by T.A. Barron
Mustering all her willpower, Vonya didn’t look at her son. She kept her focus entirely on Domnu. “Well?” she asked the sorceress. “What do you say?”
“Hmmm . . . you want me to smallify him? So no one would ever suspect that he’s a giant?”
“That’s right.”
“That is difficult magic, my pet. Very difficult. It would be much easier just to turn him into a worm or a flea. Are you sure you want him smallified?”
“I am sure.” Her giant voice echoed around the lair.
Out of the corner of her eye, Vonya glanced at Shim. He was groaning in pain, barely able to move. The sight broke her heart—but not her resolve. If this was the only way to save his life, then she mustn’t waver.
“So,” she asked the sorceress, “will you do it?”
Domnu gazed at her without blinking. At last, she replied, “We have a bargain. But only if you will agree to one last wrinkle.”
Suspicious, Vonya raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“When I smallify him, so nobody will ever suspect his true origins . . . I will also erase a little bit of his memory.”
“That he was once a full-size giant?”
“No, my pet. He can certainly remember that—and all the rest of his former life. Except for one little piece—a rather unimportant detail.”
“And that is?” pressed Vonya.
“You.” Domnu stared hard at her. “He cannot remember his mother. Or most of what happened to him here in my lair. If he remembered that, he might come back here someday and try to rescue you.”
Hearing those words, Shim gasped as the pains grew even more intense. Despite that, he looked pleadingly at his mother and tried with all his might to say something to stop her from this folly. His lips moved. But the only sounds he could make were raspy groans.
Vonya swallowed hard, blinking back her tears. She nodded at Domnu. “All I want is for him to survive. So . . . yes. We have a bargain.”
“Good. Let’s not waste any more time.” Lowering her voice, the sorceress noted, “You have a lot of work to do.”
Vonya turned to Shim and pulled him close, wrapping him in one last embrace. Fighting back a sob, she whispered, “Just remember this, my jelly roll. Bigness means more than—”
She never finished. A flash of light exploded in the lair, so bright that for a moment she couldn’t see. In the very same instant, her beloved son shrank down in size—so fast that she lost hold of him completely.
Shim, meanwhile, fell through her arms and slammed onto the floor. Dazed, he sat up. Though his head was spinning, he tried to focus. But everything around him looked terribly distorted. He shook his head, utterly disoriented.
Suddenly, in a flood of panic, he realized what had happened. His nose, his feet, and his hands were all still there—but they were much, much smaller, along with every other part of his body. Even his clothes had shrunken down in size.
“Smallsy!” he wailed, his voice sounding much higher than he remembered. “I am smallsy and shrunkelled!”
He stood, looking everywhere for something—anything—that seemed normal. But none of his surroundings looked even remotely normal.
He stood only as high as the ankle of the giant who now towered over him. Staring up at her, he wondered who she was . . . even as he felt a sharp pang down inside himself, a feeling of emptiness that he’d never felt before.
Just then, Domnu—now much taller than Shim—strode over to him. With a menacing cackle, she bustled him over to the tunnel entrance and gave him a violent kick in the backside. He shrieked, tumbling all the way out into the Haunted Marsh.
With a snap of her fingers, Domnu slammed shut the tunnel’s heavy wooden door. Under her breath, she growled, “That’s the end of you, little giant.”
“No!” shouted Vonya, blinking as her sight returned. “You sent him out there to die!”
“Not at all,” countered the sorceress. “I sent him out there to live.” With a toothy grin, she added, “As long as he can.”
Vonya swung her fist angrily at the sorceress. But with a mere flick of her finger, Domnu froze the giant’s arm in midswing, as if it had been pinned to the very air. Though Vonya fumed and tried to move her arm, she remained completely stuck, unable to break free of the spell.
Scowling, Domnu glared back at her. “I kept my side of the bargain. Now you keep yours.”
Crestfallen, Vonya relented. Sadly, she moaned, “I never even got to tell him goodbye.”
