Giant

by T.A. Barron

  The castle itself rose from the once-pristine vale like a monstrous scab. But in this case, that scab covered a uniquely deep wound—the destroyed temple of the goddess Lorilanda, the place Olwen had described so lovingly. All that remained of the temple’s ancient spring, which had been sacred for millennia to Fincayrans, was a muddy spot by the castle wall. Where so many worshippers had knelt to drink from the spring or sing to its magic, there were now just the footprints of warriors.

  “Already,” said Elf grimly, “you can see horrible fumes starting to pour out of those windows. Fumes that will someday shroud this place completely.”

  “I can smell them, too.” Shim crinkled his nose in disgust. “We’re far enough away that I’m getting just a hint . . . but it’s bad. Really bad. Like hundreds of thoroughly rottenous eggs.”

  Elf’s wings darkened. “That’s fitting, since Stangmar is also, to use your phrase, thoroughly rottenous.”

  Tapping the bulging pocket that held the crystal, Shim shook his head in bewilderment. “But why did the Leaper bring us here, of all places? Why not somewhere more lovelyish?”

  The faery stamped her minuscule foot on his shoulder. “Because, you oaf, you named this place when you made your wish! Don’t you remember? You said something about the evil king in his castle.”

  As if in agreement, the crystal flashed with light inside his pocket, making the barkcloth glow orange.

  “Ugh,” admitted Shim. “You’re right.”

  “You’ll have to be more careful next time.”

  “If,” he replied, “there is a next time. That whole experience was pretty frightfulous.”

  Elf’s radiance brightened. “But you did it! You saved us—and also kept the Leaper out of Stangmar’s grasp. That’s what we faeries call a mountainous miracle.”

  “Thanks, but it took two of us to climb that mountain. Now we’d better get out of here before we’re discovered by some of those scarily warriors. Besides,” he added with a glance at the sky, “the sun is going to set pretty soon.”

  “Ready when you are, Big Friend.”

  He smiled, always glad when she called him that. He started to turn away from the castle, then caught himself.

  “Before we leave, I just have to ask you something.”

  The faery walked across his shoulder and touched his earlobe. “Yes?”

  “Do you really think it’s possible that Stangmar could make that castle spin, as Olwen told us? It looks way too bigly to ever turn on its foundation.”

  “Hmmm. That depends on whether his master, Gawr, has succeeded in tapping the magic of the sacred spring. If he has . . . then plenty of wicked things are possible.”

  Shim nodded gravely. “Let’s hope he hasn’t. And let’s also hope Olwen’s wish comes true that the magical child, her grandson, really did escape from this place.”

  “Yes! Fortunately, Olwen did say that he went with his mother . . . and as everyone knows, a mother will do anything to protect her child.”

  He didn’t know why, but those words made him ache down inside.

  Booooom!

  A sound like a hundred thunderclaps exploded from the castle. The ground shook with violent tremors—so powerful that Shim almost fell over backward and Elf leaped into the air.

  Seconds later, the soil around the castle erupted with huge crevasses. Those cracks radiated outward, snaking swiftly across the vale. One of them raced up the hillside where Shim stood, toppling several birch trees and cutting so close to him that he needed to leap aside to avoid falling into the crevasse.

  Then, as the companions watched in astonishment, the castle began to turn. Creaking loudly as stone rubbed against stone, it started to spin.

  Caught by surprise, many gobsken who were climbing ladders that rested against the castle’s outside walls screamed in panic and fell to their deaths, crushed by loose stones that tumbled from the battlements. Others, even less lucky, fell into the gaps around the castle’s foundation, where the turning stones ground them into bloody dust.

  As the tremors finally ceased, the faery returned to her perch on Shim’s shoulder. Though she didn’t speak, her bells trembled with jittery, frightened notes.

  24.

  THE CHASE

  For a breathless moment, the two companions watched Stangmar’s castle spin slowly on its foundation. The hillside grove of birches where they stood no longer seemed the least bit tranquil. Instead of the gentle sound of wind-swished branches, the harsh, grating noise of stone grinding against stone rent the air.

