A New Favorite Character from My New Fantasy Novel
As we crawl closer to the launch date of A Faie Tale, I want to give a free preview of a chapter to everyone.
A Quick Update—and a Bit of Housekeeping
I’ve had the itch to publish A Faie Tale for weeks now. It’s a fantasy novel about what happens when the magical world we long for collides with the real one we know. Progress is being made on the cover—just not quite as quickly or smoothly as I’d hoped.
In the meantime, I’ve been sharing chapter previews with paid subscribers. One section in particular has become a personal favorite: it introduces a goblin named Grib Leek, who completely stole the scene. You’ll meet him below.
And if you’re one of the many who read my posts but haven’t subscribed yet—I’d love to invite you in. Most of my content is free, but if you enjoy what you’re reading, there’s always the option to chip in $5/month to support more stories like this. Either way, I’d be honored to have you along for the journey.
Lastly, for those who liked the intro to my grandmother’s haunted house—more is coming soon!
Now, for the the story:
"And for his remarkable contributions of merging pyromancy and technology to create new renewable energy sources, this year's Millennium Technology Prize goes to—Grib Leek!"
The award came as no small surprise to Grib, of course. Still, being the first goblin ever to be recognized for advancement in magic and technology, he had to act like it was a big deal. His genius extended to stage presence, so he had rehearsed for this, making his big green eyes flare open while his jaw simultaneously gapped and ears tucked back in surprise.
"I had no idea such a revolutionary practice, which has already warmed the homes of millions and uplifted entire civilizations, would gain me so much esteem," he finally confessed after an unheard of seven straight minutes of a standing ovation. "But then again, the technology—despite its subtle complexity, beautiful synchrony, and elegant simplicity—had never been discovered and perfected until my hands took the wheel."
While his mouth proclaimed, "Thank you!" to the many and few who helped him along the way, in his head, he only credited himself. The Captured Flame Engine was his idea, design, and dream; now he was walking it out. Never in his wildest fantasies, however, did he have the audacity to imagine up the selkie date that he had brought along.
"Wait a minute," he finally blurted out into the mic. He realized the applause was not clapping but a chorus of laughter from the audience, which included pointing fingers. "Why are you all laughing—what!? No!"
In a cruel turn of fate, Grib had forgotten to put on his tuxedo before the awards ceremony. Now he stood, projected upon a 60-foot screen that grew larger by the second, in nothing but a pair of his rattiest underwear.
"It's laundry day!" he shouted and shouted and shouted until he finally fell out of his bed and hard onto the floor. His sharp nose stung, distracting him from the lingering embarrassment of the dream.
"Thanks for the reminder, Grib," his unseen roommate called back. Jermaine’s jovial tone always left the goblin wondering if he was sincere or teasing. As he blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dawning daylight creeping through his window, his ears perked at the next question. "Which award was it this time?"
"The Millennium," croaked the goblin as he pulled himself off the floor, wondering if his cheeks burned from the fall or his shame. A pile of sketches and mock-ups, drawn on slightly singed papers, surrounded him. They were reminders of the ideas somewhere in his head. He just had to get it out here, where others could use it.
"The big one, nice!" cheered Jermaine as he entered the room, dressed for the day but still combing his hair. Grib felt like his roommate was letting his hairdo get a little too long, but to each his own. Jermaine's carefree style suited him, and it was hard to get annoyed when the guy was never late with his rent and always helpful to Grib.
"Eh, it may just be a dream," Grib muttered as he looked over all his drawings and notes.
"Only with that attitude, bruva," Jermaine pushed back as he bent down to review the notes alongside Grib. "I'm sure you have just one small thing to catch, and the rest will come together."
"Jerm, you know I know you don't understand any of this, right?"
The human patted Grib’s shoulder. “Yeah, it's all Greek-and-gobbledygook to me."
"… You know gobbledygook isn't a real language goblins speak, right?" Grib’s voice had an unnecessary urgency, barely containing his own annoyance at himself for the demand.
"Of course, I do, Grib—just like you know I don't like being called Jerm." Jermaine gave a friendly grin. "I'm sure you'll get this figured out after work, but we gotta get moving for now. Laeanna just texted me. It looks like there's some urgent meeting later. The boss is being videoed in for it, so everyone is on pins and needles. I'll get these papers for you. Go get dressed."
Grib checked his clock, and a slight flutter of adrenaline shot through his relatively small nervous system. Jermaine was right. There wouldn't be much time if they were to make the 7:10 train to Prague.
"Why is she being videoed in and not ported?" Grib thought aloud as he brushed his teeth.
"Some sort of security threat nearby. She’s the biggest gun we have, isn't she?" Jermaine answered right away. "Honestly, man, don't you read the weekly newsletter?"
"Of course, I read them!" Grib lied adamantly. "I probably don't have time to shower and shave do I?"
