Chapter 2: The First Challenge (Part 1)

  Stryg went through his normal routine throughout the day; washing the tribe’s clothes and cleaning the hunter’s tools as was expected of the children. In his free time he trained until he had trouble breathing, then went to watch the few hunters who had stayed that day in the hopes of learning something from their own training exercises.

  As the sun began to set Stryg was called over by Second Mother. While everyone else had tents to sleep in, even the chieftain, the Mothers lived in a log house, as befitted their station.

  Stryg took a deep breath and walked into the house. Several Mothers were waiting inside, each held a small bowl of ceremonial paint. 

  First Mother, leader of the Mothers and matriarch of the tribe, stood in front of the others. She was considered a great beauty, even among other Sylvan tribes. She had an uncommon button nose and a small round face, framed with black hair and the occasional strand of grey.

  First Mother was the oldest goblin in the tribe, at 38. While goblins could live twice that age, most never made it past their twenties, the dangers of the forest proving too great.

  Like many other species, goblins began to slow down and grow weaker in their thirties. At which point the tribe deemed them too weak and threw them out, leaving them to be food for the wolves and dire bears. The Mothers were the exception, since their job was to raise the children, it was fine if their physical abilities slowed down. Though First Mother still seemed as capable as she was twenty years ago.

  “Shirt off,” she said in a stern voice.

  Stryg nodded in obedience.

  First Mother walked around him, looking him over, “Since the day you were born we have watched over you, Stryg. You were always different from our other children.”

  “Odd,” Sixth Mother coughed. 

  At 24, she was the youngest Mother. She had been the prettiest goblin of her generation and had been honored with the role of a Mother early on. The status had only made her arrogant. She also seemed to love poking fun at Stryg, the weird one, whenever she had the chance.

  First Mother looked back, her yellow eyes narrowed, “Anything else you’d like to say? Or should I just punish you now?”

  “No, please forgive this foolish one,” Sixth Mother blushed and bowed. 

  Stryg fought to keep his face passive as he felt a rare moment of satisfaction. 

  After a long pause, First Mother slowly turned back around, and dipped her finger into a small pot of red paint, “You are lucky it is Stryg’s birthday. As I was saying, we have watched you grow through these years, Stryg. Despite your struggles, which there have been many, you have never given up pursuing strength. In no small sense, you are the runt of your generation.”

  Stryg wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or sad at her words.

  First Mother smeared the red paint on his forehead and cheeks, “For that I am proud of you, child, many goblins in your place would have given up by now.”

  He couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Such praise was rare, especially from the leader of the Mothers.

  First Mother frowned, “Which is why you must not fail. I know you are smaller and weaker than the others, but you have worked hard. Do not let your countless hours of training fall short during your first night challenge. Our Blood Fang tribe does not need weak goblins.”

  Stryg felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. The threat was real and he worried what she would do if he failed. No, he couldn’t think like that, couldn’t afford to. 

  He gulped his saliva down, “I won’t fail you, First Mother.” 

  She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You best not. I will not have one of our children bring shame to me.”

  Stryg didn’t actually consider himself one of the Mothers’ children. She had made that clear ample times throughout his life, but he didn’t think it smart to correct her words.

  First Mother took a step back, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get him ready.” 

  “Yes, First Mother!” The other Mothers spoke in unison.

  They each began to apply paint of different colors over Stryg’s skin.

  “Not you,” First Mother pulled Sixth Mother’s hair back. 

  Sixth Mother yelped in pain, and dropped her bowl, “I’m sorry, First Mother!”

  “Not yet, you’re not,” she hissed. “Did you think I’d just let you go?”

  Another Mother silently picked up the fallen bowl. The rest of the Mothers continued to paint symbols on Stryg’s body, their backs turned to their sister, Sixth’s plight. Stryg watched in silence.

  “You keep acting up. I should have punished you long ago,” First Mother kicked Sixth Mother’s knees from under her.

  Sixth Mother whimpered in fear. First Mother slapped her face with as much strength as she could muster, letting her claws scrape over the cheek. Sixth Mother screamed in pain and fell over.

  “You're this pathetic and yet you dare interrupt me!?” First Mother shouted. “If you weren’t a Mother I’d have thrown you out as scraps for the wolves.”

  “It won’t happen again! I promise!” Sixth Mother cried.

  “Believe me, I’ll make sure it won’t.” 

  She sucker-punched Sixth Mother. The younger woman gasped and fell to the floor. First Mother smiled, revealing her small fangs. 

  Sixth Mother whimpered quietly. Stryg was surprised at the situation. He knew the Mothers shared an intimate relationship with one another, some more intimate than others. Everyone knew that Sixth admired and even adored First. So it was a bit strange seeing First Mother be so cruel to her. Stryg had underestimated her ruthlessness.

  “It’s done,” Second Mother said quietly.

  The Mothers stepped back from Stryg. Painted symbols of swords, trees, and fangs, covered his whole chest, back, and face. 

  First Mother sat on top of Sixth’s back and smiled at Stryg, a dangerous gleam in her eye, “Look closely at her, Stryg. It doesn't matter who you are, this is what happens when you don’t know your place.”

  Stryg nodded with solemn expression. He understood her words clearly. Goblin culture centered around strength. One had to make sure that the rest knew their place among the tribe.

  “Stryg’s paint is finished,” Second Mother bowed to their matriarch.

  First Mother nodded, “Good. You may go.”

  Stryg bowed quickly and turned to leave.

  “Oh, and Stryg, don’t you dare lose your first night challenge. Consider your life forfeit if you do,” she warned.

  Stryg swallowed, “Yes, First Mother.”