by T.A. Barron
Just then he heard a familiar sound. Voices—giants’ voices—called excitedly from somewhere in the distance. With a last lick of his fingers, he strode off to find the source. For those voices had the distinct ring of adventure.
3.
THE LIVING MIST
Following the voices, Big Feet hurried toward the huge precipice called Giants’ Cliffs that marked the western coast of Fincayra. His thunderous footsteps shook loose several boulders, sending them crashing down into ravines. A flock of crows, frightened by him passing by their rowan tree, took off in an eruption of black wings and cacophonous caws.
As he walked, he noticed his shadow moving along with him, changing its size constantly with the terrain and angle of the sun. At times, it stretched out immensely, growing bigger than any tree. And at other times, it shrank down to almost nothing—just a dark patch underfoot.
What sort of giant will I be? he wondered. Not just in his body . . . but in his heart. Would he be enormous in both ways, like the father he never knew? Would he ever do something important enough to earn a true name, one that would have made his father proud?
He swallowed, trying to get rid of the strange lump in his throat. Or would he turn out to be just a big, hulking person whose mind wasn’t bright and whose heart wasn’t true?
Just then he saw the unmistakable shapes of three more giants. They stood near the edge of the cliffs, silhouetted against the wall of mist that surrounded Fincayra’s coast. Like all Fincayrans, Big Feet knew that the mist made an impenetrable barrier around the isle, hiding it from view of any foolish mortals who might try to sail across the ocean in search of this legendary island where magic still reigned supreme.
More importantly, he knew that this mist was itself alive with magic—and that the Living Mist held powers not even the wizardking Tuatha could fully comprehend. Some believed the mist’s mind was exclusively bent on protecting the isle from any intruders, especially those who might want to use it as a bridge to cross from the Earth into the Spirit Realm. Others, including his mother, believed that the Living Mist could also predict the future . . . and did so in surprising ways.
“You there!” he boomed as he approached the others. “Are you gaming?”
“Yes indeed,” called one, waving enthusiastically. “Come join us!”
Big Feet recognized Greeno immediately. That wasn’t hard, since this particular young giant made up for his lack of height by sheer girth and a green mane that fell over his shoulders, which made him look like a huge boulder topped by flowing moss.
The other two giants spun around as their friend approached. While nearly the same age as Big Feet and Greeno, they gave the appearance of being older. Lumpster’s arms bulged with muscles—and while he didn’t use his brain all that much, he frequently used those arms to break rocks, shake trees, and toss unlucky cows into the air. And Sister Behemoth, second only to Big Feet in height among the young giants, always carried herself with the air of an adult . . . until she opened her mouth to speak.
“Looky, looky,” she called in her thin, squeaky voice. “Watch me throw this rock through there!”
Hefting a stone in her massive hand, she turned toward a dark hole in the wall of mist. Like a vaporous target, the hole contracted and expanded . . . as if the Living Mist was teasing her to try to score a bull’s-eye.
“Give your best shot,” called Lumpster, trying to crack open a rock by hitting it against his head.
“But beware of that edge,” added Greeno. “You’re standing pretty close.”
Shaking her massive head in defiance, Sister Behemoth cried shrilly, “Don’t tell me what to do!” She moved even closer to the cliff edge, which plunged straight down for the height of twenty giants to the crashing surf below.
Big Feet joined them, striding up gleefully. Immediately, he noticed a crack forming in the ledge right beneath her feet. “Sister!” he shouted. “Be carefully!”
She ignored him, concentrating her aim at the misty hole. Just as she raised her arm to throw—
The ledge broke off! Rocks crumbled under her enormous weight, plunging down to the surf. The young giant shrieked wildly, flailing her arms as she started to fall.
Slam! Big Feet grabbed her forearm, clasping tight. He held on to her with all his strength. But quickly her weight started to drag him over the edge. Madly, he dug his free hand and his toes into the ground, but still she pulled him closer and closer to the cliff edge.
“Grab me!” he called urgently to the others. “Before she drags me over!”
