Power of Three

by Diana Wynne Jones

  “Funny,” said the Giant. He began walking away. Gair could not believe it at first. But, when he dared to look, he saw the Giant’s tall narrow back as the Giant limped slowly away toward the pulsing house.

  “Whew!” said Ceri. “Narrow escape! I thought he was going to start on Gair.”

  “He was,” said Ayna. “That’s why I said the words to stop dogs. Which just goes to prove what beasts Giants are! Wasn’t he a beast?”

  “Foul,” Ceri agreed. “Wasn’t she fat?”

  “Sort of tight,” Ayna said, chuckling. “As if she’d been blown up!”

  “Let’s get back,” said Gair. He did not like the wood any more. It still seemed to boom with a faint pulsing, though the Giantess must have been a long way off by then. And meeting the Giant face to face had shaken him badly. Gair was not happy until they had crossed the tufty field and reached the marshy meadow beyond. Even then he did not want to talk much. But Ayna and Ceri were thoroughly excited and had plenty to say.

  “She wasn’t very tall,” Ceri said. “Neither of them was. I thought Giants were bigger than that.”

  “Of course they are,” said Ayna. “Full-grown Giants are yards high. Those were only children.” Gair knew she was right. If he compared their size with that of the monstrous blurred foot he had seen on his first hunt, he saw they could not have been fully grown. And he realized he had known they were children all along, by their behavior.

  But Ceri was dubious. “Then how old were they?”

  “Only babies,” Ayna said decidedly.

  “No they weren’t,” Ceri said, equally decidedly. “The fat one was older than me, and she was the youngest.”

  “You’re just being silly,” Ayna said loftily.

  “I’m not. I can tell. So can you, if you think,” said Ceri. “Fatso wasn’t as old as you. She was more Gair’s age. But the Snotty one was older, maybe older than you are, even. Isn’t that true, Gair?”

  Gair nodded. He had a feeling Ceri had got it right, which was very puzzling.

  Ceri turned triumphantly to Ayna. “There! So full-grown Giants can’t be yards high. You’re almost as tall as Mother now.”

  This seemed to be undeniable. Gair thought again of the foot he had seen. He had been very small at the time, of course, and things seen near to and blurrily always looked larger than they were. Perhaps Giants were not the huge beings he had supposed. Maybe their Giantliness really lay in their violent, larger-than-life behavior.

  “Giants,” Ayna declared, “grow at a different rate from people.” But she did not feel on strong enough ground to continue with that subject. “Wasn’t the Snotty one like Ondo! I was quite sorry for Fatso.”

  “You needn’t be,” said Ceri, speaking from bitter experience. “You could see she’d done horrible things to him, too. Though at least you don’t kick me very often,” he added handsomely.

  Ayna ignored this. They had come in among the long white grasses, and she pretended to be very busy looking out for standing pools and steering clear of dikes. A thought struck her. “We couldn’t get Ondo over there and set Snotty on him somehow, could we? I’d love to see someone make mincemeat of Ondo!”

  “Gair did,” Ceri reminded her.

  Ayna looked at Gair and realized she had been tactless. The gloomy, lonely look she and Ceri knew so well had settled on Gair’s face. Gair thought of Ondo rolling among the bees. He rather dreaded what must be in store for him in Garholt. Worse still, he remembered the misery in which he had set out, which the Giants had knocked clean out of his head. It was not so bad now, but he knew he would never see Gest the same way again.

  “Do you want us to stay out longer?” Ayna asked, trying to make up for what she had said. Gloomily, Gair shook his head. He felt he might as well get it over.

  Ceri looked up into Gair’s face in frank fascination. “You know, it’s not Ondo Snotty was like! It’s you, Gair!” He scuttled sideways as both Gair and Ayna rounded on him. “I didn’t mean it!”

  “Yes you did,” Gair said bitterly. “You mean I’m proud and brutish, don’t you?” He feared Ceri was right again. Ceri was far too observant for comfort. And, during that short, endless moment in which he and the Giant had stared at one another, Gair had indeed felt he was looking at someone rather like himself.

