Once upon a time, in a world not so different from our own, there was a warted little goblin with a penchant for thievery. Standing half the size of a mortal man, with mottled green skin and deft fingers, he very much resembled a frog, aside from his pointed ears which often twitched vivaciously. His eyes were black and his fangs sharp, visible every time he grinned. ‘Twas his life’s purpose to outwit any man or beast, stealing only the most precious of treasures as trophies of his successes. He wasn’t a particularly greedy goblin—certainly not as greedy as humanity—but he was cunning and very easily bored, which eventually drove him to a deed punishable by death: stealing from the Gods. It is a formidable task, one which would require only the sharpest of wits and strongest of wills, yet this goblin was never one to forgo a challenge.
Of all the temples dedicated to the various deities in the region, the most extravagant was that which lay at the base of the mountain. It was a lavish structure, with great stone pillars and intricate gold adornments. Within it was an altar for each of the divine powers where one could kneel, pray, and bestow some form of offering in hopes of earning the Gods’ favor.
The goblin was not a religious creature—he scorned believers for placing hope in powers beyond their control—but when he learned mortals would travel to the temple to set great quantities of gold and jewels upon said altars, gifts which were said to be guarded by great stone sentinels, he knew he had to travel there and see it for himself. It was a day’s journey traveling on goblin legs, but driven by his curiosity and lust for a new challenge, he plodded onward, keeping to the shadows and avoiding any confrontation.
When he finally arrived, it was dusk. The temple’s entrance was a gaping mouth in the side of the mountain, and the wind blew around him in an unpleasant howling manner. He drew his shawl tighter around himself and crept inside, his weasely eyes helping him find his way through the darkness. Rows of fiery torches illuminated the pedestals for the divinities, and when he came closer, he saw the large piles of coins and jewelry. He paused. It seemed no one else was around, so he crept even closer.
It was then that the walls around him began to move, and in the darkness he could see the outlines of great winged serpents painted onto the stone. Befuddled, he watched as they slowly hissed and slithered, eyes glowing orange. Would they peel off the wall and attack? Or was this simply an illusion to scare away dim-witted fools tempted by the Gods’ offerings?
His question was soon answered as a croaky voice cut through the silence: “Fear not, little sprite. These are the temple guardians, and they shall only emerge if you attempt to disgrace the Gods in any way.”
He spun around, and out of the darkness the temple’s priestess emerged. She was a gnarled old woman, back stooped with age and limbs too weary to move any faster than a snail’s pace. She looked a bit impish herself, cloaked in green and eyes gleaming mischievously. Around her neck was a golden pendant, on it inscribed an ancient rune assumed to be holy in nature.
The goblin raised his hands in passive surrender. “I come only to observe the worship place of mortals.” He was, of course, lying.
The priestess hobbled over. “Of course, of course. Observe all you like.”
He pointed at the still-moving illustrations on the wall. “What kind of magic is this? And why do the snakes have wings?”
The priestess smiled ruefully. “When I was a young maiden and thriving with power, I created these guardians to protect my temple. They are modeled after the great winged serpent which resides at the top of this mountain. She is the Gods’ most dutiful servant.”
He mulled this over. “So they let you handle the offerings?”
She nodded. “Yes, only I may touch the sacred gifts.”
“How do your creations know it is you?”
She tapped the pendant resting against her bosom. “This pendant is the source of my power. Whoever wears this pendant may near the altars without consequence.”
The goblin grinned wickedly. “Ah. Interesting indeed.”
Well, as one might assume, the goblin managed to steal the pendant from the priestess (involving much deception and one powerful sleep potion) and stuffed his pockets with coins and jewels, undisturbed by the stone sentinels. He couldn’t take much, but it was the joy of his victory that was the greatest treasure of all. As he exited the temple, pockets bulging and belt jangling, he could barely contain his delight. Too excited to sleep or rest, he decided he would return home immediately and bask in the glory of his own wit. The priestess was far too old to catch up with him, a fleet-footed fae.
