In the great days of Épiroux, when goblins feared
men, there was a dark, terrible place that humans called
Bormassé. These was but one of many of the Sweet Iron
mines that dotted the hills to the northwest of that evil
city. Those led there, by chain and lash, would be turned
into a contraption of flesh and bones.
Let's call them miners, for mining they did, sixteen
hours a day and more. Some were criminals, that was
true, and you might be inclined to be less charitable to
those. Most were children of slaves, or kids sold
by starving parents or taken by force or fraud. Among
these were many young girls, of all races, even humans
themselves, but goblins were more common. The reasons were
simple: goblins were weaker at the time, easy to feed and
breed, and adapted themselves well to the conditions of
the underground.
Once, in those little hours of the dawn, when the human
guards weren't wide awake yet, the boy called 76 approached
his mouth to the ear of 77, his goblin best-friend-ever and
whispered: "there are goblins in the woods."
"Really? Let's go there!"
"Shh... I overheard the deads-man telling Ruk that he
spotted them goblins watching him, getting closer and
closer... he bragged about his big stick but he's mice
shit, I saw his eyes.
"Oh... I didn't know anybody could be scared of us."
"Me neither." Said 76, the human boy.
"It's humans who hurt people."
"Aye." The two friends had a peculiar definition of
who was a human and 76 was definitively not one, but a
pale, thin, goblin cub.
"Well, we can play dead and the deads-man takes us in
his chart and... happiness-joy, happiness-joy!"
"Yeah, like nobody's ever tried that before."
"Yeah, but with the 'weaklings', they aren't looking
closely..."
"'cause deads are all bugged-up, we'd got the 'weaklings'
from them, and die, die, cold die."
"Maybe we won't... it's short short time, and
Inside, we'll get it, some day, and die Inside, and
the bones man will get us all the same.
"But the goblins will think I'm a human boy and they'll
beat me up and..."
"They won't, I'll tell them you're good and they'll be
friends too... besides even if they're not-good to you,
it'll be so much better than this, and I can defend you and
bring you butter and a second blanket for when it's cold,
and all I could get."
"77, I'm telling you, don't make me hope again, remember
your last plan." The two boys had the tips of their
ears clipped, for trying to sneak away through a damp forgotten
tunnel.
76 and 77 had arrived at the Bormassé's "Sweet Iron" Mines
on the same night, as two confused eight years old. They
could barely remember "Outside".
77, the goblin, said that the first thing he remembered was
when 76 shared his block of bread with him, back when the
masters had locked him up without food for wetting himself,
and that was Inside. He had learned about the world from
hearsay and thought of Outside like one would think of
some fantasy land like Belgium or Chile. In six years he
hadn't seen the face of the sun, the moon, nor anything
under them.
76, knew he was from a "place with houses, houses,
houses" and a market where "they sell people and humans
too" and "there's a big river". Because he looked
like a human ---though "not, not" quite one at all---
the masters sometimes took him Outside to do odd jobs like
helping uploading dead people free humans wouldn't touch
with a pole into the deads-man cart.
That way he had discovered that there were "giant
rocks" to the back of the mine: those were called
Mountains. And that the "deads-man" led the cart
through the dirty stream in front of the jaws of the mine
by a wooden road called "Bridge" and, then, to the
"trees, trees, tress" place which was called "The
Woods". He knew the deads-man took the dead people to a
chasm in The Woods. But he'd never got to see where that
was ---near the goblins' house, surely.
--- Life "Inside" ----------------------------------------------
Being the same age, 77 was the shorter of the two, thinner
as well, and could see better under the scamp light of
a candle. 76 was stronger though, and that made him the
puller; he'd take that rope tied to the minecart and pull
it on the wooden rails while 77 pushed from behind.
