Side Story

I know, I promised that we were done with the history behind my experiences, but while I was organizing all my notes, I found myself researching further into the history of Jinge's mother. And normally I hate doing research. Ever since I heard of her, I've had this horrified fascination with her story. I found it, too. She was sick before she died, and wrote while bedridden. I hope that this out-of-context placement error can be fixed later. Maybe a 2nd edition of this guidebook?

           Well, I am even more amazed now that I've read about her story. I thought some of you would like to read it as well, just in case you are ever kidnapped by a goblin and are alive long enough to try and escape. (Incidentally, I hope none of you will ever have to worry about that!) This will pick up where we left off in her story, after her fight with the goblin.

My knife fell to the ground with clatter. The goblin’s dark, massive hand covered my fist entirely, and I could feel the bones in my wrist about to snap. I shut my eyes, refusing to cry.

“Just kill me and eat me now.” I requested. “Don’t play with your food.”

His other, awful hand touched my hair. “You are far too interesting to eat.” he said.

I shuddered. The goblin picked me up and hauled me away over his shoulder. I kicked and struggled, but my efforts were as useless as a small child’s. He ran a long way, and I couldn’t tell where. The wind shrieked in my ears as if it was furious at me for being so weak. Finally, the goblin threw me down in a pitch dark place and told me to sleep. The sun was rising somewhere. I was ready to defend myself, but he left me alone for the time being. My life as a captive began.

We lived in a cave near the seashore. He would sleep during the day, and hunt at night. I would try every waking hour to escape, but far too often the monster would suddenly bind my feet together with a flick of his finger, making me fall on the sandy rocks, or change the way out of the cave into a maze and let me wander until I gave up. I’d try to kill him too. Every day he’d let me try, and laugh when I failed. After a fortnight, he started giving me advice on how to better my attempts. Once he even offered to teach me his magic, the kind he used to disguise himself in the shadows. I spat at him, and he left it at that.

I can’t say that he didn’t take care of me. Instead of hunting my kind, he hunted large fish, and dragged them back to the cave. I always had a dry blanket and plenty of fish to eat. How I hated the smell of fish! And the smell of the low tide! But I couldn’t escape at any other time. When the tide was in, the way out of the cave was flooded. The goblin had made a barrier that would keep the water out, but if I crossed it, I would be crushed between it and the water.

That gave me two times every twenty-four hours to escape. I would usually try for the low tide at moonrise, since the goblin would be out hunting. But the cave was always a maze, and I had no light unless I took a piece of firewood with me, and the goblin never left me more than a few sticks. I would curse my parents for being so old fashioned and not teaching me any of the “fancy” spells, such as creating a floating lantern, or how to make a night-light.

Four steps left, two right, turn left, not right! Now back, around the curve, watch out for the jutt-- ow! I’d remembered the rock jutting out of the wall at eye level, but not the rock at shin level. I’d wander the stupid cave for hours, until I felt water sloshing around my feet. Unless I was halfway out, and could get out of the caves before the tide started coming back in, I would have to turn back, or else I would drown.

I ran into the goblin on his way back once. He had a dead shark over his shoulder. “Well, this won’t do.” he laughed. “You almost made it too far this time.”

My heart sank as the path behind him was lost, and jagged rocks around us melted and changed. There was light coming from behind me. It was the end of the cave, where the fire was still burning.

“This one should be tasty.” the goblin said, indicating the shark. “I brought some special spices from home.” I glared at him, and he smiled back.

Still, I persisted. I made it further each time. I even tried following him out from a distance, but he ran so much faster than I that I lost track of him. I tried mapping out the mazes with charcoal from the firewood, erasing them, and drawing them again.

I realized after six months of my captivity, that there were only a few mazes that he used. He had only designed four labyrinths, and had merely cycled through them until now. Still, he could design a new one any day now, and I had to leave right then, while I had the chance. The goblin had left some time ago. I crossed the barrier.

