by Shona Husk
Roan reached for his brother’s arm too late and grasped nothing but air thickened by the night. He took one last look at where he had been born and then followed Dai into the shadows.
The shelves were bare. Not a scroll. Not a tablet. Not a book to be seen. Dai had emptied his library. Roan blinked and turned, hoping he’d mis-stepped and ended up in the wrong cave. Odd golden artifacts littered the floor. The polished desk usually hidden by maps and texts was bare except for the gold-rimmed spectacles.
Dai reclined in his leather chair, his fingers pressed together. “I wasn’t expecting you to follow so fast.”
“What happened?” While Roan lacked Dai’s expertise in the written word he’d appreciated the volume of knowledge stored in one room.
The time spent deciphering and then the thrill of the wild goose chase as they’d hunted for a mythical cure only to find it useless. The hair from a dragon. Amulets. Spells. Prayers to gods that no longer listened. Holy water. Penitence. Confession. Pilgrimages. Voodoo. Witch doctors. Poison. If they hadn’t tried it, it didn’t exist.
“I cleaned up. Dead languages held little appeal, but I felt guilty about leaving them to rot here so I added them to the vault at Birch.”
“They were your life’s work.” Roan dropped into the other chair. For Dai to give up everything he’d collected…he studied his brother in the glow of the candlelight. His skin was paler, but not gray. His eyes were blue, but yellow burst around the pupil.
Dai smiled and leaned forward. “Are you looking for goblin?”
“Do I need to?”
“My latest finds have appeased the greedy golden-eyed monster. I didn’t even feel the bite taken from my soul in payment.” Dai touched his pendant. He reached into his drawer and pulled out two books. He laid them on the table. “I kept these for you. Shall I?”
The last two in the Harry Potter series. Listening to Dai’s summary would be the same as admitting he wouldn’t live to see the films. He wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Not while there was still time. Still a chance to pull victory from the jaws of defeat. Battles could turn in a moment. The clanging of axes on rock mocked his hope. The only reason his cave hadn’t been invaded yet was because the goblins kept attacking each other.
Roan eased back in his chair and feigned relaxation. “Tell me over dinner.”
“Dinner?” Dai tapped the cover of the final book. “Why dinner?”
“Eliza has asked—”
“Eliza.” He swept the books off the table. “How long will you dance to her tune?” Dai ran his fingers through his hair. He frowned at the books on the floor then checked his hands, looking for the gray stain that announced the fade. Dai had lost his distraction. His love of learning for learning’s sake was gone, and with no buffer he was vulnerable.
The daily battle was one Roan was familiar with, but since taking Eliza as queen the darkness had slowed its attack. Or maybe his defense had gotten better as gold had lost its lure and was replaced by lust.
Dai’s breath hissed out, but his skin didn’t change color. The black diamond held him safe from the darkness of the Shadowlands. He was as human as he would ever be unless the curse broke or Roan succumbed. Roan knew which side the good money was betting on. Hell, he knew which he was betting on and it wasn’t the outcome he wanted. The only way to spare his brother becoming goblin was death.
Roan spoke quietly. “I will not let you fade. But I do not wish your death either.” He stood. “She has offered a farewell dinner. I didn’t accept. I did promise to say good-bye.”
He clenched his teeth. He wanted dinner, knowing it wouldn’t ever fill him. It wouldn’t be enough, but they were standing on the edge listening to the rocks break away and bounce down the cliff into the abyss. The grip he had on his brother was slipping.
“The decision is yours, Dai.” Roan turned and left his brother in the empty library. If his brother was forced to hold the life of others in his hands, to feel the weight of care, maybe he wouldn’t rush to extinguish what little spark remained.
***
Only a few brave photographers camped outside Eliza’s house. The rain had forced them into their cars. Their telescopic lenses peeked over the tops of windows like one-eyed sightless monsters. They’d got some photos of her going grocery shopping. If that made it to print, there was something truly wrong with the media.
