But it was not only the animals that fueled the village’s cautious nature. Several stories included red goblins and witches’ that allegedly lured the wayward traveller to their demise into the moors. Proof of this was the discovery of oddly shaped bare feet tracks in the woods and the occasional disappearance of a broomstick from someone’s back door. To this day several people have sworn to the councilor elders that they had also sighted oddly coloured lights after dark way out into the moor and towards the ruined castle where lights had no right to be. This was proof enough for the council which decreed that all persons were to retire to their houses by 8.00 pm sharp or face a harsh punishment if caught out by the night’s watchmen. If only they knew the night's watchmen, would spend much of their night shift tucked away in their beds behind locked doors, get paid well for it and always have ‘nothing to report’ the next morning. If caught out and about, the punishments handed out to curfew breakers would usually encompass the scraping of barnacles off the fishermen’s skiffs, scrubbing the salt-crusted slime of the walls of Mr Sowerbottom’s outhouse, which was always dirty or cleaning the excessive amount of cat hair from the carpets in Mrs Limpkin’s cottage.
Fire was one of the tools that mankind valued most highly. Not only did it serve the purpose to drive the chills from one’s bones in a cold, wet climate, it was also instrumental at keeping most shadows at bay. The elders of the village had decreed that every inhabited dwelling must have a fire active at night. This all came about since the ‘sleepless corpse’ incident several years ago in Gooseberry Lane. An elderly lady, Mrs. Plithdown had passed away in her sleep one evening and was buried in a funeral plot near the eastern edge of the village, as was the customary thing to do. About two days later she walked stiffly back into the village just on dark along Gooseberry Lane as if nothing had happened. She looked a dreadful mess. With skin whiter than usual, covered with lesions, and a strange blank stare, the old lady wouldn’t communicate to anyone. As several people tried to talk to her, she suddenly flew at them biting and scratching. After several more unsuccessful attempts at burying her deeper and deeper into the ground, the elders decided to cremate her corpse. Fire was a successful tool in this instance, and it was now a local law that all deceased persons must be cremated immediately after death.
2.
THE RUINED CASTLE
A colossal set of double gates fashioned of studded iron and timber sat in the west wall of the crumbling Blackmire Castle. The wood was decayed by time and weather; with the frames rusted in a semi-open position and completely draped in thick green vines almost concealing them from view. In the centre of the right gate, a huge splintered hole was just visible through the greenery, seemingly blown out from the inside as if been struck by a mighty object. The great heap of grey rough-cut stone slabs resembling outer walls looked black from a distance due to the copious amount of dark mildew that seemed to flourish over the surface of everything around the area. Just after midnight, several cloaked and hunched figures pushed through a gap in the vines and disappeared inside to hide amongst the rubble stonework littered over a large courtyard with a dark flagstone floor. Clumps of grass and small bushes grew up through the gaps between the stones providing cover for the small rodents that scattered in alarm when the figures entered.
High above them, a strange green light flittered for a moment through an opening in the decaying bricks near the top of the lone tower. The light flashed briefly again several times through missing bricks and crude windows, as it appeared to descend inside the tower. The figures huddled together at the bottom of the tower, taking shelter under a substantial jagged piece of broken stone jutting out from a high wall to avoid the steady rain. It was already causing small cascading waterfalls to weave throughout the stonework debris and flow in unison towards the low centre of the courtyard. The water pooled and drained through rusted iron grates set in the flagstones. Several giant cockroaches swam valiantly for higher ground as their homes among the cracked stones became flooded. The bent figures whispered excitedly to one another as the wind whistled through the creeping thorn vines around them. A distant lightning flash from the east revealed their silhouettes briefly.
