Garrett looked at the crystal shard at the center of the pool.
"You've already guessed the end of my story!" Annalien laughed.
"How can you... I mean, how would you even... a whole moon?" Garrett said.
"If only you had been there to council the dragons!" she laughed and then grew somber. "But then, they would not have listened. They realized far too late they had been betrayed."
"What do you mean?" Garrett asked, "Who betrayed them."
"The Enemy fulfilled its part of the bargain," she said, "The crystal moon shifted from its sacred path and fell from the sky. By all sane reason, no one should have survived that day."
"What happened?"
"I do not know," Annalien admitted, "We waited for our end to come. The dragons fled to their respective fates, leaving us, their creations, to face our deaths alone. The crystal moon burned a fiery path through the sky, and we wept for the end of all beauty and life. And then..."
"What?" Garrett asked.
Annalien shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know what happened. There was a brilliant flash of light, and then a roar that shook the earth. Where the moon had been before, now fiery stars of flame fell like tears from the red sky. One such tear, the one you've already guessed at, fell near here, and I hurried to see where it had fallen.
"I found it in a burned patch of forest at the bottom of a shallow hole in the earth. The shard lay there in the naked soil, wreathed in white flame. It was so beautiful. I reached out with both hands to take it up...
"The others found me there, senseless, beside the stone, my hands burned to ash. The flames had cooled, and so they took up the stone and my dying body to bring us back inside the city. I lived long enough to know that my people had survived that savage day, though the world would never be the same again.
"I don't know why I remained here when my body died. It feels as though I have something left to do, though I do not know what it is."
Garrett chewed his lip. "I don't understand... I mean why are your hands still gone. If your real body is all dead, and your ghost body is just a memory of what it was before, why doesn't it... remember your hands the way they were too?"
The ghost laughed. "Look who's lecturing me on bad memories! The boy who can't even remember how he knows my real name!"
Garrett frowned.
"No," she said, "It is a fair question, and I am ashamed to say I do not know the answer."
"I'm sorry," Garrett said, "I've just never met a ghost before."
"You're more accustomed to the less-talkative dead, I assume," she said.
Garrett nodded.
Annalien smiled, and looked away. "This was once a city filled with life and boundless hope. I suppose the silent dead are its real masters now. Perhaps I should try being more like them."
Garrett studied the toes of his boots for a while before speaking. "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't mean to offend you. I just wanted to ask you about the flower."
Annalien turned back to him. She moved as though to put her hand on his shoulder, and then let her wasted arm drop to her side. She sighed. "The flower must stay with me," she said.
"But he really loves that flower," Garrett said, "and I think the light here hurts him too much to come and ask you for it himself."
"A goblin who loves something?" Annalien mused, "Now that is an oddity worth a hundred ghosts!"
"What do you mean?" Garrett asked.
"Goblins were created for war," Annalien said, "I was not the only one to have a bad day when the moon fell out of the sky. It drove the dragons mad. They could still sing their wonderful songs and call life into being from nothingness, only now their songs were full of sorrow and rage. Rage against everything. Rage against the race of men."
"Why?" Garrett asked.
"I suppose because you took the world from us," Annalien said, "You took what was once beautiful and pure, and twisted it to your will. They hated you for that. They hated you so much that their hate twisted them, and twisted their song. And so they sang into being creatures like the goblins... creatures created to wage endless war against mankind."
Garrett stifled a laugh. "The goblin didn't seem very scary," he said.
"Imagine a thousand of them, waving swords and howling for your blood. And then imagine their masters behind them, driving them into battle, trolls, hydras, and worse."
Garrett nodded. He tried to imagine the massive troll trapper from the marketplace, only without the floppy leather hat and friendly smile.
"Now imagine an angry dragonflight, ripping the clouds apart as they come sweeping down on your army and burning you all to cinders," Annalien said.
Garrett flinched. He had no trouble imagining that.
Annalien looked at him, suddenly comprehending. "Oh," she said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, boy. I think I talk too much sometimes. It’s not often there's someone here to be hurt by it."
"It's all right," Garrett said, "I got burned a long time ago. It doesn't hurt anymore."
"No," Annalien whispered, "some burns don't ever stop hurting... not really. I'm so sorry."
"Anyway," Garrett said, "I think the goblin really cares about this flower of his. He doesn't seem hateful at all... a little crazy maybe, but he's not bad."
Annalien seemed lost in thought. At last she spoke. "The thing I can't figure out is where he found the rose."
"They sell roses in the market," Garrett offered, "Maybe he got it from there?"
Annalien laughed. "They don't sell blood roses in the market. I can promise you that."
"What's a blood rose?"
"Come and look," the ghost said. She motioned for Garrett to follow her, and led him over to a low table near the pool at the center of the room. Upon it sat various small potted plants, all in good health, save one.
Nearest the source of the unnatural sunlight sat a little red pot from which sprouted a dry, twisted black vine, covered with little crimson-colored thorns and dark, brittle, heart-shaped leaves. A single, unopened bud surmounted the tip of the vine.
"Is it dead?" Garrett asked.
"It very nearly was," Annalien sighed, "Perhaps you see now why I had to take it from him?"
