Sailing Ether Tides

Book 2: Dirt Diver’s Dance

Hi, Planes Drifter… Ch: 4

Above the rocky, sparsely forested and scrub strewn, narrow gouge in the mountains, A homey little hamlet of four cottages sat, secure behind a tall, thorny hedge wall and a sturdy gate at the only path onto their formerly barren shelf. A small patch of lawn and garden surrounded a steaming and incongruous hotspring pool. A narrow channel of runoff dropped over the precipice into the void and vanished in sparkling, pretty motes of faint, almost visible, almost lights as it sprayed out over the shitty, barren valley.

Amy and Tallum were in the kitchen of Rio’s cottage, making dinner for the company, when Liam’s chubby songbird ocarina flew in and landed on his shoulder, over by the flower beds. They watched through the windows, as the cute little construct sang its song to the young count.

His handsome, chiseled face became stony and hard, as he took in the news. He strolled into the spacious, high ceilinged living room where the rest of the troupe was gathered around the fireplace, sipping tea.

“Trouble at home. A tribe of goblins, led by a mountain troll attacked your brothers on their morning run. Everyone’s fine, but an unknown number of gobs and most of a troll are lurking around town. That takes priority, especially since we have largely accomplished our goal…”

“Most of a troll?” Dannyl asked eagerly, his professional curiosity aroused.

“Shai took a piece of it with Gary’s insane flaming sword…” Liam muttered crossly. “I’d trade all my teeth and one eye for a dozen of those…”

“Well, you’re out of luck, that’s another stricture he’s under…” Wilf grumbled. “He can’t move, touch, or even approach a human corpse or any dead part of a human body; even hair trimmings. He can’t even go into a barber shop.”

“We aren’t supposed to talk about that!” Rio hissed angrily at his bluff, unsmiling brother.

“It’s family…” The big, smiling lad answered unhappily.

“Auntie Tawny is never alone, when pops is near, or being discussed.” Amy warned her entirely too outspoken brother, with a serious look in her eye.

“I will take pains to not reveal your father’s secrets, boys” The count said with a wince at his young nephews. “But please, don’t burden me with any more. I share everything with my wife; this secret will be… uncomfortable.” He sighed deeply, but with a hint of fierce eagerness hidden in his eyes.

“We’ll decide how to manage the dungeon after we stuff these goblins and their troll down Gary’s baths. We depart tomorrow.”

“Yeah, let’s…” Amy agreed quietly. “Too many ghosts out here… this is weird.” She murmured, watching things only she and Rio could see.

“I hear a song on the wind, Amy…” Rio muttered. “Do you hear it?”

“Nope, and you should stop listening.” Dannyl ordered firmly. “Sir Kermal, would you mind letting Sasha have a flight around the place? They’re coming up from the valley floor.”

The sweets loving, death’s head hawkmoth performed her joyous, yet melancholy dance through the purple shadows of the early, mountain sunset.

The stream of sparkling, darkling, shadow motes went on and on, drifting toward the madman’s moon in a slow moving funnel cloud, disappearing into the darkening sky as the stars began to appear, one by one.

#

Sweet, slightly mournful music drifted out over the woodlands and hills of his domain, still and shrouded in early evening mists. The awful sun was still up, but he was an early riser… Always had been.

The goblin king lowered his long flute of troll bone from his ragged green lips and sighed, looking out on his beautiful, verdant, realm from his towering, hotspring inn above the treeline.

The red tiled roof and high, mortared stone walls seemed to come from another world, looming above the wooden palisade and thatch roofed homes of his subjects, gathered at the foot of his steep, rocky hill.

A male goblin’s furtive and cruddy life, hunting small game in the woods alone, desperately hoping to find a female in season suited him poorly; so poorly that the spirits had blessed him above all other other gobbs.

He’d always felt an almost instinctive need to bring music forth in the world, however he could, and somehow he knew the crafts that made that possible…

He was unsure of many things, which was also unusual for a goblin male; Mostly he wondered where these strange gifts and this knowledge came from… It had felt as though a stranger, who somehow, he knew better than his own self had carved that first simple pipe from a hollow reed.

