A Plague of Giants

by Kevin Hearne

  He didn’t answer for a while, his eyes traveling between me and Teela. “I don’t know,” he finally said, but once again he was a terrible liar. There was something about their boats he didn’t wish to share. After turning to Teela and translating for her, I asked her a question.

  “Do we still have his boat?”

  “No; it was wrecked on the coral of the islands when we found him. But I’m sure that there are boats off the coast of Brynlön now that we could investigate. Last question.”

  I asked Saviič, “What are Eculan leaders called?” and berated myself for not asking him earlier. So many other words had seemed more important when his leaders clearly were not accessible.

  “Our leader is the kraljic.” That was very close to the Uzstašanas word for “king.” Interesting.

  “What is his name?” I asked, since the suffix of the word was a masculine ending.

  “Kraljic Boškov.” A king, then.

  “And the leader of your soldiers? What word is that?”

  “The vojskovodja.”

  That completed the short list of questions. “Thank you, Saviič. I hope to see you again soon. I will bring your book next time.”

  We exited the dungeon and made directly for the Calm. We found Mistral Kira dressed in dark mourning grays, the gold pin of her house on her shoulder providing the only color. She welcomed me and asked what I had learned, but not until she had dismissed all other ears from the Calm. After I related my worries about the Eculan religion and added the answers to Teela’s questions, she stopped me regarding Saviič’s denial of Ecula’s intention to attack.

  “He said maybe they would attack if we had the Seven-Year Ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we know we don’t, and we didn’t get attacked. What if they thought the Brynts or the Raelechs had it for some reason?”

  “Worth investigating,” Teela said.

  “I have an alternative theory that we can test,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  “According to Saviič, eighty-four of the faithful sailed west. How many returned? We know for sure that Saviič did not. What if the only survivors who returned to Ecula landed somewhere in the north? It’s plausible since any who landed on the Fornish coast most likely fell prey to their forest, and our coastal waters are less than hospitable. They might assume, therefore, that the northern countries were easier to conquer. The fact that no one returned from the south was proof that it was too dangerous.”

  “An interesting theory but impossible to prove. Unless you talk to them,” the mistral said.

  “Unless I—what? Me?”

  “You’re practically the only one who can. I have some other old language scholars on the way here to continue speaking with Saviič. But he is obviously not aware of the Eculans’ current plans, nor is he one of their leaders. I want you to travel north, find these Eculans, and talk to them.”

  “Oh. But if they are simply killing everyone they see, I may not be able to engage them in meaningful conversation.”

  “No one has tried to speak to them yet. You have some knowledge of their modern tongue now, and you have a copy of that book, The Seven Kennings. They will listen. And I’m sending a couple of tempests with you to keep you safe.”

  “Tempests?” I heard a door open behind me but kept my eyes on the mistral. It would not do to give the impression that there might be something in the room more interesting than she.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” she said. “This is Gondel Vedd, a scholar I’m placing in your care.”

  The soft clop of boot heels on stone came to a halt to my left, and I could no longer ignore them. I turned as the tempests bowed to the mistral and saw an old man standing next to me and a younger man beyond.

  The old man was my brother—an extremely aged version of him, anyway. He was ten years my junior and should have looked much better than I, but he appeared to be ancient, perhaps in his eighties or nineties, with a bent back and leaning heavily on a walking stick. He was no longer the proud tempest I had last seen many years ago. He now looked as if he would have trouble chewing his food. His voice was scratchy and tired like worn-out carpet.

  “Gondel,” he said with a short nod. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Hello, Jubal,” I replied, my mouth suddenly gone so dry that I had to cough. “It has indeed.”

  The younger tempest looked to be in his twenties, dressed in brilliant orange tied scarves, though his true age might be much younger. He could conceivably still be a teenager. “I am Ponder Tann,” he said. “Peace to you.”

