The Goblin Wood (3 page)

She shook him slightly, in warning. “Don’t even think it, little man.”

He sniffed. “As if I’d soil my teeth on a great dirty creature like you.”

“You’re not that clean yourself!” Makenna retorted, stung. He spoke true; living wild, her bath days had become few and far between. “What’s your name, little man?”

“What’s yours, great wench?”

Makenna scowled. For a prisoner, he was awfully rude. But it was pure bravado, for she held him tightly enough to feel his heartbeat. The rapid heartbeat of a trapped creature. What had she thought to accomplish with this? Even if she could kill him, there would always be more goblins. Why bother? She pushed him away and stood stiffly, brushing the wet leaves off her clothes.

The goblin stared at her suspiciously. “What’s this about, wench?”

“My name is Makenna. And you’re free. Go away.”

“What for?”

“Because I don’t want to spend the rest of the night talking to rude goblins. Go on, get!”

“No, great stupid one, I meant what do you want for freeing me?”

Not pure bravado after all, Makenna decided. At least half his rudeness sprang from plain bad temper. She turned to the sapling to pull her food sack down.

“Well, are you going to make me stand about all night? What do you want?”

Makenna shrugged. “Nothing. I just can’t stand to hurt anything in a trap. Not even surly goblins. Not that it’s any of your business.”

She skinned a knuckle untying the knot and swore as she lowered the net that held the food sack. She’d have to eat all she could before going back to sleep, for the rest would likely be gone before she woke. When she turned back, the goblin was still standing there.

“You must want something.” His voice was anxious, almost pleading. “You must.”

“Well, it would be nice if the lot of you would leave me alone, but I’m sure that’s too much to ask.” She sighed wearily. “Just go.”

“Ahhh!” His anguished shriek rent the silence.

Makenna sprang back, tripped and sat down abruptly, blinking in astonishment. “What the—”

“You’ve done it! Curse you, wench, may your children be devoured by ducks, you’ve gone and done it! Ahhh!” He stamped his foot. Makenna wished there’d been a sharp rock beneath it. Her lips twitched.

“Done what?” she asked, clambering to her feet.

“You don’t even know, you great stupid creature. What have I done to deserve this, what?” He clutched his hair, elbows akimbo, eyes wild.

Makenna couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded a bit rusty. Was this the first time she’d laughed since her mother’s death? “Look, all I want is for you to go away. I’ll give you some food, all right?”

“Ahhh!”

Makenna clapped her hands over her ears.

“You’ve done it again!” the goblin cried.

“Done what?”

“You’ve gone and indebted me! Now I owe you! Guarding, serving, gold—who knows where it’ll end? Why do I have to meet up with the one human who won’t strike an honest bargain—even a greedy one! What an accursed night this has been. I’ll be about!”

He turned and stomped toward the bushes.

Makenna tried to stifle her giggles. “Look, I don’t want—”

The goblin spun. “Don’t you go indebting me again, wench, or I swear I’ll get violent, indebted or not!” He stalked away, radiating fury. At the edge of the clearing he paused and looked back to snarl, “My name’s Cogswhallop,” before he vanished.

When Makenna woke the next morning all of her food was still there, and a pile of fresh-picked blueberries had joined it.

Cogswhallop was seldom seen after that, but he made his presence felt. Food still vanished, but more appeared. Gear was mended and fires stayed alive all night.

Sometimes when she was traveling, he turned up to warn her of trouble ahead or guide her to an easier path. He was never polite, much less friendly, but she finally got him talking enough to learn what she’d done to upset him so.

“Humans! Do you never give folks any balance?” he complained.

Makenna frowned over the cold pigeon pie that had probably come from some villager’s windowsill. She had just thanked him for it. “What do you mean?”

Cogswhallop snorted. “If you go doing more for someone than they pay back, then they’re indebted to you—surely even a human can understand that. And if you’re indebted, you can’t be in balance with them. Or with yourself, for that matter. You’re…unequal. Like with me, owing you a life debt. It’ll take a cursed mountain of pigeon pie to pay that off.”

Makenna took a moment to think this over. The folk of her village had surely taken more from her mother than they’d paid back, even before—She swallowed and put down the pie. They hadn’t been equals, that was certain. “So if you owe someone a favor, you always pay it back, so that you won’t be indebted. Not for them, but for you.”

“Good wench. I knew you could understand, if I said it in wee, simple words.”

Makenna grinned. Prickly as he was, it was nice to have someone to talk to. Almost a friend. “But what about friendship? Surely you don’t keep track of every little thing friends do for one another? Or families?”

“You think friends don’t need to be equal? And families need balance more than any, I’d think. Though with friends, we don’t keep such close track of the amount of the debt. You can pay back favors with just a token, a rock, a pinecone, whatever’s to hand. With friends, or with family, it’s just a symbol. The real debt gets paid out in time.”

