Arc 1 Chapter 1:

The Bride Price

---

 

My magenta legs dangle over the cliff's edge as I sit and watch Planet Earth rise over the Crater Sea. The sun just dipped below the horizon and neither of Mar's two moons—Phobos or Deimos—are visibly yet, so for a little while longer, the pale blue dot is the brightest light in the purple-dusk sky. 

My silver hair dances in the dwindling light as the wind whistles over the island. The breeze carries to me the sound of my mother calling my name. I decide to ignore her and continue to watch the sky as it starts to fill with stars—what's the point of turning twenty if I don't get to start making my own decisions?

"Pimple!" My mother yells over the heath, "Come here." She doesn't sound impressed by my ignoring her. "Your Father and Uncle are back. They have gifts and say they have important news." She's hardly audible from where she shouts from up the hill. How'd she even see me from up there? It's hard to escape family when you live in a valley on a tiny island. 

Like most of the islands in our archipelago, Perrifare is a steep and craggy mountain top poking out from the sea. Its sides are rocky and mostly barren with patches of dry grass growing in cracks in the red Martian rock. Hidden between the mountain ridges stand the only trees: dry scrubland and a few olive groves.

Perrifare is such a small island there isn't even a village. Only a few fisher trolls and a few goblin families survive on its slopes. My father and his brother own a vineyard and winery, where they live and work with their wives, their elderly mother and their children, including me. Together we raise goats and grapes between the island's rusty red cliffs.

"Coming Mama." So much for adulthood and freedom, I stand from my favourite lookout spot and trot up the steep path. Gifts will be fun at least. All goblins love Trinkets.

She ruffles my white hair once I reach her, rubbing in that I'll likely be shorter than her forever—I finished growing years ago.

I'm short even by goblin standards, with my boots on I'm only a little over 110 centimetres. All goblins have orange eyes and large pointed ears, my skin is smooth and magenta-pink, with silver-white hair despite my young age—a very rare hair colour amongst islanders. Goblins can come in almost any colour or shade, but green or red skin with black or brown hair are the most common combinations. Mother is pale blue with pink hair—a clue that she had immigrated here and was not a native Perrifite—my father and most of the rest of the Perrifare born goblins are red with black hair.

Growing up, my older brothers and cousins were the only other young goblins on Perrifare. As our generation has grown up, most of them have left for better prospects elsewhere. My two brothers left a few years ago to work as oarsmen on galley ships trading around the Southern Archipelago. Our family has several large debts that have hung over us since grandfather's days, and we're all expected to help repay them, although we're struggling enough just to keep up with the interest. When both my brothers can afford to, they'll find wives and come back to take over the vineyard from Father. For now, it's just me and two of my cousins to help our parents with the farm.

I like to think I'm a good daughter. Mostly at least. I work hard on the farm and usually listen to my parents and grandmother. I only very rarely ditch my chores nowadays. 

Mother and I make the short walk up the narrow path towards my family's cottage, a wooden affair with a whitewashed exterior and a red-painted roof. We round the last bend and sure enough I see my father's and uncle's boots by our front door. 

Mother and I enter the living room, where Uncle is sorting his new purchases in the dark. Goblins see well at night, with just the faint light slipping through the cottage's shutters we can all see fine.

"Welcome back Uncle! Gifts?" I run to hug the red man.

"Good to see you too Pimple," he gives me a one-armed hug. "Glad to know I'm appreciated. My gift to you is wrapped in my cloak."

I forget about the man and go raid the cloak left on the table next to the entrance. Sure enough, his cloak wraps around a pale blue bundle. Spreading the bundle out I find a periwinkle dress with dazzling pale shells sewn into the hems. I freeze. 

Mother comes to check what I've got and gasps. This is a wedding dress.

I know twenty is the age of consent, but isn't this rushing a little?

"Who? Where?" Is all I can say. All the unmarried men on Perrifare are blood-related to me. In our traditions, the bride moves to her groom's home, and he has to pay her family a bride-price. If I'm getting married it means I'll have to move somewhere.

"Don't worry, your father and I found you a great husband on our trip, he's older than you but very wealthy. I'm sure you'll get along with him just fine. You'll get on well with his other wives too." My uncle doesn't sound like he's convinced himself.

My mother stands up to her full height and puts her hands on her hips, "How much older, Daros?"

My uncle must realize he's in trouble, "It's done Caugette, he's already here, he's just waiting in his boat for an hour to let Pimple clean herself up and get dressed. We'll have the match-making meeting today, then he'll be back in a few weeks to take her to Grabosh."

I feel numb. This is too soon. Too sudden. 

"I don't want to marry." 

"We can't afford for you not to. The dowry he's offering includes an apprenticeship for Topar." He frowns, I guess he's doing this to help his own son. He turns again to my mother "Go get her clean and dressed Caugette, make her look neat."

