Whispering in the Wind

by Alan Marshall

  ‘It’s the giant!’ whispered Greyfur who had also seen him. They retreated back into the cave, and stood, waiting. Outside they could hear the giant tramping round the clearing. He sniffed the air and began talking to himself.

  ‘I can smell people. They must be hiding somewhere. Those tracks going into the cave were made by a horse. The other tracks look like kangaroo.’

  They could hear the giant grunting as he knelt on the ground. His fingers began scratching dirt away from the doorway to enlarge the entrance; then an enormous hand came through and slowly moved in. The huge fingers felt the roof and walls of the cave as if they were searching.

  Peter had often put his hand down rabbit burrows to search for rabbits. Now he knew how the rabbits must have felt. He uncoiled Thunderbolt and straightened the lash. He whirled it round his head then threw the lash forward so that it cracked just as it reached the giant’s thumb, lifting the skin and drawing blood.

  There was a roar of pain and the hand was hastily withdrawn. They could hear him sucking his thumb and muttering, ‘Must be snakes in there.’

  After a while they heard him lowering himself so that he could see into the hole. In a moment his eye filled the opening. It was a huge eye with long lashes that looked like reeds on the edge of a pool. Peter could have blinded him with one crack from Thunderbolt but he couldn’t force himself to be so cruel. The unblinking eye looked straight at them.

  ‘Ah!’ said the Jarrah Giant with satisfaction.

  But his ‘Ah’ turned to a yell of pain. Peter, wielding Thunderbolt, had struck him on the cheek so that the blood marked his skin. He flung himself backwards then they heard him rise to his feet and stagger down towards the creek.

  ‘He wants to bathe his cheek,’ said Greyfur.

  ‘I think you are right,’ said Peter, ‘but the creek won’t be far away. We’ll go further into the cave and camp here for the night. It is getting late and we’ll have no chance of giving him the Magic Leaf in the dark.’

  They slept very soundly far back in the cave and when dawn broke and the first birds began to sing they had finished their breakfast and were ready to continue their journey.

  Greyfur was nervous. ‘Just wait here till I look around first,’ she said. She hopped out into the morning sun and stood there sniffing. She bounded round the clearing, then came back.

  ‘Everything seems to be all right,’ she said. ‘I think we can chance it.’

  Peter swung himself into the saddle and they set off across the clearing. They had almost reached the far edge when they heard an enormous thud and looked round in fright. The Jarrah Giant had jumped down from the top of the cliff where he had spent the night waiting.

  He roared with delight when he saw them. He was standing between them and the cave and they were trapped. It was no use dashing into the bush; he could overtake them in a few strides. He walked towards them with his arms outstretched and his fingers hooked like talons.

  ‘Who dares to enter my forest?’ he roared. He ripped a wattle tree up by the roots and hurled it at them. It whirled through the air, turning over and over as it came. When it hit the ground beside them it broke into flying branches and pieces of shattered wood. One big limb flew past Greyfur’s head. She dodged just in time and it buried itself in the ground.

  ‘Did you see that?’ she shouted to Peter. ‘He tried to kill us.’ She was furiously angry. ‘You just watch me. I’ll show him.’

  She raced towards the giant with great bounds, jumping thirty feet each time she leaped. When she had come almost within reach of his clutching hands she gave an enormous spring into the air. Up, up, she went till she was level with his chest; then, driving her powerful back legs forward, she kicked him violently. Her toes dug deep into the heavy material of his shirt. She used his chest as a springboard for her thrusting legs and took off in another leap, turning a somersault in the air. As her body turned over, her heavy tail, whipping in a circle above her, swung down and struck him across the face with the force of a hurtling log.

  The blow jerked the Jarrah Giant’s head backwards. He yelled with pain and flung out his arms to try to stop himself falling, but the kick on the chest had already put him off balance and he toppled backwards. He went down like the fall of a mighty tree, his huge head striking the rocky top of the cliff, and he fell on his back in the clearing. From the top of the cliff two huge boulders came thundering down, dislodged by the blow from the back of his head. He lay very still on the ground, stunned by the fall.