It made sense to Makenna, in an odd sort of way. Once she understood the rules of the goblin’s game, she came to enjoy it. When the other goblins, who still followed her, stole things, she put out food to ransom her possessions back. When she had plenty, she put out food as an offering, and they always did her some favor in return.

It was good to know that someone listened when she spoke her thoughts aloud, even if she couldn’t always see them. So Makenna felt nothing but pleasure when Cogswhallop appeared before her as she hiked along at dusk.

“Drop those bags and follow me,” he commanded.

Makenna did, rubbing the sore spot the rope always left on her shoulder. He led her toward the road that meandered east through the woods.

The leaves had all fallen now, and they were far enough north that an occasional pine gleamed green through the barren branches.

As they approached the road, Cogswhallop dropped to his stomach and began to crawl, and Makenna followed his lead, trying to be as silent as possible wiggling through the dried bracken. Cogswhallop made no more sound than a soft breeze. Of course he was smaller. He stopped under a bush at the top of a hill, and Makenna crawled up to join him.

A campfire blazed beside the road below and something bubbled in the iron pot above it. A tinker, a small man with more gray than brown in his hair, was cooking his evening meal.

But it was his pack that drew her eyes, a huge leather pack, with wide shoulder straps designed to be carried comfortably day after day. It looked enormous, stuffed with his gear and the tools of his trade. It would probably be too big for her, but likely the goblins could adjust it—

“I thought you’d like it,” Cogswhallop murmured.

M
akenna crept into the tinker’s camp, inch by silent inch, alert for the slightest variation in the rhythm of his snoring. She spared an irritated thought for Cogswhallop who’d vanished shortly after leading her to her prize—he could have done this much more quietly. But evidently the goblins’ strange rules put this beyond the bounds of his “indebtedness.”

The pack lay next to the tinker’s bedroll. The worst part, Makenna thought as she eased forward, would come when she reached the pack. Tinker’s tools had a tendency to clank. It might be better to try to unload the pack right there beside him, if she could be quiet enough. If he continued to snore like that, likely he’d not hear if she rattled the pans in his ears.

Heart thumping, she crept forward as silently as she could. The rhythm of his snoring never changed. She reached down, touched the pack buckle—and a hard hand closed around her ankle.

Makenna dove away. The force of her movement pulled the tinker half out of his blankets, but he didn’t let go, and she fell, already twisting to face him, kicking as he seized her other leg. The dirt beneath her was dry and loose. Quick as thought, she grabbed a handful and cast it at his eyes, but he closed them before it hit.

He kept his face turned away and swarmed up her body like a man climbing a tree. It wasn’t until he was sitting on her stomach, pinning both her wrists to the earth, that he finally looked down at her face. “Why, you’re only a lass!”

Struggling was useless, so Makenna stopped.

“I’m not ‘only a lass,’” she replied with as much arrogance as she could muster. “I’m a hedgewitch, and a powerful one. If you hurt me, I’ll curse you in the names of all the demons I know, so you’d better let me go, now!”

“Ah, you know the demons’ names, do you?” He didn’t look frightened. In fact he looked like he was trying not to smile.

Makenna’s fear vanished in a wave of outrage. “I do know them. Lots of them! And…and I’ve got hordes of goblin slaves who’d avenge me, too!” She only hoped they weren’t listening, because she had no idea how they might react to that.

The tinker chuckled. “Hold back your hordes, lass, for Todder Yon means you no harm. If I let you go, will you promise not to claw my eyes out?”

“Aye,” said Makenna slowly. What was he up to?

He released her and stood, and she scrambled to her feet, glaring up at him. Now she understood how Cogswhallop had felt.

“Why’d you let me go?”

“Why not?” Todder Yon shrugged. “If you’ll stay awhile, and behave yourself, I’ll even heat up some stew for you.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re a powerful hedgewitch, of course.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he bent over the fire to stir it up. “We lesser minions ought to stick together.”

“Lesser what?”

“Minions.” The amusement left his face—he looked older. “Haven’t you heard it? The Hierarch decided that any power that doesn’t come from the Seven Bright Ones, like the priests’ power does, must be coming from the Dark One. He declared that all hedgewitches, seers, even the light healers, are lesser minions of the Dark One. Bad as demons, he said, just not so strong.”

“But that’s nonsense,” Makenna burst out. “Mother never had anything to do with the Dark One. And neither have I. We don’t even know any—” She stopped abruptly, but he wasn’t slow.

“Demons’ names? That’s fine with me, lass, for I’d hate to be cursed. Did something happen to your mother?”

Makenna said nothing, but he read the answer in her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You don’t have to talk about it. No father, either?”