I felt my way around in the dark. It was maze #3, the one with lots of dead ends. I had to watch my step, too, there were a lot of jagged rocks underfoot. Turn left here, left again, and then right. I could solve this. It couldn’t be longer than a mile, after all! Water suddenly snaked along my ankles. It was too early for the tide to be coming in... had I been wandering in there that long?

I decided against turning back. I was almost there, I had to be. Maze #3 only had two possible ways out now. One straight ahead, and one to my left. My sense of smell was of little help. Each way smelled equally dank and fishy. I tried sense perhaps a slight breeze, but there was no difference between either path. I took a deep breath. To the left.

The water was deeper here. That was a good sign, right? As long as I kept moving... It was up to my thighs now, which made walking difficult. The water rose to my waist. A right turn took me to where I thought the ocean would be. I guess I was right, for a strong current pushed me back against the rocky wall.

My hands were stinging, and I tried to hold on to anything I could find as a stronger and higher current came at me as well. I swam forward with all my might, and caught a glimpse of the sky -- the sky above the open ocean...

I couldn’t fight against the current. But I found that crossing it was easier. I swam sideways to the next corner (I crossed the passage in zigzag pattern), and held on there. I pushed off of each wall and swam right after the peak of each wave. The last one was the hardest, but I’ve never been more determined in my life. I reached the outside wall and held on while the water pushed me back, I got my shoulders past it, and pulled myself over -- the tide swept me away from the cave. At last! It carried me to the shore. I stood up dizzily.

The moon was shining over the sea. The wind was so free and beautiful against my face. The sand was smooth and damp under my feet. For the first time in six months, I cried.

My limbs were shaky and unfit to run far, but I ran as long as I could, along the shore. I looked for light in the sky, for the sign of a lighthouse, or a town, but could see nothing. I went further inland. It was all rock and forest. If I could keep running until the sun rose, he would have to go back to the cave and wait until nightfall. I could escape!

I heard nothing following me. I traveled in a daze. The sun was so bright. Too bright. I found a fishing village, one I’d been to before, briefly. I got strange looks, and no one talked to me. They sold fish. I didn’t care what they thought. I walked on. My house wouldn’t be far.

My parents were both medicine dealers, but since I had no head for distilling medicine and salesmanship, they taught me wifely spells. I wasn’t very good at those either, and they hoped I’d get married to someone who didn’t mind that I was stupid. I was actually on my way back from a trip to meet a prospective husband when the other people in the caravan’s camp were suddenly panicking and running in every direction. A man in front of me was on the ground, bleeding with a knife wound in his back. I had done what I was taught: heal first and ask questions later.

As soon as the wound had closed up, I saw three giant shadows looming over me with faintly shining grins. They laughed. The shadows laughed, and I ran. I was cornered. There was no where to go. The closest one ran at me in the night, a moonbeam glinting off of his knife.

You know how that ended.

My home was not so far from the seashore. I reached it by that nightfall, and knocked on my parent’s door, since I knew it would be locked by now. I could see a crack of light on the threshold. The door opened. It was my father, squinting at me in the dim light.

“What do you want?” he asked. “We’re closed.”

“Father, it’s me!” I said, crazy with joy.

He only stared at me in horror. My mother came to the doorway, holding a candle. She screamed in fright at the sight of me. “What evil spirit is this? Begone! Don’t haunt us here! Our daughter died! Let her rest in peace!” She threw some liquid at me. It would have been acid to an evil spirit or walking corpse. As it was, it still stung.  She soaked the threshold with it, and my father shut the door and bolted it. I pounded on the door, hoping they would open it again. I yelled, begged, and pleaded. They did not open the door again.

The goblin found me around midnight. I was sobbing in the shadows behind my parents’ garden.

“I thought you would enjoy your freedom.” he said softly, his voice a low rumble.

“What did you do to me? What did you do?!” I shrieked. “They don’t know me anymore! My own parents! What have you done to me?”

“You look the same to me.”

“They didn’t recognize me!”

“Well,” the goblin shrugged and gestured towards the house. “Were they expecting her to come back instead?”

