Only her hands and fingers felt the violent shifts in extreme temperatures.
Perhaps it meant something, the temperature changes, Mudwort reflected, leaning forward and holding her face near the surface of the black mirrored stone. Perhaps the earth spoke there in a way that was new to her. Maybe the shifts in hot and cold were some sort of old language. So she accepted the agony of the wild-ranging heat and cold, gritting her teeth and trying hard not to cry out. She focused intently on the glittering surface of the rock, trying to push her senses beneath the ground. She was focusing so hard, she didn’t notice Moon-eye and Graytoes approach.
Other goblins, too, had wended their way down the stone steps, and the three Dark Knights as well, but only Moon-eye and a reluctant Graytoes had actually breached the surface of the basin, gingerly moving toward Mudwort.
“Moon-eye’s Heart will be safe here,” the one-eyed goblin whispered to Graytoes. “Moon-eye and Mudwort saw this place when looking int
o the dirt at the ogre village. Didn’t know what it was then, only that it was interesting. Don’t know what it is now. But still, interesting.” Moon-eye tugged his mate down next to him, sitting across from Mudwort, who only then looked up and registered their presence.
“Saw this place in the ogre village,” Moon-eye repeated.
Mudwort nodded. Her hands trembled, so affected were they by the intense heat and cold. She wanted to pull them free, but she found she couldn’t. It was as if the palms of her hands had fused to the glossy surface. She opened her mouth to plead to the goblin couple for help, but no sound emerged.
Moon-eye laid his hands opposite hers, fingers touching as they had under the earth in the ogre village. He threw back his head, as if to howl in pain, but he couldn’t make any sound either.
After a moment more, the hot and cold vanished. They felt nothing against their hands.
The stone beneath their skin was smooth and the same temperature as the rest of their bodies or the air. All traces of the pain they had felt were also banished. Mudwort looked both relieved and disappointed. There had been magic deep in the stone and inside the pain, and it was gone!
“Together, like in the village?” Moon-eye looked quizzically at her then nudged her fingers when she didn’t answer. “Like before? Please. Use the magic together.”
Mudwort glanced up, noting the goblins and hobgoblins keeping their distance on the steps. Direfang was still at the top, on the rim of the mountain. The Dark Knight called Kenosh was halfway down the steps and holding fast to a stone post that looked carved, not natural. The Dark Knight wizard and the skull man were at the edge of the basin, both staring, trying to decide but not yet stepping in her direction.
“Maybe the skull man and the wizard need permission,” said Moon-eye, noticing that Mudwort was watching the Dark Knights. “Slaves now, the skull man and the wizard must do as Direfang wants.”
Then Mudwort looked back at him, locking eyes with Moon-eye. “Together,” the red-skinned goblin finally said. “See what is beneath this rock, what is in it, and what it is about.”
Moon-eye gave her a lopsided grin as Graytoes wrapped her hands around her mate’s arm, cradling close, staring at Mudwort. “Careful,” Graytoes mouthed to Mudwort. “Be careful with Graytoes’ Heart.”
Mudwort felt the stone tingle beneath her, so faint it could almost have been her tired mind playing tricks. It was different than the precursor trembling of the earthquakes or the volcanoes erupting. There was no anger in the sensation that she could detect. But there was a peculiar rhythm to the tingling, like a pulse or someone inhaling and exhaling. The air stirred as if the very basin were breathing deeply. She’d not noticed a breeze before, not down there in the hollow.
Words … there were words flowing in the air. Mudwort couldn’t understand the strange words, could hardly hear them, but they were there all the same. The susurrus drew her senses down to the shiny black stone and up to the stars.
Moon-eye flew with her.
In their minds’ eyes, they looked down from the summit of the mountain, seeing a half dozen volcanoes still glowing to the north, all with ribbons of lava streaming from them. Two continued to erupt, the rivers of fire wide and threatening and filling the valley between spines in the Khalkists. Concentrating their effort, they looked farther to the north, to the place that used to be Steel Town. Only the mountain where they’d once mined ore could be recognized as a familiar landmark. The rest was devastation. They saw not a single stone or man from the camp. The ground was covered by dried magma, a sheet of wrinkled, bubbled blackness. Farther north and to the west, the wasted land stretched. Roads once used by many merchants and the Dark Knights were gone.
To the east stretched more destruction. Hardened lava flows covered scrubland and most of a once-busy merchant route. Horses had been caught in the lava flow, and men too, making strange trapped figures. Mudwort imagined that they’d died fast and horribly, as had so very, very many goblins.
“Lost too many goblins,” Mudwort muttered. “Lost not enough men.”
“Too many goblins,” Moon-eye agreed, sharing her opinion. “Left with a small army now.”
Mudwort looked to the south. “Direfang wants to go to the Plains of Dust, wherever that is. Together look there.”