  Ayna and Ceri did their best to soothe him.

  “No, no. I just meant dark and gloomy,” Ceri protested.

  “You’re not brutish!” said Ayna. “And a Chief’s son has every right to be proud.” She saw she was being tactless again. “You’re never proud to us.” This only seemed to make matters worse. Ayna was wondering what else she dared say, and Gair was thinking that this day seemed to be dedicated to unpleasant discoveries, when the storm the magic box had predicted hit the Moor. The grasses whistled and leaned over. The Sun shot like gold pouring into a mold between racing blue clouds. The stinging rain soaked them in seconds, and hailstones clotted in their hair and their clothes.

  They ran for the flimsy shelter of a thornbush and crouched behind it, shivering. “How did that box know?” Ayna wondered.

  “Giant’s magic,” said Ceri, whose teeth were chattering. “I wondered whether to put a Thought on it, to make it shout rude things at Snotty. But I didn’t quite dare.”

  “Good thing,” said Ayna. “Knowing you, it would probably have grown legs and run about.”

  Ceri opened his mouth to explain he could control Thoughts, and decided against it. That was Gair’s secret. Gair was dejectedly watching the hailstones hiss through the heaving grass, wondering what made him seem proud. He had nothing to be proud of. In an effort to think of something else, he hit on an uneasiness which had nagged at him for some time now.

  “What did she mean, saying the Moor would be flooded next year?”

  “I thought she was just yelling nasty things to scare Snotty,” Ayna said doubtfully.

  “She couldn’t have meant it,” said Ceri.

  But Gair was fairly sure the Giantess had meant it. It had been in her manner, and the Giant had not denied it. And the way her feet had boomed through the wood for some reason made Gair surer still that she had been speaking the truth. He thought about it while the storm raged around and behind them. How could anyone flood such a big place as the Moor? And who would want to? The answer seemed to be the Dorig. They had already begun by flooding Otmound. In that case—Gair had a sudden horrible vision of everyone on the Moor drowning or homeless. Surely not. Surely the luck did not run so much against them as that. He would have to ask Adara. And if this disaster really was coming, the Giants would drown, too. So it looked as if Giants were the enemies of Dorig as much as people.

  Ayna was thinking, too, but her thoughts went the other way. “If she did mean it, then that must be the reason the Otmounders are going so far away. You asked me the wrong question, Gair. I knew somebody would! Dorig and Giants are in league against us.”

  “I don’t think they are,” Gair said, bowing over as the bush rattled in a stinging gust.

  “They are,” said Ayna. “That’s why the Dorig said they wouldn’t attack Garholt. They’re leaving us to the Giants. Ask me. Go on.”

  “Ask you what?” said Gair.

  “Stupid!” said Ayna. “Ceri, ask me.”

  “Will the Giants attack Garholt?” Ceri said, promptly and anxiously.

  Ayna gazed out into the swirling grass. “No,” she said, with great decision, and laughed, because she was so relieved. “Then we’ve only the Dorig to worry about. Let’s go home. This storm’s not going to blow over in a hurry, and we couldn’t be wetter if the Dorig had caught us.” She stood up, bent over in the wind, with her hair blown sideways. “Come on.” Her voice whipped away over the marsh and they could hardly hear it.

  Ceri and Gair got up and squelched after her. Gair sighed, because Ceri’s question and Ayna’s answer did not seem to him to have settled anything. But he had no clear idea what Ayna should have been asked. Nothing was clear. His mind seemed to be a
vague cloud of worry, pulsing a little like the Giants’ house and the booming of the Giantess’s feet. When he looked out across the Moor, it had become hissing gray distance with regular white gusts beating across it. The inside of his head felt the same. He sighed.

  He sighed more frequently as they plodded closer to Garholt. Ceri and Ayna took to giving him consoling smiles.

  “Don’t worry,” said Ayna. “It’ll all be over by tonight. Father won’t stay angry.”

  Gair was busy with his vague worry and he lost half this in the wind. “What?”

  “Father was dying to hit Ondo himself,” Ceri called. “She means.”

