Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "sunlight"

It was a dark and windy night, and goblins laughed and danced around a fire of burning modern art. Normally goblins don’t help people, but earlier that day they’d seen a town’s mayor try to convince his people to buy these monstrosities for an obscene price. In a move rare among goblins, they’d stolen the paintings and took them a safe distance from the unfortunate humans before destroying them.

“There goes the last one,” a shaggy goblin said as he fed a painting into the flames. It showed what was a cat, or possibly an iceberg, floating over a landscape of pink something or others. Goblins were stupid and a bit crazy, so they weren’t driven mad by this nonsense, but others weren’t so lucky. They’d seen three men lose bladder control just from looking at this painting, and an entire crowd ran in terror when the artist tried to explain his work.

“Missed one,” a short goblin said as he handed over another painting.

The shaggy goblin frowned. “Wait, that’s a painting? Of what?”

“I don’t know!” the short goblin shot back. He studied the misshapen images and frowned. “I think the red thing and the yellow thing are having a fight with the blue thing, and the blue thing is having stomach trouble. Look, just forget what it’s supposed to be and torch it before Stotle sees it.”

“Before I see what?”

The other goblins winced. They’d done their part to save humanity, but before beginning the trip they’d left behind one of their members. Poor old Stotle wasn’t ready for such horrors. The pale skinned goblin with wide eyes wore a molding rug for robes, normal enough for a goblin, but his mind was hopelessly twisted after reading a book on philosophy. There was no telling what those paintings could have done to such a fragile mind, and they had no intention of finding out.

“Nothing, Stotle,” the shaggy goblin said. He tossed the painting into the fire and watched the blurry images turn to ash.

Stotle stood at the door of their ramshackle house at the edge of the Jeweled Forest. He’d been asleep, but light from the fire had woken him. He peered through the darkness and saw the inexcusably foul artwork being destroyed. “Is that Jubal’s masterpiece, Society’s Folly in the fire?”

The shaggy goblin scratched his head. “That might have been the name on it.”

“Did you burn the rest of his work?” Stotle asked. The goblins hemmed and hawed as Stotle approached and studied the crackling fire where some paintings were only partially destroyed. “Yes, it looks like you got all of them. There’s Bartender’s Delight, that’s Horsehead Bookends of Doom, and I do believe that one was I Can’t Believe I’m Being Paid for This, the painting that got him thrown out of art school and nearly lynched.”

Turning back to his friends, Stotle said, “But since they’re destroyed, is Jubal really an artists? You can’t be an artist if you have no art, assuming that was art and not an assault on the senses.”

Panicking, the shaggy goblin shouted, “Stop him, he’s getting philosophical!”

The goblins grabbed Stotle and eased him to the ground. The short goblin grabbed a stick off the ground and jammed it into Stotle’s mouth. “Bite down. It’ll keep you from talking.”

Stotle did as instructed, but even with a stick in his mouth he kept trying to analyze the lack of Jubal’s career, talent and possibly lack of the man’s mind. He could go on like this for hours. The only cure the goblins had found was gagging Stotle until he’d gotten it out of his system.

“I don’t get it,” the shaggy goblin confessed. “We can bounce back from almost anything. Bruises, bumps, cuts, scraps, frostbite, fire, none of that hurts us for long. He should have healed from whatever that book did to him.”

Stotle chewed through the stick in his mouth and ate it. “As I was saying…”

“Hello?” The goblins turned to see two humans approaching them. That was odd, as few humans traveled when it was dark. These humans were youngish, a man and a woman dressed in worn clothes and coming out of the forest. The man stepped in front of the woman and asked, “Forgive the intrusion, but may we warm ourselves by your fire?”

Shocked, the short goblin blurted out, “You’re asking goblins for permission?”

“It’s your fire, so we must ask and leave if denied,” the man replied.

“That has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve heard tonight,” the short goblin said. He glanced at the fire and the rapidly disappearing paintings. “Not the stupidest thing I’ve seen, though.”

Stotle got up and dusted himself off. “The fire is free for any to share, as is our home.”

“You are kind, although I doubt your, ah, house, could fit us and you,” the man said. He led the woman closer and they sat by the fire.

Stotle nudged the house. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

The house began assembling another room from dead branches, loose rocks and even dirt. It did so quietly enough that the young couple didn’t notice it growing larger in the darkness.

“This is a first,” the shaggy goblin said. “I’ve never seen tall folks come near us without swearing and throwing things, and they’re even asking for help.”

