by Shona Husk
He swung his legs up onto the bed and rested his head on the pillow. He had nowhere else to be and being near the only person who treated him like a human seemed like a good idea. In his heart, he knew he was hiding. It was only a matter of time until Nadine realized what he’d done and what he’d been. Sooner rather than later, he was sure the man who’d pulled him from the Shadowlands would track him down and he’d be forced to face a past he could only remember in bits and pieces. He exhaled slowly and forced his muscles to relax.
Here was better than out there where the soldiers marched and people stared. And it was definitely better than the Shadowlands. But it wasn’t home. He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t have a home. It had been destroyed by the Romans. He closed his eyes and tried to forget, but some things couldn’t be forgotten. The screaming filled his head again. He fought against the rising memories that wanted to suck him under. And he lost, defeated by simple exhaustion, a force no man could resist.
The blood spread around him, staining his gray skin crimson. Goblins didn’t cry. He wanted to. He’d stood, unable to move, as the legionaries had cut his two daughters down. Their little bodies limp in his arms, cradled with the lifeless body of their mother. The baby in her belly never getting a chance to be born. His gnarled goblin hand rested on her stomach. He would give anything to take their places. But it didn’t matter which god he called for assistance, none answered.
Because he’d supported his Decangli King over the druid, he’d been cursed—damned to the Shadowlands as goblin, forced to obey the summons of anyone who knew the proper words. He’d been summoned to watch the slaughter of the Decangli and been unable to lift his sword, bound by the magic of the curse. He was the leader of the army; he should’ve been there fighting with the men, but their plans had been spoiled. A traitor had betrayed them for Roman coin.
When he’d thought the night of blood and terror was over, he’d been summoned once more by the calls of his wife as she tried to defend their home and daughters from the Roman soldiers. She screamed at the sight of him, while the soldiers laughed. Once again he could do nothing but watch as everything he’d ever loved and lived for was taken away by a Roman blade.
The blood of his slain family cooled, and he called out for the tribe to avenge their deaths, to murder the Romans in their beds. But no one heard. They were all dead. Everyone was dead except those that had been cursed. Saved or damned, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He had no reason to go on. He howled his loss in the Fixed Realm; torn apart by grief, wounds opened that would never heal, the loss of his family leaving gaps that couldn’t be filled. He was nothing more than a wounded monster.
Eventually he’d been pulled back to the Shadowlands, even though he’d resisted until his skin peeled and he’d expected to be torn apart. In the desolation, it had been easy to let the cold take him, seeking refuge from the pain in the curse. He’d failed his wife and his children. He’d failed his tribe. He’d failed his king. The grief he’d locked away when he’d surrendered to the curse sucked him under, ripping at his heart as the screams of his family echoed in his head.
“Meryn.” A woman’s voice shattered the nightmare.
He jerked awake at the sound of his name and sat up. His hands were coated with blood—red blood, human blood. His wife’s blood. His heart hammered against his ribs. Where was he?
He glanced around the room, his hands curling into fists. The woman next to him kept talking, her voice was soft, but she looked like she was ready to back away fast. Away from him. He looked at his hands. The blood was gone. He was human, not goblin. It had been a dream, nothing more. He opened his hands and made himself look at Nadine. Her gaze was wary, as if she wasn’t sure he was safe to be around. That look was almost as bad the nightmare that had given his memories life.
“I’m all right.” His voice was harsh, as if he’d been yelling. His heart slowed, but his breathing still came in heavy pants. “It was a dream.” He closed his eyes.
Just a dream, a memory he’d suppressed. One he’d rather forget. But forgetting hadn’t helped last time. The holes in his heart remained and no amount of gold had been able to fill the emptiness. Giving in to the curse had merely dulled the pain, saving it up for when his heart beat again. He took a slow breath and opened his eyes.
Nadine was looking at him…and so was everyone else.
She spoke softly as if she was calming a child.
“I’m fine.” He repeated, quieter this time. Then remembered she couldn’t understand him.
She touched his arm and asked another question.
Like it made any difference what she asked.
He brushed aside her hand and her concern. He needed to leave now, before they called the soldiers back. He swung his legs off the bed. Nadine moved to stand in front of him, then she crossed her arms and shook her head.
“Let me pass. Put someone who’s truly ill in the bed,” he said in Decangli. This time he didn’t bother repeating in Latin since she didn’t speak it.
Nadine didn’t move. She met his gaze without flinching. Her full lips pressed tight together, her eyes hard as if she expected him to obey.
He clamped his teeth together and the muscle in his jaw twitched. He gave the orders; he didn’t take orders, unless they had been coming from his wife. His heart gave a twinge, like a wound was opening, tearing wider with each breath. He couldn’t function with the memories flooding his mind. He had to lock away the thoughts that hurt. He inhaled and with a wrench of will pushed everything down. Not forgotten but buried enough that he could think.
Nadine cocked her head and raised her dark eyebrows.