What the little hobgoblin did not realize, however, was that the Gods did not take lightly to being bested. As soon as the priestess awoke and realized his misdeed, she knelt down and sent up a prayer to the higher powers, letting them know there was one who dared defy them. The Gods heard her prayer, and in their fury, they sent the winged serpent to bring him to them for righteous punishment.
As the priestess had described, the winged serpent was a celestial who did the bidding of her superiors. Although she was generally pacifistic in nature, preferring to avoid the matters of mortals, she was often called upon to dole out punishment for their heinous crimes. This she did with skill and single-minded precision. There was a cold serenity behind her amber eyes, a passivity not particularly chilling until it was coupled with the brutality of her actions. Some mythos stated she was born from the unholy coupling of an angel and serpent, others claimed she was cursed by the Gods to be their servant for her unnatural beauty and wit. Whatever her origin may be, the truth of the matter was she never failed in her duties and not even the Gods themselves questioned her. They simply gave her instruction and waited for her to carry it out to completion.
Upon receiving the demand, the winged serpent took to the sky and made it to the warted goblin’s home shortly before his arrival. His dwelling was a den of shadow and bone, believed to be the long-dead carcass of a dragon from the North. The goblin did not like dragons, as they often proved to be cleverer than he, but he very much liked the idea of dancing on their graves, which is why he took to making this skeleton his home. Moreover, with all his cunning, he devised traps and snares hidden about the place that would make any trespasser regret their attempt of trifling with him.
He was perhaps too confident in his ability.
When he found (to his dismay) the winged serpent blocking the path to his home, he stared in awe at the majestic and terrifying creature before him. Head raised, she was four times the height of any mortal man, heavy scales glinting bright emerald in the light of dawn. Her wings were a feathery white speckled with brown, tinted gold at the tips, and for a brief moment the goblin wondered if he might snatch a single feather for safekeeping. But then her jaws split upon to reveal fangs long as swords, and he was awash with terror.
When she spoke, her voice took a calm but menacing tone. “You have stolen from the Gods, sprite. And for that you will be punished accordingly.” Her forked tongue flicked out with every enunciation of “s” and only added to her menace.
The goblin remained quiet. Even amidst his fear, a plan began to form in his mind. If he could dive between her coils, he could enter his home and enact his traps, so if she were to follow, she’d be caught. He might even be able to steal a feather (or two) if she was entrapped. But he must move quickly, for he knew she would not be bested easily.
In a flash he scrambled between her form, careful to not be crushed or caught, and then plunged into his den of twisted bone. She dove into the dark after him, winding between the dragon remnants, intent on catching her prey. After a long-winded chase with many near-fatal encounters, the goblin finally had her trapped in a cage of his own making, confident the strong bones would prevent her from breaking free. He stood before her and grinned malevolently.
Indeed, she was ensnared, but only for a moment. With just a twitch of her powerful form, she was free, wings spread asunder. As she rose to her full height, fangs bared and amber eyes alit with fury, the scales on her head and neck began to shift and move. Suddenly her head split apart to form two, then four, then eight, and so on—a multitude of writhing serpent heads hungry for blood.
The grin on the goblin’s face evaporated and he cowered in terror. “Please, spare me!” He cried as he fell to his knees in the dirt. “Have mercy on my soul!” Any sense of pride fell away as he pleaded for his life.
“It is not my place to punish you,” she said in the voice of a hundred serpent heads which thundered around them. “I shall be taking you to the Gods, and they will decide your fate.” She wrapped her body around him tightly so he could not escape, and with a great flap of her wings, left his dwelling and flew up in the air. Her many heads began to assimilate with her main form, and soon it was only the one which cut through the air like the tip of an arrow.
Equal parts panic and awe, the goblin watched in amazement as the world below them grew smaller as they took to the clouds. The air grew colder, the sun brighter, and the wind stronger, but somehow she glided through the sky as smoothly as a fish through water, her wings catching rays of sunlight, illuminating her like a goddess. All was quiet, and for a moment the goblin wondered how he was never aware such divinity existed. But it was the realization of this divinity that reminded him of his current state, and he realized he would soon be dead if he did not form a plan. When he looked down and noticed they were nearing the cliffs, a scheme came to him.