  ‘We’ll have to handcuff him before he comes round,’ called Greyfur.

  Peter galloped up on Moonlight to help her. He jumped from the saddle and grabbed the end of a pair of giant handcuffs she was pulling from her pouch, but they fell with a clang on to the ground and grew so quickly in size that the task of lifting them and locking them round the giant’s wrists was beyond them: the handcuffs had become far too heavy.

  They looked at the huge hand and arm lying on the ground a few yards away from them. The arm was like the trunk of a tree and just as heavy. The hand lay open with its four fingers pointing upwards like posts. Peter could have ridden Moonlight round the palm.

  It was hopeless. There seemed no way of chaining him till he regained consciousness and could accept the Magic Leaf from Peter.

  ‘What we want,’ said Peter, ‘is a wharfie with a crane. He would chain him up for us. They’re used to moving heavy weights.’

  ‘That’s an idea,’ said Greyfur. She thrust her hand into her pouch and yanked out a wharfie. He was sprinkled with flour; obviously Greyfur had interrupted his work in the hold of a ship.

  ‘What’s the strength of this?’ he said angrily. ‘That there kangaroo had hold of my leg.’

  ‘We’ve no time to explain,’ said Greyfur. ‘You will be back on your ship just as soon as you’ve done a job for us. You see that giant lying there!’

  ‘I don’t believe in giants,’ said the wharfie. ‘You can’t put that one over me.’

  ‘Look, that’s his hand lying on the ground beside you. And that’s his arm stretched out there.’

  ‘It’s plastic,’ said the wharfie. ‘You must be making a giant for a procession or something.’

  ‘Feel his hand,’ persisted Greyfur.

  The wharfie walked over to the hand and felt it. ‘Strike me, it’s warm plastic!’ he exclaimed.

  Suddenly the Jarrah Giant let out a tremendous sigh, then relaxed again. ‘Struth, what’s that?’ said the wharfie.

  ‘It’s the giant waking up,’ said Peter. ‘If you don’t work fast and chain him up, he’ll kill the lot of us.’

  ‘Let’s get going,’ said the wharfie. ‘I’ll need a crane.’

  Greyfur pulled a small crane from her pouch. It grew quickly till its jib towered high over the giant.

  ‘Raise both his arms and cross them on his chest,’ said Greyfur. ‘Put me up there first.’

  The wharfie tied a rope round Greyfur and lifted her until she could grasp the giant’s shirt and pull herself on top of him. He then lifted the giant’s hands and lowered them till they crossed on his chest. He hoisted the handcuffs next, and swung them across to Greyfur who quickly locked them around the giant’s wrists.

  They used the same method to fasten a pair of leg irons around his ankles. Greyfur pulled a chain from her pouch and looped it around his neck. Immediately it began to grow and its weight became enormous. The wharfie coiled one end round a rock and Greyfur guided a huge padlock through the link and locked it.

  The Jarrah Giant stirred and tried to sit up.

  ‘I’m off,’ said the wharfie and jumped into Greyfur’s pouch where he disappeared. The crane grew smaller, until it could follow him.

  The giant began to struggle.

  ‘How did these chains get here?’ he roared. ‘Take them off me.’

  He threw his arms from side to side trying to break the handcuffs. He began to get up but the chain around his neck held him down. He kicked, and roared, and fought to free hi
mself. He went on struggling until he became exhausted; then he lay still, breathing deeply.

  This was the opportunity for which Peter had been waiting. He put a Magic Leaf into the Jarrah Giant’s palm, then jumped back and watched him. The giant’s finger closed on the leaf and held it. A change gradually came over him. His ferocious face softened and when he spoke it was with a voice that did not frighten them.

  ‘Are you afraid of me?’ he asked Peter.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You tried to kill us.’

  ‘I must have been mad. I would never kill anyone. All I want to do is to help you.’

  ‘Don’t you still want to squeeze us into little boxes?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I’ll never do that again,’ promised the giant. ‘Come back to my castle with me and we’ll let all the other poor people go.’

  Greyfur unlocked all the padlocks and the giant sat up. He stretched himself and felt his arms and legs. He got slowly to his feet and looked around.

