by Jim C. Hines
Squirming was only frightening the spider more. Jig clenched his fists and forced himself to hold still. The spider scurried up his neck. Jig's eyes teared as the spider burrowed into his tangled hair. There, at last, it began to cool.
"Ha!" Ropak shouted. "Throw it back, Jig. We're gonna see what happens when you toss a fire-spider in the privy!"
Jig's eyes darted down to the muck pot, and the long spoon sticking out of the top. His own little muck catapult.
"Uh oh, I think he's mad." Ropak laughed and tested the tips of his fangs. "What are you going to do, Jig? Are you a warrior or a runt?"
Jig sighed and picked up the pot. Who was he kidding? Fighting Ropak was a good way to get himself tossed into the privy.
He had only gone a few steps when a voice like cracking rock exploded through the lair. "Ropak! What have you done with my fire-spider?"
Every goblin found something else to do as a wooden half-door on the far side of the cavern swung inward and Golaka stomped through. "Chief's having rat flambé tonight, and he wants his fire-spider eggs!"
Jig casually ran one hand through his hair, palming the fire-spider. White egg sacs hung from the spider's legs. This must be a male, then. Once the females laid their eggs, the males carried the sacs away, scattering fire-spiders throughout the mountain. The males were less aggressive, but they burned hotter than the females.
Everyone else was staring at Ropak and Golaka. Jig loosened his belt pouch and stuffed the spider inside, beneath the dried bat wings he had swiped from yesterday's lunch.
"That was the chief's spider?" Ropak said.
Goblin clan leadership was loosely hereditary: whoever killed the chief inherited the leadership. As a result, the chief was usually the biggest, nastiest goblin of his generation, and angering him was about as wise as drinking raw muck.
Angering Golaka was worse. She was big enough to be part ogre, and she had cracked more than one skull with her huge wooden stirring spoon. She waved that spoon at Ropak as she advanced.
Ropak swallowed and pointed at Jig. "The runt has it! Kill him!"
Jig shrugged and did his best to look innocent. "Ropak threw it at me, and then it ran away." In a flash of inspiration, he pointed to the crack in the cavern wall that led to the surface. "Toward cloudling territory."
"You lie!" Ropak whirled toward Jig, and then Golaka's spoon smacked into his neck. He fell, whimpering in pain.
"Damn cloudlings, sending their birds to steal everything that's not tied down," Golaka muttered. Her yellow eyes narrowed. "Bird-loving freaks are worse than humans."
She grabbed both of Ropak's pointed ears in one hand and yanked him to his feet. "If they're going to take my fire-spider, you're going to take something from them. I want one of their birds. A big one. I'll roast it for the chief tomorrow."
"But—"
"If I don't get a bird, I'll serve him something else. Like goblin."
Jig folded his arms, trying not to smirk. That would be the last time Ropak threw anything at him. Actually, given what Jig knew about cloudlings, today would probably be the last time Ropak did anything at all. Served him right.
"So get going!" Golaka roared. "Both of you."
Jig's ears perked up. "Both...?"
Golaka's lower fangs nearly touched her eyes as she smiled. "You're the one who let my spider get away." She pointed her spoon toward the crack. "Come back without that bird and I'll use your guts for sausage casings."
* * *
Yellow-green lantern light glinted against the smooth obsidian walls as Jig followed Ropak up the tunnel. After a while, Ropak signaled Jig to wait. Jig ducked, and Ropak's "signal" whistled over the tips of Jig's ears. Chuckling, Ropak adjusted his grip on his long, nail-studded club. "The only thing I can't figure out," he said slowly, "is whether to kill you before I get that bird, or after."
Jig's only weapon was a kitchen knife he had swiped a few months back. Golaka would have baked him alive for the theft if the knife hadn't been in such lousy shape. The metal was pitted with rust, and Jig had to squeeze the handle to keep the blade from wobbling. If he stabbed Ropak, the blade would probably break before Ropak's skin did.
"After would be good," Jig muttered.
A pale blue snake, barely the length of Jig's hand, darted past. Seconds later, the fluttering of wings made Jig jump. A large bird launched itself from the shadows near the ceiling, caught the snake in its claws, and disappeared back up the tunnel. Ropak's club drew sparks as the nails scraped against the rock.