  “Saw it in his eye,” Ayna shouted.

  Gair supposed he must be dreading returning to Garholt. He did not feel as if he was—or not that much. But he could not understand why else he should feel so depressed.

  Chapter

  7

  IT WAS EARLY EVENING WHEN, WINDSWEPT AND drenched, they reached Garholt at last and spoke the words at the hive-gate. It opened on to the warmth and smells of the overcrowded mound, and almost every face inside turned up to look at them. There was a moment of unnatural quiet.

  It was like a menace. Gair felt gloom and terror flooding up from inside the mound, swirling and mounting over the tapestries, dimming the faces, dulling the warm smells. It was like the uneasiness he had felt ever since the Otmounders came, but far, far stronger. His mouth went dry with it and his knees weak. Then most people went back to what they were doing. Conversation began, exclamations and laughter, and sour remarks from Otmounders.

  Adara came hurrying to the foot of the steps. “Where have you all been?”

  Miri pushed past her and panted up the steps. “Caught in that storm! Wet through, the lot of them!” It was plain she and Adara had been very anxious. But, when she reached them, Gair saw Miri was frightened, too scared to scold properly. “You meddled with nothing outside? No Powers?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No. Nothing,” they answered, semi-truthfully, wondering what made her ask. Though the feeling of gloom had subsided a little, Gair still felt depressed as he answered—but this could have been because Gest was now standing at the foot of the steps with his arms grimly folded.

  “I’ll see you, Gair, when you’re in dry clothes,” Gest said.

  All the time Miri was fussing him into dry clothes, Gair tried to feel courageous. It was not easy. Ondo was lying in his bed under a mound of blankets, rolling and moaning, to remind him of his sins. When Miri pushed Gair into the room where Gest was grimly waiting, Gair found he had barely any courage left.

  Gest had his belt unbuckled and swinging in his hand. Gair could not take his eyes off it. “What have you got to say for yourself?” said Gest.

  Gair thought miserably that Ondo could not have said anything he was less likely to tell Gest. He looked at his father’s tall, strong frame and wished he could still think he was a hero. “Nothing,” he said. “He got on my windowsill.”

  “I saw him,” said Gest. “You promised not to fight him.”

  Gair nodded. Just like Gest promised not to fight Dorig, he thought. “I forgot.”

  “Oh, did you?” said Gest. His mouth parted his golden beard in a laugh. Gair looked at it and shivered. “I’d have done the same myself,” said Gest. “But Kasta wants you punished, you know.” Miserably, Gair nodded again. “So we’ll have to please her,” said Gest. “Stand over there.”

  Gair stood, trying not to quake. Behind him, the belt whistled. He clenched his teeth. There was a heavy thump as the belt hit something—something not Gair. Gair spun round in time to see the belt come down and slash the floor a second time.

  “That’s for Kasta!” Gest said, between his teeth. “Thinks she can give me orders, does she?” He belabored the floor several more times. Whistle-thump, whistle-thump. Outside, it must have sounded just as if Gest was hitting Gair. Gair could not help smiling—though it was not very happily. Gest was cheating again. Islaw people were as tricksy as Ondo said. Almost— but not quite—Gair would have preferred Gest to hit him.

  Gest looked up, hot and irritable from the effort. “What are you looking so glum about?”

  “I—” said Gair. “You’re cheating.”

  Gest stared at him. “Do you want me to hit you, then?”

  “No!” said Gair. “No—no!”

  “And you’re going to go and tell Kasta all about it?”

  “Of course not!” Gair said indignantly.

  “Then you’re cheating, too,” said Gest. “Aren’t you?”

  “No,” said Gair. “Yes.” By now, he was bewildered as well as miserable. The muddles and troubles of the day were suddenly too much for him. He felt his face harden into an angry scowl. The blood rushed up round his eyes and his fists clenched themselves. He wondered where to hit Gest, and how hard. “You made me cheat! You’re the cheat, not me!”