‘I can’t believe we have been called here’ said one of the figures in a raspy voice. ‘I’m wet and freezing’ said another pulling a black hood tighter around his face. ‘You had better be right,’ said a third looking around. He possessed sharp night vision as did his two comrades. What the goblins of Slugheart Swamp lacked in size and looks, they made up for with their exceptional hearing, eyesight, and cunningness. ‘We all saw the light, that’s her signal’ said the first goblin. ‘Well the animals are no help, and you know they don’t like her,’ said the second goblin grinning. ‘Ha, and that’s because…’ He was cut short. Despite their cunning and alertness, none of the three goblins saw the looming shadow appear silently from the ground, grow and envelope them in a swift movement. As clouded as the night was, the shadow was darker and void of all light. The sudden shrieks of fright from the goblins were drowned out by the howling wind, and the noise disappeared into the remoteness of the moors.
The black shadow sunk to the ground and flowed over the flagstones towards the bottom of the tower like a sheet of water. The goblins had disappeared. The green light inside the tower was nearing the old doorway at the bottom when it wavered, then rapidly ascended making a gasping sound. Reaching the very top of the tower a few moments later, it burned brighter for an instant then disappeared in a quick flash. A cloaked shape screeched loudly in anger and leapt from the parapet. It rose quickly into the sky above the tower then rapidly sped away towards the distant mountains. The black shadow was now halfway up the inside of the tower. It stopped briefly then flowed back down into the courtyard, making a wet smacking sound. It seemed to shrink and mix with the water to swirl into the rusted iron grates between the flagstones and disappear underground. On this night, there were other things in the moors besides animals, goblins, and witches’.
3.
RED WHISKERS
The animals generally lived peacefully with each other and could communicate quite successfully. This fact of nature was not known to mankind living nearby, as they were timid creatures, prone to doing dangerous things if provoked or cornered. Humanity was capable of committing terrible deeds to one another, the animals and other species when they became suspicious or startled. The leaders of the wolf packs had enforced the law earlier in their history that no animals were to communicate with these two-legged creatures. However, this law had been broken on several occasions. First of all, by the sheep and goats that had chosen to live in the mankind villages. If they wished to throw their lot in with men and get eventually eaten, then that was their problem. The wiser sheep and goats lived in herds above the uplands of the Scarbia Ranges, were rarely ever seen in the moorlands and had shunned their weak-minded domesticated cousins. Then some silly birds had also decided to live amongst mankind and even talk back to them! The green parrots had a lot to answer for these days. Dogs were a different thing altogether. Many dogs were also living freely in mankind villages and treating them as equals, even becoming close companions to some. Of course, this did not include their distant cousins, the ‘Wildpack’ which roamed further north of the moors in vast forests and were natural enemies to the wolves. These hounds existed in large numbers, produced rapidly and lived in their house clans according to breed. For many generations now, the individual houses were united into one expansive pack.
Earlier that night Red Whiskers the fox had been tucked cosily in his den feasting on some beetles he had managed to find in the rain nearby. It wasn’t a very appealing meal, rather slim pickings, but decent food was getting harder to find the last few weeks. It wasn’t mankind’s fault that prey was becoming scarce. Mankind rarely ventured into the moor and appeared satisfied to stay in their little tribe through the woods, perched on the cliff edge eating fish. The ponies had even started behaving strangely, by galloping around senselessly at od
d hours. When Red Whiskers tried to stop a pony to chat to it the other day, it widened its eyes, pinned its ears back and galloped away like a mad thing with its tail in the air. ‘Stupid ponies’ muttered Red Whiskers under his breath as he coughed up a prickly wing and continued to crunch away on a large green and black beetle.
It was shortly after midnight when Red Whiskers awoke to the faint sounds of several soft footfalls on the muddy path above his den. Even though the rain was falling steadily, it did not mask the soft vibration he felt through his sensitive whiskers. He always slept with one eye open and one triangular-shaped ear up. He crept cautiously to the entrance of his den and sniffed the air. ‘Uggghh! Goblins,’ he whispered to himself as the strange stench reached his nostrils. He hadn’t seen goblins in that area for years, not since he was a cub. When he had seen them last, two were fighting over a rabbit they had caught. He did know that some goblins were also keepers of the magic arts, and preferred to only come out of their hides at night rushing about pretending to look busy. However, they generally left the animals alone, so they were not of any great concern. Red Whiskers was about to head back down into the heart of his den to resume his sleep when his curiosity was piqued. He hesitated then silently slipped out of his den. ‘These goblins have no right to be slinking around in the middle of a rainy night around here. Just what are they up to?’ He thought. He kept to the tiny path and stayed under the low brush as best he could to avoid the showers that fell in sheets and appeared to be increasing. It was a very dark night, and heavy clouds blocked out all moon and starlight. Red Whiskers didn’t mind though, as he could see perfectly well in the blackest of nights and for the most part, remained warm and dry under his thick coat of dusty red fur.
