11

Chapter 10

The Opari Wilderness

Early the next morning, Quinn slid into the rain forest that made up this section of the Opari Wilderness. He made his way, moving swiftly and easily through the maze of underbrush without a sound. The Other, his dark companion, came to his call, and they merged—making his persona far greater than the sum of its parts. Now utterly aware, Quinn moved into the shifting geo-temporal environment that was Opari.

The Goddess came to him as a small blue butterfly that fluttered around his head three times and finally landed on his opened hand. He stopped moving—her presence held him spellbound. His very cells thrummed with joy. As he always did, he found himself snared by the awful immensity of Her persona. His other shrieked a warning. He regretfully fought his way free of Her splendor, then spent a long moment finding the perfect balance between detachment and singularity. Finally, data from the environment flowed instead of flooding into his consciousness. The problem with navigating the Goddess Opari was not too little data, but too much.

He smiled a regretful smile as he felt Her disappointed pout at his withdrawal. Her wondrous complexity still pulled at him, but he could function now. One day, he knew he would fail, and his doom would be moss and lichen consuming his body inch by inch as he sat by some random tree while his spirit rapturously explored Opari's mysteries. It occurred to him to wonder if that was what had happened to old Cayden MacLeish.

As always, when he roamed the Opari, curious watchers followed his passage. Three forest sprites tasted his mind mood, and when they found it benign perched on his shoulders, chattered about all the local gossip and shamelessly begged for treats. Quinn absently flipped them M&M's. His fingers were constantly busy, signaling greetings to some and warnings to others. He was alert for any newly arrived predators that might not know of him and attack. He was determined not to harm any being if he could help it.

Opari gradually changed. At first, there were the familiar, rain-cleaned, mossy smells of the Northwest rain forest. Ferns and mosses, along with shade-loving flowering plants like trillium and foxglove, grew everywhere. Honeysuckle and Oregon Grape sprouted out of massive fallen trees. Gradually, the vegetation changed to a tropical jungle. Greenhouse floral smells gave way to the musk of decaying vegetation. The air grew hotter. Water dripped constantly. The light dimmed as the canopy far overhead blocked out the sun. The sounds changed as well. A different cacophony of animal and bird sounds came mixed with the hum of a billion insects.

A boggle home-camp is never a pretty place. They set this one in a clearing surrounded by ancient kapok trees. The camp was strewn with scraps of bone and fur from the prey they had trapped and eaten. Boggles were goblins, the largest and most vicious of the species. They were omnivore hunter-gatherers. Intelligent enough, Quinn knew, but given to violent mood swings caused by the psychedelic mushrooms that the adults and young consumed as an intoxicant. The clan had an easy life. The Opari teamed with ready prey and uncounted edible plants.

Quinn stepped into their meeting circle, sat down, and waited for the tribe to return from their hunt.

The clan returned with a triumphant hooting that halted abruptly when they saw Quinn sitting in the Chief's spot. The sprites dancing on his shoulders chittered and squeaked warnings to him.

The Chief, his skin gray and hair white with age, stepped forward. His face was pale, sweating with fear.

"I see you, Keeper." He grated in low Alfar.

"I see you, Sigurd," Quinn whistle-clicked softly. "How goes the hunt?"

"Today is a good day. Why you come here?"

"I heard a whispering that a clan hunts too close to the border."

"Aye, master, but just once," the Chief whined anxiously. "It was an accident. The outliers pursued and harvested a red deer. Punished they were."

Quinn regretted the fear and anxiety on the Chief's face, but it was necessary. Boggles had two responses to outsiders. Absolute aggression or fearful obeisance. Their fear would keep them safe from any ill-advised moves against him.

"Very well. I have work for Ozz and Oild."

"Work, Master?" The Chief's expression grew sly with greed. He, no doubt, considered the two young outliers as troublemakers. Young females had value. Young males, not so much.

"Yes, if you can spare them from their daily tasks."

"Mayhap, but the price must be good. They have value."

Quinn suppressed a smile. The being's face was an open book. The older males kept all young males as far away from the tribe's females for as long as they could manage. Sigurd would happily sell the two young men instead of merely lending them.

"Aye, a task of watching for me. I am prepared to pay well if you agree."

"Rubies, diamonds? My females is fond of the glittery things."

"Better, I offer these." Quinn reached into his pack, fished out a one-pound bag of M&M's, and casually tossed it from hand to hand.