Domnu flicked her finger again, releasing the giant’s arm. “That wasn’t part of our bargain, my pet. Now—get to work.”
13.
EMPTINESS
Shim gagged, struggling to get some air. Facedown in a puddle of muck, with rancid ooze dripping into his ears and clogging his nose and mouth, he forced himself to move. Breathe! I need to breathe!
With a painful effort, he rolled over and sat up. Dazed and aching all over, he coughed, sneezed, and coughed again, expelling most of the muck. Then he gave his head a furious shake, which sprayed fetid liquid all around him.
Where exactly was he? As he wiped the gooey filth off his eyes, he remembered only the merest flashes of recent events—all of which seemed either impossible or too horrible to think about.
A hairless hag whose name he didn’t know. A frozen unicorn. A sudden flash of light. A giant, someone he didn’t recognize . . . and a feeling of great emptiness down inside. And in his ears, a strange voice saying, Bigness means more than . . .
Than what? he wondered, still feeling that pang of emptiness.
Then came other memories, even more horrible: He was falling—shrinking! Like that face in the mist . . . only this was really happening. To him! To the giant once called Big Feet. The same person who had proudly boasted, Someday . . . I’ll be the bigliest giant in history, higher than the highliest tree.
He gulped, realizing the truth. Some of those memories were actually real. At least a few of them. But which ones were real, and which were illusions? Exactly how he’d been so cruelly shrunken, he couldn’t recall . . . but he felt sure it had happened somewhere nearby. Or was that, too, just an illusion? So much of his memory seemed to be shrouded by an impenetrable veil.
Shim scanned the desolate, dimly lit scene. Swamp, shadows, and more shadows. Behind him rose a rickety old building made of rocks that looked ready to collapse. Before him lay the most dreaded landscape in Fincayra. The Haunted Marsh.
But that wasn’t nearly the worst of his troubles.
“No!” he cried, waving his tiny hands in front of his face. “I am not bigly, not bigly at all!”
Bigness means more than . . .
The words echoed in his mind, carrying no meaning but plenty of pain.
He shook his head again, trying to regain his composure. Like his own thoughts, the landscape before him held only darkness and shadowy beasts. The swamp’s gloom felt heavy, broken only by the distant glow of wavering lights, the bubbling pools and poisonous fumes, and the occasional skeleton of a dead tree.
“Must go,” he said aloud, as if speaking to an invisible companion by his side. Yes—he must go somewhere. Anywhere but here!
Groaning miserably, he pushed himself to his feet. He drew a deep breath, still remembering what it felt like to have an enormous chest and giant-size lungs—so very different from how he felt now.
Bravely, he faced the gloom. Then he stepped forward—and suddenly fell into a bubbling pit!
Muck swallowed him, covering his head, filling his mouth. At the same time, something seized him by the waist and tightened like a noose. It dragged him down, deeper and deeper into the pit.
In his last instant of consciousness, Shim knew that he had drowned.
14.
PRISONER
A huge yellow eye!
Seeing that eye, right next to his face, Shi
m tried to leap backward—but he was tightly bound, wrapped in coils of vines and tied to something immovable. But even more astonishing than the eye and his predicament was one simple fact.
“Alive!” he exclaimed. “I’m still alive!”
Slowly, the yellow eye blinked. The vertical slit of its pupil narrowed down to a thin, dark line. Then the head that held the eye pulled away, revealing the identity of Shim’s captor.
“Ugh!” Shim cried in fright. He tried to wriggle away, though that made the vines tighten even more around his chest. “A snakely beast!”
“Ssssso you did sssssurvive, I sssssee.” The creature with yellow eyes examined him, just as a vulture would regard a piece of carrion. “Welcome to the den of Ssssslaylo, king of the ssssswamp ssssserpentssss.”
Trembling with fear, Shim peered at the huge serpent facing him. Behind the immense, triangular head stretched an incredibly long body that disappeared into the shadows of the muddy den. In the dim light from above, the serpent’s scales gleamed the reddish color of rusted iron.
