Gobblesnot flexed his legs in anticipation. The Mistress had only given him a single name, though she mentioned the visitor would likely have others with him. Although it was unlikely to be anyone other than who he expected, risking exposure to the wrong people could prove deadly. He cursed the fog and peeked out of the burnt stump in hopes of getting at least a glimpse of the noisy travelers.
Dense as a sheet of cotton, the mist was impenetrable. Only sound made its way through the curtain of white, but determining the direction of the approaching travelers was more difficult. Gobblesnot could tell they were getting closer as the sounds grew louder, and he drew his head back, fearing he would be seen. The clattering ceased as the noises drew abreast of the oaken stump, and everything went still.
The thick, humid air began to crystallize into a dry frost around him as the temperature dropped for no apparent reason.
The hair on the back of Gobblesnot’s neck pricked as he started to shiver. He dared not move, dared not make a sound.
“Do not be afraid, little one,” a scratchy, hollow voice said through the mist. “I mean you no harm. Take me to your mistress so I may have words with her.”
The stranger possessed the same haunting quality of voice as his mistress, which gave Gobblesnot some comfort. Huddling further back into the cradle of the hollow stump, he wet his lips and croaked, “You be… Baeloke?”
“Yes,” the chilling voice replied. “Come, friend, you may ride on my cart.”
Part of Gobblesnot’s mind gibbered in the dark corners, but despite his fear, Gobblesnot found himself pulling free from his hiding place to stand in the open. Even the howling, terrified portion of his mind began to fade along with the chill as he stepped into the blinding mist toward the stranger’s voice, confidence building with every step.
A slight humid breeze curled the thick fog into funnels, clearing a path between Gobblesnot and the stranger. A wooden cart came into view, waiting in the rank muck. It was supported by only two wheels and contained a long bed that held a large, rectangular object covered with a faded green canvas. A monstrously huge musk ox stood patiently waiting for command. Its jaw rotated in small circles as swamp weed dribbled from its mouth. The driver sat alone and motionless on a bench at the front of the crooked cart, looking forward.
“Most kind of ya,” Gobblesnot said as he climbed onto the bench. “Me mistress never lets us ride.” He looked over at the shrouded form of his newfound friend.
His mistress’s guest was covered in a worn black cloak and cowl. Gobblesnot’s initial hesitancy was forgotten in the face of the generous offer from his new friend, and the goblin found himself wondering if he too, should cover his face. He knew the mistress thought him unsightly, and he found himself hoping that Baeloke did not share her feelings.
He looked around the cart. “Come alone, did ya?”
“Not exactly.”
Gobbesnot hesitated. “Oh, I see.” He seemed to remember that his friend’s answer should have been important, but why, he couldn’t remember.
The hooded head turned to regard him. “Which way?”
“You’ll be needn’ ta cut east.”
The cart creaked back into motion as the woolly beast turned in the direction Gobblesnot had given and proceeded to slosh through the mud. Once they were underway, he realized Baeloke had no reins or whip to control the beast. The ox just moved of its own accord as if it had known all along the direction it must go.
“Your mistress, has she come alone?” Baeloke asked.
“Oh, no, she brought a right army with her. She intends ta kill ya, she does.”
His new friend chuckled. “That is most interesting. Tell me, friend. Will she listen to what I have to say before she tries to kill me?”
Gobblesnot scratched his head in thought. “Hard ta say what the mistress will do. Though she’s downright stumped by yer message. So she might let ya get a few words in.”
“That is good to know.”
A broad smile stretched across Gobblesnot’s face. “Glad ta be of help!” The thought of his new friend getting hurt concerned the goblin, and if he could do anything to prevent it, he would.
They rode in silence for hours after that, with only the rickety sounds of the cart to break the monotony of the unchanging wetlands. Miles upon miles of grey flatland, covered by the ever-moving fog banks, stretched on to induce a lingering boredom that lulled the little goblin into a fitful sleep.