Lumpster and Greeno, who’d been standing frozen in shock, suddenly revived. They leaped on Big Feet, grabbing his arm and leg. Together they tugged, grunting and moaning. Lumpster’s muscles flexed so much he popped every button on his barkcloth shirt, while Greeno’s hair turned brown from rubbing in the dirt.
Slowly, bit by bit, they hauled their friends back. Meanwhile, Big Feet held on tight to Sister’s forearm, although his hand hurt so much it seemed to scream. Making his job harder, she couldn’t stop wriggling and twisting as she tried to climb back up to the top.
“Stop your squigwiggling,” he groaned. “You’re making this worse!”
But taking advice wasn’t something Sister ever liked to do—and she wasn’t going to start now. She twisted more violently than ever. Big Feet’s grip loosened . . . and his hand felt ready to explode.
Finally, when he thought he couldn’t hang on for another second, Sister’s forehead lifted above the cliff edge. Then came her face, her shoulders, and finally—with a last big tug—her chest and legs. Still squirming wildly, she rolled over on the ground next to Big Feet. Together with their exhausted companions, they lay on their backs, panting hard.
Several seconds passed before Big Feet felt strong enough to sit up. When he did, he found himself face-to-face with Sister, who was watching him with an unmistakable look of gratitude.
“You caught me,” she said, her voice even more squeaky than usual. “I would have surely . . .”
“Died,” he finished. “Certainly and for sure. You’d have been utterly smush-killed.”
Embarrassed, she glanced over at the wall of mist—and the dark hole she’d been so determined to hit. “Thanks to you, I can still breathe . . . and run . . . and dance. And also do this.”
She leaned over and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek.
Surprised, he drew back, not really sure he’d liked that experience. And yet . . . even as he wiped the dripping saliva off his cheek, his pink eyes shone a bit brighter.
Lumpster sat up right then, just in time to see the kiss. Excitedly, he asked, “What about me? I helped, too.” He puckered his lips.
“Eeewww,” squealed Sister. “No way!”
With a sigh, Lumpster grunted. “Didn’t really want it, anyway.”
“Want what?” asked Greeno, who had finally recovered enough to sit up. He shook his head, scattering pebbles everywhere and releasing a cloud of dirt.
“Nothing,” said Sister. She gave Big Feet a sly wink. “Nothing at all.”
Maybe it was the thrill of saving his friend’s life . . . or the surprise of getting his first kiss. Whatever the reason, Big Feet felt excited. Validated, like he was someone worthy. Like he could stand even a bit taller.
Rising to his feet, he spontaneously picked up a rock. He took only a brief glance at the mist, then reared back and threw the rock as far as he could. It whizzed through the air—and passed straight through the hole in the mist. Bull’s-eye!
“By Dagda’s beard,” said Sister, totally astonished. “Amazing shot!”
“Yeah,” agreed Lumpster. “That’s by far the best thing you’ve done today.”
Sister shot him a murderous glance. Fortunately, Lumpster didn’t see it. (And quite possibly, he wouldn’t have understood what she meant even if he had.)
Big Feet merely no
dded in satisfaction. This day had indeed turned out just fine. Maybe better than just fine. He drew a deep, contented breath.
Gazing out at the wall of Living Mist, he watched its shifting contours. The hole melted away, swiftly disappearing in the vapors. Then he noticed something strange: Where the hole had been, a misty face appeared—one with wild hair and a large, potato-like nose. His own face!
He gasped in surprise. The face looked right at him, encircled by clouds of vapor, watching him so intently it seemed to read his very thoughts. Its mouth, so much like his own, grinned with satisfaction.
All at once, everything changed. The grin suddenly shifted, turning into a scowl—and then a wide-open mouth that seemed to scream in anguish. The mouth contorted, twisting unnaturally.
This looked so real to Big Feet that he felt a sharp bolt of pain slice through his entire body. In that instant, he felt nothing else—only the pain.
He shuddered, reeling, barely able to stand. Yet he kept his eyes fixed on the misty face. What he saw next, though, hurt even more.
