The Goblin Brothers Adventures by Lindsay Buroker

Author:Lindsay Buroker [Buroker, Lindsay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Childrens, Fantasy, Short Stories, fantasy adventure, Goblins, childrens fantasy, childrens stories, fantasy stories, goblin stories, goblin brothers, fantasy short stories, childrens fantasy stories
ISBN: 2940011930355
Amazon: B004FPYPSO
Barnesnoble: B004FPYPSO
Goodreads: 9944771
Publisher: Lindsay Buroker
Published: 2010-12-07T23:00:00+00:00

The Goblin Brothers and the Pepper Slime Punch

A greenish-blue liquid simmered in a cauldron hanging above the largest fire pit in the village. A wind-up contraption fastened to the pot’s lip propelled a long metal spoon in continuous circles. The breeze stirred the sweet scent of the punch, and it wafted amongst the mud-and-thatch huts, delighting the noses of nearby goblins.

Malagach stuffed his hands into the pockets of his buckskins to keep from slipping a green finger into the gurgling cauldron. Others had already tried—and failed—to steal a taste.

Though Shaman Otik was busy dancing and chanting his way around the fire, he was capable of whacking whelps on the knuckles with his gods-stick without breaking rhythm. Malagach’s brother, Gortok, was still sucking on the welt on the back of his hand.

“He ought to let me have a taste,” Gortok said. “After all, that’s my pot stirrer that’s keeping it from burning while he jumps around godsifying it.”

Malagach rolled his eyes at his brother’s penchant for making up words. “We can wait. It’ll be tastiest when the peppers are added, a tantalizing blend of sweet and spicy.”

“That wakes you up like a troll kick between the cheeks.”

“Lovely description. You should write cookbooks for humans.”

“Really?”

“No.” Malagach smiled to take the edge off his teasing. His brother’s description was actually accurate. Pepper slime punch was designed to keep everyone awake through the coming night of dancing and eating at the Plenty-Picked Fest.

Shaman Otik froze, one bare green foot in the air, one hand stretched toward the heavens. The beads and fringes on his buckskins still clacked and swayed, but his body was statue still for a long moment. Silence descended on the village, and even the grown-ups who were busy fishing in the river, tanning hides, and weaving grass baskets, sensed the moment and paused.

“It is time to add the peppers,” Shaman Otik intoned.

Then he clapped, breaking the silence, and darted into his hut with the spryness of a ten year old instead of a council elder.

“The peppers!” came an unexpected cry.

Malagach arched his eyebrows. This line wasn’t part of the annual ceremony.

Thumps, clashes, and frantic rustlings came from the shaman’s hut, and then Otik burst outside, his eyes wide. “The peppers are missing!”

Amidst the horrified gasps of his people, Malagach frowned at his brother. “You didn’t take them, did you?”

“Of course, not,” Gortok said. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you have a history of eating his spell components.”

“It’s not my fault about the Eyes of Newt. They were in a jar next to a bunch of pickled fox toes. How was I supposed to know they weren’t snacks? And those drying elderberries... I thought he’d laid them out for everyone to sample. I wouldn’t touch the pepper slime punch peppers though.”

Even as he finished speaking, Shaman Otik stomped over and jabbed a finger at Gortok’s nose.

“You!” Otik accused. “You ate them, didn’t you?”

“What?” Gortok stepped back, hands raised. “It wasn’t me. Why does everyone think—ouch!”

Shaman Otik’s fingers had found Gortok’s pointed ear. The old goblin dragged Gortok toward the hut.

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