Makenna drifted north. She wasn’t sure why she chose that direction, but she wanted to leave her old life behind, and the deep woods and soft, rolling hills were completely different from the flat, open land she’d known. Her mother had traveled in her youth. She’d told Makenna that staying in one place, in a village where you knew folks, and they knew you, was safer.
At first Makenna’s grief for her mother felt like tearing claws, and she cried herself to sleep each night. But after the first few days, the difficulties of survival occupied more and more of her attention.
She stole food from the villages she passed. Soon she grew bolder and acquired better clothes, a knife, a bedroll, and a big oilcloth sheet she could hang when it rained.
She felt no guilt—the empty goblin bowls told her that the villagers she robbed had fallen in with the priests’ demands. Makenna wondered what the goblins did, with no more table scraps set out for them. Thinking of the mischief they could make, she almost felt sorry for the villagers. Almost.
Makenna took care never to be seen, and she moved on quickly, never robbing any village twice. And one of the first things she did was to twist some stolen bronze wire into a hiding charm so no one could find her with magic. It took her more than a dozen attempts to set the magic into the bronze, and she wept again for her mother, who had so easily made these charms for poachers.
In the beginning Makenna had intended to live by trapping small game. Krick and Rolan, near her own age, had taught her how to set snares in the days when they’d run wild together. When they’d been…when they had pretended to be her friends. But the first time her wire captured a squirrel, the sight of its frantic struggles made something twist inside her. She couldn’t kill it. She soon discovered that she couldn’t kill anything in a trap, although she had no qualms about eating the meat she stole.
As the weeks passed into months, Makenna began to look for snares in the forest around the villages. If they were empty, she sprung them. If there were animals in them, she set them free. Sometimes her spell of calming failed and she was clawed or bitten, but freeing trapped creatures became something that she had to do.
As the first gold touched the leaves, she realized it was nearly harvest month and that she had had a birthday a few months back. She was twelve now. It didn’t seem to matter. Birthdays were a part of humanity, and she hardly considered herself human anymore.
But harvest would soon be followed by winter. She’d need better gear, perhaps even a permanent shelter. She began to look for an area where she might stay. It had to be within raiding distance of at least three villages, but not so close to any of them that she was likely to be discovered.
She traveled almost another week. The sun was sinking behind the hills when she came across a barn that looked promising. The blackened ruins of a farmhouse nearby explained why it had been abandoned, but the barn looked strong and in good repair. The people who owned the well-tended orchards that surrounded it probably stored things there, but the harvest was past; they might not go near it till spring.
Makenna couldn’t see anyone among the trees now, but she knew better than to take chances. She found a clump of bushes from which she could watch, and waited for moonrise.
It was several hours after darkness had fallen, and the moon was high above the trees before she moved, slowly and carefully, toward the darkened barn. The trails she’d found in the grass seemed to indicate that the farmhouse had been moved downstream a bit and behind a hill—out of sight, but not necessarily out of hearing. Makenna had seen no sign of a dog, either, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one, so she had the well-chewed bone she used as an essential object for her calming charm ready to hand.
There was no lock on the door, just a big latch, which probably meant they stored nothing of value here. Good. But the door’s great iron hinges moved with the silence of grease and use, which meant they opened this door a lot. Bad. Or at least, a puzzle. The barn was dark, only a few small windows catching the moonlight. The old straw on the floor would substitute for sawdust. Makenna knelt and charmed fire into the wick of one of her stolen candles. The spell was coming easier, now that she worked it every night for campfires.
The light revealed the barn’s plain plank walls. No animals moved restlessly in the stalls at the coming of light; only their scents lingered in the cool air. They must have moved the livestock to be nearer to the new house. The stalls held the tools of farm and harvest: baskets for gathering, which were cheap enough, but also steel tools, saws for cutting dead wood, hoes, and shovels. And at the far end was a cider press, and in the stalls near it, dozens of new barrels, their strapping gleaming in the candlelight. Makenna scowled. Either folk around here were more honest than any she’d ever known, or she was missing something. Could she have tripped some magical alarm without sensing it? But magical wards were usually harder to come by, and more expensive, than a dog—more expensive than a cider press and the new barrels warranted.
She was reaching out with her other senses, letting her eyes stray, when she saw it—just a glimpse of a long-nosed brown face, about the size of a small melon, peering down from one of the eaves. It was gone in an instant, but Makenna jumped back, tripped over a bump in the straw-covered floor, and fell.
