When Night Falls

part iii| xxviii

THE LAND OF THE IN-BETWEEN is thick with mist that shrouds the darker creatures within it. The goblins dancing around a fire have their shadows shortening and lengthening across the solidity of the mist. Perhaps that's just how magic is. They're all anticipating the swish of robes inside the tunnel and the sharp gaze of a man who should have been claimed by death but isn't.

"Which child has the Tsar left us?" One of the goblins asks, its twig-like arms waving through the mist. "Is it a girl or a boy or-"

Another one cuts him off midway, "-how I'd love for a little girl today."

The group of creatures huddle closer as they circle around the flames. "Remember that one who escaped her fate? Why did the Tsar save the dying woman's child? Should've left her by the edge tsk so she'd be in our bellies."

"And now she plays a Tsarina in the land of the dead!"

"She's no Tsarina. That's our food."

Helga and Olga along with Dmitri have learnt the path of the In-Between now as they crouch beneath the curtain of mist. The bat looks visibly disturbed, and he cannot make out the expressions of his companions but guesses that they aren't fond of these other goblins. "Do you eat–"

"Ssh," Olga mutters. 

"That fool Collector keeps the false Tsarina in a mansion of ice." Chuckles pass around, and the trio from the land of the dead feel anything but welcome. "The Tsar wanted a puppet Collector and he thought that the girl would become one. She'd owe him her life and do his bidding."

"And he's having a tough time now with a Collector he knows nothing about and cannot control. Our Tsar is smart but the other fool took on this debt instead. That false Tsarina has years and years in the land of the dead without doing anything."

The goblins hop and hop and dance and twirl around the large fire. It is the strangest thing ever seen. And if it wasn't for the fact that Olga, Helga, and Dmitri had learned their path through the In-Between since their last visit, they would have been clouded by a mist and been lost. The trio keeps a close watch, letting all the words sink in through them. Mistress Anitchka had guessed the reason behind the deal right. Shielding her from the clutches of death would mean that the Tsar would have knocked at her door that night, forgone permission, and stolen her to place the mantle of a Collector's deal-making on her neck. Then, he'd be Kingmaker, pull her strings, and continue the loop of saving children to make them Collectors who would be under his thumb.

Dmitri shifts uncomfortably. "I think that's enough."

For once, Olga and Helga agree. They pass through the dense fog, their steps light and inaudible compared to the boisterous goblin chatter. Helga shivers as she recalls the time they were trapped. Goblin girls shouldn't be fearing the dark, and certainly not other goblins, but the thought of some of her kind devouring humans is frightening. She convinces herself that she's not like them. She's not. "This way," she speaks finally, "I can see the tunnel towards our land."

As they lean in towards a harsh wind studded with ice, Olga turns towards her sister. The two, with their bone masks, have nearly forgotten what the other looks like. Neither remembers why they had to don it but as long as it was known, it has been customary of the mansion's personal goblins to wear it as a mark. It separates them from the wilder, stray goblins of the forest and the In-Between. "You hate them," Olga whispers, her feet dipping into the snow. "It's strange, isn't it? We were all supposed to be similar."

Helga eyes her, casting a brief look at Dmitri who has taken to flying. "I'm glad we are not."

The dark peaks of the mansion are in view soon, its elegance and opulence untouched. Its pointed edges caress the greys of the skies as it showers crystals of hail on them. Winter, winter, and more winter still. They should have all tired from it, but the land of the dead knows nothing else anymore. In the depths of this endless cruelty, the bones of the dead had steeled themselves a home. And if Helga isn't wrong, she had begun sensing a shift in the Mistress of the mansion's mannerisms. The girl had been plucked from starvation and pulled into a world of darker beings and creatures. When she spoke of it now, though, Helga felt something. As though Mistress Anitchka, in her robes of the deepest blues and darkest blacks, has breathed in the scent of winter. Perhaps, she dreads its end too.

Before entering the door of the place, Helga raises her head to the unknown expanse above. What will the first rays of the sun feel on her? She's heard it is as beautiful as the gold running from Mistress Anitchka's fingertips.

"We have to tell Bones everything," Dmitri urges, settling on the floor of the kitchen. A kikimora scuttles behind the stove hurriedly.

"Let's head to the Count's library," Helga mutters, and pulls her sister closer, "You didn't answer me Olga . . . we're glad to not be like them. Right?"

Even the cold does not chill the goblin as much as the silence does.

a/n: three more chapters to go (i think) because i have the idea on how this is supposed to take off from here. how have you all been? i'm so familiar with staying at home now that i'm almost reluctant to start venturing outside and actually attend things.