  “Now that you’re all here,” Mistral Kira said, “I have a mission for the three of you. Fly to the Brynt coast, beginning at Möllerud. Find out what you can about what happened. Eventually I will need you to locate one of their armies and speak to their leader. I need to know why they’ve invaded and if they’re coming here next. If this is a matter of simple conquest, why were the Brynts and Raelechs targeted if we and Forn are closer to Ecula? And record everything, Gondel. The world is changing, and I want Kaurian eyes to be witness. Ponder will protect you on your travels. However,” she said to the young tempest directly, “if you or Gondel discovers evidence that Kauria is next, I want you to fly back here and inform me immediately, understood?”

  All I could manage was a nod. She hadn’t mentioned what role my brother would play, but I already knew. He would fly us there, and after that his life most likely would be over.

  The mistral continued, “Otherwise you may send regular reports the slow way through our ambassadors where you find them. I’m giving you a letter of introduction, Gondel, that will instruct our embassies to render you whatever aid they can. Help the Brynts and Raelechs understand what they’re up against but keep Kauria’s safety foremost in your mind.”

  She had more to say, but I missed it, my mind preoccupied with the imminent death of my brother so that it ground to a halt like gears obstructed by a pebble. I didn’t hear how or when I was supposed to return, didn’t hear if I would have time to say farewell to my love before we departed, didn’t hear how we were supposed to survive while there. I didn’t even notice that the mistral had stopped speaking until Teela Parr nudged my arm with her elbow. Startled back into the present to find the mistral looking at me expectantly, I bowed my head and said, “As you wish, Mistral Kira,” and hoped that would serve. She gave a tight nod, and then I was shepherded through the palace labyrinth by Teela Parr, leaving Ponder and my brother behind with the mistral. I tried and failed to regain my focus. This wasn’t the calm day of scholarly pursuit I had been looking forward to.

  Teela was talking and stuffing an official-looking bag made of sturdy leather with a light lunch and a change of clothes. I caught that there was a resealable oilskin pouch inside to protect against water damage, and she put official letters in there along with additional writing supplies and my copy of Zanata Sedam. When did she acquire that? I wondered, but said nothing. I wanted time to sit and think, to pause and pay attention to what was happening, but Teela kept me moving, grasping me by the elbow and guiding me to the royal falconry heath, a flowered meadow on palace grounds that graced what would otherwise be the stark slash of an oceanside cliff. Jubal and Ponder were there waiting for me.

  “May the wind blow gently at your back,” Teela said, pushing me toward them, and I spun on her before she could leave me there, suddenly remembering.

  “My husband, Maron! Tell him where I’ve gone and that I love him.”

  “I will.”

  She turned her back, and I had no choice but to face my future. The young tempest had a bag like mine, ready for days on the road, but Jubal had only his walking stick. We nodded greetings to each other, and then my brother said, “Give us a few moments to talk, Ponder, if you please.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  My brother and I removed ourselves twenty paces from him and stood on the precipice of the cliff, looking out at the shining ocean with the wind blowing gently on o
ur faces, salt on our lips, and the smell of kelp in our noses. As it was our first private moment in sixteen years—our first moment of any kind, really—we spent a minute in silence, letting the wind speak first.

  “Never thought you’d be working directly for the mistral, brother,” Jubal began after observing the appropriate time.

  “Me neither. Choosing to be a scholar instead of seeking a kenning has proved to be useful after all. I have no regrets.”

  “Nor I.”

  His note of defiance sounded a mite desperate. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself. “Jubal,” I said, “you’re about to die of extreme old age at fifty-two. How can you have no regrets?”

  “You can’t look at me and see all the good times I had getting here. But I do welcome the end.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re sixty-two now, right? I’m sure you’re feeling the first pains of advanced years.”

  “Oh, yes. Well beyond the first pains.”

  “Huh. Take it from me, it gets much worse.” As if to illustrate, a noise erupted from his backside, and he winced. “Sorry. Nothing pretty or peaceful about it, is there? No golden sunset, no dignified final chapter where you’re sitting on a porch swing sipping lemonade with your one true love. You know what it is? Damned diapers and that look in everyone’s eyes that says you’ve become irrelevant and a burden. This mission isn’t a punishment, brother. It’s a blessing—a boon!—for I’m finally going to have my peace. I asked for this assignment. Truly.”

