《Fighting Fate》


 Chapter One

    The bumps in the road were the worst of the trip. Fighter clutched the thick brown blanket around her body. It itched. ¡®Cheap wool.¡¯ A part of her told herself. But the bumps were worse than the itching. Each jostle side to side or up and down reminded her of the feel of her body being rocked back and forth with the push and pull of a goblin¡¯s hips.


    ¡®You can do it!¡¯ She heard her father¡¯s voice whisper to her, in those moments as one goblin finished and was replaced by another, she thought back to her father¡¯s lessons.


    Sweat. The sweat ran down her body while she screamed at the feel of their sharp nails blooding her hips. The red tips of every set of green fingers haunted her still. Each red tip of each goblin fingernail told her which ones had tried out her flesh and laughed at her as she wailed underneath them.


    Until there had been no strength left.


    But still there had been her father¡¯s voice. ¡®I swear I will use my strength to help others¡­¡¯ She said to her father as he lay dying not one year ago.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to join the adventurer¡¯s guild, and go use what lessons you taught me, in order to save people, father.¡± She¡¯d said standing in front of his headstone. ¡®How long ago was that?¡¯ She wondered as she felt another one enter her body, and watched another set of blood tipped fingers close over her arm and take his turn holding her down.


    She lost all sense of everything, the many had become but one, a long series of events became like one long nightmare until her senses were deprived, and all she was reduced to was rocking flesh, and even the pain and humiliation were gone, along with the pride she¡¯d felt.


    ¡®You can do it!¡¯ Her father¡¯s voice echoed in Fighter¡¯s ear as she retreated into her memories, recalling the way he¡¯d held up the board. His big, swarthy, tanned face split by pearl white teeth exposed in a proud smile as she took position and her fist went out. The warm wind and bright sun cast her shadow on the green grass, she could see herself in action.


    ¡®I¡¯m amazing! Just like father!¡¯ She told herself as her little fist came out, she felt the wood against her knuckles, and the moment of it¡¯s surrender when she pushed through and the board split.


    His hands snapped away and he held up the two pieces in triumph, showing off her progress. Her long dark hair hung freely that day, and wafted in the breeze, the smell of sweat came off both their bodies long before the triumph came¡­ she never hated the smell of sweat because of it. ¡®It was always victory¡­¡¯


    The distant part of her mind said, though in her hour in the cave, just that hour, sweat meant something else¡­ shame¡­ and pain. The cool darkness was made even colder by the dripping water, and the cold stone underneath her naked flesh had warmed up under the friction of her constant rocking, with the heat of goblin bodies one after another ¡®helping¡¯ it along.


    It was not until the hob took its turn that she let out another sound, and the goblins laughter resumed. She began to cry, and heard the voice of the dead on the training grounds again.


    ¡®You can do it!¡¯ She heard him say, but she couldn¡¯t, they were too many and too strong¡­ ¡®Now I¡¯m just another one of the ones who needs to be rescued¡­ but at least Priestess and Wizard might make it¡­ might make it¡­ While this happens to me, they may escape¡­¡¯


    It was the only thought she had that she didn¡¯t hate as the darkness of the cave was made darker by her squeezing her eyes shut as she heard the hob grunt to satisfaction.


    He was the last, no one held her down, she fell in a heap and was ignored as the used up plaything that she had become.


    Now in the wagon¡­ not two hours from that last abuse¡­ the bumps in the crude dirt road were stirring hateful memories.


    Other women sat around her, the victims the goblins captured. ¡®We were only told about three¡­ but there have to be at least nine other women in this cart¡­ no wonder there were so many goblins¡­ why didn¡¯t anyone tell us? No wonder there were so many¡­ so many¡­ too many¡­¡¯


    Tears began to run down her cheeks and she lowered her head into her hands. Priestess wasn¡¯t with her, Wizard wasn¡¯t with her, though she¡¯d seen Priestess and the strange armored man that fought like a demon possessed of demons, Wizard was a no-show. ¡®Dead. Warrior¡­ warrior dead. Father dead. Wizard dead. And all I can be is¡­¡¯


    She stared at nothing and clutched the crude blanket tighter, some of the women were crying the way she was, others, catatonic. Empty shells from being captive for days. ¡®Were some held longer, was that why nobody told us about them? Did nobody know? Were other villages raided? Or did they know and just didn¡¯t want to risk being turned down¡­?¡¯


    No clear answer came to Fighter¡¯s mind, she shut her eyes, the smell of wet grass sickened her. The light hurt, her entire body a mass of pain. ¡®Why did I ever think they were weak¡­?¡¯ She wondered and spat, the glob landed on her foot in the wagon and trickled slowly down to the rough wood, she didn¡¯t care.


    She brought her head to the space between her knees when she brought them as close to her chest as she could, lowered her face so that her forehead rested against the bone, and tried to sleep. ¡®Please¡­ please Abadar¡­ no nightmares¡­ even if for the rest of my life¡­ not today, I beg you¡­ wasn¡¯t I punished enough for whatever I did to anger you? Just one sleep before¡­¡¯ She began to drift off before she could finish her prayer and speak of the ones who never slept well again.


    The ones she¡¯d once pitied, and whose ranks she had now joined.


    She slept, but laughter haunted her, goblin laughter, and her father¡¯s voice, ¡®You can do it!¡¯ Again, and again, and again.


    It was a hateful sleep that she endured until she awoke in time to see the heavy bronze doors of a great convent.


    The doors were ornate, massive things in which two giant human forms had been carved, shield bearing knights, one of man, one of woman, both powerful and imposing. They cracked open and it was as if the two guardians were stepping aside for their charges. Fighter looked at them as long as she could, and when they passed the great gate of bronze that was framed by large stone walls, she looked back. The inside of the walls were covered with murels, forests, bright grassy fields, streams and waterfalls, even villages and towns. She saw a group of young women working steadily on an unpainted portion, bright colors, yellow sun, green grass, were slowly covering up brown rough cut stone.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    She turned her head further, the sound of the massive gates closing reached her ears, and the sanctity of the convent, the sense of safety it was supposed to bring, hit home. But it hit like a drumstick on a great big wardrum. Loud¡­ but hollow.


    ¡®Those carved figures can¡¯t move, can¡¯t fight¡­ can¡¯t do anything¡­¡¯ She hung her head and simply waited like passive cargo until the cart jostled to a stop. The slight jerking motion caused some, including Fighter, to cry out briefly.


    An elderly woman in white and blue flowing robes approached, she held a scepter with a bronze tip that curled in small circles that represented the flow of magic given by the gods. She was wrinkled in the face, but had kind, blue eyes, and long white hair that hung down behind the white ribbon atop her hair. It gave her the ¡®at a glance¡¯ appearance of having cat ears.


    ¡°Here you are¡­¡± She said as she went to the back and popped open the latch that let the opening fall free. It swung below, swaying like a horse''s tail, ¡°You¡¯re safe now. I promise you.¡± She said and held out a trembling, wrinkled and graying hand.


    Fighter alone responded, she threw her head back and laughed a long and bitter laugh, a near cackle. ¡°Safe!¡± She shrieked, and fell to sobbing.


    ¡°Come on now¡­¡± The grandmotherly looking woman whispered, ¡°I¡¯ll show you to your rooms¡­ I¡¯m Grandmother of this place, and I tell you there are no goblins here, and except for the handful of warriors that patrol the grounds beyond the walls, there are no men either. ¡°This is my Convent, welcome to White Swan¡­ now come with me¡­ it will be¡­ more comfortable in your rooms. There will be food and water brought to you. You don¡¯t have to come out of your rooms if you don¡¯t want to, but when you do¡­ I want to show you something¡­¡±


    The first tentative hand, a girl whose slight bump said that the goblins had not spared her their desires, reached out and slipped into the elderly woman¡¯s palm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡­ you won¡¯t have to give life to their spawn¡­ we have a way of taking care of that¡­ they will not hurt you that way again¡­¡± The woman¡¯s voice was gentle, soft, like water flowing through a babbling brook, and just as unceasingly resolute as the stubborn downhill flow of water.


    ¡®Oh Abbadar¡­ no¡­. They couldn¡¯t have¡­¡¯ Fighter wanted to scream, but her tongue was bound and her lips trembled, she touched her belly to search for signs of the stirring of another goblin¡¯s life inside of her. She felt nothing but the trembling of terror stricken, sweat smelling flesh. ¡®They could¡­ they did it enough¡­ they could oh god no they could have?!¡¯ She started to wail again and hugged her belly tight enough that her nails dug into her flesh.


    One by one the women were helped down from the cart, but Fighter remained, the last of them to be taken, she was the last in the cart as well. Except for shaking and tearing at her skin beneath the cheap blanket, she did nothing and made no move to join the others.


    Another woman, younger by many years, emerged from a single thick wooden door in the large stone building nearby, she had long black hair and a scar that ran from her cheek, down her neck, and ran beneath clothing toward her breast. ¡°Grandmother¡­ take the others¡­ I will help this one.¡±


    ¡°As you like, Swan Mother.¡± Grandmother replied, and led the ones who had come down, in slow, trudging steps, to the building.


    Swan Mother climbed up into the cart and simply sat across from Fighter.


    She waited patiently while Fighter hugged at her skin, until finally Fighter spoke to her. ¡°Dig it out¡­ tear it out of my womb¡­ please¡­ please¡­ I can feel it inside me¡­ I know it¡¯s there¡­ I can¡¯t bear it there a whole day, let alone bear to look at it as it grows¡­ please¡­ help me¡­¡± She whimpered. ¡®You can do it!¡¯ Her father¡¯s voice echoed in her mind, and she whimpered sadly while the Swan mother reached out a tentative and delicate hand to touch the upright left knee of the quietly whimpering ¡®Fighter¡¯.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡­ you won¡¯t have to wait, we have a way to get rid of it¡­ you can kill that goblin¡­ it will die and that will be the last you ever need to see of them¡­¡± Swan Mother whispered.


    Fighter couldn¡¯t speak, but she looked at the one she heard called Swan Mother with shimmering, wondering wide eyes.


    As if reading her mind through divine miracle, Swan Mother spoke to her. ¡°I am Swan Mother, the right hand of Grandmother of the White Swan convent¡­ our temple here, we house all the victims of the goblins for miles and miles around.¡±


    Fighter stared at the jagged scar, but said nothing.


    Sensing the look, Swan Mother touched it and traced it from the place on her head where it began, down to the white fabric where it disappeared. ¡°Yes, goblins. I was¡­ lucky. I got most of them before the rest overpowered me. So it was¡­ it didn¡¯t last long. They hit me with a stolen ax when they were done, and I fell into a chasm. A river lay at the bottom, I doubt they knew it was even there¡­ it carried me near here, and Grandmother fished me out and patched me up. I¡¯ve been here ever since¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not over for you¡­ your life, that is.¡± Swan Mother said softly. ¡°Just please¡­¡± She leaned a little closer and took Fighter¡¯s hand, ¡°Just please come with me, let me give you a room, a bed, you can lock yourself in for as long as you want, we¡¯ll bring you food and water, you can come out when you want, and see what you want after that. OK? Please¡­ I promise¡­ nobody will hurt you here¡­¡± Swan Mother¡¯s voice cracked with emotion, her lip trembling, and Fighter began to rise, until she fell into Swan Mother¡¯s arms and embraced her, a desperate wail tore through her previously voiceless throat.


    Swan Mother felt the salty tears soak through her blue and white clothing to run down her skin, but didn¡¯t care, she held the woman who embraced her, ignoring the itchy blanket and the sweat and the stink of goblin musk and lust that still hung over the last of the goblin¡¯s conquests before their demise.


    The faint memory of her own horror came through her from the stench coming off of Fighter, but Swan Mother ignored it, pressing through it all to hold the woman who had nothing left of herself to hold on to.


    Fighter buried her face in the bosom of the woman like it belonged to her own mother, drool ran down her open mouth and dripped to the wagon beneath her knees, and she did not move from there for more than an hour.


    Swan Mother waited patiently, even lovingly, her gentle embrace becoming a constant caress that ran up and down the back of the broken woman. ¡°There there. There there. There there.¡± She said it softly on a loop, ¡°Swan Mother has you, and won¡¯t let them touch you, nobody will touch you, no goblin can hurt you¡­ you lived, you got away, they couldn¡¯t kill you¡­¡±


    Fighter whimpered on until the slender, tender hands of Swan Mother traced their way from the embrace align the lengths of the powerful muscles of the newest resident, and into Fighter¡¯s own palms.


    She tugged gently on Fighter¡¯s limbs, gently but insistently, cooing soft and meaningless noises until Fighter came close to the edge of the cart. She helped the woman down at last, and the pain hit Fighter¡¯s thighs.


    She started sobbing again at the meaning of the pain, it hurt to walk, her muscles cramped, aching, torn, Swan Mother put herself under Fighter¡¯s arm, and without a word, stood for them both, holding the arm draped over her shoulder, she walked the former adventurer into the building.


    Within, a faint echo carried, the sound of running water. Fighter didn¡¯t speak, but looked around for the source.


    ¡°There is a babbling brook¡­ you¡¯ll see it, Grandmother had this place built around it, so that the sound carries, it is a¡­ a good sound. A good noise.¡± Swan Mother whispered, and walked fighter to the left down a hall. The stone was white, or painted that way, but on most of the walls were more murals like what Fighter had seen outside. Peaceful scenes, nature scenes. A few people, but nothing ¡®heroic¡¯ nothing warrior based. No weapons, no warriors¡­ Fighter closed her eyes to keep from seeing, the sound of her feet scraping over the stone was like the sound of a knife over leather, but she couldn¡¯t raise her foot any higher, even though it was sending her skin to tingling and trembling.