Once he’d placed his lips to that first flute, carved from a dry reed; his castle had shimmered into being, wherever, whenever and however he desired… so long as his music was there.

Since he’d discovered and mastered his strange gifts, he’d attracted a lot of attention from the only truly sentient and intelligent beings around… the goblin girls. And there were so many of them!

At first it had been just him, alone… rattling around in his incongruous house in the wilderness. Until that first female showed up, then another, then seven more, traveling by day and in groups to protect themselves from the depredations of wandering males.

They arrived at his door, whether frightened, curious, hungry or just nosey… and stayed.

Slim, dusky green and gray goblin girls swarmed the streets, as evening gave way to night; chattering and trading, working their crafts and living their lives in peace.

The hot pools drew in the goblin damsels, but the food from his garden and his ability to harvest honey from any hive, without getting stung to death, kept them around. His girls loved sweets… He felt like that was a universal truth,or close enough that it would do.

When the breeding heat came over the sweet, clever, beautiful citizens of his little kingdom, they would eagerly troop up to the castle in small squads of deliciously willing, horny, eager, tender flesh… right to his doorstep.

The presence of food and females drew males in as well seeking to challenge the stranger for his steadily growing harem.

That worked out very poorly; he was bigger, stronger and… way, way smarter than his rivals. To make things even less fair, he had the art of crafting weapons and armor as well.

Long, sturdy spears tipped with keenly knapped flint points, strong, durable clubs and his awful, stone headed mace were undeniable breakthroughs in goblin crafts that the girls had found deeply interesting.

When they had begun joining him for his daily ‘workouts’ practicing the arts of battle beside him, the germ of a new idea had formed.

The goblin girls were smarter, so much smarter, and so social and clever… and so tired of being pushed around and abused. Before too many moons had passed, he had a troupe of huntresses and warrior maidens that could travel without the fear of male attention.

His fellow goblin males were beyond stupid, approaching animal level intelligence, on a good day. They worked no crafts beyond the simplest stone tools, never clothed or bathed themselves… and were highly antisocial at the best of times. Only when the sweet scent of a female in heat appeared on the wind, would they gather together. Then they would savagely maul each other; in hopes of being the last gobb standing.

Those bloody battles often left the last gobb standing wondering where that female went, while he was busily murdering his kin.

Ghnash never participated, even though his body demanded that he join and his instincts shrieked for the battle… He would linger not far away, playing his flute, and waiting.

The goblin maidens loved music and would dance in their wild and unschooled way, drawn to the sound of his flute…

Sometimes the winner managed to track down his missing prey, through luck, or dogged determination.

That never went well; Ghnash was an uncommonly large, muscular and strong gobblin, armed with a terrifying stone headed club and a preference for privacy, when in the mood.

With plenty of bloodshed, he’d carved out a domain for himself in this goblin forest, far from where other races dwelt. All he’d had to do was butcher so many of his male kin that they now fled in fear at his least display of pique.

Once beaten in a mating duel, if the loser survived, which was normally rare; he would subordinate himself to the other gob, following directions obediently for the rest of his life… if they were simple enough. Beating a gobbo with a few followers would usually bring those along with, enlarging the victor’s troop significantly.

Ghnash found himself uniquely gifted there as well, having the brains to not butcher his foes and an ability tied to his musical gift that could even get them to work together, in limited ways, for a short time, while he was directing them.

Even with all his gifts and arts, the murderous little shits wouldn’t stop being murderous little shits, once they were out of his sight.

He’d tried reason, patience, compromise and even plain old bullying, since he was nearly half again bigger than most of his kin. The only thing that worked was naked brutality and savage, uncompromising violence at the slightest transgression. That course of action seemed… exhausting and pointless, since they were too simple minded to do much of value.

Eventually he gave up, simply sending his male minions out to ‘patrol his domain’. Usually they would be swallowed up by the dangers of the woods; but sometimes they would bring back freshly conquered tribes from his fringe… which was more troublesome.

