Gillian Summers - The goblin's curse

Dad sighed. “Keelie.”

“I need to go find Cricket,” Keelie moved toward the door.

Knot placed his paw on Keelie’s leg. “Meow.”

“Where is that little goblin? I was going to put him on garbage detail,” Finch said.

“He’s dead.” Keelie choked the words out.

“I’m sorry, Keelie.” Finch’s voice was soft. She seemed to really mean it. “He was a good little fellow, and he would’ve made a hell of a good detail worker. I’ve never seen anyone recycle trash the way he did.”

“Keelie, we must go.” Dad’s tone was insistent. He sounded more like Niriel every minute.

Keelie’s resolve to go and find Cricket deepened. “I’m going to find my little friend’s body!”

She pushed past her father and ran, Knot at her side, toward the meadow.

She followed Knot down the West Road to the woodland area behind the privies. Along the way, she overheard bits of conversation about the fires and angry opinions about Vangar and Finch among the performers and shopkeepers. Everyone seemed to be unhappy, and more people had noticed Hob’s strange behavior. Nobody had seen him since he’d closed his shop. Keelie kept quiet about Hob’s whereabouts and what he had done-murdered one of his own kind.

Thirty minutes later Knot and Keelie were at the entrance to a small cavern, standing under a huge sandstone rock that overhung the entrance like a porch roof. “Are you sure there aren’t any bears in there?” Keelie asked. Dragons in Colorado were surprising, but black bears were native to these mountains.

“No. Meow.”

Keelie breathed deeply of the fresh mountain air. She would need it in the stale underground. The stench of goblin reeked through the small opening, and it would probably be much worse inside; hygiene wasn’t part of a goblin’s daily routine. It hadn’t smelled this bad earlier. There must be more goblins now.

She coughed. “How far in is he?”

“Meow close.” Knot wrinkled his nose, but he pushed his way into the opening and Keelie followed him down the wet slope, slippery beneath her borrowed shoes. She wished for the dry dirt stairs of the other entrance, or at least for decent boots.

Light from the opening illuminated the tunnel. Water dripped from the cave roof, part of a freshet that trickled down from the rocks above. Keelie walked cautiously toward a dark passageway that stretched to one side, careful not to alert any goblins who may have strayed this far.

Twelve steps in, she discovered Cricket’s broken body lying against the wall. His little legs were sprawled carelessly, and his eyes were open wide, glazed with fear and frozen in death.

A sob escaped from deep within her chest. She reached out and picked him up, cradling him against her chest. “Poor little guy. You didn’t deserve this.”

“Halt.” The growled command came from behind.

Keelie’s heart boomed loudly as she slowly turned around, fearing it was a goblin. She hoped it would understand why she was here and would let her go do what she must.

“Help me. I just wanted to get his body and bury it with the respect and dignity that he deserves,” she said without looking up. She held Cricket in the palms of her hands and extended them so the goblin could see the body. The little creature’s sharp-taloned hands dangled.

“Your kindness to others always amazes me. I think it is one of your better qualities.” The voice transformed, becoming warm and smooth.

“Dad! What are you doing here?” she asked.

He didn’t acknowledge her question, looking around the cavern instead. “Interesting place. Made by dragons-can you tell?”

“Dragons, really?” What was up with her father?

Dad seemed more relaxed and less rigid, less the angry elf, here in the goblins’ lair than he’d been up in Finch’s office.

“Yes, and since Peascod has invoked the anger of two dragons, in the end he will be dispatched to the Goddess of Death. One does not make a dragon angry without facing the consequences.” Dad’s voice was calm.

“The Goddess of Death. I thought it was the Grim Reaper,” Keelie said.

“The Grim Reaper is an image, sort of like Santa Claus. The Goddess of Death has her minions dress in black robes, and she carries a scythe, the whole scary thing, but she’s the one who runs the spirit world.”

Keelie blinked and looked once more down at Cricket’s body.

“Come, Keelie. Bring your companion and let us take him where his body can rise forth and meet the Great Sylvus,” Dad said gently. “Do not worry, daughter. Your friend will be put safely to rest.”

Keelie nodded and blinked. She would not cry. “Dad, what happened to you?”

“Why?” His eyes widened as if he realized something was different about him. “I feel more my old self now. I’ve felt odd since arriving at the faire.” He touched the smooth rock wall.

And acted odd, too. Touching the dirt in her pocket, Keelie tilted her head fifteen degrees, called upon Earth magic, and focused on Dad. “ Allow me to see truly.”

Fading green tendrils surrounded Dad. It looked like nature magic, the kind used by elves.

“I think you’ve been enchanted,” Keelie said.

Dad narrowed his eyes. He lifted his hands and looked at them as if he could see the spell. “Enchanted. That would explain why I cast my vote at the Council meeting for the elves to leave. My vote was the deciding factor. Niriel was pleased.”

“He said you’d been acting more like a proper elf,” Keelie said.

“So he did.” Dad grimaced. “Niriel enchanted me. Yet despite that, I followed you here. I remember thinking that I needed to go to the elven village, but still, my feet stayed on the path behind you.”

“The magic doesn’t seem to work at all in this cavern,” Keelie said. “You’re shielded from its influence.”

“I need a strong talisman to shield me from Niriel’s magic above ground, and I think I know who can help.” Dad gestured toward the entrance. “We need to return to the surface before we meet up with any goblins.”

“Dad, I can draw on Earth magic directly to shield myself from the Dread, so I can spare this.” Keelie put the rose quartz in his hand and closed his fingers around it. “I hope it helps.”

He smiled tenderly. “Thank you.” Putting a hand on her shoulder, he followed as she headed out, holding Cricket’s body tightly.

When they reached the surface, Keelie gulped in the fresh air. Relief flowed through her at having her dad back. “Who can help find a permanent talisman to protect you?” she asked. “That rose quartz isn’t meant to defend against heavy-duty magic.”

“Sir Davey, who else? But first, let us put your little friend to rest.” Dad’s voice was gentle as he looked at Cricket.

“Where?” Keelie asked.

“We’re going to ask for a little help from the trees to find the proper resting place.” Hrok, Dad telepathically called.

Yes, Tree Shepherd. Green filled Keelie’s mind.

We need your assistance.

Images of herself holding Cricket spun through her mind like a zoetrope, and then circulated through all the trees in the surrounding forests and mountaintops.

We hear your call, Tree Shepherd.

Dad’s presence and voice encompassed the trees as he instructed them to find a resting place for the little goblin. Green magic enfolded Keelie; she felt a sense of peace, and a oneness with the trees and their energy. She hadn’t known that Dad wielded quite this much power.

Feeling lighter, she opened her eyes to see herself floating above the ground. Then a sickening wave of nausea overcame her as she experienced the familiar sensation of a whoosh.