The Giant from the Fire Sea, page 15
Little time had passed since Jat and Newton had dropped her off.
“They need more time,” she whispered to herself. “They’ll catch them…” She grabbed her hair and pulled, squeezing her eyes shut. “What-to-do-what-to-do-what-to-do…?”
The giants came barreling down the path. The bald one up front was the same size as Newton, about the height of the surrounding trees. He had a narrow, weasely face with close-set, darting gray eyes. He was followed by a taller, plumper giant with a wiry beard caked in what appeared to be blood—but it was blue. Behind him was another Puncher, nearly identical to the one dropped at the falls.
“Jat, if you can do this, I can,” she whispered. “Agh! Am I going to do this? I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” She pulled her leather gloves from her pocket and slid them over her hands. The first giant clomped past her. “I’m not going to do this,” she said under her breath. She yanked her boots tight above her calves. The second one followed. “No. I’m not doing this.” As soon as the Puncher passed the cedar tree, she scurried out and ran after it. “I’m doing this!” Its foot struck the ground and she leapt onto the back of its ankle and held on. The Puncher felt nothing and continued, jarring the bones of the girl’s body with each step.
They quickly arrived at the village. The three giants stopped. Flintoak’s body spilled over two large wagons in the center of town. Greyelm let out another chilling wail. Bonnie dropped off its ankle and ducked behind an overturned water trough. She watched the tree creature inspect its fallen companion. The other two giants stood back away from it. Neither seemed eager to get too close to the grieving Puncher.
Suddenly, Greyelm turned away from Flintoak. It stared at the path its brother had made from the shores of the Fire Sea. The Puncher let out an explosive huff and marched toward it. The other two giants looked at each other and followed.
“No,” Bonnie whispered to herself. “They’re too close behind!” She stood up from behind the trough and shouted, “HERE! I’M HERE!” Her voice crackled in fear, but they must have heard her because two of them stopped.
“HERE I AM! COME GET ME, STUPID … OAFS!”
“Greyelm, wait!” shouted Crag. The Puncher stopped. “We have one.”
In just three steps, the giants were standing above the girl.
“It’s Newton!” she screamed, pointing behind them. They turned as one, expecting the fugitive giant to jump them. But there was no Newton. Bonnie darted into the nearest building. The Puncher stepped forward and with a single swipe, swept it off its foundation. The girl had already left through the back window a split second before it was no more. She barely made it to the next building. That, too, was swept away by the Puncher. The giants huddled over the wreckage.
“I smell her blood, but I do not see her,” said Aphanfel. He scraped away what was left of the building. She wasn’t there.
“She is among the timbers,” said Crag. They turned and began rolling over the walls and roof lying in a nearby heap. Bonnie stuck her head up from the root cellar. She quietly crawled out and hurried to the barn at the end of the dusty street, hugging the sides of the buildings and debris from the first Puncher’s visit. She peeked inside. It was filled with geese. Bonnie quietly cracked open the door. “Go. Go,” she whispered. “You’re not safe here!” The geese stayed put. She went around to the back, where the horses normally grazed. They were gone. She grabbed her hair again.
“What-to-do-what-to-do-what-to-do?” Then, at the far end of the field, she saw a lone horse.
“Trapper!” she nearly shouted, and then quickly covered her mouth. They didn’t hear her over the sound of the flock of geese exploding noisily from the barn. She ran across the grass, checking behind her for giants. Two of them were trying, with little success, to catch the frantic birds. The big, treelike monster remained focused on finding her, knocking over the few buildings left standing. In an odd twist of luck for Ned Donnerly, his barn was turned right side up. Although Aphanfel ate the rooster.
Bonnie approached the horse, which was noticeably frightened.
“Easy, girl … You remember me, yes?” She pulled her glove off and held out her hand. The horse nuzzled her palm. “Okay, are you still as fast as you used to be?”
Bonnie had no time to find a saddle or reins. She had ridden bareback before, but at just a light trot.
“Please don’t shake me loose,” she said as she climbed onto the horse and rode off toward the woods. There was a horseshoe trail at the edge that circled around for about ten miles before leading back to the village. She had traveled it many times.
“Let’s see how much of their time we can waste,” she said to the horse. “Are you up for this? Because I really hope you are!” She stopped at the edge of the trail. The sun was dropping below the treetops, throwing long shadows across the field.
“OVER HERE, YOU DUMB COWS!”
The giants stopped and turned toward the girl on the horse. They pounded after her.
“Uh-oh, they are fast,” said Bonnie. She spurred the horse forward and galloped down the path.
TWENTY-ONE
Three Giantlings
“A greeting, Marlite,” said Newton.
“A greeting, Newton,” said the holygiant. “Were you not going to wait for us?”
Marlite was about Newton’s size, slightly less bulky, and with a nose slightly more bulbous. Around her head was the band of silver worn by all holygiants. A braided lock of rusty-orange hair ran down her back and trailed behind her on the ground. Sometimes it moved on its own, like a writhing snake. Holygiants had ways about them that other giants found unsettling. This particular one was Marlite’s. Her red robes were tattered from her long journey across the sea, followed by an unending chase through the mountains and forest in pursuit of a runaway giant. She did not look angry, though. In fact, she looked somewhat relieved. Newton stared into her dark eyes, searching for the familiar friend he’d once played with as a young giant.