A damn troll had lured the entire RaggedNail tribe away and into some mischief… somewhere. No doubt the evolved goblin had promised the idiots meat and females, to be provided later.

He, or rather, his agents couldn’t find the wretch and that pack of savage, horny little bastards anywhere.

The RaggedNails were no great loss, they were freshly wandered in from the waste; drawn by tales of plentiful food and clobbered by his border ‘patrol’.

Goblin recruiting was just that way, the disgusting little imps… but now they were out there, somewhere, doing who knows what, leaving a trail of spirits only know what, in their wake. A wake that led right to his (finally) peaceful little domain.

That was why his army of beautiful deadly damsels was too valuable, too precious, too… beloved to risk for those little turds…

That troll would pay for the life of Juniella, the sweet, kind girl who’d been assigned to watch the RaggedNails from a distance. The filth had killed and eaten her, before luring the stupid chumps off into the mountains.

“Send out a warg party to track them down, only to track them…” He sighed, as he raised his flute back to his lips. “Be careful. You matter so much more to me than those shitheads, daughter.”

Elanore saluted sharply, tipped her cap to the king; the only obeisance he would allow, and ducked out to follow her orders as sweet music lifted from the throne room of his strange, steam and mist shrouded castle on the highest hilltop.

“What kind of magic spell to use…?” He asked the distant stars, soaring through the strange, moonless sky of this world. A sad smile crossed his cracked, ragged green lips as he sucked a long, pointed fang contemplatively.

Sometimes he felt… not wrong; incomplete, like he was missing something, deep inside. He’d tied to fill that hole with lots of things, fighting, food and fucking… lots of that last one, mostly because he was super good at all three of the big touchstones of goblin life. Music was the only thing that really helped that empty, hollow feeling…

Male goblins didn’t cohabitate… or even interact with females outside the mating duels, usually. They didn’t have the smarts, temperament or interest. The ladies generally didn’t want them around either. They tended to start fights, make messes and were very inconsistent on matters of house training.

Only Ghnash kept his smarts when his pecker went up, and he had way more upstairs than his brethren in any case. Maybe it was the dreams…

Those vague, dreamlike memories, or memory like dreams still haunted his sleep; dreams of a world populated by tall, smooth skinned, smiling people whose teeth were white and even and their lips untorn. He dreamed most often of a tall, pale female with shocking red hair and pale, milky milkers that aroused him, even when remembered in the cool of the night, when he awoke.

Those dreams of walking in the sunshine and living a different life disturbed him, and set him apart from his idiotic fellow males.

Thoughts of that female, that wo-man, the beautiful Shaiee he saw only in his dreams stirred his mind and his hearts… and aroused his desire.

His harem of real, actual, dusky green beauties awaited him eagerly, each one hoping to bear the next litter of his marvelous children from her warm, welcoming loins. That was a peasant thought.

“Ladies… I’m home!” Ghnash’Waargh, the Goblin King called out to the two dozen, slim, smiling green damsels floating in his hotspring bath, waiting just for him.

“Oohhh, new girls!” He chittered excitedly, as they giggled and sniffed the scent of his pheromones on the wind.

For tonight he could forget that awful ache, that longing for indefinable, something lost, somewhere out there… for tonight he could forget.

“Tell me your names and decide who’s first, ladies.”

He slipped out of his robes and smiled, when they all gasped with delight.

#

“Your ‘music box’ got smashed, Barry.” Lindsey whispered, when he opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, it was beautiful.”

She was on the edge of the pool, wrapped in a robe, watching over papa, who’d been stung too stupid to be conscious, again.

“I’ll make you a new one, darling…” He murmured in his drifting, half awake state.

“You made that… dear?” She asked gently, wondering how far she could lead the sleepy boy.

“Mmm? Yeah, fer you, made it fer you…” He mumbled, drifting about in the pool heedlessly.

“For me?” She asked, very gently as he balanced on the edge of deeper sleep.

