Despite popular belief, we goblins rather enjoy the weekends, and in an attempt to have everyone start theirs off right we are kicking off “Fiction Fridays”. This short story is called Bedtime Magic, composed by our one and only Jeremy (the squishy human that pays us). So without further ado, let’s roll the film! (Metaphorically speaking, of course.)
A short story by Jeremy Tully
Ansbeth clutched a large tome to her bosom as she shuffled into the bedroom of her waiting granddaughter, Brey. “Get in bed little one. Your parents will be quite cross with me if you are still awake when they come home from the Council meeting.” Ansbeth looked down at the book, tracing the shield and faded symbols pressed into its cover. The book was something of great importance to her, as she hopes it will be to Brey.
“Only if you read me a story,” exclaimed Brey. No sooner had the little girl spoken than the floor suddenly pulled away from beneath her feet, almost as though it had somewhere more important to be at that moment. Brey was propelling herself effortlessly (and perhaps a bit too enthusiastically) through the air and directly into the waiting embrace of her comfortable bed. “Good gracious!” Ansbeth sputtered loudly just after a near miss with the little flying girl. “If dwarfs were meant to fly then you’d have been born with wings! Now get those magical impulses of yours under control before you hurt yourself!” Landing on the bed with a thunderous flop, Brey quickly rustles beneath the covers. “You start school next month,” said Ansbeth, “hopefully they can help refine those magical talents of yours.” Even at the young age of six Brey was already a handful, requiring the full attention of her parents to keep things in check until she could start school at the Imperial Academy.
“Story!” Brey squealed in anticipation.
“Yes yes,” says Ansbeth, “a tale of the Ancestors. Just as my grandparents read to me, and their grandparents read to them… keeping alive the honored stories of those that came before us. We repeat the tales of history…”
“…so we are not doomed to re-live them,” finished Brey. Ansbeth smiled and nodded approvingly.
“So where did we leave off last night,” asked Ansbeth, verbally prodding her granddaughter for a clue, “was it Drovan the Black?”
“Ooo yes, he sounds awfully important,” Brey whispers.
“Drovan the Black, a powerful Magus who fought on the front lines during the War of Burning Sand. And who was that war with?” Ansbeth looked up over the top of her spectacles in anticipation of an answer from Brey.
“The A’Bondi!” The little girl clapped gleefully, quite pleased with herself.
“Yes yes, the A’bondi from the north. Now let’s see…” Ansbeth ran her finger down one of the thick yellow pages in the book, looking for her starting point.
“Grandma’ma, will I serve in the ranks of the Imperial Clerics… like grandfather did?”
Ansbeth pauses for a moment to think. “I suspect you will, my dear. Your birth was blessed by a High Priestess of Alethia, something your father had to call in several favors to accomplish.”
“You are…”, she considers her next words long and hard, “… you are important. More important than you may ever know. Now settle down, and we can begin.”
Brey wiggled herself even farther below the thick downy covers, bracing for the good bits in the story. She has grown up hearing the tales of her family’s ancestors, night after night and year after year… but she never tired of it all, not one bit.