"He wasn't taking care of it?"
"He can't take care of it," she said, "He is a creature of darkness, and this rose needs light."
"They said he's had it for a while," Garrett said, "Maybe he was trying to take care of it and just not getting it enough light."
"This is the only place in the city with the right kind of light for this rose... for all I know, maybe the only place left in the world," she said, "No... I don't believe that. Talking too much again."
"What's so special about it?" Garrett asked.
She looked at him and frowned. "Enough tragic stories for one day, boy! The rose stays with me, or it dies. It may take another century or two to finally give up the last little spark of life, but it will die without real light, and that's reason enough for me to hold onto it."
"But he really wants it back!" Garrett pleaded, "I think he's going to go crazy...er without it."
Annalien smiled. "Why do you care, human?"
Garrett stared back, dumbstruck. He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I just don't like seeing people lose things they care about."
The ghost laughed. "A goblin that loves something, and a human that cares about someone else. Perhaps the world is finally really coming to an end!"
"I mean, maybe there's some way he could... I don't know... visit it or something?" Garrett said.
Annalien shook her head. "You really aren't going to leave empty-handed, are you?"
"I need to tell him something," Garrett said.
"All right then," Annalien said, "I have an idea."
Annalien walked to a nearby rack, upon which hung various fruiting vines. She mumbled to herself as she inventoried them. "This should do," she said at last, "Come here, boy. I think this might work."
Garrett approached to find Annalien pointing the stump of her right
arm at a particularly unpleasant-looking dark blue vine covered with tiny red berries.
"Take a handful of those red berries there," Annalien said, "I think our goblin friend will find them rather flavorful."
"What are they?" Garrett asked.
"Firevine," she said, "created by the dragons to feed war-bred races like the goblins. Fortunately for the world above, the berries are seedless, but the vine spreads like... well, fire. Devilish stuff to be rid of once it gets a foothold in your garden. I have to have it trimmed back every few days to keep it in check."
"Who trims it for you?" Garrett asked.
Annalien smiled slyly. "You're going to ask one too many questions someday, boy."
"Sorry."
"Don't be," she laughed, "It's the only way to learn the best secrets."
"Garrett!" Warren's voice called from outside, "Are you still alive in there?"
"Yeah," he answered, "I'm all right."
"Better take these and go," Annalien said, "Your friends are getting impatient."
Garrett plucked a handful of berries from the thorny blue vine, grateful to be wearing his gloves. "Thank you," he said, "but what if the goblin still wants his flower back?"
Annalien looked thoughtful. "You can tell him that I'm taking care of it, and I'll give it back when it's doing a bit better. It may take a few weeks to get its blood flowing again."
"Thanks."
"Oh," she added, "you probably shouldn't tell your vampire friend what kind of flower it really is. I'm sure she's a very nice girl, but she might mention it to the kind that aren't so nice. Then we would find ourselves in an uncomfortable situation."
Garrett frowned, but nodded his head affirmatively.
"Oh, and don't be tempted to eat any of those berries either!" Annalien said, "They weren't made for humans. You're a good boy, and I'd hate for you to die of a tummy-ache."
"All right," he said, "and thank you for... well, everything."
Then ghost smiled at him.
Garrett turned to go, taking a last look at the golden glow of the moonshard. "Annalien," he said, "would it be all right if I came back sometime?"
"Anytime you want, Garrett," she said.
Chapter Eleven
They took an alternate tunnel back to Marrowvyn. Warren took his duties as guide a bit more seriously this time, remembering the encounter with the spiders. Garrett as well kept replaying the scene again in his head. Something about the memory of the event still nagged at him.
Marla seemed content to hammer at Garrett with an unending stream of questions. She seemed rather upset to have been thwarted in their search for the flower by the strange light of Annalien's moonshard.
Garrett told her what had happened within the chamber, leaving out only the name of the flower as Annalien had asked. Marla's questions, however, centered on the sunlit crystal shard.
She asked to see one of the berries that Annalien had given to Garrett. He removed one from his pocket and handed it to her.
Warren sniffed loudly. "Let me see one."
Garrett handed him another. "Don't eat it," he said, "They might be poisonous to non-goblins."
Warren's nostrils flared, and he pretended to pop the berry in his mouth and chew before gagging and clutching at his throat in mock death-throes.
"I'm not kidding!" Garrett laughed.
"I've never seen a fruit like this," Marla said.
"Annalien said the dragons made them for the goblins to eat."
"You found something good to eat?" an unpleasantly familiar voice called out from the darkness of the tunnel ahead.
"Norris," Warren muttered.
"Greetings, cousin," the white-furred ghoul whined as he loped forward toward them, "Did you have a nice time in the Old City?"
"Great time, Norris!" Warren said, grinning, "And much safer than I thought it would be. You should really go down there and look around a bit."
Norris made a slight hissing noise, and bowed his head, smiling politely at Warren's jest. "I see no flower. Did you find anything... interesting instead?"
"Oh, yeah," Warren said, holding the little red berry in his outstretched palm, "These things are delicious. You should try one!"
"Warren!" Garrett yelled, snatching the berry back.
