The Goblin's Throne

Chapter Eighteen: A Feast For Monsters

My bare feet slipped and squelched in dark ankle deep mud as I trudged through The Hollow's silent forest. All around me the young worlds towered, reaching towards but never breaking the surface of existence. I wore the skeletal gown I'd worn to my first Midsummer. The mud soaked and clung to the smokey skirt, weighing me down. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood and with each step, the scent grew stronger as if my steps stirred ashes rather than mud. How many goblin princes had been burned since The Hollow spat the living peoples forth that the very earth was made of their ashes. Though the thought chilled my guts, I pushed forward without pause towards The Hollow's open wound. 

Within its hollow chamber, sitting at the center of the arena was our dining table set for two, a chair at each end. I sat at one end, sinking into the familiar chair. The table boasted its usual spread of decadent morsels from roasted chicken and fresh bread and cheese to every pastry one could imagine. It was all food I loved, food I'd been denied in childhood and longed to taste. The food smelled deliciously sweet, but though my mouth watered and my belly ached, I made no move to fill my plate. I slouched in my chair, my hands clasping my armrests. 

That was when the shouting started. Four figures gathered around me, two on each side. They argued and roared at each other, jabbing accusatory fingers. I'd seen a glimpse of this scene before, back in The Boughs when we readied Tova's niece for her Binding, but the figures were clearer now. They remained in shadow, dark silhouettes against the golden glow of the candles at the table's center. However, their forms were more distinct. I could even tell the shapes of their bodies, the outline of their clothing and the style of their hair. Only the fourth figure remained a blurry indistinct mass. Like their forms, their voices too were clearer, each one carrying a different tone and pitch. 

The one nearest me was tall and broad with what seemed to a be a braid dangling at his back. His voice was low and rumbly, yet held a softness to it even while he shouted, mostly at the one furthest away from me on the other side of the table. This one with the most human shape jabbed its finger towards me and shouted louder than all the rest. The smallest of the visible three stood at his side, echoing his shouts with curled, ready claws. At a glance the small one, just as tall as the one beside him, but more slender and sharp-edged, at first made my heart skip a beat, he looked so much like Knut, but then I listened to the voice bursting rapidly from his unseen mouth and realized I was wrong. The accent was different, the tone slightly higher with a near constant snarl to it that I found awfully familiar. It wasn't Knut. It was Odd. With his bulk and gentle voice, the one beside me had to be Floki. I reached over to take his big hand, to feel his warmth, but my fingers passed right through him. The blurry shadow lingered silently beside Floki, watching the fight unfold the same as I. Something about it seemed foreign to me. I knew the rest, but this one seemed like a stranger. I reasoned that it must be the child I had not yet birthed or at least the son I'd never gotten to know, which meant that the one screaming at me with such frustration and anger...was Frit. 

I felt my heart surge, throwing itself against my ribs as a wave of deep despair crashed over me. Even though I could not understand what he shouted, even though this was a dream, I felt the harsh words slice right through me down to the bone. "Frit, I'm sorry! Whatever I did, please, forgive me!" I pleaded, tears pricking my eyes, blurring my vision. I leaned forward to jump out of my seat and hurl myself over the table to him, but I felt something wrap itself around my middle and arms, tying me fast to the chair. When I looked to see what it was, I let out a long dreadful screech. A black snake wound around me like a rope. It tightened and tightened until I could scarcely breathe, then bit its own tail to lock itself in place, ensuring that I could not even move a muscle. The food laid out before me changed, morphing into the severed heads of people I had known, but were either dead or most likely dead because of me.