  Ominous signs touched all parts of the landscape. Any birds who hadn’t already taken wing did so now, fleeing the vale as fast as possible. Boulders in the surrounding hills, shaken loose by the tremors, tumbled and slid, smashing into farmers’ homes and wagons. Meanwhile, to the west, the sun had started to set, painting everything dark red.

  “We should leave swiftishly,” declared Shim.

  Elf’s antennae chimed in agreement. She paced nervously on his shoulder.

  Turning his back to the castle, Shim started to march, careful to avoid toppled trees and deep crevasses. At the crest of the hill, he strode rapidly through the last of the birches before descending into a gully that expanded into a ravine carved by centuries of melting snows in springtime. Reaching the bottom of the ravine, he turned to face—

  Gobsken! A patrol of three muscular warriors, wearing their helmets and body armor, had just entered the opposite side of the ravine.

  “Look there,” called one gobsken, pointing his broadsword at Shim. “Intruder!”

  “Or spy!” rasped another.

  The third gobsken struck his shield with his sword. “Let’s skewer him, mates.”

  The patrol charged at Shim, waving their swords wildly. At the same time, Shim spun around and hurtled down the ravine. Elf leaped into the air and, with a whir of wings, zipped ahead to seek out any possible way for them to escape.

  Racing as fast as he could, Shim sped through the ravine, leaping over broken branches and rocks in his path. The gobsken barreled behind, cursing and shouting. Fortunately, their heavy, iron-wrought armor, as well as their broadswords and shields, slowed them down. Their boots slammed into the turf as they pursued their prey, neither gaining on him nor falling behind.

  Shim veered into another ravine that merged with a wider watershed dotted with twisted fir trees laden with purple cones. Panting from exertion, he chanced a quick look behind, only to see the three gobsken also enter the watershed. They looked angrier than ever, huffing under the weight of all their armor and weapons but seething with rage.

  “Stinking spy,” rasped one as he brandished his sword.

  “Die, you snake,” called another hoarsely.

  One of the gobsken shrieked as he caught his boot on a tree root, brutally twisting his ankle. He slammed to the ground with a spray of mud.

  Still hotly pursued by the other two, Shim hoped desperately that he could outlast them. But his legs ached and his feet seemed to be turning into stone with every stride. “Can’t . . . do this . . . muchly longer,” he grumbled.

  A thought struck him: Could he use the Leaper? Yet he knew there wasn’t time—those gobsken would catch up and chop him into pieces before he could even take the crystal out of his pocket.

  Trying to tire the gobsken further, he drew on every last morsel of strength and veered to climb a steep knoll. He leaned forward, finding a path between thornbushes and boulders, pushing himself higher. Hard as it was to keep going up the slope, he hoped maybe it would be even harder for those warriors. Even so, he needed all his concentration to keep from stumbling.

  By the time he reached the top, he could barely lift his feet. His lungs screamed in pain. And he knew he was so exhausted that he’d soon drop.

  He looked back—and saw the two remaining pursuers pounding up the slope, even closer than before! Pa
nting hoarsely, he staggered toward the other side of the knoll.

  “No,” cried a high-pitched voice overhead. “Come this way!”

  “Elf!” Though almost ready to collapse, he followed the faery across the knoll to a stand of tall, dark spruce trees.

  “Over here,” she urged, wings buzzing. “You can do it!”

  Like a radiant blue torch, she guided him through the thick tangle of spruce branches. Bursting out the other side of the trees, Elf cried, “Come, Shim. It’s your only chance!”

  Too tired to see where she was leading him, Shim stumbled through the trees—

  Over a cliff! He plunged downward, flailing his arms wildly.

  Splash!

  Coughing and sputtering, he surfaced in a wide lake. Following the luminous faery, he swam weakly toward a small island that rose from the lake’s center. Because the sun had now set, ushering in the shadows of dusk, her light shone like a beacon. A beacon meant to guide him across the water.