“Oh great winged serpent!” He called out from beneath her. “I know you are mighty and I know you are fierce, but are you not kind as well? Please, I have family nearby, may I not see them one last time before I am taken to my death?”
“Family, you say? Who are they? Where do they dwell?”
“They are simple cave goblins who dwell in a hovel at the bottom of the cliff. I need only see them for a moment, and then we can be on our way.”
The winged serpent was not without compassion, so solemnly she agreed. However, the truth was the goblin had no family at all, and was instead leading her into a trap. At the base of the cliffs, deep within a crevice hid the great crimson Arachnea, a hard-shelled creature not unlike a scorpion and double the size of the serpent. The crevice was so tight if he were to lead her there, she could not fly away, and if luck was on his side, he would be able to escape while she battled the monster. It was a dangerous machination, but his only chance of escape at the moment.
Down they flew, past the cliffs and deeper into shadow. When they touched the ground once more, she deposited him onto the sand (surprisingly more gently than he would have thought possible). “Lead the way.”
Towards the crevice they traveled. As the space around them grew tighter and tighter, the goblin pretended to be apologetic as he told her he was sorry for the confined area and that his family was near. The serpent said nothing but continued to silently slither on, her wings tucked so close to her body they were practically invisible. Finally, just when the serpent could barely move because she was so contained, the great crevice came into sight, and the goblin had to resist the urge to chuckle gleefully. She was trapped! She would have no choice but to fight the crimson Arachnea, and in doing so, would have to let him escape.
“We’re almost there,” he said again, venturing forward and hoping the Arachnea would soon make its appearance. The serpent, however, did not follow and instead paused, her tongue flicking out repeatedly, tasting the air.
Danger was near.
The ground around them began to tremble as the monster sensed their presence and moved towards them, the sound of clicking and scrabbling echoing in the darkness. The goblin began to search for a small orifice for him to hide in, not wishing to be caught in the middle of the duel about to take place. However, the winged serpent had other plans.
“I know you are a trickster, imp, and have led me here to fight some terrible beast.” Her voice rang out clear and resolute, not a single trace of anger or terror. “But I am not without my own tricks, and it shall be you who must face the creature.” In fact, she almost sounded amused.
Even with his goblin eyes, he could barely make out her form in the darkness, but he saw it beginning to shrink and shrink, all the while the sounds of the Arachnea getting closer and closer. The goblin began to tremble at the realization his plan was not going as well as he hoped, and he began to run the way they came. He knew not where the serpent had gone, only that she had seemingly vanished. Somewhere ahead of him he heard the sound of feet hitting sand in a steady rhythm. Who could that be? Could that be her? Had she somehow become human?
These questions filled his mind as he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. When he entered the clearing where they first entered the cave, he sighed in relief. Neither the crimson Arachnea nor the winged serpent were anywhere to be seen. However, suddenly the cliff behind him shook, and with an explosion of rock and rubble, the Arachnea tore through the side of the cliff, pincers out and pointed teeth gnashing. It let out an unholy shriek which chilled the goblin to the bone, and he froze, paralyzed by fear. It was larger and more horrendous than he could have ever imagined. One of its many black eyes was larger than the goblin’s whole body. It could crush him with one sweep of its tail or swipe of its claw. He was doomed.
And then, like an angel from above, a familiar voice called down: “You can never trick a serpent, imp. We are as cunning as the Trickster God himself. I knew what you had planned the moment you led me here.”
The goblin looked up to see the winged serpent flying in the sky, looking quite humored by his misfortune. “Please, save me, oh great winged serpent! I do not wish to die at the hand of this godless creature.”
The Arachnea, as if understanding his words, shrieked again and clacked his claws menacingly. It was poised to strike.
“The only godless creature here is you, little sprite,” the serpent called down. “But I hear your pleas. If you swear to never again betray me or anyone else ever again, I shall save you and deliver you to the Gods safely as promised.”
“I swear! I swear!”
“Swear by the Law of Verity. Only then will I save you.”
