Chapter 2


Eloise Blackdove Lutin, laid out on her back in a room deep inside the lodge, thought she would bite through her lip if the baby didn’t come soon. Sweat dripped down the crease between her eyebrows and stopped in the hollow at the beginning of her nose. There it sat, stagnating as her body heat rose with straining. The pool filled to its fullest and drained, dripping over her nose’s bridge and mixing with the tears that ran from her swollen eyes. But no sound voluntarily escaped her lips. Her silence was unnatural, and her breathing too harsh.

Rachelle and her third child stepped forward.

“How is she?” The queen spoke as she walked, no longer at Nightshade speed, but still briskly. Helene, the oldest goblin woman of the village turned away from her conversation with one of Eloise’s sisters to answer, falling in formation as she filled Rachelle in.

“It’s been twelve hours since labor started, but four since things really got serious.” They kept walking, past the den, the kitchen, and a room filled with the belongings of a young boy. “She isn‘t unconscious yet, so that’s a good sign,” Rachelle nodded in agreement. “However, she might as well be, for all the response we can get out of her. I’ve never seen anything like it! She hasn‘t cried out since she broke water.” The queen said nothing as she walked on, but her feet betrayed her by moving quicker.

Anna-Maria was still running. She had crossed the threshold and was navigating through the chaos of goblin women in the path her mother had carved moments before. She fell in step with her family at last, breathing heavily. She looked for the cool, heavy place between her eyes and behind her forehead, and as she touched it with her mind she felt her breath catch, then slow. She opened her eyes again and let her mouth sink into what she hoped was an agreeable position.

“Is…” Marie-Luce looked down demurely, before speaking again. “Is Elli going to be… you know.” She turned her head away. “Okay? And everything?”

Anna-Maria felt her ears burn. How could Marie-Loser be so lame? Of course Elli would be fine! Goblin women have six kids traditionally, why would she be an exception? Sophie would tell her off for asking such a stupid question. If they weren’t indoors, Anna-Maria would have spit. She nearly snorted, imagining herself caring enough about a carpet to spare it her saliva.

Then she saw Sophie put her arm around Marie-Luce’s shoulders and give them a squeeze.

“I sure hope so, honey.”

Where had Anna-Maria’s sweet-tart sister gone? I sure hope so, honey? What kind of dreck is that? Her pregnancy must have addled her brain. This time she really did spit. The glob landed quietly but not silently on the floorboards of the bedroom. The others ignored it. They had reached their destination. Eloise lived in another house nearby with her husband, Theo, and their two boys, Jean and Jacques, so her younger sister-in-law’s room was being used for the birth.

Valerie, the younger sister-in-law, was standing in a corner, peering at Eloise nervously. She was only seventeen and the whole business was enough to make her stomach less than comfortable. Isabelle Sangsue, Helene’s daughter, standing over the heaving woman, called to her. Valerie snapped up, her posture changing from sickened and embarrassed to focused but her nausea reflected in the disjointed angle of her gaze. She grabbed a rag from a pot set up on a camping burner, wrung it out, and handed it to the middle-aged woman. The whole time she couldn’t bear to look at the figure in the bed.

Eloise was quite a sight. The Duval women and Helene walked into the room as Isabelle was dripping warm water from a rag into Eloise’s mouth. Not many of the drops, however, made it past her lips. Her upper teeth were well clamped over her bottom lip. There was crusty white scum on the edges of her chapped lips. The skin was peeling and a trail of blood nearly reached her chin before Isabelle obliterated it with a single swipe of the cloth. The warm red crescents around her teeth still glistened. She was breathing very hard, loudly, with shudders. Her whole body shook.

The most disturbing detail was her eyes. Eloise stared up towards the ceiling. Her pale purple eyes were totally out of focus, as if she was unconscious already. The color was much lighter than normal and her pupils, though naturally skinny, were nearly non-existent. Her mind had left, hiding away, waiting for the baby to come so she could hide from the pain and the sweat and the breaths that were like lifting great heavy stones.

She thought of faces she loved, at their happiest. Jean and Jacques in the bathtub together, laughing. Jean had a huge smear of mud across his face that he had no intention of scrubbing and the washcloth was glued to his skinny chest with water. Jacques had bubbles in his hair and on his shoulders and nose and he was holding out a handful of them, proudly, to his mother. They were both laughing. She thought of Theo, her love, and his face when the sun hit it in the mornings, as she stared at him and they shared the same breath. His breath was sweet and almost as familiar as her own. The sun made his eyelashes long and shadowy and the shiny pink of the inside of his lips made her want to touch them.