  Just then, the gobsken warriors emerged from the spruce trees, barely able to stand from all their exertion. Seeing Shim trying to swim away, they shouted multiple curses at him. One of them, in sheer frustration, hurled his shield into the water. It splashed down just an arm’s length from Shim and promptly sank.

  Shim, meanwhile, focused all his willpower on staying afloat. Utterly drained, he felt ready to follow the shield to rest on the bottom . . . but forced himself to paddle weakly toward the island. All the while, Elf flew ahead of him, calling encouragement. He couldn’t understand much of what she was saying, with all the water sloshing in his ears, but the sound of her voice helped keep him going.

  From the top of the cliff, the gobsken watched in frustration. Helpless to catch the spy, they both knew that they’d never tell their captain about this failed chase. Or else he’d rage at them and probably slice off their hands . . . or heads.

  “At least,” growled one of the warriors as he stared angrily at the swimmer below, “he’ll likely drown before long.”

  The other gobsken mopped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. “Or get eaten by some deadly water beast.”

  “Not much there worth eating,” cracked his mate.

  Chortling, the other declared, “Let’s leave him to die.” With a glance at the dusky sky, he spat, “He’ll drown in the dark.”

  Spinning around, they dived back into the tangle of branches. After taking several angry swipes with their broadswords and splintering some boughs, they vanished from sight.

  Shim, now well out into the lake, continued to swim. But it was very rough going. Just taking a breath, let alone lifting his arms out of the water, was a struggle.

  Dead tired, he didn’t know whether he’d actually make it all the way to the island. Yet he did know, beyond doubt, that his friend Elf remained with him, glowing just ahead as he swam. That he carried a precious crystal in his pocket. And that he’d come too far, endured too much, just to drown in some nameless lake.

  And so, with all his will, he kept swimming.

  25.

  THE ISLAND

  At last, Shim touched the island’s edge. Though wet and slippery, the land gave him just enough purchase to pull himself out of the lake. Kicking with all his remaining strength, he hauled his limp, bedraggled body onto shore. Even as the sky darkened with nightfall, he knew that he was finally safe.

  Elf, glowing like a blue star, landed beside him. Her bells rippled with joyful sounds as she watched her friend relax.

  “You made it!” she exclaimed.

  Still panting hard, the little giant didn’t respond right away. After a moment, when his breathing returned to something like normal, he slowly sat up. He shook his wet mop of hair, spraying the faery and soaking the shoreline around them.

  “Ugh,” he groaned. “There’s one thing worse than getting shrunkelled.”

  Elf shook the water off her wings. “What’s that?”

  “Getting shrunkelled and then almost eaten and then earthquaked and then chased by gobsken and then very nearly drownishded!”

  To a merry peal of bells, the faery answered, “You have a point.”

  She leaped into the air and buzzed up to his face. Looking him right in the eyes, she said, “I’m proud of you, Big Friend.”

  With two fingers, he tugged at a clump of watermoss that had lodged in his ear. Finally extracting it, he said, “Proud of you, too, Elf.”

  He tossed the moss aside. “Even if you did try to drownish me.”

  She landed, chuckling, on his shoulder. “You’re too full of hot air to drown.”

  Feeling almost fully recovered, Shim scanned the nighttime scene. By now, the first stars had started to appear, and their reflections already sparkled in the surrounding waters. In the stars’ silvery light, he scanned the contours of the island. Small and treeless, it sat in the middle of the lake, a true safe harbor.

  Turning his gaze to the starry sky overhead, he searched for the familiar shapes of his favorite constellations. There was Pegasus, soaring on high with enormous wings. And there, Gwri of the Golden Hair. And over there, the wondrous shape of Endless Ocean, where islands of stars dotted the dark expanse.

  Dark—because in the Fincayran tradition, the constellations weren’t made of stars, but the vast spaces between them. The spaces that might, at first, seem empty.