“Sssssuch a very long way I carried you,” said Slaylo, bobbing his head. “Down my sssssecret tunnelsssss all the way to my den, never cccccertain that you were ssssstill alive.”
Stretching out his long, forked tongue, the serpent caressed one of Shim’s bare feet. As Shim tried to pull back, fighting against his bonds, Slaylo hissed with amusement. “Yesssss, you will be an exquisssssitely tasssssty treat. Worth all my trouble to sssssave you, clean you up ssssso nicccccely, and bind you.”
The eye slits narrowed. “Essssspecially becaussssse I prefer to eat my treatsssss alive.”
Shim tried again to break free to no avail. This would never have happened, he told himself angrily, if I was still as big as a giant!
Desperately, he scanned his surroundings to see if there was anything he could possibly use to escape. But all he saw, besides the massive serpent, was a den that reeked of snakeskin and stuffy air. Plus a pile of brush and dead leaves that filled one corner.
Looking up, he discovered that the dim light of the den came down through the trunk of a dead tree that reached up to the swamp. The tree’s hollow column rose directly above them. Several of its roots dangled down into the den.
So, he realized, I must be tied to one of those tree roots. At once, an idea burst into his mind. If he could somehow free himself, maybe he could climb up one of the roots and escape through the tree? Of course, that would only get him back to the swamp . . . but at least he’d avoid becoming the serpent’s next meal. Yet that plan was totally worthless with his captor so nearby. He needed to convince the serpent to leave him unguarded—but how?
“O splendid snakely king,” he intoned. “It is a great honor to be sacrificed to your hunger.”
Slaylo raised his head, clearly not used to being addressed with such respect by his prey. “I am ssssso glad you underssssstand.”
“I do, O great slimy and slithery one.” He waited for the serpent to nod in approval, then continued. “But alas, there is a seriously serious problem! I am so very smallsy—and you, curly king, have such a huge appetite.”
Slaylo’s tongue slid hungrily over his jaw.
“So, your slitherousness . . . don’t you want to get some more food to fill your long and lengthy stomach? I will wait here patiently for your return . . . knowing that my smallsy sacrifice will help to ease your great hunger.”
Slaylo slid closer to study his unusual captive. “What sssssort of creature are you, sssssmall one?”
“A giant,” declared Shim, feeling a sudden surge of pride. Then, more sheepishly, he added, “Just . . . a very little giant.”
Hissing laughter echoed around the den as the serpent shook with mirth. “You are cccccertainly no giant! You are the leassssst giant-like being I have ever ssssseen!”
Shim scowled, humiliated.
“Ssssstill,” declared the serpent in a more serious tone, “you are right about sssssomething. I am very, very hungry! And your sssssmall sssssacrificcccce won’t be nearly enough.”
Brightening, Shim suggested, “Tell me more about your hunger, O curlymost king.”
Flicking the tip of his tail, Slaylo parted the pile of brush, revealing a large, green-spotted egg. “All the food I have besssssidesssss you isssss thisssss one egg . . . which I hope might sssssomeday hatch. That way I can ssssswallow alive whatever treat it holdsssss.”
Shim couldn’t help but cringe. How awful to be born just in time to get swallowed by this monster!
“Surely, great king, you should have more to eat.”
The vertical sits of Slaylo’s eyes narrowed again. “True. Ssssso I will leave you briefly to find sssssome more food. Then, when I return, I will sssssavor a sssssumptuousssss feassssst.”
“Good idea, your slitherousness! I shall wait for you to come back and swallow me royalishly.”
Hissing with anticipation, the serpent replied, “Ssssso you shall.”
With that, Slaylo turned and slid into the darkness, his undulating form moving swiftly across the mud.
As soon as the serpent’s tail vanished from sight, Shim sprang into action. Sucking in his breath to loosen his bonds even a tiny amount, he jostled himself lower and lower—hoping that the tree root would narrow toward the bottom. Hard labor though this was, he gave it all his strength. For he knew that his life—even as small as it was now—depended on it.
