Giant

by T.A. Barron

  Something else oppressed them: the grave dangers of visiting Domnu. The sorceress, Vonya explained, had lived on Fincayra nearly as long as the entire race of the giants. Not that she’d feel any compulsion to help them because of the longevity she shared with their kind. To the contrary, legends told that she felt no loyalty at all to anyone else—not even Dagda in the spirit realm. As an ancient hag who had seen hundreds of generations of mortals come and go, she viewed all other creatures and their troubles with complete disinterest.

  Unless they could, somehow, be of use to her. That was the only hope of striking a bargain with Domnu. And it wasn’t just a faint hope—it was a terribly dangerous one. For she had no concerns at all about morality. Right and wrong meant nothing to her.

  Appropriately, the meaning of her name in the oldtongue was Dark Fate. Maybe that arose from her famous penchant for gambling, for games where fate or chance held sway. Or maybe it just meant that she cared nothing at all about anyone’s life except her own.

  As the bard Cairpré had written in a ballad about Domnu: “She is not good or evil, friend or foe, mortal or immortal. She simply is.”

  That thin sliver of hope that the hag might need something—something that a fully grown giant like Vonya could provide—was the entire basis of her desperate plan. A weak basis, to be sure. But it was the only way that Vonya could possibly get the hag to use her magic to protect Shim. Otherwise . . . her son would never survive to adulthood. Not in this era of the malicious, brutal King Stangmar.

  Of course, Vonya hadn’t yet revealed the details of her plan to Shim. He would certainly protest mightily and try to stop her. But she felt such a strong protective instinct for him that she was prepared to deal with his objections when the time came. And she knew that once they entered Domnu’s lair, there would be no turning back.

  The radiant path veered around a series of pits that were bubbling ominously, as if the ooze within them was constantly aboil. Or perhaps it was actually one connected pit that boiled in several places. Either way, the giants felt very glad indeed to avoid that stretch of swamp.

  Abruptly, they stopped. Not far ahead, swathed in dark fumes, rose a towering shape, at least three times the height of Vonya. It could have been a huge, rocky pinnacle—but its shape looked almost like some sort of building. A ramshackle, topsy-turvy, precariously made building.

  Then the fog shifted, revealing a row of barred windows near the top—removing all doubt. From behind the windows, amber light glowed. Was it the light of a fireplace? Or of some eerie magic?

  “What a messy, hovelly place,” said Shim. “All piled with rocks and dead trees and . . .” He paused to gulp. “Bones! Errr . . . do you thinks she really lives there?”

  Vonya nodded grimly. “That’s her lair, all right. Though it looks like it could cave in at any moment.”

  “Why would anybody want to live in such a ramshackelous place?”

  Her voice grave, Vonya answered, “To keep away visitors.”

  “Like us.”

  “Yes, like us.”

  Shifting his gaze to the pathway, Shim noticed something else. “The ghoulsy lights—they end right over there, in front of the building.”

  “So there’s no doubt,” said Vonya grimly. “That’s Domnu’s lair.”

  Even as she spoke, the marsh ghouls’ lights started to change. In unison, they grew dimmer and less steady, wavering eerily as they had done when Shim and Vonya first entered the bog. Meanwhile, the moaning and wailing sounds resumed, making the air feel, once again, heavy with anguish.

  Listening to the marsh ghouls’ heartrending cries, Shim frowned compassionately. Their pain seemed to claw at his heart. He called to them—and the moment he started to speak, the wailing stopped again.

  “Thank you, peaceful flower ghouls. Thank you verily much!”

  Opening his arms wide, he added gently, “I am so sorry for all your losses, all your pain. Deeply and achingly sorry.”

  For a long moment, the swamp remained quiet. Except for the bubbling of the pits and the hissing of a snake, there were no sounds.

  Then, as one, the marsh ghouls began to cry and moan, just as they had before. The flowers lining the path melted away, vanishing without a trace. As if blown by a mysterious wind, the ghouls scattered widely. Vaporous veils shrouded their lights so that the fog glowed ominously all around.