The rhythmic creaking of the oversized wheels silenced as the musk ox came to a halt.
“You should get out now, Gobblesnot.” The scratchy voice of his friend floated from the tattered hood. “Your mistress is very close.”
After stretching the stiffness from his muscles, Gobblesnot hopped from the bench to the wet ground without complaint. “I’ll run ahead ta announce yer here.”
“Very good… and Gobblesnot.” The dark cowl turned to reveal two blazing red orbs within. “Your loyalty to me will not be forgotten.”
Pride surged through the little goblin as he gazed into those brilliant spheres and he put on a horrific, delighted smile. “I’ll not fail ya,” he declared, and then lit off in the direction of the mistress to fulfill his duty.
The mistress’s pavilion was perched on a small hill between two swamp beds, and the goblin slowed as he approached. Black fabric, which created the walls and roof of the tent, shimmered in the slight breeze. The dense mist seemed to be repelled by the dark material, creating an unnatural circle of visibility. A standard pole bore a pennant crafted of the same obsidian material, which stirred sluggishly in the breeze. Gobblesnot longed to see his mistress’s proud sigil of a golden hand grasping a curved blade but it was not often the bogs and trees allowed the breeze to display it.
Apprehension and desire always warred in his mind when he neared his mistress’s presence, but on this trip he had greater cause for worry. She would be displeased if she were to find out he had spoken so freely to her guest. He didn’t think she could read minds, but he wasn’t entirely sure. If she could, it would be the end of him.
Even the possibility of her displeasure faded, though, as her soft, enthralling voice called through the flaps, “Come to me, my creature.”
He shuffled forward quickly, so as not to incite her wrath with lack of haste, and plunged into the dimly lit confines within.
The pavilion was much larger inside than it appeared. Rich maroon silks and suede covered the interior, and a multitude of gold furnishings accented the room. The mistress herself provided the centerpiece, reclining upon a heavily pillowed settee. Her long, fair legs were crossed at the ankle and were mostly exposed; the slits allowed the panels of her dress to artfully drape along one shapely thigh while completely baring the other. Delicate, pale arms wrapped in tiny chains of gold were cast wide upon the sofa back. Straight, golden hair parted at the crest of her head, framed the supple, colorless face. Her deep red lips were full and parted slightly. “Has he arrived, my minion?”
Trying not to fidget, Gobblesnot looked into his goddess’s coal-black eyes and instead began to tremble. “Y-yes, me mistress. He be here.”
“I am pleased.” She smiled, exposing many sharp teeth. “Don’t be rude. Show our guest in.”
Gobblesnot blinked. It wasn’t possible for his friend to be at the tent so soon. He had sprinted ahead to make sure his announcement of their arrival would provide plenty of time. Stepping back to the curtain, he reached out with his clawed hand and pulled the shimmering black flap aside. To his surprise, Baeloke’s cloaked form was indeed standing just outside.
“You are too kind,” said the now familiar hollow voice of Baeloke. He stepped through the flap into the dark quarters.
Gobblesnot’s skin prickled as if static electricity were running through his body. The air between his new friend and the mistress felt dense and heavy. There was a potential for something hanging between the two, a potential that might explode and consume everything within the walls of the tent. The goblin be
gan to have trouble getting enough breath and loosened the strings on his tattered jerkin.
“You must be parched…” The mistress shifted, exposing more of her ivory flesh. “Gobblesnot, a drink for our guest.”
Her words broke the tension like a snapped branch. He moved as bidden to one of the five large golden trunks on display. Opening the lid, he reached in to pull out a bound and gagged human female. Dirty blonde hair framed wide eyes and more dirt on pink cheeks that were slightly sunken from malnutrition. A muffled grunt escaped from the girl after Gobblesnot dumped her to the floor.
Baeloke raised a single hand from his robes in a gesture of negation. “That won’t be necessary. I have provided for myself. There are more pressing matters to attend to, wouldn’t you say?” He paused. “Sister.”
