Goblin Pain

FIREBELL

Firebell held the iron, double-moon-bladed axe in both green hands. Her taut and athletic body was set, ready to either defend or attack in a flash. She wore a brown homespun tank top and shin-length capri pants made from tree bark. Neither was adorned, the fabric plain. But she had crimson hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and from her ears dangled two flamebell flower earrings made of dyed feathers. She was anxious, but not about sparring.

Opposite her stood her younger brother, Simson. Firebell had recently become an official adult at five years of age. Simson was only half that, but already as tall and heavier. Despite that, he stood with visibly less confidence, the iron machete awkward in his nervous grip. He wore the same homespun, and his shaggy black hair was long enough to get in his eyes. His body still had the softness of youth and lacked the muscle more active adolescents his age had from playing sports or martial training.

Firebell carefully didn’t telegraph her planned move before she lunged, poking with the top of the axe.

Simson instinctively jerked backward. His blade eventually blocked, but the axe had already withdrawn.

She followed that up by aggressively stepping closer, pushing him back again with an obvious and slow cut from the side, then, as he retreated, dashing forward and kicking him in the chest.

Her brother fell backward onto his backside, losing his grip on the sword. From the ground, he hung his head and looked miserable.

Firebell ended her attack and looked down in sympathy before extending her hand to help him up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to kick so hard.” That was a lie. She had because she knew he needed to get used to this sort of thing, and she couldn’t afford to take it too easy on him. Their survival depended on being able to protect themselves in the forest.

Worse, she knew that their father was probably going to ‘test’ Simson again today when they got back. Their father was…a bully sometimes. She needed Simson to grow stronger, for his sake. But she still felt really bad because she loved Simson deeply and hated that he was being forced into this life.

Simson was embarrassed and tried to ignore her hand and get up by himself. But when she poked him in the shoulder, he reluctantly took her hand after all, let her help him to his feet. “It’s my fault. I was off balance.” He stood there, dejected and resentful. Part of that was because he was still an adolescent, but the source of the feelings ran deeper. “This is stupid. I’m not a fighter.” He looked at the machete like it was out to hurt him, then disgustedly threw it at the ground. But his anger quickly melted away. He looked up at her with sad eyes. “I just want to play music. This isn’t fair.”

Firebell had heard this before. Honestly, she felt the same, but there was nothing to be done. Their father had taken them and some others out of the Great Warren and led them here to start their own tribe. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but there’d been rumours of her father angering the wrong people. In the Great Warren, there were so many goblins, and such an array of old defences that there was hardly any danger. Goblins were free to pursue any life they wanted.

While Firebell had always wanted to be a warrior, her brother was a much softer soul. His brain also didn’t seem to work quite the same way as most people’s did. He didn’t always get things the same way and sometimes had trouble learning or understanding other people. The only thing that really interested him was music.

Firebell lowered her weapon and gave him a one-armed hug. He probably didn’t notice that she pulled him even closer than usual because she was worried for him. “I know it’s not fair. I hate it too.” That was a half-truth. Part of her was thrilled at the challenge of pushing her limits by living out in the dangerous wilds. But the other part of her was furious that her father had dragged Simson and some of the others out here when they clearly weren’t meant for this life. She worried so much for her brother and wanted to protect him. “Come on. That’s enough for today. Let’s go back.”

That lifted Simson’s spirits. He gave her a hopeful smile. “Can I play my flute?”

She had to smile back. He was adorable. “Sure. We’re close to home. But not too loud, ok? It’s dangerous.”

“I know. You told me before.” Ignoring the machete on the forest floor, he pulled his flute from his belt and happily set about playing. He was mechanical but getting better.

Firebell shook her head, still smiling, picked up the machete he’d left behind, and then led him back toward home. She kept a sharp lookout for danger, always wary. The forest was full of beings that would happily eat them.

Home was a section of a hollowed-out trunk in a tree of the ages. It was a heartwood tree. They were rare and took thousands of years to grow. Mature ones were maybe five times taller than anything around them. This one had died a long time ago, and many things had since made their home in the trunk and branches as it decomposed, something that would take several decades. Even now, the trunk was so wide that, even on its side, it was many times Firebell’s height. There were legends that elves built entire cities inside these trees. A new warren had been dug out of the lower section they’d chosen, and it had proved a lucky find for the goblins of the newly formed tribe.

While goblins lived underground or in hiding much of the time for safety, they spent much of the day outside, enjoying the sun and fresh air. The area in front of the warren in the tree was disguised with a ring of carefully replanted foliage intertwined with barricades and hidden spikes. This protected an open space next to the trunk where goblins cooked and smoked meat over a fire, worked on crafts, and generally hung out.