  “That’s good, Jubal, I suppose. But what I meant was that I don’t know why you sought a kenning to begin with. I mean, after we lost Rugel—”

  “It wasn’t about him! Wasn’t about you, either, or anyone else! It was my decision, Gondel, my life!” He was going to say more, but his face purpled and he broke into a fit of racking coughs. When he had worked it out, he moaned and spat a glob of phlegm to the ground. Then he raised his eyes to glower at me and speak in more reserved tones, but with no less passion.

  “I never had your wits, nor Rugel’s either. Knew that early on. Never had any passion for the sea except for the winds swirling above it. There wasn’t a damn thing I wanted to do in life except fly. So it was a kenning for me or nothing. No—shut up, now. Not a word. I know I could have done something else, Gondel. I could have found something steady and boring and peaceful and lived to be just as old as I look now. I just didn’t want to. If I had died in the Tempest of Reinei like Rugel did, I would have been fine with that. Instead I became the tempest, and they call me a hero. You don’t even know why, do you?”

  “Not specifically. All I heard was that you defended the nation.”

  “Yes, that’s what they say to the population. The mistral at the time didn’t want the true story getting back across the Rift; he preferred that they wonder what happened, and Mistral Kira never countermanded the order when she was elected. Not that it was ever brought to her attention. But I suppose it doesn’t have to be a secret now. Sixteen years ago one of the idiot Hearthfires put together a raiding party and sailed along the Fornish coast, thinking to swing down through the islands and sack Perkau. It might have worked, too, but they were spotted by a fisherman in the archipelago, and he reported their presence to Linlauen. The mistral sent me to find them. They made it to Perkau but had only set a few buildings and people on fire before I got there. I made sure they never got home. Never showed myself in the flesh, just remained the wind. Aged a lot that day.”

  I remembered. It was the last time I’d seen him, after he’d aged and looked older than I did. He’d swollen with pride over some act of heroism he couldn’t name and made a point of ridiculing me for wasting my life. “You’re saying you killed all the Hathrim? That’s what you were so proud of, resorting to violence?”

  “Of course I’m proud. I’m the reason Perkau still breathes peace this morning, Gondel. I was Reinei that day. I tossed them all up into the air and then left them there. They were alive and unharmed. Technically I didn’t kill them. It was gravity that did that. I let the wind die underneath their bodies, and they splattered on the beach. It was raining giants, and their heads split open like pale melons.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “I know it is. I was sick over it and had nightmares for years and pretended it was nothing. But I hear you’ve been spending time in a windless dungeon. That’s pretty disgusting, too, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not the same—”

  “It’s exactly the same. You’re doing something you loathe because you want to help.”

  “That much is true, but sitting in a dungeon is not violent. It’s not murder.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see plenty of violence on this mission before you’re through. Somebody always has to pay the price for Kauria’s peace. Sixteen years ago it was me. Right now it’s those people up north. And you don’t ever want it to be our people down here, so you’ll do what you have to do.”

  “I won’t kill anyone, Jubal. Ever.”

  “Perhaps not. But when you see someone else’s violent death, it’ll change you. When I saw those sparkers setting people on fire and laughing as they screamed, my nonviolent principles said they’d look the other way for a while. All I knew was that those giants had to be stopped and it was within my power to do it.”

  “I grant that was truly an ethical conundrum for you. But not one I’ll have to face since I have no such power.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised at your powers when you’re facing death.”

  I made no reply. Arguing with him was wearying, yet we could seem to do little else.

  He sighed, even more exhausted than I was by it. “Look, brother. It’s my last chance to say this. When we get to Brynlön, I’ll be beyond speech. So I want you to know now that I’ve always been proud of you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Jubal, but you’ve always said the opposite. You said to my face that I’m a coward for not seeking a kenning. ‘A worthless academic who can say nothing useful in every language’—that’s one of my favorites and apparently one of yours. It’s been repeated to me by many of your acquaintances.”