Through the window of the house my old portrait could be seen, candles lit up around it like a shrine. A portrait of a well-fed, smiling young girl: hair perfectly combed, and dressed in a clean, wrinkle-free dress. I leaned forward to see my reflection in the pond. My dress was torn and stained beyond repair, my hair was tangled like seaweed, my cheeks were hollow, and my eyes were wild, filled with rage. I looked like an undead spirit that someone had dragged through the deep. A tear fell in the pond, distorting the image.

I fell back to the ground. The goblin gently picked me up and carried me back to the fishy, smelly cave. There was no point in resisting. He traveled much faster than I did, and we were back in his home before sunrise. He built a fire, and we sat and stared into it. I noticed that he was staring at me.

“What?” I asked wearily.

            “I’m surprised.” the goblin said. “When your death was certain, and when you had absolutely no chance of survival, you refused to give up. You would fight me day and night, with such spirit. But after you’ve finally proven your strength and wit, you pale at an old man and a woman telling you that you’re dead. You’ve given up now. I could do anything I wanted and you wouldn’t even care, would you?”

            “I have nothing to fight for anymore.” I said, looking into the fire.

“Is that so?” the goblin grinned and came close to me, too close for comfort. I backed away, frowning. He reached for me, but I smacked his hand away and rammed my elbow into his throat.

The goblin coughed and laughed. “That is more like you.” he said.

“What do you want me for, anyway?” I asked, pushing him further away. “Why did you bring me here in the first place?”

“I told you from the start. I want you for my wife.”

“You mean for your plaything.”

“You have been fun to play with.” the goblin admitted. “I’ve enjoyed our games. But have I ever mistreated you?”

He had not, not really, but I’d figured it was only a matter of time.

            “I want you to be mine because I like the fight in you.” the goblin explained. “So fight for yourself. If there’s anything worth fighting for, it’s you.” He looked at me seriously and gently closed his hand over my fist. “Don’t give up again.”

Back to the Present

       I must apologize to you, reader, for I missed two days this week already, and my entry today will be short. I have been trying to write both this guide book and a terribly long and tedious humanities paper that is due tomorrow. Somehow I think you will be more understanding than my humanities teacher if I give you my best effort. It will be a while before I can post regularly again, though: I also need to compile and organize the rest of my notes so I can write this blog properly. I can't just wing it, after all. I'm already doing that with my humanities paper.

      Here is a short snippet to bring you back into the present story that happened only a few months ago:

       The blue flames died down. Smoke hung thickly in the air around the trees, along with the dust from the freshly cut down tree. Angry huffs disturbed the smoke and dust as the young Faery King threw down Jinge’s long sword. “Don’t ever make me do that again!” he shouted.

       Jinge shook his head, causing smoke to curl around his ears. “You have to do it again. How else will you defeat Brand?”

       “We’ll find another way! I don’t want to kill him.”

       “You didn’t kill me.”

       “That’s because you stopped fighting back. If I was fighting Brand, we wouldn’t stop until one of us died!”

        “Just how did you expect that fight to end?” Jinge was getting angry too. “Do you expect to reason with him? Why would he start listening to you?”

       “I don’t know!” Donal sat on the ground and covered his face with his hands. “Won’t he be expecting me to use fire again?”

       “He might, but it’s still the most powerful weapon you have.”

       They fell silent. The fight seemed to be over. I let go of Ciaran’s arm. When it had looked like Donal’s life was in danger, I had grabbed his arm and shaken it in distress. The poor faery was patient with me and had patted my hand. We picked up the grocery bags again and walked out into the open. Neither Jinge nor Donal looked up. 

       Ciaran set the bags down and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “I have a idea, Donal. You’re not going to like it, but I think it will work.”

Justice in the Faery World

            The old Faery King sighed. He could remember many months ago, having a foolish thought flit across his mind, suggesting that it might be pleasant to have his son and nephew involved in the politics of the kingdom, helping him keep the peace. They were standing in front of him now, determined instead to ruin the peace, with their revolutionary ideas and impossible crusades. What were the worlds coming to?

