A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings Book 1)

by Kevin Hearne

  Apart from the initial terror, becoming the wind was much more pleasant than becoming a heavy sack of fluids again uncountable lengths to the north. It hurt to be flesh and bone, and in the process I collapsed to the spongy turf of Brynlön, my knees buckling at the very idea of having to bear my body’s weight again. I heard a thud and a gasp nearby, and my vision came back to reveal Ponder shuddering on the turf. He was nude, as was I, and our clothes floated down behind us. Just as I managed to raise my head, my bag hit me square in the face, so I was spared having to look for it. I brushed it aside, looking for Jubal. Where was he?

  A whoosh behind me caused me to turn, and not five lengths away I saw a dull gray collection of dust take the shape of a man inside a whirlwind, one hand stretched toward me, but it never took on any more solidity than that, no bones or skin or collection of flesh. Jubal’s tunic and pants slammed into the middle of it, scattering the dust and dissipating the whirlwind. My brother the tempest was gone, leaving nothing behind to bury, forever adrift in Reinei’s wind.

  It is strange to mourn someone you know is at peace, to cry when they are clearly better off than you are. But I did it anyway.

  The bard’s last words hit most of us hard. We all thought immediately of who we had lost and last cried for, and many of us, myself included, welled up again. Sarena’s face still haunts my dreams, and I would so dearly love to hear her laugh again.

  Gondel Vedd was only half right: it is somewhat strange to cry for those who are now at peace except for the stark fact that we, while living, are not.

  Apparently I am destined never to enjoy a morning again. A dour collection of longshoremen woke me by banging on my door with a hammer. Upon opening it, I beheld them waiting in the dawn with a small wagon of construction materials and furniture.

  I palmed the crusty sleep from my eyes and asked how I could be of service. The one in the front thrust a sealed note at me in reply. The sun had risen just enough above the horizon to allow reading.

  Please meet the pelenaut at the home of Second Könstad

  Tallynd du Böll upon receipt. These longshoremen will be

  remodeling your home in your absence today as per our

  conversation regarding the security of your manuscript.

  Yours in darkness,

  Butternuts

  Grunting in amusement at the signature, I asked the longshoremen if any of them knew where the Second Könstad lived. They all did, and one offered to lead me there.

  “Excellent. I will get dressed and we’ll go. Come on in, gentlemen.”

  There were six of them, all wearing woodworkers’ aprons with hammers and chisels and other such tools. One of them ducked his head into my bedroom for a quick look around and then regarded me with knit brows and a frown. “You’re not going to want to keep any of this, are you?”

  “My clothes, I hope.”

  “I mean your furniture. We have enough for your entire house and were told to replace it all.”

  “Oh.” The pelenaut had given me only bare essentials and a better lock on the door, which had still been picked by Garst du Wöllyr. “That’s very generous, but why?”

  “More places to hide things.”

  That made sense, but I didn’t like the idea of being indebted in any way to the pelenaut’s master of spies. I didn’t see what choice I had in the matter, though.

  “Do whatever you need; just leave me my personal effects.”

  He nodded, and I departed with an escort after changing out of bedclothes into something more appropriate for meeting the country’s leader. I brought the manuscript with me since I’d be adding to it later.

  The Second Könstad greeted me at the door to her home and invited me in for tea, making no comment on my battered face. She was getting her children ready for school and apologized for the fact that she wouldn’t have much time to chat. The pelenaut had yet to arrive. “Please help yourself to anything from that gift basket he gave me,” she said, pointing to it on the kitchen table. “I couldn’t possibly take care of it all before it spoils.”

  “Thank you, but wait—the schools are open again?”

  “A few of them are reopening today. The rest are coming. The university will reopen for the next semester, I hear.”

  “Extraordinary. I hadn’t heard this at all.”

  “I imagine the faculty will be notified very soon,” she replied, and smiled.