The sprites on his shoulder squeaked with outrage. "Us, master the treasure, be for us, not these most disgusting creatures."

At the sight of the sweets, the entire band groaned and stepped forward.

"Ozz and Oild, get you here right now."

The tribe hurriedly pushed two small boggles to the front. The two stood huddled together, eying Quinn and their chief, hands wringing and feet shifting nervously.

"You two come with me," Quinn sang crisply. He tossed the big bag of candy to the Chief and strode out of the campsite. After a kick from the Chieftain, the two small beings ran to catch up.

"Master, what you want from I and Oild," Ozz whistle clicked breathlessly as they moved through the trees.

"Wait until we get to Keeper House, and I will tell you your duties."

Saria and the two girls were at Keeper House when Quinn and the two boggles emerged from the forest. Niamh's ward Jeffery stood with them. The three children looked wide-eyed at the two beings.

"You two," Saria screeched. "What on earth do you two think you're doing out here with decent people? Get you back to that disgusting swamp you call your camp."

Saria was one for holding grudges. She did not like goblin-kind, especially these two. Saria still harbored some resentment because of the destruction they had wrought at Anna's house three months ago.

Ozz and Oild squeaked in terror. They both pushed and shoved to put themselves behind Quinn and away from the angry Asrai-halfling female.

"Slow your roll, sister," Quinn said. "I've recruited them to assist with guarding Keeper House. I have to go to Oldtown for a day or two, and I want to make sure the girls are safe. Birdy is going to send someone to stay with them as well."

"Why these two, for Mother's sake?"

"Because they can travel Opari's trails. I can trust them to do whatever it takes to keep me from getting angry at them. They can handle anything that comes on them."

"One more thing Sari, your sister is up to her old tricks, apparently. She wounded one of the Vampire's amazons in what they say was an assassination attempt on their mistress."

"That stupid girl," Saria growled. "What is she thinking?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Wraith made me a promise. She broke it."

"Are you going after her? Lan, please don't hurt her. She wouldn't go back to the life voluntarily. She's in trouble for sure."

Quinn sighed, "Probably. She's always in trouble. I'm going to look into things. I need you to keep an eye on these guys while I'm gone."

"Come here," Quinn called to the little girls. "You too, Jeffery."

"Jeffery, you speak low-afar?"

Jeffery flinched white when his name was called. He looked up at Quinn and immediately cast his gaze to the ground. "Yes, master," he whistle-clicked. "I learned in the slave kennels."

Quinn ruffled the boy's hair. "I'm not your master, boy," He said gruffly. He turned to the girls and pointed to the two boggles. "These beings are named Ozz and Oild. They are boggles and they live in the forest behind me. They are going to be around watching for bad people. I want you three to stay at Keeper House until I get back. Birdy is sending someone to pick you up at school and stay with you. I'm sure everything will be okay, but if not, Ozz or Oild will come to you. You three are not to go into the forest alone, but if trouble comes—go with them. They will help keep you safe. Do you understand?"

He paused and looked at the three waiting for agreement.

"Okay?" His voice spoke louder.

The three children had been staring at Ozz and Oild. They jerked their attention to Quinn.

"Uh, yes sir, Uncle Lan," as usual, Charlie spoke for the three of them.

***

Granite Falls was having its Railroad Days celebration when Quinn drove through in his work-battered white F-150 pickup. Quinn had the resentful thought that he could be standing along Main St with Charlie and Katrinka watching the parade instead of running off to Oldtown and getting involved in crap that didn't concern him.

He pulled into the Granite Falls IGA to pick up a couple of bags of Starbucks French Roast coffee beans and some M&M's—lots of M&M's. He was going to have to make some bribes, might as well pack the big guns.

He crossed the big bridge over the Snohomish River Flats, jumped on I-5, and headed south. He was grateful at least to be traveling during the light traffic time. Seattle traffic ebbed and flowed like the tides of the Salish Sea.

As he drove, he considered the advice a psychologist had given him about self-care. He had followed it rigorously. He had built a life full of strict routines and created an environment free of clutter. His little house down in Ballard was a perfect example. The decor was spartan. The first six months out of the Navy, he lived on his savings and built every stick of furniture. Carefully crafted each piece like old Finn had taught him, taking his time relearning old lessons and skills he'd been taught as a teenager. He made everything out of ash and oak, solid and sturdy with clean lines. All of it glowed with a hand-rubbed beeswax finish. His backyard overlooked Golden Gardens, Ballard's eighty-eight-acre waterfront park. His lifestyle had been well structured as well; even his habits had been deliberately crafted. He sighed. The last months had brought change. The chance of that peaceful, comfortable life plan had vanished. He was going to have to accept the inevitable and move to Keeper House.

