A drumming filled the air and Fane’s expression hardened. He put a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “It’s the chieftains preparing for battle. Something must have happened.”
“What Chieftains?”
“The five tribes. Usually foe to one another, but now united in the battle to save Ceoban from Dragomir.”
The drumming turned from rhythmic to an angry beat that made Fane turn pale.
“What is it?” Angus asked
“Dragomir’s evil has escaped. Come, we must hurry.”
14
The travelers hiked for several hours, down a beaten path that wove along a steep hillock. Nightfall approached and a veil of dusky light cloaked the land. Cawing blackbirds circled overhead, silhouetted against a buttermilk moon. A refreshing breeze rustled the dry grasses and cooled Angus’ forehead. He stopped to rest on the brow of the hill and admired the valley below, a mossy green carpet sprawling to a thick forest of oak. He caught his breath and then jogged to catch up to the others meandering down a winding trail to the foot of the vale.
The group continued through a pile of thick underbrush and over a patch of weeds with rhubarb colored stalks. They entered the lush field with Fane in the lead, keeping a steady pace, stabbing his walking stick into the rich earth with each forward movement.
Fane finally stopped near the edge of the thick forest. From the pocket of his tunic he produced a pennywhistle. The flute glowed in the moonlight as he held it to his lips, covered all six of the bronzed holes with his skinny fingertips, and blew. A shrill sound wafted from the instrument; the limbs of the trees swayed as if to the notes. Something dark and lanky darted from tree to tree; its yellow eyes gleamed in the night, staring at them.
Angus stepped back while Vanora crept forward, peering into the forest.
“Something’s in there. Some sort of animal,” she whispered.
He snatched the back of her cloak. “Get back here. You don’t know what it might be.”
Vanora ignored him. Angus wanted to remind her of the things that had jumped out at them so far. He opened his mouth to do so, when an enormous wolf shot out of the pines, followed by two others.
Angus’ throat went dry. “Wolves! Run!”
Fane smiled. “Nonsense. These kind fellows are our ride to the Firblogs.” He tucked the whistle into his pocket. “They’re not wolves at all. They’re wolfhounds.”
“But how can that be? They’re huge. Bigger than any dog I’ve ever seen.”
Fane hiked to the side of the first hound, patted its enormous head and scrambled onto its back. He raised his eyebrows at the kids. “Are you coming or not?”
Vanora nodded, stepped forward, and petted the smallest of the hounds. The gray dog licked her hand affectionately.
“That one is a female, quite nurturing,” Fane said. “She’ll take good care of you, my dear.”
The dog lowered its head and crouched so that Vanora could climb onto its back. She swung her leg over and the beast leapt to its feet. Having settled herself in, Vanora patted the dog’s neck and glanced at Angus. “Come on,” she said, her eyes filled with excitement. “This is going to be fun.”
Angus cautiously approached the last hound, a scraggly animal missing an ear and sporting a patch of mangy fur on top of its ugly head. He’d always been afraid of dogs, especially ones that snarled and barked. This one wasn’t barking but he didn’t look friendly either. Angus reached out to pet its head. The dog growled and snapped its massive jaws at his arm. Angus leapt back and watched its pink tongue slither around a set of gleaming white teeth.
Fane gave Angus an exasperated look. “He’s only looking for a treat.” The old man reached into his pocket and tossed the dog a bit of dried meat. “Now get on and let’s go.”
The dog gobbled up the treat. Angus took a cautious step closer. The animal growled deep within its throat again.
Angus smirked. “What’s his name? Cuddles?”
Fane peered into the dark forest. “Come on, we don’t have much time. Give him a pet so he knows he can trust you.”
“Give him a pet? I can’t even get near him.”
Vanora’s face softened. “Just do it, Angus. He won’t hurt you…at least I don’t think so. Let him sniff your hand.”
Angus narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you stick your hand out, get yourself a nice shiny hook to go with that dress.”
