A/N: Once again, Susan Lei is Fighter, Harry P. Fawkes is Warrior, Ilsa Tresckow is Wizard.
My headcannon name for Goblinslayer is Ahab Grey. Are there any Life of Brian fans in the audience? Read with attention.
The forehead carving trick derives from Dellyn Goblinslayer, from the webcomic Goblins. Every fan of Goblinslayer should read it.
She had made a mistake. Bound hand and foot, goblins dancing around her in the firelight, grinning as they held up the shreds of her riding leathers…that much was inescapable.
Blood matting her hair, Greenskin warpaint flared like hell-sparks in her blurring eyes. She hadn't known she'd gone too far out. She knew nothing of her party, her friends. Whether they were still in the tunnels, or safe, they had to be safe…but she'd had no show, no chance to fight. Slow slicing, every cackle slid terror through her naked body, didn't stop. They would write the only story of Yip Lei's daughter in spittle, blood and shame.
She'd at least thought she wouldn't be raped. Over a dozen Rangers, almost all men, were shot from ambush, or bushwhacked and flayed to death, each year, and that was acceptable losses. But the American people would not have stood for a single female Ranger entering a goblin cave, if outrage and ravishment were a biological possibility.
Except certainty did not exist on the frontier; she'd thought she'd known that. As a lanky Greenskin aimed another kick at her bleeding backside, the man in the wooden mask shoved it away. The big male, warding the runts off from his virgin prize.
Ahab Girty. The Manslayer, the pale savage. Ranger parties ambushed and massacred, homesteads butchered, babies torn from their mothers' arms and crushed underfoot. The broken torture victims with names carved in their foreheads–GREENHORN, WEAKLING, FOOL–a label for all who were worthless because he could kill them.
Not even American newspapers could paint him black enough, Susan knew this. Though weak and dry with terror, she tried to spit. The mask was a death's-head, his eye glowed like a witch-light, as his hand settled on her hair.
"Your people built the railways, do you remember?" A rough frontier accent, but a calm, quiet voice, "You appear full-blooded, but an underpaid white railworker most likely raped your semi-conscious mother, while Chinatown burned. Your father, beaten to death by an inebriated navvy, who walked free from court because homicide is the killing of a human being."
"…monster. My father was strong…"
"My father was weak; he was a human." He struck her head against the ground again; she moaned and the goblins cheered, "These are facts, the truth. These monsters, as you call them, were driven from their tribal lands by humans, the ranchers and miners. When they fought back, or when they were simply in the way, human guns and magical plagues killed them in thousands. Why do think they live in caves? Who are the monsters?"
"You, you kill children, innocents…" Susan searched for any victimhood in starved, eager goblin faces, saw none. The Manslayer sighed.
"The only innocent, good humans are the ones strangled at birth and put in a hole. Humans sent you, with months of training, against goblins who are as one with the night. A woman, stepping proudly into danger, out of your place. Your death will be mercy. They would have raped you before long, the humans. My mother, my sister, raped to death, as I hid…by HUMANS! No reason. Not right. Exterminate the brutes. Cleanse the world. "
An instrument of death, so mad and inhuman he couldn't rape her. Just draw his knife and begin to carve, the bait for an ambush that might put a patrol of shocked Rangers in the ground. Susan could see it, she had seen the bodies; she would lose everything. The Manslayer had made the first quick cuts, on Susan's brow, of VICTIM–when a wall of fire sprang up over her body. He stepped back, ever practical.
The Rangers also knew something of shock and awe. They charged into the cavern firing and screaming like monsters, the death of every goblin in their eyes. There was only Susan's party–ever astute, the Manslayer shouted that it was five reckless fools, without backup–but goblins shrank, scuttling off down tunnels, pulling their dead or wounded friends.
Too close for guns, the Rangers drew swords on the goblins that stood. Savage little things, full of hate, as the humans savagely hacked in their rage. Ilsa's fireball didn't even the numbers, but more goblins ran. Harry Fawkes lost his prized stetson in the ruck, lost his sabre in a ribcage. Killed the next greenskin with feet and fists–would have happily crushed it with his teeth. A goblin stuck a knife in his leg, but Ollendorf, the Ranger at his side, hauled him up with one arm. The charge towards Harry's childhood friend, bloodied and choking in the ring of fire, barely slowed.
Ever implacable, Manslayer reached into the flames–Ilsa shut them off, before he could drag Susan though them. He raised his knife, but the party Captain–the Goblinhunter, in his iron mask–put a bullet in him.