His nephew was explaining the mystery behind the ten knights’ quest that was interrupted by Jinge, as well as the half-goblin’s confusion of the event. He was very eloquent as he highlighted the positive aspects of having a half-goblin in the service of the king instead of rotting in a cell as a public enemy. Donal mostly just stood there next to him, holding the paper with Jinge’s statement on it and looking distressed and sincere. The boy was ruthlessly using his overly-large blue eyes as a weapon. The Faery King had taught him that trick, and should have known it would backfire one day.

“I get the point.” the king interrupted Ciaran’s speech. “Why are you two determined to undermine my justice system?”

Donal’s lower lip trembled.

“No, no, that’s not what --” Ciaran tried to explain.

“I know what you meant.” the king cut him off. “You think, like you, this half-breed is misunderstood, and deserves a second chance, providing he is innocent. Let me tell you, while that is a nice, noble quest for you to pursue, it is better left alone. There are worse things than rotting in prison.”

“But, Father, he just wants to see his kittens.” Donal pleaded.

“How old are you, again?” his father asked in exasperation. “Bring him his kittens, then! Give him a room in the castle! No one will be afraid of him if we say he likes cats and he’s working for us!” The Faery King sighed again. “Talk to the captain of the guard. He’ll tell you what you want to know. Right now I’ve got more important things to deal with.”

“Then...” Ciaran ventured to ask. “We can continue our investigation?”

“Yes, yes. Now get out of here.”

They felt lucky. Brand passed them on their way out of the throne room. I never did describe Brand -- you’d think as a proper villain he’d have broad shoulders, wicked eyebrows, and a handsome, but evil face. But Brand looked good, and I mean “good” as in the opposite of evil. He was elegant and refined. His eyes were cold, but his face was noble. His hair was silky and black like Ciaran’s originally, but he chose to work in scrying magics, using crystal artifacts a great deal, and the mark of a crystal user is white hair. The change only only suited him more.

When Ciaran told me that normally Brand couldn’t have tracked us while we were on the run, but could then, he meant that he was probably allowed (or forced his way) to use the Endless Glass, a large crystal mirror that was entrusted to the Faery King five centuries ago. Most of the kings since then have never looked into it, the mirror’s magic being the most powerful there is. There was one, King Alderbrande, who had a separate seer that used it for him. Brand thought that if he could not be king himself, he would at least be that seer.

We were protected from most scrying glasses by the shielding spells Jinge had been casting over us, but with the use of the Endless Glass, Brand would be able to watch our every move, and know exactly where we were. Without the keys to the gates, it was unlikely that he could physically come and find us, but there are other ways between the two worlds besides the gates which are not locked by keys...

“What do you mean, he said come talk to me? I don’t know anything!” The captain of the guard was a big man. He had an excellent mind for strategy, and he was a good leader. But when it came to taking on responsibility, he skirted whatever he could. “The king gave the direct order to his knights. I just supplied them with weapons.”

It was Ciaran’s turn to sigh. He did promise to do right by his fellow prisoner, but this was just getting ridiculous. Jinge didn’t mind prison; a few more years wouldn’t hurt him...

“Where are you going?” Donal asked when his cousin suddenly turned around and started walking out of the barracks office.

“You can handle this. I’m tired.” Ciaran said without looking back.

“We’ve only been at this for two days! You can’t be tired!” Donal grabbed his arm and tugged.

“I’ve been stuck in a cell for weeks! All this walking and talking is enough to wear anyone out!”

The captain of the guard had also been having a rough couple of weeks. “Amen to that.” he put in, rubbing his head.

Ciaran appealed to the other adult in the room, sitting down in the chair in front of the captain’s desk. “And if it wasn’t enough, some kid comes along and starts asking questions, and wanting things from you!”

“I know, right?” the captain agreed.

“Why don’t you just go back to your cell?” Donal asked, betrayed.

“Doesn’t it make you want to just sit down and give up?” Ciaran continued, leaning his elbows on the desk.

The captain sat back in his chair and yawned, nodding. Ciaran turned his head and winked at Donal. “Why did the king have to send so many knights, anyway?”

“I had to sharpen so many swords!” the captain complained, strangely willing to talk now. “They had to leave right away, in the middle of the night, and the page boys were already asleep!”