  Elf, who was also gazing up at the constellations, chimed harmoniously. Her tone full of wonder, she said, “As far away as the stars are from here, whenever I look at them, I go even farther. For there is no limit, no end, to my imagination.”

  Shim nodded, then took a good sniff of the night air. Puzzled, he cocked his head. “This place smells strangelyish . . . more like old leather than land.” He sniffed again. “And like something else, too, something familiar—but no, that can’t possibly be right.”

  “Who cares what it smells like?” asked the faery. “All that matters is this island saved you from those gobsken.”

  He shrugged. “You’re right about that!” He started to add, Certainly, definitely, absolutely—but caught himself.

  Surveying the little island, he observed, “Too bad nothing grows here. We could use a bit of food, even just one fruitly tree. And there’s no goodly shelter here, either—just those two caves over there. But they look way too dark and windily to enter.”

  “Sure,” Elf replied, “but look at it this way.” She waved a glowing wing at the lake that surrounded them. “At least we’ve got plenty of water.”

  With a smirk, he said, “I can always count on you for the brightish side.”

  “That’s why I’m a luminous faery.”

  She started to laugh at her own joke, then stopped. Her radiance dimmed. In a much quieter voice, she added, “The very last luminous faery. With no family left—not even my twin sister.”

  Shim sighed compassionately. “I understand, truly I do.” After a few seconds of silence, he went on. “And I’m the very last giant. With no family, no city, no home.”

  He ran his hand through his wet and scraggly hair. “On top of that, I’ve lost something else.”

  Elf peered at him somberly. “What’s that?”

  “Well . . . I’ve also lost a bigly part of my memory.”

  He swallowed. “Which means that I’ve lost some of myself. The truth is . . . I don’t really know who I am.”

  Suddenly, the island shook violently. Elf shrieked and took flight, while Shim clung tightly to the shore beneath him. The whole island quaked, shifted—then lifted out of the lake!

  Higher and higher it rose, carrying Shim upward. It took all his concentration—and all the muscles of his fingers and toes—just to hang on.

  Then, in a booming voice, the island beneath him spoke. Though it said only a few words, they carried as much meaning as an entire library.

  “You may not know who y
ou are, young giant. But I do.”

  26.

  THE SECRET DOOR

  Shim was so shocked by what had just happened—the island suddenly rising out of the lake and the weighty words spoken by that voice—he lost his grip and fell.

  Tumbling off the island, he braced himself to land with a splash in the cold water of the lake. He glimpsed, hovering above him, Elf’s radiant blue light. She looked like a bright blue jewel set in the midst of the glittering stars of Fincayra’s night sky.

  At the very instant of impact, he hit—not water, but something soft and supple. Moist with water droplets. With the same leathery smell that he’d detected on the island. But what was it?

  Skin. Cupped all around him. Like a hand.

  A giant hand.

  “Whoa, wha—but, no! This, but . . .” he stammered, trying to find the right words.

  As he sat up, Elf zipped down and perched on his shoulder. Accompanied by some cheerful notes, she teased, “Articulate as always, Big Friend.”

  Shim ignored her. His attention was directed entirely to the huge, wet face staring down at them, with azure-blue hair and thick, curvy lips. A face he recognized!

  Hesitantly, he asked, “Umdahla? Is it really you?”

  The giant’s curvy lips smiled. “I guess you haven’t lost your special way of speaking, Shim.”

  “What everishly do you mean by that?” he asked. He tried to stand up in her enormous palm, but lost his balance and toppled over, sending the faery back into flight.

  The giant peered down at him as he righted himself and sat again, this time leaning against the base of her huge thumb. “But you certainly have lost something else. Like . . . ninety-nine percent of your size!”

  He merely frowned.

  “How did it happen?”

  Shim shook his head sadly. “How did I get so utterly shrunkelled? I really don’t know.” Giving his ear an anxious tug, he said, “I just . . . don’t . . . remember.”