The Curious Behavior of a Goblin
prologue and chapter 1 of To Those Who Hear the Call
I’m Lydia Woodward and I write fantasy stories about redemption and forgiveness. To learn more, you can read my bio here or the about page here.
A Brief Intro
Today is the day! I was going to just post the first chapter, but I had a fun idea for a prologue and decided to add that as well. 😊
I’m sharing this story as I write it, so I’m sure that there will be some typos and errors no matter how much I try to weed them out.
To Those Who Hear the Call is a noblebright1 fantasy. My favorite explanation of what that entails is this quote from Tiger Hebert:
Noblebright is written from a worldview that believes … that our choices and actions do matter and that they can change the world for the better. It is based on a belief that anyone can make a difference, and the good is worth fighting for (see footnote for the link).
Once there was a child who never dreamed.
She would close her eyes to her dark room to be greeted by nothing more or less than an empty space in which to rest. Sleeping was peaceful and serene, without a fright or joy to disturb her. Ignorance to the uniqueness of her situation seemed to be her most jealous friend, guarding over her impressions of the world with a merciless fervor. Its efforts were well rewarded. For there never was a moment where little Enaj ever doubted that she was a happy member of normalcy. Just another round-faced child with lovely, if not a trifle boring, parents. In short, had she ever had the thought to question it, she would most certainly have comforted herself in the absolute surety of her average existence. After all, nothing extraordinary ever happened on the corner of East Street. And it seemed safe to deduce that nothing ever would.
But one night, something extraordinarily simple changed the entire trajectory of her life: Enaj dreamed.
Or, so she was led to believe. For, you see, the rules are all rather simple. Dreamers dream, and weavers weave. If a weaver were to dream then all the dreaming would be weaving, and the dreamers would be lost. There is only one frayed thread to dangle on without unraveling the whole bit, and Enaj, by the ingenuity of childlike simplicity, caught it with both fists. She was not at all aware that her vivid dreams were not dreams at all. Tenacious ignorance whispered that it was so, and she had long since given it her absolute trust. And thus begins the adventures that seemingly ordinary Enaj became privy to. The streaming consciousness of another from a world so unlike her own, and yet, perhaps not so very far away indeed.
Welcome to my daymare.
Or not.
In truth, I would much rather be left alone, but if someone is too stubborn to realize when they've stumbled into the dreary dark, then I imagine my preferences won't hinder you either.
But going forward, there are three things that you must know about daymares:
do not look them in the eye,
never describe them out loud, and
always question reality
I may be sitting in the back left corner of a rowdy tavern. The air is thick with the scent of spilled ale, the tart pop of fizzling concoctions, smoke, perfume, and the ever-present tinge of living beings pressed together in an enclosed place. Noises pitch and fall at irregular intervals simultaneously around the room while the dim lighting contrasts sharply with the blinding flash of noonday light every time the door swings open.
Am I really here though?
The luminescent stones along the walls seem to vibrate, the light flickering with a distinct buzzing sound that threatens to drown out the commotion around me. For a moment, the room dips, the colors blurring together and spinning around me. The humming buzz seems almost personable for a moment and I can make out the breathy cadence of a whisper beneath it all, as if I could make out the words if I focused hard enough. Suddenly, there's a shadow looming behind me, reaching for my side...
I suck in a deep breath, my lungs expanding and temples pulsing with the realization that I haven't been breathing. My eyelids press together before I shake my head, opening them again to the raucous presence of the tavern. Aside from the momentary dizziness, all is back to normal. Idle curiosity leads me to press my index finger against the soft indent below my calloused palm.
Thump, thump, thump.
My heartbeat is steady and even, still slower than the various creatures bustling all around me. It's been this way for so long that I can hardly remember what it was once like to truly feel.
Rub shoulders with death enough times, and you find that not much is capable of inducing the stomach-dropping, teeth-gritting terror of your childhood nightmares. If anything, it's the jump scares and life-threatening scenarios that make you realize just how deeply the empty numbness permeates your entire being.