“A year ago I don’t think I would have come, but harsh times and true friends have helped me see that goodness isn’t the property of any one race,” the man said. “My name is Tristan Fireheart, and this is my wife Isa and our daughter, Mira.”

The baby gurgled in her mother’s arms and waved her arms. The goblins swiftly gathered around Isa and her daughter, their faces showing awe. If they were expecting a show they were sorely disappointed, because young Mira yawned and promptly went to sleep.

“She’s no fun,” the shaggy goblin said. “Not here a minute and she went to bed.”

“It’s been a troubling time for us,” Isa said. “She needs her sleep.”

“Aw that’s no fair,” the short goblin complained. “You can’t get tired out being carried around. She should have plenty of vim when all she does is eat and piddle.”

“Now be fair, piddling can be hard work,” the shaggy goblin countered. “Why I remember the first time I tried coffee. Woo boy, I was on the toilet for a long time!”

Tristan blushed and Isa stifled a laugh at the goblins’ conversation. Tristan cleared his throat and said, “My wife speaks the truth. We sold our horses this week to cover our expenses and truly abominable road taxes.”

“What drives you so hard that you travel at night and with so little?” Stotle asked.

“We seek a new start in life,” Tristan explained. “We fled my father’s rule and look to settle in Ocean view Kingdom, which I’m told is not far from here.”

“A few days travel will find you at your destination,” Stotle replied.

“Our maps don’t show this area in detail,” Tristan said. “You’ve already been kind enough to let us rest here. Could you be persuaded to show us the way to Oceanview?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Stotle told him. “I don’t exist.”

Tristan stared at him. “What?”

The shaggy goblin shook his head. “It’s not his fault. The poor fool went and read a philosophy book. It drove him totally bonkers.”

“It’s true, I don’t exist,” Stotle protested. “My life has been so absurdly silly that it can’t possibly be real. I’ve escaped death many times, seen things no one should see, and somehow come out of it not only alive but with both my sanity and credit rating intact. There’s no way that could happen. Therefore, I can safely conclude that I don’t exist.”

Tristan and Isa stared at Stotle. The short goblin sighed and patted Tristan on the back. “Get used to it, because he does that four times an hour, more if he’s bored. We can show you the right trails to take to get you where you’re going and stay away from road tolls, but you’ll have to put up with a few days of that nonsense.”

“Why do you want goblin help?” Stotle asked. “We have a well deserved reputation for untrustworthiness going back thousands of years. Logically you should seek aid from anyone else before turning to us.”

“A goblin gave us accurate directions a month ago,” Isa said. “I think he did it to help our daughter more than us, but regardless of his reasoning, it was kind.”

“Goblins has been no worse to us than our own people,” Tristan continued. There was pain in his voice as he stared into the fire. “My father has tried to kill us, and I fear he hunts us even now. Other men have taken advantage of our suffering, charging us unfair prices for food, lodging and transit through their lands. I took a hundred gold imperials at the beginning of this journey and spent them all.”

“Tragic,” Stotle replied. He looked back at the house, now double its original size. “The morning may bring new insights, and if nothing else bring you closer to your goal. I hope it will prove equal to your dreams. Let us put out the fire and retire for the night.”

“If you wouldn’t mind leaving us the fire, we’ll stay here while you…wait.” Tristan stared at the enlarged house. “That building has grown! What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Stotle said. “You were just looking at it from the wrong side to see how big it is. Allow me to open the door, and let’s see, yes! There’s a crib inside, a bit simple, but large enough for your daughter. How thoughtful.”

“But I was looking at it from this side,” Tristan protested. He stared at the house and frowned. “Did something just move above the door?”

“Stop smiling,” Stotle whispered to the house. Louder, he said, “It’s dark and you’re tired. A night’s sleep will make everything better.”

There was a harsh noise from the forest, a gnashing, growling sound. The goblins backed closer together while Tristan and Isa stood up.

“What was that?” the shaggy goblin asked.

Stotle searched the dark forest, trying to find the source of the strange sound. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“I have,” Tristan said. “Earlier this night, Isa and I heard it in the forest. It was farther away then. I approached your fire to avoid whatever that is, for it sounds dangerous.”

“Leave the fire burning and get in the house,” Stotle ordered. He rarely showed such determination and authority. The goblins obeyed, but they made sure Tristan and Isa went ahead of them.

