“Very soon.”
“How soon?”
“By morning.”
“No.” The goblin shook its head.
Chandra frowned. “Why not?”
“No morning.”
“What?”
“Morning never come,” Jurl said. “Not here.”
After some discussion, Chandra guessed that Prince Velrav was some sort of necromancer who had pulled a veil of eternal night across this plane. There was presumably a good reason for this, but Jurl didn’t know what it was. Nor did Jurl remember an era when things had been different, so this had apparently been going on for quite some time.
When Chandra asked how long the trees had been naked and dying, he said, “Always.”
She supposed perpetual darkness explained why they were dying. And black magic probably explained why they were dying so slowly that, as far back as Jurl could remember, they had looked exactly the way they looked right now.
But it was possible that this was just what normal trees looked like on the dark plane of Diraden, swamped in black magic and ruled by a demented mage who occasionally had his subjects captured and brought back to his castle to satisfy “hunger.” Jurl seemed to know no more than that about the “taking” of various individuals over the years; nor did he seem to think anything more needed to be known about it.
A goblin’s life revolved around pretty simple interests, after all: hunt, eat, drink, reproduce, make merry, fight, kill, be killed. It seldom got more complicated than that.
It was a welcome relief that the water that Jurl led her to wasn’t far away. They passed through a moonlit copse of tall, thin, trees with thick, spidery roots that had snaked across the surface of ground, covering the path in long, lumpy twists of rotting wood and thick, sickly vines. Beyond the wood, they came to a lagoon. Silvery light from the moon glinted off the still surface of the water, which was rimmed by a dense thicket of vegetation.
Chandra surveyed the sinister-looking pool of water. “How long have you been coming here?”
“Always.”
Because some species of goblin matured fast, growing to adulthood within a couple of years of their birth, “always” might only mean a year or two. On the other hand, some goblins lived a very long time. Chandra was unsure which category Jurl fell into, but couldn’t bring herself to ask.
“Water good,” Jurl said encouragingly. He lay face down beside the lagoon, stuck his head into the water, and began drinking.
Chandra walked a few judicious steps away from his noisy gulping, then knelt down, reached a cupped hand into the lagoon, and scooped up a small quantity of water, which she studied in the moonlight. It was clear and cold. When she brought it close to her nose, it had no odor. She bent over her hand to cautiously take a sip. It tasted fine.
With a shaky sigh of relief, she lay face down at the edge of the lagoon, bracing her hands by her shoulders, and drank her fill. After slaking her thirst, she rested briefly, then drank some more. When she was done, she realized how dehydrated she had been. Already, thanks to the water, Chandra’s thoughts felt clearer, her body more responsive, her senses sharper. She was still tired, but she was in complete command of herself again.
Suddenly, the goblin made a hissing sound.
Chandra glanced at him and saw that he was frozen in position and staring across the lagoon. She followed his gaze, but she didn’t see anything, which wasn’t surprising. Jurl’s eyes were probably better accustomed to this dim light than hers.
She whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Bog Wraith,” the goblin growled. “Bad.”
Chandra froze, peering into the darkness and trying to see the creature that Jurl saw. “Is that what takes people?”
“No. Can’t take. Can tell.”
“Can tell?” Chandra repeated. “It will tell its master it saw us here?”
“Yes.”
And presumably its master was Prince Velrav. “Great.”
“Kill,” said Jurl.
“Kill it? I can’t even see it.”
“There.” One long, lumpy arm pointed to a twisted tree that leaned out over the water, its barren branches touching the surface of the lagoon.
Staring hard, Chandra was able to make out something that looked like pale white skin gleaming in the moonlight. Then she realized that some of the shapes she had assumed were branches were actually the long, dark tendrils of the Bog Wraith’s hair, floating eerily in the still air. The creature itself floated, too; a pale, transparent figure veiled in black shadows.
“Bad,” Chandra agreed, aware of a chill in her blood as she studied the silently watchful creature.
“Kill,” Jurl repeated.
This thing seemed familiar… She realized that it reminded her of the ghost warden she had destroyed on Regatha.
That wasn’t the sort of incident she wanted to repeat here. She intended to leave Diraden unnoticed, not create a commotion and attract attention. And she wanted to enter the?ther in a sane and steady manner, not to reenact her frantic and nearly fatal departure from Kephalai.
“No,” she said to Jurl. “I won’t kill it. All that thing has seen is a woman and a goblin drinking water. So what if it tells? Let’s go quietly now.”
As she turned to go, the goblin grunted, obviously dissatisfied.
When they had traveled some distance, Jurl said, “Now eat?”
She thought of his recent meal, which she had interrupted, and said truthfully, “I’m not that hungry.”
“Sleep?”
“No, I’m going to leave,” she said decisively. Diraden was no place to linger.
“Leave where?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Leave now?”
“Soon.” And since she didn’t want the goblin asking questions while she prepared to planeswalk, it was time to bid him farewell. “Thank you for taking me to water, Jurl. You’ve been, um, a good host.”
“Still hungry.” Jurl nodded at some nearby bushes. “Hunt.”
“Enjoy.” She tried not to think about it. “Goodbye.”