When Firebell led Simson through the gate, his music announcing their return, others immediately noticed and a few waved in welcome, even though the siblings hadn’t been gone long. There were a lot of good people in the new tribe.

“Welcome back!”

“Hi, Simson!”

“How was training?”

One of the other girls came dancing up with youthful energy and grabbed Firebell’s hand, sharing an intimate smile with her, and pressed her body close. “Welcome back. You too, Simson.”

Simson didn’t look up from his flute. “Hi, Peanut.” He wandered off.

Firebell squeezed Peanut’s hand and was about to say something when her father’s loud voice called out over the area.

“Simson! There you are! I’ve been looking for you.” Chief Thump rose from where he lounged amidst his harem, half of whom were pregnant. He was, by far, the largest and strongest goblin in the tribe. He was the only one who’d grown into a hob, and everyone else was only chest-high on him. Also, while everyone else still had emerald green skin, he was the only one who’d begun to change, his very dark green becoming muddy brown in many places, something he was very proud of. He was somewhat muscular but also had a flabby belly. His head was crowned with wispy, bright orange hair.

Firebell’s stomach clenched tight at the sight of him. She anxiously looked over at Simson.

Simson didn’t even acknowledge the call; he was so focused on his music.

Chief Thump had that ready smile on his face that had seemed so genuine when Firebell had been a child, but now had become so fake since she’d gotten older. He clapped his young son on the shoulder, hard enough to make Simson’s knees buckle and force him to stop playing to catch himself.

Simson looked up. “Yes, father?”

Chief Thump’s smile shrank a little.

Simson immediately corrected himself. “Yes, Chief Thump?”

The smile recovered. So quick, it couldn’t be real. At least in Firebell’s eyes. Clapping his son on the shoulder too hard again, he said, “Let’s see how your training is coming along.” A gust of wind touched his hair and flipped the horrible combover the wrong way. He had never had thick hair and tried to make up for it with what he thought was a cool style. He hastily corrected the combover. His eyes landed on Simson’s flute and narrowed. The smile vanished. “Where is your weapon? You are a warrior, Simson. A warrior is always armed.”

Simson corrected the man, not understanding he shouldn’t, “That’s not true. You said warriors weren’t allowed to be armed when alone with you inside the warren—”

“Simson, where’s your machete?”

Simson looked around as if only now realizing he hadn’t brought the weapon with him. “Uh…Firebell has it? Maybe?”

Chief Thump regarded his son with thinly veiled contempt. Or maybe it was only Firebell who saw it. He threw Firebell a fed-up glance.

Reluctantly, Firebell left Peanut and walked over, handing her little brother his machete, which he took with vague disgust. She tried to reach for the flute, but their father quickly snatched it and flung it away. That elicited a cry of anxiousness from Simson. Firebell felt a pang of sympathy but didn’t dare run after the flute. Thankfully, she noticed Peanut quietly moving in that direction in order to retrieve it. Firebell almost smiled. Peanut was such a great girl.

Chief Thumb ignored Simson’s panic. “Forget that. Come. We spar.” He barely gave time for Simson to ready himself before attacking, using his bare fists.

The fight was utterly pathetic. Father repeatedly smacked son around like a toy. Simson tried hard a couple of times to lash out, only to have the iron blade idly slapped away. Father kept knocking son to the ground, a small smile constantly on his face. To Firebell, it looked like he enjoyed torturing Simson like this. There was no teaching, no value in this, just a father asserting dominance over his own son.

Simson understood enough about his father not to fight back too hard. It would only make it worse. But after being punched in the face one too many times, and his father laughing as he tumbled backward on his head, he snapped. Scrambling up in rage, he blindly ran at his father in screaming hatred, forgetting the machete and anything he’d ever learned, and only wanting to hurt the bigger goblin.

At the sight of his enraged son, Chief Thump actually laughed. He snagged the blade right out of his son’s hands, stepped to the side, tripping the boy, and let Simson fall on his face.

As before, Simson’s anger left him quickly. He lay on the ground, frustrated and sad as well as hurt, though it was his pride that had taken the worst of the beating. Tears began.

Chief Thump’s amusement faded at the sight of tears. The wind blew his combover off, and he reflexively corrected it again. “Enough of that, boy. Warriors don’t cry.” He grabbed Simson by the scruff of his neck and lifted him to his feet. “I said, stop it. Do you want to be even more of a disappointment? Hmm?”