“They were the enchanted swords too, weren’t they?” Ciaran prompted sympathetically.

“Aye, and those are the worst! I have to use the special stone to sharpen them, and mutter spells the whole time! Page boy duty!”

“Why so much bother over one monster?”

The captain glanced from side to side. “The half-goblin? No, that was just a rumor.” He whispered confidentially: “It was something no one has seen for centuries.”

Donal sat down and Ciaran scooted his chair closer.

“It was a black dragon.”

Donal busted up with laughter. Black dragons had been extinct for nearly a thousand years. They were known to be small (goat-size), nearly invisible at night, and extremely fast. Because of their small bodies, breathing fire was a small threat: just a puff of yellow flame. There was no way to hunt them at night, but during the day they were quite vulnerable unless they hid in their caves. They were bothersome creatures. Faeries back then, along with humans, organized a hunt for them. They devised strategies and special nets to trap them, which were very successful. So successful, in fact, that black dragons became known as the most easily huntable dragon in the two worlds. Soon young men couldn’t even impress their girlfriends by going out and killing one.

Donal wasn’t particularly rude to laugh. The thought of sending ten knights out to kill a single black dragon (which was probably not even real), was an absurd thought.

“It’s true!” the captain insisted. “There was a sighting of a black dragon not far from the village Tamm. They sent the messenger here running.”

“Why would my father send ten knights for a single black dragon?” Donal asked him.

“They were trying to catch it and bring it back. The king told them to keep it a secret before anyone else could kill it. But since none of them came back, it was all covered up.”

“Do you think it killed them?”

“Of course not. That half-goblin killed them all. The thing got in the way of their hunt and killed them. No one knows if they saw the dragon at all.”

“But he wouldn’t eat their flesh!” Donal objected. “He’s half faery, he wouldn’t do that!”

“Don’t you forget his other half!” the captain reminded him. “He may not be hungry now, but no one’s letting him out of there.”

“You know what this means.” Ciaran said to Donal as they walked back through the courtyard and up some more stairs. “It means we’ll have to catch that dragon and prove that it killed those knights in order for Jinge to be let go.”

Donal hung his head. Ten knights... extinct dragons... “No.” he said suddenly. “We don’t.”

“How else can we --”

“We’ll only do what should have been done in the first place.” Donal ran up the stairs and marched toward the throne room. Ciaran followed him, but not as fast (he was just in prison, after all).

The King of the Faeries was not overjoyed to see his son again, and especially not when he threw the door of the throne room open with a bang. While he was only dealing with paperwork such, having an eleven-year-old boy interrupt him so loudly was --

“Dad!” the little boy said commandingly. “Stop playing this game. Have someone look into a scrying glass to prove that Jinge is innocent! It’s a standard procedure for any case ‘where the evidence of guilt is questionable’.”

The Faery King dipped his quill into the inkstand (by now you’d think that the faeries would have upgraded to modern pens, which are so handy and neat, and will almost never spill ink everywhere. They are proud creatures, sadly, and like to cling to their fancy handwriting. Incidentally, I’ve been told that learning to write with a quill makes writing with an icing bag much easier), and continued writing.

Donal and his father fought. The Faery King granted his request in the end, however. The boy had done his homework. By watching and re-watching what happened in the scrying glass, it was determined in the end that Jinge was innocent. Still scary, but innocent. What had killed them was still unknown, but a black dragon being so deadly was a frightening prospect. Jinge swore his allegiance to the Faery Prince Donal for the rest of his life, and was able to go and see his cat Sol and her kittens. They trained together, the half-monster and the boy, although no one felt at ease with the half-monster.

Donal felt, for once, that he had done something right. His father wasn’t pleased with him, but there was grudging respect in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Donal studied harder and felt happy.

Until --

The door of the throne room swung open with a bang. Donal felt frozen where he stood. Brand’s sword was slowly sliding out of the king’s chest, blood dripping from its blade and soaking the king’s shirt. Donal was at his side before he knew it, calling to him, until something struck him, and his head slammed against the floor.