“Stop being a chicken and do it, Angus,” Vanora snapped. “Don’t show fear, dogs can sense it.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Angus swallowed and crept closer. The hound growled. He reached out with a shaky hand. The dog’s only response was a narrowing of its big brown eyes. Angus placed his hand on its scruffy neck. The hound whirled around and licked him. Angus jumped. His heart drummed in his ears. He glanced at his slimy hand, made a face, and wiped the slobber on his pant leg.
Vanora grinned. “See, he likes you.”
“Great, just what I always wanted—a bipolar dog.” Angus climbed on, keeping an eye on the canine and positioned himself on the creature’s furry back. Tufts of loose fur blew past his face and stuck on his tongue. “Is this a dog or a wooly mammoth?” Angus said, spitting out strings of fur.
Fane cringed. “Be careful, looks like he has Mellon Mange, it causes male pattern baldness. I wouldn’t let any of it get on your head or you’ll be bald as a gourd before you’re grown.”
Angus ignored the comment, trying to keep his balance on the dog’s bony back and his face as far as possible from its dandruff-ridden coat.
Fane gripped his dog’s neck and tapped his heels against the creature’s sides. The beast bolted, running hard into the night. The others followed, springing ahead with Vanora close behind Fane. Angus pitched forward onto the dog’s massive shoulders. His eyes watered as they galloped into the forest. Blurry images of shadowy trees and land formations zipped by in the moonlight.
Foamy sweat curled the beast’s scruffy coat as it dashed deeper into the night. Whistling wind blowing past his face made it hard to exhale. Angus ducked his chin into his shirt, covering his mouth so he could take a deep breath. The hounds slowed to a lope, then came to a halt at a campsite in a clearing.
Burly giants stood stiff at attention, backs straight and chins held high. Each one measured close to eight-feet tall, with a reddish-blond beard and long hair woven into braids captured by ornamental clasps at the nape of their thick necks. They clutched gigantic spears, rising a foot taller than the men themselves. Spotting Fane, they stabbed the lances into the soft earth and strode to meet him with grim expressions.
Angus leapt to the ground, glad to be off the mangy dog. Vanora and Fane dismounted. The hounds wheeled and bounded into the dark folds of the forest. Angus came to Fane’s side. “Who are they?”
“The Firblog, the most powerful of giant-kin. They are smaller, but gifted with intelligence and a considerable amount of magical powers.” Fane lowered his voice. “Remain quiet until they speak to you first. Listen to every word and remember, they are as old as the rocks beneath our feet.”
The giants circled around them. Angus stared in wonder at their muscled necks, legs, arms and tough looking flesh. If these brutish men were smaller than their giant kinfolk, what were the others like?
A gray-haired giant, shorter than the others, but with shoulders just as broad, pushed his way through the crowd. He watched Fane with wet eyes that glimmered beneath his wiry brows. “Fane Vargovic?” He said in a smooth, deep voice with thick rolling consonants.
The old Firblog grabbed Fane’s hand and shook it gently. “My eyes may be ancient and time worn, but I’d know you anywhere. It’s been a long time. I haven’t forgotten the tales we shared around the hearth, or the fine meals we’ve supped together.”
“Yes indeed, Conchobar. Blessed were the days with time for stories at their end, and with prosperous crops and meat in our bellies. Untroubled times when we could share our tales without fear. I’m afraid things have changed, my friend.”
>
Conchobar looped his thumbs into the belt at his waist. “Indeed they have. Many seasons of peacefulness have passed, but now the darkness has escaped. A darkness so evil and great that deep in the mossy earth, even old King MacBain must feel it in his powdered bones.” He shook his head and gestured to an enormous blaze. “Please come and join our fireside.”
The Firblogs parted, allowing the weary travelers to pass between them. Their long thick shadows played on the ground. A stack of logs as wide as a castle moat burned in the center of a massive pit. Before it stood several colossal rock homes built with double walls of stone, packed with earth, and sturdy wooden rafters covered with turf and thatch.