Their days are easy to explain. They woke up, ate their
block of bread, and off they went with a "master" to the
scouting tunnels. These were narrow and so low that
they often crawled to the end of the tunnel. This was
easy enough when the wagon went empty or loaded with
rations. Then, they met the diggers ---which was nice for
"masters" didn't go where was dangerous--- had a little chat
and came all the way back with samples. The samples were
just some dark rocks, but when they took them out to the
masters, they asked Mine-mama that it'd be Sweet Iron. If
it were, the masters went "oh so happy-joy" that they gave
them four blocks of bread each, and let them sleep, all they
wanted, until next day. If it was something else, well,
the kids had to go back to the tunnels, and then again
and again, until it was the second and last bread time.
The night began right after that. The whole "talking-stock"
got searched, for slaves are thieves and goblins are bandits
from the cradle that nobody could ever trust.
Finally, all slaves were led to the huts. These weren't
Outside, or were huts at all, but excavated cells in the
ground, with a stone stove, hay for bedding, a pot for the
water, a hole for the natural needs, blankets, a long
chain and two rats to share. And so the boys slept together
and expected to live until the deads-man will take them .
"You, 'dumblins', wake up!" Master Ruk, the human, just
didn't know what was happening with those two. They were
usually the first to stand up, eager for their bread like
mice. "Get the fword up". Ruk didn't add any warnings,
the lash on his left hand was more than enough; except he
was replied with moans, tears and excuses.
Not having any of that, Ruk kicked 76 and slapped
77. Wait! The Weaklings.
"The Weaklings" had been spreading over the lands
of Épiroux. Goblins, especially the older ones would
catch it easily, but not one was safe, even elves, even a
resilient halfling could be defeated by this new plague. Not a
month was spent without having to get rid of some slave.
Two guards lay cold in their tombs too. It wasn't going
much better in the cities, with not only slaves but fair
human children weeping in despair, holding mommy's hand,
never to wake up. These two, Ruk thought aren't half
bad. Yeah, they didn't give much trouble and, more than
once, had worked more than they share for another try
with bringing another sample. He could see the pride
in their little thin faces when they brought some sweet
iron of a particularly good quality. Will these be lost
too? Then the mines would have to acquire a new couple,
some softies, that would be crying for mom, and had to
be taught everything, but his boss will still want to get
the same return for their investment. And then, of course,
he could catch it too, first the flu, then the pain, the
asthenia quickly evolving into confusion, panic attacks
and then a sudden death when the heart couldn't take it
any longer. Yeah, it usually go much better in humans,
specially those as well fed and strong as him, but...
"Sorry, kids, please, stand up. Big master will get
very angry if you don't. I have fresh bread, set it aside
for you.
77 and 76 couldn't believe their clipped ears. Master Ruk
saying "please" and "sorry", to them? He only said that
to true people people. Did he think now they were small human
cubs now and not 'dumblins'?
Quickly, but covering their faces, the two boys stood up,
holding their tears but unable to cover their pain. There
was no pretense here, Master Ruk, as usual had hurt them bad.
"Sorry master, forgive us master." The boys didn't
voice any excuse. That was troubling to Ruk. Slaves always
have a dozen stories ready, "lil' liars". Nevertheless,
he decided to continue the day as if nothing could be
wrong, giving the kids their daily brick of bread and
dispatching them to their minecart and through narrow,
dwindling tunnels, to darkness.
Indeed they day went pretty normal, all things
considered. It wasn't the most productive day for
those two, but good enough to consider the crisis was
adverted. They're but dumblins, aren't they?
Yet each passing day 76 and, especially, 77 the goblin kid,
appeared to get worse. They still did their job, though,
with little complains but less energy, catching any chance
for a little nap. But nobody got too close to them, not
even Ruk, who had already told the Head Overseer that she
should look ahead for a replacement.
--- Dust and ashes ---------------------------------------------
Two weeks later, nobody held hopes for our couple of
rascals. So much so that the overseer had already sent a
request for three "obedient and healthy apprentices"
of "any age, species or gender". This facilitated
the boys' plans much as they could have never faked the
whole course of their sickness, specially its sudden
conclusion. So finally, coinciding with the deads-man
weekly visit, they decided to receive the dawn already
dead.