“So I can dance with you…” He whispered, sounding very warm and cozy. Sleep and pleasant dreams were claiming him… and by what was stirring, Lindsey suspected she would be appearing in his dreams very soon.

“I felt your boobs…”

With those final words, he slipped under, into dreams of a long legged girl, whose skirts hid mysteries and whose bodice was a treasure vault, begging to be plundered by greedy fingers.

“My boy’s a poet.” Gary whispered softly from where he floated nearby, his eyes still closed.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but I can only move my mouth and that seemed like it would be unhelpful.” He smiled a mad, crooked grin up at the darkening sky. “It’s rarely helpful when I open my yap.”

“Master Wa…” He raised one finger, which silenced her, for some reason.

“Just Gary… Oh! I moved a finger, that’s progress!” He chirped merrily.

“Your family was attacked, your familiar stung you unconscious and you have been as good as dead for hours now, yet you’re excited by a little finger wiggle…?” She asked softly. “Does this happen often?”

“Oh, yeah… I’m a cursed witch, apostate before all gods and beloved by none… officially.” He struggled to give a naughty wink to punctuate that strangely chipper recitation of woes; he failed badly and wound up closing both eyes, which remained closed, despite his comical attempts to re-open them.

“I’m all kinds of fucked up.”

“Master… Gary, I…” She fell silent, unable to find the right words for the moment. Explaining to the naked father of her naked paramour, exactly why she was toying with his nearly unconscious son’s emotions in the private bath was a complicated problem.

“He really likes you.” The big man murmured, as he floated around, eyes still closed. “He does, we all do. Even the family gods think you’re the tops.”

He bumped into Barry, and fumbled around weakly, until he grasped his son’s hand, a casual and intimate gesture that was sweetly beautiful…

If only the two large, muscular, hairy men were not nude in the bath and were the younger lad not enormously erect. Lindsey sighed with gratitude to her new goddess, that the elder Ward remained blissfully unaware of that deeply awkward fact.

“Fie… Flip yer son, ye daft man! He’s flyin’ a fully rigged mast! Aye an’ all pennants waving too!” Shai complained merrily from the bath entrance.

“What’s that, love?” Gary asked helplessly, while Lindsey did her best to implode into her own navel and become a ghost on the spot.

“Fie, come on, daughter.” The giantess announced softly, as her enormous hand came down on the blushing girl’s collar. “Help me with this flotsam.”

She unceremoniously pulled Lindsey’s robe away and dragged her into the pool with her husband, her son and IT.

Shai separated the two floating men and tossed Barry’s right arm over his chest, where it lay, limply. “Go on, lass, get over there an’ take his hand, ye’ll help me roll him over, fer his modesty.” She winked and grabbed her son’s right leg.

Shai began to gently lever Barry over, while Lindsey pulled on his hand. Halfway through a thought crossed her mind. “Mistress Shai… won’t he drown?” She asked haltingly.

Too late, she realized that the big lad was already rolling over and she’d failed to do her part. Clinging desperately to his hand, she struggled and tugged, only to lift off the bottom and roll onto him… down the slippery boy’s torso and right onto IT.

The ‘mast’ poked her right in the belly button, making her feel… just all sorts of things, as she flailed and struggled to extricate herself without…

Huge, warm, gentle hands grasped her and hauled her off the sinking, slippery boy, before setting her back on her feet in the shoulder deep water.

“He’ll nae drown. None can drown in the pools of my beloved…” She sighed, eyeing the still erect lad with a mixture of amusement and profound embarrassment.

“Faugh, ye’ve seen it already. An, I imagine others as well…” She sighed, watching Lindsey with a mildly predatory gaze.

“Only in anatomy class…” She murmured. “At the temple, we dissect the dearly departed, when the families agree… that we might learn the healing arts more fully…”

“Ye need nae excuse yer seeking after knowledge. I be a member of that cult too.” The rough hewn woman smiled at her; a warm and genuine expression of deep affection and honest welcome. It wasn’t the first time, but this one struck home, right there in the baths.

The hard, craggy planes of her face softened and a warm, soothing sense of welcoming and deeply tender care flooded the bath.