“No,” said Makenna shortly. Ardis had always claimed Makenna’s father had loved her, loved both of them. But not enough to stay with a hedgewitch. Ardis had never blamed him for it, but Makenna had.

“On your own, then? Well, you’d best have a care for yourself, since you’ve no one to care for you. The Hierarch decreed that all the Dark One’s minions are to be slain or turned over to the church. The Decree of Bright Magic, they’re calling it. And you’d best watch out for your goblin horde as well—they’ve been declared lesser minions, just like the rest of us.”

“But why?” Makenna demanded. “I know they never approved of hedgewitches, but that’s no reason to kill us!”

“I don’t know the real reason.” Todder sighed. “They say it’s because the barbarian attacks in the south are growing worse. They had to recruit more men into the army last winter, and they’ll need even more this year. Soon there’ll be all-out war on the southern border.”

“So?” demanded Makenna. A border war was the Hierarch’s business, and perhaps the lords’. The barbarians had been raiding the southern border for as long as anyone could remember. “What does that have to do with hedgewitches? It’s knights and priests that fight a war.”

“Ah, but the knights and priests are commanded by the Hierarch, so you can hardly expect them to take the blame, now can you? The logic is that the Bright Ones have stopped favoring the Hierarch’s army, because he’s been tolerating the presence of the Dark One’s servants in his own land. If he casts out the ‘evil ones,’ then the army will start winning again. It’s pigdung, but that’s what they say.” He shook his head ruefully and stirred the bubbling pot. “By St. Spiratu’s truth, I’d give a lot to know what they’re really up to. Of course, those with power blaming those without isn’t exactly a new thing in the world.”

“But that’s absurd. Hedgewitches have nothing to do with whether the army wins or loses. And seers and light healers can’t do anything but predict or heal—and not even as well as a hedgewitch can! To blame us for what happens to some distant army is…is…” She could think of no word strong enough.

“Despicable? Aye, so it is. But unless the Decree is revoked, it’ll go hard with all of us.”

Hatred was rising in Makenna, a cold, solid hate, not at all like the blazing fury that had led her to flood her village. “Why do you keep saying ‘us,’ tinker? Do you have power?”

“Not a scrap.” He ladled stew into a bowl and gave it to her. “You might as well sit down.” He sat himself, leaning comfortably against his pack.

“The Hierarch says the way we rove about—tinkers, and the gypsies, too—serving no lord is a sign of lawlessness. And lawlessness comes from the Dark One. Myself, I think the Hierarch is more concerned about the news we spread.”

As Makenna ate, he proceeded to spread news. He told her about failed harvests, which were also being blamed on the Dark One’s minions. One village had even been completely swallowed by flood when its sluice gate was mysteriously damaged, though no one there was killed.

Makenna tried to hide her riveted attention and evidently succeeded, for the tinker went on to talk about scandals, dishonest lords, and rumors of corrupt priests. At first, satisfaction at the success of her revenge distracted her, but eventually she began to listen. She was most interested in his talk of the priests’ intention to push the goblins into the north woods, where they could be imprisoned behind the great wall.

“But that’ll never succeed,” Todder remarked. “It didn’t work three hundred years ago, and it won’t work now. Especially with all the holes that have grown in the wall over the centuries.”

“Why’s the Hierarch killing hedgewitches and not goblins?” Makenna asked. It felt strange, talking to a human, but good, too—pleasure and discomfort mixed, like stretching out stiff muscles.

“Have you ever tried to kill goblins, lass? It’s not impossible, but killing them all would take far more men and magic than the church can spare. Driving them out’s hard enough.”

He still hadn’t run out of gossip when he caught her yawning and tossed her a couple of blankets.

“By the by, lass, what was it you wanted here?”

“Your pack.” Makenna was too tired to lie. “I need something stronger to carry my things in.”

“Hmm,” said the tinker. “Well, I can’t give you that one, for I’ve need of it myself, but I’ve an old one here you might make use of.” He dug into his pack as he spoke, and pulled out a heap of crumpled leather. “It’s pretty well in tatters; I’ve been using bits of it for leather scrap. But perhaps that goblin horde of yours could mend it for you.” He winked as he handed it over. “There you go, and St. Veschia’s charity with it.”

Makenna snorted. “You have the most blasphemous opinions I’ve ever heard, but you offer a saint’s blessing? A saint’s nothing but a priest who went and did something memorable enough to get himself talked about.”

“And so? Veschia was a good woman, by all accounts, priest or no. Why shouldn’t the poor folk she cared about invoke her name?” His face was sober, but his eyes danced. He knew she had no answer.

“Humph.” Makenna turned away. She didn’t like feeling indebted, any more than Cogswhallop did. Especially to someone who laughed at her.