Master Ruk, when he discovered the bodies, went for a
quick lash at 77 ---who "deserved" it more for being
a goblin--- missing by a finger width, so the boy didn't
move. Fear hit Ruk and that did the trick; he pronounced
them dead and nobody else attempted to check his judgment.
Some hours later, 93, one unlucky half-orc girl, covered
herself head to toe in warm ash. The masters had told her
that the ash would protect her from the plague; and indeed
it would work, that time. Then she took 77 clothes off, but kept
the boy's tag where it was, hanging from a coil of rope
around his neck.
That done, 93 got the thin brat on a wheelbarrow and
carried him Outside and laid him on the cold, muddy ground
near the Bridge. She repeated the whole process for 77
waved them goodbye, and got back to the mines.
The two lucky brats lay for hours under rain and wind
for the Outside had this little thing called Autumn. Yet,
the boys didn't move at all, rightly dreading what might
befall them if caught in their cheat. They imagined that,
at the very least they'd get the tip of their noses chopped
off, but in truth, they didn't know how harsh could Ruk's
indignant fury could be, and I'll leave it at that.
By the time the "deads-man" arrived, they were already drenched
and sprinkled with dead leaves and dust from the ore
"Went the day well?" the boys overheard Ruk's voice,
their eyes firmly shut.
"Nah, a dozen with those two, "the weaklings" is
getting weaker..." The deads-man laughed at his own joke.
"And what will you do then, old halfoz?" That last
derogatory epithet meant that you either believe your
addressee to be a uneducated brute, or to have more than
a bit of orc's blood or, usually, both.
"Like you cared...", the deads-man retorted, "I'll make
it do, don't worry, halfoz. When this whole thing is over,
Épiroux will want to replenish their slaves. These cursed mines
too... I'll get'em for ya, halfoz."
They boys could sense Ruk's anger. In truth he had
orc blood running in him, and would kill to protect
his little secret. "Ha! If you make it that long halfoz,
some demon must love you that you haven't got 'the
weaklings' yet, halfoz, but not even a demon can love
you enough to make you rich."
"That's true, that's true... OK, got enough of rain,
can you pay me so I can get your rotten meat done?"
"Yeah, yeah..."
"Oh, somebody forgot to remove those tags."
"No, bury them with those on. Maybe the Good Lord of
Heaven will know they are good and forget them. Make sure
to bury them with those on."
The deads-man nodded. "Ruk, you suppose me a thief, a heretic
and a moron. You're right on the first two counts, but
why in hell I'd keep those rusty tags?, get the weaklings?"
"Ah, don't get rushed. I just want to be good to the kids
in their afterlife. Proper rights an' all that."
"I see, two pennies each, and they won't be ghosties under
you bed, halfoz".
* * *
77 felt the grasp of four hands on his wrists and ankles,
then to be raised as a feather and, the sudden drop into
something soft and warm. And then a moan, and the warmth
of a breath. Whoever was below him in the deads-cart was
still alive!
Then something hit his greenish tummy. That was 76's face, who
masterfully kept his pretense of his death. Right then,
the two boys were hit for the stench. Somebody could still
be alive but others were long dead. Fooz, fooz, warm dust
was being shoveled onto them. 76 knew it was fresh ash;
the half orc believed that ashing the dead and dying would
protect him from the sickness. Each one to his theory.
They heard some lashing, the steps of the mule, the
cracking of the wheels, and then, little by little, they
were gone.
--- How 77's plan worked out, kind of. -------------------------
Droplets of rain were still falling on the boys' skins. The
ride had taken, how long? An hour, maybe more? The breath
of their unknown comrade below had grown fainter. Coldness
had never escaped their bodies and fear had locked their
souls all this time. It was time indeed to do something.
"77"
"What?"
"Is it safe?"
"Don't know... I'm dead."
"Open your eyes, just a slit."