Vanora studied the dwellings and elbowed Angus. “That’s strange,” she said. “No chimneys.”
He hadn’t noticed until Vanora pointed it out but now he saw smoke billowing out the doors and windows. Angus shrugged. “Guess they like to have watery eyes.”
Vanora shrugged. “Guess so.”
They hiked past the buildings to warm themselves by the massive flames of the fire.
Around the campfire, carved stumps served for chairs. Angus settled into one, feeling his legs dangle like a toddler in a highchair. Vanora sat on his right while Fane sat near Conchobar and the other leaders of the Firblogs.
Fane pulled a short-stemmed pipe from his pocket and lit the tip. Orange embers glowed in the bowl and he drew deeply, then exhaled a swirl of smoke into the humid night. He took the pipe from his mouth, cradled in it his hand, and looked intensely at Conchobar. “I heard the drums. What’s happening with Dragomir?”
“He’s attacking the Selkies and other creatures of the sea, hoping to get to the boy.”
Vanora gasped and grabbed Angus’ arm. He shrugged her off and cocked his head at Fane. “He’s going after my mother?”
Fane tapped the pipe and brought it to his mouth. “I’m afraid so, Angus.” He placed the dudeen between his lips and inhaled. “I imagine he wants you to call off the battle and give in.” The scent of cherry wood tobacco swirled around Angus and he sat in stunned silence. If they called off the hunt for Dragomir, then his mother would be safe. But if Dragomir continued, all the worlds would be destroyed. Either way, it seemed hopeless unless they defeated him.
Conchobar interrupted his thoughts. “We’ve met with the other tribes and they’ve agreed to unite in battle. The dwarves will be at your side in the mountains, the river elves wherever water flows, and all the other eight tribes where you should encounter them. You’ll have to cross the River Harz. It’s the only way to get to him. We’ll stay here to defend this area in case the dwarves lose the stronghold at the mountains. I will send Oxton with you, our best warrior to journey at your side.” The old giant gave a weary sigh. “My ancient bones are aching and so I must retire. Goodnight my friend.”
Fane bid him his blessings and almost all the giants lumbered off to their various dwellings. A few remained close to the campsite, keeping guard over the village.
Vanora glanced at Angus with terrified eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Vanora grimaced and lowered her voice. “I’ve read horrible tales of that river. Mostly of people being ripped apart and eaten before they even had a chance to drown.”
Angus looked down at his hands, clenching, and unclenching nervously. He needed to find his mother and destroy Dragomir, but would it cost him his life in the process?
Fane stared hard at him. “The choice to continue onward is yours, Angus. No one can make you fight.”
Angus jumped down from his chair and kicked at the sand near the fire. It swirled into the ashes and sent a puff of smoke into the moonlit sky. The thick haze eddied in the night and changed into shapes that made his breath catch in his throat. Sea creatures swimming in bloody masses cried out above him, then disappeared into the night sky. Every muscle in his body tightened. He glanced at Fane.
Fane’s eyes glowed in the flickering firelight.
Angus ran his fingers through his hair. “Of course, I’ll fight. Everyone’s counting on me. But why does everything have to come so hard? Haven’t we been through enough already?”
“Anything easy isn’t hardly worthwhile, Angus. You’ll look back on this journey when you’re older and remember this lesson. Nothing is as meaningful as something you’ve worked hard for and won. This lesson will repeat itself over and over in your life-time.”
Fane closed his eyes and slumped down in his chair. “We’ve all had a long day, it’s time to say goodnight.”
Vanora stared at the cottages. “We’re going to sleep outside?”
“You’re welcome to join the Firblogs in their dwellings, but with livestock, living in one end and Firblogs on the other, the smell is most unpleasant.”
Vanora grimaced. “Why don’t they have chimneys? The smoke must be dreadful.”
Fane nodded. “There’s a good reason they don’t. The smoke is left to filter out through the roof and open doorways. This is a necessity. You see all giants are plagued with Widges. The smoky environment provides protection from them.”