Eliza shut the curtains and turned up the music. The shopping bags bulged on the kitchen floor. She’d bought too much. But she didn’t know what to buy. What did one serve as a king’s last supper? Seafood? Steak? Roast? Delicate canapés?
Everything.
The ten-course menu sat on the marble bench waiting for action. Roan might not come. He might have already gone and she hadn’t noticed. She bit her lip and sniffed. She would know. She would feel it. The separation would burn like a hot knife pressed against her palm. She snatched up the first bag and unpacked the shopping bags with too much vigor. Then she arranged the food by recipe, busywork to keep her hands moving and her mind silent.
Roan wouldn’t go without saying good-bye. He had promised.
The ingredients sat sullenly on the bench-top. On another occasion the food would have become a dinner party, a celebration, not a wake for the soon-to-be-dead.
One uninvited guest watched her cook. His scythe propped in the corner, the harsh white planes of his face half-hidden by the folds of his shroud. She shivered. Not even the heat from the oven could take the chill out of the air. No matter how long she stalled, or how long the dinner went, there would be no escaping Death.
***
Roan opened the bottom drawer and ran his hand over the blue and red cloak. In his time it had been finely crafted. Now the weave was rough, the dye dull. He lifted the clothes and inhaled. Did they still hold traces of wood smoke, or was his memory playing tricks? These were clothes he’d hoped never to use.
He peeled off the black T-shirt, removed his boots, socks, and camo. Over the years he’d worn different uniforms, the clothes of the times as if he could drop into the Fixed Realm and participate at any given moment. Always ready. He folded the clothes and placed them at the end of the bed. His boots were tucked just underneath like he would be coming back.
The only concession to modern life he would take would be the Colt. He still hadn’t decided what to do. If he died in the Fixed Realm, what would happen to his body? He’d never seen a goblin die in the world, although he was sure some did during the solstice Wild Ride. Maybe it was their corpses that filled Area 51. A place so secure that not even he had found a way in—and there weren’t many places that kept him out. He didn’t want to leave a body for Eliza to deal with. On the other hand, dying in the Shadowlands held no appeal.
Roan picked up his clothing and strode naked to the bathroom. He took his time as if it meant nothing. The water coursed over his skin, but he didn’t feel its cold fingers—he didn’t waste magic heating it for himself. With his eyes closed all he saw was Eliza naked, and it was too easy to fool his flesh into thinking she was there. He rubbed his hands over his face. Without magic he needed to shave. He hadn’t put a razor to his face in centuries. Today wasn’t the right day to relearn. His fingers wrinkled like grapes left in the sun, but he stayed in the shower, rinsing the rock dust from under his nails as if Eliza would notice the gray dust on gray skin. Anything to delay. One less thing to do. One less thing on his rapidly shrinking list. One more last time finished.
The weight of the end settled on his shoulders. A sodden winter wool cloak that he’d ignored, until now. The darkness whispered of life. Life was life regardless of how it was lived. What good was a soul when the body burned to ash? Roan wrenched himself away from the edge. Its promises made by the gray of a false dawn didn’t tempt him. Better to be incinerated by the growing white star. He turned off the shower and forced himself to dress.
Usually magic meant his hair would be clean but not wet. Wet, the tails of his hair were heavy. The beads didn’t dance. He did h
is best to dry them, but what suited a goblin annoyed him as a man. He had no need to show his wealth in gold and amber anymore. He should cut the dreadlocks off. Hack through them with his sword and leave them to rot in the Shadowlands. But Eliza’s fingers had tangled in the snakes. She had rolled the beads in her fingers. It was how she recognized him as a goblin.
In the mirror very little had changed since the night he was cursed. He looked no older, no wiser either, just a little more scarred. A smile crept over his face. The king in the mirror he knew. He was Roan, the king of all that remained of the Decangli. Nothing would ever take that from him. He hung the towel over the rack. The sun was slipping to the other side of the earth. Night was encroaching on Eliza’s house.
He needed an answer from Dai.
