The Goblin Dreams

A Sword & Sorcery Fantasy Short Story

For my first short story on Senchas Claideb, here is a tale that came out of a prompt for a Scottish Gaelic writing class I took a few years back. The prompt was the word aisling (pronounced “ash-ling”) which means “dream”, so I wrote about a melancholic bocan (or goblin) that was yearning for a golden age commonly imagined in Celtic Revivalist artwork.

Young warriors Eachann MacLeod and Connor Ua Sreng get on the wrong side of an ancient bocan, a goblin-like creature dwelling in the Highland hills. The bocan places a curse on them, binding them to his service for a year and a day. In the midst of their servitude, the lads discover a wonderful and terrifying ability the bocan possesses—the unconscious ability to make his dreams and memories into reality. They must weather the fantastic dangers to seek a way to put his gloomy mind at ease.

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

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Uiscin stood on a ridge about a hundred yards from the little cairn-capped mound he called home. His bright blue eyes moistened as he beheld the land rolling around him; swaths of hills turned a deep, blackish blue as the sunlight shrank from them; cliff faces upon distant mountains basked in the gilt beams, glittering, before a grey wash returned to them; a loch in the midst of the grassy swells mirrored the sandy blue twilight overhead. Deer bounded along its coast and birds flitted from the rocks; their noises carried on the gentle wind to Usicin’s sharp ears.

Another like him could not be found among those sights or sounds. Though he well knew the time of his people passed—the Little People, many of the new inhabitants of the land called them—he long hoped for one last friend to speak with. At least the new folk settled in tight villages and left the wilds untouched. Their splendor remained, but memory of the lives and deeds that once occupied them faded. Even the lore Usicin held in his own mind winnowed; though he told himself the old stories and sang the old songs, everything merged in a watry pool of vignettes and murmurs.

“To home and bed, then,” Uiscin whispered, his voice soft and breath cool as wind trickling through sun dappled branches.

He walked back to his little mound, closing his eyes as the sunset warmed his wrinkled face. Memory guided him back to his door. However, he stopped some ways before he reached the threshold. Uiscin opened his eyes to find the door of his mound swung open and an iron knife buried in the center plank. The inside lay dark save for a lone mote of orange from the end of a tallow wick. It floated in the black, casting a glow upon the ancient furniture and treasures within.

Thieves! Uiscin determined, he strode forth. His little feet, wrapped in doeskin slippers, merely whispered against the grass. He slunk beside the threshold and leaned an ear inside. Two intruders rummaged through the mound. Their footfalls and the ruckus they made in their looting indicated they were much larger than Uiscin, likely some of the newer folk. They spoke the tongue of the new folk as well—Gaelic—in accents rough and grating on Uiscin’s ears.

“How long will that knife hold?” asked one of them, a young man with a deep, rolling voice.

“As long as it must,” said the other, also a young man but with a slightly higher tone. His accent smacked slightly of the Northern barbarians that gulls and gannets claimed had sacked the western isles. He continued, “Though I can’t find anything much of worth in this síd, the food is too meager and there’s neither gold nor silver.”

“Nothing that you could see, fool!” muttered Uiscin. He crossed over to a squat, mossy stone laying near the mound. It had not been moved or touched in what Uiscin reckoned to be decades. He curled his long, bony fingers under it and heaved upward. He begged the pardons of the ants and worms who skittered and burrowed away as he intruded on their home. A knob of ancient, petrified wood protruded from the earth. Uiscin seized it and pulled out a long, gnarled staff. He set the stone down and tapped the dirt off his cudgel, then clambered atop the mound, over the door, staff raised.

Once the pillaging ceased, footsteps sounded. A young man with coppery, braided hair in a blue, hooded tunic crouched out the door. From his belt hung a sheathed sword with a crossguard shaped like the rim of the moon. A dirk wrapped in leather rested between his belt and a purple sash about his waist. The lad carried a few pieces of meat and bread in one arm. He set his other hand on the dagger in the door.

Another youth emerged, however he did not stand upright. He bore a heavy slouch in his broad shoulders. Muscles corded every inch of his tanned, naked upper body; he wore a loose pair of woolen breeks. He cradled a bundle of cheese in his arms and gripped a heavy club in one hand. Shaggy black hair hung from his head.

“Now, then,” the first youth said as he withdrew the dagger. “To sup and bed—”

Uiscin smote the youth with the head of his staff. A hearty thwack echoed through the air as the lad collapsed, dropping his spoils in the grass. The other youth looked up as Uiscin swung a second time.