He tried to breathe in, but no breath came. He heard Brand’s voice above his head, and felt his fingers close tightly around his throat. A white-hot fury pulsed through his blood.

           Donal opened his eyes.

Still in the Past

             The scent of death will make most choke. The violence had happened so fast, the vague images in my mind replayed again and again until they made sense. An ambush. Was it my fault? No. I would never... why was there blood all over my hands?

             I must have been frightening, truly frightening for them to call in ten knights to kill me. You’d think they had been preparing to fight a pack of full-blown goblins. I wasn’t going to die. Not that night.

            They were all dead. Incoherence set in with the shock of violence.

           Several screams ripped the silence.

I didn’t do it. Why are they dead?

           “You evil monster!”

           Yeah, I hate you too.

           “I saw him do it!”

If you are good people, why are you lying?

But even I wasn’t sure what had happened. I saw one of them come at me with his sword pointed at my heart. I knocked him away. The shadows spun and swirled in the torchlight amid their battle cries. But why were they dead?

In the end, it didn’t matter what I thought I had done: the result was still the same.

   

           “I believe you didn’t kill them.”

           The words hung in the empty dark like dust caught in sunlight. Someone was crouched down outside of my cell. He was wearing a blue uniform, and had a sword at his hilt: a soldier. I couldn’t see his face at all, for what little light there was came from behind him.

“Why?” I asked him.

            “Those knights didn’t come for you, and besides, it’s not in your character.”

“How would you know that?”

"They were already on their way before word of you spread here." The soldier stood up. “I can’t let you out of here, but I’m not going to let you be hung for what you didn’t do. For now just stay put. You’ll need better support than what I can give you, and that will be easier once the panic dies down.”

           Most people weren’t told where I was locked away. That saved me from mobs and curious gawkers, at least. I don’t know who that soldier was, and I haven’t seen him since.

End of Jinge’s Statement

           Donal sighed. “I’ll have to ask my father about it.”

           “Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be very happy to see us again.” Ciaran scratched his head. “But if you go see him, I’ll find out about that soldier.”

           “Sure, give me the hard part.”

           “We can do both together if you’re scared.”

           “I’m not scared!”

           “Good for you.” Ciaran put a hand on Donal’s shoulder. “But I’ll go with you. Let’s just hope Brand isn’t with him today. That way I’ll be less scared.”

           They mounted the stone steps of the castle corridor together. Donal wrinkled his nose. “Why should Brand scare you? You’re only a few years younger than him, and just as tall!”

          “He’s not nice.” Ciaran answered, being irritatingly vague.

In the Past: Jinge

           Ciaran was indeed released after his audience with the Faery King. An agreement was made that the human girl named Ashlyn (me) would be closely observed for the  next four years, and entrusted with the knowledge of the Faery World. The terms of the agreement stated that during that time, Ciaran was not to see or contact her, and that if the experiment was successful, Ashlyn, and other select humans would be allowed to “come and go” as well. The king’s nephew should have been more pleased with this arrangement, but felt that his uncle was still punishing him even while granting his request.

           The day after Ciaran was released, he and Donal led an additional investigation of all of Jinge’s alleged crimes. This caused quite a stir. The half-goblin was widely feared, and always had been since he’d been discovered, as a child of nine years. Where he was and what he was doing before then was somewhat of a mystery, but it led him to a small village near the forest. The village children saw him hiding in the shadows of the brush, and ran away screaming. 
            In order to find out what really happened, all the parties involved needed to be questioned. Ciaran and Donal started with Jinge first. I have since collected his statement, and will give part of it to you now (more to follow)
    

            My mother was fierce. She was ambushed by several goblins one dark night, with nothing to protect herself. Like a mouse cornered by a cat, she attacked the closest one and stole his knife. How she did it, none of them could tell, but she had him on the ground and wounded within an inch of his life. Black blood dripped off of her hand as she shouted a challenge at the other two goblins.