Roan placed his hand over the candles in the bathroom. The flames tickled his palm but lacked the heat to burn. Like everything else in the Shadowlands they drew on the magic that tainted the air for survival. The green fire died without a splutter. As he walked down the tunnels to his room, he extinguished each candle he passed. They had lit the caves for six centuries. Their service was done.
Dai sat on the edge of Roan’s bed. He’d changed clothes. Gone were camo and the military styling. Instead he’d chosen a jacket and trousers that belonged to someone who spent their days marveling over the change in language and writing styles over the centuries. It was enough to make Roan pause at the door and wonder who had taken the almost-goblin and brought back his brother. The only giveaway was the gold accessories. Buttons, belt buckle, earrings.
“You’ve found yourself again.”
Dai shook his head. He studied the gold rings on his fingers. “No, but I know how I want to be remembered. I thought those clothes were ruined.”
“I lugged them around for centuries before learning how to mend with magic.” Before he’d realized what the magic took it had become second nature. Magic could fix, or change, anything for a price.
“I wondered why your pack was always so bulky.” Dai spun the ring on his finger as if contemplating removing it. “I have been thinking,” his lips twisted in a wry smile, “about something other than gold.” He looked up at Roan. “Dinner would nice.”
Roan relaxed his shoulders, releasing the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying since giving Dai the power of death. He nodded, about to speak, but Dai raised his hand, asking to be allowed to continue.
“If I were you, dinner is all I would be thinking about, even though we haven’t needed to eat in a long time. I couldn’t have handed the decision to another.”
“You are my brother. I trust your decision.” Not entirely, he could’ve ordered Dai’s attendance and risked a fight, but it was better a man make up his own mind than be forced. He’d hoped Dai was still human enough to feel the weight of responsibility, and understand his death wish could wait an extra hour or two while Roan pretended to live.
“A risky strategy. What plans have you made?” Dai ran his palms over his thighs.
Dinner was only a temporary reprieve. Roan’s blood chilled without touching the magic of the Shadowlands. A single self-inflicted head shot. Not a glorious death, but a bullet was all that was required to kill a goblin.
“Options are limited. Here or there. My preference is the Fixed Realm.”
Dai frowned. “And the bodies?”
“There is an active volcano in Hawaii. It is beautiful. We could time it for sunrise.” Let the force of the shot carry their bodies over the rim and into the fire that would take them to the Hall of the Gods.
“That solves the problem of the pyre. We can take the swords and torques of the others.”
Roan’s throat was too tight to speak. It was one thing to plan and prepare, but another to participate. His desire for life was getting in the way of his need for death.
Goblin battle cries rattled off the walls. The extra barricades Roan had spent building to waste the time between seeing Eliza had given way. All the rocky debris from his anger had been put to good use. It had bought them the time they needed. Both men turned to face the doorway. The Hoard had arrived. Roan’s hand slid to his gun. They were out of time.
Dai frowned. “That held for longer than I thought it would.”
“I reinforced it while you were gathering gold.”
“I should have helped.”
Footsteps pounded down the tunnel. Dai stood and removed the platinum and black diamond pendant and placed it on the bed. “I wouldn’t want to keep your queen waiting. Shall we go?”
Roan nodded and wrapped them in shadows. He didn’t want to see the blood as the goblins found the gold room. And he didn’t want to watch Dai defending the treasure…and he was sure he would succumb if he stayed. Together, the brothers left the Shadowlands for the last time.
They stepped into a house lit with candles. They burned on every surface and melted. Tears of colored wax slid down their sides, escaping from the heat of the orange flame. Roan passed his hand over the tiny fire. It flickered. He lowered his hand over the flame. His gray-skinned palm heated. Pain sliced through his hand. Roan pulled his hand back. He rubbed the tender, burned skin. He hoped he would be dead before he hit the lava.
Around the two goblins, the house was silent. He sniffed. It wasn’t the candles that perfumed the house, it was food. For the first time in centuries he was hungry. Not just wanting to eat out of an obsolete human habit hungry. But really hungry. He stomach tightened and gurgled. Where was Eliza? Roan looked at Dai. Dai shrugged. His hands were full of the swords from the fallen and faded.