Pressing a half-empty mug to my lips, I drink deeply of the lightly spiced ale. My gaze lingers for a moment on the next group of customers pouring in for the midday rush. The now-empty mug clanks softly against the wooden table as I set it back down with a sigh.
He's late.
Two more mugfuls of ale have followed the first by time his short, stout body wedges through the front door. His narrow eyes have a shrewd glint to them as he scans the room, finally landing on my table. He smiles, a crooked smile full of gleaming teeth all sharpened to curved points. To say that all goblins are greedy energy siphons would be to detract from some of the greatest minds in all the seven mirrorworlds. But, Milpho Fanz was far from an ideal specimen, and if anything, seemed to delight in collecting every malicious trait ever conceived for his species.
He also just so happens to be the warden in charge of my current circumstances.
The dim lighting makes his teeth appear too bright as he strides over to me, clearing his throat with a few more harrumphs than necessary.
"I would feel compelled to excuse my tardiness, but seeing as you have nothing better to do, I'll not apologize for your chance at drinking a bit of ale on the job. Two mugs, was it?" He eyes the empty mug with a chuckle and motions to the nearest waiter. "Another mug, if you will, and a refill for my friend."
The waiter glances over to me and back at Milpho before giving a nod and hurrying toward the bar. Silence stretches for the terse moment it takes him to return, a frothing mug in one hand and a large pitcher in the other.
With a few impatient hand gestures, Milpho has relieved the man of his pitcher and sent him away. He sighs and adjusts the long double rows of polished buttons at the front of his purple vest. If there was one creature still deserving of my pity, it would be whatever tailor was forced to create the wardrobe for the implacable Milpho Fanz.
Full green cheeks pull up in another grin once he meets my gaze before his brow creases with a frown. His long, slender ears tilt downward just slightly as if he was still capable of feeling deep disappointment. "Now, now," he says, with a wag of his finger, "try to curb your enthusiasm, dear boy. I can hardly get a word in edgewise when you're around."
Perhaps the only positive attribute of his personality was the fact that Milpho Fanz required absolutely no response in a conversation. He could get to the point just as easily with a corpse as with a living, breathing person. If anything, the more adept his audience with expressing their opinions, the less agreeable he was sure to become. And a goblin is not the kind of person you want to risk aggravating. I learned early on in my sentence that being the stand-in for the mute corpse was the surest route to staying out of unnecessary trouble. Finding out that your dreams can all switch to nothing but swirling colors and screeching madness tends to get that point across nicely.
Excessive throat clearing signals that Milpho has arrived at the main topic of interest, and I reach for my refilled mug of ale. He presses his slender fingers together and leans on the edge of the table, a predatory gleam lighting up his eyes.
"I have good news for you, my boy." He smiles, somehow managing the widest grin I've seen yet. "Better than good. Why," he lowers his voice to a whisper, glancing around the dim room for added effect, "miraculous is more the word, really. I have a miracle for you."
This time the pause stretches for a moment too long and I realize, with no small amount of frustration, that I've leaned closer to the miserable creature. The mug clanks more forcibly this time when I set it down and lean back in my chair, the legs creaking their complaint at the sudden motion. "And what might that be?"
He chuckles, and for a brief moment, I allow myself the fantasy of wondering just how far I might get if I threw a table at the court's favorite warden.
Not far enough is the foregone conclusion.
Unfazed by my brief show of impatience, Milpho carries on with undisguised glee. "It's so very simple really. One last job and the court will grant a full pardon. Your exile will be over, and our sweet little partnership all brought to a close. I'm sure I will be missed, but we can't help that."
For the first time since meeting him, I am at a loss as to what he could possibly be hinting at. My service thus far has been well below the standards of most court-sanctioned redemptive programs, and I have come to expect little more than a name or address once Milpho has finished his exorbitant display of monotonous prattle. Today, it would seem, he is looking for a cohort in his parade.