No one had ever stared him down. He’d run the Decangli army. The only person who’d outranked him was the king. But he was no longer that man; that man had been killed with his wife and children. Meryn huffed out a breath and lay back on the bed. He crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. He would not sleep again. He didn’t want everyone staring when he had another nightmare. But he knew he’d have to sleep eventually, and when he did, everything he was trying to forget would rise back up.
From the corner of his eye he was aware of Nadine smiling, and he couldn’t help the curving of his lips. He lay there staring at the ceiling, aware of her moving around the room even though he couldn’t see her.
The noise in the room ebbed and flowed around him, but he didn’t let it lull him to sleep. He stayed alert and listened, as if he could unravel the language if he did so hard enough. It would happen eventually if he paid attention. A man began shouting in anger not fear.
Meryn sat up slowly. His gaze landed on a wiry man with wild eyes. The man began tearing at the bandages on his arm. His words were sharp and rising in pitch. Nadine walked closer, speaking calmly. Meryn’s gaze darted between the two of them. He was like a drunk spoiling for a fight—only he was fighting with himself. Nadine reached for the man intent on ripping off his bandages. The man shoved her to the floor, and she landed on her butt. The man stepped closer, his arm bleeding, still shouting demands.
Meryn jumped off the bed. “Get back.” He barked the order, expecting to be obeyed.
The man looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. In that moment of hesitation, Meryn put his hand out to Nadine. He kept his eye on the man as her fingers closed around his. As he pulled her up, he put himself between her and the man with dangerous eyes—he had the look of a boar about to charge.
Two men grabbed the crazy man from behind. He kicked and struggled, but they had him under control. Another man in uniform eyed Meryn as if deciding if he was a threat and Meryn realized he still held Nadine’s hand. Her skin was cool and her palm smooth. He preferred it to the gloves she wore when she was checking his injury. He released her and stared back at the man, daring him to act. He’d done nothing wrong. He’d acted when no one else had.
Nadine spoke. Her words were clear but her voice had a tremor.
He turned to face her. “Are you hur
t?”
She just shook her head and ushered him back to his bed, her gaze going back to the man who’d been tearing himself apart. She expected him to lie down as if nothing had happened. Was it like this all the time here? The noise and danger?
Then he realized he was part of it. No one could understand him, which meant no one knew what to expect from him. He didn’t want to make her job harder, so he lay down, but this time he lay on his side so he could watch and make sure nothing else happened. But everything settled down. People went about their work. The patients lay still or moaned. Some were wheeled away, others walked. Wherever this place was, it was temporary, which meant he’d have to leave too.
When Nadine came back to check on him, there were two people in white coats with her. A man and a woman. Nadine spoke and the other two looked at the paper that had been at the end of his bed. Meryn sat up; they were discussing him—was he going to be moving already?
The new woman spoke to him.
“I can’t understand you. I don’t know what you want from me.” It was pointless even bothering; no one here spoke Decangli or Latin, and they were the only languages he knew. Where was he? And the bigger question, the one he had been trying to avoid, when was he? How many years had passed?
The two in white coats conferred again. They made him do silly things like touch his fingers and thumb together, touch his nose, and hold out his arms. He copied each instruction. But instead of allaying their concern, their frowns deepened. Nadine watched him but didn’t interfere. She didn’t frown, but she studied him as if she could work out what was wrong if she looked hard enough.
He hoped she would never find out was wrong with him. None of these people ever needed to know he’d been goblin. While the people in white coats talked some more, he glanced at Nadine, smiled, and shrugged. There was nothing he could to do make these people happy.
Nadine’s lips curved, and for a moment her eyes were filled with more than concern.
“Meryn.” The man handed him a stylus and a small piece of parchment and asked him to do something, then they waited.
Meryn looked at the smooth stylus. There was no ink to dip it into. He touched the page and it made a mark. The ink was inside. He looked at the people again, and then Nadine. She wanted to know about him. Maybe she could help him. While he couldn’t write, he could make maps.
He sketched a map of the place that had been his home in the hope they would recognize it. His hand wasn’t steady. It had been a long time since he’d had to perform such a delicate task. To his eye it wasn’t too bad; the coast and rivers were there.
More puzzled looks.
Nadine looked closer at what he’d drawn. She brought her hands close and then moved them apart. “Bigger?”
Did he need to draw a bigger map? To include more area? The whole south of Britain? He’d seen the Roman maps of all their lands. Could he draw that and ask where he was?
He mimicked her movement and copied her word, and she nodded, a grin forming.
The two in white coats looked less than pleased that they were excluded from the odd conversation. He didn’t care about them and they didn’t care about him.
He turned the page over and drew a more expansive map, one that took into account all Roman territory. He made a mark where the Decangli had once ruled. Nadine’s mouth formed a quiet Oh.
He tapped the place where he’d lived and looked at her, hoping she knew of it.
“Wales,” she said
“Wales?” he repeated, but the word was awkward to form.
Nadine took the paper and drew another map, this time the lands he’d drawn were smaller and she added more. She made an x where he had, in the place she called Wales, then drew a dotted line and drew another x. “Australia.”