  The gift basket contained foods I hadn’t seen in months. I grabbed a wheel of cheese and a cured venison sausage and sliced them up on a board while she bustled about. There was a loaf of bread in the basket, and I sawed off a few slices of that as well. The pelenaut arrived as she was leaving to take her children to school.

  “Ah, Dervan, it’s good to see you alive after picking a fight with the Mynstad!” he said, grinning at me and then wincing once he got a better look. “Damn. She popped you good.”

  “She did indeed. And yes, it hurts. But I feel better anyway.”

  “Hmm.” Tallynd and her kids shut the door and cut off their accumulated noise, leaving us alone in the house. Rölly followed me into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. I placed the board of meat, cheese, and bread in front of him and poured him a cup of tea. “So tell me what brought that on, if you would.”

  “Sarena. Frustrated that we still don’t know who killed her.”

  “But you figured out why she was killed.”

  “No, not specifically. Just something that the Wraith had her do, no doubt.”

  “Any number of somethings, yes.”

  “Why do we even need someone like him? Haven’t we been at peace with our neighbors for our entire lives?”

  “Yes. But peace is something you enjoy in its season, knowing that someday it will shrivel and die. And now war is here. It will pass, too. History is full of one season or another; you know this. But how long war will last is often determined by people like the Wraith. I’m glad we had him and his network around, lurking in the dark. I inherited him, you know. From the last four elected pelenauts. He’s been festering all this time.”

  “Ugh. You mean he’s literally festering?”

  “Let us say he has significant physical handicaps. The mind is keen, though. He didn’t realize the bard’s story would be so provocative at first, but now he’s fully engaged in that and thinking ahead.”

  “I’ve noticed. Are you worried about Fintan’s report of you when he returns home?”

  Pelenaut Röllend shook his head. “More worried about us surviving the next few months. Fintan can tell all the nasty stories about me he wants so long as we’re still here.”

  “You always did have your priorities straight. Well, I haven’t much to report. Fintan said he didn’t steal the Nentian viceroy’s private thoughts from the Tower of Kalaad or anyplace in Hashan Khek, though somebody else did steal them, and he assures us that the full story of how he came by them will be revealed in the days ahead.”

  The pelenaut took a deep breath. “Delays upon delays. No solid information. Perhaps it is innocuous and innocent. And perhaps it is dust the Earth Shapers throw in our eyes to keep us from seeing the kick they deliver to our guts. I’m tired of trusting and hoping for the best, Dervan. Soon we will know for ourselves.”

  “Know what?”

  “How big the Raelech army is, for one thing. And hopefully much more than that. Something about the temblor leading them would be nice. I have opened the taps, and we’ll see what washes out.”

  We ate in silence for a moment, and I began to feel guilty. Sausage and cheese like this were exceedingly rare at this point. Tallynd deserved it, no doubt, but so did everyone else struggling to survive right now.

  “How are we doing, Rölly?”

  He sipped his tea before answering. “Not so bad at the moment, considering. But we’re projecting serious shortages in the coming weeks. You don’t shrug off losing the harvests and trade routes from so many cities even if your population is greatly reduced. And the closing of the Granite
Tunnel slowed down our trade with Rael, of course. But we’re reopening the schools to let the parents work a bit more during the day, giving everyone some structure and a sense of normality. I’m going to suggest tomorrow that Fornyd and the other river cities might be ready for repopulation.”

  “How are they ready? They’re still mass graves.”

  “Not as bad as you’d think. I’ve had the river traders working on it, floating barges of bodies downriver to the ocean, and of course all the hygienists I recalled have been working on the wells and sanitation systems.”

  “What hygienists?”

  “All of them from around the world. We needed them here, so I recalled them a few months ago to serve their country and sent most of them north, but also a few down to Göfyrd and Gönerled. We need to clean those cities up sometime, and that time is now. And we shouldn’t have everyone here in case the Raelechs have other goals in mind than their stated ones. We need to spread out again. And there might be enough to salvage from the surrounding areas to help a few hardy souls get through this next winter. They might be far better off, in fact, than staying on here.”