"My advice?” Jermaine looked himself over in the mirror. “Shave your neck while taking a half-shower, mate. I'll have coffee ready-n-waiting."
Grib took Jermaine's tip, thankfully avoiding nicks with his left hand while he shampooed with his right. He dressed in his least wrinkled button-up, tie, and khakis and met Jermaine at the door.
"Think the neighbors are awake?" Grib asked.
"What's it matter?" Jermaine said as he zipped up his coat.
"Drohend scares me," Grib admitted sheepishly. "Orcs are just, you know, big."
"Honestly, man? I always thought those were old wives' tales from the stories. Drohend has always been cool to me, and his elvish girlfriend also keeps him calm. Maybe you should give him a chance."
"Right, right," Grib said as he sipped his coffee. He was just nervous in general, he told himself. Drohend hadn't done anything wrong except pound on the floor for Grib's video games being a little too loud, which was fair. Drohend couldn’t want to impale his tiny head on a stick over the apartment barbecue pit for that, could he?
They took off down the stairs, and thankfully no one came out of apartment C117 on their way down. Another foggy morning. Kolín was heavy with the scent of vdolky, kolache, and other baked goods. The streets were starting to awaken with the bustle of commuters and morning shoppers. Grib was jealous of those walking with the delicious Czech pastries.
He wasn't native to the Czech Republic. Neither was Jermaine. Still, if anyone wanted to work near the Archives of Magical Artifacts, Prague was the place to be. Unfortunately, Prague was expensive for a low-level artifact analyst and IT guy—Jermaine being the IT guy. It still surprised Grib that a human was allowed to work within a magical compound. The Iuinori usually acted as strict gatekeepers, but the "mystical" folk still hadn't mastered the art of recovering deleted files or connecting to wireless printers. The allure and convenience were too great for even them to avoid.
The digital arts appeared to be their own magic, and they befuddled the faie and disinterested treefolk. The dwarves had some grasp of how to make it, the orcs on how to sell it and implement it, but only humans seemed to know how to maintain it.
Regardless, Grib counted himself lucky when the two met by chance at work one day, coincidentally looking at the same corkboard postings for roommates. A quick internet check rendered an affordable apartment in nearby Kolín, which was only a gracious 40-minute train ride away.
The train itself always fascinated Grib too, so simplistic and beautiful. He had a similar design for such a transportation device in mind back when his world was more or less hidden, but it was on a much smaller scale. Human men would call it a streetcar. But it was of little use on floating islands. Most weren't big enough to need a form of pubic transit, as he's learned it is called.
The ride allowed for a designated hour and a half each day to his mind. Here, he could review his designs in his various sketch journals. The most current sat nearly full of component drawings of a new device: The Captured Flame Engine. It was a design of his own, meant to capture the most potent pyromancy flames into an ongoing circuit and create a massive yet simplistic form of renewable energy. He told himself it would help bring the world into a new age and maybe earn goblins a solid reputation beyond the banking industry.
"I still don't see why you don't tablet, Grib. It's a lot less mess," Jermaine commented as he again tried deciphering the goblin's chicken-scratch notes.
"And a lot easier to hack and steal," Grib said defensively. "Call it an inventor's pride—I don't want to risk someone else copying this idea."
"'Renewable energy drive’? Is that like those massive windmills?"
"No, no, this would be self-driven and sustaining.” Grib’s ears flopped as he shook his head. “Not dependent on the wind."
"So, nuclear?" Jermaine raised an eyebrow at the question.
"Yes, but no. No risk of radiation."
"What feeds it then?" That was the question Grib couldn't overcome, and it did him no favors to hear it from his roommate. This man could create a wifi network in minutes but did not understand the complexities of making a fire from seemingly nothing.
"I don't know… not yet anyway," Grib muttered. He was inventive, but keeping the flame alive and sustained was another matter. He hoped his time in the Archives would give him a chance to explore other designs, runes, and implementations, both ancient and new. True, he was at the bottom of the hierarchy, but he was still given access to research files.
"I'll, eh, I'll leave you to it then?" Jermaine sank back into the train seat, put sunglasses over his eyes, and pushed his earbuds in. Grib knew the pattern. Jermaine was about to be ensconced in what was sure to be another compelling true-crime podcast. Unfortunately for the goblin, Grib never fully learned to appreciate the genre.
Nearly half an hour went by, and Grib was nowhere near cracking open his own skull to make this idea come to life. He let out a rattling sigh. The problem was that fire needed to be fed, but could a magical fire somehow surmount this little hurdle? A small vent could provide necessary oxygen, but it would also bleed heat—and energy. Maybe that was the key? To place some sort of contraption that both caught the leaked fuel while allowing air in? But that would require zephyrmancy or a zephyrmancer. He didn't have one and would rather not track down the other.