“Don’t call me that!” The mistress sat up straight and snarled.
“My apologies, I did not come to offend.” Baeloke tilted his cowled head. “What should I call you, then? Please do not say ‘mistress’; that simply won’t do.”
“My name will suffice.”
“Very well then. Selen, we have much to discuss.”
The mistress leaned back into the wall of cushions again. “I am surprised you would come to me, unguarded as you are. I have, after all, been hunting you for two millennia.”
“You know me far better than that.”
Laughter erupted from the mistress. “Yes, I do, Baeloke. Tell me, do you think your shades can protect you from ten thousand hobgoblins and the toys I’ve given them?”
“Your threats are pointless and tiresome. I see that I have wasted my time.” The goblin’s dark friend turned toward the exit.
“Wait.” The mistress put word to Gobblesnot’s thoughts. “At least take off that ridiculous hood, and then I will listen to what you have come to say.”
Baeloke hesitated before he turned back to face the mistress. Both hands emerged from the robes to slowly pull back the tattered cowl, revealing porcelain skin even fairer than Selen’s. Hawkish features intensified a predatory look already present in his body language, and the red orbs that had transfixed Gobblesnot earlier were now solid black, like the mistress’s. His raven hair was shaved on the sides but left long on the top and pulled back in an intricate braid. No fineries decorated his flesh or clothing.
Gobblesnot stood in open-jawed silence.
A muffled whimper at the goblin’s feet jolted him out of his reverent contemplation of his friend’s chiseled features like a cold bucket of water. He looked down at the bound young girl, who was wide-eyed and wiggling about. Small sounds escaped past the gag as she tried to speak.
Fury burned through him at this interruption of his attention, and he lashed out at the girl. The goblin kicked her in the side and face before stomping on her head repeatedly. Words spilled forth in time with the falling of his feet. “Shut. Yer. Stupid. Mouth!!” After some moments, he realized the girl was no longer moving, and his words were loud in the silence of the tent.
His eyes snapped up from the limp body to find two sets of dark orbs focused on him. A small, viscous grin had settled on to the mistress’s full lips, but his friend’s face remained placid.
Gobblesnot fell to his knees. “Forgive me…”
Wordlessly, the two returned their attention to each other, the rude interruption apparently forgotten.
“So, what is this nonsense you wrote of?” Selen gestured to a worn piece of parchment lying flat on the sofa beside her.
Baeloke moved to one of the padded chairs and sat. “Since you would not come to me, I have brought something for you to see. Something that concerns us all.”
The mistress sighed. “All of these centuries, and you still have found nothing of relevance to me. I’m not concerned with any of our kin’s activities.”
Baeloke leveled his gaze on her. “I believe you will find this ‘relevant.’”
“You still bore me after all these years.” She stopped and showed her teeth. “Unless, of course, what you’ve found is our brethren’s helpless bodies trussed and ready for me to consume.”
Gobblesnot’s friend tilted his head slightly and motioned to the tent flaps with one hand. “May I?”
“Of course. I had assumed you would eventually share the reason you had come all this way.”
To the goblin’s fascination, the pavilion flaps folded back by themselves and a large stone coffin floated into the room. Covering the entire surface were detailed scenes of skeletons worshiping a suspended orb were carved into the stone. The four corners were chiseled with filigree and the heavy polished lid was embossed with bizarre lettering Gobblesnot couldn’t decipher.
Six columns of shimmering air surrounded the stone box. Gobblesnot stared, frozen in wonder. It was as if something was trapped inside each one, something humanoid in form. The features of the shape just to his left began to sharpen, drawing his eye. When he looked directly at the coalescing image, it distorted, slipping out of focus. At the same time, the columns at the edges of his vision began to resolve into shapes.
Gobblesnot blinked as his eyes began to water. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, this time concentrating on his peripheral vision as he did so. Tantalizing snatches of faces of men, ogres, and hobgoblins surfaced within the whirling vortices that surrounded the casket, and he could just barely make out their immaterial arms snaking under the edges of the great stone box.
