Chapter 17

We left the plains behind as the land rose into wooded hills. Pines crowded closer together, their needles dark against a pale sky, and beyond them, jagged mountain peaks cut the horizon, their crowns white with snow. The air grew steadily colder, and soon we were waking to frost clinging to grass and tents alike.

Reedwatch came into view a few days later. It was larger than Redwind, but still fell short of a true town like Wolfsend. The village sat atop a broad hill, its buildings clustered together without walls or palisades, as if trusting height and distance to keep danger at bay. The homes were built from pine logs, their ends neatly flattened - trees felled with saws, not axes.

Goblins made up the bulk of the population, with smaller numbers of humans and naga mixed in. Their clothing was unlike anything we’d seen so far.

The men wore thick, goat skin vests and snug shorts that emphasized their… endowments, paired with knee-high boots that matched the vests. The women wore heavy cloaks of leather and cotton, their breasts bare beneath them, short suede skirts hugging their hips, and tall, fur-lined boots like the men’s. Children darted between buildings in oversized coats and long trousers, bundled against the cold.

Mirri grinned so wide I thought her face might split as we passed through the village center. More than any place we’d been, Reedwatch felt organic - chaotic in a way that was clearly intentional. There was no obvious marketplace, no straight roads, no neat rows of houses. Buildings sat at odd angles, shops pressed up against homes, paths winding where people had walked often enough to make them paths.

At the far northern edge of the village, Mirri led us to a short, squat, single-story home encircled by a low fence. Chickens scratched at the dirt while goats wandered freely through the yard. Two carved poles flanked the front door, their painted faces twisted into grinning, demonic visages. Above the door was a mural: on one side, a woman’s face formed of living flame; on the other, icy mountains shaped into a feminine silhouette. Between them stood three figures - a tall green woman, a tall orange-haired man, and a shorter gray woman, all hand in hand on the edge of a lake, with the sun and moon painted overhead.

Mirri didn’t hesitate. She opened the door and stepped down into the house, calling out, “Grams! I’m back!”

We followed after she waved us in. The floor dipped below ground level and the sloped roof made the interior feel larger than the house looked from outside. A door straight ahead led to the backyard, while two more doors opened deeper into the home on either side.

An older goblin woman emerged from the door on the right. Her skin was gray and weathered, her white hair pulled into a messy bun, and her face creased with warmth and life. Like the other women in the village, she was topless, though her skirt was longer, falling to her knees. She was tall for a goblin, sturdy and solid, and carried herself with the easy authority of someone who knew exactly who she was. She possessed the traditional… assets associated with her race.

“Mirri!” she cried, sweeping her granddaughter into a flurry of hugs and kisses. “It’s been far too long! I’m so glad you’re back.” She pulled away just enough to look past Mirri at the rest of us. “And who are these fine folk you’ve brought home?”

“These are my friends, Grams!” Mirri said, beaming. “This is Ashlara. And Serah.” Then she grabbed my hand and yanked me forward. “And this is Seth,” she added proudly. “He’s a Nomad!”

Her grandmother fixed me with a sharp, appraising stare before her expression softened into a smile as she addressed the group. “It’s lovely to meet you all. Make yourselves comfortable - I’ll put the kettle on.” Then her tone snapped hard as flint. “You. Come with me.”

Before I could react, she reached up, grabbed my ear, and dragged me through the door she’d come from.

Behind us, as the door swung shut, I heard Mirri squeal, “I’m so excited!”

* * *

“Sit,” she ordered, already filling a kettle with water.

The room was a kitchen, its walls lined with shelves crammed full of jars and bundles. A plain wooden table with four equally plain chairs sat off to one side. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, filling the air with a sharp, floral tang. A hearth along the back wall provided both heat and a place to cook. In the corner, a young goat stood penned behind a short barrier.

“Ma’am, I think-”

“I said sit, or I’ll castrate you.” She reached up to a shelf, pulled down a mortar and pestle, and set it roughly on the table.

I wanted - very badly - to make a good impression for Mirri. So I reached for the back of a chair, ready to do as the kindly old woman instructed. She was just worried about her granddaughter, I told myself.

Then the goat bleated. It was a strangled, panicked sound. I almost ignored it - almost - but something dark beneath the goat’s white coat caught my eye. A metal clamp cinched tight around its scrotum, shriveled and black.

She was… neutering it.

My ass hit the chair so hard it groaned in protest.

The goblin woman gathered herbs from several jars and canisters, slamming them back onto the shelves as she dropped their contents into the mortar. Several long, uncomfortable minutes passed in silence. Eventually she returned to the table and began crushing the herbs with steady, practiced motions.