"I'd love to get my hands on one of those cloudlings," Ropak grumbled. "Barging into our territory, driving us back like they own the place." Something squished beneath his feet, and he groaned. "Soiling our tunnels."
Jig stopped moving.
"What are you doing, runt?"
"Look."
Ahead, birds of various sizes covered the floor. From time to time, one would flap its wings and launch itself at an unseen insect or grub.
Jig squatted on his heels and shuttered the muck lantern. Light dimmed to cracks. In the near-total darkness, the birds appeared only as small, rustling shapes.
"What's the matter, Jig? Afraid of the birds?" Ropak pushed Jig forward, and feathers exploded as the birds flew out of the way. "Scared the cloudlings are going to get you?"
"They say cloudlings can steal your mind. That they're stronger than hobgoblins and meaner than dragons. That—"
Ropak cuffed him. "What's the matter with you, runt? We're goblins! We eat hobgoblins for dinner, and we laugh at tales of dragons."
Right, thought Jig, rubbing his skull. We laugh because we know no self-respecting dragon would waste his time on mere goblins. And the only hobgoblins we eat are the old and the sick, the ones the other hobgoblins chase out of their homes to die. Did Ropak actually believe the nonsense he was spouting? Maybe, he conceded. Maybe Ropak wasn't bright enough to be scared.
If that was the case, then Jig was bright enough for both of them. He shivered as they moved closer. The birds lifted their heads to watch, their round eyes shining like black jewels.
Jig had never seen a living bird before, only the corpses brought back by hunters, back before the cloudlings came. The rustling of all those feathers made his skin crawl. Birds didn't belong here. They were surface creatures, alien and unknown. Their claws scraped against the rock, and their beaks clicked as they ate. Strange chirps and coos filled the air.
The tunnel smelled musty, and the air moved slightly, carrying the cold, sharp scent of trees and green plants. They were closer to the open air than Jig liked.
They crept onward. The birds flew away as they approached. Ropak threw a rock at a brown bird with a hook-like beak, but it missed. "Makes me hungry," Ropak said. "You bring anything to eat?" He grabbed Jig's shoulder and spun him around. "What's in the pouch?"
"Bat wings," Jig said. He unknotted the ties and reached for one of the wings. The fire-spider squirmed at the bottom. Jig's fingers brushed something sticky.
Strings of spider web covered the wing. Jig turned and wiped them on his other hand, hoping Ropak hadn't seen. "Here you go."
Why hadn't Jig just given the spider back to Golaka? Well, aside from the fact that Golaka might have killed Jig anyway, out of spite. But why bother to protect a spider? Even now, he found himself retying the pouch in a tight double-knot so Ropak wouldn't find out. Of course, if Ropak had proof that Jig had gotten them into this, he would slice Jig into bite-sized pieces and feed him to the birds. But it was something more. Did Jig actually feel sorry for the little thing?
He glanced at his hand. Small egg sacs hung in the midst of the gossamer tangle. As Ropak ate Jig's bat wing, Jig used his knife to scrape the web from his hand, then carefully wiped the blade on the inside of the pouch. The fire-spider climbed up to reclaim its eggs.
"Quiet, runt," Ropak whispered, despite the fact that Jig hadn't said anything. Ropak pointed.
Farther on, the tunnel widened and split in two directions. The right tunnel
led to the surface. The left dipped downward, toward a shallow cavern with a small spring at the rear. Jig had been there only twice before, collecting ice during winter.
Two cloudlings stood at the split, surrounded by birds. An oil-burning lantern sat on the ground between them, its flame an alien shade of orange.
"These are what killed three hunting parties?" Ropak whispered in disbelief.
The cloudlings were taller than the average goblin; the tips of Jig's ears would come to just beneath their noses. They could have passed for skinny, exotically dressed humans. Both were garbed entirely in feathers. The one on the left wore trousers of black raven feathers, with a blue and white shirt that extended past his fingers. The other wore a simple gown of shimmering green, with a downy white trim at the cuffs and collar. Her hair was green as well. Their eyes were black and round as pearls. They were both barefoot.
Ropak clutched his club in both hands. "I'll kill the male, you kill the female. Golaka can prepare an entire cloudling buffet tonight."