Rachelle looked over her with cool reason. She was not about to let a difficult pregnancy faze her. She placed a hand on her forehead, first brushing her black hair out of the way. It was stringy with grime and sweat. Then she moved on to examine her eyes, responses, and mouth. She took a pulse and checked to see how far off the baby was. It was just then that she put her hand on Eloise’s pregnant belly. What she felt made her eyebrows rise.

The queen stood from her examination, putting a hand on her back to straighten up. She was not as young as she once had been and her bones, though strong, were not used to such abuse. She took a deep breath, and turned to the others present with a smile.

“It won’t be long now! I know what‘s wrong.” She smiled wider. When Rachelle truly smiled it was a moment to be remembered. She was sharp but not sarcastic so her true smiles were few and far between. She usually tried to hide them but this one was as genuine as they got. The crowd calmed and smiled sweetly back. The relief was instantaneous. “Girls, go get Theo from outside!” Anna-Maria and Marie-Luce did not argue. They were still rather stunned from their mother’s smile.

They exited the cavernous lodge with speed, and stepped over the threshold and into the green bayou light. An instinctive motion, Anna-Maria took a warrior stance. When blinded it is always safe to assume danger, even in the company of friends and family. All warriors knew this. Not being athletically inclined, Marie-Luce was not nearly as wary. She merely shaded her eyes girlishly with one hand and stood behind her sister.

Anna-Maria’s eyes adjusted quickly. Theo? She had to think. Marie-Luce saw her badly masked pondering, but before she could say a word someone beat her to it.

“Theo? He’s the one with the streaky hair, over there with Pascal and Marc.” Anna-Maria whipped around furiously. Who dared! Her flying braids slapped against the stomach of the last person she wanted to see. Her flush rose, creeping across her face from chin to forehead, and the length of her long goblin ears.

Goblin kings are chosen by the legacy of the Bloodtrees, the sacred symbol of the clans. The grove, supposedly abandoned in ancient times, has been missing since then, and only the friendly tree, the Mael tree, is ever seen by goblins. The only relic left of the original grove itself is a necklace, the collar of the king. The collar is a disc of Bloodtree wood with a natural spiral pattern hanging on a strip of red and off-white striped fabric, the sacred pattern of the clans. The Mael tree itself has been draped with swathes of this fabric for longer than anyone can remember. Only the king can wear the necklace, or even touch it. He is king for as long as he can still put it around his neck and survive its immense power. The next king is chosen by testing which goblin man can touch the collar.

Lucas had been goblin king since he was 18 years old, and even at 40 he could still wear his royalty, but six years before, he had held the king-choosing ceremony. All men were called forward to the council grounds, deep in the greenery of the bayou, dressed in their traditional goblin garb, the costumes unique to each individual. That day, the next king was chosen.

Noah Duskeye Lutin stood next to the twins with a very innocent look on his face. Far too innocent for one who had been reading minds only moments before. No one yet born was immune to the Duskeye trait.

“You see? Over there.” He pointed over his shoulder to a group of men holding paper plates and chatting.

The fourteen-year-old finally took notice of the look on Anna-Maria’s face. She wasn’t looking at the place he was pointing at like her sister; instead she was glaring into his chest vehemently.

“Not happy to see me?” Noah teased, rubbing the obvious in her face, as if he couldn‘t read her mind. Her goblin marks flashed and she let out a snarl from deep in her throat. It moved past her tonsils and through her fierce bicuspids.

He was confused, she could tell by the angle of his eyebrows. He didn’t seem to think he’d done anything wrong! The snarl crecendoed in tandem with her embarrassment and her blush. What an idiot! Nobody insulted her pride like that. Nobody! He was unforgivably close. If she had any coherent words to say she would have uttered them, but Anna-Maria’s anger had never been particularly articulate. She hadn’t inherited that aspect of her mother.

“Hey!” He interjected, a bit insulted. “What’s the matter? Annie!” She stood shaking with anger, eyes burning and teeth clenched. And she only had one thing to say.

“DON’T CALL ME ANNIE!” She yelled into his moderately muscular trunk. She growled violently and brushed past him with more force than necessary. She heard her sister apologize politely as she stormed through the clusters of goblin men. They almost paid no heed; the rage of Anna-Maria Shadowpath Duval was nearly as legendary as her mother’s. She didn’t look back.

Until four years ago, Noah had been a good friend of the Duval twins. He spent a lot of time hanging around Remy, hoping some of his coolness would rub off, like infectious dust. Remy really paid him no mind, preferring to run wild with Sebastien and Aurore, stirring up the beautiful yet stagnant pools of the swamp. They were too busy for a ten year old. So, Noah was left with the twins, two years younger.