    It did not last long, they came to a door, simple enough and made of multiple thick wooden boards nailed to two that ran across. A small lock and a simple iron handle found her gaze when she followed the actions of the free hand of the Swan Mother.


    Fighter heard the faint ¡®click¡¯ of the lock, and the door creaked open. There were candles abound on many parts of the room, as well as no fewer than three torch sconces with freshly set torches in place.


    Fighter looked at her questioningly as Swan Mother helped her to a simple one person bed and gently eased her down onto her back. ¡°Yes, we were expecting you¡­ no, not you exactly¡­ but whenever a quest like that comes out, we prepare rooms¡­ there are always¡­ people who need them.¡± Swan Mother lowered her eyes and shook her head slowly.


    ¡°Rest.¡± She said, and set the key down on a small end table. ¡°I will light a torch for you so you don¡¯t endure the dark. Come out when you are ready, and then¡­¡± Swan Mother swallowed hard and Fighter felt her eyes getting heavy again in spite of herself.


    Swan mother turned away and struck two stones together, a spark lept out and caught the fuel in the torch, it flared to life in an instant.


    ¡°Then you can¡­ start to take yourself back from them.¡± She finished her sentence as eyelids that bore the weight of the world began to close under the pressure.


    ¡®If you are one of those who can¡­¡¯ Swan Mother thought sorrowfully as she looked at the dark haired woman adventurer.


    As Fighter¡¯s awareness began to fade¡­ she heard the voice one more time, ¡®You can do it!¡¯


    And then she heard no more.

 Chapter Two

    Fighter woke up to the sound of screaming, the rough cheap cloth flung off of her body, her limbs flailed and her wild eyes swept the dim room for the sound of the terror stricken noise.  ¡®OH.  It was me.  It was weak, cowardly, stupid, helpless me.¡¯  She cursed, and fell back onto the lumpy mattress.


    It gave way under her, it was clearly old.  ¡°How many have used this spot before me?  This isn¡¯t my bed.  I¡¯m just using it¡­ using it because¡­¡±  She whispered, and covered her tight shut eyes as if to block out memories that swept her mind and were as merciless to her soul as the goblins who put them there.


    As she lay back and her heartbeat slowly became normal again, she covered her eyes with her forearm and stared into the darkness she¡¯d created for herself.  Concealed by her self made shadows, she wondered,  ¡®Why me?  Why did it have to happen to me?  All I wanted was to be a hero¡­ like my dad¡­ but I¡¯m not my dad.  He was so strong¡­ an arm the size of my waist, a fist the size of my head.  I was such a f-fool.  That¡¯s what I get, for trying to be something I wasn¡¯t.  Victims shouldn¡¯t play hero.¡¯


    ¡°Now what?¡±  She wondered, and another memory replaced that of the goblin laughter and the feel of goblin spend and goblin skin and goblin¡­


    ¡®You can do it¡­¡¯  He said to her, holding out his arms to the young girl she¡¯d been, standing on top of a limb she had no business climbing, afraid to jump down, he stood below, dark hair hanging down behind his neck and gentle brown eyes staring up at her, his arms outstretched to catch her when she jumped, and he encouraged her to do so.


    She¡¯d done it, he¡¯d been right.


    The smell of his sweat and the feel of it against her skin when he¡¯d caught her and held her against his chest, had never left her mind.  It was as fresh as the sunlight that began to peek through the window of her room.


    She lay in bed and didn¡¯t move.  How much time passed was measurable only by the slight trace of light over the floor as the sun rose higher in the sky.


    Eventually a small tray slid through a slat in the bottom of the door just over the floor.  ¡°Come out when you want to.  Nobody will force you.  But on the fifth day if you feel hot, pull the rope beside your bed.¡±  Swan Mother said from the other side.


    ¡°Mhmmm¡­¡±  Fighter grumbled and rolled over onto her side.  She ignored the food, rising only when thirst compelled her to at least go for that.  The tray had a small pitcher of fired clay, a similarly crude wooden cup, some simple bread and cheese, along with a simple small apple.  Filling, but crude.  Her stomach didn¡¯t so much as growl at her.


    She took up the pitcher and cup and returned to her bed, then lay there not moving at all.  All day.


    And the next.


    With nothing but a few sips of water, she stared emptily up at the sky, touching her belly again in terror, weeping and catatonic by turns.


    It was the fifth day for Fighter, the fifth time she¡¯d seen the sun creep across the simple stone floor beside where she lay, and she began to wail.  Tears ran down her cheeks.


    A burning heat like a fever was rising through her body.  She punched the wall, shattering the bones of two fingers like they were made of glass, she howled in misery and with her other hand, reached for the rope and began to ring it.


    ¡°Why?!  Why?!  Why?!¡±  She shrieked again and again with every desperate and furious yanking of the rope.


    She felt the cracked, somewhat shredded strands, ¡®How many before me tugged on this rope¡­¡¯  She slammed her head against the wall, as she did so, her eye came close enough to see a very faint spot of red on the dark stone wall, instant understanding struck her.  ¡®At least one other.¡¯  She thought, and held her head to the place she¡¯d struck, staring at the spot that belonged to some unknown sister in misery.  ¡®Did you die there?  Did you suffer¡­?¡¯  She shed bitter tears again, granting one eye for herself, and another for the owner of the bloodstain she discovered.


    She punched the wall again with the same hand as before while still yanking the rope.  ¡°Get it out!  Get the goblin out of me!  It¡¯s inside me again!  Take it out!  It hurts!  It hurts! I hate it and it hurts!¡±  She shouted until the door opened.  She didn¡¯t look to see who had come for her.


    ¡°There there!  There there!  There there!¡±  Swan Mother said as she rushed over to touch the shoulder of the dark haired adventurer.  She pulled Fighter away from the wall.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, we¡¯ll kill it.  We¡¯ll kill it.¡±  She whispered into Fighter¡¯s ear.  ¡°You don¡¯t even have to look¡­¡±  Behind her a small tray was carried in by a dainty looking woman with burn marks over her face and part of her skull.


    When Swan Mother took her chin in hand, she turned Fighter¡¯s face so that she saw the new arrival.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡®Goblins.¡¯  Fighter thought, and reading her mind, the burnt woman nodded slightly.  Her blue and white dress was as vibrant as the rest, and it made the dark wooden tray stand out all the more.  On it was a simple teapot and an empty cup.  In the woman¡¯s free hand was a slightly oversized bucket.


    Swan Mother drew Fighter over to the bed and sat down, she gently took the hard hands of Fighter into her own, holding with such tenderness that she avoided the damaged hand and went straight for the wrist, so that the palm was not even hurt by the touch.


    Fighter moved like a doll animated by a child¡¯s hands, and after a pair of half steps, she allowed herself to be drawn down to the bed as well.


    Swan Mother reached for the pot, poured it into the cup, and holding it in both hands, she extended it to Fighter.


    ¡°Drink, and we will purge the seed of evil.¡±  She whispered in a hard, savage voice, the first of its kind that Fighter had heard since coming to the convent.


    Fighter took the cup and stared down into the dark liquid that was colored like the bark of an oak, and then up at the Swan Mother.  Her eyes lingered on the long brutal scar.  ¡°Yes¡­ me too.  But don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t leave you alone¡­ I¡¯ll stay with you through the pain.¡±  The dark haired woman who styled herself as a mother, whispered with gentle breath to Fighter¡¯s ear, and accepting the touch and promise that she would not be left alone, Fighter took up the cup and drank it down in a single gulp.


    She immediately began coughing, hacking, and slapping her chest.  ¡°Bitter!¡±  She gasped out.


    ¡°I know¡­ I know.  I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±  Swan Mother replied, and took the bucket from the other woman before placing it on the floor at the foot of the bed.


    She then got onto the bed behind a confused Fighter, and straddled her, so that her legs were on the outside of Fighter¡¯s own.


    ¡°Listen to me¡­ in a few minutes, that burning is going to feel worse, it is going to ache, hurt, you will feel sick.  But you must keep your head up, you don¡¯t want to see¡­ believe me, you don¡¯t.  Keep your legs wide apart, your body will sicken greatly, and then, you will¡­¡±  She bit off her words like she was chewing through tough meat, ¡°pass the seed of evil out of your body, it will fall into the bucket, all of it, and we will dispose of it, or in some cases, them.¡±


    Fighter began to sob and let herself lean into the enfolding arms of the Swan Mother, but her sobs faded to tears that fell like a gently falling rain, ¡°Put yourself somewhere else, anywhere else, try not to think, treat it like any other illness, I will hold you to the end!¡±  Swan Mother exclaimed into Fighter¡¯s ear, the warmth of her arms around Fighter¡¯s body as comforting an embrace as it could be.


    Fighter tried not to think of it when her body began to convulse slightly, she tried to think of something else.  A triumphant moment, standing over Warrior when they were children.  Her hand extending out to him.  ¡°Get up, if you can hit as hard as you can fall, we can be friends.¡±


    He¡¯d cocked his head up at her, then scrambled to his feet and socked her straight in the eye, knocking her to the ground.  A flash of a brilliant smile and two matching black eyes, and a friendship was born.


    She felt the burning heat in her body get worse, and she began to gasp, she could feel the convulsing begin to localize where a child would rest inside a mother¡¯s body.  ¡®Kill it!  Kill it!  Kill it!¡¯  She screamed at her corpse.


    ...Another memory, chasing a goblin away from the village with Warrior when they were barely twelve.  It had run from their thrown stones and brandished knives¡­ the goblin squealed and fell many times as they chased it, their stones flew through the air, scattering goblin blood into the dirt whenever they broke the skin.


    Warrior whooped in triumph when it fell down an embankment, rolling and howling in pain when Fighter¡¯s well timed and impossibly perfectly thrown stone shattered it¡¯s kneecap on the way down the hill.


    ...Fighter stared up at the ceiling when she felt her womanly sex opening to pass the wretched spawn.  She gasped at the burning sensation.


    ¡°You may have several¡­ don¡¯t look down until I say.¡±  Swan mother whispered¡­ but Fighter kept her mind elsewhere.


    The goblin kept trying to crawl away when they half ran, half fell down the embankment after it, Warrior stumbled more than once, and amazed Fighter each time when he just got back up, indifferent to bruises and seeming impossibly valiant as he came after the goblin with a little knife held high.


    The goblin screamed when Fighter kicked it in the ribs, Warrior cut off its hands and feet, then held up the limp but living body.  ¡°Get some real practice in!¡±  He said excitedly, his sharp hunter¡¯s eyes looking strong and proud, like a man, not like a boy in that moment.  ¡®We¡¯ll take on the world and win, one day¡­ he¡¯s so like his father¡­ just like I¡¯m like mine¡­¡¯  It was the first stirring of more than childhood games inside her breast.  He held the goblin up, and let her beat it to death.


    When it stopped moving, he dropped it in a heap.


    ¡°Of course, we have to be sure.¡±  She said, and picked up a rock, then tossed it to him.  She took up one of her own, and pinning it down by one arm each, ¡®just to be sure¡¯ they shared a lingering look, raised their stones together, and brought them down in unison on the bald goblin head until there were bits of brain scattered in the grass.


    Her gasping from the exertion of the kill, that memory of the moment, just before Warrior saw her as more than just a tough village girl and like the woman she was starting to become, that moment of his first bold manly move, when he¡¯d kissed her in a fumbling way between childhood and manhood, told her what she¡¯d known until his last day.  ¡®We¡¯ll take on the world together¡­ and become legends¡­¡¯


    That afternoon, her father and his had come together for dinner and Warrior boasted of their kill, and their shared desire to become adventurers.


    Both fathers gave a hard thumbs up and flashed matching grins, and said together, ¡°You can do it!¡±


    She was brought back to the moment by the sound of a ¡®plop¡¯ as her first child, her son, a goblin, was born into the bucket.  Not the one she wanted to raise to greatness one day¡­ but the seed of evil that had gotten to play with her a dozen times or more before she lost all will to do more than breath and stare naked and hot and frightened at the stone sky in the darkness, reaching desperately to hold on to the severed hand of her oldest friend and until then, only living love.


    ¡°Warrior¡­ you died for nothing¡­ you should have been a dragon slayer¡­ you should have been a man, a great man¡­ not¡­¡±  She heard another plop as another of the children she bore plopped into the bucket after sliding out of her with a sickening squelching noise.


    ¡°Do you feel anything more¡­¡±  Swan mother asked gently as Fighter looked up into the ceiling and saw only the better days that birthed her nightmarish present.


    ¡°One more goblin is inside me¡­ get it out¡­¡±  Fighter closed her eyes, ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    Swan Mother¡¯s fingers probed the entrance of Fighter¡¯s body, ¡°I will be gentle, just¡­ don¡¯t look¡­¡±


    Fighter nodded urgently, ¡°Get it out!  Just get it out and kill it!¡±  She whimpered.


    The fingers dug into her body, probing for what they wanted, then pinched, and sharply pulled.


    A third, loud plop fell into the bucket.


    ¡°That one¡­ would have been a champion¡­¡±  Swan Mother¡¯s words were but a whisper, meant only for herself, but Fighter¡¯s sharp ears caught them, and filled her only with rage.


    ¡°Burn them.  Burn the babies¡­ I don¡¯t care if they¡¯re breathing, I hope they are, burn them, kill them¡­ stab them¡­ but make them die¡­¡±  Fighter half hissed and half begged.


    ¡°Yes¡­ with the others¡­ you were not the only.  You are just the last¡­¡±  Swan Mother¡¯s voice was dark with promise that just one more time at least, Fighter would see goblins in pain.


    ¡°Just rest for now¡­¡±  Swan Mother whispered and stroked the dark hair that hung down Fighter¡¯s back.  ¡°You did fine, you¡¯ll kill three more, and then every Goblin that has known your body, will be gone forever, and you¡¯ll be alive.  You¡¯ll be alive, and they¡¯ll be dead.¡±


    Fighter nodded numbly while Swan Mother moved away from her, back to the front of the bed and took up the crude bucket, the last cradle of the goblin babies.