A noncommittal hmm is all that escapes me while I rack my brain for an adequate response.
He chuckles, waving a hand dismissively and leaning back in his chair. "Alright, alright, I'll go easy on you, if only because of the bittersweet nature of this final request. Our final mission for the glory of the kingdom and all that. Ah!-" With no small amount of dramatics, he produces a rather insignificant parcel from the inside of his vest pocket, the paper sealed closed with the royal insignia. "You'll need to keep this one alive, my boy. That's where it might get tricky."
There's a thick sense of dread pooling in the pit of my stomach as the thin, folded parchment is placed into my hand. The wax breaks with a slight pop to reveal one word, a name I didn't know I had been silently begging never to see beneath the Bedorian seal.
Wodahs.
"This shouldn't be a problem, Eraneshu?" Milpho stares into his mug with a smirk, swirling the liquid until it languidly slushes up to the edge and round again. With a chuckle, he sets it back down and taps the table in front of me. "Dear me! Looks like this ale is getting to me faster in my old age. I know you won't fail me, my boy."
The word tilts for a moment, colors slurring together while I warn myself to stay present and focused. But he is beside me in a moment, one hand wrapped around my arm in a tight grip and the other patting my hand still holding the paper. I can feel his breath on my cheek. "Remember this, there are far worse punishments than being in my employ. Best not to try your luck."
"Wouldn't dream of it." The parchment dissolves into a wisp of shimmery purple smoke before vanishing from sight. Raising the mug to my lips, I drain the last bit of ale. "I'll see you when it's done."
"Tsk, tsk." Milpho shakes his head as he drops back into his chair with a heavy sigh. "Now is not the time for farewells. I have other things to tend to besides you. We'll both be staying here a bit longer." A glance at his full mug of ale and his brows pull close together in another frown. He pushes his mug over to me and pulls an embroidered cloth from another vest pocket, wiping his fingers clean from whatever he imagines to have grubbied them with on the cold metal. "Honestly, my boy, how you drink this stuff is beyond me. Remind me to treat you to a real beverage when this is all over."
Genuine curiosity swirls inside my brain, feeling foreign and grating my nerves. Silence has been my greatest ally in the years I've been at the tender mercies of the avaricious warden currently surveying the bustling chaos of the tavern with well-disguised loathing. But now is not the time to remain cautious. Not with the name that's still echoing in the recesses of my mind, taunting me with all the convoluted memories and emotions that seem to swirl around it with fiendish delight.
"What else is there to do in this place?" I say, managing to temper any hint of interest in my tone and idly tapping my finger against the empty mug.
"Not too much for you to handle, surely."
One eyebrow lifts at his implication. "Oh? And what else might you be needing me for?"
He heaves a deep sigh before his eyes narrow, a shrewd looking piercing my face. "Hmm, feeling a bit pushy today, are we? Anything in particular making you feel uncomfortable?"
"Perhaps you've started rubbing off on me."
"Perhaps." Milpho agrees, though his stern expression belies it. For a moment, it seems that I have pushed too far, but then the tension evaporates from his face and he winks at me. "Or perhaps you've just had more ale than I surmised." He chuckles. "No matter, my boy. It's a small matter, merely a show of good faith to reassure the good lady here that this information center is running as it should. I should think one amateur warlock is an easy enough feat for you, ale or no."
Few things could have been less reassuring than that last sentence. We both know that the ale will have nothing to do with the strain a warlock can manage on my limited capabilities. No self-respecting Vaye would ever walk away from the threat posed by the Lost Tower, but I am no longer in a position to accept the challenge of an energy-wielder. A fact that Milpho Fanz would know better than anyone.
"Come now, this will all be over soon, and then you can be on your way to earning your freedom. Just one more job." He holds up a long finger for emphasis. "Trust me, Eraneshu, it will all be over soon."
The gleam in his eye gives me the uncomfortable feeling that he might just prove to be right.
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