A Fer Bolg! Uiscin thought as he glimpsed the youth’s crest of proto-horns on his heavy brow. He did not halt his strike in the midst of his recognition and surprise to find a member of such an ancient race at his doorstep. The knob of his staff cracked between the lad’s horns and he fell backwards. His bundle fell open and the little wheels of cheese scattered everywhere.

Uiscin laughed as he hopped down beside the youths. They groaned, struggling to lift themselves up.

“Away with this!” Uiscin flung the knife away with the butt of his staff. “And as for you two…” Uiscin set his staff down and seized the youths hard by an ear. Before they sat up or reached for their weapons, Uiscin continued, “I place on ye three geasan for your trespasses; ye will not make any violence against me, ye will attend to my errands for a year and a day, and ye will not eat until I have allowed ye to.”

“Wretched little sprite!” spat the copper-haired youth. “You’ve ruined our journey.”

Uiscin laughed. “Your journey? Ye have ruined my supper! Now, pick yourselves up, get the food in my stores back ere the mice chew on it, and fix a meal.”

He released the lads and they rose, wincing as they gathered the foodstuffs. The Fer Bolg grit his teeth and grunted with each movement. He glowered at Uiscin; his limbs shook as he slowly reached for the scattered cheese.

“Strange,” he muttered. “It’s as though my limbs are prodded by unseen spears.”

“‘T is the power of the geasan I’ve laid upon ye. Ye should be numb to the sensation after a few months. By the end of the year, ye should nary feel it at all!”

The copper-haired youth laughed. “Is there not some arrangement we could make to shorten this sentence?”

“There is not,” confirmed Uiscin.

“We’re trying to reach Orkneyjar before long, and—”

“I’ve not heard of such a place.”

“The northern isles, then.”

“Ah! Where the Tribes of Danu learnt their spells. Fret not, boy, the isles were there a thousand years ago, they’ll be there a thousand years hence. Now hurry, I can hear the mice scampering out of their holes.”

The lads continued with many a moan and mutter of sharp-edged oaths, but brought all the food inside and place it on the low table in center of the home. They lit the hearth with peat and filled the space with orange light and a deep, earthen smell. The walls and floor were of smooth earth and clay, but showed no signs of cracking or crumbling. The fire also revealed the mess Eachann and Connor had made in the one-room house; the few small chairs upturned, the cushions of Uiscin’s aged couch scattered across the floor, and pots, pans, and utensils in heaps.

“Och! Och! Ochan!” wailed Uiscin. “This’ll not do! Lads, put everything back where it should be, then get supper made.”

“It was dark,” protested the copper-haired lad. “I don’t remember where it all goes.”

“The geasan will let ye know where.” Uiscin strode over to the couch and replaced the cushions. He stretched himself across it and shut his eyes. “Ye can leave your weapons by the door.” He pointed one wizened finger towards the threshold. “Not much good they’ll do ye, and they’ll only get in your way.”

As Uiscin drifted off into rest, the lads heeded him, prodded by the geasan. They replaced everything as it had been and prepared a meal with some of the things they almost stole. With the hearth lit, they also found a small chest with some onions and spices.

“We ought to wring the goblin’s neck,” the horned lad growled as he chopped an onion, squinting and rubbing his eyes in his arm.

“Well, Connor,” said the copper-haired lad, “we could but we’d also die afterwards.”

“What cruel magic-users the folk of the síd are, Eachann, twisting fate itself to do their bidding.”

“Men as well can forge such chains of destiny if they’re skilled enough.”

Connor set his knife down and looked and his calloused, scarred hands. “In chains of iron or fate, I don’t relish in being enslaved again.”

“There’s always some way out if we’re clever enough.” Eachann gathered up the chunks of onion and tossed them into a squat copper cauldron over the hearth.

Connor scoffed. “Well, we have a year to get clever.”

Once the lads finished the meal—a simple, hearty porridge with pork and onions—they made a bowl for their new master. Uiscin snored on the couch and smacked his thin lips. Eachann went to shake the little man awake, but halted as whispers floated by his ears; a cool breeze coming from nowhere tickled his face. The phantom voices grew louder and intermingled with laughter and singing in some nonsensical tongue. They induced scenes of gilded, twilit melancholy in Eachann’s mind; he imagined hills bathed in the light of dawn, glistening with dew and filled with dancing maidens. His heartbeat slowed to a churn and a single tear trickled out of his eye.