The face started to shrink down in size, growing smaller and smaller by the second. All the while, the misty mouth seemed to scream in agony. Finally, when the face had shrunken down to the size of a tiny dot—it vanished completely, swallowed by the swirling mist.
Shaken to his core, Big Feet collapsed. He sat on the ground, peering dazedly at the Living Mist, wondering what he’d just seen.
Turning to Sister, he asked weakly, “Did you see that?”
“Sure, I did. You threw a stone right through that hole!”
Blinking, he turned to the others. But their expressions, like Sister’s, showed only jubilation. How could that be? Could he somehow have just imagined that face, that scream, that brutal experience of shrinking down to nothing?
Sister clapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go back to Varigal.”
“Yeah,” chimed in Greeno. “I’m ready for supper.”
At that, Lumpster smacked his lips hungrily.
“You all go ahead,” Big Feet said weakly, with as much casualness as he could muster. “I want to stay here a littlish while . . . by myself.”
4.
ELF
The trio of young giants stomped off together, leaving Big Feet seated at the edge of the cliff that dropped straight down to the sea. Neither Lumpster nor Greeno looked back, as their thoughts had turned entirely to supper. Only Sister paused, glancing over her shoulder at their forlorn companion who now sat alone, gazing at the swirling mist.
She almost called to him. But sensing he needed some space, she caught herself. With a grunt, she turned and hurried to rejoin the others. Their footsteps shook the ground like minor earthquakes, slowly fading as they departed.
Meanwhile, Big Feet peered at the shifting vapors beyond the cliff. The Living Mist billowed and contorted, making endless shapes that only its mysterious mind could understand.
Did I really see that face? the young giant wondered. That screaming, shrinking face?
But of course, he knew what he’d seen. Just as surely as he sensed that right now, out there, the Living Mist was laughing at him. The air almost crackled with mirth.
He shuddered, feeling another bolt of pain in his chest. How could someone as huge as himself ever shrink down to nothingness? It wasn’t possible! Not in a million years!
Yet he hadn’t imagined that brutal experience. And he could smell, mixed in with all the scents of the sea far below, a whiff of fear.
Shaken, he rose to his feet. With a grimace, he turned his back on the Living Mist and started to plod away. Behind him, the swirling vapors darkened to a thick, leaden gray.
Aimlessly, he wandered back into the forest. With his thoughts still on that frightful visage in the mist, he paid no attention to where he was going. It didn’t even occur to him that he was heading away from Varigal, where his mother—as well as his supper—waited for him.
He kept plodding, absently following the contours of a steep ravine. His bare feet crushed branches and kicked aside fallen trunks. Around him, the trees seemed to sigh knowingly. No longer did he watch his shadow on the ground, sensing instead a shadow inside, one that darkened his thoughts.
“Am I actually a bigly person?” he wondered aloud. “Or really just a smallsy person in a bigly body?”
He continued to trudge along. A herd of Fincayran blue-antlered elk scattered to get out of his way. A yellow snake, annoyed at having to uncoil and leave a comfortable rock, hissed and slid into a nearby hole. An immense owl, holding a freshly caught mouse in her beak, took flight and glided silently over to her nest in the hollow of a cypress tree.
Suddenly—a piercing shriek cut through the forest. He halted in his tracks, instantly recognizing the shrill, angry cry made by only one kind of beast.
A wyvern!
He ran toward the sound, scaling the ravine and topping the next rise in just a few giant-size bounds. As the shrieking grew louder, he started to hear other, very different sounds, as well—thunderous booms and crashes, along with a chorus of tiny voices that cried out in agony.
Bursting out of the trees into a clearing, he saw the wyvern—a powerful one with gleaming purple scales that covered his entire body from the tips of his jagged wings to the heavy ball of bone at the end of his tail. Shrieking wildly, the purple wyvern lunged repeatedly at a deep cavern in an immense outcropping of giantstone. As his wings slapped the air, his deadly claws slashed at the cavern entrance, breaking off chunks of stone.