  Gest’s head went slowly up. He became every inch a cold, proud Chief, and, somehow, Gair did not feel able to hit him. “I am, am I?” said Gest. “Then if that’s what you think, you can have your punishment. You’re forbidden to go on the hunt. You can tell Adara you’re staying behind with the babies.”

  “What hunt? When?” Gair was seized by a sudden unreasonable alarm. It seemed to take him by the throat like a hard hand. “You’re not going hunting!”

  “We are. Tomorrow. You’re not,” Gest said, and went to the door. “You and Ondo will be the only boys left behind,” he said as he went out. “That’ll teach you to speak to me like that.”

  “Don’t go!” Gair said despairingly, though he knew it was a silly thing to say and he did not know why he said it. But Gest had already stalked out of the house.

  At supper, no one talked of much except the hunt. Orban had given in to Gest’s argument. Every available man and boy and any girl who had no other job was to go. They had settled to go the following night, so that they could stay out for three days if necessary, until the Moon was nearly full, and bring back as much meat as they could catch, to provision Garholt for the Feast of the Sun at Full Moon, and for as long as possible after that. It was clear Orban hoped, now that he had given in to Gest, that Gest would give in to him and agree to attack the Dorig when they came back.

  Little does he know! Gair thought bitterly, sitting silent beside Ceri. Or perhaps Orban did know, but he seemed not to think one need bother to keep faith with Dorig.

  No one was surprised Gair was subdued. Miri managed to sneak him several nice tidbits, even though supplies were so low that supper was rather plain. Miri and Fandi were engaged in their usual battle to get their own family the best helpings. It was very wearisome. If Ayna had not told him the Otmounders were going away soon, Gair would have left the eating-square. The inexplicable feeling of alarm grabbed at his throat every time the hunt was mentioned, and he did not want to listen. He wanted to think about Giants and devise some way of asking Adara who might want to flood the Moor without giving away that he had stood face to face with a Giant.

  The battle for the best helpings was complicated by Ondo, lying in bed and calling out fretfully from the house. Fandi and Kasta connived together to send Ondo in the best food. Kasta several times took things from Orban when he was not looking.

  Orban bore with their fussing until the end of the meal and his fourth mug of beer. Then he said, “You spoil that boy, Kasta. He’d be as well as I am if you let him alone.” Kasta at once exclaimed that Ondo was very delicate and—with a venomous look at Gair—in great pain besides. “Nonsense!” said Orban. “He’s as tough as boots. I’m sick of this cosseting. He’s going on this hunt, stings or no stings. Make a man of him.”

  Kasta and Fandi both clamored against him. Kasta clamored Fandi down and went on clamoring alone. She was one of those who could talk and talk and talk. Gair listened to her harsh voice—“Just like a duck,” Ayna described it—and hoped she would lose the argument. But Adara once said Kasta had never lost an argument in her life. She just talked every
one insensible. Gair tried to resign himself to being left behind in Garholt with Ondo. But for Ondo, it would not have been too bad. There would be Ayna for company, and he could help with the root-flour, taste preserved fruit, mix honeycakes and shell nuts. It was like being small again, but fun, as it always was, preparing for Feasts—but not with Ondo there, swollen and angry.

  Kasta was still quacking away when Banot and the other Chanters gathered between the wells to chant luck for the hunt, and she only fell silent when the chanting began. Gair leaned against the round stone hood of the fourth well to listen, and to wonder, as he often idly did, why Banot’s harp had one whitish string that never seemed to break. But the uneasy feeling began to grow out at him from the walls of the mound and snatch at his throat, as soon as the chanting finished and Adara came to tell Gest and Orban how the luck lay. It seemed to lie well. But the feeling pressed and grabbed at Gair, and he felt something was wrong, though he did not know what. When Ayna came to be consulted, he went up onto his windowsill to avoid it.

  The windows were now sealed for the night. Gair had no view except the great vault of Garholt itself with its tapestries shimmering shadowily in the light, the ring of old, round houses, the half-built new ones and the inner ring of wells, like little houses themselves. He could see everyone gathered round the space there and Ayna, conspicuous with her fair hair, standing very upright to be consulted. He could faintly hear her answers.