“Ah!” sighed Uiscin and the sounds, images, and breeze stopped. “Smells like a fine meal!”

Uiscin opened his eyes, went to the table, and seized his bowl and spoon. After a few bites, he nodded. Eachann and Connor stood on the other side, chewing their lips, their eyes upon the stew.

“That is good!” he proclaimed. “Get yourselves some. I suppose ye’ve earned it.”

The lads sighed and took their own bowls. They sat on their knees on the floor as the table came only halfway up their shins when they stood.

“Now,” Uiscin swallowed a bit of stew and pointed his spoon at the lads, “I’d be a bad host for not asking your names. However, I’m not your host and ye almost stole from me. Still, if ye’re to be here for so long I suppose I ought to know who ye are.”

“I am Eachann MacLeod,” answered Eachann.

“Connor Ua Sreng.” Connor wolfed down his stew without meeting his master’s gaze.

“Sreng,” breathed Uiscin. “Of the champion’s stock himself? In my service! What a marvelous thing. What brings you out of Éirinn and into these hills?”

“Liberty long overdue,” said Connor. “We’re on the road to the north to bring ill news to a friend’s wife.”

“Then why didn’t ye sail?” asked Uiscin. “Ye wouldn’t have needed to burgle me and ye’re keeping a widow waiting.”

“Eachann figured we’d get more renown if we traveled from Selma through Argyle and along the Lowland coast on foot.”

“Renown?” Uiscin laughed. “The only notoriety ye’ve gotten is as plunderers of this lonesome bocan.”

“And what is your name, bocan?” Eachann interjected.

“I am Uiscin.”

“What of your lineage?”

Uiscin hung his head. “All gone. Forgotten by my folk, unknown to yours. I remain.”

The three finished their meal in silence.

“Wash everything and keep the hearth aflame but not in a blaze,” Uiscin bade them as he returned to the couch. “Sleep as you need but keep those embers lit.”

Eachann and Connor sank beside the hearth. They took turns throughout the night catching light sleep and tending to the hearth—poking it and tossing bits of fuel upon it. The little cracks in the door were the only way the lads could discern how the hour stood.

While Eachann tended, he propped the nail of his thumb against his forehead. The pain staved off sleep; though he reckoned he and Connor were far from any danger, he dreaded to know what other inconveniences Uiscin would introduce if the hearth went cold. As he prodded the embers, a sigh sounded near the couch. It was not like Uiscin’s raspy, slightly phlegm-laden sigh, but a light, wispy release from a woman. Eachann glanced over and exhaustion fled his bones as he witnessed an incredible shift in the little bocan’s home.

Uiscin still laid upon a couch, but instead of it bearing a dark wooden frame with musty, faded cushions, it was built entirely of gold with plump, embroidered cushions. Fist-sized carbuncles were set in the legs and arms.

The entire half of the home around the couch turned into a grand hall with a vaulted ceiling supported by pillars. Tapestries with swirling, dancing designs hung between them. The space behind the couch stretched into darkness; only the hearth’s light illuminated the room.

Eachann rose and stepped towards Uiscin. He halted as nine figures emerged from the shadows. Blonde maidens in purple gowns gathered around the couch. Three carried harps, three carried golden jugs, and three carried gem-encrusted golden goblets. The harpists played sweet melodies, their fingers moving upon the strings with grace. Each note filled Eachann’s heart with joy, sorrow, and inspiration. The song echoed the dim age which Uiscin’s people—the folk of the síd—had their heyday. An age where wonders walked in regular life and kingdoms were ruled by legends.

The couch, the hall, the maidens, Eachann thought, they’re all simply artefacts of his time.

“Connor,” Eachann whispered as he went over to his friend. He shook the Fer Bolg awake; Connor glowered at him as he roused, but his frustration faded once he glimpsed the phantasm surrounding Uiscin.

“What sorcery,” he breathed.

“I don’t know if he’s aware of it,” said Eachann. “Mayhap it’s his dreams…”

“Seeping into the waking world.”

The lads watched the maidens play and pour dark, glistening wine into the goblets. Their hazy, blue eyes fixed upon Uiscin and did not blink; their bright red lips were flat. The song played by the harpists changed, flowing from a pleasant aire to a harsh whirring of strings.