"Ropak, we're only supposed to get a bird, not—" It was too late.
Jig had to admit, Ropak was an imposing sight. Dumber than fungus, but imposing. Club raised high, Ropak charged the two cloudlings. It would have been enough to make Jig cringe and run away.
The cloudlings did neither. They didn't look up at all. They continued to chat as Ropak drew near. Then the man slipped one hand behind his back, drew a tiny crossbow, and squeezed the trigger, all without taking his eyes off the other cloudling.
The dart buzzed into Ropak's cheek. He growled and plucked it out, took three more steps, and fell flat on his face.
Only now did the cloudlings glance up from their conversation. Jig swallowed and backed away. Not only were the cloudlings watching him, but every single bird had stopped eating to do the same. Could cloudlings see through their birds' eyes? That would explain how they had shot Ropak.
A tiny yellow bird buzzed near Jig's ear, wings humming as it darted back and forth, like it wanted nothing more than to plunge its needle-sharp beak into Jig's eye. A huge white owl spread its wings and advanced.
Jig threw the muck-lantern at the owl and fled. A dart clicked off the wall beside him. He crouched as he ran, covering his head with his hands and listening for pursuit. Farther on, he ducked into a side tunnel, slipped in a puddle, and smashed face first into a wall.
* * *
Jig sat up, and white spots floated through his vision like spectral birds. He held his breath and perked his ears, but heard nothing. The cloudlings and their pets hadn't bothered to follow.
"Why would they?" he muttered. Ropak was the warrior, not Jig. "They'd probably use me as hummingbird food." Did hummingbirds eat goblins? Jig wasn't sure.
The smell of cooking meat made him freeze. His mouth began to water. As far as he knew, these tunnels went nowhere, but the smell was close. He sniffed the air.
Jig yelped and leapt to his feet. He ripped his pouch free and tossed it onto the floor. Moments later, hot footprints made their way up his leg. Jig stomped out the flaming pouch, then scooped the fire-spider into his hand.
"Sorry about that." Jig must have landed on the pouch when he fell. The spider was lucky to be alive. The hairs on its legs still glowed with a fading red light. Jig grabbed his pouch. "Thanks for cooking the last bat wing, though."
Tiny black specks dotted the thin meat. The web had gone up with the spider's flames, but the eggs were immune, and small enough to have survived Jig's frantic stomping. He brushed them back into the pouch, then winced as the spider settled onto his scalp. But the spider no longer seemed frightened. Actually, the warmth was kind of comfortable.
"Stupid Ropak," Jig said as he picked a bit of charred bat skin from his teeth. "Stupid cloudlings. What am I supposed to do now?"
If he went home, Golaka would feed him to the other goblins. If he went after the cloudlings, they'd feed him to the hummingbirds. If he fled deeper into the tunnels, he could end up in the gullet of any number of fearsome creatures.
Still muttering, Jig started to walk.
Every goblin learned to navigate the tunnels in the darkness. The older goblins would drag the kids toward the surface and abandon them there. Those who survived were considered adults. It was supposed to be a coming-of-age ritual, but mostly it was a chance for the older goblins to torment the young ones.
They had made Jig do it four times.
Jig's ears swiveled with each footstep, listening to the echoes for any sign of change in the tunnel. He brushed the fingers of one hand along the wall. His pointed nails clicked against the occasional crack in the obsidian. He kept his other hand out in front, feeling for unexpected obstacles.
"I don't suppose you know how we could get our hands on a cloudling bird," Jig said. The spider didn't move. "Me either."
He reached a split in the tunnel. The left branch would take him deeper into the mountain, toward home. The right led back to the cloudlings.
"What does she expect me to do?" Goblins rarely bothered with complex battle plans. It was fight or flee, every goblin for himself. Jig had always been fond of the fleeing part. But always before, there had been a safe place to flee to.
Jig walked until he started to make out the dim orange aura of the cloudlings' lanterns. Kneeling, he plucked the fire-spider from his hair and set it on the ground, by the wall. "Stay here. All I have to do is grab a bird or two, then we'll get out of here."
He grinned, imagining Ropak's outrage. "You'd save a damned fire-spider and leave me to die?"