They first spoke to him, the skinny boy with no shoes, one day while playing dolls. Really, only Marie-Luce was playing with dolls, and rather half-heartedly. She wanted to help her mother and sister make dinner and she wanted to catch a glimpse of Drew, Sophie’s boyfriend. She was madly infatuated. Anna-Maria surprisingly was more engrossed in the plastic figurines, although play would be a stretch. She was having some sort of battle between them, full of bloody and evocative sound effects.

He walked up to them, his feet sticking audibly to the sap-stained flagstones of the Duval family backyard deck. Marie-Luce had turned to look at him, smiling sweetly in greeting. He smiled in return, but first spoke to Anna-Maria.

“If they’re having a goblin battle, then why do you call her Skipper? That isn’t a goblin name.” He was curious, and had read her mind without thinking, as many young Duskeyes tend to do.

She looked at him like he was a total idiot. After a quick eye-roll, she announced matter-of-factly, “That’s her name on the box.” She spoke deliberately as if he couldn’t understand. Anna-Maria remembered even in her rudeness at the time, he merely smiled and agreed. He was that kind of stupid, the type that never took offense. He was denser than the canopy they lived beneath. Nevertheless, he played with them happily. Even Marie-Luce was fully engaged. He dealt with Anna-Maria’s sharpness with equal smoothness as he dealt with her twin’s total disinterest with violence.

The three of them were the kind of friends that fill childhood memories with pastel colors and nostalgic movies. They didn’t cause too much trouble, nor did they fight among themselves. Noah was like a friendly damper to the mutual disapproval between the twins. He nicknamed them Lucy and Annie, and came twice a week to study king’s duties with Lucas, arriving early and staying late to join the girls’ games.

Two years after that day, Anna-Maria heard a disturbing conversation.

“…Marie-Luce you know, but her sister!” The voice came from the front sitting room that Rachelle kept impeccable for the benefit of respected guests. The girl twitched the muscle in her stomach that seemed to help her Shadowpath powers. She flicked out like a snuffed candle.

She crept silently to the doorframe. Fortunately, the door was already open; despite the one less chance to make a noise, the girl still wished she had her father’s power to be completely silent.

Anna-Maria was obviously silent enough; the two women in the room took no notice of her at all. She knew the two women by face. They were Diane Langouste, the aunt of Sophie’s boyfriend/fiancée, and her grandmother on her mother’s side, the formidable former queen Michelle Korrigan. They were meeting with Rachelle as members of the family, to keep the ties strong and the relations friendly. Even goblins have politics. Bad blood is bad news in a group with so little blood, no matter how strong it may run.

Her mother seemed to be out of the room momentarily, perhaps fetching refreshments or answering the telephone, Anna-Maria didn’t know. The two women were gossiping and their words poured into the princess’s ears like water from a faucet.

“Blood always has shown that a daughter from the king’s family always marries the heir. Always was the way. My father was king, and so was Rachelle’s. And we were happy to do it, we were in love.” The old woman was rather grizzled but her eyes had the same spark as her daughter’s as she thought of David courting her, so many years before. He had been so romantic and dashing, still was, although considerably more wrinkled. Diane leaned on her two hands, folded under her chin and displaying her airbrushed nails. She was the type who had an opinion about everything.

“Well, Marie-Luce has proven ideal don’t you think? But you’d expect better behavior from the other one. She’s so wild! And training to be a warrior! Who does she think she is?”

Michelle cut her off.

“She’s her mother’s daughter is all. Whichever marries that boy is up to fate, like it was for all of us.” She set her face firmly.

“Yes, but you knew about Sophie and Drew beforehand. They were never apart, even before they fell in love.” Diane never moved from her gossip pose, so still it seemed only the delicate muscles of her face stirred at all. Her lips moved as if they were independent of the rest of her. Their red color somehow seemed sickening to Anna-Maria. Makeup was something she did not understand. To her nose, lipstick smelled like the scum from the bottom of the bayou.

Rachelle’s mother said nothing, merely turned her head to look out the lace-curtained window. The light streaming in was warm and bright on the china of the table. Diane was not finished.

“Marie-Luce is so sweet and talented. She’s young still, but have you seen how she cares for Pascal’s child? Mireille couldn’t be luckier! And her cooking is unrivaled for someone her age. If I were fate, I’d give Noah to her, undoubtedly.” She smirked, imagining herself as the hand of control.

Michelle sighed, weary.

“Fate is fate, but she is a wonderful cook isn’t she?” Both women laughed and there was a clink as they lifted their teacups off the saucers.

Anna-Maria was confused. Marry Noah? Marie-Luce? She didn’t understand too well, but she knew she hated the fact that those women expected her or her sister to fall for their friend! It was absolutely absurd! And they said that her elder twin was better than her. They were words she had inklings of but had never heard spoken.

She had run away from the door as soon as she felt her concentration beginning to loosen. Her invisibility faded as the first tears slid off her nose.

