My stomach knotted. Geth. Could they be the descendants of the people my father spoke of? I tried to wrap my mind around it, but relearning something you’ve been taught your entire life is no easy task. Discovering the magical names of elements took years, and no one ever found them all. But for a group of people to manipulate magic without learning the names was an incredible power.
My dad continued. “Other elves tried for years to recreate these powers, but failed. They became the Gravidorum, who felt the potion users were hoarding their talents. The Gravidorum tortured the potion users to find out their secrets. They experimented on them, manipulated their DNA, all the while trying to discover the source of their powers. After time, the elven potion users no longer maintained a humanoid appearance. They became monsters. However, the Gravidorum never found a way to duplicate the spells.
“Finally, the potion makers were exiled to the northlands and became the goblins. The Gravidorum destroyed all knowledge of this, recreating history to lead others to believe that the goblins had always been a separate species.”
Thoughts spiraled through my head. Potion makers. Goblins were nothing more than elven potion makers. “How could this be possible?”
“Most goblins became insane after they were tortured. They became depraved, animalistic. But others resisted the torture. This was kept closely hidden, even from me. Years ago, I discovered a group of these goblins. They had organized and wanted to bring the goblins out of obscurity. They called themselves the Caxon.”
I pressed my eyes closed. This confirmed it. Geth was the leader of the Caxon. Geth and his people were goblins. It was almost too much to take in.
“Do you know of the Caxon?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I met them in the goblin lands. That’s why they were there. They weren’t travelers—they lived there. They’d always been there.”
“I am surprised you found them, though their cause has gained some support, even from the Wults. When I learned of these goblin rebels, it was then I decided I could no longer associate with the Gravidorum. Goblins, in my mind, were no longer depraved animals but real people, no different from me and you. Except once I became a member of the society, there was only one way for me to leave it.”
“Death?”
He nodded. “Since then, I’ve kept quiet, helping the Caxon however I could while pretending to be involved with the Gravidorum. Months ago, a young girl came to me. She worked with the Caxon.”
“Sissy.” But how had she made such connections? She lived on Earth, and she was so young. Sissy was more than she appeared. I wished I had gotten to know her better.
“She had a bold plan to free the Caxon. It involved a dream catcher.”
I exhaled. “The one I found in the tombs.”
“Yes.”
“But it was tainted with dark magic. Where did you learn to use it?”
“It was never my intention to use dark magic. Remember, the user makes magic good or evil. When I spellcasted the talisman, I used only the powers I possessed. It became powerful, yes. But not evil. It was meant to show the truth—and the future. It was never meant for evil.”
“Yet somehow it became tainted.”
He nodded. “What do you know of the human girl?”
“Not much, apparently. She’s my godson’s big sister. She’s had a rough life, which makes her desperate, which makes her dangerous. But I can’t imagine that she’d want to hurt her brother.”
“Are you sure about this?”
I paused. Would Sissy hurt Jeremiah?
“She has no reason to hurt him.”
“Then she must have been trying to save him.”
I pondered the possibilities. She’d come to my father before Jeremiah had succumbed to the coma, which meant she must have known beforehand what would happen to her brother. Perhaps the dream catcher was meant for whoever intended to hurt her brother. But how had it ended up in the Wults’ tombs? Even with my father’s explanation of the Gravidorum and Caxon, I still didn’t know how to rescue Jeremiah. “So much doesn’t make sense.”
Through the windows, the sun dipped below the mountains. The once vibrant blue sky faded to a pale pink. Another day ended, another day that Jeremiah suffered.
Father paced to the kitchen. Soon, I heard the steam from his teakettle, and the smell of mint filled the air. The scent calmed me. There were many things I disliked about my dad, but his teas weren’t one of them. He returned with two steaming cups.
“Do you think I’ll rescue my godson?” I asked as he sat across from me.
“I don’t possess the powers of clairvoyance. But if he has been captured by the Gravidorum, there is a good chance you will never see him again.”
Good old Dad, never sugarcoating the truth. This brought back some memories…
Father, what do you think of my painting?
You’ve used an ill-bristled brush, and the perspective is badly wrought. Unless you intend to devote your life to practicing the art of painting, you’ll never be a true artist.
I sipped my tea. I wouldn’t let him get under my skin. Not anymore. “Then is it hopeless?”
“It is never hopeless.”
I placed my cup on its saucer, deciding to level with him. Keeping secrets would only cause more confusion. “I saw a vision of an enchanted wall surrounding a place called Mog’s Keep. My godson was inside. Do you have any idea where that might be?”
He raised an eyebrow, which made him look even more elven, if that were possible. “Mog,” he said the name slowly, and then he stood and crossed to his bookshelves. “I recognize the name. He was a Wult, yes?”
“Yes, but his family wasn’t typical. There is no history of them before the crossing.”
He scanned his rows of alphabetically arranged books. They were coordinated in every way possible, even by color. Librarians