There was a rustling noise in the forest, the only warning they had of the attack. The shaggy goblin was knocked over and two more goblins were driven to their knees. Something tried to grab Tristan, but he ducked and punched his attacker. A second attacker grabbed Stotle as it got between them and the open door, and in the light of the fire they saw what they faced.

Isa screamed. Goblins cried out in panic. The two vampires roared in delight at so much terrified prey. White skinned and wrinkled, the vampires wore tattered rags and had long, sharp fingernails. Their ears were long and wide, like a bat’s ears, and their red eyes matched the color of their gaping, toothy maws.

The roars stopped as the vampires got a good look at their victims. “Oh for the love of all that’s foul, it’s a bunch of goblins!”

The second vampire holding Stotle by the throat threw him aside. “Filthy vermin! Your blood’s a stew of toxins. We’d get sick even sipping from your veins, you gutter worms.”

“Being undesirable works in our favor for a change,” the shaggy goblin said.

“I smelled man blood!” bellowed the first vampire. Its eyes narrowed as it saw Tristan and Isa silhouetted by the fire. “Ah, there is a meal here.”

“Leave now and we won’t have a fight,” the short goblin said.

The vampires laughed. “You would threaten us? We are lords of the night, the stuff of nightmares made flesh, the ultimate predators! We take what we want, when we want! If you feel like dying, we can oblige you without feeding on your tainted blood, goblin filth.”

Stotle grabbed a burning log off the fire by an unlit end and swung it at the first vampire. He hit it on the foot, and the vampire bent down as he screamed. Stotle swung again and hit the vampire between the legs. As the vampire doubled over, the goblin struck him over the head. The second vampire charged into battle, but Stotle tripped him and set his clothes on fire.

“You see?” Stotle said. “This proves I don’t exist. There’s no way I should have gotten away with that.”

“Inside!” Tristan yelled. The humans and goblins ran into the rattletrap building while the vampires recovered. They’d taken blows that would leave a man moaning in agony, but their wounds healed in seconds. In moments they ran at the door so fast they might as well have been flying, but they were a split second too late. Bang! Tristan slammed the door shut and slid a bar over it.

“Vermin!” the first vampire yelled. “You think this hovel can hold us out?”

“Frankly, yes,” Stotle replied. He peered out a window too narrow for the vampires to reach through. “Vampires can’t enter a building without the owner’s permission.”

The vampires fumed as Tristan added, “None here are fool enough to grant you entry.”

The shaggy goblin grabbed a stick of firewood and broke it to form two pieces with sharp ends. “I’m not dumb enough, but I might be angry enough.”

“That same proscription against uninvited entry prevents you from forcing your way in regardless of how strong you are,” Stotle continued. “The situation is a stalemate. You have no choice but to leave.”

“Rodents don’t dictate terms to lions!” a vampire yelled.

The second vampire put a hand on the first’s shoulder. “Wait. Hear us, prey. Our dread lord Vacast, Lord of Vampires, sent us forth with a task. He seeks the Dawn Lantern, a great treasure not seen for many years. We have searched high and low, in places none but our kind can tread and live.”

“No luck, then?” the shaggy goblin asked.

“Would we be here wasting our time with you sub humans filth if we had succeeded?” the first one yelled. “Do you really expect goblins to know anything? They’re too dumb to know the color of the sky!”

The second vampire rolled its eyes. “Anger management classes just didn’t work with you. My point is, many seek this wonder and have failed. But men and elves can only go where their kind can survive. Goblins live where others can’t. You may have heard of our prize, maybe seen it. We can’t return to our master empty handed. Tell us where it is and we’ll leave you alive. Speak truthfully, for we can hear lies.”

“With those ears I bet you can hear winning lottery numbers on the other side of the planet,” the short goblin quipped.

“I doubt either of them know what color the sky is when they can’t stand the light of day,” Stotle added.

The vampires growled and bared their sharp, glistening fangs. “Speak or die.”

The shaggy goblin held up his hands to get the other’s attention. “Okay, everyone empty out your pockets and see if you got this doohickey.”

“That’s not what I meant!” the second vampire yelled as the occupants of the house duly turned out their pockets. This produced a mound of lint (which Stotle ate), a set of skeleton keys, a pewter spoon and a yak horn, but no Dawn Lantern.

“Has anyone heard of this whatchamacallit?” the short goblin asked.

All eyes turned to Stotle, who shrugged. “I know a ridiculous number of things, but nothing regarding magic lanterns.”