(Too many, on every side of every war. Slayers, terrorists, killers called heroes. Living for their killcounts, tilting at nightmare windmills. Lost in fantasy worlds where every infidel, raghead or Indian must die, invincible in insensibility)
"I'd tell you to give it up," Captain Ahab Grey, the Goblinhunter, pronounced, "If you were still human. But the only good goblin–"
In the moment's bloodlust, Susan bleeding before them, Harry, Ilsa and Ollendorf roared the countersign. The Manslayer's burning eyes (as he fled, ever the survivor), promised death to every human. And death screams rose over the senseless shouts, as Harry fell down beside Susan. Covered her with his arms, held her hard enough to never lose her again.
-0-
Their Colonel Ballou had resignation papers ready for Susan–broken as she felt, she was livid. He would have told Harry to bear up and be a man, if he had been captured and scarred; his fellow Rangers would have stood him drinks.
They rode back into town from the prairie. The goodfolk who knew what had been done to her, or thought they did, glanced with contemptuous pity. She would have hit something, except she was too weak to fight. Weak, stupid girl, disgracing her uniform and her family. It wasn't true, she had just made a mistake–but three of her party had been wounded, one badly enough to be discharged. That would never go away, even when she grovelled at their feet, not even asking forgiveness. They all gave it, they all said it had been worth it–they knew she would earn this.
Two drunken town goblins grovelled to her in street; if she had not returned safely, they babbled, all of their brothers for miles would have been lynched. Ollendorf made to drive them away with kicks; Susan held him back, then quickly left the greenskins behind.
Captain Grey told her tersely what mistakes she had made, she would die if she made them again. Then he went back to searching for ways to kill goblins, in the knotholes of the barracks wall. Ilsa had saved Susan's yellow scarf from the cavern, her father's scarf–Susan hugged her so hard she knocked off her glasses.
"Sorry! I mean, thank you, partner…"
"It was worth some little trouble," Ilsa hid her eyes and her smile, "To see Brunhilda."
Susan asked her about Brunhilda. The Valkyrie, the warrior woman, imprisoned in the ring of fire. The hero, Siegfried, who had never known the meaning of fear until he saw her naked body. Because nothing was fearful but losing her, through death, or his own unworthiness.
-0-
The town had one flea-bitten hotel; Harry Fawkes checked into it that weekend. Threw his headband over a chair, lay on the mattress and waited, until Susan came in. Wearing a plain white blouse and a skirt instead of leathers, shutting the door behind her.
"Harry...you know me." She began, "We've know each other a long time. I'm not some damsel for you to rescue, or some prize for the great big hero, that isn't what this is about..."
"Susan, this was a mistake. You're still in shock, this isn't the right time. I didn't watch your back, I was an idiot..."
"Yeah…but you're a good guy, Harry. You saved me. It's stupid, but I just feel I've got to do something reckless too…for the man I love." No turning back. Burning under her skin, trying to slow her breaths, her fingers touched his, "I probably am in shock. So you'd better get that famous courage together quick…"
Holding the girl he'd fought with, cried with, found, Harry looked very young and slight, but his touch was firmly loving. He searched her eyes, made certain, this was what she wanted. Where they both belonged, forever.
Susan finally let out a breath. Her bosom moved, and then he was kissing her. Pressing her tush back against the wall. She bit back into the kiss, pushed him towards the bed, pulling off her dress, ripping his shirt off. Her linen underslip stayed on.
"Susan, love, is it…?"
"It's fine. I don't want to be naked–not this time. I just want to be with you, Harry, now and always." Her fingers clung to his tousled head, as he enjoyed her chest, "Mm. Just like a boy, going straight for them. Didn't you always stare when I wasn't looking, and dream about this?"
Harry smiled, moving to her collarbone; he ran his tongue along the sensitive skin. His fingers, down to the bottom of her spine, she gripped his hand at their side.
"Didn't you?"
"Mmph! Might have thought about it. Mmm, oh..." His mouth was busy for a while, before he came back to her lips, his eyes back to hers.
"I dreamt of slaying dragons, even thunderbirds, but this…my knees are shaking, love. Always loved you, but I never dreamt–"
Then his fingers trailed down her stomach, and in pleasure, love and surprise, she was closer to him than she'd dreamt possible. Her long hair danced, as she tossed her head and gnawed at her lip.
"–AH! Don't stop, Harry. Don't you dare stop, or I'll break your nose!" He leaned in to kiss her, again. Moving their hands down, toward himself–between quick, hot breaths, Susan laughed. "My man. You know what you want, and you can take it, my hero…"
"Have to be," Harry gasped, as she touched him, "Have to be stronger, better. Protect you, all our friends, make it all right. I promise, I'll be your hero, I won't let you down, and never–!"