 Chapter Three

    How much time passed between the Swan Mother¡¯s departure and herself falling to the nightmare of her restless sleep, she had no idea.  All Fighter knew when she awoke was that the sun was in a high position in the sky, if the light it cast on the floor was to be trusted.


    A foul odor hit her nose.  ¡°I stink.¡±  She said to herself with a measure of revulsion.


    ¡°Oh come on, Fighter.  Stinking is part of the adventure!¡±  Warrior had laughed when they came across a river on their first quest together and she¡¯d suggested camping there so they could bathe.  His boyish face, still not rough like a man¡¯s, with nothing but a few scratches to mar his slowly hardening perfection and good looks, was fresh in her mind.


    ¡°Well, I can do without that, so I vote we camp.¡±  Fighter had replied and stamped her foot to show she was rooting herself to the spot.


    ¡°I second the motion.¡±  Wizard had answered, wiping her youthful brow.


    Fighter touched her lips, they kissed that night in the river, when Wizard had fallen asleep, and when they slept, separately but not wanting to be, each dreamt of the day they would be legends, each thought of the day they would become one.  Or so Fighter had always assumed.


    ¡°Now he¡¯ll be¡­ I¡¯m the only one.  Nobody remembers him now, the village we left will forget either of us ever lived in only a handful of years.  ¡®Oh, Warrior, Fighter, those two ran off to be adventurers, and we never saw them again.¡¯  That¡¯s what they¡¯ll say, then shrug their shoulders and go about their lives.  My house will fall to ruin, my father¡¯s grave, his father¡¯s grave, nobody will visit them.  And Warrior¡­  my Warrior¡­  I¡¯m the only one to know you died fighting.  That you died screaming.  That you died to protect people¡­¡±  She drew her legs up to herself and hugged them tight, lowering her face again into the flesh that was rank with her own unwashed filth.


    ¡°Now¡­ did they even recover his body from the cave?  Is he still there?  No!  NO!  NO!¡±  She shouted and pounded the soft mattress with her good and broken fingers alike and slammed her head against her knees.  ¡°I¡¯ve got to get him out¡­ got to save him¡­¡±


    She looked at the door between herself and the outside world, and froze.  ¡°Warrior¡­ Wizard¡­ I¡¯ll never¡­ ever forget you¡­ I¡¯ll make sure your bodies didn¡¯t stay where they died.  I¡¯ll make sure to remember¡­ and I¡¯ll live to do it.  The goblins didn¡¯t kill me!  So I can remember¡­ and you¡¯ll always be as you were.  You¡¯ll be forever sixteen.¡±


    She still didn¡¯t move from the bed, her whisperings heard only by herself and the walls around her.  She rubbed her forehead where a bloody spot still sat, a little dried blood came off in her hand.


    Her stomach rumbled and growled, the stink of her flesh seemed like a lash at her back.  ¡°I want¡­ I want to be clean.  The goblins touched me¡­ I want to scrub their sickening touch away¡­¡±  She whispered and forced her legs to slide over the side of the little single person bed.  Her feet touched the ground tentatively.


    The ground felt cold, she moved them a little away, into the light, it was warmer there, where the sun had been shining for a long time.  Drawing her blanket up with her, she ignored the scratchy feel and bound it around herself.


    ¡®Different from the cave.¡¯  She thought with eyes gently closed, then with her hands at her side, she pushed herself up to stand on her feet and forced herself to walk toward the door.  The sound of her feet scraping over the stone was the only noise in the room.  They weren¡¯t full steps, she slid them, rather than walked them.  They moved a few inches each time, heel to midfoot, heel to midfoot, her body still ached, her body still seemed to hate her for continuing to live.


    In spite of this, she fell towards the door and caught herself with her hands, lingering there for some time, she managed to slap the stone with her hands, and winced when the broken fingers, which now felt like shattered glass¡­ shattered glass that was on fire¡­ reminded her that they were in fact, broken.


    Fighter¡¯s eyes squeezed shut against the pain, and she rolled against the door so that she was facing the wall it would swing toward.  Her ¡®good¡¯ hand fumbled for the handle, and it opened with a little click.


    The door creaked as a result of too little oil on the hinges, in the hall, many candles lay in many enclaves dug into the walls and it lit the hall a dimly glowing orange that cast shadows of the dancing flames to and fro.


    Fighter hesitated.  ¡®You can do it!¡¯  He said in the recesses of her mind.


    ¡®You were wrong last time.  I couldn¡¯t.  I couldn¡¯t and look what happened, father.¡¯  She thought back at the voice, but it only repeated itself.  She saw his fist in the air and face alight with pride.


    ¡®You can do it!¡¯  Was all the encouragement he ever offered.


    She squeezed her eyes shut, and slowly moved out of her room and into the space between her room and the hall.


    ¡°I was hoping you would come out on your own.¡±  A creaky old voice said to her.


    Her head spun right, and there was Grandmother Swan standing with her arms crossed in front of her bosom.


    ¡°H-How long were you waiting¡­?¡±  Fighter asked with head hanging low, her heartbeat slowing dramatically as the old woman moved closer to her and held out a withered hand.


    ¡°Not as long as you¡¯re afraid of, child.  Not nearly that long.  Now be a dear and help an old lady walk, I¡¯m not as vigorous, or as young, as I appear.¡±  Grandmother Swan replied and managed a weak, wrinkled smile across her face.


    Fighter intuitively took the hand and drew the old woman to her side.  Managing only the slightest of smiles at the elderly woman¡¯s jest.  Her free hand held her staff, and the slight tapping of the wood on the stone was the only conversation to be had as she let the old woman guide her down the empty sanctuary¡¯s hall.


    Fighter kept her face forward, glancing at Grandmother Swan out of only the corner of one eye.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°I was so stupid.  So stupid and arrogant and¡­ stupid.¡±  Fighter finally broke the silence, ¡°To think I could help anyone, to think I could be an adventurer, to think I was my father¡¯s daughter.¡±  Fighter spat at the stone floor of the sacred convent, and the Grandmother Swan said nothing in answer until they had passed the glob of spit by several yards.


    ¡°Why did you take my hand, just a few moments ago, child?¡±  The creaky old voice asked gingerly.


    ¡°I¡­ well, you needed help.¡±  Fighter answered reflexively.  ¡°It hurt you to walk, it was hard for you¡­¡±  She answered.


    ¡°It hurts you too, doesn¡¯t it?¡±  Grandmother Swan asked without looking up at her.


    ¡°Y-Yes.¡± Fighter admitted, lowering her eyes to the floor.


    ¡°But you bear the pain for the sake of an old woman you¡¯ve never met, who you don¡¯t know.  You ignore the easy path, letting me struggle alone.  You took the harder path, accepting some of my pain for yourself.  That¡¯s brave, that¡¯s strong.¡±  Grandmother Swan replied to her with the resolute voice of one who brooked no argument.


    Fighter shook her head, ¡°Goblins have only the strength of children, and I was too weak to stop them from¡­¡±


    ¡°They were many, they are always many.  The one who had you brought here, you aren¡¯t the first he¡¯s sent our way.  Do you think he¡¯s so much stronger than you are?¡±  Grandmother Swan inquired, neither looked to the other as they shuffled on, and for three taps of the staff on the stone, Fighter thought.


    ¡°I- Yes.  No.  Yes, well, he won didn¡¯t he?  But Warrior is dead, Wizard is dead, and I¡­¡±  She trailed off.


    ¡°Am alive. You are alive.  You survived what they did to you, and if he had to fight the hob with only a fist, do you think he¡¯d have won?¡±  Grandmother Swan asked her when they turned a corner.


    ¡°No¡­ humans aren¡¯t generally that strong, I mean maybe a rare human champion might be, but he didn¡¯t seem that big to me.¡±  Fighter answered reluctantly.  ¡°But he won¡­ he won and I¡­ and I¡­¡±  She trailed off again and shut her lips tight.


    ¡°A roll of the dice going wrong is all it takes to tumble one of us down to hell.  He knows more than most, plans more than most, that¡¯s why he lives and others who are more than he, don¡¯t.  You just had one bad roll of the dice¡­ don¡¯t let that define you.  Now, help this old woman with the door, would you?¡±  Grandmother Swan pointed her staff to a large oak door at the end of the hall.


    ¡°Al-alright¡­¡±  Fighter said and when they came close, she opened the door, and was bathed in glowing light from the sun.


    The heat of it swept over her, and she was reminded of the chill that she felt in her room that she hadn¡¯t even noticed.


    That was when she got a look around.  There were many small little brooks babbling away, small red painted wooden bridges in low rounded arcs, near each was a fruit tree with pale bark from which hung ripe red fruits, each the size of a hand, they were made of many rounded bulges in a low curve with a wide round bottom that tapered to a tip at the stem.  They had a sweet flavor in season, and a sour one out of it.


    ¡®One of my favorites.¡¯  Fighter thought whimsically and her stomach audibly growled.


    Grandmother Swan put a hand to the small of Fighter¡¯s back as gently as she could, and Fighter refocused her eyes to take in the rest.  Small steaming pools were interspersed around the grassy grounds.  Large stone walls framed the area at a distance away, except for the back, where a massive mountain stood prominently at the back.


    ¡°A¡­ are there caves there¡­¡±  Fighter pointed a trembling hand at the mountain as hideous green faces and cackling laughter, filled her vision and her eyes shut again despite her desperate attempts to force them to remain open.


    Grandmother Swan took the good hand of Fighter into her palm again and slowly shuffled in front of her.  She reached up and cupped the taller woman¡¯s cheeks, the wrinkles on her hands were rough as sandpaper, and yet they felt as soothing as Fighter¡¯s own grandmother.  ¡°No¡­ well yes, there are caves, but there are no goblins¡­ no goblin can live within those caves.  Some have tried, long, long ago.  But there are vicious monsters there that eat goblins, but hide from humans.  You couldn¡¯t be safer from them unless all the goblins in the world were dead.¡±


    That allowed Fighter to finally start to open her eyes, and she caught sight of women who, like herself, wore nothing but the blankets they had wrapped around themselves.  They were standing in a circle, close enough together that Fighter could not see what they were staring at.


    She could hear it though.


    The faint cries of tiny goblin voices, the scratchy hollow echo, and the sound plop of fluids and flesh as they were cast into the center.  ¡°The ones from you are there too.¡±  Grandmother Swan said softly, and she stepped towards the circle.


    ¡°Wh-What are you going to do¡­?¡±  Fighter asked with trepidation, her feet locking up where she stood, though every fiber of her said to turn and run.


    ¡°We are going to kill the goblins.  All the goblins.¡±  Grandmother Swan¡¯s creaky old voice had a hard, cruel tenor, and the gentle touch stiffened on Fighter¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°Do you want to watch them die?¡±  Grandmother Swan asked with softness, ¡°If you don¡¯t¡­ I can have you helped over to the bathing pools.¡±


    Fighter shook her head.  ¡°I want to see.  But-But help me.  Please.¡±  Fighter said in a hushed voice.


    ¡°Of course, child.  Of course.¡±  Grandmother Swan took her hand and drew Fighter with her, a stronger grip in the old fingers than Fighter expected, she followed mutely until she was brought to a small gap in the circle.


    There, squalling little baby goblins looked up at their mothers with tears in their eyes, shaking with fear as those whose bodies they dropped from, looked down on them with either hatred, disgust, or fear.  The many small ones were in a great big wooden washtub, but the small from the tub did not just include the viscous fluid from within the women¡¯s bodies, or even the bodily waste of the goblins themselves, there was the scent of olive oil that had been poured over all of them and slicked the floor of the little tub.


    Fighter saw ones that could only have been hers, the youngest and smallest, they kicked and thrashed a little on their sides.  One of them much bigger than the other two.


    Their little green limbs moved and the fast growing little monsters, some of them toddled about uncomprehendingly.


    Fighter didn¡¯t understand what it was that was happening, until Swan Mother appeared holding a bundle of short sticks in one hand, the ends of which all had small white rags wrapped around them, and a little sack that was commonly used to hold flint stones.  Two other women of her order were with her, each dressed in the same blue and white dress.


    She stood on the opposite side of Fighter, taking her own place so that Fighter was flanked by herself and Grandmother Swan.  Then she passed the sticks one by one to the right, until each woman held a single dark wooden branch.


    ¡°Dip your torches, rag end into the oil.  If one of the goblins comes close, beat it back, but do not kill it.¡±  Grandmother Swan said in a sharp, matronly instructing tone.


    A few sticks swung, knocking goblin bodies back into the oil, but most of the little monsters could barely stand in the slick that had been made for them.


    The two who had come with Swan Mother took central places, and then Swan Mother jabbed the base of her torch into the dirt, then removed the flint.


    She struck a spark and caught it on her torch¡¯s oil slick rag.  It caught fire immediately, and when she stood, taking it up, she passed the flame to Fighter, who passed the flame to Grandmother swan, who passed the flame to the next woman, until a ring of fire surrounded the little goblins, terrified at their first sight of the fire.


    ¡°We who were wronged, will be avenged.  The seed that was thrust on us, we reject.  They who defiled us, have been slain, they who would become slayers, will become the soil that enriches our crops, and with the crops we grow from their ashes, we will ensure we continue onward, leaving them forever behind us in the past, and beneath our feet in the present, where they have always belonged.  Now, end their lives, and end the hold of their fathers on you.¡±  Grandmother Swan was the first to cast her torch, but the rest were quick to follow suit.


    The torches sailed through the air like birds of prey, and fell like phoenixes in a dive, landing together in the screaming horde of goblin children.