“Get behind me, Jat.” The boy did as he was told.
“Let him go,” he said to the holygiant.
“It can go,” said Marlite. “It is only you we want.”
Newton tried to look behind her. “We? Where are the others?”
“They come soon.” She looked past his shoulder at the ladder through the ceiling. “Where does this go?” she asked.
Newton smiled. “I will show you. Follow me.” He began to climb up the ladder. Marlite didn’t move. She looked down toward the boy.
“Jat, go out the window,” he said.
The boy ignored him.
“I have said I will not eat this one,” said Marlite.
“There will be no fight, Marlite. I will go with you. It is better for all. But first let this beaten giant show you what is at the top of the ladder.”
“That sounds bad for me and good for you.”
“No, Marlite. It is good for you and good for me. I said I will go with you if that is of your wish.”
The other giant gave a quick sniff. “Your words smell of truth. You go up, and I will follow.”
* * *
There was barely room for the two of them on the top platform. She eyed the farlooker attached to a large, tilted chair. “This is the thing Pryat spoke of? The … faraway seeker, yes?”
“Yes,” said Newton.
“This holygiant wishes to see what this thing does.”
“Are you not afraid the Makers will smite you with skyfire?”
Marlite considered this. “I speak to the Makers on most days and most nights. They know this holygiant.”
“Come, then,” said Newton. “Sit in this seat and bring your eye to the glassss.”
“You will not attack me?”
“No, I will not. You speak in truth. I speak in truth.”
Marlite sat down in the chair, cautiously eyeing her once-friend. She turned toward the farlooker and placed her eye up to the lens. The giantess drew in a deep breath. She turned to Newton and then back again to the farlooker.
“These are the stars in the sky? They are as suns!”
“Yes,” said Newton, tapping the side of the teleoscope. “This makes them come close to our eye, but they are still very far. The stars do not move. The farlooker captures the glow of it and frees it again when I look away. It is in a way take-give, but also in a way it is not. Oh, see this!” He swiveled the chair, aiming the teleoscope toward a faint, glowing area in the distance, and made some adjustments to the lenses. “This is not one fuzzy star. It is many stars joined together by something we cannot see. Something pulls them together, much as the land pulls us to the ground. Each one is as our sun. Our sun warms our lands. Do other suns warm other lands? They could be the Makers’ lands, or they could of a chance be more lands of giants. Or mans and womans. Or serpents of the sea. This is what Newton dreams of when he sits in that chair.”
“They would be heavy. Why do they not fall from the sky?” asked Marlite.
“I am thinking each one holds the other in place with a kind of pulling or pushing breath, but that is just a fool’s guess. In truth, this giant does not know.”
Marlite remained silent. “More,” she said. Newton knew where to look, having traveled so long through the night sky. The holygiant marveled at what he showed her.
“I will show you one more thing,” said Newton. He swung the farlooker, aiming it at an area above the Fire Sea, and pulled back the magnification. “What is this?”
“The Makers’ Dragon!” whispered Marlite. She looked at Newton. “How can this be? We are so far from home.”
“Do you remember my words on the mountain? Our sky is their sky. Their sky is our sky. We are in the same land under the same sky. The mans call it world. There are just many bootsteps between us. When this giant came here, the skyfire fell as it did in our land. As it should under a sky we share. But look. It is not a dragon. They are just stars in the shape of one. Climb down and come outside with me.
“Jat, stay here,” said Newton when they reached the bottom. The giants stepped out into the night air, now lit only by the glow of the firetide.
“The skyfire no longer falls. It is over. Remember, Marlite. Our sky is their sky. If the skyfire does not fall here, it does not fall in our land. And how can a dragon breathe skyfire when a dragon is nothing but a gathering of stars?”
Marlite pondered this. She looked Newton in the eye and then returned her gaze to the sky, arching her back to the limit to give her a wider view. There was no skyfire.
“If this is true, you do not anger the Makers. To bring you to the Iron Thorn would be … wrong. THAT would anger the Makers.”
Newton heaved a loud sigh of relief. “Yes, Marlite. And, oh! There is more to see!” He wanted her to see his talking wall, especially now that it was dark enough for the Fire Sea flames to make it dance. Marlite, looking at the distant sky, did not notice what was on the cliffs behind her.
“The others come soon,” she said.
“This giant knows. Turn and look at the wall, Marlite.”
The holygiant studied his face, seeking a trap, and then did as he asked. She gasped in alarm and stumbled away. In front of her was Pryat. Her friend of old had his hand raised in greeting. His arm flickered back and forth, waving that hand.
Unconsciously, Marlite’s hand raised in response. “Pryat! You live?”
“No,” said Newton. “Look.” He reached out and placed his hand on the wall. “It is flat. Newton made this. It is what mans call drrawing.”
“It is what holygiants call magic,” said Marlite sternly. “You are not of a place to do such things, Broo—Newton. Bad things will happen.”
Newton tipped his head to the side, puzzled. “What bad things?”