Quinn frowned, trying to ignore the tendrils of panic that still hovered at his mind's edge after the sight of the mind ripper.

It was raining hard when he got down to Fremont. He begged for a parking place behind Rudy's Barber Shop, slipped on his backpack, walked to the statue of Lenin with its blood-red hand, slipped behind it and emerged into the hot summer sunlight of Oldtown. He slipped off his jacket and absently stashed it into his pack. He felt off-center in a way he hadn't for years. Vulnerable.

Quinn mentally shook himself.

Get your shit together. Oldtown is not a place to daydream.

Chapter 11

Northmarket District-Oldtown

Unlike most goblin-kind who were vicious, cunning, and utterly without compunction, eleven-year-old Klzyx was a peaceable being with simple wants. His only goal was to feel comfortable and safe. He only felt comfortable and safe when he had more than enough coins to put a roof over his and his sister's heads and food in their bellies. Not for him was the debt to the neighborhood moneylender! He was a coins on the barrel head sort of being.

As a result, Klzyx lived his life ruled by the heft of coins in his money pouch. He either had a bounty (reveled in the voluptuous feelings of safety and security), a little (faint fevered blossomings of anxiety) or none (panting with overwhelming panic). Thus, he was a frugal little being. Unfortunately, Roze - his sister - was not. Even old Mag, who had loved her dearly, had called her an excessively greedy goblin. In his constant endeavor to keep her happy, safe, and most importantly, quietly satisfied—his life moved in stages, from safely law-abiding to risky criminal depending on his wallet and her whims.

On this day, with his money pouch nearly empty and Roze's birth celebration looming, Klzyx hunted in Northmarket. He was a master snatcher trained by old Mr. Whiskers himself. He'd been following a human, an aged itinerant wood crafter with a nice fat purse hanging from his belt.

When the gaggle of merchants and shoppers stopped to listen to a furious argument between two Black-Stone dwarfs, he slid in front of a half-blood mountain troll at a precisely calculated moment. As expected, the big troll muttered a curse and shoved him out of its way into the old wood crafter. Klzyx instantly palmed his stubby pocket dagger to slash the leathers holding the man's coin pouch.

—And found his hand caught in an iron grip.

Klzyx yipped in pain. He looked up and found amused green eyes looking back at him. Eyes that were not elderly at all—but bad news—very bad news.

Despairing, knowing his effort was probably doomed to fail, his other hand went for the stabbing dagger at his hip, only to find the scabbard empty.

"Well, met Master Snatcher," the man finger signed him in thieves cant, "I mean you no harm." The man offered his dagger back to him hilt first, seemingly unconcerned that he might get stabbed as soon as it left his hand.

The man smiled and whistle-clicked softly in low alfar, the lingua franca of the marketplace. "I need a few moments of your time, good sir. Some call me Longshanks. Might I know your name?"

Klzyx's eyes grew wide. His mouth opened, but no words came. He licked his lips and finally croaked out. "Yes, Master. I am named Klzyx. I do not know my clan's name or the name of my matriarch," he said apologetically. The sharing of name and clan was an important social ritual in goblin interaction. Status was all. Klzyx's shame was that he had no clan to greet and impress with. There was just him and his sister. The clan was all to goblin-kind—clanless goblin-kind were considered derelict—useless.

"Well met, young Klzyx. Let us sit for a spell over at the Ravens Pub. Unless my nose has led me astray, today is beef stew day."

"Uh, Master," Klzyx said apologetically, "it is worth my life to go in there. They doesn't serve my kind there. The troll at the door will cripple me for even trying to enter."

"Huh. Well, let us give it a try anyway unless you don't like the beef stew?"

The young being's eyes grew round. "No, master," he said earnestly, "I had some once a long time ago; I remember it was wonderful."

"Perfect, my friend. Now why don't you signal your spotter to join us? I'd wager she would like a taste of stew as well."

Klzyx gave the tall man a shocked look. How did the big being know about his spotter? Then he nodded resignedly and signaled, "Come here" to his partner, an apprentice named Clover.