  Vonya touched her son’s forearm. “What you said was beautiful.”

  “Just speaking truly, that’s all.”

  She touched his face, gently running her fingers over his cheek. At last, she asked, “Do you trust me?”

  Surprised, he nodded. “Of coursely I do.”

  “Then . . . I want you to promise me something. Whatever I need to do to convince Domnu to help you survive—you will cooperate. No matter how terrible or evil it sounds—you will do whatever I need you to do.”

  He scrunched his nose. “Whatever?”

  “Whatever.”

  With a heavy sigh, he said, “All rightly. I promise.”

  She gave his arm a squeeze. “Then I will have the strength to go through with this.”

  Shim cocked his head thoughtfully. “You really is full of madness!”

  Almost grinning, she replied, “Yes, I am.”

  “And so is I. Certainly, definitely, absolutely.”

  Together, they strode toward the lair of the sorceress whose name meant Dark Fate.

  12.

  DOMNU

  Even getting to the lair, which truly deserved Shim’s word ramshackelous, wasn’t easy. Without the marsh ghouls, deep darkness shrouded everything except the ominous glow from the lair’s windows. Making matters worse, there was so much rubble, including rock slabs and uprooted trees, blocking the entrance path that even the long-legged giants had trouble crossing over. Only the fact that this route looked more passable than the gurgling pits on both sides made it a path at all.

  Like the building itself, the jumble of barriers on the path fairly shouted: Perilous! Dangerous! Turn back now!

  Exactly as Domnu wanted.

  More unnerving to Shim and Vonya, though, were all the bones. Thousands and thousands of bones lay in huge piles around the lair. They were the remains of countless legs, arms, feet, wings, tails, and vertebrae, and they reeked of suffering and death. Seeing them, it wasn’t hard to imagine the life force that had once made them move with strength and grace. For good measure, a long line of skulls—from bears, humans, wolves, horses, and at least one giant—bordered the outer wall of the lair.

  Set in the center of the building’s front wall, at the very end of the path, gaped the opening of a tunnel. There wasn’t any door, or any indication of what might lurk inside. Just a frighteningly dark hole.

  Vonya led the way. Bending over to fit through the tunnel, she waved for Shim to follow. Reluctantly, he came behind her, already regretting his promise to do whatever she asked him to do.

  They trudged through the tunnel, scraping their massive shoulders on the rough-hewn stones above them. With every step, amber light grew stronger. But it wasn’t the warm, welcoming light of someone’s home—more like the dim, shimmering light from dying fire coals.

  We are full of madness, Shim said anxiously to himself. Entering this place felt terribly dangerous. Certainly, dreadfully, absolutely.

  Finally, they pushed open a heavy door that had been left ajar . . . as if their arrival had been expected. Together, they entered a cavernous room with a high ceiling. Glancing overhead, Shim saw some furry creature scurry along one of the rotting beams and disappear into a dark corner. Just then, a slab of stone that had been wedged under the beam broke off and fell to the floor, smashing into bits only an arm’s length from the giants.

  “Whoa!” shouted Shim, leaping aside. “This place is even more rickety and crickety than I thought.”

  Vonya nodd
ed worriedly. “Let’s just hope it lasts long enough for us to do what we have to do.”

  Peering at her inquisitively, Shim asked, “And what exactishly is that?”

  Another scurrying—this one right by their feet—made them both jump. Something darted past, vanishing into the shadows, leaving no trace except a dank, musty smell that lingered like smoke. Other smells, too, assaulted their sensitive nostrils—all of them rancid. The lair smelled like an ancient cave that had never been cleaned of dead bodies, garbage, and defecation.

  As they scanned the enormous room, both of them realized that the amber light didn’t have any visible source—no candles, torches, or hearths. Only the eerie, shifting glow that hung in the air.

  All around them sat piles of strange objects. Some, like a set of wooden blocks that had been stacked in the shape of a pyramid, were carefully organized. Others, like a collection of polished stones etched with mysterious runes, lay jumbled haphazardly. Spools of yarn, black and white and red, filled several huge baskets. Gaping iron bowls held seashells, jewels, small bones, seeds, crystal spheres, painted cards, and what looked like bundles of human hair.

