“He made hisself green an’ spotty fer a full ten minutes yesterday,” said Kull. “We were gonna work on the ears an’ teeth after lunch.”
“Please, sir,” said Tinn. “I’ll stay inside with Kull the whole time they’re here.”
“I told yer mum I’d keep ya safe,” said Nudd. “Around spriggans is the opposite o’ safe, especially fer a human. An’ refusing a formal envoy from the colony is the opposite o’ safe fer the horde. Afraid my decision is final. There’ll be other days, lad. Give him yer lesson on the road this time, Kull. Oi! I said no flowers!” Nudd directed this last outburst at one of his scurrying subordinates. “Think our guests wanna see a bunch o’ dying plants stuffed in a pot?” The chief went back to preparations, and Kull led Tinn out of the cave and up the narrow ledge into the Wild Wood.
“Which ones are spriggans?” said Tinn as they picked their way along the goblin path. “They’re a sort of fairy, right?”
“Fairies often claim them, aye,” said Kull. “But they’re na really fair folk. The forest wouldn’t abide ’em iffin they were. They’re spirits by right. Force o’ nature. Vindictive things. They’ve na forgiven humans.”
“Forgiven us? What have humans done?”
Kull raised an eyebrow. “Take a lot longer than we’ve got ta put that list together, lad. Humans an’ magic folk got a long an’ nasty history. People used to kill magical creatures fer sport, ya know, or else catch ’em and force ’em ta serve humankind. Stuffed genies inta bottles, pressed pixies inside books, hunted dragons near ta extinction. Don’t need ta go inta the details. Rough stuff. Right wicked.”
“That’s awful,” said Tinn.
“That’s what the spriggans thought. Made themselves unofficial guardians o’ the wild long ago. They protect the oddlings and the forest from humankind, protect the boundaries, that sorta thing. Right ornery buggers. No sense o’ humor at all.”
“What do they look like?”
“Wee, ugly things, most o’ the time,” said Kull. “They’ve got skin like slivered rocks and tree bark. Easy ta miss out here in the wood. When they get angry, though—something else comes out o’ them. There are those that say spriggans are the spirits o’ the giants that used to live in this world a long time ago, and they become giants again when the rage takes them.”
They walked in silence while Tinn considered this.
“Were there really giants?” he said at last. “There are lots of stories about them, but they all sound unbelievable, living up in the clouds and saying things like ‘fee-fi-fo-fum’ and ‘I’ll grind his bones to make my bread’ and stuff like that.”
Kull made a noise that might have been a laugh. “Otch. Stories like that are half the reason spriggans still don’t like your lot. Of course there was giants. They’s long since died off now, but they used to live all over the place. The clouds bit is silly—giants never lived on clouds—and the ‘fee-fi-fo-fum’ is downright insultin’. How would you like it if I mocked yer language like that? As fer the grindin’ bones—well, that’s more what you’d call a cultural misunderstandin’.”
“Giants didn’t threaten to grind up people’s bones?”
“Well. They said it, sure, but it was ne’er a threat.”
“How is that not a threat?”
“Otch. Context. Different rites an’ traditions fer different groups. Lotta cultures value ritual cannibalism as a sorta tribute, ya see? They say consumin’ remains can fill ya with the spirit of the deceased. It was a way of honoring the dead in the past by letting them live within you. ‘I’ll grind yer bones ta make my bread’ is a pretty fair translation, aye, but fer the giants it was a friendly expression. Like ‘Hey, mate. I think yer grand. When ya die I’ll eat yer bits so ya live on forever.’ That kinda thing.”
“That’s super gross,” said Tinn, “but I think I understand.”
“What do humans do ta honor their dead?” asked Kull.
“We bury them,” said Tinn.
“In the dirt?” said Kull. “Like ya bury a poo? Hardly see how that’s a respectful way ta treat yer kin.”
“Well, there’s a whole ceremony and a coffin.”
“What’s a coffin?”
“It’s a fancy box for dead people.”
“Ah,” said Kull. “I suppose it’s probably nice.”
“What do goblins do with your dead?”
“We use ’em, mostly. Fuel fer the engines. Bones are great fer makin’ tools. Nice ta think I’ll be useful when I’m gone. Hate ta go ta waste in some box. Being bread sounds nice, though, too. I could enjoy bein’ a warm baguette.”
“I guess,” said Tinn. He trod in silence for several paces.
“How about you?” Kull asked. “What would you wanna be?”
“Not dead?” said Tinn.
Kull chuckled. “Grand job so far. Let’s see if we can keep it up just a wee bit longer, eh?”
Before Tinn could reply, the ground trembled beneath their feet. Birds in the trees around them took flight in a burst of tweets and screeches.
“Just another quake,” said Kull. “Happenin’ a lot lately.”
Nonetheless, they quickened their pace as they made their way out of the woods. Kull said his goodbyes at the edge of the forest, and Tinn walked the rest of the way home by himself.
“Cole?” Tinn yelled from the back porch when he reached the house. A tingle rippled up his neck. It was strange, really, how much easier it was to be alone in a place where you expected to be alone than it was to be alone in a place where you expected people to greet you. He kicked a pebble off the back step.
His mother was supposed to be at work, Tinn remembered—the new job. Cole was probably with her, tucked away behind the dry goods or getting into trouble for pocketing sweets. Tinn would meet them there. He latched the door and hurried off down the road toward town.
THIRTEEN
“You’re not dead!” said Fable. “That’s a good way to end an adventure, right?”
Cole nodded, panting. He was on the edge of town now, the forest behind him.