So what if Marie-Luce was the sweet one? And she could cook? And she wasn’t wild and uncontrollable? And she could handle children better than the most experienced of mothers? Why should any of that matter? She was weak! And a crybaby! And spacy! This couldn’t be a comparison of their looks - they were exactly identical besides their tastes in clothing. Anna-Maria was a full-fledged warrior, wearing their headband, armband, and chest protector with the best of them all, but her sister, only older by three minutes, was the better one?

It wouldn’t be until she met Genevieve that she would come to understand the image of the ideal goblin woman. Perfect skin, hair, and ears, with a sweet and gentle disposition, a way with housekeeping and children, pride in her clan and family, and fierce love for her significant other. Marie-Luce had not yet discovered the ferocity of love, but she fit well with nearly every other aspect. Her mirror image, however, had the same skin, hair and ears, but was rough and wild and angry, couldn’t cook and terrified children. She was almost too proud and had a roar that frightened birds out of trees.

Anna-Maria had been jealous of her sister for her entire life; there was almost no more envy left to expend, and thus, her hatred turned to Noah. How dare he take control of their destinies! He was hammering, unconsciously, the wedge already firmly lodged between the twins.

She detested the very sight of him, even more so as they grew older. He was no longer skinny and out of proportion. He looked as perfect as most in the Lutin family and like his older brothers, enjoyed showing off his muscles. His eyes were a shape that other goblin girls swooned over. Marie-Luce, however was too naïve to care, and her sister was using all her energy hating him.

And so, she took that energy and stormed off, a dark cloud amongst the revelers. She approached her target, with her sister trailing behind her with a ditzy smile.

He was talking pleasantly with a group of his friends and relatives. He was obviously being congratulated, for the umpteenth time and his smile, while sincere, was rather worn. It had been used plenty already that day, the girls could tell, even from their angle. His younger brother, Marc, saw the twins first, acknowledging them with a manly nod. Marie-Luce made a quick bow, but Anna-Maria nearly scoffed. He thought he was such a man, strutting about shirtless like his not-yet-royal-SOB of a brother, just because he was four months married. He was only six years older than the twins, and four past his brother. Among the other men he thought he could show off. Everybody knew he was a clown. No musculature could change that.

She chose to get to the point, grabbing Theo’s elbow. He turned at the touch, his long square earrings jangling a little. They almost blended in with the odd streaks in his hair. Anna-Maria was not impressed; she stuck out her hip defiantly and jerked her head towards the house. He stumbled over his first step as he followed her.

“Baby won’t wait.” She chose to mimic her mother’s phrase. The quiet warrior only quickened his step as he came to understand. His face set to a grim but expectant expression. He was concerned, but pleased to be back in the loop.

Theo had met Anna-Maria for the first time since her birth the day she joined the lower ranks of the warriors. She had been 9 years old and terrifying. Her glare had been so fierce that she didn’t make friends easily. She only opened up to another girl, Leah, who had eventually married Marc.

Leah was indeed a strange one. She kept her hair in a wild ponytail high on her head, letting a few wisps fall before her ears. She dangled an onyx drop from her widow’s peak. She was painfully quiet, and rather unresponsive, choosing to do things her own special way and totally ignoring orders or misinterpreting. Nevertheless she was a skilled fighter in hand to hand combat. Her gaze was intense and unsettling. Besides Marc, the younger twin was the only person to ever meet it without uneasiness. They, in one aspect, behaved a bit like old men, sharing words gruffly but with dignity and respect for each other. Marc eventually would find this comical, but it was perfectly natural for the two of them.

Theo had been friends with Marc since the beginning. As children they had explored the forest together, running like mad-men through the swampy underbrush. Despite the fact that Theo was several years older than his friend, Marc was the outgoing one. He liked to joke with every word. Theo was rather dense in personality, and often stared off into space as Marc played comedian, not understanding a word.

When Theo was 15 he joined the warriors to protect the clans, Marc joined several years later. Roaming goblin tribes and elf caravans could be dangerous or hostile and the strange blood beasts that inhabited the deepest shadows of the trees liked to periodically creep from the darkness into the green light and attack. There are many things that are drawn to the descendants of light and shadow for many reasons. It is taught to every warrior that these mysterious things, known and unknown, may not be friendly and it is highly beneficial to be ready. When the light shines brightest, the shadows draw closer.

A violent kick from his more aggressive guide pulled him out of his reminiscing. Anna-Maria didn’t like being ignored. “Hurry up!” She emphasized the last word, annoyed. Something about everything was getting on her nerves, she’d never know what. All these condescending people not knowing their condescendingness could make a girl go crazy! She shook her head as she lead Theo into the house.