  ‘I wonder how we’ll get to the castle?’ he said to himself; then he spoke aloud, ‘Jump on your pony, Peter. I will carry all of you. You would never be able to ride a horse up this cliff.’

  Peter mounted Moonlight and the Jarrah Giant bent down and lifted them up, placing them in his shirt pocket. He picked up Greyfur and dropped her in beside them.

  He stepped up the cliff and began walking along the track that led through the bush to his castle.

  5

  The Storm in the Giant’s Castle

  The giant walked with a rolling gait. He was clumsy and sometimes he stumbled. The sway of his body gave Peter and Greyfur the feeling they were on board a sailing ship in a rough sea. The material of the shirt that surrounded them was as coarse as canvas and just as strong.

  Peter was still mounted on Moonlight who had his hooves firmly braced on the bottom of the shirt pocket. Greyfur stood clutching one of the stirrup leathers for support.

  Peter stood up in the stirrups, grasped the edge of the pocket and pulled it down until he could see over the top. In the distance was the castle in which the giant lived, towering up into the sky with huge battlements and towers. The trees around it looked like shrubs in a garden.

  As they drew closer to the castle Peter could see the doorway through which they would enter. It was arched and so vast that it could have bridged a harbour.

  Peter released his grip on the pocket’s edge and sank into the saddle.

  ‘We are coming to the biggest castle I have ever seen,’ he told Greyfur. ‘You won’t believe it when you see it.’

  ‘After seeing the size of that Jarrah Giant I’ll believe anything,’ said Greyfur.

  As they were speaking he passed through the entrance. He walked along a passageway to his kitchen where he lifted them from his pocket and placed them on the floor. He raised his other hand in which he had been carrying the Magic Leaf and dropped the leaf into the pocket.

  The room in which they found themselves was like the inside of an immense cave. The vaulted ceiling was a dark sky above them. The stove was as big as a house. Trunks of trees were burning in the fireplace. Gigantic pots and kettles stood on a hearth that was built of huge rocks, squared and shaped till they fitted together like bricks.

  The furniture in the kitchen was suited to the giant’s great height. The legs of the chairs towered above Peter (who was still mounted on Moonlight) and the top of the table was a flat area of squared tree trunks resting on legs three feet thick.

  Peter dismounted from Moonlight and tied him with a halter to one of these legs.

  ‘Sit down on a chair while I get a meal for you,’ said the giant. ‘I’m going to cook some beef stew. I’ve got the ingredients ready: two prime bullocks and half a ton of potatoes.’

  Greyfur’s face twisted with distaste. ‘Don’t go to any trouble for me,’ she said. ‘An armful of green grass is all that I need.’

  ‘Good,’ said the giant. ‘I’ll put an armful in the stew.’

  Greyfur looked as if she were feeling ill. ‘I like my grass plain,’ she explained. ‘A sprinkle of cold water on it would be very nice.’

  ‘And not too much stew for me,’ said Peter, who was losing his appetite.

  He would have liked to sit down but the chairs were too high. Greyfur guessed what he was thinking. She took a small ladder from her pouch and placed it against a chair. They both climbed it and stepped on to the seat. The chair was upholstered in red plush and when they sat down they sank into the pile. It made them feel as if they were sitting in long grass.

  ‘This chair wants mowing,’ said Greyfur. ‘I’ve a good mind to take a lawn-mower from my pouch and go over it.’

  ‘Watch the giant stirring the stew,’ whispered Peter. ‘It makes me feel crook.’

  The giant had lifted a huge cauldron onto the stove and was stirring it with a wooden ladle. Soon the stew began to send out clouds of steam. There was no chimney and the steam that rose from the cauldron gathered in clouds beneath the vaulted ceiling. Gradually the ceiling became hidden by a canopy of angry thunderclouds that rolled this way and that, seeking an outlet.

  The Jarrah Giant looked up anxiously. ‘It looks as if we’re going to have bad weather in the kitchen,’ he announced. ‘There’s a drought in the living room but we can’t shift in there till this stew is cooked. But I doubt whether we’ll have rain,’ he added.