“Plains of Dust,” Moon-eye said, having learned its name. He squeezed his good eye shut and drew his features together tightly. “See the Plains of Dust. Together.”
The air around them stirred again, stronger, bringing more words that none of the three goblins in the center of the mirrored basin could understand. The breeze blew warmer, though not uncomfortably so, and the floor of the basin tingled with a more pronounced rhythm. Other sounds could be heard behind them, goblins and hobgoblins chattering, some curiously and nervously edging down and out onto the basin.
Grallik watched with fascination. He looked up at Direfang, hoping for permission to approach the red-skinned goblin, but the hobgoblin was too far away and not paying any attention to him. The wizard took a deep breath and stepped forward.
35
STONETELLING
Mudwort said there is magic in Moon-eye,” Graytoes said, encouraging her mate, alternately looking at him, the goblins venturing closer, and the reflected stars in the mirrored basin. “Use that magic, Moon-eye. See the Plains of Dust.”
The landscape Mudwort and Moon-eye looked down upon evanesced, and in its place the Khalkist Mountains rose into view. They flew above the highest peaks, whizzing so fast to the south that the range became a blur of grays and browns.
Graytoes gasped. In the gap between Moon-eye and Mudwort, the field of stars shimmered and revealed the mountains. Graytoes squeezed Moon-eye’s arm proudly.
The mountains whisked by and gave way to swampland, a riot of greens the likes of which none of the goblins hovering around them had ever seen. Millions of lizards, practically invisible with protective coloration, darted from under spreading ferns. Vines dotted with large red and purple blooms hung from thick forests of trees as tall as hills. There was water everywhere, most of it covered with a green film and hazes of insects. Mudwort could practically taste the brackishness and smell the loamy sod of the place.
Farther south their vision journeyed, finding a wide game trail that led through the heart of the swamp and past the ruins of a thatch village. Numerous parrots with bright plumage lined the tree branches there, taking flight when the snakes and monkeys came too close. Crocodiles and pangolin lined the banks of rivers. Everywhere insects clouded.
The buzz of goblin talk was drowned out in the ears of Mudwort and Moon-eye by the buzzing of the insect swarms and the growls of hidden creatures not reflected in the basin. They flew farther south, and the jungle finally thinned into a lush, green plain that stretched toward distant hills and woods.
“Said Moon-eye had magic, see? Mudwort was right. Moon-eye is magic.” Graytoes beamed with pride at her mate, then switched her gaze to Mudwort and again mouthed, “Be careful.”
Mudwort stared at the images reflected in the black stone, searching for people and creatures that could do harm to goblins. If that was where Direfang wanted to go, she wanted to make sure they weren’t being led into a place as misery-wrought as Neraka and Steel Town had been. She and Moon-eye spiraled upward, observing more of the land from a higher vantage point. There were villages and bands of centaurs and trails wide enough to accommodate wagons.
So there was plenty of land in the Plains of Dust, but it was not a vacant place. The two scrying goblins continued to spiral outward, searching, searching. Moon-eye somehow knew that Mudwort was looking for other goblins. Eventually they located a small band, hunting hares in a copse of birch trees. Later, they discovered a lone goblin hiding out for some purpose at the base of a big black willow.
“Always goblins are hunted,” Moon-eye said.
The goblins around them nodded in agreement.
“Direfang says no more,” Mudwort returned sharply. “Hurbea
r and Direfang, and later Saro-Saro, too, talked about a nation of goblins in the Plains of Dust. Said there was plenty of room for goblins there. There is room and food and water.”
“Room for a nation.” Direfang had finally come down into the basin and joined them, standing close behind the three goblins, gingerly shifting his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet as if the surface were glass and he might crash through. He stood directly behind Mudwort, staring over her and at the images reflected between her and Moon-eye.
Only one spectator stared at something else. Grallik’s gaze was fixed on the red-skinned goblin’s twitching fingers and on Moon-eye’s, where the two goblins touched hands. Together, they had cast some remarkable spell or managed to work some enchantment that neither could accomplish alone.
“How is that possible?” Grallik breathed.
No one answered his question; few heard. They were all staring at the vision in the basin, which was shifting again.
“Where look?” Moon-eye understood that Mudwort was not content with exploring only the Plains of Dust and had moved on.
Mudwort shrugged, not answering at first. “Elsewhere,” she said finally. “Look elsewhere until sleep calls.”
So, together, they worked the magic of Godshome for hours, discovering remote places of Krynn that likely held no predators for goblins but likewise offered nothing to entice them to settle there. They visited Icewall and lingered to scrutinize the strange walrus people with spears. They looked far, far north where deserts were so white they looked snow-covered and where blue dragons hunted and laired. They crossed a sea and spotted islands far too populated with humans and minotaurs, and they witnessed incredible, tall-masted ships manned by men as dark skinned as the priest.