No Name for the Free

by Devin Harbison

  "Climb, men! We have to try. This giant must die!"

  To try is strange or, rather, to point out that we must try is odd, and I do not understand why he would say something so obvious or doubtful until I feel how hard the flesh of the beast is with one palm as the other hand hangs on and wraps its fingers between the knots in the giant's long hair. Upon feeling what is cold and hard like wet stone, I look down, when I should not, to see that the stones the trebuchets toss do much of nothing to the creature's legs, and, off in the distance, I can see our camp, so few steps away for something so large. Lest Em be harmed because we have all failed to move in a timely manner, I creep out of the daze I have set into from awe, wonder, and fear, and do what I can to join the men above as they get so high that they can almost walk up its back now at the angle they are.

  Knowing they will only get further and further away as they have gotten past the part of the climbing that takes the longest, I would not want to put myself any more behind the four, so, I try to find an opportunity that Gorm provides unwillingly. With his axe out, he swings as hard as he can down upon the stone flesh of the giant, and, were it not for the few inches it digs into the back, Gorm would have nothing to hang onto as the creature bellows louder than it has yet, stands taller from the pain, and forces the other men to dangle from its fur rather than being able to crawl up its hunch anymore.

  The pain it is then in, I'd guess, leaves the creature reaching with an arm around its back and leaning forward once more to pinch the area where Gorm has finally pulled his axe free, and, while I only get more drenched in water and whatever else drips from the beast's arm and fur, the hand plucks one of the twins off of it and sends him plummeting like he is nothing, down to the water hundreds of feet below that, as I hear the men shout down, I know will kill him upon impact. I felt that others have died already from falling off of the creature and missing the water, but, somehow, the sight of one of the twins getting smaller and smaller as he falls is what sets me into motion, and makes me fear the fall less than everything else.

  So, knowing I will need both hands free to do what I am thinking, I push off of the beast with my feet, aim my left arm upwards, and let go of what hold I had on the creature with my right hand just to grab hold of the box on my wrist and pull. As far below as I am and as quick as I move, it is hard to tell if the tip of it has pierced the flesh of the giant enough, gotten stuck in the hair, or just thrown itself over one side, but, while the beast lets its one arm over its shoulder to fall in front of itself again, the same arm drags me up and around the body of the giant, so far that I fly by Yemi, Gorm, and the remaining twin on my way up, over the clouds, and pass by the soft features of its face as it howls.

  Uglier than anything I have ever seen, to describe its face as soft is not a compliment, but, instead, it's a means to describe what looks to be sagging flesh around the giant's skull to replace the stone around the rest of its body. That is better a sign than any I have seen that, maybe, the beast can be put to rest, yet there is so little time to think about that as the tension of the rope and its desire to pull me closer to the tip flings me past the scent of rotten fish seeping out of its throat and teeth the color of wood and just over the creature's other shoulder. Then, fearing the wrath of another hand, or the same hand as before pulling my rope back over the giant's shoulder, I rip my glove off and watch briefly as it pulls itself out of view, gone. Without it, I know I should be okay now, as high up as I am, for, where I stand on the creature's shoulder before I move between wooden planks and hold onto them to keep my feet from slipping out from under me, I sit inside of a cloud now it seems, am in sprinting distance of soft tissue at the top of the beast's skull, and would be able to see the shadow of an arm or hand long before it plucks me to my death or squishes me against its flesh.

  Trusting that I can slide down the back of the giant in case of such an event and rejoin Gorm and Yemi, I keep going, up and over the neck of the creature that is more like a curved bridge, rather than a hill, for the weight of it, its height, and the way it hid in the water, crouched, have all come together with the consequences that, at the top of the beast, its head is aligned with its shoulders and waiting for me to step onto it, where I am more than ready to try what Gorm had previously.

  Balancing as best as I can with what little time I have, I use one hand to pull my sword free of the sheath and over my shoulder, where my other hand grabs hold too and helps me put all of my strength into the motion I make. So close to tipping off the head of the beast as each shift of my boots bothers it, my sword comes down quickly enough into the flesh that is softer than the rest where the hair of a human would be, and, as the blade goes deeper, giving me something to hold onto as the creature lurches forward, I look back to its neck at the right time to see Gorm meet my eyes and grab hold of the giant's fur before one more shift of my blade forces it deep enough for the beast to let out one last bellow in a dying breath that scares off every bird that has come to join us, faster than its massive body can plummet and send the water it falls into higher than the trees.