“Knock, knock,” she said flatly, her eyes never leaving me.

“What?” I asked.

She slapped me so fast I barely registered the movement. “I said, ‘knock, knock.’”

I clutched my stinging cheek. “Who’s there?” I ventured.

“See you later, alligator.”

“See you later, alligator… who?” Another slap cracked across my face.

“Ow! Stop hitting me!” I yelped.

“See you later. Alligator.” Her voice was sharp, venomous.

I stared at her, utterly lost. What kind of joke was this? “After while… crocodile?”

She stopped grinding the herbs. “What are your intentions for my granddaughter?” Her tone went flat and cold.

“I don’t know that one!” I blurted, throwing my hands up to shield my face.

“Relax.” She snorted softly. “I’m sure you’re a Nomad by now. What I wanna know is what your intentions are for my granddaughter.”

I peeked out between my fingers, bracing for another blow, but her attention had returned to the mortar. “I… um… I really like Mirri.”

“Are you fucking?” she asked bluntly.

“What?” I flinched as she glanced at me. “I- no. I mean… she wants to, but… it’s complicated.”

“How complicated can it be? You’re a boy, she’s a girl. You’ve got a dick, don’t you?”

“I- yes, but… look, it’s complicated. I haven’t dated in… a long time. And I’m… technically married, and-”

“So?” she cut in. “What does any of that have to do with sex?”

“Are you… asking me to have sex with Mirri?” I asked, completely bewildered.

“I’m an old woman,” she said matter-of-factly. “I want great-grandchildren while I’m still alive to spoil them.”

I blinked. “You know… you know Mirri’s barren, right?” My voice cracked. The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

She didn’t even pause. “I’m the one who discovered it. I’m the shaman here. Caring for the tribe’s health is my job.”

“Then how is she supposed to give you great-grandchildren?” I asked, more confused than ever.

“I had a vision,” she said calmly. “She’d have children. With a Nomad. I didn’t get a clear look at him, so I needed to be sure it was you.”

“How can you be sure?” I frowned. I’d never put much stock in visions or prophecies - but this world played by different rules.

“Mirri,” she replied simply. “Did you notice the painting above the door when you came in?”

“The one with the fire woman and the ice woman?”

“That’s the one. Mirri painted it when she was twelve. Did you notice anything odd about the man?”

“Orange hair?” I guessed.

“Exactly.” She gave a sharp nod. “Even if I didn’t see you clearly in my vision, she did in hers. And that’s good enough for me.”

The kettle on the hearth began to whistle.

“So that’s the plan,” she said calmly. “You knock her up, I get great-grandchildren, she becomes shaman, and we all live happily ever after.”

“Wait,” I said. “Why does Mirri need kids to become shaman?”

The older woman glanced toward the door behind me. “Didn’t she tell you any of this?” She sighed, long and tired. “That’s how it works with goblins. If you don’t give, you don’t get. No children and you’re nothing. No home. No shop. No standing. You don’t get to be shaman or matron or anything else. You’re an outcast.”

“Is that why the other goblins don’t like her?”

“They assume that because she’s… different, she can’t have children. In this case, they happen to be right.” She fixed me with a hard stare. “That’s why she left. To find you. So she could come home.”

“You kicked her out?” I nearly shouted.

“Not me,” she said sharply. “I wanted her to stay. But the council of matrons exiled her, and the council’s word is law.”

Something dark crossed her face - sadness, regret, maybe guilt - but it vanished almost immediately. She turned to a cabinet, pulled out several cups, and set them on a tray.

“Grab the kettle, young man,” she said, lifting the tray. “And if you tell Mirri I hit you, she’ll need to find herself a new Nomad.”

With that, she left the kitchen.

I sat at the small, plain table for several long moments, replaying everything she’d said. Mirri was an exile because she was barren. And somehow, I was supposed to get her pregnant.

Was there magic that could fix that? If there was, how would I even begin to find it? And… did I even want children?

Technically, I already had a daughter. Though if I was being honest, Emily had always been Jennifer’s daughter. Still, I’d been there through her teenage years. Did that count? It hadn’t gone well.

Could I be a good father? Did I even know what that meant?

Once again, everything was moving too fast. My life felt like it was spinning out of control. The expectations. The responsibility. The weight of it all pressed down on me until it felt hard to breathe.

“The water will be ready in a second,” Mirri’s Grams called from the other room.

I took a deep breath.

I had to do this. For Mirri. This would let her go home. This would make her happy. Somehow, some way, I needed to figure out how to fix this.

I stood slowly, picked up the kettle, and headed back into the main room.

‘When shit needs to get done, you get it done.’