What Once Was One (Book 2) by Marc Johnson Page B

as that sounds.
    The goblin skin I wore no longer felt unnatural and weird. The flapping skin of the dead husk, which didn’t even cover my ankles, was now part of me. The nauseating stench became my own scent and I was able to tell the difference between that scent and the others’.
    As exhausted as I was, my goblin had lots of energy. He was a wild one. He wanted to roam the Wastelands now that he had returned. But underneath that excitement lurked pain. I didn’t understand why. I drank a rejuvenation potion and rolled up in a corner, as I didn’t have to take a watch. Even with the potion and the goblin’s energy, I couldn’t keep myself awake. With the second soul a part of me, I fell sound asleep.
    I woke up refreshed the next morning, as the goblin’s strength added to my own. He was just as eager to get on the way as I was. I needed his strength, because after performing all those rituals, there was no way in the Inferno I could go on without him. My magic wasn’t strong, and I needed more time to recover. We left the empty bags of blood and departed from the cave.
    As the days passed and our group inched our way closer to Masep, the number of Wasteland creatures increased even during the daytime. We were all alone. There were no signs of patrols from Alexandria, and we didn’t expect them this deep into the Wastelands.
    Jastillian didn’t know of any more safe places, as we had reached the limits of his travels. We spent all our time outside, and we couldn’t even make a campfire in case we attracted attention. Two of us were on guard at all times.
    The good thing was that, with our new disguises, we didn’t have to go out of our way to avoid other creatures, although Jastillian would steer us away when groups got too close. We all knew my magic was successful; we felt it. But when we looked at each other, we felt ridiculous.
    Eventually, though, we ran into trouble and had nowhere to go.
    A group of four loud humongous ogres stumbled our way from behind a rock cropping, cutting us off from our route. We didn’t hear or see them coming until it was too late.
    My heart nearly burst out of my chest, and I ached to scream. It wasn’t because I was scared of the gigantic creatures. I had killed many before, but this time was different. The goblin smothered me with anxiety. I had to calm myself and not tremble because of him.
    I glanced around, judging the ogres’ distance from us and calculating how fast I could run northeast, deeper into the Wastelands where I would be safe with more of my kind. I shook my head. That wasn’t right. This wasn’t home. Home was in Northern Shala. With Krystal.
    I stared at the others. They were having the same problem I was. Demay’s left hand was shaking, and he grabbed it with his right to stop it. Behast snarled, drool dribbling down his chin, straining to attack. Prastian froze like a statue, his eyes glassy. Jastillian’s lower lip quivered, and he couldn’t even look at the ogres.
    We needed to pull ourselves together. It didn’t matter how big the ogres were or that they could kill and eat us without a thought. Then I remembered other goblins—friends—that had been slain by ogres, and I crumpled to the ground and put my hands to my head.
    I clearly remembered hulking ogres ravaging goblins, pulling their limbs apart and smashing their heads in a frenzied bloodlust. My eyes widened as I thought of someone close—my lover? my wife?—no, his wife, dying. I was powerless as she was taken away from me and I—he ran away. Guilt and fear from that powerful memory threatened to overwhelm me.
    I dug my feet into the ground. I wasn’t going anywhere except to Masep. I had to make sure Alexandria would be forever safe from Premier. I had a duty both as a wizard and as someone who deeply cared for the princess.
    I grasped my magic to soothe myself and him, but the goblin’s panic and those flashbacks made it almost impossible. I rubbed my forehead and shook my head.