My planet is infested with Goblins

The settlement had spent years watching Grik build a ship that most goblins believed would never leave the bay. When the final sealant dried across the hull and the last rope was tied around the mast, the vessel became impossible to dismiss as another one of his strange experiments.

It stood larger than any fishing boat along the coast, with a deep wooden hull, reinforced ribs, a broad woven sail, and storage compartments beneath the deck. Grik had finally created the vessel he believed could cross the western ocean, but finishing the ship solved only one problem. He still needed Chief Hark’s permission to leave, and he needed goblins willing to follow him.

Chief Hark summoned him before Grik could formally make the request. The chief sat inside the timber hall with several elders while Grik stood before them.

Hark studied him for several moments before saying, "You actually finished it." Grik nodded. "It floats, carries more weight than any fishing boat here, and survived every test we gave it." Hark leaned forward.

"A log floats. That does not necessarily mean I will let twenty goblins climb onto it and disappear into the sea."

Grik placed one of his carved boards on the table. "Then let me prove you wrong whether it can return."

Hark glanced at the markings. "You have spent years saying there is land west because birds fly there and strange things wash onto the beach. None of that tells me you will come back."

"Nothing tells a hunter he will return when he enters the forest," Grik answered. "Yet we still send hunters."

Several elders muttered at the comparison, but Hark raised his hand and silenced them. "Hunters brings much needed meat. What do you bring if this fails?"

Grik looked directly at him. "Knowledge, for anyone finds what remains of us."

Hark remained silent for a long time before finally allowing the expedition under strict conditions. Nobody would be ordered to accompany Grik, and the tribe would provide only what it could spare after ordinary fishing crews and families received their supplies. If Grik could not convince enough goblins to volunteer, Hark told him that his magnificent vessel would become the most expensive fishing boat on the coast.

Finding volunteers proved harder than building the ship. Most experienced fishermen had families and had spent their entire lives hearing stories about vessels that disappeared beyond the horizon. Grik spent several evenings beside the beach explaining the evidence that convinced him another land existed, but most goblins listened from a safe distance without stepping forward.

Kobb became the first volunteer. He walked up after Grik finished speaking on the third evening and said, "You are not taking my ship without me."

Grik frowned. "Your ship?"

"I repaired your mast design three times."

"You repaired the mistakes after I told you what to do."

Kobb grinned. "Then you should have made fewer mistakes."

The crowd laughed, and Kobb remained standing beside him. Two younger fishermen joined next. An older sailor who had once mocked Grik eventually volunteered because he had survived a severe coastal storm in one of Grik’s improved boats. Several hunters agreed after hearing that unknown lands might contain animals no goblin had ever seen.

A healer named Seka joined after examining the growing crew. "You have fishermen, hunters, and too many goblins who think curiosity is worth dying for. You also have nobody who knows how to stop wounds from rotting, so I suppose someone has to keep you alive long enough to regret this."

By the end of the week, Grik had gathered nearly twenty goblins.

They loaded dried fish, smoked meat, grain, freshwater containers, spare rope, resin, tools, fishing equipment, weapons, and bundles of timber shaped to fit the most vulnerable sections of the hull. Grik insisted that supplies be distributed throughout the vessel rather than stored in one place. When a crew member complained that this made loading slower, Grik answered, "If one wave destroys all our food because you wanted everything stacked neatly, I will find a way to kill you twice."

He also prepared wooden boards for recording the journey. His symbols represented days, wind direction, weather, food consumption, bird sightings, and anything unusual they encountered. Kobb watched him place the boards inside a protected compartment and asked, "Why bother? When we return, you can tell everyone yourself."

Grik looked at him. "If we return."

Kobb stopped smiling.

"If we do not," Grik continued, "perhaps the ship does. Perhaps another goblin finds these boards and learns something from our failure."

The morning of departure drew much of the settlement to the beach. Some came to wish them well, while others came because they expected to watch twenty foolish goblins sail toward their deaths. Chief Hark stood near the water with his arms folded as the crew boarded.

"If you find another land," Hark shouted, "remember whose trees built that ship."

Grik looked back from the deck. "If I do not return, you are welcome to sail west and collect them."

Even Hark laughed.

The crew pushed away from shore and raised the sail. At first, the journey felt almost ordinary. Familiar cliffs remained behind them as the wind carried the vessel west. The fishermen adjusted ropes, the hunters complained that there was nothing to hunt, and Kobb repeatedly inspected the mast as though expecting it to collapse simply to prove Grik wrong.

By sunset, the coastline had become a thin dark line. The following morning, it had disappeared completely.

The absence of land silenced the crew more effectively than any order. Water surrounded them in every direction, with no mountains, trees, fires, or familiar landmarks to tell them where they belonged. Grik maintained their western course using the position of the sun, the stars at night, prevailing winds, and everything fishermen had taught him about seasonal currents.

The first several days passed without disaster. One freshwater container developed a leak, moisture ruined part of a grain sack, and several crew members became violently seasick. One hunter spent almost an entire day leaning over the side before announcing that the ocean was trying to remove his stomach. Seka told him that if his insides came out, she would put them in a bucket and make him carry them.

After a month, the jokes became less frequent.

The land is still missing.

An older fisherman named Rudd began watching the supplies carefully. On the evening of the second month, he approached Grik beside the mast and said, "We should turn east tomorrow. We still have enough food to return if the wind favors us."

Grik pointed toward several birds circling high above the ship. "We are seeing more and more birds."

"Birds do not feed goblins."

"They tell us something is nearby."

Rudd stepped closer. "Or they tell us you have believed in your western land for so long that every feather now looks like proof."

Several crew members began listening.