This barn was far from unguarded. Her heart started to pound. “I didn’t take anything,” she said rapidly. “I didn’t hurt anything. I’m leaving now, and I’ve done you and yours no harm. All right?”
The silence stretched. The back of Makenna’s neck prickled. The goblin doubtless knew every move she’d made, but she still held out her hands to show they were empty as she fled from the barn.
She was free of the farmyard and deep into the orchard before she began to relax. Wild goblins were pesty, but her mother had told her that nothing guarded a farm better than a loyal one. She was lucky she’d seen him before she’d taken something. Besides, if these folk still had their goblins, likely they’d let their hedgewitches live as well.
The tension in her neck and shoulders eased slowly. She was almost to the edge of the orchard, and no alarm had sounded. It was all right. With the unthinking gesture of someone who had been raised around apple trees, she reached up, picked an apple, and bit into it.
A flurry of movement in the leaves proclaimed her mistake.
“I’m sorry!” she cried. But goblins didn’t care about sorry.
A shrill whistle sounded in the tree above her. A clatter of metal, loud enough to carry to any number of farms, sounded from the barn. Followed by the distant baying of dogs.
Makenna dropped the apple and ran.
Drying her soaked boots by the fire, Makenna cursed her carelessness. “But you think no more about picking an apple in harvest than about scratching an itch!”
She’d begun talking to herself more and more often lately. Not that she wanted anyone to talk to. She wondered if it was just her imagination, that feeling that the rustling canopy above her was listening. It had taken most of the night, climbing trees and wading for miles up shallow creeks, to lose the dogs. Makenna banked her fire and went to bed.
It was just after noon when she finally wakened, stretched, and pulled on her boots. The exertions of the previous night had made her hungry, and she walked quickly to the tree where she’d hung her gear. She was reaching for the lowest branch when she noticed both her sacks lying on the ground.
After being robbed by several animals, Makenna had learned to climb a tree and lower her food sack on a rope so it dangled in the air, safe from the clever paws of raccoons and other creatures.
“Dung!” She reached the sacks in two long strides. The spell books were there, the food was gone. But how? Had something chewed through the rope?
She pulled the rope through the fallen leaves and one glance at the end told her everything. Not chewed—cut. Goblin work. She should probably be grateful they hadn’t taken the spell books and hidden them out of pure mischief—but she wasn’t grateful.
Anger burning through her veins, Makenna packed her gear and set off. There was no point in staying. Once the goblins got a grudge against you, it lasted till you appeased them. She had no milk to offer and they’d stolen all her food, so she had no choice but to flee.
They chose to follow her.
By the third day of the goblins’ pursuit, Makenna was near weeping with weariness and frustration.
She could keep from starving by eating what she stole on the spot, but she couldn’t store any food unless she kept it in her pockets. She’d tried clutching her food sack in her arms as she slept—and wakened to the sight of a scrawny, long-nosed lady, about two feet high, dragging her spell books away. She’d raced to recover them and returned to find her food sack gone. The empty bag fell over her head later that day, and by the time she tore it off, there was nothing to be seen. The woods echoed with shrieks of goblin laughter.
She combed the spell books for a charm to keep the goblins off, but aside from dozens of bits of useless lore and rumor, all she found was a note in a strange hand that said only the priests’ magic was strong enough to affect goblins, whose magic was innate.
Since the priests tried to keep magic out of the hands of any who weren’t priests, Makenna’s mother and grandmother had collected their lore from many different sources, but Makenna had never heard of innate magic before. Did that mean they didn’t have to study to bend the natural world to their wishes? Some humans had magic, some did not, and those chosen for priests were chosen, Makenna’s mother had claimed, solely because they had more magic than others. But even the priests, who needed no essential objects, no complex rituals, had to spend years learning to wield their magic.
Makenna was beginning to believe that her mother was right that magic was part of the nature of the world itself, not something handed out by gods. It was heresy, of course. But Makenna had no more dealings with gods now than she’d ever had, and the spells that hid her tracks or settled the mud in ditches where she dipped her water jug were coming easier to her. But there were still days when she couldn’t bring a spell to life, no matter how hard she tried.
Makenna knew her magic was weak, even for a hedgewitch. She barely remembered the day the priests’ chooser had come to the village, to test the latest generation of children for magical ability. But she remembered the old man’s nasal voice, passing his judgment. “Her holiness is not sufficient.”
“It’s all right, Makennie,” her mother had soothed her. “The priests do priestly things, but we hedgewitches, we do well enough without their help. We do fine.”