    As the torches were in the air, the priestesses of the order of the White Swan whispered their spells.  ¡°...Protect us, the weak, with the powers of the earth.¡±  Golden light shone in four directions, sealing the fire and the goblins within, they howled and screamed, the little goblin infants.


    ¡°Burn¡­ my sons.  Burn for mother¡­¡±  Fighter looked at the little ones with hatred in her eyes, ¡°Suffer like your fathers, suffer and die¡­¡±  One of the goblins that had learned to walk, was struggling to free itself from the wailing of its comrades, and waddled screaming toward the edge of the basin.


    It came close, to close.  ¡®You can do it!¡¯  Fighter heard the voice again, and her leg kicked out instinctively, through the wall of protection, her kick caught the goblin infant in the head and sent it flying through its comrades to fall into a raging place of the inferno.


    The screams began to die down, the smell of burning meat replaced the sound of dying monster spawn, and with the dying of their wails, Fighter felt a tiny smile form where she thought no true one, would ever be possible again.  And it began, as soon as she realized that the little wailing ones that had been expelled from her body, had stopped screaming.


    They watched, all of them, as the crackling flames roared on, long after the last scream died, the protection walls held up and contained the flames, the heat of them warmed Fighter¡¯s heart, and though her body shook and her heartbeat raced, she could not feel anything but satisfaction.

 Chapter Four

    The warmth of the fire was the warmth of revenge, and when the bodies were reduced to ashes, the blue and white clad members of the convent were quick to act and did so with no instruction when the last embers of fire had passed.


    They began to gather up the ashes and place them into buckets.  Fighter looked to the left and right where Swan Mother and Grandmother Swan stood, and cocked her head at each, unable to truly ask in the moment, they nonetheless heard her unspoken question.


    ¡°There is no mystery, child.¡±  Grandmother Swan said softly and laid a withered hand on Fighter¡¯s shoulder.  ¡°Goblins have one purpose beyond tormenting our sex and slaying our loved ones.  Their ashes are good for the soil.  You came bearing not just the seed of evil, but the very blessing that brings forth life to our soil.  We kill the evil, purify it so it doesn¡¯t taint the world, and then scatter its power to the land so that they are always beneath our feet where they belong.  And from what they were¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan gave a crooked smile.


    Swan Mother picked up where the old woman left off, ¡°Well if you¡¯ve eaten any fruits or vegetables within fifty miles of here, chances are you have eaten something we have grown.  From this we hire adventurers to hunt more goblins.  And so we fight the goblin cycle, over and over again.¡±


    Fighter didn¡¯t answer right away, when she did, it was with a question.  ¡°B-Bathe¡­ I¡¯m¡­ dirty, the goblins¡­ they made me dirty everywhere¡­ p-please¡­ let me¡­¡±  She pointed to the pools of water that dotted the area a stone¡¯s throw away.


    ¡°Yes¡­ of course¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan took her hand, ¡°Swan Mother, see to the ashes, and send the others to eat in the hall, I will take this one.¡±


    Fighter quietly accepted the hand that went to her own while Swan Mother quickly gave gentle instructions to the others.  Soon they were alone on the paradise, a little way distant, she heard a faint roar that she had missed before.  She looked toward the noise, and seeing this, Grandmother Swan led her toward the nearest pool to explain.


    ¡°There is a waterfall in that mountain, the waters feed this place, they¡¯re heated deep below, and the waters boil up.  Nobody can quite reach the waterfall itself, the guardians within the mountain are far too dangerous, but we have ancient writings that spoke of its place from before the time of the mountain guardians.  Now come¡­¡±  She said, and unbound the crude cheap brown blanket that was serving as impromptu clothing, leaving Fighter¡¯s body naked.


    Grandmother Swan began to undo the buttons of her own dress, exposing her ancient frame in turn.


    ¡°Help me in, would you?¡±  She said after planting her staff into the dirt by a few inches.


    Fighter stepped over the stones that circled the bath and into the boiling hot water.  She reached up and let Grandmother Swan slip into the waters.  ¡°Now¡­ here my dear¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan placed a hand over Fighter¡¯s broken fingers.  ¡°Cure light wounds¡­¡±  She whispered, and golden light lingered over the injury.  The bones began to reset themselves, the ugly marks began to fade, and the power of the spell spread to the sore point on her head.


    The pain faded, but Fighter felt only the longing to be clean again.  She darted her hand out to take up the birch branch and began to scrub.  She felt the water burning at her flesh as she sank into the waters and Grandmother Swan let go.  The elderly woman was seemingly unfazed by the extreme temperatures, she only sat in the waters and spread her arms out over the stones that surrounded the space, and waited.


    Fighter¡¯s hands flew like mad, like in a sparring match with her father, she beat at her flesh with the rough branch and rubbed her skin violently with the rough leaves.  She scrubbed and scrubbed until it hurt, and scrubbed more.  ¡°Got to get it off¡­ Got to get them off me¡­ smell them on me¡­ I can still smell it¡­ I don¡¯t want to smell it¡­ feel it¡­¡±  She whimpered and rocked herself back and forth in the water, creating ripples that went back and forth, the hot water splashed up, burning at more of her flesh.


    Her body reddened from the violence, and she scrubbed most at the place they¡¯d touched, she didn¡¯t care when bloody spots appeared and floated away from her flesh to stain the water.  ¡°Make their touch go away¡­ filthy¡­ they made it all filthy¡­¡±  Fighter rambled and choked back sobs as her limbs trembled like they were cold despite the steaming waters.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough child¡­ that¡¯s enough¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan finally said as salty tears fell like rain into the water.


    ¡°No!  I¡¯m not clean¡­ I just want to be¡­ to get it all off, to get it all out¡­¡±  Fighter kept rocking back and forth, but the trembling in her hands grew so great that she dropped the branch that served as a bath stick and it splashed lightly into the water, where it began to float away from her out of reach.


    Grandmother Swan drew a little closer, and let Fighter¡¯s body fold into hers as it continued to rock back and forth, until the adventurer could only fold her face into the bosom of the old woman and hold onto the fragile little woman for strength she no longer felt she had herself.


    ¡®You can do it.¡¯  She heard her father¡¯s whisper, but ignored it.


    ¡°That was a good kick that you gave to the one on fire.¡±  Grandmother Swan said quietly when Fighter¡¯s noises became nothing but choked hiccups.


    Fighter didn¡¯t answer, she only nodded.


    ¡°That was a good kick that you gave to the one on fire.¡±  Grandmother Swan repeated the gentle words that described the brutal event.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Fighter wiped her nose.


    ¡°That was a good kick that you gave to the one on fire.¡±  Grandmother Swan repeated it again as if Fighter hadn¡¯t heard it.


    This time Fighter replied.  ¡°I-I always had g-good kicks.  O-Or so I thought, t-till the Hob caught me.  H-He flung me like a child, beat me to the wall and the floor of the cave like I-I was nothing.¡±


    ¡°It was still a good kick.  You just had a bad roll of the dice¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan replied and began stroking Fighter¡¯s dark hair like she was petting an anxious cat.


    ¡°Th-Thank you.  Smaller goblins¡­ I could kill with one kick.  One punch¡­ but so many¡­ if only I hadn¡¯t¡­¡±  Fighter¡¯s mouth froze in the open position.


    ¡°Hadn¡¯t what, child?¡±  Grandmother Swan asked.


    Fighter let the words slowly flow out of her mouth after a moment more.  ¡°Warrior¡­ Warrior rushed ahead, he killed one, he cut off another¡¯s hand, I knew he should have stayed back, the cave was narrower where we were¡­ but I didn¡¯t stop him.  He ran in like a hero, then he lost his sword and they were on him.  I¡­¡±


    ¡°You?¡±  Grandmother Swan prompted.


    ¡°I froze, I hesitated again.  I should have pulled him back, I should have called him back to me, I should have gone with him right away so he wouldn¡¯t have had to fight so many¡­ I didn¡¯t do anything¡­ anything till his hand was cut off and his scream hit me.  He was¡­ he was dead before I even reached him.  Wizard was dying already, we split up, everything¡­ we were ambushed, arrogant, they came from both sides.  Then they m-made me their¡­¡±  her eyes flashed with fury and fear, she stared at Grandmother Swan¡¯s face before she went on.


    ¡°They made me their conquest, their plaything, they made me their toy, and all I could do was hold onto the severed hand of my dead Warrior¡­ I never let go of his hand, I held it while they did¡­ what they did.  Even dead, he was something for me to hold onto.¡±  Fighter could no longer speak, and buried herself in Grandmother Swan¡¯s embrace again.


    She reached for the branch from the embrace, only for Grandmother Swan to take it.  ¡°No, child.  No.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ but I want to¡­¡±  Fighter stammered, only for Grandmother Swan to touch a finger to her lips.


    ¡°No, child.  You will only hurt yourself now, the water is very hot, you¡¯ll burn yourself if you stay in much longer, you have already scrubbed every bit of them away¡­ there is nothing left of them on you, or in you, except for here.¡±  Grandmother Swan reached up and laid a gentle palm on Fighter¡¯s forehead, conforming it to her skull so that her fingers were over the soft dark hairs of the younger woman.


    Fighter¡¯s eyes welled up afresh, but nothing poured out.  ¡°What¡­ what happens now, Grandmother Swan?¡±


    ¡°Next we get you proper clothing¡­ and I show you where we serve food.  If you want, we will bring it to your room still, but you should not be left alone.  I have been here for a long time, and those who eat alone, are kept company only by their fears and nightmares, and sooner or later, we end up burying them.  Their victory over the goblins is to end the nightmares with death¡­ but we want you to defeat the goblins by living.¡±  Grandmother Swan slowly stood up, and when she did, the many scars over the wrinkled flesh were now obvious.


    Fighter looked at her with wonder that so many scars could be on one body, they crisscrossed her thighs, her belly, her arms and breasts.  ¡°You see them now¡­ yes.  I was with the goblins for one month.  There were eight other women with me, or I am sure I would have died.  I birthed twelve of the beasts, all the others with me, they perished in that hell.  I was rescued when a powerful noble¡¯s daughter was taken, and a great adventurer was hired to recover her.  She lay chained beside me, and birthed only three before she succumbed to her injuries.  The adventurer rescued me purely by chance.  Nobody cared enough, or could have afforded if they did, to save me.  That was fifty years ago¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan shook her head and slowly, carefully stepped out of the pool.


    Fighter followed her, the water splashed down from her body to create the sound of splashing and fervent ripples from disturbing the little pool.  ¡°I-I see.¡±


    ¡°No, you see only a fragment¡­ which is better.  There is hope for you, child.  Do not lose sight of that.  You blame yourself for Warrior¡¯s death, do you?¡±  She asked as she dressed, then held up the blanket to wrap Fighter up again.


    Fighter held her arms up and allowed Grandmother Swan to work, and quickly the scratchy cheap fabric was tied in a knot beneath her armpit.  She answered only with a mute nod and a head that hung in shame with a deep frown in place.


    ¡°Did you control his legs?¡±  Grandmother Swan asked pointedly.  ¡°Did you plan the goblin ambush?  Did you choose a weapon he could easily lose in the dark confines of a cave?¡±


    Fighter shook her head rapidly in a tiny motion that bounced her dark hair around, flinging droplets of water from its still wet tips.


    ¡°He authored his own end, child.  He was a young man, ready to take on the world, he just didn¡¯t know the world would take him on too.  It is sad¡­ but as the Grim One says, ''It happens all the time.''¡±  Grandmother Swan rested her hands on Fighter¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°Th-the Grim One?¡±  Fighter asked, darting her blue eyes away from the steel of Grandmother Swan.


    ¡°You may have heard of him by his more common name, ¡®Goblin Slayer¡¯.  I have only ever called him ¡®Grim One¡¯.  He says little, but when he speaks, listen.  He sends us many women.  If you choose to stay¡­ you may see him again.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ never thanked him.  He and Priestess carried me out of the cave, and I never thanked either of them¡­ and I never apologized to her.¡±  Fighter said in a tiny voice, still hanging her head until Grandmother Swan¡¯s gnarled only fingers took her by the chin and brought her so that their eyes could lock again.


    ¡°If that is what you want, stay and I will make sure you get the chance¡­ but for now, come with me, let me get you clothing, and show you more of your new residence.¡±  Grandmother Swan replied, and Fighter nodded when the tight little grip on her chin was removed.


    She followed the elderly woman whose sure footed walk, however slow, seemed curious to her, at once the woman seemed unfathomably gentle, but also filled with a bile like hatred that slipped out in a steely look and a smile that all but drooled over burning, screaming bodies.


    However, Fighter could think of nothing else to say or do, and so she followed.  The next two hours were a blur, she was taken to a room with long racks that held clothing, all of a like design, simple blue and white, and simple brown shoes, brown slippers, or simple brown boots for field work.  Fitting her was easy, and Fighter sighed with a kind of relief not to feel ¡®naked¡¯ any longer, and the clothing did not have the same ¡®itch¡¯ of the cheap wool she had been using.


    From there she saw the common mess, where dozens and dozens of women ate together, candles were scattered about the room, telling Fighter immediately that at night, the whole place would be cast in the same orange glow that filled a hall that would have otherwise been dark.  Up above, there stood a great open ceiling of glass, and through it streamed the bright light of the day.  The walls were painted white, and over those were painted various murals.  A few of which were incomplete, and at which some young women of peasant stock were clearly working.


    Across the room there was a long open bay area and behind it there were large pots over which several older women labored.  ¡°Those who stay here, take on various tasks.¡±  Grandmother Swan explained.  ¡°Some cook, others clean, others work the fields, and a few tend the newcomers like yourself and the others.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡±  Fighter asked gently as she looked over the many quiet, downturned faces.  Occasionally a woman froze, and those nearest to her would draw closer to try to comfort her.  Sometimes it worked, sometimes they would be forced back and the woman would just bury her head in her hands and let the tears of sorrow pour out where she sat.