Grik pointed toward floating vegetation they had passed earlier that day. "We saw leaves yesterday. We saw more today. The current is carrying them from somewhere."

"And if that somewhere is another ten days west?"

Grik hesitated before answering, "Then we may die."

The admission unsettled the crew, but he continued. "Turning east does not guarantee we live either. We have traveled farther than any of us can measure. I believe land is closer ahead than behind."

Rudd disagreed but walked away without challenging him further.

The storm arrived the following afternoon.

Dark clouds gathered across the western horizon while the wind changed direction. Grik ordered the sail reduced and every loose object secured. Water containers were moved lower into the hull, tools were tied down, and the crew prepared the ship using every lesson Grik had learned during years of failure.

The storm overwhelmed them anyway.

The first major wave lifted the vessel before dropping it violently into the trough behind it. Goblins slammed against the deck despite gripping ropes and wooden supports. Wind screamed through the rigging as rain reduced visibility to almost nothing.

One of the support ropes snapped and whipped across the deck, striking a sailor hard enough to break his arm. Another wave crashed over the side and filled the deck with water.

Grik looked toward the mast and immediately understood what was coming. "Get away from it!"

The mast split halfway up with a violent crack. The upper section crashed across the deck, tearing much of the sail with it. Kobb and several others cut through the ropes before the broken mast could drag the ship sideways into the waves.

Then the hull began failing.

A plank along the side tore loose after repeated impacts, allowing seawater to pour into a storage section. Grik and Kobb crawled below deck with spare timber while the others struggled to keep the vessel facing the waves. They reinforced the damaged area from inside, packed fibers into the gaps, and covered everything they could reach with resin.

Another enormous wave struck broadside before they finished.

The vessel rolled onto its side.

Grik slammed against the inner wall hard enough to lose his vision for several seconds. Supplies tore free from their restraints and crashed through the interior. Water poured across the deck while one crew member was swept into the ocean before anyone could reach him.

For several terrifying moments, Grik believed his life’s work was finished.

The reinforced ribs held.

Slowly, painfully, the vessel righted itself.

By dawn, the worst of the storm had passed. The surviving crew emerged into gray morning light and stared at what remained of their ship. Half the mast was gone, the sail had been torn nearly in two, sections of the upper deck were missing, and several storage containers had disappeared. The steering system was damaged, while water continued entering through cracks in the hull.

Rudd stared at the wreck. "Your ship is dead."

Grik crouched beside the exposed internal supports. Several were cracked, but the main frame remained connected. "It is not dead.....yet."

Rudd laughed bitterly. "Look at it."

"It is broken," Grik replied. "Broken parts can still be repaired."

For the next three days, the crew worked while the damaged vessel drifted westward. They cut away the destroyed portion of the mast and constructed a shorter replacement from spare timber. Kobb stitched usable sections of the sail together. Others reinforced cracked planks from inside the hull, while resin mixed with plant fibers sealed the worst leaks. Seka moved between them treating cuts, broken bones, and infected splinters while threatening anyone who tried returning to work before she finished binding their wounds.

The repairs were crude, but the vessel could sail again.

It would never move as quickly or safely as before, and Grik knew another storm of similar strength would probably destroy it completely. Their greatest problem, however, was the loss of food and freshwater.

Rudd approached Grik again once the shortened sail caught a weak western wind. "We can still turn back."

Grik looked east and then west. "In this ship, with these supplies, which direction is closer?"

Rudd had no answer.

Kobb interrupted them by leaning over the side and pulling something from the water. He held up a thin branch covered in green leaves.

Every goblin nearby stared at the object.

Grik took it and broke one leaf between his fingers. Moisture remained inside. "This looks like has not been floating long."

Rudd slowly looked toward the west.

The crew continued.

Birds became more common over the following days, and floating vegetation appeared around the ship with increasing frequency. One morning, Seka stepped onto the deck, inhaled deeply, and claimed she could smell wet soil somewhere beyond the sea.

Near midday, Kobb shouted and pointed ahead.

Grik climbed as high as the shortened mast allowed.

A dark line rested against the western horizon.

At first, he feared exhaustion had created it, but the line remained. As they continued westward, the shape became cliffs covered with trees, and distant mountains gradually emerged behind them.

The crew erupted into celebration. Some laughed, others cried, while one hunter fell to his knees and thanked every name for the Lord Above that he could remember.

Grik remained beside the mast and stared at the land filling the horizon. He had spent most of his life wondering whether something existed beyond the western sea, and now the answer stood directly before him.

The battered vessel reached a sheltered bay near sunset. The crew guided it into shallow water before dragging themselves onto the beach. Their celebration faded once Grik properly examined the ship. The emergency repairs had allowed them to reach land, but another ocean crossing was impossible without major reconstruction. The mast required replacement, several hull planks needed new timber, and much of the sail would have to be rewoven.

They had found another continent, but for now they were stranded upon it.

Grik organized groups to search for freshwater, food, and suitable timber. He followed a nearby river inland because its banks appeared to offer both water and trees large enough for repairs.

Less than an hour from the beach, he abruptly stopped.

Several impressions marked the wet mud beside the river.

Kobb nearly stepped over them before Grik raised his arm.

Grik crouched and pressed his fingers beside one of the tracks. Five narrow toes surrounded a familiar heel. Another print lay nearby, followed by several more. Some were large enough to belong to adults, while others were clearly smaller.

Kobb crouched beside him. "Those are goblin footprints."

Grik slowly lifted his gaze toward the forest. He had crossed an ocean believing he was searching for a land no goblin had ever seen, only to discover that someone had been living there long before his battered ship reached the shore.

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