A shape masked in shadow moved between the pillars. The tapestries fluttered as a foul-smelling gust rolled out of the darkness. The lads recoiled at the stench of wet dog and old blood. The maidens bearing the jugs and cups dropped them and ran from the couch; the golden vessels fell soundlessly to the floor. The six of them scattered and vanished like powdery snow blown into the wind. The harpists remained, their tune becoming more frantic. Blood spurted from their fingers and tears welled in their eyes as the shape approached. They abandoned the use of their hands and banged their fair heads against the harp strings.

A pair of gleaming predator’s eyes flashed on the head of the shape. It towered close to the height of the hall’s ceiling. Its body looked similar to a bear’s, bulky and barrel-chested, but held up on canid legs. The harpists did not look up from their cacophony; their mouths locked open as though they screamed soundlessly.

Connor rushed to the door and seized his club. He tossed Eachann’s sword to the Gael and rushed towards the phantasm. Eachann followed, keeping his sword sheathed.

The shaded beast leaned over the couch. The fading firelight flashed upon its yellow fangs, dripping thick strands of saliva. A droning snarl rumbled from its mouth, pushing through the harpists’ maddening tune. It raised a huge paw towards the back of the couch. Its long digits, terminating in ragged, cracked talons, curled above Uiscin’s twitching face.

Connor leapt forward and cracked his club against the beast’s knuckles. It retreated and loosed an ear-splitting howl, which swallowed the harpists’ cacophony. The maidens lifted their heads and shrieked. They too faded like the cupbearers.

Uiscin jerked upright and everything faded—the beast, the hall, the harps, and the ornamentation upon the couch. He stared, bleary-eyed at Connor and his club.

“You dare try and commit tabu against me already?” asked Uiscin, scowling.

“There was a beast.” Connor lowered his club and looked about. “It would’ve torn you apart—”

“The only beast I saw was in my dreams, it’s haunted them for years, coming closer each night. Tonight ‘t was the closest it’s ever been.”

“In your dreams.” Eachann set his sword on the table and approached. “Connor and I bore witness to them just now; you slept upon a lovely gilt couch surrounded by maidens in a spacious hall.”

Uiscin stared forward, setting his hand upon his brow. “Then my end draws near—as if the beast wasn’t an omen enough.”

“What do you mean?” asked Connor.

“When we folk of the síd reach the end of our lives, all our memories pour from dreams into the waking world. They live out the golden days before they fade with us. It is like the blooming flower that withers in winter. Sometimes, things that dwell in the darkest reaches of the otherworld crawl between the black spaces of sleep to ruin the memories of dreamers. They feed upon the fear and sadness they sew through destroying these treasures of our minds.”

“Is there a way to kill them?” Connor clapped the head of his club in his hand.

“Not with mortal weapons of your age,” answered Uiscin. He shambled from the couch to the hearth and reached into the chimney, withdrawing a pair of spears bundled in a singed leather wrap. He set them on the table and unfurled the wrap. The spearheads were needle tips of tarnished bronze with shafts of petrified wood.

“Crafted by the old redsmiths. These can wound it.” Uiscin handed the spears over to the lads. “But it will be up to your strength alone to slay it or drive it away. Now, I will take my rest again, and should the beast return, ye’ll fight it.”

“Indeed,” said Eachann, “but if I might beg a favor in return—should we kill it or drive it off, may Connor and I be released from your yoke?”

Uiscin rubbed his chin. “A mighty favor after only one evening of work. I’ll ponder it in my sleep.”

He stretched out upon the couch and shut his eyes. Eachann and Connor placed a generous pile of peat on the hearth then stood before him, leaning on their spears. Soon, however, weariness clawed at them and they sat, hung their heads, and drifted into sleep.

The lads awoke to something moving within the silence and shadows. The hearth’s low flames illuminated the same ornate couch as before, only it lay empty. The goblets and jugs lay on the ground, wine pooling at the couch’s feet. The harpists were gone, but their instruments remained. Blood trickled down the strings. A wail of sorrow sounded through the pillars; it echoed like a stray wind trapped in a desolate cave.

Eachann and Connor rose, gripping their spears, and entered the darkness. They followed the wailing through the maze of pillars and tapestries. The hall never changed, however the images upon the tapestries became more gruesome, depicting heads on spikes, disembowelments, and the razing of villages. The firelight as well seemed to follow the lads, though the hearth vanished behind them; it remained as a ring around themselves.

The wail shifted from a mournful ululation to a frantic babble in a familiar voice—

“Please!” the voice cried. “Don’t take them from me! They’re all I have!”

“Uiscin!” breathed Connor.