“Lady Tawny an I be friends of long standing. I know well her arts an crafts… Aye, an she’s done a mite o’ work on the poor wreck I do love… in better times.”

She continued speaking as though she were unaware of the subtle, magical and entirely beautiful transformation she was undergoing, before Lindsey’s wondering eyes.

Like the sun sweeping away shadows and mist, a radiant, almost delicate beauty blessed those wide, honest features. Her hard, suspicious gaze seemed to soften and became a warm and peaceful glance, accepting and gracious of any fault.

“Wow…” Gary whispered, from where he’d drifted, across the pool

.

“Oh, aye…” She replied a moment later, while Lindsey was wondering how she ever found this woman frightening or plain.

“I’ve never watched it happen ‘afore… tis sad ye missed it, lad.” Shai murmured to her husband. “Yes, dear Lindsey, ye are welcome in our home, truly.”

A tiny, yellow and black figure climbed from Gary’s hair and flew into the steamy air above the pool, looking down on the four people floating there. “Told ya’! I know who belongs in my hive and who doesn’t” Kree sniffed. “Eww! Barry’s stinger is showing! Gross!”

#

The expedition members looked up the long, sloping slick patch, the most troublesome part of the return journey… and wondered. There was a long gouge cut in the slimy growth, cut right down to bare, gritty, traction rich granite below.

Wilf took a sample of the dry, crispy edge of the long furrow in the slime and tasted it.

Slipweed, fae carnivorous plant. Mildly toxic, inedible, reagent, mildly magical.

This complex, colonial organism will establish deadfalls above the main body of the plant, where it will wait for prey to tumble off into the waiting creature below. Low threat/no threat. Normal rank, non-intelligent.

“It’s a fae plant, it doesn’t like the traces of iron tallum’s shield stunt left behind…” The big lad mumbled, as he rooted around in his gear. Eventually he pulled out his coin pouch; slowly and carefully Wilf began his ascent of the now comfortable and gradual slope. He bent over and placed something on the barren path every few yards. “Iron bits… don’t pick them up or this stuff might grow back.”

“Oo, good idea!” Amy grumbled, sounding like she thought it was dumb. “Except we should be using rusty scrap or driving iron spikes in, rather than dropping money on the trail!”

“Do you have any iron scrap or spikes on you?” He asked calmly. She just glared at him and he nodded with satisfaction.

“There’s no time or place to set up camp and fish anything out of my basement… this is a bargain.”

After that, the highwire bridge stunt was still harrowing… but the team landed on the other side without further trouble. It was still too exhausting to continue on after that trial, so they camped at the foot of the bridge again.

“Stay sharp… I guess there’s more than just a few stray ‘caps in these hills.” Dannyl warned his team at breakfast, before the beginning of the long descent.

“Uh, yeah… somethings out there…” Amy murmured. “I’m still getting the occasional fragmentary ghost. This far from any habitations there shouldn’t be anymore, at least, not so soon, not for years maybe...”

“Weird… There’s literally no people out here except a small tribe of batkin…” Dannyl mumbled, sounding deeply intrigued. “They have their own death cult and practice excellent spiritual hygiene…”

“These are human ghosts, tiny fragments of them… and a few other species but mostly all human.” Amy whispered, watching the shadows under a manzanita tree.

“They aren’t hostile, or even faintly sentient. They’re more like the remnant, drifting shreds of a dispersed fog bank that vaguely remembers being a ghost in a previous life…”

“So they aren’t spooky?” Ivy asked, sounding relieved.

“Oh no, they’re spooky as hell. Drifting, desperate wights looking for… something.” Amy mumbled. “Hollow eyed, but still hoping to find it, somewhere out in these hills… where they lost it so long ago.”

“Whoah, Ames… come back to us in the living world.” Becky whispered in her ear; hugging the shivering young admiral close. “We’ll investigate this properly later. For now, let’s get home and make sure everyone is safe.”

#

“Bring the Foundling forth for judgment.” Lord Fernach Deepdelve rumbled from his high seat in the grand hall.