“You, who have been chased and burned and beaten, have to ask this?”
“Good comes from this, Marlite. This is not magic. Mans do this, and they do not have magic. It is how they speak of their lives when they are not there to do it with their mouths. This giant would show you more. Come.”
Newton walked farther up the beach. Marlite stayed put a moment longer, leaning in more closely to study the image of Pryat.
“It is him, but it is not him,” she said. “Pryat?” She was met with silence.
“If you are waiting for him to speak, that much he cannot do.” But could there be a way this giant doesn’t know? He wished he had the time to figure that out.
Newton walked a distance, searching the wall for a particular image.
“Oh, here it is. Look! What do you see?”
Marlite caught up and leaned forward. Her jaw fell open, and she straightened up. She looked silently, aghast, at Newton, and then leaned back toward the image.
“How?” was all she could manage.
Newton’s smile nearly took up his whole face. “With the rocks I find in the sand. Some of them make marks when you scratch them on other rocks.”
“But it is of a time that has left us. A giant cannot grow more young … less old. But…” She leaned back in. In front of her was a picture of three giantlings. “This one is you,” said Marlite. “This one is young Pryat, and this one…” She turned to Newton.
“Is you, Marlite. How can a giant tell his story without his friends and enemies of times past?”
“But there I am a giantling. Here,” she said, patting her chest, “I am not.”
“You are not a true giantling on the wall. This giant made scratches that look to be a young Marlite. The light from the Fire Sea puts shadows on the wall, and the little giants move. But they do not move, in truth. This giant might have said too soon that mans do not have magic. This feels of magic.”
“Dangerous magic, Newton. Newt—” Marlite held out her arm. She was turning.
“No, Marlite! Do not turn! There is nothing to fear! Look!” The giant patted the images with both hands. “It is just a wall with rock scratches. You are real. These are not.”
The holygiant took a few long, deep breaths. She staved off the turning.
“Lands in the sky! Giants on walls! I like none of this,” she said, scratching her arm.
“Do these make you remember things? They do that for this giant. It is why he makes them.”
Marlite looked back at the three young giants. Her features softened a bit. “This giantess does remember this. These were of an earlier time.”
“And they were of a good time,” said Newton.
“And they were of a good time,” said Marlite.
“We would make jest of Pryat. He would not even know until you and I could not stop laughing.”
Marlite smiled. “Then he would thrump us both into the ground.”
“We would laugh so hard our tears would make mud in the dirt. But then this giant would be of a regret for laughing at our friend. Not because of the thrumping, but because … he was slower of thought than you and me.”
“Not always,” said Marlite. “There were things he spoke of that would surprise this giantess. He just kept more of it inside. He just did what we always told YOU to do.”
Marlite explored the talking wall, pausing often to run her fingers across the images. She looked at her hand. Blue powder from one of the rocks covered her fingertips.
“They bleed, too?”
“No. Just rock dust.”
“Magic rock dust?”
“No. Just rock dust.”
Then she came across an image that made her stop in her tracks. It was the Iron Thorn. Standing on top of the platform was the giant who stood behind her now. Lightning zigzagged from dark shaded clouds and struck the giant on the wall. Marlite froze and turned to Newton.
“It is all right,” said her old friend.
“No, Newton. It is not. I should not have told Mother Shepherd about you watching the Makers.”
“If there were Makers up there, this giant did not see them. How did you know?”
“Pryat. He did not speak of it to have you punished. He asked me about what you told him you were seeing. You had the boots in his head walking in circles and circles. Many circles, even for Pryat. He thought a holygiant would know of your stars. This holygiant brought his words to Mother Shepherd. For the same reason, Newton. Not to send you…” She pointed silently at the drawing.
“What did she tell you?”
“I am of a thought you know very well. She said that you were spying on the Makers. That they send skyfire to punish us. That the only way to quiet them was to send you to speak with them—to answer for your prying. To stop the skyfire.”
“You did not know,” said Newton. “No giant could know.”
“You did!”
“That took a very long time, Marlite. This giant is still learning. This was not of your failing.”
“But it was! When the time came for a vote in the Holygiant Chamber to send you to the Thorn, this giantess did not cast a vote of no. All had to say yes, or all had to say no. One no would have saved you. But … this giantess believed what Mother Shepherd had told her. We are … trained to believe what she says. To do what she says. Those who do not learn from her die when the time comes for the Makers to speak to us. But if I said no when all the others said yes, you would not have been through this. You would be home. Living back with Ooda…”
“Haroomph! This giant should thank you, then!”
“My truest regrets, Newton. Will you accept them? You do not have to.”
“This giant accepts your regrets, Marlite.”
“Do you … still feel the Makers’ Voice in you?”
“No,” lied the giant. “There is no pain.”
TWENTY-TWO
A Sandgnat’s Drop
They returned to Newton’s house. Jat was pacing the floor.
“Are you two friends again? Did you figure out what we’re doing?”
Marlite looked at the boy and licked her lips. “You do not eat these?” she asked.
“No!” said Newton. “They are giants as we are giants, but not of our size. We do not eat giants! We do not eat mans!”