77 did just that. They were Outside but this Outside was
different. His first sight was the flesh of the dead, then
the wood of the cart and, beyond that, a road surrounded
by many trees.
"Woods," he whispered.
76 opened his eyelids to a slit, enough to see the back
of the deads-man, who hadn't noticed anything unusual yet.
"76, quickly, sneaky-sneaky, slip out."
Turning downside up, 76 pulled himself out by grabbing his
friend, and, bending his legs, he extended feet and toes
as far as they could go. Then, he dropped himself on the muddy
ground, kneeling instantly into a ball.
Ploc, ploc, kneec, kneec, the mule kept on his pace, the
old wheels keep turning. "Ooh" 77's skin turned from
greenish brown to a dirty green: the dying kid, would his
new moan alert the deads-man. No, he didn't care. But
was he, 77, to abandon that boy, or girl, like that?
76, the human kid, already twenty steps behind the cart,
motioned his friend to get the fword out right away.
77, the goblin, took the moribund human kid and moved him
---now the goblin could see his full body--- to the rear
end of the cart, much to 76's angst. Even so, 76 rushed
to help, grabbing the dying boy from his friend's arm,
and holding him on them, ready to thunder off.
Right then, the deads-man turned, showing a calmed smile
to the escapees.
"Oh, you're some smart-asses, aren't you. Now if you
know what's better for you, keep where you are, and listen,
I have a sweet deal for you... or else."
"77 run!"
77 jumped off the cart but then turned at the deads-man.
"We can't leave our friend." Which was a casual way
to name, someone you had been dropped onto.
"Nice, now listen, this is what will happen if you don't
listen. You'll hide in the woods and think of yourselves
grand, but then, ah!, no food, cold-cold, rain, sadness...
those guards at the mine, I will tell them, you know I will,
they'll pay me, you know. I'm poor old halfoz and
a poor halfoz needs shineys. Your friend will die and it'll
be your fault, all your fault. And then the humans will come
and hunt you like mice, and get you. Just how angry will they
be?"
The deads-man gave a hard whip to his mule, who brayed in despair.
"77, let's go!"
"Wait for the nice part. I know a friend who'll hire
you, not slaves, you work for them, he'll give you shineys,
good food, no chaining, no lashing, just a good honest job
driving sheep up and down the mountains. It's all fresh
air, comfy-warm clothes, and all the milk you can drink."
Now, neither of them had ever experienced any of that.
"Thank you, we goodbye you and all it's nice together."
77, spoke in a human/goblin creole. He had heard the
man wishing to become a slaver; besides who could trust
anybody that wouldn't help a dying kid?, A dying anyone or
anything?
The deads-man reached for his weapon, a goedendag, one
common known in foreign parts, among peasants. This was a
humble but deadly implement, that looked like a spear and
a club have had a bestial baby.
What to do? Neither kid wanted to surrender or leave the
sick kid. But fight? Against that mass of a half-orc?
"My brothers are watching us!" 77 words came out
convincingly as he could.
"Yeah, we had all it our heads. We're smart, smart, catch
it?" 76 sounded more sinister to the halfoz in creole. A
human speaking like a goblin! And yet most of his friends
were green to olive in complexion.
"Yeah, sure. Now, let me tie you nicely and we'll all
go nicely to a nice place and no blood will come out of
your ears. That's my last offer, take it, or I'll break
your bone one by... one each day."
76 wet himself in fear, ever as he still held the sick
boy. 77 clenched his teeth and whispered the human,
"running mule", hoping his friend would get what he
meant, and then scooped off.
76 didn't move, he hadn't figured out what he was supposed to
do with the mule, but he wasn't to leave the sick kid alone,
even showing a pitiful fist to the burly half orc. The deads-man
hit his wagon with his weapon, shouted in anger and came
at 76, slowly, almost savoring in anticipation the blood
of his victim. But as he did, a stone came an inch off
his head. That was 77, coming back again.