Still Makenna had heard her weeping in the night and known she had wanted her daughter to be chosen, to have possessed magic that was strong enough for real teaching, real knowledge. Ardis had never again, by word, look or deed, let Makenna see her disappointment.
The goblins’ persecution continued. If they couldn’t get Makenna’s food, they stole bits and pieces of her other gear. Which they left, teasingly, in place of her food when they stole it later. The first time they did this, she swore and stamped her foot. It lit on a sharp stone, and as she hopped about, clutching her sore foot and cursing, she could hear them snickering.
The only way she could keep everything was to stay awake all the time—and in the past few days she had fallen asleep more and more often. She was almost certain they were casting spells on her—if she realized it in time, she could fight the wave of drowsiness. But more often she simply woke, lying across the trail with a crick in her back and another piece of gear missing.
Makenna fought back a tired sob. This couldn’t go on. Much as she hated the idea, she had to set a trap.
That night she crept into a blacksmith’s shop to steal what she needed. The moon wasn’t up yet, but the glowing coals in the forge gave her enough light to search. Goblins, with their clever fingers and sharp copper knives, were almost impossible to trap, but they couldn’t abide the touch of iron or steel. One of the scraps of lore in her books speculated that that was because iron and steel were man-made things, not found in nature, but no one seemed to know for certain.
It took awhile to find the things she needed, and she stole a net as well. Walking back to camp, she was smiling for the first time in days.
It was a good thing she slept lightly. The thrashing snap of the bent branch that primed her hidden snare wasn’t loud, and only someone dozing in all her clothes could have reached the moon-shadowed grove in time, for the small creature bent over his bound ankles had his fingers in the wire, pulling it loose. In a moment he’d be gone! Makenna raced toward him and tripped over the bent sapling of the trap she’d left in plain sight.
The young tree whipped upright in a storm of thrashing leaves, taking the net and food sack with it. Makenna fell, rolled, got her feet beneath her, and sprang into a flying dive. Her outstretched hands fell on the goblin just as he slipped free of the wire. “Got you!”
She tightened her grip against his wiggling and dragged him forward till she could sit up and look at him.
He was thin as a scarecrow, about two and a half feet tall, and the lines and bones of his face were long and sharp. The elbows of his rough jacket and the knees of his britches were neatly patched, but his hair straggled into his eyes. Dark, angry eyes.
Even though Makenna had set the deceptive double trap—one snare in plain sight, the other hidden as well as she could hide it—she hadn’t really believed it would work. Now that she had her hands on one of her tormentors, she had no idea what to do with him.
“How could you undo the wire on your ankle?” she asked. “I thought goblinkind couldn’t touch steel or iron.”
“Well, I can. Not that it’s any of your business.” He gritted his small sharp teeth and a gleam came into his eyes. He glanced down at Makenna’s unprotected wrist.
She shook him slightly, in warning. “Don’t even think it, little man.”
He sniffed. “As if I’d soil my teeth on a great dirty creature like you.”
“You’re not that clean yourself!” Makenna retorted, stung. He spoke true; living wild, her bath days had become few and far between. “What’s your name, little man?”
“What’s yours, great wench?”
Makenna scowled. For a prisoner, he was awfully rude. But it was pure bravado, for she held him tightly enough to feel his heartbeat. The rapid heartbeat of a trapped creature. What had she thought to accomplish with this? Even if she could kill him, there would always be more goblins. Why bother? She pushed him away and stood stiffly, brushing the wet leaves off her clothes.
The goblin stared at her suspiciously. “What’s this about, wench?”
“My name is Makenna. And you’re free. Go away.”
“What for?”
“Because I don’t want to spend the rest of the night talking to rude goblins. Go on, get!”
“No, great stupid one, I meant what do you want for freeing me?”
Not pure bravado after all, Makenna decided. At least half his rudeness sprang from plain bad temper. She turned to the sapling to pull her food sack down.
“Well, are you going to make me stand about all night? What do you want?”
Makenna shrugged. “Nothing. I just can’t stand to hurt anything in a trap. Not even surly goblins. Not that it’s any of your business.”
She skinned a knuckle untying the knot and swore as she lowered the net that held the food sack. She’d have to eat all she could before going back to sleep, for the rest would likely be gone before she woke. When she turned back, the goblin was still standing there.
“You must want something.” His voice was anxious, almost pleading. “You must.”
“Well, it would be nice if the lot of you would leave me alone, but I’m sure that’s too much to ask.” She sighed wearily. “Just go.”
“Ahhh!” His anguished shriek rent the silence.