    ¡°What about you?¡±  Grandmother Swan inquired calmly, taking Fighter¡¯s hand and drawing her out of the large open room.


    ¡°I mean, if you have ¡®others¡¯ who take care of newcomers.  Why do you and Swan Mother look closely after me?¡±  Fighter asked, briefly closing her eyes to the horror the scene of so many young women eating together represented.


    ¡°Oh my dear¡­ my sweet child¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan said with a chill in her voice that froze Fighter¡¯s blood as they left the room.  ¡°That answer will be obvious to you, when you think about it a bit.  For now, just come with me, let me show you more of your new home.¡±


    Fighter could only nod in mute acceptance as she tried to work out the curious answer, and followed where Grandmother Swan led her.

 Chapter Five

    With nothing else in mind to say or do, she followed as Grandmother Swan led her over the long dirt track that cut through the grass along the edge of the farmlands. Fighter¡¯s eyes grew like saucers as she beheld the sight of the vast open fields. ¡°They say¡­¡± Grandmother Swan began, ¡°that a dragon once lived and died here, and that our rich fields are the result of its body sleeping in death beneath the ground. They say you can hear it trying to claw against the underworld beneath the mountain on quiet days. That one day it will return to life, rising from beneath the Garden of Burning.¡± She gave a tiny smile up to Fighter. ¡°A children¡¯s tale, of course.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Grandmother Swan.¡± Fighter agreed, recalling with a faint laugh, the stories of her childhood. She then took the old woman¡¯s arm to help prop her up for the rest of the walk. To her surprise the old woman was handling the long walk with relative ease, her steps were slow but steady and constant, and the arm, though withered, held to Fighter¡¯s forearm with more strength than the young woman anticipated.


    When she¡¯d been shown the length of the fields, and the granneries, Fighter was impressed enough by the sheer scope of it all, but nothing prepared her for the pens of cattle, which stopped her dead in her tracks. ¡°Grandmother Swan¡­ how¡­?¡±


    ¡°How what, my child?¡± Grandmother Swan asked in a sweet voice that dripped sincerity.


    ¡°The cattle?¡± Fighter asked as if those two words said enough.


    ¡°Yes? We have many heads. Our cheese is greatly sought after, and we trade a great deal of meat to the cities on the long drives.¡± Grandmother Swan raised her chin proudly, a sparkle to her eyes as she spoke.


    Fighter stared openly and did not answer for some time. The steers were the largest she¡¯d ever seen, with long wide horns and massive muscular bodies, and there were hundreds of the male steers, not to mention the massive females, confined by the simple wooden fence. ¡°Grandmother Swan, the town, the village I came from. It was a cattle raising area more than anything. It was not my father¡¯s work but, well I learned something of it anyway. You have hundreds of what my¡­ my home, former home, had not even ten of.¡± She swallowed as she gazed over the vastness of the wealth represented in the form of animals that grazed in front of her eyes.


    Grandmother Swan¡¯s arm tensed a little. But her sweet, elderly little smile wavered not even a little. ¡°Oh my sweet child,¡± she began to turn and head toward the great high walls of the temple convent, ¡°our wealth is born of our revenge. Don¡¯t you see?¡± She shook her head and hung it low, ¡°The goblins ruined the lives we had, so we built better ones on their ashes with Abbadar¡¯s loving help. Don¡¯t trouble yourself, you¡¯ll understand more fully in time.¡± The ancient hand patted Fighter¡¯s youthful one like a mother or grandmother guiding the youngest of her young daughters through the confusion of growing up.


    ¡°Now, why don¡¯t you tell me more about you, your father, your life?¡± Grandmother Swan gently coaxed her, and Fighter began to spill words out like an overturned pitcher of milk over a table with a pair of short legs. In that moment, all that she¡¯d seen was put out of her head as she cast herself back to what she now regarded as the last happy days of her life.


    She was still talking about her father when they entered the convent again, and was finally done with the details of his ¡®first adventure¡¯ as she knew it from him when she found herself confronted by thick doors of silver. Far from smooth, they were engraved with images of Abbadar, god of fortune. His long hair was inlaid with gold, his eyes were cut blue stones that shone in the dancing candle lights of the hall.


    In his left hand were the Scales of Justice, in his right hand was a sword whose tip pierced a mountain top beneath his feet. Fighter had to crane her neck back when she drew closer. ¡°Help me with the door, would you dear?¡± Grandmother Swan asked in her creaky voice and stayed back while Fighter braced herself between the heavy double doors. She leaned forward with one hand on each and one foot behind the other, her head down at the stone beneath her feet, she took a deep breath, and pushed.


    The groaning doors resisted her strongly, and she heard the longed for voice come to her again as she struggled in between Grandmother Swan and the doors which opposed her. ¡®You can do it!¡¯


    Her muscles strained and she gritted her teeth while she labored at her task, but slowly, the doors gave way before her efforts. The crack between them widened and she took a step forward, the faint echo of her foot on the stone caught her ear, she made another step forward, then another. She felt the sharp eyes of the old woman at her back, but focused herself on the push, on the drive to see herself to the other side, and what lay beyond.


    It was only when the door parted in earnest that she was rewarded with the marvelous view. ¡°Welcome, to the temple of the White Swan. No man has ever set foot within this sacred place except for the spirit of Abbadar himself.¡±


    Fighter¡¯s eyes widened as she stepped within, her arms opened wide to press the doors their last few inches apart, and held them open like she wanted to hug the inner sanctum. Her eyes, big as saucers again as they had been when they saw the wealth of cattle, she now looked with equal awe at the place of worship.


    On the left wall, she saw bright colors and first thought them paint, but then covered her mouth with a sudden jerk. ¡°Not¡­ not paint, that¡¯s not paint, is it?¡±


    Grandmother Swan closed the distance between them. Against the pale wall were indeed bright colors, but the old woman laughed a light cackle and said, ¡°No, we have painted with light.¡± She reached beside her to grasp Fighter¡¯s chin in her boney hands and turned her upward towards the opposing wall and pointed with her staff. ¡°There.¡±


    Fighter turned her eyes back and forth from the wall where the multicolored lights stood, to the upper area of the wall she was pointed to, where stained glass windows caught the light of the sun. The image had a familiar looking figure. ¡°Goblin Slayer?¡± She asked rhetorically, speaking without thinking when she recognized the hero who dragged her alive from her hell of stone and darkness.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Grandmother Swan replied, ignoring the rhetorical tone. ¡°He has been here many times since his days as a porcelain rank. I remember the first time I saw him, and I thought that would be the last. Most heroes move on from killing goblins. But he didn¡¯t. He kept going out, kept doing what he does¡­ even I couldn¡¯t tell you how many women here, are here because he held out his armored hand and said, ¡°Come with me, and live.¡±


    She tapped her staff on the stone, ¡°I had to pay him a dozen heal potions to stay here long enough to pose for that.¡± She chuckled, ¡°Saint Slayer is a gift of divine retribution, and some of our younger members even say he is possessed by Abbadar and cannot be killed.¡±


    Her smirk said what she thought of that claim, but Fighter pressed the matter, recalling the godlike way he plowed through goblins, the way his sword flashed past like holy light itself. ¡°You don¡¯t think so?¡± She asked, not looking down at Grandmother Swan.


    ¡°No. I have seen his blood, he can be wounded, and if he can be wounded, he can die. He is a great man. A saint, even. But only a man. Live long enough here, and one day he won¡¯t return. Age, misfortune, or misfortune due to his own denial of his age? Whatever it is, something will take him from this world to Abbadar¡¯s reward.¡± Grandmother Swan tapped her staff sharply on the stone to emphasize her point, then pointed up to the other side.


    ¡°When the sun begins to set, the light will cast that onto the opposing wall.¡± Grandmother Swan added. Where the light cast through Goblin Slayer¡¯s image featured him tearing through goblins, crushing skulls, and ending the lives of monsters, the other side revealed a more tranquil scene. A city upon a hill with a great castle that stood so tall that a cloud lay below its tallest towers. A sprawling vista below featuring green verdant fields, rolling hills, a bright blue river with a mill that cut through it all. Tranquility. Peace.


    Fighter expelled a heavy breath and wiped away sweat she suddenly noticed had formed on her forehead. The rest of the temple worship area was of white stone on the floor, with long rows of prostration mats of bright green silk, and a few feet from them, near the back, a white marble statue of Abbadar.


    The only dark of the room was the deep shadow that was cast from the shadow itself. ¡°Will you help me worship?¡± Grandmother Swan asked, and began to walk toward the far silk mats that lay on the floor just before the intricate marble statue. Fighter took her arm with reverential awe, and without a word, helped her to the far end, and when they reached a mat, Grandmother Swan knelt in one where the shadow fell. There, with Fighter¡¯s help, she slowly sank to her knees.


    Fighter¡¯s hand on Grandmother Swan¡¯s skin felt the shadow chill, and when the ancient woman cast herself forward so that her face was pressed to the silk in the dark shadow, and her hands far forward, she began to intone her prayers.


    Fighter took a long, deep breath and turned her eyes up to the marble perfection, the masterwork of rippling muscles in divine armor with powerful, thick arms and legs. A sword in one hand, the scales of justice in the other, the empty bowls alone were not of stone, but rather simple bronze things that swayed in the faint breeze that made its way into the room, like they were asking to be used.


    ¡®Why didn¡¯t you protect me? Why didn¡¯t you stop them? Abbadar, god of justice, god of commerce, god of¡­ my father, myself¡­ you left me in a hell of stone and shadow. Why?¡¯ It was the first blasphemous prayer, and her look of anger and bitterness at the stalwart face of the divine with its noble straight noise and all seeing eyes of white stone, did not turn down to her. The lips of the statue remained closed, it would not speak.


    Fighter took a few steps away to the silk matt in the light, and prostrated herself. ¡®Why? Maybe you sent your saint¡­ perhaps Goblin Slayer was your tool¡­ but he was a tool that came too late for Warrior. Too late for Wizard. Too late to spare me¡­ what happened. Why won¡¯t you answer your faithful? Was I being punished for my pride? I just wanted to help¡­ we all just wanted to help¡­¡¯


    She raised her head a few inches from the silk, and slapped it down against the green fabric, gritting her teeth, her outstretched hands turned into fists, a blasphemy to her god that she could not keep from committing. Her entire body shook with fresh outrage, and she uttered again, and again, and again, in the quietness of her heart, her doubtful, demanding prayer for answers that were never going to come.


    ¡®What do you want me to do? Abbadar, my god, what is it I am supposed to do? How do I do¡­ whatever it is? Please¡­ the nightmares¡­ do I have to bear them? Can¡¯t you give me courage when the night comes? I used to laugh in caves! Their darkness was nothing, a minor inconvenience¡­ now even in that room, I could only cry¡­ only cry¡­ and shame my father¡¯s memory with my cowardice. Isn¡¯t there something¡­ anything...? Some answer, some offering you want for it? What must I offer you in exchange for justice?!¡¯ She howled it in her mind until her fists clenched so tightly in their blasphemous form that her nails ripped open the palms and blood seeped down to stain the floor.


    It was the feel of that trickle of blood touching more of her hand that brought her back to the moment. Her eyes flew open, and she felt the touch of Grandmother Swan¡¯s hand on her shoulder.


    Fighter¡¯s pale blue eyes looked with horror at her hands, and she began to stammer, ¡°S-so sorry! I¡¯m so sorry Grandmother Swan¡­ I didn¡¯t mean¡­ blasphemy, it was just, I¡­ I¡­ I wanted god to speak to me¡­¡± She rose up so that she was sitting on her heels and felt the old arms embrace her as she spoke.


    ¡°I wanted Abbadar¡­ to tell me why. Why it happened. What did I do to deserve this? Why do those ¡®things¡¯ have to exist, why did he abandon me¡­? Was I being punished¡­ I know¡­ I know, it is blasphemy to make a fist at the god of Justice, to¡­ to shed blood even my own¡­¡±


    Grandmother Swan grabbed Fighter¡¯s jaw with surprising strength and made the young woman look to her elder. ¡°Nothing. You did nothing. Do you think you asked for what happened? No! The goblins made their own decisions. They alone are responsible for what they do, and you are responsible for what you do! You wanted to help, they wanted to hurt¡­ you just had a bad roll of the dice is all. Abbadar wasn¡¯t punishing you¡­ it wasn¡¯t being a woman, it wasn¡¯t wearing the wrong armor, it wasn¡¯t going to the wrong place, that made goblins into goblins. You are not responsible for what they did to you, they are responsible for what they did, and nobody else. Do you understand me?¡±


    The fingers tightened, and Fighter¡¯s eyes could not blink. ¡°Do you?¡± Grandmother Swan demanded.


    Fighter gave a faint nod, and the grip fell away, before the old woman knelt down more firmly and drew the broken adventurer into her folds, ignoring the bloodstain that marred the flawless white floor, she said nothing of the blasphemy in gesture, in act, or in silent prayer.


    Allowing herself to savor the comforting understanding of the old woman, Fighter looked up at the silent statue, and in her silent heart, she dared the god to condemn her, and again, it said nothing, failing to condemn, as it had failed to warn or protect, Fighter heard only one single voice in her head beyond her own.


    ¡®You can do it.¡¯ She heard the refrain, and wondered exactly what it¡­ or he, was talking about.


    She was still wondering that, when the sun began to cast its light through the stained glass windows on the other side, and the long broad scene of the longed for human tranquility was cast in paint made of light, against the other wall. She savored the dream, until Grandmother Swan started to rise, and said, ¡°It¡¯s time to go, you need food before you sleep, and so do I.¡±


    ¡°As you say, Grandmother Swan, would you like me to get the door behind me?¡± Fighter asked when they reached the entrance to the sanctuary.


