The Kingdom - Clare B Dunkle - Hollow Kingdom 01 - The Hollow Kingdom

“Help!” panted the girls, dashing up. Old Agatha’s broad face and snapping black eyes turned toward them.

“Oh, look!” she cried, clapping her hands and dropping her herb-filled basket. “It’s my two pretty ladies! Now, help from what, my dears?”

Kate stopped short in horror, but Emily burst out, “Agatha, save us! The goblins are coming!” This was a rather silly speech to make, but the little woman took their trembling hands kindly enough.

“Not yet, dears,” she soothed. “Who’s been chasing my ladies?” As if in reply, they heard hooves on the path again. Kate pointed mutely toward the sound.

“Oh, that!” Agatha chuckled. “They’re no goblins! Just a couple of clodhopping humans out for a moonlight ride.”

“But they’re after us!” cried Emily. Kate nodded vigorously. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it stuck fast.

“Not for long,” declared the little woman. “Just stand still now.” She reached into one of her capacious pockets and pulled out some sort of powder, carefully patting it down into the hollow of her hand. The horses were almost upon them. Agatha took a deep breath and blew the powder toward them. The air was filled with the sound of terrified neighing and plunging, riders’ confused shouts, and snapping branches. The two horses tore off down the path to the house as if demons were after them, their riders clinging to them more by accident than skill.

Old Agatha watched them go, chuckling with satisfaction. Then she bent and retrieved her basket and went on with her work. The girls stared after the horses in amazement. The exhaustion of the sudden fright and quick run caught up with them, and they stood speechless for a moment, drawing in shaky breaths.

“We’re so excited about the wedding, dear,” Agatha assured the petrified Kate, her nimble fingers working in the weeds at their feet. “And a prize you are, to be sure, after the King’s last wife. What a dull, drab thing she was, poor mite! He certainly didn’t deserve that. And a fine King he is, too, my dear, though I should say it, who was his old nurse, you know. He’s the best magician we’ve had in many a generation, though there do be some who say he’s too elf-pretty to be a proper king.”

“Mm,” said Kate stupidly, too horrified to reply, but Emily was quite interested in the little woman’s speech. She had no difficulty, as usual, in thinking of things she wanted to know.

“What do you mean, elf-pretty?” she asked the busy Agatha. “And why doesn’t the King just marry another goblin? Doesn’t anyone at home want to marry him?”

“Oh, they couldn’t, dear, you know,” old Agatha replied. “Goblin women don’t bear well. Many goblins marry outside for to bring in fresh blood, you see. And the King, always. It’s the ancient way of our race. Elves and humans for the King, though there’s been the occasional dwarf,” she added proudly. “And that’s the way it’s always been for us. The high families marries the elves and dwarves or a pretty human girl, and the beast folk marries whatever of the animal folk they fancies. The cat tribe, the dog tribe, eagles or bears, anyone who’ll be a good mother to goblin young. That’s why goblins look like everything on earth.”

The two girls pondered this extremely peculiar statement. Emily was not to be thwarted, however.

“What do you mean, elf-pretty?” she asked again. Agatha stopped her work and stretched.

“The Kings tended to marry elves, back when the elves still lived. They’re all gone now, the elves. I saw the last when I was a child. She was this King’s grandmother, and he’s like her in ways. He’s hardly got a single animal trait about him, and that’s odd in a King. No wings or claws, no feathers or fangs, and that makes folks call him elf-pretty. Oh, they were our cousins, you know, the elves, though there was no love lost between us. They were pretty to look at, but we were the stronger race. We captured their women whenever we pleased, and the goblins learned their magic. This King, now”—she nodded to Kate—“he knows all about elf magic. It’s a powerful good to the goblin folk to have a strong King.”

A strong King. That was just the problem. “Yes, well,” Kate said, managing to find her voice at last, “Emily and I had better be going now. Thank you for your help.”

Old Agatha’s black eyes twinkled up at Kate shrewdly. “Don’t thank me just yet, my dear,” she said.

“Well, good-bye, then,” Kate answered. She took Emily’s hand and turned to go. Then she let out a gasp. Her feet! They were glued to the spot. She tried to tear them free, but they seemed to have grown roots.

“Agatha!” she wailed. She and Emily struggled fruitlessly and then stared at each other in panic. The goblin woman calmly carried on with her work.

“We’re so excited about the wedding,” she repeated. “We’ve got everything all ready. And I’m in charge of the women’s part. It’s quite an honor, you know.”

Kate thought she could hear distant hoofbeats over the drumming of blood in her ears. “Agatha,” she pleaded futilely.

“Now, now, dear,” the old woman said soothingly, “you’ve no need to carry on. He’ll make a good husband for you, you know. He was that kind to his other poor wife, and she was just as mad as a spring hare.”

Yes, that must be hoofbeats, Kate thought desperately, and she knew how that poor mad wife must have felt. But somehow, she knew just what to do.

“Agatha,” she said winningly, not even sure what she was saying, “you don’t want the King’s new wife handed over like a sack of potatoes. Everyone will hear of it. What a dull, drab thing I’ll seem.” The little woman paused in her work, her bright black eyes on Kate.

“And isn’t it good to see the King so busy,” Kate chatted on. “Something new to plan for every day. It’s good for him, you know,” she added persuasively. “He always does get things his own way.”

Agatha burst into a chuckle and patted Kate’s hand. “Oh, go on with you,” she said indulgently as if she were sending them out to play. “Go ahead and get a little head start; it does make it sporting. He’ll be here soon enough.”

“Thank you, Agatha,” Kate gasped, snatching her sister’s hand and dashing from the clearing. On the path, they both froze, listening. The horseman was very near.

“To the tree circle!” called Kate. “He’s already at the house.” Then she saved her breath for running. As they tore up the little slope that led to the tree circle hill, the hoofbeats drummed out loudly behind them. The horseman was catching up.

“Don’t look back,” Kate begged, but Emily couldn’t help it. As they raced toward the first circle of trees, she glanced over her shoulder to see the gray horse break from the woods behind them. His master held him at a gallop, riding low, black cloak streaming back in the wind and one arm reaching out to snatch the sisters. Then Kate was dodging between the massive trees, dragging Emily behind her. They heard the horse plunge and slide to a stop as they ran to the center of the clearing.

The stars hung huge and low over them, and the almost-full moon shone down, but a crackling ring of purple lightning split the sky. It arced and danced in the trees, blinding their dazzled eyes, and a fierce wind whipped up, whirling and tearing at their clothes. The sisters threw themselves on the ground and huddled in terror, their arms clutched tightly around each other. The wind whistled and sang in their ears, and the constant cracks of lightning picked out patterns on the insides of their tightly closed eyelids. Emily sobbed aloud in fright. Kate waited in a state beyond fright for the hands that would drag her away. When they didn’t come, she began to grow impatient. What was he waiting for?