  Thunder began to rumble from behind the clouds. The castle shook and the big cups rattled on the dresser as they bumped together. There was a loud clap and a shaft of lightning zigzagged down from the clouds and struck the hearth beside the giant’s feet. The blow cracked one of the huge stones. A blue flame shot up from the crack, then went out.

  Peter was afraid that the chair upon which he and Greyfur were sitting would be struck by lightning. He called out to the giant, ‘Have you got a lightning conductor in this kitchen?’

  ‘No,’ the Jarrah Giant replied. ‘I wasn’t expecting thunder and lightning with this stew. But I’ll get him.’

  He left the stew and called down the passageway, ‘George, I’m afraid I’ve started a storm again. Can you come at once?’

  ‘All right,’ answered a deep voice from some back room. ‘I’m coming.’

  The giant returned to the stew which he tasted with a giant spoon, ‘Not nearly done,’ he growled. He resumed his stirring and the steam billowed upwards.

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the passage and a medium-sized giant in full evening dress entered. He wore white rubber gloves and carried a long copper rod with three prongs at one end.

  ‘This is George,’ said the giant. ‘He is my Lightning Conductor. Whenever I do some cooking he is ready to do some lightning conducting.’

  George bowed and smiled. As the thunder began to roll like the noise of drums, he waved his long baton of copper in time to the rumble, which ended in a crack. A streak of lightning darted from the cloudy ceiling. George got his copper rod beneath it just in time to catch it on the three prongs. The flash went down the rod and out the other end with a sizzle. It shot through the doorway, down the passage and round the corner into the open where it speared the earth.

  George turned with a smile and bowed to Peter and Greyfur who were watching him in amazement.

  ‘Do you think we should clap him?’ asked Greyfur.

  ‘He probably expects it,’ said Peter.

  They both clapped and George gave another bow.

  A streak of lightning suddenly singed his trousers and he whipped round and began conducting with great speed. The lightning came almost continually. He jerked his baton from side to side, catching each flash before it hit the kitchen floor. He guided them through the doorway where they went ricocheting down the passageway and round the corner before they exploded in the open air.

  ‘What do you think of him?’ roared the Jarrah Giant above the noise of the thunder. ‘I’ve never met a better Lightning Conducter than George.’

  George was delighte
d at this praise. The storm was easing off and in a grand finale he whipped his copper baton round in one big sweep and caught two streaks of lightning at once. They sizzled down the rod in a column of blue flame then shot through the passage.

  A few drops of rain fell. If there was anything George hated it was getting his evening suit wet. He looked up at the ceiling, then turned and ran.

  ‘Get cracking!’ he yelled to Peter and Greyfur. ‘There’s going to be a cloudburst.’ He shot down the passage almost quicker than the lightning. They heard him slam the door of his room and lock it.

  Rain began to fall in torrents. It came down upon the stove and into the stew. It filled the cups on the dresser and ran off the table-top in four waterfalls that turned the kitchen floor into a turbulent river flowing towards the passage.

  ‘Moonlight will drown!’ yelled Peter. ‘He’s tied to the table-leg.’

  He clambered quickly down the ladder followed by Greyfur. The water on the floor was as high as Peter’s waist and he had to struggle against its surge to reach Moonlight, who was standing behind one of the waterfalls. The current was flowing very swiftly beneath the table and the pony was having difficulty in keeping his footing.

  Peter passed through the falling water from the table, then clung to the table-leg a moment to get his breath. The stream was sweeping past him and breaking against the next leg where it divided into two torrents that came together again at the foot of the dresser. Here the water snatched saucepans and casseroles from the open cupboards and sent them bouncing and rocking, like a fleet of strange boats, towards the doorway.

  Peter and Greyfur had managed to reach Moonlight who was plunging and thrashing with his front legs. He was being swept off his feet and was straining desperately to break his halter. Greyfur cut it with a knife she had taken from her pouch and the pony was free.

  They were all swimming now. They could hear the giant roaring, ‘Where are you all? I’ll save you. I won’t let you drown.’ The Magic Leaf had altered him so much that he was more concerned with the safety of his friends than he was with himself. ‘Where are you?’ he kept yelling.