    ¡°No, my dear, six of my children will come to do it later.¡± Grandmother Swan smiled sweetly again, the faint corners of her mouth turning up, as Fighter¡¯s head flew around in a sharp motion to the door she¡¯d managed by herself.


    ¡°Now¡­ perhaps you begin to understand¡­ child.¡± Grandmother Swan whispered, and led her to the dining hall.

 Chapter Six

    ¡°There¡¯s more to you, than you think.¡±  The old woman tapped her staff along the floor with every step, her earlier weakness seemingly washed away after the act of worship to Abbadar.


    Fighter looked back at the place of worship repeatedly as she followed Grandmother Swan, still dazed at her words.  ¡°There is for most people, you know, though few live to realize it.¡±


    ¡°Not to me, I don¡¯t think.  The only thing there is to me, Grandmother Swan, or at least ¡®was¡¯ to me, was a great abundance of stupid arrogance.  And it destroyed everything I cherished.¡±  Fighter replied as she fell in at Grandmother Swan¡¯s left hand.


    ¡°Arrogance?¡±  Grandmother Swan glanced up at the dark haired former adventurer.


    Fighter shook her head.  ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.  The goblins humbled me¡­ goblins¡­ I¡¯ll never say ¡®just goblins¡¯ again¡­¡±  She tightened her fists and hugged her belly.  ¡°Not after they put their spawn into me.¡±


    She clenched her jaw and there was quiet for a bit until they passed a window overlooking the fields, and Fighter spoke again.  ¡°When I looked out there¡­¡±  She swept her hand to the window toward the distant halo framed shadows of the farmers, ¡°I thought of them all in warrior terms.  Like soldiers, fighters¡­¡±  She lowered her eyes to the dirt beneath her feet.  ¡°I¡­ I was proud of my fists, my kicks, I was taught nothing but to fight to live.  My first love, my Warrior, we bonded over blood and stories of the adventures we would have.  I look out there, I see people I would barely have looked twice at, and thought of them in words I can¡¯t even apply to myself anymore.  A week ago I thought they were cowards hiding from adventure.  Now?¡±  She clenched her jaw and her fists and held them at her sides.


    ¡°Now?¡±  Grandmother Swan asked tentatively.


    ¡°Now I was only able to be out there at all because it¡¯s daylight.  When the sun sets, I know that all I¡¯ll want to do is run and hide, I want to hide and lock my door and not be seen or heard or¡­ or¡­ now I see only a coward when I see myself.¡±  She shook like a leaf in the breeze while Grandmother Swan wrapped her arm around her.


    ¡°Even the bravest are frightened by the sudden.  You¡¯re not weak because of what happened.  You are still ¡®Fighter¡¯.  Remember, the goblins failed to kill you, and now they¡¯re all dead.¡±


    Fighter snorted and cast a side eye down at Grandmother Swan.  ¡°Because I was rescued.  I wasn¡¯t strong enough to save myself.  They killed Wizard.  They killed Warrior.  Was I not even worth killing?  Remember, they simply tossed me to the stone and let me lie there when they were done¡­ was I not even worth the effort to kill?  Is that why I lived and they died?¡±


    ¡°Even the Grim One had to be saved, long ago.  Or so the story goes.¡±  Grandmother Swan replied with the nonanswer.  And the devastating question hung between them until she pointed out to the farm.  ¡°There are many moles out there, you know.  Moles, as well as weeds.  It¡¯s a constant struggle.¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sure it is.¡±  Fighter acknowledged the point and divided her attention between the elderly woman and the farm that lay beyond the walls of the convent.


    ¡°Do you think we get them all?¡±  Grandmother Swan asked sharply, pulling Fighter tighter against herself.


    ¡°N-No.  Not all the time.¡±  Fighter reluctantly admitted, ¡°But I¡¯m not¡­ not a mole, not a weed¡­¡±


    Grandmother Swan¡¯s fingers tightened as she spoke, and her voice cracked, but did not break.  ¡°No, but you were spared by chance.  Just like those moles we miss.  The Goblins live in fear of everyone, yes they¡¯re dangerous in numbers.  But they fear everyone, even their victims.  They¡¯re cowards at heart, all of them.  When I was captive, I kicked one of them who came alone to use me.  It fell down, scrambled to its feet, and ran away.  I was chained to a wall, I couldn¡¯t even use my hands, but he ran.  I was so proud¡­ then he returned with five of his companions.  First they all beat me until I stopped moving, then they all took turns holding my legs down.  Do you know what made that¡­ different than all the other times, child?¡±


    ¡°N-No¡­¡±  Fighter asked with eyes going wide open and now focused entirely on the stooped old woman.


    ¡°I knew I could survive.  I had a chance.  Yes, it was terrible, I endured it, but I survived it, when they left me, I knew they were afraid of me.  They did what they did because they¡¯re monsters, because that is how monsters make monsters.  But to them, ¡®I¡¯ was a monster, a monster they¡¯d captured, yes, but a monster nonetheless.  If you had been thrown in with the other captives, they would have remained terrified of you at every step.  No matter what else they managed to do to you.  Remember that.¡±


    Fighter¡¯s light blue eyes blurred briefly, but she nodded in silent comprehension.


    ¡°The monster that attacks you in the dark, who draws you in to prey on you¡­ well¡­¡±  Grandmother Swan jabbed her staff hard into the stone, and the crack of noise echoed like a slap to the face.  ¡°Warrior never feared to speak to you, what you did, what you wanted, what he wanted¡­ even if he was afraid of rejection, as most men are?¡±  The question, curious as it was, hung between them before she answered it herself.


    ¡°Well he was not so afraid to speak his wants.  But goblins, predators like them, they ¡®fear¡¯ their own prey, they are not and never will be an equal, to you or any.  True, they may briefly exercise dominance over you, but they hide as often as possible.  No different than the bandit who hides in ambush, or the man who lies about what he is to the world so he can act the role of a goblin when nobody else is looking.  They¡¯re all the same.  Cowards.  They need you to fear them, they want to put the fear into you, that they have of everyone, including you.¡±  The old woman snatched Fighter¡¯s wrist with startling speed.


    ¡°When you understand that, even if you don¡¯t believe it now, you will not cry at the sight of them again, and they will flee from you even in your dreams.¡±  Grandmother Swan gave a savage cackle that seemed out of place on such an old figure, and Fighter could only look down at the strange sight.


    Desperate for a change of subject as her skin tingled, she withdrew her hand from the old woman¡¯s grip and asked, ¡°Will I be working in the fields then¡­ is that what you want me to do¡­?  I guess, this body is still good for that¡­¡±  Fighter glanced down at her calloused fists.  ¡®I can still swing a mattock, that shouldn¡¯t be a problem.¡¯  She considered the subject and tried to think of all she knew about farming, and came up very short.  Her lips formed a tight line and she cursed her ignorance until she saw Grandmother Swan shake her head.


    ¡°No, child, nothing like that.¡±  Grandmother Swan replied and then resumed their walk.


    Fighter followed the old woman back to the dining hall, and as if it understood where they were going and had a mind of its own, her stomach loudly growled at her, like a feral beast left hungry for far too long.


    The old woman¡¯s vicious cackle earlier was all but forgotten in the face of the kindly titter of amusement that followed Fighter¡¯s embarrassed blush.


    ¡°Come along, we shouldn¡¯t keep your belly waiting, it seems angry.¡±  Grandmother Swan said and picked up her walking pace a little.


    The next few hours became a blur, after dropping her at the dining hall, the old woman told her to simply retire to her quarters when she was done, and the young woman was left with other mostly young women for company.  Fighter took a bowl of stew and sat down between several women around her age, but little conversation flowed.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The smell of stew, the sound of tearing bread, and in the case of those fresh from the fields, the smell of earth and sweat, dominated the hall.  Fighter saw scars on the bare arms of those around her, and more than a few had marks on their faces.  They chewed with the silent indifference of beasts, content only to have something to fill their bellies.


    Fighter sat in silence long after she finished her stew, the moments seemingly passing like a quiet cloud in the sky, the day passing by her like a swift but silent wind.


    Still, though others came and sat, they only ate and left in turn.  Their simple clothing befitting field work, it was like her village, but like their voices had been taken.  Occasionally a young one fell to crying, and those closest to her would draw closer, but the language of tears was the only one any seemed to know or notice.


    Finally she chose to break the silence and speak to a mousey looking woman with short brown hair who sat down across from her.  ¡°Hello.¡±  Fighter said with a quiet whisper, as if to keep from being heard.


    The young woman looked up from her bowl of stew, and stared at Fighter through soft, doe-like eyes.  She didn¡¯t say anything, only looked at Fighter hollowly.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±  Fighter asked, and slid her hand over the table toward the girl.


    ¡°F-Farmer.¡±  She finally answered.  Then quiet stretched, she didn¡¯t touch Fighter¡¯s outstretched hand.  ¡°Y-You¡¯re not.¡±  She finally said after looking Fighter over.  ¡°Not¡­ that it did any good, did it?¡±


    What she meant, required no answer, Fighter¡¯s presence in that convent, in that hall, was all the answer either needed.


    ¡°No.¡±  Fighter answered with her eyes downcast into her empty bowl.  ¡°They got all of us.¡±


    ¡°Got my village.¡±  The girl said in a trembling voice, before her shaking fingers dropped the bread into her stew and she buried her face in her hands and started to wail.  The two next to her drew closer, wrapping arms tightly in the embrace of the broken struggling to draw themselves together again.


    ¡°That¡¯s why we don¡¯t talk.¡±  A strawberry blonde girl to Fighter¡¯s left whispered harshly, and Fighter¡¯s face turned red.


    ¡°S-Sorry.  I didn¡¯t know¡­¡±  She stood, took up her empty bowl, and left.  She dropped it at a pickup spot and scurried back to her room.  Her feet ate up ground fast as they could carry her without running, until she was at her door.  She opened it, entered, then slammed it behind her.  Before the sound of slamming faded from its echo over the stone, she¡¯d cast herself beneath her blanket and curled up into a ball.  She squeezed herself tight as if to make herself as small as the tears she fought to contain, and remained that way shut off from even the fading light of the outside, until she passed out into slumber.


    The blackness of her dreams was no escape.  The goblins came for her within, until a hand in the darkness of the real world drew her from her slumber.  She cried out, her voice piercing the double night that was not only the hour, but the utter void that her room had become.


    She instinctively lashed out with a punch, and the owner of the hand flew back, hard into the wall and fell with a thud.


    The groan brought Fighter to her senses.  ¡°Who¡­?¡±  She started to ask of the crumbled figure in the dark.


    The figure was clutching her belly with one hand and pushing herself up from the stone with the other, an agonized groan coming out as she rose.  ¡°You¡­ hit hard.¡±  The woman said before coughing took her voice.


    Fighter shot out of bed, her feet slamming onto the stone floor, she rushed to the one whose touch drew her back from dread dreams.  ¡°I¡¯m sorry!  I¡¯m sorry!  I¡¯m so sorry!¡±  She hastily apologized over and over.  Her hand fell to the woman¡¯s shoulder, and then in a more gentle hold, began to help her to her feet.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, it¡¯s alright, I should have known better than to disturb you that way.¡±  The woman replied, wiping her mouth with the back of her fist in the dark.  The voice clicked.


    ¡°Swan Mother¡­ why¡­ why are you here?¡±  Fighter asked, and helped the woman over to the bed.


    ¡°That¡¯ll leave a bruise¡­ and I think I¡¯ll need a potion.¡±  Swan Mother grumbled and coughed again when they sat, and the mattress sank under their weight.


    ¡°Sorry¡­ really I just¡­ reacted.¡±  Fighter replied and cast her eyes down to the stone.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, I¡¯ll live.  Really.  I came to see you because of today.¡±  Swan Mother replied, resting a hand on Fighter¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°What?¡±  Fighter asked into the dark. She bit her lip and tried to think of what Swan Mother was talking about, and came to no conclusion.


    Swan Mother¡¯s hand went out to a sconce on the wall where a half burned white wax candle sat.  ¡°Spark.¡±  She whispered, and from her hand lept a piece of firelight that caught the wick, igniting it and casting a faint glow to the room.


    ¡°At the dining hall.  You tried to speak, you did speak.¡±  Swan Mother¡¯s voice was devoid of rebuke, but it stung nonetheless.


    Fighter¡¯s body trembled as if still trapped in the clutches of goblins.  Her head hung low, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°There was nothing to know, it isn¡¯t a rule, it¡¯s just what they don¡¯t do, and it is what sets you apart, made you different.  Just like how you were taken.¡±  Swan Mother¡¯s hand ran down her back, stroking her soothingly.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, really.¡±  The woman¡¯s voice became smooth as the silk worship mat.  ¡°If you were to talk to almost all of them, they¡¯d tell the same story.  A farmer girl, a village seamstress, a shepherdess whose flock was slaughtered and herself taken¡­ the one to rebuke you¡­ she was one of those.  Tried to protect her flock, only to be made to watch the goblins eat them all before they used her.  It¡¯s almost always the same story.¡±  Swan Mother explained, reaching her stroking arm around to Fighter¡¯s far side, she drew the woman against herself.


    ¡°Almost?¡±  Fighter inquired.


    ¡°Yes.  I was an adventurer once.  Grandmother Swan¡­ she tells lots of stories, but there¡¯s always more to that woman¡­ so nobody really knows how much of any one is even remembered by her anymore.  Rarities though, women like you.  You went willingly into the monster¡¯s lair, and that¡¯s why you were different in the hall.¡±  Swan Mother¡¯s faint smile was cast in shadows from the candle, but it was clear, with one corner turned up, she brought a hand up to Fighter¡¯s small chin and turned the woman¡¯s head to meet her eyes.


