Chapter 6 Ren #4
“No,” they repeated, softer, settling back onto their heels.
“I’ll plant the seeds myself. Above ground, by the cottage.
I’ll till new earth if I have to.” Whatever it took to keep their family from becoming someone else’s minions, forced to die for a cause no goblin could ever believe in.
All because they felt they had no other choice.
“You don’t have to do it all by yourself, Ren,” Bramble said, his expression creasing with concern. “There are other fields above ground, other Caretakers.”
But none of them were as skilled as Ren.
This fact burned bright at the forefront of their mind, blinding them to all else.
Because when it came to the good of the clan, only the best would do, and Ren – Ren owed it to them.
Owed it in a way the other Caretakers didn’t, the way any goblin who’d been born into the clan didn’t.
“I’ll make it work. Trust me,” they insisted, the malformed debt that coiled in the pit of their stomach growing ever more ravenous, ready to take everything they could give and more. It has to be me. It has to be.
“I don’t know…” Bramble glanced over at Nana, searching, as all the other goblins did, for guidance.
Her decision was almost immediate. “Give Ren the seeds. They’ll be able to stretch them further while we gather more,” she said, the finality in her words enough to finally loosen the tension pulsating across Ren’s shoulders a much-needed fraction.
Unlike his sister, Bramble wasn’t one to argue, especially not with someone like Nana. Still, when he returned a few minutes later with the seeds, tucked into a coarse drawstring pouch, he nonetheless passed them over with one last, half-mumbled, “I really don’t mind going south, you know…”
“Okay,” Ren acknowledged with a nod. “But you don’t have to, so don’t worry about it. Just focus on the mushroom walls and the other croplands for now.” They gave Bramble’s hand a reassuring squeeze and slipped the seed pouch into their pocket, where it settled, heavy as a stone.
“All right,” Bramble said, letting out a soft puff of relief that quickly unspooled throughout his entire body. “Thank you, Ren.”
Ren smiled, their outward confidence unshakable.
Too bad their internal landscape was not so steadfast. For as much as their expression radiated certainty, matching every promise beat for beat, their knotted stomach told a very different story.
Because, deep down, they knew that growing this much food in that little time on their own was a tall enough ask that it might as well have been impossible.
And yet, they had to do it; not just try, but succeed.
Already, their thoughts spun in a disorienting cyclone, spurred onwards by their quickening pulse. Command after command swirled through their mind: grow more, keep less, think of the clan in everything you do, be a blessing not a burden. And then – Pansy.
Ren’s breath hitched, caught on the pointed shard of their own mistake. All that food left behind – food their clan needed – devoted, instead, to a halfling who would never understand the true magnitude of this sacrifice. Or that it was even a sacrifice to begin with.
I need to get her out, Ren told themself; another reminder to follow the who-knows-how-many that had preceded it. Get her out and fix everything she manages to break before then. Speaking of…
“Thorn, do you have any more of that tonic of yours?” they asked.
Their cousin’s face immediately split around a disconcertingly large grin. “You mean my Juice?”
Ren made a face. “Ugh. Yes. That.” No way they were going to call it by that ridiculous name Thorn had come up with. It read as either juvenile or inappropriate – and distasteful either way. Which, considering the brain behind it, was probably the point.
Undaunted by Ren’s disgust, Thorn gave a dramatic sweep of his arm and said, “Then follow me to my atelier, and we shall set you up with the Juice that you require.”
Thorn’s “atelier”, as he liked to call it – a gnomish inflection he’d doubtless picked up from his last girlfriend – had been relegated to the furthest reaches of the clan’s territory, down a series of winding tunnels, some of which narrowed to an almost uncomfortable degree.
And that was for Ren, who, to be clear, was about sixty percent of Thorn’s size.
By the laws of physics, Thorn should’ve gotten stuck – or at least needed Ren to yank him through – but, somehow, he squeezed past even the tightest corners without issue.
When Ren asked him how he managed to do this, Thorn wiggled his arms and said, “I keep myself limber.” As if that explained anything.
By now, Ren knew better than to push for more detail. They held their tongue and waited for Thorn to finish rolling aside the boulder he’d fashioned into a makeshift door; his latest attempt at keeping the children away from his beloved toads, no doubt. Speaking of…
“You got more of them,” Ren observed, stepping inside at Thorn’s behest. Their gaze immediately snapped to the two-dozen toads scattered about the circular space, all resting on carefully constructed beds of moss, dirt and leaves, as well as the occasional pile of (likely) dirty laundry.
“Course I did!” Thorn declared with a grin, chest swelling with pride.
“I have to be ready when the next market comes around. I completely sold out of Juice last time, and each of my little beauties can only produce so much, you know. Honestly, I was real surprised by it. I didn’t think that many people would be willing to open their minds to the beauty of traveling to a higher plane of existence. ”
In other words, get intoxicated off psychedelic toad secretions – which, for the record, was not what Ren was going to use them for. Recreational value aside, the secretions were also packed with nutrients: perfect for the growth paste Ren wanted to make.
“I’m sure Nana is thrilled,” they drawled, the corner of their mouth twitching into a barely there smile.
Thorn winced. “Nana,” he began, drawing out her name with guilty slowness, “doesn’t know.”
Ren sighed. “Of course she doesn’t.”
“It’s not like the toads leave this place, anyway!
No matter how hard the kids try to make off with them.