  And, in that time, Gorm yells out to me, fearing that I will fall off of the creature and meet a death of my own, but my blade holds my own weight long enough that only as I can make out the shapes of the waves again does my sword come free, and I with it, so I fall into the water fast enough for the crash to knock all sense out of me, while I lose consciousness and fall asleep beneath the blue of the ocean, and the corpse of the giant, slayed, that sinks slower than I do, goes down into the pit the creature once made its home.

  Abraham

  When I come to my senses, everything is so dark that I think myself dead for a time, and only pick out a few details. The smell that is new to me, but comforting, the warmth of a blanket and a safe bed, and then the sight of a couple of flowers next to a candle, on a stand where a light-haired woman sits. My final memory before this was the feeling of water filling my lungs, so I can only assume I have passed on as I check to see if those lungs have cleared enough for me to speak.

  "Is this a dream?"

  The woman, only a few feet away, shifts so quick she seems surprised, but her voice would not give that away.

  "No, Aedan. You are safe."

  Only so many people have known that name, fewer than the day I was born as so many have surely passed on too, and that only leaves one, unless what she tells me is a lie when she comes to sit beside me again on the floor, while I sink into the mattress that is hers.

  "You are alive."

  After what happened, to feel alive is strange. Part of me almost feels deceived to have been dragged into a battle so dangerous, but what this woman says is not wrong, even if what she says now is not the truth. I could be dead now, or dying and trapped in a dream to save myself from the sadness and distress of losing my own life, but, in a way, never have I felt so alive than during that fight, though I could never know what might happen next. I could've died quickly, rather than sinking to a watery grave, and still felt alive as I died, yet, if I was dead, would I still feel the same way, filled with some taste for a fight, as I look between the soft features of Em and the ceiling of her tent once again, back in her care once more? With so little left before the fight, I guess it would make sense that my mind might put me here as I die, since Em made me feel at home in a place that, within a night, could be torn down and put up somewhere else as the nature of tents and camps are.

  She sits there, quietly, while I seem to question everything and try to remember anything that might help me decide if I am dead or alive, and, clearly, no thought is enough until I feel something not inside, but out. Her hand, as it presses against my cheek, briefly feels real and is more than enough for me to stop questioning my fate, but that only makes me wonder why she would touch me so softly within seconds, faster than she can say something else.

  "I'm glad you and the others made it back safe..."

  With that, I can assume that 'the others' refers to Yemi and Gorm at least, but I still have so many
other questions.

  "I figured they would be okay, but all I remember is hitting the water and passing out soon after. How did I end up back here again?"

  What I ask comes out with a tone that sounds as if I'm bothered by the fact that I am back in her tent again, yet that is not true, nor do I carry many other worries with that. Coming to, the more my eyes open, the easier it is to make out the clothes on my skin that I could already feel keeping me warm from another night's breeze, along with a blanket of hers, so I need not to worry about missing them and bearing all. Though, with what I last remember, there is no way my clothes look and smell the way they do without having been washed, and that leaves some other thoughts. But, besides that, I can make out my sword too, leaning up against the wall of her tent, back inside of the sheath that would only bother me were I to be lying in bed the way I am now, with it on my back. Her words then explain little.

  "You were one of the lucky ones. I wouldn't be surprised if you were actually a fish, considering the way they found you a second time."

  Rather than assume, I ask for more information simply by focusing on one of the phrases she chose.

  "A second time?"

  More words then spill out of Em's mouth as quickly as I remember the water filling my lungs.

  "You know, fifty-something men died out there. That's less than expected, but we don't know the exact numbers yet. Some were killed in the initial fall. Some were drowned by the force of the waves whenever the giant moved, and it would seem some of the other men decided not to tell us they didn't know how to swim at all. You though... You just washed up on the beach again, unharmed. They found your sword first, and Abraham refused to stop looking once he saw that, until you washed up not long after. It is nothing short of a miracle you did not drown too, when so many other men were washing up dead. Makes me wonder."

  So, to say they found me a second time refers to how they found me the same way Abraham did only some time ago, depending on how long I have been asleep here and lost under the waves before I found my way to this bed, yet, instead of questioning how that happened, I ask about what she wonders.

  "Makes you wonder what?"

  She goes quiet for a few moments and backs up on her knees, so that she is at least another foot away from the side of the bed before she puts her feelings out there.

  "If you're hiding anything else about yourself."