He soon came close behind some figures on the path. He saw that they were short in stature, hunched over as they walked and dressed in heavy black cloaks with hoods. They were walking in a line and occasionally turned and whispered to each other. A water mouse hastily skipped across the path with a tiny squeak of fright. Red Whiskers fought the temptation to chase it down, as his feast of beetles had not satisfied his appetite. However, it was far more exciting to follow these smelly little goblins. A sudden flash of lightning and Red Whiskers saw the goblins clearly. Here a red hand with gold rings and the mark of a black tattoo, there a pointy ear and crooked nose. Looming up in front of the goblins on the path ahead was the slight rise in-ground and the mankind castle, Blackmire. All the animals that lived nearby in the moors knew of Blackmire. While it provided shelter for many small creatures seeking sanctuary, strange noises grumbled in the ground below it, and on rare occasions, it was visited by the odd witch.
As menacing as the castle appeared in the storm and dead of night, Red Whiskers was not concerned. He had visited the ruins on many occasions hunting for a meal amongst the tumble of black stones and vines for the small rodents that lived there. He knew his way around the ruins and knew there was nothing there of any interest. He continued to wonder why the goblins were going there. Red Whiskers then caught a glimpse of a green light flash suddenly out of the tower near the top. He stopped and curled his bushy tail underneath him. His whiskers moved up and down nervously tasting the air and his ears pinned back. His top lip curled up instinctively to reveal small sharp white teeth. He sensed danger immediately and stopped. He crouched low in a position to run should danger present itself. The goblins squeezed through the wall of vines and disappeared through the old gates. Their scent still hung about the air despite the gusty wind and rain. Red Whiskers sat quietly for several moments and then mustering up some courage, crept onwards towards the gates. Suddenly he was aware of a strange mist that appeared from nowhere that sent tendrils through the brush, reaching out and expanding. The blistery wind did nothing to dispel the fog as it hung in the air and thickened. At that moment, the hair on the back of his neck pricked up, and he heard terrifying shrieks from the goblins. He sensed something else inside the castle ruins; it was big and emitted an aura of pending doom. The fox’s eyes widened as he turned tail and ran back to his den as fast as he could.
4.
THE WITCH SALUM
Salum, a witch from the Bloodwood Coven, was sent by Lady Strala to the ruins of Blackmire Castle in the west. Here at the midnight hour, she was to meet with the disgusting goblin Boorag who was the king of the Slugheart Swamp goblin hide. There she was to pass on a message of importance and directions to the fat red king for a critical mission. From the sanctuary of the coven, it was still a three or four-hour journey even for Salum who was one of the coven’s fastest skyriders. As she left the entrance to her coven, she raised her long pointed nose slightly and sniffed the cold wet air. The leaves of large trees nearby rustled loudly as if acknowledging her presence. Though the witches generally preferred the asylum of their coven, Salum relished the cold air that seemed to dull the constant throbbing from several large ugly warts on her exposed face. Mounting her sweep, she kicked off and gained height very quickly. Her sweep, as did most other witches’, resembled a large broomstick with a small brush and oversized cylindrical handle. The brush was long and thin and fashioned to mimic the hairy wing of the extinct cablemoth that once flew the moorland skies. The handle was carved from the deformed timber of the Dwarf JuJube tree and had a large jade coloured jewel fixed into the end. The ornament was the source of the sweep’s power. It drew on arcane energy and was held in place by a Raven claw. Gems were regarded highly in this realm. A variety of magical folk used them as many jewels drew their powers from the nether regions of the Dread-Realm.