  “I’m glad you’re up to thinking about all this.”

  “It’s not so different from when we were young, planning how we’d survive the winter on the streets. Identify resources, figure out how to harness them, run the figures, study the flow. It’s just a difference of scale. There are a lot of people out there in worse shape than we used to be, and if I can figure out how to keep them fed and warm this winter, then we’ll avoid most internal security issues.”

  “Meaning we’ll only have to worry about the Raelechs and Bone Giants and everyone else.”

  “I’m letting the Wraith and the Lung do most of my worrying about that. The Könstad’s doing his fair share, too. He probably wants to worry aloud, in fact, so I’d better get back to the Wellspring. Thanks for trying to get something out of the bard—keep trying.”

  “I will.”

  Fintan wanted to talk about the opening of the schools when I met him. “This is fabulous news. I’m astounded that you’re ready to do this,” he said.

  Shrugging, I said, “I have no idea how ready we are. I just heard about it this morning. I’m largely uninformed regarding formative schools since I don’t have any children and I used to teach at the university. The university hasn’t contacted me yet with any updates about reopening.”

  “But where are all the kids on Survivor Field going? Are they coming into the city each day?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask for details. I imagine we can find out easily enough if that’s a vital concern …”

  “No, no … we can get to our work.” I wondered why the opening of schools would be significant to him. Did it represent some kind of benchmark of organization to the Raelechs, an indication of recovery? I was used to thinking of education as a bedrock of society, but did that also indicate something to a military mind bent on conquest? Were the schools to be targets, perhaps? I’d mention his interest to the people who spent their time worrying about such things in darkness. It was too deep for me.

  We were in a sandwich shop that I think perhaps Rölly had chosen for us specifically to highlight the shortages already here and those which were coming. Most of the menu had been crossed out. We could have any of the fish dishes or some tough, dried meat one would assume was of an advanced age. No fresh pork, beef, or lamb, of course; that was hardly surprising. But they didn’t even have any wetland marmot meat, which was normally plentiful near the end of summer, and I mourned that shortage especially. Marinated marmot meat was one of my favorites.

  “So, it looks like fish or dried shit,” I said. “What’ll it be?”

  “Hmm. I think I’ll go for the fish this time,” the bard said.

  Later, upon the wall, Fintan’s greeting smile was distinctly mischievous as he strummed a basic chord on his harp. “One of our stories today has much to do with maps, so I thought I’d sing the old song about the Nentian heroine who discovered that the Northern Yawn was, in theory, passable by ships. We still haven’t managed to sail the Northern Yawn, though we’ve learned more about it since the time of Khalima Chanoor. Her accomplishment remains one of the most singular in the history of the world. Sing along if you know the words!”

  Indomitable, unstoppable Khalima Chanoor,

  Determined to map the wooded northern shore

  And survive what no one had survived before,

  Struck out from Talala Fouz and left a note on her door.

  “I am off,” she said, “to fully explore

  And map the cold and wooded northern shore,

  Taking fifty people with me and more

  To ensure completion of this vital chore.”

  Indomitable, unstoppable Khalima Chanoor

  Finally mapped the wooded northern shore

  And survived what no one had survived before,

  Arriving in Festwyf just as she swore:

  But most of her company was no more

  Because she cooked and ate them by the score.

  We have our map of the wooded northern shore

  Thanks to hungry, hungry Khalima Chanoor.

  “We’ll begin today where we left off yesterday—with Gondel Vedd!”

  Once Ponder Tann and I collected our clothing and dressed, we both checked our belongings to make sure they had survived the journey well. My hardened ink pot hadn’t shattered while wrapped up carefully in my tunic, so that was a relief. Zanata Sedam was intact. They had been in good care.

  But I didn’t feel as well as I had before. My muscles trembled at rest and my bones felt traumatized, and for good reason. Ponder must have seen the pain on my face.

  “The shock will wear off after a few minutes,” he said. “Give it some time.”

  “Did we just age, too, or was the burden borne entirely by Jubal?”