"Never change, Harry. Never leave. Now–less talk!"
Afterwards, they lay together glowing with love, soaked in each other. He traced the magically healed scar on her forehead. V.
"Don't say you're sorry," Susan whispered, "Thank you. Anyway, it looks like…"
"…a pure white crane, spreading her wings?"
"…Vee for victory?"
"Huh? I thought you'd like...?"
"I thought you'd think…?"
They'd surprised each other (again and again...), and laughed. Susan clung to Harry's fingers again, kissed his hand.
"Love. We're so much stronger than that sad old monster. We can be whoever we want to be."
-0-
It was four years before they got their Manslayer. He knew every track and tunnel, a child of the night; there was nothing in him but survival and death.
He was a tough monster, but for four years the Rangers tracked his ambushes. Mowed down goblin raid parties, beat the hideouts of the dreaded chief out of their little bodies. Susan didn't enjoy it, but more and more people were dying; it had to be done. Every homestead they reached, they held back the savages until the cavalry came; but too many they didn't reach, and the most terrible day of all…
Finally, the Manslayer was stretched out in his gore at their feet. Harry put a bullet in his other kneecap, for safety; he barely groaned. The shot echoed over the plain and the empty sky. Susan gripped Harry's hand, forced herself to look. In their moment of triumph, their faces were bleak.
"…know…what's so good about goblins?" The Manslayer gasped, face still hidden, "They're honest. They dance, they fight, they hunt…they raised me, after the stench of your hypocrisy turned my stomach. My mother. My sister…"
"Yeah, shut up about them," Harry's voice was flat as iron, "Honest gobbo? Didn't you become the Manslayer just because 'Girty' was a stupid name?"
No jokes, no excuses. He had killed Rangers, soldiers and countless innocents. Poor big dumb Reeder, riddled with knives and bullets until he fell. Captain Grey, finally at rest from war and pain. Ilsa Treckow, a week after Ollendorf had said that he loved her. All for his crazed delusion that humans were evil monsters–when the real, true monsters were only humans like him.
"You couldn't even protect your woman from me," The Slayer hissed, "I am legend, you are nothing–"
Harry bent down, and stared into burning eyes. Speeches had always been his greatest weapon.
"No. We're going to kill you and make you nothing; throw your body out for the crows. Kill your goblins, until they curse your foul little soul. You will not be a legend, no kind of hero; we will wipe out your madness and your memory, like a vile disease. And then autumn will come with its yellow moon, and I will make love to my wife. Then spring will come with its waving green grass, and our children will grow and learn. Then summer will come, with its shimmering heat, and maybe the races will learn to live in peace, because you will see none of that–you will be dead, dead, dead you gopher-headed, stupid-looking, murdering son of a gun!"
"I'll see you in hell. Susan Lei–!"
She looked away, as Harry blew the Manslayer's brains out.
She knew, she knew, killing the sad old monster made nothing right. Brought no one back, couldn't change the thing they'd done…but she still clung to her brave, wonderful man, mourned for her true friend Ilsa, and rode back to the little wooden house they shared. To try to do something other than killing.
-0-
Twelve years later, on the morning of the last day of Colonel Harry Fawkes, he left their bed in early morning before Susan woke. Wrapped in the sheets, she touched the patch of heat he'd left. Her passionate hero–she couldn't help smiling–but a hero's work was his passion, as well as her. Not enough Rangers, too many threats, even if the goblins quietly rotted in their caves these days.
First she moved to baby Ilsa's crib and held her. Gave her a nipple to drink and gazed on her downy head as she prayed. Though the town pastor would not have approved, she lit a joss stick at her father's shrine; begged his forgiveness that she was too busy for morning Tai Chi.
Then she put on her gingham dress and apron, in the townhouse that was smaller than they could have afforded; they could help the weak almost as much by charity as they ever had by battle. She woke up Jim and Will by throwing herself on their bed, and tickling until they tried to push her off.
"RAH! I'm a huge, savage wendigo, and if you don't get up, and eat your grits...!"
"Then our Ma's gonna come, and tan your hide!"
(She wished a little it were Pa; but Harry was more the hero to the reaches of the nation than his household. She would still have followed him into hell, but wallpaper, groceries and the home he'd given her were Susan's kingdom, and the kids knew it)
Perse, their eldest, watched the squirming over the bed as if she wished she could pile in. Ilsa started bawling for attention, and Susan rushed to take her up again, before she and Perse made breakfast, and the boys went through their morning exercises before school–both of them wanted to be rangers.