    ¡°If you can speak, you can expel the poison.  Just like how their spawn was forced out of your body, you can force their poison out of your soul.  Most¡­ they won¡¯t be able to do it.  They¡¯ll sit there in silence, work the fields, and be the walking dead until they die.  But a few, a rare few, don¡¯t hold the poison in.¡±


    ¡°Th-The poison?¡±  Fighter¡¯s guts churned with dread.  ¡°I didn¡¯t think goblins were poisonous¡­¡±


    Swan Mother froze for a moment, and a harsh laugh came out that she cut off almost as soon as it began.  ¡°No¡­ not that kind of poison.  They did¡­ terrible things to you.  And to me.  And to Grandmother Swan.  And so many others.  And those things linger here¡­¡±  Swan Mother touched the chest of Fighter, just over the heart.  Her hands were firm, but gently placed, and remained there as she went on.


    ¡°That act itself was a poison that was meant to ruin you inside, ruin who you were, Grandmother Swan might have spoken of this to you at least a bit.  In her roundabout way.  But I tell you directly, to speak of it is to deprive it of its power.  That you spoke at all, where only weeping spoke before, tells me you can do it.¡±  Swan Mother bit the words off like hard bread to be chewed up.


    ¡®You can do it.¡¯  The words sent shockwaves through Fighter¡¯s soul, and her hairs stood on end.


    ¡°What do you want me to say¡­ what should I say¡­?¡±  Fighter asked with breathless fascination, unable to turn away from the marked face of Swan Mother.


    ¡°Everything.  Tell me everything they did, in brutal detail, leave nothing out, no matter how much it hurts to say, until the moment of your rescue.¡±  Swan Mother replied, her eyes stared deeply into Fighter¡¯s own, intense, fanatical, unblinking in the light of the dancing candle.


    Like her tongue had a power and a voice and a mind all its own apart from her will, Fighter spoke.  The cave.  The ambush.  The fight.  The death.  The moment of the first one, the goblin¡¯s bloody finger tips paraded before her, her blood and tears and cries.  She spoke of it all, she left nothing out, and didn¡¯t stop except to fall into the embrace of the woman until her sobs could abate and she found the will to carry on.


    Finally she reached the part where the Grim One, the Goblin Slayer, carried her out, and in the light of day it was done.


    ¡°N-Now what.¡±  Fighter whimpered and snorted in her nose with a crude sniffle.


    ¡°Now tell me again.  The same way, in every detail.¡±  Swan Mother said without blinking at the woman.  Fighter knew her own eyes were full of tears because of how blurry Swan Mother¡¯s face had become, but even then she could see that the young woman¡¯s expression had not changed.


    ¡°Do I-¡±  Fighter began to ask, only to be cut off by the sharp nod.


    ¡°Expel the poison.¡±  Swan Mother ordered.


    And so Fighter began again, retelling the story from the moment they entered the cave, to the moment it all went wrong, to the moment Goblin Slayer and Priestess left the cave with her and the other captive women.


    When the story was told in full, Swan Mother only said, ¡°Tell it again.  Expel the poison.¡±


    And Fighter¡¯s tongue seized power for itself and spilled it all again.


    Again.


    And again.


    And again.


    She retold the story, recalled the moments, the emotions, the fear and the pain and the marks that, though they were mostly gone, still pained her with the ghost of their recollection.


    After the eighth time, Fighter finally asked, ¡°H-How long must I do this?¡±


    ¡°Until you have expelled the poison, all of it.  When you have said it so many times that your memory of their abuse becomes one of indifference, or at least, when it is no longer a thing of fear¡­ well we burned the goblins that were in your body.  This is how, with the few who have a true voice still, we burn the goblins that occupy your soul.  Now¡­ expel the poison, I will stay with you until you are ready to sleep again, and we will start again tomorrow.¡±  Swan Mother¡¯s firm hands clasped Fighter¡¯s within like a clamshell concealed the pearl within.


    ¡°This is not over for you Fighter.  Now go on.  Expel the poison.  Don¡¯t hold it in.¡±  Swan Mother stroked the back of Fighter¡¯s hand, and ignored the pain in her guts.  ¡®She really does hit like a hammer.  Perhaps¡­ Abbadar has answered our prayers with this one.¡¯  She thought, as Fighter began to speak once again.

 Chapter Seven

    Fighter sat on the bed, the mattress giving under her, but not far enough that she felt the wood beneath.  Through the window the sun marked the passing time by its rays on the floor and how far it reached to the door.  She saw, but didn¡¯t see.  And so Fighter had no idea how long she was there retelling in gruesome detail, the story of her rape by the goblin monsters she¡¯d held in such contempt.  ¡°And then the big one got on top of me when they put me on my back, I never felt such pain before¡­ and he knew it.  I saw it in his eyes¡­¡±


    Then the sobbing would start, and gentle arms enfold her in a tight grip that held her close, the faint smell of washed linen clothing, the faint scent of sacred perfume worn only by the priests and priestesses of Abbadar, and the smell and feel of ¡®clean¡¯ tainted by salty wetness that dropped into small damp off-colored spots on the blue and white clothing of Swan Mother.


    ¡°Expel the poison.¡±  Was the only thing Swan Mother uttered.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t stop till I stank so bad that even they couldn¡¯t bear it.  The smell of salted rotted meat and fear, and they just threw me aside, bored with me when they eased their lust.¡±  Fighter clenched her teeth, the memory hurt less and she¡¯d broken down only six times during that retelling.


    ¡°Expel the poison.¡±  Swan mother repeated, and the story began again.


    ¡°...Warrior¡¯s hand was still warm, I will always remember that, even cut off, my precious Warrior, his hand was so warm, I held onto it as long as I could, they didn¡¯t even notice, or if they did notice, they didn¡¯t care.  The touch of his severed hand was all I had to comfort me as one after another¡­ after another¡­ after another¡­¡±  As she said this, a dawning understanding came to the dark haired woman.


    ¡®I¡¯m not¡­ I¡¯m not crying now¡­¡¯  She stopped, and her head shot up to look into the eyes of the Swan Mother.  Her little mouth parted slightly, and for a moment she felt the grip tighten on her shoulder as Swan Mother prepared to draw her into another embrace.


    But it didn¡¯t happen.


    She glanced down at the floor, the rays of sunlight were gone from the floor and gone from the door, night had descended again over the room, over the temple, over the convent, over the sanctuary, over their world.


    ¡°How¡­ how long?¡±  Fighter asked, stammering out in half the voice she used to tell her story.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡±  Swan Mother asked, and covered Fighter¡¯s hands with her own.  ¡°Expelling the poison takes time, you have to spit it out.  Not make it part of you.¡±  She put a hand over Fighter¡¯s heart, her fingers rested lightly, pressing through the linen.  ¡°Most¡­ most will never do that.  They will try to hide it in their hearts, hide it in their minds.  The poison of the wrong done to them, the goblin poison in your heart and soul is even worse than the poisonous seed they leave inside your womb.  Some¡­ some make it so part of them that they seek out the danger again.  It defines their hungers, they seek out predators, unable to escape or heal, it is all they can do¡­ just make it part of them.  Most of those suffer till death.¡±


    She took a long look toward the window, a look that Fighter followed.  ¡°Others, others never recover in other ways, they live here, fear the outside world so much that they cannot feel safe outside these walls, or will only venture to the fields and no farther.  They tremble in dread and no matter who they were before, at the sight of a goblin, even the baby ones we kill, all they can do is cry.¡±  Swan Mother¡¯s hand reached out and up, angled toward the window where the moons hung like watching eyes looking down at them.


    Her hand moved in front of Fighter¡¯s face, blotting out her view of the giant orbs in the sky.


    ¡°Others¡­ their vision is clouded, they can¡¯t see anything, no future, no hope.  They can¡¯t bear it¡­ so they die, they die in rooms like this, and we take their bodies and give them to the earth, far from the goblin ashes.  Grandmother Swan told me all of those have happened so often that she now knows within minutes of meeting the newcomers, who we will bury, who will destroy themselves, who will hide, and who will recover.  I didn¡¯t believe her, not at first.¡±  Swan Mother let out a rueful laugh and her hand fell away.


    She shook her head, ¡°I know better than to doubt her, now.¡±


    ¡°I have a chance?¡±  Fighter asked and pursed her lips, she looked toward the heavy door.  ¡®How many are here¡­ how many will not be, in a month?¡¯  She wondered.


    Swan Mother nodded hard, several times in a row before she spoke.  ¡°Yes.  You struck back, yes against a baby goblin, but you kicked, you spoke up in a place of silence.  You are ¡®still¡¯ yourself.  Yes, they poisoned you, but look at you already.  You are expelling their rot from within, every time you tell the story, it loses a little bit of its power.  That is the difference, more than anything else, that determines whether or not you have a future.  Do you dare defy the predator¡¯s love of silent victims?  Or do you not?  Obey them, and they will victimize you again, and again, and again.  Every day they keep you from speech, they poison you and hold power over you.¡±


    Fighter felt her hairs stand on end, she blinked back tears that, for once, were not of misery and humiliation.


    ¡°What about¡­¡±  Fighter looked back and forth from the door to Swan Mother.


    Bitter eyes shimmered and fingers shook while they clenched into fists, but a voice of deep sorrow ran stark contrast to it all as Swan Mother replied, ¡°The rest?  Most, all we can do, is wait.  We try sometimes, but it only slows the process down.  Some will not speak for twenty years of the days that ruined their lives.  Some will never speak, and hold the memory in them until they die, wrinkled, old, and still in the power of goblins that may have died years before.¡±


    Fighter felt her instincts tingle as the woman answered.  ¡®There is more to this.¡¯  She looked away from the woman, down to her bed, ¡°Say you¡¯re right¡­ what do you want from me?  What can I do?¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡®You can do it!¡¯  The dead man¡¯s voice echoed in her mind again.


    ¡°For now, you can rest.  You¡¯ve said enough.¡±  Swan Mother slowly rose to her feet.  ¡°Tomorrow I will come again.  Or Grandmother Swan.  When the poison is expelled from your heart, when your eyes are dry and their rape of your body has lost its power as much as it ever does¡­ then, then you can worry about what else you can do here, if you want.¡±


    The voice of the woman was insistent, and her actions far quicker than Fighter expected, Swan Mother was halfway to the door before Fighter could even blink twice.


    ¡°A-Alright.  Do you think¡­ do you think my nightmares¡­?¡±  Fighter looked at her, the bright light of the moon coated half of Swan Mother¡¯s body, but her bust was wreathed in shadows of the night.


    ¡°Nobody can answer that, but if you dream nightmares, you will wake up again, and they will be dead again, and we will work again tomorrow.  You may never be who you were before, Fighter.  But you are Fighter.  And you can still be who you want to be, if you set your mind to it.¡±  Swan Mother went to the door and closed it behind her.


    The door closed with a faint ¡®click¡¯ and Fighter closed her eyes, and the last words she heard were in her head again, ¡®You can do it!¡¯  Her father shouted to her from the past.


    And she knew nothing more until she awoke.


    What woke her was a wrinkled hand on her shoulder, ¡°It¡¯s time, my dear, it¡¯s time.¡±


    Grandmother Swan¡¯s creaky voice uttered.  Fighter slowly sat up, what she dreamed, she couldn¡¯t recall, she rubbed her sleepy eyes with balled up hands, and saw the faint light on the stone floor of her little room.  ¡°Are we going somewhere¡­?¡±  She asked.  A yawn formed in spite of her best efforts, but felt wonderful at the same time.


    Grandmother Swan shook her head, ¡°No, no we are staying here.  I am going to listen to you, and let you expel the poison.  Swan Mother is doing my duties today, she can run the temple.  You can remain here, with me.¡±


    A wrinkled smile formed on the aged face, but the grip in her left hand on her staff was firm even at a glance.


    Fighter sat up, gnawing at her lip from the ugly prospect, the creaky fingers of the gentle touch were patient, but in the faint shadow from the still not fully lit room, they were like gnarled branches of trees.  A dim memory from long ago stirred in her mind.  ¡®Father, I don¡¯t want to go into the forest at night¡­¡¯  Little Fighter said and stamped her foot.


    ¡®Why not?¡¯  he asked from far above her, looking down into her stubborn eyes.  She balled her tiny fists up and answered.


    ¡®Because the trees will get me!¡¯  She gave her answer in the kind of serious voice only very serious little girls could use.


    ¡®What?¡¯  He¡¯d asked.


    ¡®The trees will get me!¡¯  She insisted and pointed to the many thin branches and their dead, leafless limbs looking like skeletal arms reaching out.  ¡®They may look like just trees!  But they¡¯re monsters!  Monsters!  I don¡¯t want them to get me!¡¯  Little girl tears filled her youthful eyes.


    Her father laughed a deep belly laugh, ¡®That¡¯s the only time to get moonberries.  So either you want moonberry pie, or you don¡¯t, but if you want the pie, you have to get the berries.  And those trees aren¡¯t monsters.  They¡¯re only scary because it¡¯s night, they¡¯re the same trees at both times of the day, no matter what they look like.  A monster is a monster in the day, a tree is a tree in the shadows.  Now do you want moonberry pie or don¡¯t you, Fighter?¡¯  He crouched down, tussled her dark hair while she pouted her lips and pronounced¡­


    ¡®Pie!¡¯


    ¡®Then go on in there tonight, you know the patch, and grab the berries, then come on back and tomorrow we¡¯ll make a pie.  Go on, you can do it!¡¯  He tapped her nose with his forefinger, and she did exactly that.  Just as he predicted, no trees tried to get her.


    She came back to herself from the memory, and tried to ignore the reaching shadowy hand of the old woman, and began to speak again.