  “We aged a little, yes,” Ponder said. “Riding the wind is always expensive. But Jubal paid for most of it.”

  “I think I’ll sit, then, and wait to feel better before moving on.” I half fell down and took my first good look at Möllerud below. The Peles Ocean was to our left, the green swells of Brynlön were to our right, and a gray, empty city watched over by blackwings squatted like a memorial instead of a home to many thousands. Even the bright blues and whites the Brynts favored had faded in the absence of life, and the hammered bronze domes on some of the buildings were dull and lusterless.

  Dark smears fouled the grass outside the walls. Parliaments of blackwings feeding on corpses or else the rags and leftover blood of those already eaten.

  “Look at that, Ponder.”

  “It’s horrific.”

  “I can’t imagine why anyone would do that to other people.”

  “That’s what we’ve been sent to find out, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is. How much were you told about this mission?”

  “Very little. We’re supposed to locate the invaders, report what we see, discover if they intend to attack us, and find out why they attacked the Brynts and Raelechs.”

  “Correct. And you’re to stay with me unless we find an imminent threat to Kauria; is that right?”

  “Yes. Messages sent by ship otherwise.”

  The closest port was Setyrön, and the road to it, well worn by traders’ wagons and horses, beckoned to us along the coast. But we had no messages to send yet beyond what the mistral already knew: Möllerud was no more.

  A fleet of anchored ships with their sails furled bobbed in the ocean outside the city. That looked like a good place to start looking for clues about the Eculans’ intentions. Perhaps there would be written orders that I could read.

  Catching Ponder’s eye, I pointed to the port, determined to get the mistral’s work done and make my brother’s end mean something. And maybe being driven like him was not so bad. Maybe my obsession with language would help me save lives as he had with his kenning, except through peaceful means. “Shall we begin there?” />
  We walked slowly, still recovering from the journey, and the smell from the city only grew in our noses as we approached. I saw bodies rent by violence and gnawed on by animals and connected it to Saviič’s lunges at my person from his cell. I had felt sympathy for his imprisonment before, but seeing what his countrymen did to these innocent people without provocation, or anyway without any efforts at diplomacy, left me satisfied that he was where he should be.

  A narrow, bumpy trail forked to the left to travel directly to the port, skipping the city gates. We took it and shortly discovered that the city was not empty after all. A party of six Eculans sprinted toward us from the gates, their bone armor clapping against their bodies as they moved. Their faces were painted, and they held large bent swords. We had no weapons because we never used them.

  “Ponder?” I said.

  “I see them.”

  “They do not look peaceful.”

  “They will be whether they wish to or not,” he replied. “Stand firm here. Call out to them in their language. I will leave one with breath to speak.”

  “What do you mean? You won’t kill them?”

  “No. But neither will they kill us. Be patient and trust me.”

  I fumbled at the clasps on my bag and then plowed my hand into the oilskin pouch to find Zanata Sedam. Seizing it and holding it aloft, I cried out, “I am a follower of the Seven Kennings!”

  They slowed, shot glances at one of them who must be their leader, and he barked at them, “It’s a trick! Kill them!” and they resumed their charge at full speed.

  “He said they should kill us,” I mentioned to Ponder, feeling that might be relevant to our interests.

  “Very well. Let’s calm them down.”

  The tempest stretched out his hands to the Bone Giants, fingers splayed, and then he turned them palms up and crunched them. I don’t think the gesture was necessary, but such movements helped the blessed sometimes visualize what they wished to accomplish. In this case, he pulled all the air out of the Bone Giants’ lungs. They gasped to refill them and found it did them no good because Ponder was making sure the air did not cooperate. They stopped running first, then dropped their swords to clutch at their throats as if that were the source of the problem. Their throats functioned perfectly, however. Their faces turned red, then purple, and they all collapsed to their knees and then their sides as their bodies were starved of air. Ponder allowed one of them—not the leader—to resume breathing, and he took in great heaving lungfuls while his companions slipped into unconsciousness.