Simson angrily brushed his tears away and blinked. He shook his head. His expression was a mixture of anger and defiance, but tears continued to trickle.

Chief Thump was suddenly all fatherly again. “There you are. Good boy. None of that weak, baby stuff. You need to learn to be tough. Strong. You understand.”

Simson nodded. Obedient.

Firebell stood there with her fists clenched so tightly, her palms were probably bleeding as her nails dug in. She wanted to badly to intervene, to scream at her father, to hit him hard for what he was doing to Simson. This was wrong! But fear kept her in check. Her father had beaten her often enough to make his feelings clear: you did not challenge him, ever.

A piercing scream cut through the scene. Everyone had been watching the fight. Now they turned to face the semi-hidden entrance to the area.

Someone stood there, half hidden behind a monstrously large shield. To Firebell’s astonishment, it looked like steel! So was the axe in his other hand. Another figure stood behind him, a longbow pulled taught, an arrow already nocked. Firebell didn’t recognize what they were. They had the same body type as goblins but weren’t trolls or baby ogres or anything she’d heard of.

Chief Thump spat a curse, “Humans.” He snarled and seemed both annoyed and, oddly, afraid. Firebell had never seen him afraid of anything before.

An excited voice came from the other direction. “Fuck yeah. Goblins, baby. I am so gonna kill the shit out of all you.” Another figure, a human, apparently, crouched on the side of the fallen tree they’d made their home in, opposite the humans at the entrance. With a whoop of glee, he launched himself through the air into a band of warriors, both of his weapons slaughtering them in seconds. Though this one wasn’t as large as the giant at the entrance, he was still bigger than even the chief. Red blood quickly covered green skin.

Chief Thump raised his voice and shouted with the voice of command, “Attack them! Kill them!”

Most goblins in outlying tribes are warriors. You had to be to survive outside the Great Warren against all the dangers of the world. Few survived to old age in the wild, and even females trained in martial methods. Those not actively caring for their brood. In this tribe, there was no room for the elderly or anyone to pursue another career path like they would have back in the main goblin settlement. It was mostly young warriors. Led by the males, they rushed the humans, screaming and raising their ever-present iron weapons high. At the same time, every non-fighting goblin sprinted for the warren entrance, many with babies or young in their arms. It was mostly Chief Thump’s harem and a few older children.

Firebell was about to join the warriors in defence when her father’s next action made her pause.

Chief Thump pressed the machete into Simson’s hand. Then he put a fatherly hand on the boy’s shoulder and spoke kindly, “Time to be a warrior, son. You have to fight. We all need you now. Do you understand?”

Simson tried to look brave. He took the machete and gripped it tight. “Yes, father.”

“Good.” He smiled at Simson. “Go. Make me proud, son. Kill the enemy! Defend your tribe!”

Simson spun and charged just as the others had done.

Firebell screeched, “No!” She tried to go after her brother and stop him from his suicidal mission. But a heavy hand landed on her arm and dragged her backward. She looked up to see her father pulling her toward the warren as if she weighed nothing. She was astonished. “Let me go! I have to save him!”

It was clear at a glance that the humans were much too strong for the goblins. An arrow punched right through a fleeing woman and her child. Both fell. The giant human with the shield bellowed, and his shield glowed. All the warriors turned to face him and blindly attacked, though even with their numbers, they could do little. He was too well armoured, his shield too large. The dual-wielder grinned and laughed as he leaped from one victim to another, stabbing and cutting. It was a massacre. More arrows flew.

Chief Thump pushed the fleeing women and children into the warren, bodily threw Firebell inside the tree like a sack of grain, and then whirled. An arrow thrummed past his ear and embedded into the wall behind him. He heaved shut the heavy door and bolted it.

Firebell looked at him in shock. “What are you doing? You have to go out there! You’re the only one who can face them! You have to save Simson!”

Chief Thump ignored her until she tried to unlock the door and go out there. Then he bashed her in the head, hard enough to stun her. He pointed and hissed at the other goblins, “The back way. Go! Run!”

The others immediately complied. All goblin warrens had multiple exits. Theirs only had one so far, a secret exit that went out the other side of the tree, putting the trunk between them and their enemies.

Firebell couldn’t believe this was happening. She fought and punched, desperately trying to escape her cowardly father. She had to save Simson! But her strength was nothing compared to her father’s. “Simson!”

In moments, the remnants of the tribe were out the secret door and running through the forest, her father in the lead, Firebell helplessly under his arm, her face streaked with tears. “Simson! You can’t leave him! You cow—” She never got to finish that sentence before his meaty fist impacted her face, knocking her out.