Norris’s eyes narrowed and his smile briefly flared into a snarl, and just as quickly softened into his usual placating grin.
Marla handed her berry back to Garrett as well. "You'd better put them away for now," she whispered.
Norris looked away as Garrett pocketed the berries.
"So, did you need something, cousin Norris?" Warren asked.
"I simply came to tell you that your father’s lookin’ for you."
"What for?" Warren asked.
"Couldn't say," Norris said, "He did look a bit unhappy."
"Boneash!" Warren cursed, "What now?"
Norris’s grin broadened, and he looked as though he might say more, but Warren's expression warned him against it. He simply nodded and loped away into the darkness.
"Well," Warren said, "let's get back there quick."
Garrett and Marla followed him through the spiraling tunnels of the old elven city, ascending until they at last found themselves among the crumbling subterranean lanes of human architecture. The green light of Garrett's witchfire torch soon paled before the ruddy glow of Marrowvyn's cook fires.
"You know your way from here, Garrett," Warren said, "I've gotta go find my dad."
"Yeah," Garrett said, "we'll be talking to the goblin king."
"Good luck with that," Warren laughed, bounding away on all fours.
"You too," Garrett called after him.
He turned to Marla. "Well, I hope these berries work."
She smiled. "Thank you Garrett."
"For what?"
"For helping me."
"Oh," he said, "that was... I mean, yeah... sorry you didn't get to see the ghost."
"I got to see a real goblin though," she said, placing her hand on Garrett's shoulder, "This was much better than taking inventory at the shop."
Garrett grinned.
They walked together to the center of town. After a moment's search, they found the goblin huddled, asleep, in the shadow of a crumbling wall.
"Should we wake him?" Garrett asked.
"We have to," Marla said.
"You better do it then, he likes you better."
Marla nodded and knelt beside the sleeping creature. She gently stroked his forehead with her fingertips and whispered, "Lieliaana, haruuthavin."
The goblin's large eyes fluttered open, and a look of terror and despair wrinkled his noseless face. Then he seemed to recognize her and his features softened into abject adoration.
"My Queen!" he hissed, rolling his body into a sort of crouched prostration before her.
Marla took him by the shoulders and bade him rise to his feet. He did so, uncertainly, his skinny knees trembling and his eyes darting side to side.
Marla spoke again, her voice formal and strangely accented, "Your flower is safe, child of the Great Mother."
"Thank you, my Queen!" the goblin moaned, "May I see it?"
"I am afraid that you must be parted from it yet a little while," Marla said, "It is my wish that the ghost who has taken it from you repay the debt of her crime by tending and caring for the flower until it is restored to full health."
The goblin whined, grinding his teeth together. "But, my Queen, I..."
"And I set you a task as well, servant of the Song," she said, "to prepare a garden suitable of this treasured flower to await its return into your care."
"A garden?" The goblin's face stretched into a mask of bewilderment.
"A place of shadow and light," she said, "You must find a place near the surface where the light of day may reach it, and yet you may still tend it in the shadows of night, unseen by the people of the city above. You must find such a place and prepare it. I charge you with this."
"Yes, my Queen," the goblin
said, bowing his head.
"You have done well, obedient hand," Marla said, "You have served the Song and will be rewarded."
"Thank you my Queen!"
"My companion has won a great gift for you," she said, motioning for Garrett to approach, "He took these berries from the ghost as tribute for her crime. They are yours alone now."
Garrett's questioning look was lost in the shadows of his hood, but he held his tongue and handed Marla the berries.
The goblin stared down at the little red berries in Marla's outstretched hand and blinked. His mouth hung agape for a few moments, and he blinked again. Then his eyes widened and he looked to Marla with an expression of impossible hope upon his face.
"Are they real?" he asked, his voice raspy and thin.
"Yes," Marla said, smiling down at the little creature, "Take them."
The goblin fell to his knees and held out his three-fingered hands, cupped together, tears brimming his eyes. Marla dropped the berries into his palms and stepped back.
The goblin stared down at the fruit, his lips trembling with unspoken words. Then, suddenly, he pressed his hands to his mouth and devoured the berries in two quick gulps.
Marla looked at Garrett, and Garrett shrugged.
The black pupils of the goblin's eyes grew very large, and his body began to sway gently from the knees. He murmured something and tried to stand, then fell on his backside on the dusty cobbles of the ancient courtyard. He flashed them both a broad, toothy grin and giggled.
"Perhaps we should go now," Marla whispered.
Garrett nodded.
They turned to leave, but the goblin leapt to his feet, startling them both.
"Thank you, my Queen!" the goblin cried. He looked at his hands and flexed his thin arms. "I am strong again!" he shouted.
"I'm pleased you enjoyed the berries," Marla said, forgetting her regal tone of voice.
"I will do as you have commanded me!" the goblin cried, "I will build a garden worthy of my mother's blood!"
"Your mother's blood?" Marla asked, "What do you mean?"
The goblin blinked at her. "The blood flower," he said, "A garden for her blood flower."
Marla blinked. "Your flower is a blood rose?" she asked.
The Necromancer's Nephew Page 8