“Australia.” The sounds were strange on his tongue, as strange as the lands she’d drawn. He’d never seen them on a map before. He’d never seen or heard of Australia. He was a half a world away from home. His stomach hollowed out as if he’d been kicked in the gut.
He didn’t even try to listen as the three people talked about him. It was no wonder they didn’t speak the same languages as him. Why had his cousin done this? What game was Dai playing in dragging him to a place where he couldn’t understand the language? Was it punishment for abandoning his duty and king?
Nadine touched his hand. She spoke and indicated to the young man who’d turned on the rain so he could wash. She wanted him to go with the man. He wouldn’t fight her. There was no point. He had nowhere to go. Damn Dai. Maybe he should find his way back to the tower Dai had left him in and demand some answers. And then Dai, and Roan, would demand some from him. How could he ever explain to Roan what had happened? It would never justify why he’d given up and given in. And even if he could, there’d still be reckoning. He was a deserter and a coward, and death at the end of a sword would follow.
He’d find his own way in this strange place. He’d learned the Romans’ language, and he could learn this one. Nadine had already taught him his first words.
He clasped her hand with both of his. “Thank you.”
She didn’t pull away. She said something, but all he recognized was his name.
He nodded and released her hand. Immediately his skin felt cooler without her touch. The stolen gold in his pouch became heavy. Maybe if they hadn’t been surrounded by people, he’d have found the courage to hand it back, but even as he thought it, he knew he’d never be strong enough to see the look in her eyes turn cold with hate. He also knew he’d have to find a way, otherwise he’d have to live with guilt. The man he’d been would never have wallowed in doubt. He’d have done the right thing without question.
Now he questioned everything.
He took one last glance at Nadine before going with the young man and doing as he was told. She raised her hand in farewell and he returned the gesture. He almost turned around and walked back to her. He didn’t want to go somewhere new without her; she’d made him feel human. He was pathetic. Had the curse stolen his spine as well as his heart and soul?
The screaming in his mind echoed as if there was nothing left of him except this walking body. What was a man without heart and soul? Without king and kin?
Maybe he had died, the goblins had gotten to him and this was the death he had to face—an eternity of never being understood and of never having a peaceful night’s sleep. To be endlessly followed by a past he couldn’t change. To be a no one. Would the gods be that cruel?
With measured paces, he followed to wherever the young man was leading. They went into a box that moved and then opened somewhere else by magic. No matter how far he walked Nadine’s touch lingered on his skin, the concern in her eyes chafed his aching heart, and her golden cross became heavier with each step.
The man took him to a new room. The differences in this room were that there were only four beds and Nadine wasn’t here. He was alone…except for the two other people in the room, but they were sleeping. He knew that was what was expected of him. Until when? How long did he have to stay here? Until he could speak the language? Was this some kind of house for the sick and feeble minded?
Maybe this is where he belonged.
Meryn lay down. The bed was well above the ground and narrow, exactly the same as the other one. He fingered the sheets, feeling the fineness of the fabric then pulled them over himself. He wasn’t ill and infirm, nor an old man in need of care. Yet his body ached as if the goblin spears from his dreams had pierced him and beaten him down. He was tired as if he’d been fighting all night, confronting an enemy he couldn’t defeat. As he lay in the quiet, his head pulsed, the pain radiating around his skull and down his neck. He closed his eyes and sighed as if he could expel the ache with a breath. Sleep tried to catch him, but each time he caught himself and jerked awake. He couldn’t rest; he didn’t want to relive the deaths of his family. He tried to make plans, but his mind couldn’t pin down a thought.
Then he blinked but didn’t wake; instead, he was i
n the Shadowlands.
Goblins skulked through his sleep. They fought each other, drawing thick, black blood. Their weapons gleamed as bright as their eyes. He crept closer to see what they were willing to die for. A dark-haired woman was being held by the goblin currently claiming kingship. A spike of gold threaded through his nose; gold rings hung in his ears. He swung his sword with one hand and kept the woman in his grasp with the other. This was the prize they’d brought back from the Fixed Realm on the Wild Ride.
She saw him and cried out, in one language and then another. Pleading. In his ears the words sounded the same. Help me.
She didn’t want to be a goblin queen. She fought back, kicking and scratching any goblin who tried to grab her. Even the king of the troop hadn’t been able to hold on to her. But when the other goblins had swarmed around, she’d understood her fate.
He’d watched. Not because he didn’t care, but because he hadn’t known what to do. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t know how to help her. Help was a concept that his goblin mind couldn’t grasp.
Around him, the goblins squabbled and smaller fights broke out over the gathered gold and who would claim the woman. He understood everything, yet no one used the same language. The words off their tongues were languages he’d never heard before living in the Shadowlands, yet everything made sense. He’d never questioned how goblins knew Decangli…somehow he’d forgotten that was what he’d spoken, as if his goblin mind was too concerned with gold and fighting to think beyond and reason like a man. He stood watching and listening and absorbing.
He recognized the languages the woman used as the two Nadine had used—the one that everyone around him spoke and the other one, the one that was like an echo of Latin too distorted for him to comprehend.
