Jean Rabe - The Rebellion

A shudder passed from the top of his head to his toes, as he stared at the star formations twinkling up from the mirror surface of the black rock. The goblins around him were silent, spent from the climb, hungry again, captivated and frightened by the sky as reflected in the mountaintop basin. Not one of his five hundred followers spoke a single word. It was as if they were collectively holding their breath. All Direfang heard was the low whistle of the wind and distant boom of one volcano, along with the quickened beating of his heart.

He looked around for Mudwort but didn’t see her standing on the rim. Could she have fallen somewhere along the trail and no one noticed? No, he spotted her climbing down into the basin, following a staircase made of circular stones similar to the unusual stones he’d noticed at the base of the mountain. Someone, some folk, had marked the trail and that spot long ago. He watched her pick her way down, the path arduous because the steps had been made for someone with much longer legs.

No one followed her, though most watched her. When she reached the bottom, she looked up and locked eyes with Direfang, her gaze lingering on him before moving on to the wizard. She stared at the spellcasting knight for a long moment before turning back to the basin and stepping out onto the black stone polished like a mirror.

She padded out onto the center of the mirrored basin, the stars seeming to dance all around her.

After many minutes of moving around and exploring, Mudwort sat down in the constellation of Morgion, not for any particular reason other than the star pattern looked pretty and was near the exact center of the basin. She didn’t know what Morgion was the god of, and she had no desire to learn. She only knew a little about some of the gods and was not aware that all of them had constellations named for them. Indeed, if Mudwort had known in advance that the place was called Godshome, she would have resisted the tug that brought her there.

She had no regard for the gods, practically held them in contempt for ignoring and oppressing her race. Worse, while ignoring goblins and hobgoblins, the gods had bolstered the other races of Krynn-the Dark Knights who enslaved and tyrannized the goblins, the ogres and minotaurs who caught and sold them, the draconians and centaurs who looked upon them as rats to be eaten or bugs to be stepped on and pushed aside.

In short, the gods had conspired against the goblins, creatures they themselves supposedly had created.

“Mudwort does not need the gods, and the gods do not need Mudwort,” she murmured to herself. “Yesterday heard the skull man call this place Godshome. But no god lives here now, I think. And only one goblin sits in the stars. One goblin uses the magic in this place.” She thumped her chest and thrust out her chin. “Only one goblin is with the stars.”

Mudwort had heard and smelled the magic of that place back in the ogre village when she touched hands with Moon-eye and scried into the ground. That place tugged at her senses, teasing her with images of the basin and the stars that glittered always, even during the daytime. It had been too powerful of a lure for her to resist, so she’d urged Direfang to follow her and bring his diminishing army.

Moon-eye had marveled at the vision of Godshome too, asking her what “it” was. She’d told him she didn’t know because, in truth, she hadn’t, not at that moment.

But she knew that the place possessed power.

She was there selfishly, not to help Direfang or the rest of the refugee slaves, but only to sate her own curiosity. She’d never seen or dreamed of such a place, and when it called to her as she sat and spoke to the earth in that ogre village, she knew she had to answer its call. Mudwort wanted the others there merely for company and safety, realizing the security the army gave her. After the goblins and hobgoblins had slaughtered the once-feared ogres so quickly, she knew the army was good protection, even in their dwindling numbers.

If she’d come there alone, it might have been too dangerous. One goblin alone might not stand up to the power of that place.

Mudwort stared into the black surface, seeing her face reflected and haloed by stars. There, she was not an ugly rat. There, she was beautiful, her eyes gleaming and wide. Above all, there she felt strength and power. There was mysterious energy in the shiny dark surface of the basin-not the kind that led to earthquakes or volcano eruptions, but old, old energy of the sort present when the world was born.

Her heart racing, Mudwort placed her hands flat against the mirror black rock and let her senses flow into it.

The surface was at the same time icy cold and scalding hot, the wildly extreme temperatures constantly alternating and making her feel dizzy. She wanted to recoil from the sensation. She’d already suffered so much in the past handful of days. She did not want to sustain any more pain. And yet she forced herself to remain calm. The surface did not hurt her anywhere else except on the palms of her hands-not on her legs, which were stretched out wide, nor her heels, nor anywhere else on her body. Only her hands and fingers felt the violent shifts in extreme temperatures.

Perhaps it meant something, the temperature changes, Mudwort reflected, leaning forward and holding her face near the surface of the black mirrored stone. Perhaps the earth spoke there in a way that was new to her. Maybe the shifts in hot and cold were some sort of old language. So she accepted the agony of the wild-ranging heat and cold, gritting her teeth and trying hard not to cry out. She focused intently on the glittering surface of the rock, trying to push her senses beneath the ground. She was focusing so hard, she didn’t notice Moon-eye and Graytoes approach.

Other goblins, too, had wended their way down the stone steps, and the three Dark Knights as well, but only Moon-eye and a reluctant Graytoes had actually breached the surface of the basin, gingerly moving toward Mudwort.

“Moon-eye’s Heart will be safe here,” the one-eyed goblin whispered to Graytoes. “Moon-eye and Mudwort saw this place when looking into the dirt at the ogre village. Didn’t know what it was then, only that it was interesting. Don’t know what it is now. But still, interesting.” Moon-eye tugged his mate down next to him, sitting across from Mudwort, who only then looked up and registered their presence.

“Saw this place in the ogre village,” Moon-eye repeated.

Mudwort nodded. Her hands trembled, so affected were they by the intense heat and cold. She wanted to pull them free, but she found she couldn’t. It was as if the palms of her hands had fused to the glossy surface. She opened her mouth to plead to the goblin couple for help, but no sound emerged.

Moon-eye laid his hands opposite hers, fingers touching as they had under the earth in the ogre village. He threw back his head, as if to howl in pain, but he couldn’t make any sound either.

After a moment more, the hot and cold vanished. They felt nothing against their hands.

The stone beneath their skin was smooth and the same temperature as the rest of their bodies or the air. All traces of the pain they had felt were also banished. Mudwort looked both relieved and disappointed. There had been magic deep in the stone and inside the pain, and it was gone!

“Together, like in the village?” Moon-eye looked quizzically at her then nudged her fingers when she didn’t answer. “Like before? Please. Use the magic together.”

Mudwort glanced up, noting the goblins and hobgoblins keeping their distance on the steps. Direfang was still at the top, on the rim of the mountain. The Dark Knight called Kenosh was halfway down the steps and holding fast to a stone post that looked carved, not natural. The Dark Knight wizard and the skull man were at the edge of the basin, both staring, trying to decide but not yet stepping in her direction.