“I do,” Tristan answered. The vampires’ jaws dropped at the news. “It’s one of the fifty most powerful magic items on Other Place, a lantern made of obsidian and lapis, with a diamond at its core.”

The vampires pressed up against the bared door. “Where is it?”

Tristan shrugged. “As you said, it’s been lost for years, so long that all have forgotten who made it or what it can do. The last man to hold it died so long ago his name is forgotten. I only know of the Dawn Lantern from reading books on ancient history.”

“That’s useless!” the first vampire spat.

“What did you expect?” Tristan replied. “If I knew where to find it, I would had recovered it and been a man both rich and feared.”

Scowling, the second vampire pressed him, “Were there hints in your books? Did the authors give clues where it had been last seen?”

Tristan looked worried when he answered. “They listed a dozen kingdoms where he might have lived or passed through, and a hundred cities he visited.”

“If the Dawn Lantern was in any of those places, someone would have been found long ago,” Stotle pointed out.

“Then your books are useless, as are you,” the second vampire said.

Stotle stared them down. “Your prize is not here, and the door will not open before dawn. Leave and seek your lantern elsewhere.”

“We still hunger,” the first vampire growled. It smiled at them, a toothy grin, before saying, “We can’t force the door open, but I’m sure you’ll open it once we set your hovel on fire.”

“That is ethically and morally inexcusable,” Stotle said. “You’ve had our aid so far as we could give it, in spite of the fact that you attacked us. No system of beliefs supports your behavior. You do not have to do this. Regardless of your hunger, you are thinking beings capable of making choices.”

The vampires grinned at him. “Then we choose to see you die.”

Stotle frowned. “Model Zero Constructor, take the form of a man and embrace the vampires.”

The house shuddered as it folded forward over the vampires. Rocks, dirt and logs peeled away as Tristan and Isa screamed. The vampires screamed as well, for the front wall formed into two powerful arms that wrapped around them. In seconds the house was gone and the Model Zero Constructor stood, a golem made of bricks, lumber and iron standing ten feet tall and holding the vampires tightly. They tried to squirm free of its grip, and failed utterly.

“My God,” Isa said.

“Model Zero Constructor, form a house without doors or windows over the vampires,” Stotle ordered.

Timbers that made up the golem separated and scooped up the logs and rocks it had just discarded. The vampires struck the golem and tried to break free, but it was far too strong for them to hurt. It transformed the debris into a small building just big enough to contain the struggling vampires, imprisoning them both.

* * * * *

The goblins spent the night with Tristan, Isa and Mira around the fire. Morning came and the goblins tried to entertain Mira when she woke up. The baby was a good sport about their crude antics, even swatting them with her teddy bear. Tristan foraged for food, and turned up wild greens and a pair of trout. Noon came soon enough, and the goblins gathered around Model Zero.

“Our unwelcome guests made a poor choice last night,” Stotle began. “We must make a choice of our own.”

Tristan frowned. “Indeed. I doubt you intend to leave your golem here to hold them forever.”

“He is our friend, and goes where we go,” Stotle said. “We can’t hold the vampires until nightfall, for releasing them would put us in harm’s way again.”

A muffled voice called out from inside the stout building. “Set us free this night and we swear to leave you in peace.”

“Even if they keep that vow, letting them go means they would go on to feed on others,” Tristan pointed out.

“And we would be responsible for any harm they do,” Stotle added.

“Gold!” a vampire yelled. “We can bring you gold!”

“I’m not that desperate,” Tristan said.

Stotle shrugged. “I don’t want it in the first place. We cannot leave them here, nor can we take them with us and turn them over to the authorities. There is too great a chance they could free themselves if Model Zero tried walking such a great distance while holding them.”

Tristan was silent for a while as he studied the house. “A vampire lives in the city where I was born. He is a piteous thing, forever lamenting his lost humanity, feeding only on blood the butchers bring him, trying so desperately to still be a part of the world he once knew. I spoke with him and sensed a kinship, a person of kindness struggling daily against the curse he lives under.”

“Whereas these two embrace their new form and consider themselves superior to all,” Stotle commented. “It’s possible they might learn from this experience and become better for it, but taking such a risk means others could be put in great danger.”

“I fear we don’t have much of a choice,” Tristan said to Stotle.

“None at all.” Stotle looked up at the sun in the clear blue sky. “Model Zero Constructor, take the form of a man.”

Model Zero reassembled his component parts to become a towering golem again. As the roof of the house peeled off, the two lords of the night, the stuff of nightmares made flesh and ultimate predators screamed in terror.