At this, the goblin did pause. The Law of Verity was, according to legend, a sacred creed which, when invoked, would instantly kill any who broke it, even an immortal, cursing their soul to an eternity of hell. He had always scoffed at the idea of it, but after encountering the serpent, he now knew not to trifle with such things. If he swore by the Law of Verity, then he would be bound by it until the end of his days.
The Arachnea’s tail shook and its claws snapped. It would strike at any second.
The goblin decided he would rather live another day than die at the claws or teeth of this creature. “I swear by the Law of Verity I shall never again betray you or any other living soul again!”
It was all the serpent needed to hear. She dove down and snatched him up just as the Arachnea attacked, whacking her tail against its head to momentarily stun it as they took to the clouds once more. The goblin let out a sigh of relief as he watched the monster grow small beneath them, thankful to be in one piece. The sky seemed a crisper shade of blue and the air tasted sweet now that his life was once again his own. He knew, as they flew to meet the Gods themselves, that he would soon perish in some painful way, but in the meantime, all he could do was be grateful for his life still intact.
This moment of peace was shattered by the voice of the serpent. “In the case that you doubt the effectiveness of the Law of Verity and consider betraying me once more, I shall remind you that if you break it, you will perish at once and your soul will be damned to the most inner circle of the Demon King’s torture chamber in Hell.”
The goblin mumbled and grumbled, but he knew she had spoken the truth. In fact, upon further reflection, he realized he actually admired her so for besting him twice—a feat no living creature had achieved thus far. As one easily bored by the lack of wit in the world, he (begrudgingly) found it refreshing, even thrilling.
“However—” she continued, interrupting his contemplation. “Be not afraid. I swear I shall protect you from any danger, you have nothing to fear. And when we reach the meeting place of the Gods, if you are repentant for your crimes, they may in fact show mercy. They are not as vengeful as some might think.”
The goblin was surprised by her kind words. It almost seemed like she was trying to comfort him. Was it possible this reptilian celestial had a heart which sympathized with even a wretch such as he? He could only wonder. But all the same, he appreciated her kindness, more than she could ever know. He had not been shown much in his lifetime and was unaccustomed to encountering goodness.
After some time, they reached the Black Forest, a thick expanse of tangled trees which formed a heavy canopy, making endless night. The winged serpent flew down, through branches and under covering, until they came to the river which wound through the forest like a ribbon of blue. The forest was more pleasant near the river, and bits of sunlight even peeked through, making patches of water sparkle.
The serpent set him down at the riverside. “We are almost there. We need only travel this river a ways. But I am tired and wish to bathe. Now that I know you cannot betray me, I will allow you to bathe as well, if you wish. I think you need it.” If it was possible, she wrinkled her snout at him.
“How will you even fit in the river?”
She eyed him, amber eyes twinkling with amusement. “Did you already forget I can change my form? I will bathe around the bend and collect you when I finish.”
The goblin watched her slither off between the trees, and then begrudgingly pulled off his garments to step into the river. He might as well enjoy one final bath before his demise. The water was pleasantly cool and refreshing, and it indeed cleansed him of all the sand and grime which clung to his mottled green skin. After finishing this baptism of sorts, he wondered again how the winged serpent bathed herself. He contemplated if going to watch her would be considered betrayal, but he reminded himself she never clearly told him to stay away. As it is said in Latin, qui tacet consentire—she who is silent, consents.
Curiosity got the best of him, and he climbed out of the river, pulled on his clothes, and crept through the shrubbery to find her.
Around the bend was a little pool, calm and quiet, and in it a naked form bathed. High on the little ledge of brush and tree, the goblin peered down, pushing aside the shrubs to get a better look. To his amazement, it was the winged serpent, but she was not a serpent at all—she was fully human. Her divinity still shone through, in the glow of her skin and sheen of her hair, but there was no denying what was once a serpent was now supple human flesh.
She was beautiful. She was the most beautiful thing the goblin had ever seen in his short and miserable life. All his days he had only known the beauty of gold and silver, of stolen possessions and sweet victory, but in that moment he realized he had never really known true beauty. She was not like the women of the villages—willowy or buxom, they all looked the same to him. The woman before him was a vision, with long hair a soft shade of mossy green, and pale skin colored like sea foam, dotted with freckles. She was not skeletal like he would have imagined the human form of a serpent to be, but instead curvy with a strong, muscular back and soft, fleshy hips, her face full and her hands dainty. The water glided over her shoulders and down her breasts in rivulets as she splashed water upon her body and combed her fingers through her hair.