Makenna sprang back, tripped and sat down abruptly, blinking in astonishment. “What the—”
“You’ve done it! Curse you, wench, may your children be devoured by ducks, you’ve gone and done it! Ahhh!” He stamped his foot. Makenna wished there’d been a sharp rock beneath it. Her lips twitched.
“Done what?” she asked, clambering to her feet.
“You don’t even know, you great stupid creature. What have I done to deserve this, what?” He clutched his hair, elbows akimbo, eyes wild.
Makenna couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded a bit rusty. Was this the first time she’d laughed since her mother’s death? “Look, all I want is for you to go away. I’ll give you some food, all right?”
“Ahhh!”
Makenna clapped her hands over her ears.
“You’ve done it again!” the goblin cried.
“Done what?”
“You’ve gone and indebted me! Now I owe you! Guarding, serving, gold—who knows where it’ll end? Why do I have to meet up with the one human who won’t strike an honest bargain—even a greedy one! What an accursed night this has been. I’ll be about!”
He turned and stomped toward the bushes.
Makenna tried to stifle her giggles. “Look, I don’t want—”
The goblin spun. “Don’t you go indebting me again, wench, or I swear I’ll get violent, indebted or not!” He stalked away, radiating fury. At the edge of the clearing he paused and looked back to snarl, “My name’s Cogswhallop,” before he vanished.
When Makenna woke the next morning all of her food was still there, and a pile of fresh-picked blueberries had joined it.
Cogswhallop was seldom seen after that, but he made his presence felt. Food still vanished, but more appeared. Gear was mended and fires stayed alive all night.
Sometimes when she was traveling, he turned up to warn her of trouble ahead or guide her to an easier path. He was never polite, much less friendly, but she finally got him talking enough to learn what she’d done to upset him so.
“Humans! Do you never give folks any balance?” he complained.
Makenna frowned over the cold pigeon pie that had probably come from some villager’s windowsill. She had just thanked him for it. “What do you mean?”
Cogswhallop snorted. “If you go doing more for someone than they pay back, then they’re indebted to you—surely even a human can understand that. And if you’re indebted, you can’t be in balance with them. Or with yourself, for that matter. You’re…unequal. Like with me, owing you a life debt. It’ll take a cursed mountain of pigeon pie to pay that off.”
Makenna took a moment to think this over. The folk of her village had surely taken more from her mother than they’d paid back, even before—She swallowed and put down the pie. They hadn’t been equals, that was certain. “So if you owe someone a favor, you always pay it back, so that you won’t be indebted. Not for them, but for you.”
“Good wench. I knew you could understand, if I said it in wee, simple words.”
Makenna grinned. Prickly as he was, it was nice to have someone to talk to. Almost a friend. “But what about friendship? Surely you don’t keep track of every little thing friends do for one another? Or families?”
“You think friends don’t need to be equal? And families need balance more than any, I’d think. Though with friends, we don’t keep such close track of the amount of the debt. You can pay back favors with just a token, a rock, a pinecone, whatever’s to hand. With friends, or with family, it’s just a symbol. The real debt gets paid out in time.”
It made sense to Makenna, in an odd sort of way. Once she understood the rules of the goblin’s game, she came to enjoy it. When the other goblins, who still followed her, stole things, she put out food to ransom her possessions back. When she had plenty, she put out food as an offering, and they always did her some favor in return.
It was good to know that someone listened when she spoke her thoughts aloud, even if she couldn’t always see them. So Makenna felt nothing but pleasure when Cogswhallop appeared before her as she hiked along at dusk.
“Drop those bags and follow me,” he commanded.
Makenna did, rubbing the sore spot the rope always left on her shoulder. He led her toward the road that meandered east through the woods.
The leaves had all fallen now, and they were far enough north that an occasional pine gleamed green through the barren branches.
As they approached the road, Cogswhallop dropped to his stomach and began to crawl, and Makenna followed his lead, trying to be as silent as possible wiggling through the dried bracken. Cogswhallop made no more sound than a soft breeze. Of course he was smaller. He stopped under a bush at the top of a hill, and Makenna crawled up to join him.
A campfire blazed beside the road below and something bubbled in the iron pot above it. A tinker, a small man with more gray than brown in his hair, was cooking his evening meal.
But it was his pack that drew her eyes, a huge leather pack, with wide shoulder straps designed to be carried comfortably day after day. It looked enormous, stuffed with his gear and the tools of his trade. It would probably be too big for her, but likely the goblins could adjust it—
“I thought you’d like it,” Cogswhallop murmured.