Page 83 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
He got up in the dark, worked in the dark and came home in the dark, so that we could live in the light.
The canary chirps again, forcing me out of my memories. Its constant cry is a beacon, leading me deeper into the system, until it squawks louder, then cuts off entirely, like the sound was killed in its throat.
That wasn’t bad air.
The lights flicker. The farthest pair of lamps go out. Then the next farthest, and the next, falling like dominoes toward me until, five lights away, it stops.
The dark ahead is a wall. My heart threatens to escape my mouth, and then the scratching starts.
My pulse stops altogether.
It’s nails down a blackboard, creeping toward me. I draw my sword and hold it forward like a knight in a painting.
Five creatures emerge from the shadow one by one.
None stand higher than my hip. Their large, pointed ears are a mockery of the fair folk above the earth, and their noses are pug-like and upturned, nostrils twitching as they breathe deep and try to determine what I am. They carry mining tools sharpened to precise points and wear overalls fashioned from scraps of miners’ uniforms. They stay at the edge of the shadow, assessing me, and I almost laugh in relief.
They’re onlycoblynnod, goblins that reside in the mines and help lug the coal up to the light. Helpful creatures, according to the stories.
“Have you seen a redheaded girl lately?” I call to them.
It’s only then that I notice the yellow feathers hanging from the mouth of the largest one. His companion tilts his head to stare at me, and the light of my Davy lamp catches his eyes.
They’re crusted over with coal, and dark veins run deep through their heads, throbbing violently against the thin skin.
One opens his mouth and reveals black, knifepoint teeth and a dead tongue.
I take a step back. They take two forward.
My eyes dart to the wall, to the onyx seam shooting through it. It pulses in time with their veins, tying the mine and the coblynnod together, several parts of one body, acting as one.
The largest one seems to be their leader. He lurches forward.
“Humans always asking for help,” he croaks, gravel in his throat.
“We used to work together,” I say sharply. “That’s what the stories say.”
He tilts his head. “Stories are in the past.”
I put distance between us, but I never turn my back. There are three to my right, two to my left, but none directly in front. I glance down and find the reason.
The cart tracks are made of iron.
No wonder magic has no power here.
I set my lantern down and reach for the hilt of my rapier. With the delicate grip Neirin taught me, I draw it slowly, giving them time to decide I’m not worth it—hopingthey back away.
Their leader bares his feather-filled teeth. I don’t wait for another threat.
I jump to the left of the track, putting myself in the path of two other coblynnod. They rush forward, clubs raised, and I flick my sword toward them with a confidence I didn’t know I had.
The coblynnod can’t cross the tracks. They watch impatiently, baying against the iron.
The first coblyn rushes forward, and I send my blade down in an arc. The iron parts his skull like snow under a boot. The coblyn collapses.
The next one swings for my shin with his club. It connects with a sharp pain that will bruise later, and my leg spasms out at him, catching the little monster off guard. He stumbles. I swing again with my sword, and his attempt to dodge sends him flying onto the tracks, where he sizzles as he cooks alive and dies in a plume of smoke.
The three remaining coblynnod continue to bay at me from across the iron barrier. I wave my blood-splattered sword at them.