The entrance to the covens encircled by a ring of enormous dead Bloodwood trees. Leafless, gnarled and ancient that hide within the heart of their trunks the captured wretched souls of the witches’ enemies from a forgotten past. These were referred to as the wailing woods, though rooted to the spot, were destined to obey the lady of the coven. They wailed a constant tone that was both unnatural and unsettling. The massive stone slab marking the entrance to the coven vanished below her in the darkness. The words of instructions from Lady Strala echoed in her head as she ascended through the rain to a high level of mist intermingled with low clouds. She instinctively turned her sweep to a northwest direction and shot forward, her black cloak whipping around her. Though the night was black as tar, Salum’s green eyes burned piercingly bright. Through the rain, she scanned the landscape far below, which appeared to her almost as clear as day.
Somewhere in the distant east of the moor near the mountains, lighting was flashing about illuminating a severe storm front. Salum was not concerned, as the environment did not affect witches’ as much as regular folk. Most witches’ possessed the necessary powers to change the elements if need be. Cold, heat or rain, for instance only mildly affected them and was rarely of any concern. Direct sunlight was one of the few things witches’ dreaded. Their enemies of old, the cowardly elves wove sunlight into their archaic weapons. Most witches’ are practitioners of the magic arts, which were often used to prolong their lives, even bringing immortality to a chosen few. However, sunlight had a habit of ruining all that as it would have the unfortunate consequence of reversing dark spells. It was dubbed the ‘Ugly light’ by some.
Fortunately, Lady Strala and a few other witch elders from other nearby Covens had set a concealment curse in place to keep the southern moorlands under perpetual cloud cover. Salum passed above several flocks of nightbirds hunting the moors below for insects and small prey. These nightbirds were once known as the order of the flying rodent, and have a wingspan of several feet. They sensed her direction of travel, and those up higher would dart out of her way. Some followed her out of curiosity but eventually fell away as they could not match her speed in the air. Nightbirds were not very intelligent animals. However, their inclination to honour ancient pacts to serve witches’ as did many other beasts was a natural inbred instinct.
About an hour later into the journey, Salum’s eyes caught some movement below. A quick second glance showed the cause of the m
ovement to be a small herd of wild ponies. They huddled together under a clump of stunted Dwarf Birch trees, to avoid the more torrential rain. Salum pushed on towards her destination over marshes and quagmires and sheets of still black water dotted with marsh reed thickets. Flying over an extensive marsh dominated by rushes and reeds, Salum saw a huge black and yellow serpent lazily wind its way through an expanse of shallow water towards a group of unsuspecting swine camped up nearby on a small hillock. Finally, the outline of the ruined Blackmire Castle came into view. It looked as dark and as ominous as always; just the way the witches’ liked it. Salum kept to a reasonable height, circling the castle grounds and surrounds while scanning with great effort to detect any danger or concern. Not seeing or sensing anything out of the ordinary, she descended and landed on the parapet of the solitary tower.
The top of this tower was decaying and crumbling, but still provided an ample platform for the witch to land and dismount. Surprisingly the small stone staircase carved into the inside wall of the tower was still intact, and Salum commenced the descent, the green glow from her sweep’s jewel slowly fading. Her feet made the tiniest scuffling sound as she cautiously made her way down step by step and hoping the red goblins were waiting for her in the overgrown courtyard below. Salum wished the goblins would have met her at the top of the tower as she felt more comfortable there. It wasn’t her fault that the stupid goblins were afraid of heights. She cackled quietly to herself as she remembered the goblin rebellion a century and a half ago. The Badwind goblins deciding they wished to live without the influence of witches, was very bad for morale at the time. Lady Myrtna the White had to teach the king of that hide a lesson. She had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and on her sweep ascended high above his hide where she dropped him to fall. The king’s pleas turned to screams of horror that were suddenly cut short when he entered the doorway of his hide at considerable speed. Coincidently, there was no further insubordination from the goblins of that particular hide after that. It was amusing at the time to watch thought Salum with a slight grin.
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