Angus wrinkled his nose. “Widges? What are Widges?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he regretted it. So far, finding things out hadn’t been very good.
Fane yawned and scratched his beard. “Nasty ear mites. Very hard to get rid of once you have an infestation. Invisible to the naked eye, they can drive a person mad.” Fane raised his eyebrows and tapped his temple. “I mean absolutely bats. They make terrible squeaking noises while tunneling into the brain. They’re quite contagious.”
Vanora rubbed her ears and stared at Angus. “I don’t mind sleeping outside, how about you Angus?”
He nodded in agreement. “Sleeping outside is great. I like to sleep outside, just like camping. No problem at all.”
Fane let out another great yawn. “Rest near the fire. I’ll keep watch over you.”
Angus found a soft sandy spot near the crackling embers and curled up in his cloak. He laid the shield on the ground, then topped it with his backpack for a pillow. Vanora settled beside him, lying on her stomach, resting her chin in her hands.
The wind shifted and smoke billowed in their direction, but Angus didn’t mind. It was good protection against Widges.
15
Angus woke to the clatter of pots and pans. He sat up, watching the giant men ladle steaming cups of oats into big metal bowls from a cauldron over the fire. The cloak he had slept in twisted around him, damp with dew, and his body ached from his night on the ground.
Vanora plopped beside him and handed him a bowl of oatmeal. “Good morning. Better eat while you can.”
Angus yawned and took the bowl. “Thanks.” He cradled the dish, letting the hot steam rise into his chilled face and warm his hands. He grasped a wooden spoon wedged in the gruel and scooped a bite into his mouth. The oats tasted sweet and earthy. Angus took another bite. Although he longed for bacon and eggs, his empty stomach welcomed the meal. By the time he finished eating, Fane had drawn a map and was discussing it in hushed tones with Conchobar and another giant with a thick red beard.
Fane came to their side with the bearded giant. “This is Oxton. He will be traveling with us and will teach you all about giants. I want you to pay close attention to everything he says. Every word he speaks will be critical to you later.”
Angus smiled and nodded to the dour looking giant. His bright orange beard looked like rods of copper wire and his eyes carried the sternness of a crotchety old school teacher.
“Glad to make your acquaintance,” The giant said. He shook their hands with a firm but gentle grasp.
Fane turned and left the fireside, leaving the children alone with Oxton. The giant took a seat on a boulder in front of them. “Tell me what you know of my kinfolk.”
Angus shrugged. “Fee, fi, fo fum?”
Oxton muttered something under his breath. Vanora raised her hand. “I’ve heard something about a beanstalk and a cow.”
Vanora grinned. “Wow! That’s so cool!”
Oxton continued. “Even a sleeping giant who has turned into earth can awake from slumber, such as the ones poisoned with evil by the dark one, awoken by his wickedness. You will easily recognize Dragomir’s giants by the downturned horns on their mossy heads.”
“How can we defeat them?” Angus asked.
Oxton shook his head. “They are clumsy as most bigger giants are, but they are ruthless, with no thoughts other than Dragomir’s dark bidding.” Oxton stood and stretched his back. “All evil giants carry clubs of which there are many different kinds. Most are made of seared wood with iron bands embedded with pointed studs to impale their victims. But those giants are large and slow, so when they strike the ground you will have some time to get away while they wrench the weapon up out of the earth. The mace is another favorite weapon, a spiked ball on the end of a chain. If a blow from the mace doesn’t kill you outright, the pain it causes will certainly make you wish it had.”
Angus frowned. “How can we fight something that powerful?”
Oxton squared his jaw. “There’s always a way.”
The giant gripped his spear and studied the morning sky. “We must get to the river before the weather turns on us. I’ll do my best to protect you. But stay close and listen even closer. The waters are poisoned, and that means we must have a few rules. No touching, drinking, or playing in it. No running off with ghosts or chasing rainbows looking for pots of gold and such nonsense.”
Angus MacBain and the Island of Sleeping Kings Page 13