She took the battered pack with her, when she crept out of camp just before dawn, listening to Todder Yon’s deceptive snores.

Speaking with another human had roused the aching loneliness the goblin’s company had almost cured. And he’d been kind, she supposed. But the villagers had seemed kind before they turned on her mother. She didn’t trust him. She preferred the goblin’s system of favor for favor, even though it took two weeks to set out enough food to get the pack mended.

She hadn’t seen Cogswhallop in all that time and was beginning to think she never would again. She was surprised how much she missed him, but she’d become accustomed to loneliness once—she’d come to accept it again.

So when Cogswhallop shook her awake one morning, she sat up gasping in astonishment. He had never touched her before. Her delight at seeing him was washed away by the tension in his thin face.

“I thought I’d paid it,” he fretted. “I thought with finding you a pack I’d cleared my debt, for good and all.”

“You have,” said Makenna promptly. “You owe me nothing, Cogswhallop. Paid in full.”

“Aye,” he said glumly. “But that’s about to change. It may be too late already, wench, and I’m not even sure if there’s anything you can do, but I’ve some friends who need help. Badly.”

Makenna stared at the wood piled under the towering oak and groped desperately for a plan. The thought of what she might have to witness sickened her.

“It’s that great chain they’ve laid in a circle around the tree that’s the problem,” Cogswhallop told her grimly.

Makenna squinted through the crack between the boards of the old barn where they were hiding. She could only catch glimpses of the chain, between the bodies of the milling mob. “I thought you could touch iron.”

“Oh, it’s not that it’s iron. It’s spelled against goblins, like the doorsills of the churches. Not one of us can get within six feet of it. Keeps us out and the Greeners in. Real effective, that priest, may foxes chew off his buttocks! I was hoping you could get past it.”

“If the chain’s only spelled against goblins, then I can,” said Makenna. “The problem isn’t the chain, it’s that great crowd of people.”

A wave of despair swept over her. Trapped, the lot of them. She hadn’t been able to save her own mother. What made Cogswhallop think she could save his friends? Even with unexpected help.

She could feel the hopeful gazes of her goblin allies. When they’d arrived at the farm, four strange goblins had materialized and followed Cogswhallop out of the bushes. Cogswhallop had seen her staring.

“You didn’t think I’d ask you to do it all on your own, did you? These are Oddi and Beekin, the lass is Narri, and the little one’s Pimo. They’re the ones who’ve been following you all these weeks.”

It felt strange to see the faces of her pursuers.

“Good enough, if all we needed was tricks with a food bag,” Makenna had said grimly. She had no great faith in the goblins’ abilities, for all the bedevilment they’d given her, but it had been nice to have allies. Until she saw what she was up against. Now they were just four more people she might fail.

Returning her thoughts to the present, Makenna stared into the bare branches. The tree was an ancient giant. Almost all its leaves had fallen, but she still couldn’t see anything in it.

“Are you sure they’re trapped up there?”

“Aye, a whole family of Greeners. Five of ’em. They’re keeping still, hoping the humans will think they’re gone and the farm folk’ll be able to talk the mob out of it. Those farmers are the only reason they didn’t set it alight at dawn.”

Makenna had guessed that without being told. A farmer was speaking furiously with the priest, who wore the seven-rayed sun symbol of his calling upon his breast. The farmer had the look of a man who’d been arguing for a long time. His wife stood off a bit, weeping into her apron. A little boy, also sobbing, clung to her skirts. An older boy stood beside her, but he wasn’t crying. He looked grim and angry, and his hands flexed as if he wanted a weapon in them. The priest looked sober, even sympathetic, but there was a smugness about him that reminded Makenna of Mistress Manoc from her village. He’d already won, and he knew it.

Anger surged through her, burning away her helplessness. These were her mother’s enemies, in spirit, if not in person. “The farmers won’t be able to talk them out of it,” she said quietly, turning to face her small troop.

Cogswhallop’s sharp face crumpled with despair. “Then if you can’t get though the crowd, they’re as good as burned.”

“Not so fast.” All she needed was a plan—she’d been able to destroy her whole village, once she had a plan. “I might be able to get through the crowd. There’s a spell that’ll make people look right over me. But it’s not strong enough to make them overlook me if I step across that chain and lift the goblins down from the tree. We need to distract them. Maybe if we could burn down something else—but it’d have to be important, not just a haystack, and we’ve no time to lay a fire and have it take hold.”

Without looking, Cogswhallop reached behind him, grabbed Oddi’s tunic, and hauled the goblin, squeaking, in front of Makenna. “Oddi’s a Flamer. He’s the lad who’s been keeping your fire going nights. He can get anything blazing in minutes.”

“Really? How? No, never mind. Oddi, could you set fire to a building?”