Small, winged creatures, glowing bright blue but moving too fast for Big Feet to see clearly, buzzed around the wyvern’s head. All the while, the little beings wailed piteously. Sometimes the wyvern’s jaws snapped closed on them, abruptly ending their lives. More of them fell from his slapping wings. With every passing second, their numbers lessened, their glow forever extinguished.
The wyvern kept slashing at the cavern, clearly searching for something. Suddenly, he reared back and slammed the ball of his tail against the entrance, smashing the outcropping so hard that several boulders broke off, crushing more of the glowing blue creatures. All the while, the dragon-like beast screeched furiously—a cry meant to freeze anyone nearby in terror.
But not Big Feet. Enraged by this brutality, he roared and ran headlong into battle. He threw all his weight into the charge, slamming full force into the wyvern’s shoulder.
Shrieking louder than ever, the surprised beast rolled backward, slicing his jaw on a sharp edge of stone. Purple blood oozed from the wound. The wyvern whirled around to face his attacker, blood dripping from his lower lip, fires of revenge burning in his eyes.
Big Feet, who had been thrown backward by the impact, rolled aside—just in time to avoid the wyvern’s tail, which smashed down on that very spot. Leaping up, he grabbed a huge boulder and hurled it at the wyvern. The beast jumped, but the boulder clipped one wing, ripping off a whole row of scales that sprinkled the ground amidst bits of stone and the bodies of lifeless little beings.
Raging, the wyvern whipped his jagged wings and brandished his claws, preparing to attack. All his thoughts were now bent on just one goal: revenge.
Remembering Vonya’s warning, Big Feet knew that a single slice from those claws could sever his arm—or worse. He lunged for another boulder, even bigger than the first. With all his strength, he lifted it to throw. But this rock was so heavy that he wobbled unsteadily. Then he lost his balance, tumbling over on the ground.
The wyvern snarled, sensing victory. Knowing that his enemy would soon perish, the beast’s eyes flamed brighter. Slowly, he raised his claws, poised to vanquish this bold young giant who had dared to intrude.
Just as the wyvern was about to leap—he noticed a small, shiny object at the edge of the cavern. Shimmering with a strange, orange glow, this object caught his full attention. A greedy rumble reverberated in the wyvern’s
throat as he stared, spellbound.
Taking advantage of the delay, Big Feet stood up. He braced himself and grasped the boulder again, lifting it high enough to throw. With every fiber of his muscles, he hurled it at the wyvern.
In a flash, the wyvern dodged the boulder and leaped—not at Big Feet, but at the orange prize that had caught his attention. Grasping the object in his claws, he took off with a last, triumphant shriek that shook the nearby trees. As he flew away, blood still dripping from his jaw, he cast a vengeful glance back at the unexpected foe who had caused so much trouble.
Big Feet stared back at the departing wyvern. Though shaky from all the stress of battle, he stood as tall as possible. And tall was what he felt again—no longer the small, screaming likeness that he’d seen in the mist, but a giant in every way. Big enough—and brave enough—to scare off a wyvern!
Then, looking down, he caught his breath. That terrible bully had destroyed dozens of innocent lives. Tiny, broken bodies lay scattered everywhere. Some still had their delicate blue wings attached, while others were torn to shreds. None of them showed any signs of life.
Faeries! Recognizing them from the stories Vonya had told him, he bent down to look closer. Though their only movement now came from the gentle breeze that stirred their broken and tattered wings, he knew that these tiny blue beings had once been among the most beautiful and graceful creatures in all of Fincayra.
Luminous faeries, he said to himself, recalling their species name. Like all the other kinds of faeries, wondrous beings who lived in watery places or moss carpets or starflower meadows across the island, these faeries had translucent wings and elegant antennae . . . and their own special magic. But no other kind had magic to equal that of the luminous faeries. For these faeries could actually produce their own light—glowing as they flew, like small, winged stars.
A tiny flicker of blue light over by the cavern caught his eye. Barely perceptible, it seemed no more than a single spark, probably just the light glinting on a shard of stone. Nevertheless, he moved closer to investigate.