He caught a glimpse of one face set in an impassive stare directed straight at him. Half of the face, which faded away even as he turned to regard it, was ruined. The bones peeked from below a broken cheek and the eye was a pulpy mass above it, but no blood seeped from the horrible wound. As Gobblesnot’s eyes centered on the wraith, the face faded back into obscurity, but he could still feel the single eye upon him, looking with hungry anticipation.
He stumbled back to allow more room for the group as the first apparition passed close to him. Cold flowed from the formless shape and robbed his fingers of their warmth. The next figure to pass took the heat from his arms and chest. He shivered, and from more than just the cold.
The temperature continued to drop until he began to see his breath take form before him. Tendrils of frozen air poured from the casket’s bearers. The cold, smoky vapor crossed the floor and began to fill the room, clawing its way up the goblin’s bare legs like a monster from some icy pit.
Just when Gobblesnot thought he must beg for mercy and rescue from these terrible apparitions, Baeloke made a gesture with his hand and spoke a word that held no meaning for Gobblsnot. The casket settled to the ground and the shimmering apparitions twisted in upon themselves, folding into smaller and smaller shapes before vanishing from sight.
The intense cold began to retreat immediately and the goblin’s heart leapt. His new friend had such power, he could command the very dead. Today was surely a day to remember.
His mistress had gone rigid the moment the tent flap lifted. Her eyes had locked onto the heavy stone casket, and she followed it to the soft floor, where it now rested under her rapt gaze.
Baeloke looked at Selen. “You feel it, don’t you?”
His mistress’s voice shook with an eagerness the goblin had never heard. “I spoke in jest of our kin, but it appears you have produced the very thing I require.”
Baeloke stood and rested his hands on the smooth lid. “This box acts as a bulwark. It is fortified against our senses as well as physical attack.”
Selen ignored Baeloke’s last statement. “Have you opened it?”
“No.”
“Can you?”
He waited until Selen tore her eyes from the casket to look into his before he responded. “Yes.”
Selen was on her feet in an instant, leaning over the sarcophagus toward Baeloke. “Then do it!”
The tone of command in his mistress’s voice was unmistakable, and Gobblesnot wondered at his new friend for his ability to shrug it off while staring coldly back.
Once again, a crackling energy filled the
room as the two unearthly beings faced each other. Neither moved in the slightest, but the goblin felt the surge of power between them. It was as if the forms he could see were but figureheads for some other essence that couldn’t possibly be contained within the living beings. The goblin cringed as his skin began to prickle once more, and he smelled a putrid stench as the hair on his arms started to smolder. Gobblesnot invoked a fervent, silent prayer to Mot, the god of death and chaos.
The smile on Baeloke’s face had changed to a thin, straight line. “There are things we must speak of first.”
The two stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. His mistress snarled abruptly and waved her hand, dispelling the mounting tension. “Fine! Babble on.”
Gobblesnot’s chest eased, and breath returned to him. He settled back against the golden trunk to watch in awed silence.
“I believe the Awakening has been postponed. Purposely.” Baeloke motioned to the casket with both hands. “This is my evidence.”
The mistress sat back down on her lavish settee, a look of abject disbelief on her face. “Impossible,” she said, then paused, considering. “Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then who do you claim is responsible?”
“Again, I do not know.”
Selen narrowed her eyes, apparently disgusted. “Do you know anything?”
Baeloke’s expression did not change. “More than you think.”
The mistress’s eye twitched. “Well, let’s start with something a little more simple. Where did you find this casket?”
“To the North, in Basinia, near Asynia’s border.”
“Then perhaps it is Yorin. That is part of his domain.”
Baeloke leaned against the sarcophagus. “For what purpose would he do such a thing? Yorin seeks the Boon as we do. No Awakening, no Boon. For any of us.”
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 12