    ¡°...The weight of the goblins when they held me down, it was worse because any one of them, I could have handled.  But any time I tried, the big one, the hob, just hit me again.  I stopped fighting.  I¡¯m ¡®Fighter¡¯ and I stopped fighting¡­¡±


    This time, Fighter watched the light creep over the floor, minding the time as she retold the story to the old woman.


    Unlike Swan Mother, Grandmother Swan said a bit more.  ¡°Yes.  Take away their power.  Take back yourself, and then you can take revenge.¡±


    She never explained her thoughts of revenge, but Fighter did as she was bade, repeated it again and again while the light crept over the stone, so intently was she speaking that she never gave a thought to hunger until Swan Mother appeared at the door with a tray of bread, some thick sliced pieces of beef, some cheese, and a simple wooden cup with a pitcher of water.


    Fighter ate slowly, the flavor of cheese was rich, and paired well with the bread and well cooked meat.  She held the cup in both hands and drank greedily when Grandmother Swan poured for her, the sound of clear clean water sloshing into the cup was the only one in the room for several minutes as Fighter drank one refill after another to sate her already dry and cracking throat.


    Then it went on again.  She watched and minded the passing hours until the light rose along the wall and began to disappear.


    That was how the next few days went, with Grandmother Swan or Swan Mother coming to her alone, though how many days it was, Fighter lost track.


    Until the day she told the story¡­ and not a single tear fell.


    Fighter didn¡¯t notice it.  Not at first.


    Not until Swan Mother got up from the bed, it let out a low creaking noise, and she stood in front of the young dark haired woman.  ¡°You did it.¡±  She said with a faint smile.


    ¡°I¡­¡±  Fighter reached up, and touched her eyes, they were dry, her fingers traced her cheeks, they were dry.  She looked at Swan Mother¡¯s clothing, the white and blue had no spots where salty tears had briefly darkened their shade, and she checked herself and found her linen clothing equally dry.


    Swan Mother leaned forward and rested her hands on Fighter¡¯s shoulders.  The slender woman¡¯s hands tightened where she held Fighter, ¡°This does not mean you¡¯re ¡®well¡¯.  It doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s over.  In some ways, maybe it never is.  The only real victory is no longer letting it control you, it is in taking back what power they had over you, Fighter.  And that¡­ that leads to the next thing to know.¡±


    Fighter¡¯s eyes went up with brimming expectation as she listened, she asked nothing, but waited instead for Swan Mother to speak.


    ¡°You wanted to know before about how you could help.  Today, today we begin to show you.  We begin to teach you another lesson of this place, and how we¡­ we who were the victims of goblins¡­ punish them for what they do.¡±


    Fighter¡¯s pulse began to race.


    ¡°Kill goblins?¡±  She asked.


    ¡°If you hate them enough.  And you want to.  Do you?¡±  Swan Mother asked with a cocking of her head and a knowing smile.


    ¡°Yes, yes I do.¡±  Fighter answered, with not a tear falling from her eyes.


    ¡°Then come with me to the inner temple, the place where we worship Abbadar.  But¡­¡±  Swan Mother took her hands from Fighter¡¯s shoulders and straightened up.


    ¡°But?¡±  Fighter asked, not yet standing.


    Swan Mother¡¯s right hand rested on her hip, and her left hand went toward Fighter¡¯s face, her index finger raised and the rest into a fist.  ¡°But only¡­ only if you¡¯re ready to do what it takes, and kill more than just their babies.  Are you sure you¡¯re ready?¡±


    Fighter stood slowly to her feet and looked through hard steel blue eyes at Swan Mother.  ¡°I am.  For Wizard.  For Warrior.  And for me.¡±


    Swan Mother didn¡¯t reply except by walking to the door of Fighter¡¯s room, and Fighter was only a step behind her, and as she passed the heavy oaken beams that made up her door frame, she heard that much loved voice whisper again, ¡®You can do it!¡¯

 Chapter Eight

    Fighter looked at the candle that cast its shadows about the little space it illuminated.  There were many half burnt candle sticks about, but tonight only one was lit.  Fighter sat up on her bed and watched the twin moons pass through the window beyond, the green glow she hated most of all, and she recalled the story of the goblin home there.  She stared up at it and reached to the alcove where the candle sat.


    The soft warm wax molded easily to the pressure of her fingers and she held it aloft in front of her, so that the candle flame loomed larger than the distant moons.  She dropped the candle, it landed with a soft ¡®smack¡¯ noise, and Fighter lifted her bare foot.  She snarled at the green in the sky and stomped the light of the candle out, heedless of the flame¡¯s brief moment of caressing her skin.  The wax splattered or scattered around.


    Fighter however, gave it no heed.  She had eyes only for the moons.  ¡°You took turns on me, over and over while I held the severed hand of my lover.  You held me down, you beat me.  You dropped your seed in me, all of you until I stank of it and of you.  But I know the truth, you green skinned bugs.¡±  Fighter spat every word without a tear, only venomous hatred poured out instead.  Her fist clenched violently tight and it came up to take the space between her eyes and the moon where the candle had been before.


    ¡°You need us, and you¡¯re terrified of us.  Without the hob, I¡¯d have easily killed you all, maybe Warrior would have still died, maybe Wizard couldn¡¯t be saved.  But without that Hob, you were my prey, not the other way around!  Even while you made me cry and wail and scream, I never begged.  I killed your seed here in this temple, like I killed your kind before.  You can¡¯t have me anymore!¡±


    She shouted out to the green moon that stories told her sent the goblins to her world as a plague.


    The darkness of her room was partially cast off by the light of the two moons, and she turned away, putting her back to them before going to the door.  She flung it open, stepped into the hall which had no light, and began to walk.


    ¡®This hall is always lit¡­ now?¡¯  She had cause to wonder, and briefly the memory returned of the cave in which her life had been destroyed.  In that brief moment, she feared the dark, the shadows and the feel of goblin hips and a rod of goblin flesh slapping against and into herself again and again.  Fighter froze where she stood, her heart raced like wild horses over the plains.


    But then it began to slow down.  The rising fear crested like a high wave, and began to diminish, it was less, and less, and less, until she could move again.  She stepped forward into the pitch black, the stone halls in all their darkness that had briefly made her tremble, lost their power.  A faint unpleasant memory remained, but Fighter put one foot before the other.  Her feat with the great double door meant for six to manage but which had submitted to her strength, the approving eyes of Abbadar over her as she worked¡­ it conspired to strengthen her resolve.


    Her steps, first slow and hesitant, her back hunched and watchful as if she were a thief in the night, changed.  She began to straighten up, the falling of her foot went faster and faster.  ¡®You can do it!¡¯  A voice called out in her head, her proud father¡¯s face smiled at her ten thousand times when saying those words, and though his body was gone, his spirit lingered on in her will¡­


    To take¡­


    One¡­.


    More¡­


    Step¡­


    Until she¡¯d taken them all without even knowing it, she walked with her back straight and eyes clear until she was at the great silver doors bedecked in their richness and artistry.


    But the eyes of Abbadar depicted on the doors were not the only eyes staring back at her.  Grandmother Swan stood waiting, and with her, the Swan Mother.


    They waited bedecked not in their customary white, but in a rich deep black as deep in its darkness as a slab of obsidian.  They had their hands folded down before themselves, and each bowed their head in slow warmth.  They were illuminated on either side by a pair of candles in alcoves, and the shadows danced over them all and made the silver door to shine with light and dance with shadows cast by their bodies.


    ¡°We knew you would come, there was never any doubt for us.¡±  Grandmother Swan said with a wrinkled smile on her face.


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    ¡°No, not even a little.¡±  Swan Mother echoed, her hair hung low behind her back and it swayed slightly when she bowed, it shone brightly, reflecting the golden light and her more youthful smile was a mirror of the old woman to her right.


    ¡°I had no choice, I had to.¡±  Fighter said in a still, small voice that echoed with the steel resolve that had once made her train relentlessly under her father.


    Grandmother Swan¡¯s creaky, weary voice spoke of the depths of her great age, though she seemed to be strong of limb, a weariness underlay her words that was almost greater than the venom of her hatred for goblins.  ¡°Then it is time you know the truth.  Before we go within.  The worship of Abbadar is not all warmth, love, and light.  There is a darker side, a side of sacrifice.  You may have heard how the goblins have sometimes sacrificed women in their grim rituals¡­ but they¡­ they are not alone in what they do.  We sacrifice dark creatures to provide Abbadar¡¯s blessings.  That is why I pray in shadow, all who recover as you have, all who make it as far as you do, make a choice.  My choice, to savor Abbadar¡¯s darkness, and sacrifice the dark creatures, making potions from their blood and fertilizer of their flesh, preserving what life energy we can as mana to help adventurers.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I follow Abbadar¡¯s light¡­ I respect the darkness, but I am not¡­ not suited to that.  It¡¯s why it was I who drew you from the cart¡­¡± Swan Mother said and held out a hand toward Fighter, while pressing the other against her own breast.  ¡°I¡­ yes, hate them, but I want only to heal those who come here, far more than I want revenge for what was done to me.  When we pass through this door, you will make the choice of which path to pursue.  Abbadar¡¯s light, or Abbadar¡¯s darkness, nobody will tell you what is right for you.  To kill goblins, or to heal humans¡­ both are necessary tasks and even the great Saint Slayer will not argue.¡±


    ¡°How¡­ How do I choose?  And what comes after?¡±  Fighter asked, her eyes widened, she felt the pressure settling over her that mimicked the day of her father¡¯s passing.


    Grandmother Swan reached within the sleeve of her robes and drew from it a black obsidian knife.  She extended it toward Fighter with the pommel first.


    Grandmother Swan¡¯s voice carried on, creaky but inexorable, soft, yet unflinching.  Like flowing water, her words washed over Fighter¡¯s spirit, and the younger woman could not help but hang on every word.


    ¡°When we pass within, you will see an altar, on that altar you will see a full grown goblin.  It will be chained, it will be helpless.  If you wish to follow the black, sheath it in the goblin¡¯s heart.  If you wish to follow the light, there is a sheath of leather as well.  Sheath it in the black leather instead if you wish to follow Abbadar¡¯s light.  If you choose the dark, you will be under my lone instruction as my replacement instead of Swan Mother.  If however, you choose the light side, then you will train under Swan Mother.  She will follow me as head of this temple, and when I die, and she takes my place¡­ you will become Swan Mother, as she becomes Grandmother Swan.  So it has always been, my child.¡±  Grandmother Swan took Fighter¡¯s shoulder in her free hand, her long staff tapped the stone lightly while Fighter stared down at the blade.


    ¡°Whatever you choose¡­ as a final consequence, I remind you that there is no going back from it without leaving here entirely.  Abbadar does not allow another roll of the dice.  If you are in his shadow, you are there until death, and if you are in his light, it is the same.  Whatever your choice, once you make it, you will have to live with it for the rest of your natural life.¡±  Grandmother Swan squeezed lightly once and turned around, as did Swan Mother with her.


    From beyond, the doors began to open, Fighter heard the faint sound of multiple women struggling to open the way, as soon as the doors parted, she heard the faint crackling yowl of a goblin struggling in its bonds.  It bucked and arched its back, the long ugly green nose inhaling the scent of the room.  Its wild eyes staring around uncomprehendingly.  ¡®It wants to rape us all¡­ it hates this place and wants to defile it, defile us.¡¯  Fighter knew it immediately, the little green thing was naked, which was how she quickly saw as she approached the altar, that it had already been deprived of its favorite weapon between its legs.


    It whimpered when it found itself staring up at Fighter¡¯s eyes, ¡®Are those noises ¡®words¡¯?  Or just growls and mewls like a dog or a cat might make?¡¯  Fighter wasn¡¯t sure, Within the room, there were other women dressed in black, but also there were women in white, black swans, white swans, and a moment more, Grandmother Swan and Swan Mother were on the opposite side of the grey granite altar.  Behind them stood the towering statue of Abbadar.  Fighter looked up at the great glass windows and the depictions of paradise and destruction.


    Torches in the room sparked and cast orange light about the sacred place of worship, the incantations of Abbadar¡¯s faithful of black and white alike were intoned together as one.


    The surrealness of it all hit her like a fist to the gut.  Like the moment she realized her warrior was dead and would never be again.  That a lifetime of dreams had been cut down because of a jutting stone in the darkness of the cave that caught the boy unawares and disarmed him before his foes.


    Her thoughts were grim and many, fear, loathing, hope, longing, all ran through her heart, and below her gaze a goblin groveled in the most servile, whimpering voice the little monster had for its own.  As she looked at it, it was a pathetic little thing, it would die no matter what choice she made¡­ but her choice could offer it a reprieve of a few minutes life at least.


    ¡®Isn¡¯t that what the last king said as he lay dying?  All my kingdom for one more hour of life?  And here I can grant that to this pathetic wretch¡­ or not.¡¯  Fighter thought and cradled the blade like a newborn, the sharp edge left tiny painless nicks on her skin from which tiny bits of red were exposed.


    ¡®The knife before me¡­ the handle toward my hand.  One thrust, the deed is done, my life rewritten again¡­ leather sheath or flesh sheath¡­ the choice is mine.¡¯  Fighter looked down at her as the incantations rose higher and higher. ¡°Can I heal the wounded?  Can I take vengeance for the wounds?  What can I do?  What can¡¯t I do¡­?¡¯  She wondered and wondered as doubt whirled and raged like a torrent, like the great storms that bent or broke mighty trees in the forest she once played in with a young Warrior.


    ¡®You can do it!¡¯  The voice of the lost shouted from the mists of time and memory, calling her to find her way.


    Fighter held up the knife, ¡°I can do it!¡±  She shouted, and Fighter¡­ Sheathed the blade.


    The next time she heard that voice from the deep recesses of the beyond, she did not passively listen.  She answered back.:


    ¡®You¡¯re right dad.  You were always right.  I can do it.¡¯


    And for the rest of her life, she did.