The lads hastened towards their master’s voice. Claw marks riddled the pillars, and the tapestries hung in tatters. Long gouges trailed through the earthen floor. The lads halted as the tracks ended before the beast, looming over Uiscin curled upon the floor. The little man buried his face in his hands. The monster remained at the edge of the darkness, but its fangs and eyes reflected the dimming phantom firelight. The lads pointed their spears and advanced. The beast regarded them with a sharp glare and throaty, reverberating growl.

“Ye’d do best to remove yourselves from this dream,” droned a deep voice from the slavering lips of the beast—though its mouth did not move.

“Only if Uiscin comes with us,” retorted Connor, baring his teeth and thrusting his spear towards the beast.

It snarled and leered forward, eyes flashing red. “After what he has done to ye? This is your chance at an early liberty, lads, why squander it?”

“No man deserves to have his good memories rent from his grasp,” said Eachann, advancing. He leveled the spear towards the beast’s eye. Uiscin lifted his head, gazing up at Eachann with red-ringed eyes.

“Do ye even know what he’s done?” inquired the beast. “Around the little motes of joy is a sea of horror and blood; would such a master such as that be merciful to ye?”

“I c-c-can do no more harm,” Uiscin spat through trembling lips. “I will be good upon my word, Eachann. You and Connor will be free, just drive this wretched beast away!”

Though Uiscin gave the lads an order, the geasan did not prod them to fulfill his wish. It was as if the realm of dreams nullified the obligations imposed upon them—the choice to act remained wholly up to them.

“Or let doom take its course.” The beast lowered its dripping maw towards Uiscin. The bocan covered his face once more and sobbed heavily.

Eachann shouted and thrust the spear into the beast’s eye. It reared, leaving a trail of black, smoking blood as it tore itself off the ancient spike. It snapped as it shrieked a sound like the cries of tortured people. Connor drove his spear through the beast’s black, hairy throat; the tarry blood ran down the shaft and soaked his hands. He recoiled and shook the residue off.

“It burns like salt in wounds!” he cried.

The beast shrank into the darkness. Its fangs and eyes growing smaller and dimmer.

“Know this,” its phantom voice drawled. “After the last of the old races are gone, the nightmares will return for mankind. The pack has already feasted on the dreams of great heroes—yours will be upon our slate to sup!”

At last, all traces of the beast vanished. Uiscin rolled onto his back, slid his hands down to his chest, and sighed. A spell of dizziness came over the lads and they awoke seated, with chins resting on their fists, before Uiscin on his couch. He smacked his lips and sat up.

“Ah,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Just in time for my morning walk.” He looked to the door where the blue light of dawn illuminated the thin slit between it and the ground. “Now to keep my promise.” He rose and set his hands atop the lads’ heads. “I release ye from my yoke and invite ye to take up arms against me should I ever be a wretched host. Leave the spears, however, they’re cherished treasures of mine.”

“Very well,” Eachann said. He and Connor left the spears on the table. They gathered their own weapons then opened the door and stepped into the cool, wet air of the misted highland dawn.

Uiscin raced behind them, a sack raised over his head. “Wait, lads! The way is long to the northern isles and the hunt is not as plentiful as it was in my day.”

Connor accepted the sack and slung it over his heavy, hunched shoulder. “Thank you, Uiscin.”

“Now,” Uiscin waved his hands towards the hills emerging from the ghostly grey sea, “I’ll see ye to as far as the old, mossy cairns—some wraiths still haunt these lands but I know the best way to avoid them.”

***

After a long day of travel, Eachann and Connor settled down by a fire beneath a ridge. They withdrew the food from Uiscin’s sack and each lad took his share for the night. However, they only stared at their suppers, chewing their lips.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” asked Connor.

“I am,” answered Eachann, “but for some reason my hands refuse to reach for them.”

Suddenly, the lads looked each other in the eyes, mouths agape.

“The third geas!” they said at once.

“That fool Uiscin!” Connor ground his teeth. “He didn’t release us from the tabu that stopped us from eating before him.”

They leapt to their feet and ran towards the fading beams, back to the bocan’s home in the mound.

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“The Goblin Dreams” © Ethan Sabatella 2023 – Current Year, All Rights Reserved. Reprinting or replication of this work in its entirety in any form (written, audiovisual, etc.) without express permission of the author is prohibited. Excerpts may be used for review or promotional purposes with credit and acknowledgement of the author. This piece cannot be used for training of Artificial Intelligence programs.