 

My mother silently helps heat water and then combs my hair while I undress and wipe my body clean. I change from my old brown goat-wool dress to uncle's gift.

"Maybe he'll be nice?" I ask hopefully.

Mother's lips press into a thin line and she begins to braid my long silver hair. Once she's done she hugs me from behind. "Maybe he'll be nice." She echoes softly.

 

---

 

The traditions in the Southern Archipelago give goblin girls very little say in our marriages. We're raised until we're old enough, then the men sell us. Normally though, a goblin father will only decide the price for his daughter, and then she can pick anyone who's willing to pay for her. Entirely arranged marriages aren't unheard of, but they are rare. Same with marrying at 20, it happens sure, but normally it's just the age where we start looking for a spouse. I think mother was twenty six when she married, and father was twenty nine.

My mother was allowed to choose my father. My maternal grandfather decided on a bridal-price of 4 ancient bronze fingers. She was then introduced to different young men from different islands until she met, chose and was chosen by my father, who paid the bronze.

I can only hope my father and uncle accept and will cancel if I don't want to marry this guy. I'm worried he'll be too old. Also who has multiple wives? That's common in orcs I think but unusual in goblins. It's rare for Southern goblins at least.

Once I'm presentable mother leaves to find my father.

Uncle Daros prepares for our guest's visit while I sit in the living room, examining my new Trinket. I barely move in case I get the dress dirty, I don't know how much it cost but the shells decorating it alone must be 5nail. This is one hell of a nice Trinket. I would have loved it—if only it hadn't come with so much baggage.

 

A few minutes before my husband-to-be is due to arrive, my parents enter the living room from outside somewhere with grandma following behind. My mother looks furious, while grandmother only looks tired. Father refuses to look me in the eye at all. I haven't seen him in almost a month.

"Welcome back Papa. Who am I meeting?" My father loves me, he wouldn't marry me to a man who was too awful.

"A trader who made a bid for you on Pickland." He deadpans, he still won't look at me, "He won a bidding war against a few other men, apparently quite a few were waiting for you to come of age."

What the fuck? Bidding war? Waiting for me to come of age? That sounds way too creepy! 

"Is he nice?" I ask tentatively.

My father finally meets my eye, he looks heartbroken, "He hasn't given us a choice." He hangs his head. 

My uncle adds "You'll be fine, for the price he's paying he won't dare harm you."  

My grandmother still just looks tired.

As if on cue there's a knock at the door, my uncle answers it beaming, "Welcome Mister Lumberhaver. Is your master not with you? Glad you could find us anyway."

Practically having to crawl through our front door is an awfully fat orc. He's huge! The orc expands to his full size once he's squeezed through our goblin-sized door, he must be at least 170 centimetres, or more, and almost as wide. He's grotesque! A swinging belly on a guerrilla-like frame with wrinkled green skin and a greying mullet. His hair isn't silver-coloured from birth like mine, just salt and pepper from age—mid-sixties I'd guess. 

The oversized guest grunts at my uncle, "He's busy."

The monstrous bull-orc is dressed in fine purple silks and studies our humble home with obvious displeasure, until his eyes reach me. 

The bull-orc lumbers forward with slippered feet, he has a hungry glare and through cracked yellowing tusks he gives me a greasy smile.

"The silver-haired she-goblin. Very nice." He looms over me and I feel like he's appraising me just like I would appraise livestock at market. "Just turned twenty I've heard. My master has been looking for something like you." 

He grabs my jaw and parts my lips to inspect my pointy white teeth. His fingers smell bad, like sweat and feces. 

I growl through gritted teeth—I would bite him if his fingers weren't so foul. 

He turns my face to get a better look at me. The wretched orc releases me and steps back. He doesn't act remotely ashamed as his gaze wanders over my figure. The inspecting orc turns to my uncle, "Good condition, an unfortunate attitude but that can be fixed with discipline. Overall she's of fine quality and Master Sicklemouth will like her well. He will come through here within a few weeks to collect. You can expect him before the end of the month at the latest." 

I really hope the master is more pleasant than the servant.

"My master will pay the bronze on collection, where's the boy?" Our stinking guest looks around the dark room again. Orcs can see just fine at night too.

My uncle seems just as stunned by the gross minion as the rest of us. "T–Topar isn't here now, I am his father though."

"Bring him to my boat tomorrow at dawn, I'll take him with me and introduce him to his new master in Pickland. I hope you weren't lying about him being literate." 

With a flourish of his silk cloak the horrible bull-orc climbs back out our door and trudges down the winding path towards the shore, leaving my family and I in shock. Some bridal meeting! He didn't even use my name! And who sends a servant to meet their new fiance?