            My father was so impressed with her that he decided not to eat her after all. He was leading the hunt, and told his party to back off. He wouldn’t let the other goblins eat her, or even touch her. He had them take away the wounded goblin. She had the stolen knife in her hand, ready to kill him. He grinned, sat down, and suggested a deal. The two of them would fight together, and if she killed him, she would be free. If he disarmed her, she would have to marry him.

            This was unthinkable. All he had to do was break her wrist, and the knife would drop. She should have killed him at once. She should have ran away. If she had been taught proper magic instead of household cures...

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?” she asked the dark shadow.

            “Not by your hand.” the goblin answered. "And if I did, it would be a good death."

Her story always ended there. Looking at it figuratively, that may have been the last moment of her life. The woman who survived that night and the years following it was another person entirely.

She died when I was eight. I don’t like to remember how. We weren’t allowed to live near either race, so we lived in the shadows between both worlds. After she died, I lived alone. I wasn’t inherently bitter; my mother was strong, and taught me to fend for myself, and to laugh when something bad happened. After she was gone, though, it was a bitter laugh. But two decades passed, and I survived. I disguised myself, and found night jobs. I built myself a house in the woods. I made friends with Sol, who became my cat. She came and went, but she’d always come back, and was never afraid of me.

People are like flies. They are noisy, irritating. They make such a ruckus during the day, when it’s time to sleep, and somehow do the same at night. They ask a lot of questions, buzzing at such an unpleasant frequency. There were a few that I’d really have loved to smash, just as I would a fly. While I was disguised and working a night job as a guard over the mine shipment, a particularly noisy little fly of a faery was persistently annoying me. She was rather fat, and had a false laugh. The other guards would have wanted to make her go away too, but she also happened to be the daughter of the faery that owned the mine.

She was trouble. My mother would have hit her under the chin with an elbow, or perhaps over the back of the head with the handle of a knife and moved on silently. That would have been nice. But the fat faery woman kept asking me questions, about my family, my opinion of the weather, other stupid matters, etc. It would have been all right, but her pride was hurt when I ignored her. She followed me home one early morning and saw as the light of the rising sun turned my skin to darkness. Panic followed like a fast horse, and trampled everyone in sight.

           My system of survival was perfectly good. From what I’ve observed, what usually upsets a man’s good system is always a woman. The only day of peace I’ve had since then was when they threw me in prison.

In the Past: Faery Photography

         Because cats and goblins are both nocturnal creatures by nature, there has always been a strange sort of alliance between them. Maybe it was out of the necessity to share the shadows. Maybe it is that cats are a distasteful food source to goblins. A goblin has never been known to eat a cat, and a cat has never been known to betray the whereabouts of a goblin. Whatever the original reason, they have continued to share a certain bond that is baffling to the rest of us. Having a cat as an ally has not been proven to ward off goblins, but if you are a faery, I’d say it’s worth looking into.

         The infamous half-goblin’s house was far away from the nearest village. It took Donal over an hour to get there by horse. It was a windy Autumn day; red and orange leaves were blowing everywhere, and the sun shone brighter than usual through the trees. Donal could see a roof in the distance, so he dismounted and walked the down the little path towards the empty shack.

         Apart from its lack of paint and decor, the house didn’t look that bad. The windows were broken, probably from the village children throwing stones. The door was large. Donal tried the knob, and it was unlocked. He pushed his shoulder against it several times, and barely opened it. It was very dark inside, so he got a lantern from his saddlebag and lit it up. A table, a chair, pots and pans... a large wood stove... a bed on the floor, nothing unusual... And a host of knives on display! Donal gulped.

         Armed with the best cat food the Royal Kitchen could provide, Donal bent down and clicked his tongue (what he understood to be a call to cats). A small pair of eyes gleamed in the darkness, and something hissed. Donal dropped the lantern and fell backwards onto the floor as an enormous, fluffy calico cat pounced straight for his face. Donal threw up his arms as a shield and shrieked his last words.

         “He said you were a normal cat!”

          Four paws landed on his stomach, poking into his ribs and stomach. A small, wet nose inspected his hand -- the same one that Jinge touched -- and after a very long minute, a fluffy head shoved itself into Donal’s palm.