"You know what I've found?" Jermaine's question caught Grib off guard. He had assumed the guy had dozed off or was captivated by his podcast. "Sometimes the solutions come to me when I'm not looking for them. The idea is eluding you, innit? Give it a rest, mate, and I'm sure the right answer will present itself before you know it."
"I suppose you're right," huffed Grib. "Just hard to give up when I feel so close?"
"Grib, pal o' mine, we've been roommates for a couple years now. I'm as close a thing to a best mate as you're likely ever to have. And do you know why that is? I'm patient and open-minded. Life and its problems are not a dash, it's a stroll. It’s much easier to see the right way to go at that pace.
"Take me for instance. As a kid, technology was changing faster than we could keep up. I was one of the last few to see wired telephones at home. So, what did I do? I studied information technology, and I do pretty well. In my early 20s, islands pop out of the sky, offering whole new population systems and races—but what did I see? A job opportunity. And where did that lead me?"
"To share a flat with a goblin in some small Czech city?"
"Exactly!” Jermaine clapped his hands triumphantly. “And there's no better place to be, in my opinion. The food is good, the pilsner is tops, and the walking is great for my figure. Now really, Grib, let your mind rest before you have another dream about your dirty knickers."
The train rumbled on. Grib recognized his time was closing and stuffed his sketches away. His befuddlement would wait on the train. The pair departed the station and took to the streets.
As with most older cities this world had to offer, Prague was as close as a man-made town could be to an Iuniori city. The houses and buildings were tightly packed and lined the cobbled walkways and paved streets. Of course, people were everywhere, from the faux-beggar seeking alms to the CEO being chauffeured to the nearest espresso machine.
Grib and Jermaine had hustled to the Old Town Square, maneuvering their way along the crowd like a giant school of fish, avoiding street vendors and tourists. The shops were particularly full this morning, though Grib never knew who pulled what lever to release the congestion. Most shops offered pastry, beer, knickknacks, or tobacco pipes.
"You ever think about why dwarves love this town?" Grib looked up to Jermaine.
"My guess? The architecture." The man shrugged his shoulders.
"That reminds me," Grib said as he scanned the Old Town Square's beautiful Astronomical Clock, “what time is the boss's meeting?"
"Lemme check," Jermaine pulled out his phone and scanned away. "Laeanna says the meeting is first thing this morning—in D.C. So, probably 3 o'clock. Why, you looking to score some face time?"
"Anything a guy can do to get ahead, I suppose."
Grib's gaze moved past the intricately made face of the clock. Thankfully, it was not too far behind its skeleton's ringing at the 8 o'clock hour. It was beautiful, this creation, he thought. It almost seemed shameful to be in the shadow of the floating city of Kordathorv.
A celestial clock missed one of its cogs somewhere, or so Grib often thought when he saw the dwarven outpost. One of a kind, as it was the only soaring city the dwarves built and offered to the greater alliance of Iuniori. Somewhere people got the idea that dwarves hid underground and favored caves. Kordathorv and its glorious smokestacks, heat vents, and rotundas of marble, ebony, and granite shown as a beacon of welcome to all.
"Always makes me wonder how they fly," Jermaine commented, noticing Grib's routine rubbernecking.
"That?" Grib pretended as if he wasn't gawking at the city again. "Most of the floating cities use a complex faie spell. Rumor is the dwarves utilize fire to create and maintain the thrust, and the Tengu have an ancient magic of their own—something to do with the spirit realm, I dunno—I don't have clearance to the engine rooms, sadly."
Past the crowds of historic site seers and shoppers, a line of coworkers stood waiting between two ancient-looking chain links. These served as the moorings of the floating dwarven city. A twinge of jealousy raced through Grib's gut as he spotted and smelled what was likely a fresh donut. He promised himself that tomorrow he'd wake up in time to grab breakfast on the way to the office.
"When's the next trolly, then?" Jermaine asked a nearby elf.
"What?" the elf asked, glancing up from his phone. "Sorry, darn thing has me enchanted. I can't seem to beat my friend's score with this flapping bird."
"No worries, mate, I remember the struggle. What time is the next trip up?" Grib gave a slight smile of appreciation for his friend's unflappable patience with others. He knew the benefit of it well.
"I believe in three minutes," the elf answered. His eyebrows furrowed, and his thumbs smacked his phone screen with all the effort of a smith at his anvil.
"Thank you." Jermaine sipped his coffee tumbler and took his spot in the queue.
Moments later, the trolley car descended downward between the two cables, and a rather plump-looking orc opened the doors with a gracious smile. "Final morning run to Kordathorv. Please have your tickets and/or e-passes ready for scanning."
After a brief, if not entirely unexpected, moment of panic and patting, Grib produced his ticket while Jermaine held out his mobile. Two pleasant ping sounds later, and the friends found their usual spots near the rear window.