Gradually, he moved lower on the root. But the vines still held him tight. Harder! he urged himself. I must . . . try . . . harder!
Vines chafed against his ribs, his arms and legs, even his neck. He panted hoarsely from exertion. Yet with every muscle in his body, he continued to wriggle downward.
At last—he felt a sudden loosening of his bonds. He’d reached the lowest point of the tree root. Seconds later, he pulled himself out of his bonds, casting the vines aside.
Free! He was free!
He started to climb up the dangling root, hoping fervently he could escape through the hollow tree before the serpent returned. Just as he pulled himself off the den floor, however, he stopped. For he realized there was something else he needed to do before he left this dreadful place.
Shim dropped back to the floor and dashed over to the brush pile. Carefully, he lifted the green-spotted egg. Although it was as big as his own head, it felt surprisingly light, and he stuffed it into his shirt. After making sure the shirt’s bottom was securely tucked into his leggings, he scurried back to the root. And with all the speed he could muster, he started to climb again.
Just then, he heard an ominous sound—a heavy body sliding across mud. From somewhere in the distance came a harsh hiss.
Slaylo! Coming back so soon!
Upward he climbed, pulling himself from the root into the trunk that rose high above the den. Bit by bit, he edged higher . . . ever mindful of the egg he carried. One arm and leg at a time, he rose closer to the open hole at the top of the dead tree.
Below him, the hissing grew steadily louder. Suddenly, it rose to a shrill, earsplitting shriek.
“Ssssstop! Ssssstop now, you are my prisssssoner!”
Shim worked his way higher. The hole above him, where dim light filtered down into the den, drew nearer and nearer and—
Snap! Deadly jaws closed just below him, barely missing his foot. Shim glanced down to see the serpent’s yellow eyes, seething with rage. The jaws opened again, impossibly wide, ready to bite off his legs.
Suddenly, a loud screech filled the air. Before he knew what was happening, powerful talons grabbed Shim by the shoulders and yanked him upward—just as the snake’s jaws slammed shut, catching only air.
Astonished, Shim flew out of the hole and across the open swamp. Compared to the stuffy air of the den, the marshlands’ fog seemed like a fresh breeze from the mountains. Looking up, he saw the immense body of a greathawk, one of the biggest b
irds on Fincayra. But while he could have held the bird in one hand when he was a full-size giant, now the greathawk carried him with ease. The bird’s massive wings pumped steadily, carrying him far away from the vicious serpent.
In a heartbeat, Shim’s relief at being rescued turned to dread. Had he been saved just in time to be eaten by somebody else?
15.
WINGS
The greathawk flew over the fog-shrouded marshlands, clasping Shim in her talons. Then she veered sharply, raising the angle of her powerful wings. A sudden whhooosh—and she hovered, hanging motionless in midair.
Surprised, Shim looked down to see an enormous tree right below them. Though it, too, was dead, this tree was much more massive than the one above the serpent’s den.
“That bigly tree!” he exclaimed. “It’s truly a gi—” But the word caught in his throat.
Like a great wooden temple, the tree lifted its arms skyward. Grand even in death, it stood majestically, with deep ridges running through its ancient bark. And in the center of its crown, it held a vast nest of interwoven branches.
With a piercing screech, the greathawk released Shim. He landed in the nest, much more gently than he’d expected, cushioned by the thick layer of feathers that lined its inner bowl. As he sat amidst the feathers near one side, the bird landed on the rim just above him.
Ruffling her wings, the hawk peered at Shim with round, golden eyes. Shim stared back, trying his best to look more confident than he actually felt. Had he just moved from one predator’s dining room to another?
“Welcome, fledgling.” The greathawk’s deep voice sounded like a faraway horn in the forest. “I am glad,” she said, “you will live another day.”
“You’re not going to eat me, then?”
Before hearing her reply, Shim tried to stand. But he lost his balance in the mass of feathers and tumbled over backward. By the time he’d righted himself and sat down again, he saw that the bird was still watching him . . . but now with a look of amusement in her eyes.