An angry scuffling noise broke the solemn dignity of that hallowed hall, as a squat, burly dwarf dragged his junior before the lord.

“This fool cracked open the seal on the deep mines…” Delgrath grumbled sourly, holding the uncommonly tall, young dwarf by his ear, since his beard was still too short to grip.

“He was down there, playing with that… thing… again!”

“It’s a flute… and it’s mine.” He sulked and grumbled sourly at his elders. “Bitch and moan all you want, I’m not handing it over!”

“Gandree ClansWard, you will not disobey your rightful lord! Not in his own hall!” Delgrath barked. “You could be banished for that crime! Cast out into the goblin haunted wilds!”

“So banish me. Screw you, screw your rules, and seriously, screw fucking beards! Itchy!” He grumbled right back. “Take your whole clan and shove it up your ass. I’ve been everybody’s bootblack, tailor, carpenter and maid since forever, all I get for it is more orders and demands. Most of you cunts don’t even know my name!” He snarled straight at the lord’s face.

“Foundling do this, Foundling do that… Well, fucking unfind me. I’ll break out before I become your slave.” He sneered at the aging lord and laughed; a short, cruel, barking thing without mirth. You already know you can’t lock me up or bind me with magic. Good luck maintaining your feeble wards and charms without me.”

Even bent over, his ear gripped by the older dwarf, he was taller than the rest, if less solidly built; he bore a passing resemblance to the race of man… at a first glance.

He reached up and dislodged the young master smith’s grip from his ear with a well practiced move that drew a little blood… Well, a lot of blood, as he stood up straight and glared at the gathered council of elders.

“I see your runes and arts fading. I’ve been watching, oh master rune smiths… Watching you fumble and flail! Your runes and glyphs are pale shadows of your ancestors’ arts!”

More than one of the seated dwarves rose angrily, only to be silenced by the odd and strangely menacing aura the formerly docile young foundling now possessed.

“Did you ever wonder how I broke those seals?” He asked, his smile of ghoulish delight and the stream of blood pouring down his neck unheeded, only deepened the dreadful sense of malice that poured out from him.

“Did you stop to consider that I’ve been opening those ancient locks and wards regularly, just to escape you assholes for a few hours? I re-seal them when I come back, so you never knew, not for these last ten years.”

At that, the whole hall fell deathly silent, cloaked in the chilling pall of rage and discontent that roiled the air around the young dwarf lad.

“You are banished from these halls. Leave empty handed, beardless and naked, as we found you. Do not return on pain of death.”

The aged lord pronounced his sentence and closed his eyes in exhaustion. “Remove this wretch from my halls.”

#

Alone on a windswept mountain pass, clean shaven and his ass bare to the world, Gandree ClansWard bent over and showed his asshole to the entire clanhold entrance in a final disgraceful display.

Clanless, naked and alone on that barren road, he turned to face the hold and the hidden eyes he knew were still watching, waiting for his Will to break and bring him crawling back to live under their booted heels as ‘Foundling Ward’.

He smiled merrily, reached behind himself and pulled a big wicker hamper out of nowhere.

They could never understand his abilities, they were too strange, too odd, too otherworldly for staid, dwarven smiths, masons and miners.

Though, they did love the results, loved them so much he’d been declared ‘ClanWard’ subject to and under the command of any craft master who wanted to order him around. Now they would need to find a new way to prop up their failing spells and runes.

In a few minutes, he was warmly dressed in fine woolen clothes of his own crafting, with a light axe and a long knife on his hips; playing sweet, joyous music from the strange ‘flute’ he’d cobbled together from scraps of brass and bronze scavenged from the workshop smelt bins.

He strolled away from the only home he’d ever known with a song in his heart and finally, the sun on his shoulders.

There was something out there in the sunlit surface world, something important he needed to find.

“I need lumber… I need a guitar.” He whispered hungrily, in a soft voice that was snatched away by the cold wind of late autumn.

In a world of magical wonders, a dwarf could do almost anything: if he had the guts to risk it all.

#