"Big day today, then?" Jermaine struck up their final conversation for the morning.
"Likely just the usual: analyze this, look over that, test for magic here, test for magic there." The goblin rapped his fingers. In reality, Grib would inspect whatever items the Tengu detectives brought in. The grooves between his eyes deepened. Once he got past the mental drawings of the engine and other formulas, a vague memory of a Welsh blade and some Mayan gems came to mind.
He'd happily tell Jermaine or anyone who’d listen about this. Part of the job, however, was not revealing what they inspected to anyone outside the office. His fingers kept rapping, and they picked up speed.
"Everything all right?" Jermaine honed in on Grib's up-and-down fingers.
It was a stupid rule, Grib thought. Anyone willing to learn and put in the work should be able to enjoy the results—whether that's magical or not. Why shouldn't Jermaine know some spears never miss their target or of rings enchanted to give the wearer an extra, albeit invisible, hand?
Elvish enchanters, orcish smiths, dwarven forgers, and bored faie submitted new artifacts weekly. He liked the idea of a homing chapstick that returned to the orcish owner's pocket. Anyone could appreciate the soup pot that only heated liquids, meats, and veggies but was always cool to the halfling hands that used it.
"The heights," Grib fidgeted, leaving it at that. A few minutes later, the squeaking crunch and swaying floor signaled the end of the ride. The trolly landed on the southern side of the cog. It wasn't too far from the landing platform until they parted ways.
Grib mumbled a quick goodbye to Jermaine, who was already unlocking his office door. The goblin shot an intentionally mean glance to the faie stationed as the man's "assistant."
"Jermaine has worked here for years," Grib grumbled. "He certainly doesn't need a chaperone." But soon, the unspoken defense of his roommate and friend was washed out in the day's business. Now safely within the confines of the floating city, he found the nearest porting station and light stepped seven teeth over in the cogwheel that was Kordathorv to Artifact Analysis level 11.7.
"Good morning Grib," welcomed Laeanna, "No Jermaine along today?"
"No need for him today, unfortunately.” Grib wished the elf hid her disappointment better but appreciated her attempt nonetheless. He told himself that a lesser goblin probably wouldn't have noticed. "Though I'm sure with a little luck, one of us will need to print something and require his assistance."
"One can only hope," she grinned. "Here's your docket for the day."
"Right, right," Grib said appreciatively, reviewing his orders for the day. He grinned and thanked fate that most of them had to do with his favorite enchantment. There was a sword that set the air it sliced ablaze, a never-ending cigarette lighter, and a pair of self-warming mittens.
"And the inventor claims they don't burn?" Grib asked the air. These gloves interested him most—any technique can be duplicated and repurposed with enough study. "Better save those for last."
The steady thud of his feet echoed off the metallic doors that lined the hallway. Once either reinforced storage closets or minor forgeries themselves, these test sites now provided each analyst with a large room to test artifacts in a safe area. Grib liked the seclusion, though he once enjoyed a good broomstick run in the open-air testing spot.
The artifacts he was to test waited inside his unit. Each was in its own sealed and clearly labeled container. Grib gave another grateful smile before locking the door and shuttering its window to ensure privacy. Then, as an extra move for confidentiality and personal delight, he started an American Southern rock playlist and began his examinations.
"Today's date is Oct. 18, 2031, beginning with the analysis of parcel DF0917, labeled 'Salamander's Scimitar,' claimed to 'set the air ablaze.'" Grib spoke in a raised voice into a microphone on his goggled headset. "Please forgive the music. It helps me focus. Conducting initial analysis now."
Grib unsealed the container labeled DF0917 to find an ancient and ornately carved scimitar blade. The hilt was crafted to look like the legendary fire lizard. Its bejeweled tail curled up into the pommel, and its opened mouth served as a guard. This left the blade itself as the salamander's tongue.
"The sword appears to be made in the early 8th century, with Arabic runes along the blade," the goblin droned as he searched the sword with a magnifying glass. "By estimations, the sword itself was man-made, but the enchantments smell of djinn involvement. Experiment mark 1 to commence."
A small video camera emerged from the wall and auto-focused on the goblin, who now held the scimitar in hand. "On my mark: three, two, one."
Bright orange and red flames licked the air. They scorched the walls ten feet away with the first downward swing of the blade, immediately causing the anti-fire system to kick into gear and dousing the room with water.
"Analyst note: claimant may have underemphasized the blade's abilities." Grib pulled his headset off as the sprinklers stopped and wiped his goggles clean. "Approved as a magical artifact, rejected for personal use. The claimant may apply for display permit or seek further information on storage or resale."
Grib moved on to the next item. The cigarette lighter was a newer invention, likely with more recent magics involved. It may be a more complex puzzle to crack, but Grib had time to kill before lunch, and the most current fire had him warmed up for more.
