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.