  One bowl, set beside a shadowy doorway, held something more ominous—eyeballs. Dozens and dozens of eyeballs, wet and glistening. Seeing them, Shim winced.

  The nearest wall, made from smooth slabs of rock, showed countless markings. Columns of blue slashes bled into rows of yellow dots and purple squiggles. Squares, pentagons, triangles, circles, and arrows filled every available space. Scrawled between these markings, and sometimes over them, were thousands more runes, numbers, and some weirdly glowing symbols.

  By the opposite wall sat a large, hairy rug divided into red and black squares. It looked like the chess board that Shim and Vonya had seen in the cottage of Lunahlia . . . but hers was much smaller. As were her chess pieces—these were each as big as a tree trunk. And instead of standard shapes, these pieces looked like animals from all around Fincayra: horses, sea lions, monkeys, a pair of fiery red dragons, and one lone unicorn.

  As he looked closely at the animals, Shim caught the slightest quiver of the unicorn’s white mane. Then, so quietly that it could barely be heard, the creature made a tiny noise—part neigh, part whimper. As if in response, one of the dragons crinkled its wing ever so slightly, flared its nostrils, and blew a small puff of smoke.

  “By the beard of Dagda,” exclaimed Shim. “Those chessly pieces are alive!”

  Before Vonya could respond, a new voice growled from the room’s darkest corner. “Alive or dead . . . what does it matter? It’s all the same to me.”

  Both giants stiffened as, from deep in the shadows, Domnu emerged. The hairless head of the sorceress glistened in the amber light, her scalp so wrinkled it resembled an exposed brain. A large wart protruded like a horn from her forehead, while her eyes, as black as a moonless night, studied her guests, never blinking.

  Swishing her tan robe, which held several bulging pockets, she stepped toward the giants. She paused to examine them more closely, taking in everything from their bushy heads down to their bare feet. All the while she stared at them, unblinking, as she fingered her necklace of clear quartz crystals.

  “Well, well,” she growled, her mouth full of misshapen teeth. “This is truly a pleasure. And believe me, at my age I am rarely pleased about anything.”

  Vonya started to speak, but the ancient hag cut her off. “Let me guess why you’re here, my pets. Running away from Stangmar’s warriors, perhaps?”

  The giants both gasped.

  Domnu reached up to scratch her wrinkled brow. “Or are you already hoping to fulfill the new prophecy? The Dance of the Giants?”

  Vonya and Shim traded nervous glances, amazed that she knew so much.

  “Not that it matters,” continued Domnu with a shrug. “Life. Death. It makes no difference at all.”

  “But it does,” Shim countered passionately. “Most absolutely, it does!”

  She regarded him harshly. “Not to me, it doesn’t.”

  Vonya motioned to Shim to stay quiet. But he ignored her and demanded, “Why are you so grumpy and crumbumbly? We came here for help.”

  The sorceress scowled. “I don’t give help. Ever. To anyone.”

  She spun around with a swish of her robe. As she walked away, she grumbled, “Leave my lair now! Before I turn you both into worms and cast you into the marsh.”

  Vonya’s eyes widened in fear that all her hopes would be dashed. “Wait! We came here for a different reason—to wager.”

  The hag stopped walking. Slowly, she turned around. “Wager?”

  Vonya nodded, clinking her wagon wheel earrings.

  Cackling with delight, Domnu cracked her withered knuckles. “Oh, I can never resist a good wager! What are the stakes?”

  “If I win,” replied Vonya, “you must bargain with me. Honestly, with no tricks. And if you win—”

  “Then I will decide,” finished the sorceress, “whether to bargain with you . . . or to eat you alive.” Malevolently, she grinned. “Not very high stakes.”

  Knowing she had no choice but to accept the terms, Vonya whispered to Shim, “Trust me, this is the only way.”

  He peered at her with equal portions of love and fear. “If you’re sure . . .”

  “I am.”