The goblin swallowed. He was in love!
It was at this moment the serpent—or rather, the woman—turned to look over her shoulder. Her almond-shaped eyes were still the same amber hue, but seemed so much wiser and softer without their reptilian slits. Her lips were tinted a rosy pink. They twisted into a wry grin as she said loudly, “Did you enjoy your washing, fae?”
Startled, the goblin fell forward and landed with a splash into the pool, spluttering and flailing like a befuddled bird. The woman chuckled and continued to bathe. She’d known all along he was watching her. Perhaps she allowed him to do so because her divinity allowed no sense of shame, or perhaps she simply pitied him and wished for him one final meal—a feast for the eyes—before his demise.
When she finished, she joined the goblin back at the riverside, wringing out her hair and letting the sun dry her skin. The goblin avoided eye contact, cheeks burning red with both embarrassment and infatuation.
After prolonged silence, the goblin felt his stomach growl. It had been quite some time since he last ate, so he pulled some figs from his pouch, pleased they had survived all the adventures. As he munched, the woman watched him intently. Without a word, she took one from the pouch and held it in her cupped palm. The goblin expected her to eat it, but instead she remained motionless as it turned to solid gold in her hand.
“What are you—?” He began, but she was already standing and walking along the river’s edge. He scrambled after her, exclaiming protests. Eventually they came to a little shrine carved in rock, adorned with pebbles and fauna. He watched as she placed the golden fig upon the shrine and knelt down in prayer. When she rose, she turned back to him. “I have presented an offering to the God of the River to allow us safe passage down the river.”
The goblin could only nod. But he was a bit grumpy; he lost a fig to a deity who would enjoy it far less than he.
The woman raised her arms high over her head and arched her back, stretching out like a tree in the wind. “We must now continue our journey on foot. Follow closely, fae.”
Through the forest they traveled, the woman seemingly just as swift on land as she was in the air. As they walked, the goblin worked up the courage to ask the burning questions clouding his mind. “Why do you serve the Gods?” He began.
When she answered, her tone was without sadness or spite. “I was created for that purpose. I know no other reason for living.”
“They created you then, the Gods did?”
She eyed him warily. “In a manner of speaking. I wasn’t always a serpent—I was once human, a young girl full of anger and despair.” She sighed. “I attempted to kill myself with the bite of a venemous adder. But then the Gods spoke to me, asking if I would serve a more noble purpose. I agreed, so they turned me into a creature not unlike the very one in my hand.”
“And the wings? Why the wings?”
She gave him a half-smile. “Well, I suppose the Gods do have a sense of humor. My name, as a mortal, was Dove.”
“Dove…” the goblin repeated softly. He’d always rather liked doves. He had a memory of doves at the village fountain, how sweetly they would coo in the sweet summer mornings. “Do you miss being human when you are in your serpent form?”
She nodded. “To be human is a gift. To feel the sunlight upon your soft flesh, to cry salty tears in sorrow, to feed on sweet fruits and tender meats, to feel the utmost bliss: it is heaven. The Gods crave humanity more than any human could desire immortality.”
At this, the goblin nodded thoughtfully. “I might like to be human then, and see what all the fuss is about.”
She laughed, a melodious sound which came from her very soul. It warmed the goblin’s heart as they continued on their way.
Finally, after some time, they reached the gathering place of the Gods. It was neither a lavish palace nor ancient temple, but rather a great expanse of lake which seemed to stretch out as far as the sea. Everything was calm and limpid blue—the sky, the water, even the iris blossoms which bloomed at the shore. Even though the goblin knew his time of reckoning was near, he could not help but feel immense peace and serenity beholding the beauty before him. It seemed there was so much beauty in the world he could hardly bear it. A single tear rolled down his cheek, whether from happiness or sorrow he could not tell.