"Yeah," Jig muttered. "The spider's smarter, nicer, and it smells better." Summoning his courage, such as it was, Jig crept closer. He crawled up the slowly curving tunnel on his hands and knees until the light came into view.
There were fewer birds than before. The two cloudlings still stood at the far end, along with...Ropak? Jig squinted and stared.
Ropak stood with his club in both hands, but he wasn't doing anything.
He wasn't dead. He was still breathing, at least. So what was going on?
The white owl from before was sleeping in the middle of the tunnel.
Jig drew his knife, and the owl's eyes snapped open. Jig froze. Most surface-dwellers were blind in the dark tunnels of the mountain. No doubt owls were equally blind. All he had to do was stay quiet, and the owl would never know he was there.
The owl twisted its head, giving it an amused appearance, then let out a stuttering hoot. Both cloudlings spun. The male pulled a large egg from his pocket and hurled it over Jig's head.
The tunnel behind him exploded into brilliant white light. Jig's vision blurred even worse than usual. He blinked as hard as he could, trying to make out the forms of the approaching cloudlings.
"He came back for his friend," said the male.
"Loyalty among goblins. Who would have guessed?"
Jig threw his knife as hard as he could. It spun harmlessly between the cloudlings and clattered to the ground. He started to run, but made it only a short distance before the light became too bright, searing his eyes even through closed lids.
He turned back and rubbed his eyes, squinting until he made out the shape of the owl coming to rest on the male cloudling's shoulder. A smaller shape, a blue jay, perched on the female's.
The male—Jig mentally named him "Owl"—chuckled softly. "Have you ever noticed how the ugliest creatures in the world live in caves?"
"You live in a cave," Jig said.
"Only because those humans drove us out," the female—Bluejay—snapped. "Uncivilized brutes."
"What did you do?" Jig said. He couldn't have cared less about the history of the cloudlings, but every second of talk was another second his heart continued to beat.
"Nothing, really," Owl said. "We stole a few things. Crops, tools, children..."
"Nobody told us this mountain was infested," Bluejay added, a nasty twist to her mouth.
"Infested? Oh, right." Jig's mind raced. "These really aren't the nicest tunnels. The hobgoblin
s drove us out of the best ones, deeper down. They're warmer, and there's no wind, and the underground lake is only a few minutes walk. I could take you there, and all you'd have to do is wipe out the hobgoblins. We never go down there, and you'd have the best tunnels in the mountains—"
"We're not animals," Bluejay said. "We prefer to be near the sky."
Jig swallowed and looked around for anything he could use as a weapon. Owl laughed. "Don't worry little goblin, we're not going to kill you."
"You're not?" Jig blinked in surprise.
"That would be rude." Owl's smile widened. "We'll let your friend Ropak do it."
Jig silently wished them both sharp rocks in their undergarments.
Bluejay pulled a small blue egg from a padded pouch at her belt. She removed a bit of wax from the end, then dipped a slender needle through a hole in the shell. Resealing the egg, she handed the needle to Owl, who jabbed it into Ropak's neck.
"I like this part," Jig muttered.
Owl chuckled. In a clear, strong voice, he said, "Ropak, I want you to do me a favor. Kill that other goblin for me."
Ropak grinned and raised his club.
"It takes over a month to prepare a mind-control egg," Owl said cheerfully. "Normally we wouldn't waste the power on a goblin, but we wanted to see how well it would work. We may even send him back to your lair. You goblins are becoming a real nuisance. Like little blue mites."
Jig backed into the wall. He glanced around, searching for anything—a stick, a rock...maybe a heavy crossbow with poisoned bolts. Aside from the fire-spider cowering in the corner, the tunnel was bare.
The spider was hiding behind a hastily strung, half-finished web, a ragged tangle of strands nearly a foot in diameter. Keeping one eye on Ropak, Jig knelt and carefully pulled the spider free.
"I'm going to enjoy this," Ropak said as he advanced. Jig couldn't tell whether he was really mind-controlled or not. Not that it mattered.
"Sorry about this," Jig whispered. "Remember, he's the one who tried to put you in my muck pot." Hands trembling, he waited until Ropak was nearly within arm's reach. Then he flung the poor fire-spider as hard as he could.