Speaking of, do you think you could convince them to stop before you go?
Like I said, they don’t listen to me. And my excuse about ‘getting in touch’ with my Swamp Goblin heritage ran dry with Nana, like, ten toads ago. ”
Although Thorn had been born into the Woodward Clan, his parents had not. Why a pair of Swamp Goblins from the south had opted to settle among their cave-dwelling brethren, no one could say. But the clan had accepted them in much the same way they’d accepted Ren – completely and wholeheartedly.
Grimacing, Ren said, “Thorn, I think you’re greatly overestimating my abilities.”
“No, I’m not,” Thorn replied, already hard at work rummaging through the chaos that inevitably unfurled across any space he claimed as his. “Now, where did I put it…? Oh! Found it!” He extracted a small amber bottle from an otherwise impenetrable sea of clutter with a triumphant flourish.
“That was quick,” Ren said, eyebrows arching with genuine surprise. “Might be a new record.”
“I’ve been trying to stay organized,” Thorn explained with a nod, managing to sound utterly sincere even as he stepped across a series of rumpled-up shirts to present the bottle to Ren.
“Uh-huh,” was all Ren said, their gaze flicking pointedly downward.
At least Thorn had the decency to look embarrassed at that, his olive-green skin darkening to a rusty red. “It was, uh, cleaner before you got here.”
“I’m sure it was.” In other words, I don’t believe you, but I’m polite enough not to say it outright.
Though perhaps Ren should’ve, considering Thorn couldn’t offer them the same courtesy when it came to letting unpleasant subjects lie.
“Hey, Ren?” he asked after a beat. “Are you sure you’re okay with being the new Caretaker? You used to talk about wanting to find someone to settle down with. You know, start a family?”
Ren shrugged, somehow managing to exude nonchalance even as their muscles seized into a board-like stiffness. “We need a Caretaker, and I’m the one best suited to the role. It’s pretty simple.”
“Yeah, uh, that’s not what I asked.”
They blew out a breath, rolling the bottle between their palms. “Is it my first choice? No, of course not. But it’s what needs to be done. As long as the clan’s taken care of, that’s good enough for me. Besides, living alone isn’t so bad—”
Their brain, traitor that it was, took the opportunity to flash Pansy’s face before their eyes; her delicate features, rendered in crystal-clear definition, enough to narrow their throat with a sudden, graceless jolt.
And Thorn, far too observant for someone who lacked what most would consider common sense, jumped on this stumble with all the delight of a cat who’d just caught a mouse – or, perhaps, a fat dollop of cream.
“Oooh, you’re hiding something,” he said, grinning from one elongated ear to the other.
“No, I’m— ugh.” Ren sank into themself, arms folding over their chest as they silently cursed their ongoing inability to lie.
Ridiculous.
“Fine!” Ren sighed, the breath scraping through them like sandpaper. “I’m not living alone any more, okay? There’s”– they grimaced, certain they were moments away from signing themself up for the biggest hit of regret they’d ever experienced – “someone else.”
Thorn’s ears pricked up immediately, wiggling with almost childlike delight. “Is it a girl? Oh, it’s definitely a girl. I can see it written all over your face. What’s her name? Is she pretty? What clan is she from?”
“She’s a halfling.”
“Okay,” Thorn said, without missing a beat – a far cry from the shock Ren had expected. “That answers… maybe one of my three questions. What about the rest?”
“Her name is Pansy.”
“And? Three questions, Ren. Not two.”
Ren gave him a weird look, their brow furrowing. “You can’t seriously be asking me if she’s pretty. She’s a halfling.”
Thorn shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? You know I don’t discriminate based on someone’s ancestry. It’s what’s inside that counts.” He thumped his fist against his chest, as if to illustrate.
For a moment, Ren could only gape at their cousin. Then, burying their face in their hands, they muttered, “Nature have mercy. You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you’re acting like this,” Thorn said with a frown. “You were fine with me dating Towi.”
“Because Towi is a gnome. Gnomes don’t hate us like halflings do!”
“Yeah…” Thorn sighed, his expression turning almost wistful. “They’re too fixated on their machines for that. Which I guess is why Towi and I didn’t work out. You know, ’cause I’m not a machine.”
Ren rolled their eyes. “Even if Pansy was pretty, it doesn’t matter because, like I already said, she’s a halfling who hates goblins. And I, for the record, don’t like her either.”
“Then why is she living with you?”
“Because we have a deal.” Then, realizing they’d neglected to add a necessary bit of context, added, “The cottage used to be her grandmother’s, apparently.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway,” Ren continued with a wave of their hand, “the only thing about Pansy that I care about is how to get her to leave.”
“Well, you already know how to do that, don’t you?” Thorn said, his lips parting around a downright devilish grin. “Halflings hate goblins. So make it as unrepentantly goblin as possible.”
Ren scoffed. “I know that.” The real question here was: how? So far, the dirt hadn’t worked; though perhaps they just hadn’t brought in enough of it. But even so, they could hardly keep banging away at the problem with a single hammer. Not if they expected results, at least.
As they dropped the bottle of toad secretions – no, they weren’t going to call it “Juice” like it was proper food – into their pocket, their fingers brushed against the pouch of seeds they’d stored there earlier, and the bud of an idea began to bloom at the forefront of their mind.
Running Beans had gotten their name for a reason.
Perhaps there was a way to “kill two birds with one stone”, as the halflings liked to put it.