           Donal now dared to look at it. The thing was now a normal size (still pretty large) and purring. The cat did indeed have an orange stripe on her nose, as well as black, orange, and white patches all over her fur. She smelled the food Donal had in the bag over his shoulder, and shoved her nose into that.

            “Right, here you go.” Donal opened it and gave her a fish. The cat grabbed it in her front paws, lay down on her side, and dug into it, licking her lips and twitching her tail. Donal ventured to scratch her ears as she ate, and poured some water into a bowl for her. When the cat was done eating, she climbed into Donal’s lap and fell asleep. While this was gratifying, Donal soon felt his legs start to protest. When he lifted her up and set her on the floor, she meowed reproachfully.

            “I’m sorry, but I need to be getting back,” Donal explained, but the cat was rubbing against his legs insistently, and he stayed for a few more minutes. Twenty-two, to be exact.

            The young prince returned every other day for the next week, and although he got strange looks from the villagers, and had to catch up on his homework and training later, he had to admit that there was a strange satisfaction in being liked by a ferocious, furry creature. Also, the cat stopped pouncing at him after the second time.

It was getting late one day, and the cat was especially anxious for company. After his legs had fallen asleep again, Donal got up. The cat meowed, but this time her protests had a heightened note of panic to them. She ran behind into the corner behind the bed and under a bookshelf.

           Donal could see her only dimly, but she paced in a circle and and worried aloud. For a time they both thought she was dying. The cat suddenly stopped, and started licking furiously at something near her tail. Then another something, and another. Donal at last came to the realization: she was giving birth to kittens.

           Six kittens: one orange, three white, one calico, and one black. Donal took pictures of them to take back to Jinge, although, he wasn’t sure if Jinge would appreciate it as much as another cat’s owner would.

Faery photography is somewhat different from photography in the human world, as you might have guessed. The purpose is the same: take a moment in time and preserve it for as long as possible. The cameras themselves are very different. You’ve seen magic mirrors from the old stories and movies that show you whatever you ask to see. The Faery world does have those, but they are rare. The more common type of mirror used in image preservation is a rectangular frame with a detachable handle on the bottom (for framing options). There is a button on the handle that takes the picture (moving or still: there are different settings), and displays it within the frame.

Donal had an expensive mirror, and could take several pictures with it. He lit some candles up for better lighting, and set it to take stills, since the kittens didn’t move much, and made sure that the proud mother got in the frame as well.

Back in prison, Jinge looked at the pictures in the mirror with a blank face. Ciaran looked over his shoulder at them and let out a great “Aww, they’re so tiny!”

“You’re far too cheerful for being in prison.” Donal remarked.

“Didn’t you hear? I have an audience with your dad tomorrow.”

Donal had not heard that. “Really? Do you think he’s going to let you out?”

“We can hope so.” Ciaran smiled. “If not, you can just bring me another book.”

“Hey,” Jinge said abruptly. “Do you think that I could see them someday?” he gestured toward the tiny kittens in the frame.

“Maybe when they’re old enough to be moved.”

“That’s not what I meant. Is there any way I could get out of here to see them?”

Donal felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He knew the answer was no. No one in their right mind was going to release the spawn of a goblin, a monster who had slaughtered ten faery knights and eaten their flesh in front of an entire village. And yet -- why would Jinge have done that? How could a man -- even a half monster -- do that, and then stare at a picture of kittens with a longing in his face? It seemed absurd. Maybe there was something wrong with his mind? Did he lose his temper and snap, or did his instincts get the better of him? What had really happened?

Ciaran broke the silence. “Jinge,” he said, “I promise that I will do everything I can to help you get out of here.”

Jinge smiled. “I’d rather not be in your debt.”

“Hey, that’s mean!”

           There is nothing more foolish than the surge of motivation that induces loyalty and impossible promises. Donal knew this, but he felt it welling up inside him, the same as it felt when he heard Ciaran’s story in his father’s throne room. His father. He was never going to be pleased with his son again.

           “I will help too!” Donal blurted, and closed his eyes in fright.

          You idiot.