  “Good,” declared Domnu. “What objects shall we use? Bones, perhaps? Or dice?” Waving toward the bowl of eyeballs, she added, “Or maybe . . .”

  “Bones,” declared Vonya with finality.

  The old hag shrugged, disappointed not to have the chance to play with her eyeballs. “As you wish, my pet.”

  She snapped her fingers. Instantly, a ceramic vase appeared, floating in the air before them. Five thin bones protruded from the top of the vase, their tops poking equally high above the rim.

  Pointing at the bones, Domnu said, “One of them is taller than the rest. Whoever chooses that bone wins the wager.”

  She waited a moment, then added, “Think carefully, now. Here are your choices.”

  Casually, she flicked a finger at each bone, one at a time. As she did so, an invisible bell rang out, sounding a different note for each bone.

  While Vonya’s attention stayed entirely on the bones, Shim kept his eyes on the sorceress. Her face remained totally impassive as each of the bells sounded—until the very last one. For that bone, the bell sounded the lowest note of all . . . and when she heard it, Domnu grinned ever so slightly.

  What does that mean? wondered Shim. Is she cheating?

  Before he could voice his concern, Vonya reached for a bone. She picked one from the middle of the vase and pulled it out. Because it was as long as the vase itself, it seemed like a good choice.

  Immediately, Domnu reached over. She chose the bone for which the lowest note had sounded. As she drew it out, it kept on coming and coming, stretching impossibly—until it finally came free, fully three times as long as the vase. Seeing this, Vonya shuddered and released a mournful howl.

  “Too bad, my pet,” clucked the sorceress in satisfaction. “You lost our little wager.”

  “Wait now—” Shim started to object. But Domnu interrupted him.

  “As a consolation, though . . . I won’t eat you. Instead, we will bargain.” More to herself than to them, she added, “A good bargain is almost as much fun as a wager.”

  Vonya heaved a sigh of relief.

  Suddenly, Domnu frowned. “Too bad you don’t have anything valuable to bargain with. I have enough giant bones and teeth already. And you don’t have any jewelry . . . except for those ugly earrings, and I have no need for wagon wheels. Maybe we should just go back to the plan of eating you alive.”

  “I do have one thing,” insisted Vonya. “And it could be very useful to you.”

  Domnu gave the giant a skeptical stare. “What is that?”

  Drawi
ng herself up to her full height, Vonya answered, “My life.”

  Shim waved his arms in protest. “No, no! You can’t!”

  She shot him a determined look. “Remember your promise,” she said firmly. “Now stay quiet.”

  “But—but—”

  “Quiet!”

  Shim ground his teeth, then reluctantly nodded.

  “Good lad,” said Vonya more softly. Turning back to the sorceress, she explained, “I offer you my life, to do whatever labors you require . . . for the rest of my days.”

  Domnu grinned wickedly, showing her crooked teeth. “That could possibly be useful.”

  The two of them locked gazes, each taking the measure of the other. From the chessboard came a piteous sound, as the unicorn whinnied in warning.

  Finally, the sorceress spoke again. “I could use a servant, my pet. You are right about that.” She gestured at the cavernous space around them. “Constant upkeep and repairs, this old lair requires that. And you are big enough to do the worst jobs.”

  Holding her gaze, Vonya declared, “I would do that. But only if you agree to my side of the bargain.”

  Practically bursting, Shim shook his head wildly. “No, no, no! This is truly terribibulous!”

  Vonya raised her hand to silence him. “Your promise!”

  Shim groaned like a wounded beast. “But—”

  “Hush now. The sorceress and I have some bargaining to do.”

  Grudgingly, he obeyed. He looked down, grinding an enormous foot into the stone floor, but didn’t say another word.

  “Now then,” said Domnu with a gleam in her eye. “What service could I provide you in exchange?”

  Vonya sucked in her breath. “You could transform my son. Make him smaller. So he will never again be in danger because he’s a giant.”

  Shim froze and practically fell over. The same bolt of pain he’d felt from the Living Mist struck him full force, squeezing his lungs and paralyzing his limbs. All he could do was croak weakly, “No . . . please, not that.”