Suddenly, they were alone no longer. The waters of the lake began to churn, the sky above clouded and the ground shook, and then all around them towering figures began to appear as if by magic, all wildly different and all as dazzling as the sun. They were the Gods and Goddesses of the land, sky, and sea, as well as the more cryptic divinities like the Trickster God and the Demon King of the Underworld. Their very presence overwhelmed him, and he could only cower in terror in the mud. Even the woman—who was woman no longer, but serpent—bowed her head and folded her wings in utmost reverence.
The Forest God was the first to speak, his voice mightier than thunder. “So here is the warted little goblin who thought he could defy us. How do you feel now, trickster?”
The goblin trembled and his voice shook. “Please, oh great and powerful divinities, I repentant from my sinful misdeeds and beg for your forgiveness. I was an unbeliever before, but now I see the error of my ways. Spare me and I shall serve you for the rest of my days.”
The Demon King, with his leathery wings and skeletal countenance, scorned his pleading. “And why should we spare you, imp? You are no more than a speck of dust in our presence, and you should be punished for your transgressions.”
What he said was true, the goblin was lowly. After all, without his cleverness, he was no better than a toad, and it was a fact that had eaten away at him his whole life. He’d always denied it, boasted of his wit and many successes to compensate for the crippling insecurity, but in that moment, cowering before the Gods with his life in their hands, he realized how truly insignificant he was. Why should he be allowed to continue his miserable life?
It was here that the winged serpent spoke, raising her head to meet the gaze of the Demon King. “If I might speak on his behalf, I’ve come to see he is truly repentant for his ways and may serve a more noble purpose if spared rather than smote.”
In response to these words, the look the goblin gave her was one of such gratitude and adoration, the Goddess of Love herself was impressed. Always one to fight for love, she came forward, her rose-tinted glory sweeter than a peach. “We all know the winged serpent to be wise. Might we heed her advice and allow this warted goblin to live?”
Some gods, in their fury, merely scoffed, but others considered his words and began to talk amongst themselves. After what seemed like an eternity, they came to a decision, one which seemed to please the Love Goddess greatly. Clothed in robes of white and beaming like a virgin bride, she knelt down and touched the goblin with the tip of her finger. A warm fuzziness began to spread throughout his little body, until suddenly he was little no longer and instead a fully mortal man. Baffled, he touched his face and felt stubble on his chin rather than the leathery flesh he was accustomed to. When he looked at his reflection in the water, he saw not a fae but a man, one with soft hair and rounded ears and a crooked smile. He wasn’t sure how to feel.
The Goddess turned to the winged serpent, who watched all this take place with passive eyes. “I ask you to return to your human form, winged serpent.” This she did, standing beside the goblin—now man—wordlessly. The Goddess smiled and took each of their hands, then turned back to the rest of the Gods. “The goblin is now fully mortal and shall return to the temple from which he stole, and he shall assist the priestess there until the end of his days, always paying us reverence and teaching other mortals to have faith and humility.”
The gods nodded in agreement with this proclamation. Truth be told, even the most heartless of them had a softness for the Love Goddess (and why wouldn’t they? Even they were not immune to her charm).
“The serpent shall return to her mountain,” the Goddess continued. “But will visit the temple often in her human form and teach the man all about humanity and divinity. He shall be her ward and friend until the end of his days.”
The woman nodded at this, and looked at the man with a twinkle in her eyes. She had grown rather fond of the goblin-turned-man and was glad to still have him with her. As the Goddess of Love kissed them both and then returned to the sky with the other powers following suit, the goblin, who was goblin no longer, and the winged serpent, who was serpent no longer, stood there and smiled at each other, an unlikely pair blessed by the Celestials themselves.
And so, the man returned to the temple at the mountain and apologized to the priestess and served there for the rest of his days. He used his cunning to devise traps and snares should any thieves or pillagers come, and he befriended other mortals who came there and told great tales of Gods and monsters. The winged serpent visited him often in her human form, and he fell in love with her more and more every day. And one day, the serpent realized she loved him as well, and they were wed in a modest affair with the priestess overseeing the wedding. And all was well and their hearts were full.
The End
© 2020 Obliquity of the Ecliptic
The Ecliptic 