She kissed them, watched them down the street. She told them, Pa might be home early, and their eyes lit up…but the last day drew to an end, and he did not come home. He'd stayed all night at the barracks before, too often, she was ready to clip his ear when he came back. But Harry had not reached the barracks, that morning, when he had met the boy, in the street, with a wooden mask.
"I am the Manslayer. You killed my father. Die."
The gun cracked; Harry didn't even conceive of drawing his own. He stared at the savage mask of Susan's child–his son?–and almost smiled with his old hopeful grin. Then he thought of Susan, his children, and wept in the dirt where he bled out.
-0-
They had made a mistake. The first night, the second time they made love, her thighs had held him inside her. Four months later, she'd taken leave from the Rangers to 'recover from what had happened'. She gave birth in an outhouse, in a hamlet where no one knew her name. Left her first child with a kind looking old couple, who tried not to look at her like a selfish whore.
She'd waited a year to tell Harry. He was a good man, he would be a great hero. One mistake would not derail his dreams; she would make sure of it. And her?
She could not stay with her child; she could not leave the fight. She would be called a weak woman, a broken shell, no hero, if she was stripped and marked by monsters, and never heard from again. Her father's spirit would curse her, and she would despise herself...she despised herself. She left her child behind, to go and be a hero. Put on a brave smile, every day. Prayed every night to the white man's God, who she had heard forgave; she was sorry. She was a monster. But she would not go back from the fight, even if it dragged her down to hell.
Two years later, the Rangers did not reach that hamlet in time. Goblins wiped it out, burning, flaying or crucifying all that lived in their fury. She did not find the old couple, or her baby. She wanted to die, hang until dead as she deserved, but Harry was there. His hopeful, impossible smile through their pain; things would get better. They could still make it right, if they tried.
They had saved the country. He'd given her more children, their wonderful family. She had dared to hope that God had been merciful...in truth, despite all their sufferings, He had. Fourteen years, so much glory and joy. Before their sin, their mistake, finally fell upon their heads.
Upon her son's head. She hadn't remembered that goblin spore buds grew slowly, so the goblins snatched away children, mostly boys, from the places they destroyed. Goblins had taken her child, with her Asian face. Raised him in the wilderness, on the stories of their hero, the Manslayer. Who had held his mother down, naked, before her child had been born. A natural mistake. He had believed the Manslayer was his father, but he had killed his father. Thrown his mother down on their cold bed, in silent, blank eyed despair.
She finally got up. Sent the children to stay with friends, put on her old uniform. Left, to find the misbegotten.
-0-
Two years later, Susan Lei faced her eldest son, across a mound of goblin bodies. His leg was broken. She had told him who his father had been. Almond eyes glared from the mask, hatred and pain.
"Mother. Why did you leave me? Your child..."
"My son..." Her hands reached out, touched his face, "I have other children. But no one in this world like HIM!"
And she snapped the Manslayer's neck. Held his body that seemed so pitiful and innocent. Cried and screamed and prayed.
She would have hung herself then, slain the last monster, but there were the children. She prayed with the despair of lost strength. Found the hope of God, and she could smile for them again. A mask for her pain, like the mask of Slayers. But for her children, she would be whatever hero she had to be.
When her children were grown, she rode away again. Wandered the plains, saving the innocent and slaying monsters. Wearing a nun's habit, because God had saved her from the impossible pit, and there was no man left for her in the world. The people called her 'Mother Susan' and she bore it. She smiled only rarely, but it was beautiful to see.
A/N: Simon Girty was an 18th century white American who lived among the Native Americans. He apparently preferred their culture to the civilised society that viewed him and the 'Indians' much as GS and co view the goblins. It would be interesting, if the character at all interested me, to reinvent Goblinslayer as an 'Indian hunter' such as Melville describes in 'The Confidence Man'. A frontiersman, massacring every Indian he can find because a single warparty killed and raped his family. Such men existed, and were even called heroes. Once again, I can only see a real life Goblinslayer as a racist serial killer, or a Boko Haram terrorist, killing and raping the infidels who he believes to be irredeemably evil. Goblinslayers are the villains of the real world, and the goblins only exist in their poisonous fantasies.
Mother Sarah is an old manga by the writer of Akira (What more need I say? Better than Goblinslayer). The titular heroine is something like Mad Max played by Schwarzenegger, if Arnie was a beautiful woman. Her backstory involves repeated gang rape, and it is mentioned exactly once in the manga. No angst, no PTSD, she simply steamrolls over it. She doesn't get flashbacks when her friends or her are assaulted, she just calmly punches the man to death. She is a hero we need, she's Fighter's hero, and now Fighter is Mother Susan, along with so much more.