"Stop!!" the brute shouted. "Stop!! or I kill them"
but the goblin boy chucked another stone at the brute,
hitting him squarely in the navel, about two inches too
high from where he had been aiming. This unlocked the fury
of the ogre-aspirant, who fumed, literally, shouted and
charged at 77.
Then it came to 76. Of course! As 77 ran away into the
woods, he suddenly understood what his quicker witted
friend had meant. Rushing to the mule, he freed her and
the terrified animal galloped away. It was only then that
77 taunted: "Deads-man, deads-man! Where'd you walk-walk all
alone, poor ol-deads-man?" That sung, he took the sick
boy back on his arms and ran as fast as he could.
Meanwhile, 76, kneeling after a rock, was praying like a
tiny goblin cub. "Goblin-mama, I'm afraid, goblin-mama,
I'm afraid."
--- Flying in shadows ------------------------------------------
Darkness was creeping into the woods, 76 just heard
something. He sped up, his side aching with the effort.
He looked at the dying boy, and felt guilty to wish him
dead already. Then, it'll all be much easier. But he didn't
let the boy go.
Afar, near 77, the half orc bellowed, cursed the ground and
shouted to burn the forest, but have his revenge. The
goblin kid, still behind his rock, was too afraid to
pray. He'd keep still until it was obvious he had been
discovered, and then run for it until the grown half orc would
be too close, then he'd fight his last fight. That plan,
ingrained in his goblin soul, wasn't still on his mind,
but that he'd do with certainty.
Back at 76, something hit him, downing him in his slug of
a race.
"You don't stupid-stupid, I don't kill!"
Never had a human boy been so happy to see a full grown
goblin!
"Please, please, please, help us with might and quick-quick,
friends in trouble."
"We warriors not, we fly in shadows, now, now, sit and
muzzle the muzzle, rest, we help. Which tribe?"
--- Goblin-mama beats the drumma -------------------------------
"Goblin-mama is here."
77 dropped his mouth. Had that undead aspen tree at his
side turned into a fat, warty, goblin-human with a wheel
for a face and a loving smile? Everybody knew Goblin-mama
wasn't a real goblin goddess, just an imagined up comfort
creature for lil' goblin cubs.
"Big cub, don't let him get you, look, that shiny,
shiny stone, it's not what you thought but a bit of lead,
from an old battle. Now, take it."
77 did as told, his hand shaking.
"Give me your fears-dreads. I give, give you quietness,
if you stay he'll get you, if you run, he'll get you,
if you fight, he'll kill you. Throw it"
"To the head?"
"No, plonker, to his pee-pee!"
77 stood up. The half orc saw him at once, a hungry smile on
his face, too happy to charge. Then, the goblin boy made
his mark, and threw his missile.
Ooz, ooz, ooz, the missile flew, ow! eeyouch! it hit its
target. The half orc fell, blood coming out.
"Run! Quick-Fox Run!" 77, thus baptized by Goblin-mama,
ran to the half orc, grabbed his weapon from the ground,
spitted on the helpless brute stole the damned thing,
and ran away with, but only after showing the brute
his back side of the Moon.
The helpless half orc would letter say to a bottle of grog
that he heard the trees drumming all through the night.
--- Among friends ----------------------------------------------
No, the sick boy didn't die. The "trees-trees tribe", and,
maybe, Goblin-mama saw to it, with herbs and incantations.
Each one of our three heroes* found a name, and though those
are tales for another day. 76 became Goodheart and the sick boy
would be known as "Luckier than finding a clubby dragon",
or just Luckier, for short.
And these were the seven member of the goblin tribe that
found them: four goblin females, one goblin male, a snobby
elf kid, a halfling boy, and a grumpy half-orc girl.
And with this peculiar true goblin tribe they had great
adventures for two grand years, until they began their
great quest. Those stories will have their beginnings but
this humble one has reached its end.
* Well, we're making Luckier an honorary hero even though he did
nothing because it's just good manners! Besides, I get to
write this thing and you get to read it and be fun-glad
with it, right?!