In answer to his signal, she popped out of the shadows and skipped across the busy lane. She was a cheerfully blithe little being, just turned eight seasons. Mr. Whiskers had assigned her training to Klzyx a couple of weeks ago. While she was still clumsy at the snatch, she proved to be a reliable spotter/distracter. With guild security enforcers increasingly patrolling Northmarket, a good spotter was critical to avoiding the punishment for theft: slavery or death.

"She's new, isn't she?"

"Yes, master," he said apologetically. "Her name is Clover. She don't know hardly anything at all, Master Longshanks. Sometimes she backtalks and she asks questions, lots and lots of them. Please don't hurt her."

"No worries, young Master. I was new once and a spotter as well."

***

Quinn carefully assessed the environment as he and his new friend waited for the little dirty-faced, bare-footed dryad. He noted she was dressed like the other street urchins, in a raggedy gray tunic and leather trousers. She arrived at the goblin's side, stood well away from his reach and stared round-eyed up at him.

"Well met, Mistress Clover, Master Klzyx and I are going to break bread. Would you like to join us?"

The little being whose bright green hair showed she was an elf/dryad mix turned her violet eyes to the goblin and quirked a questioning eyebrow. She whispered, "Who is this being, sir? What does it want?"

"He is going to buy us a feast. I do not know what he wants. Be silent and behave. Do not anger the being. There is a chance of food in this place for us. Food, the likes of which is far out of the reach of beings like you and me. After we eat, we will see if we need to run."

Quinn quirked a smile at the earnest interchange. Oldtown was awash with orphaned children. If they were lucky, they self-organized into gangs because predators of all stripes abounded. If not, they were almost always enslaved. He well remembered his time on the streets. Life soon turned them feral, but they cared for each other.

"Let us go feast." He kept a firm grip on the little goblin's hood, and the three walked over to the pub's entrance.

After some initial bluster, the troll guarding the door looked at the sudden coldness in Quinn's eyes and quickly admitted the three.

The tavern was typical of its kind, smoky and dark, with low ceilings and ancient worn wooden floors covered with sawdust. Quinn chose a table in the far corner near the kitchen (and the rear exit). He grabbed some chairs. Katie and Niamh should be joining them soon.

While two little thieves whispered. Quinn let his mind wander back.

***

After the fire, a lady brought him to live with a new family. The house smelled bad, but five-year-old Lachlan Quinn was too numb to care. He could still smell smoke on him from the fire that had burned up his mommy and daddy.

"This is your new home," the lady said. When Lachlan didn't reply, she went on. " You will like it here, I'm sure. There are lots of children to play with. You'll have fun."

She reached down and gave him a pat on the head.

She was thin and smelled of cigarettes. Lachlan didn't like her one bit, but he was quiet about it.

The lady of the house was very fat with small mean-looking eyes that sat sunk into her white powdered face. She smelled of cigarettes and a sharp perfume that burned his nose. Lachlan decided he didn't like her either, but he didn't say so because she was scary.

"You can call me Mommy. All my little darlings do."

She turned her attention to the lady who had brought him and led her to the door. "Thanks, Margaret, we'll be just fine here. He seems like a nice little boy. Be sure and update your records to show we have one more hungry mouth."

She shut the door and turned to Lachlan. Her mouth slitted and her eyes grew cold. She slapped him. "That was for your own good, boy. There are rules here. Follow them, and we will get along. Break them, and there will be punishments far worse than that slap. Stop your sniveling and come along. I'll show you your room."

Three months passed. Lachlan had settled into his new place. He had a new friend named Annie, who was six. She had come to his room the first night and asked to sleep in his room because she was scared and she would be his new friend. Lachlan agreed. He was scared too.

Annie had rules that she taught him. "We take care of each other." She pulled the blanket and the pillows off the bed and made a cozy nest for the two of them in the closet. "Never sleep in the bed cuz sometimes the daddy comes home drunk and will climb in with you. Drunk big people do bad things. Always save a little food cuz the mommy sometimes forgets to make supper. If you steal from the refrigerator, make sure it's just a little bit that won't get missed. And always, always be quiet. Never make a sound. If you are loud, you'll get a whippin', especially when the Mommy has one of her sick days. Always sleep fully dressed in case we have to run outside if the Daddy goes crazy..."