Roan walked through the house toward the kitchen. It hadn’t changed much since the first time he had visited. That night music had poured through the house and flooded the garden. Teenagers had run amok with beers clutched in their hands. Upstairs a frightened child had hidden from the boys who dreamed of being men without understanding what it meant.
He changed direction. Eliza would be upstairs. He signaled to Dai his intentions, unwilling to break the silence that protected them. Roan moved through the shadows that cloaked the stairs. His beads chattered around him, and he didn’t expend any magic to silence them.
“Roan?” Bare feet raced across the landing to where he stood at the top of the stairs.
“I am here.” In spirit and the wrong body, he remained in the shadows, content to watch her.
Eliza had pulled her hair up, put on makeup, and dressed for the occasion in a knee-length gold evening dress. He didn’t need any light to know she was tempting him into living. And it was working.
She stopped three feet from him, suddenly awkward. “I wasn’t sure, I’ve cooked. It’s ready.” Her hands fiddled with imaginary strands of hair.
“Dai is downstairs.”
“Yes, of course.” Eliza nodded. She peered in the shadows, searching for his face.
She would never like what she found. Roan released the shadows anyway. There was no point in hiding, and slinking through the dark, pretending he didn’t exist. He heard her swallow, then she reached out her hand. He wrapped his long gray fingers around hers. She was warm against his cool flesh. Hot enough to burn, if not his skin, then what was left of his soul.
Together they walked down the stairs. King and queen. Dai waited at the bottom. He inclined his head and let them pass to lead the way into the dining room.
Four swords lay on the oval table, three with bronze torques. Meryn still wore his, the curse locked around his neck where it would remain forever. Three places had been set with cutlery. At the center of the table were flowers, an ornate silver candelabrum, and two bottles of wine, one red, one white.
Eliza stared at her distorted table setting. Her fingers squeezed his hand. “Did you want me to set the other places?”
“No. It’s enough they are remembered.”
For a moment none of them moved, afraid to take a seat and start the last meal they would share. Roan eased his hand free. “Would you like any help in the kitchen?”
El
iza came to life, the spell that held her frozen had broken. She shook her head, her golden hair shining in the candlelight. “I’ll bring out the canapés. Have a seat.”
Roan watched her leave, his feet wanted to follow, but he sat. He drummed his long fingers on the table, the yellow nails clipping the wood. They were wasting seconds they could be together.
“That wasn’t uncomfortable at all.” Dai leaned forward with his elbows on the edge of the table, and he rested his chin on his hands.
It was a pose Dai often took when thinking, but it was at odds with the body now performing as his brother.
“What if I’ve missed something? Something obvious that would free us.” At the edges of his mind the bright star whispered, but its voice was drowned out by the screaming darkness. All he needed was silence to hear the answer—if that was what was being whispered. For all he knew it was a trick of the Shadowlands designed to tear him apart faster. Except it wasn’t. He hadn’t been this stable…ever.
Dai clenched his teeth. His face pulled into a snarl. “What haven’t we tried? What else is there? What is left that could break the curse? Even your queen loves you, and still nothing changes.”
Roan frowned. “What do you…”
Eliza walked back into the room. “I didn’t know what you’d like.” She set two platters down. “So I made California rolls with smoked salmon and mini quiches with bacon.” She glanced at Roan.
The need for approval widened her eyes. The candlelight danced in her pupils until her eyes glowed as if lit by their own fire. Brighter than any black diamond could hope to burn. She was in love with him. Not just Roan, but the Goblin King. Her pleading I love you was more than just words spoken to sharpen his decision.
His tongue traced his lip as he tried to find something to say that would be worthy. He found nothing. “It all looks delicious.”
At that moment he wouldn’t have cared if Eliza had served salted rats on a stick. Eliza loved him, yet the curse remained. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t force any emotion out of the gold that had taken the place of muscle and become his heart.