  “I know. I know. Gondel, I apologize for every foul wind I’ve ever breathed about you. It was unworthy of me and undeserved.”

  “Then why …?”

  “Because, Gondel, as you have no doubt surmised by now, I am in fact a walking, talking anus. It’s something I had to accept about myself after I noticed no one wanted to marry me—even after Perkau. Perhaps the violence tainted me forever and people could see it in my face. I had to accept that I am generally unacceptable. I got away with it because tempests are allowed some eccentricities and I bought a lot of drinks. Can’t get away with anything now, though. All I can hope for is your forgiveness. You’re my only family left and the only person who matters.”

  “But we never talk—”

  “Anus, as I said. Trying to be a human now, to remember what it was like. It’s not easy. Peace isn’t as easy as everyone wants you to think it is.”

  That wrung a snort from me that turned into a spluttering, blubbering sniffle. “You’re forgiven, Jubal. Of course you are. For everything.”

  My brother’s lips pressed tightly together, and then he sucked them in so that they disappeared, trying to hold back a sob. He successfully kept it down, but he did tear up and gulp. “Thank you, Gondel. You’ve granted me a peace I probably don’t deserve. And I know that you’ll do your best to bring peace to the north. The mistral trusts you for good reason.”

  We embraced and pounded each other on the back, and I was surprised at how frail he felt when he used to be so strong. And I wanted to return to the city, find a comfortable fire in a public house, and simply sit in front of it with cider and talk and laugh with him, for we had never had that kind of moment together as adults. All we had between us was years of pointless distance. I wanted to have a brother again, but he had volunteered to d
ie—again. And the mistral wouldn’t have ordered a sacrifice like this if she didn’t think speed was necessary for Kauria’s safety. We couldn’t delay. Jubal said as much before I could think of a plausible reason to linger.

  “We’d best be about Reinei’s business,” he said. “You have everything you need?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Show me. What am I carrying on the wind?” He waved at Ponder. “Let’s go, young man.”

  I held up my pack of papers and writing materials, which also included a change of clothes, a small cache of food, and Saviič’s copy of Zanata Sedam. Jubal hefted it in his hand, feeling its weight. “That’s not bad. Fastened securely. Good. Anything breakable in there?”

  “An ink pot, but it’s hardened Hathrim glass. And a jar of mustard.”

  “That’ll probably smash when we land. You might want to leave it.” I took it out and left it on the precipice as an offering. Jubal nodded in satisfaction. “Now just hold the bag; don’t strap it to you. Can’t say precisely where it’ll drop, but I’ll try to get it as close as possible.” He turned his head. “Ready, Ponder?” The younger tempest nodded, and my brother tossed aside his walking stick. “Excellent.” He grinned at the younger man and then at me, genuine glee on his face as he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “No more pain for me. Farewell, Ponder. Goodbye, brother.”

  I didn’t want to say goodbye but couldn’t deny him his wish. “Goodbye, Jubal. May you find peace in the wind.”

  “I will. I’m counting on it. Peace to you forever, Gondel.”

  He drew a deep breath into his lungs and raised his hands dramatically, summoning or drawing the wind or whatever he called it, and a powerful gust blew us off the precipice and over the sea. I cried out in terror, expecting to fall, but we didn’t. We twisted and rose and continued to float over the ocean for a few more seconds, and then I slowly lost sensation in my extremities while simultaneously feeling as if I were being stretched like a string of honey being pulled out of a jar by a spoon. And soon I carried no weight, felt no gravity, felt no wind on my face, for I was becoming one with it through the provenance of Jubal’s kenning. The harsh whistle of the air became a soothing susurrus, and colors bled to gray and then nothing, and I lost all sense of time and thought only of our destination, the rolling hills north of Möllerud.