  We all hide something, surely, if not so much more, but what she thinks I'm hiding is crazy, I think. How I survived the drag of the sea and enough water to drown anyone else twice in a row, I do not know. Maybe that is just my luck. That, if I get lost at sea, some blessing will make sure I always find my way back to a beach. But, because I could not explain to her what happened any better, I try to move the conversation in another direction.

  "I don't have much of an answer besides thanking you for taking me in again, especially since I do not know what happened when they found me on the beach or even after I lost consciousness, but I have my own worries about what is being hidden from me too, such as why anyone felt it was appropriate to hide the nature of what your father is doing out here. So many more lives could have been lost."

  Anger shows in my tone, and I can only hope Em realizes I do not blame her even though she could have told me everything her father would not, since I imagine he would not hide such details from her. Yet, her response signals pain of some strength inside her mind.

  "I cannot explain why my father does not want to tell those who join, and it is not my place to fill in the gaps he leaves. Though, I am sorry. The men here know what danger awaits them, in the sense that all of our lives are forfeit if they dedicate themselves to the cause. Nobody can predict the outcomes of every battle, and, because I know nobody told you, you should know this was only our first. Stories of these giants can only capture so much about them. If someone says that they are taller than the clouds, would you just believe them without seeing for yourself?"

  Feeling guilty that she is sorry for something that is not her fault, I start to sit up and feel enough strain in my lungs to know that I am not totally unharmed, but I keep moving anyway, until I sit on the edge of the bed, closer to her, and look down to my hands. Talk of a cause and the fact that there is more than one giant, if her use of the word giants is correct, is just cause for fear more than it is cause to keep going and risking my life, or, at least that is how I feel until I remember the rush of adrenaline once more. That sense of accomplishment, victory, still runs through my veins, and has since the giant let out its final shout. Such feelings are strong enough to wash that fear away, just as I refused to worry about so much once I got moving during that fight, and I can only dream of what it would be like to do that again, and let the excitement rush through my body faster than true fear could slow me down. So, while I take her hand to settle any of her guilt, and look into both her eyes and the flower peeking out over her ear, I speak.

  "Well, we know they can be taller than the clouds now, so I only have one question. How many are left, Emily?"

  I let my face show excitement at the possibility of more that, despite all, will not go away, and, while she stares at my features in the candlelight, another voice answers my question and sends the two of us scuttling away from one another, lest the shadow as big as a tree sees us holding hands for too long.

  "You are the first to ever kill one, Fjord, so only three remain."

  Gorm stands at the entrance of Em's tent, almost too tall to fit his whole frame inside the flap leading outside, and his daughter is the first to respond.

  "Father! I hope it was not us who woke you up."

  I can only imagine that I have been out for a few hours, or enough to reach the night of the same day it was before I passed out, so it is no fault of my own that I am in Em's tent, as late as it is. But, that does little to ease my worries about the situation, until Gorm shares a few more words.

  "Don't worry. I only wanted to join you too for a time. Sleep had not taken me yet."

  One might think that the fact he is joining us for a time would just make the whole situation worse, but there is so much going through my mind and subtle hints in the way Gorm shuffles in that settle my pulse. Surely, he overheard me asking about the number of giants left, since he was the one to respond, so, if any time was appropriate, now is it, when I still have so many more questions to ask. Not only that, but the way he shows no anger as he moves from the door to the bed, and sits down beside me, says just as much, for a man his size cannot hide frustration well. So, once the mattress has given in to his weight, pushing the end where I sit higher, and Em has crossed her legs, sitting out in the middle of the tent among the dirt and some rugs, I turn to Gorm and prepare to let loose so many pieces of my mind.

  "It is a little late for me to wonder, Gorm, but why have you gathered so many men here to kill these giants?"

  Never have I had the chance to look at the man up close, so close I can see the scars on his cheeks and his forehead that his beard and hair hide, along with the same marks that run up and down his arms and over the veins that stick out of his flesh almost under the pressure of his muscles and weight, with the little help the candle behind Em offers, but, when he turns to me after a few moments to speak, his voice is strong enough still, even after losing so many men today, to draw my attention to his mouth and eyes alone.

  "The same reason many a man fight. To protect, to find glory, to die doing something right and amend past wrongs. I do not question the purpose every man finds here, just as I would not want them to question my own."

  His words say far more than it seems, and, so, I take some time to process it all, while Em moves from where she sits to her father's side to hold his hand at the hint of sadness we both picked up in his final thoughts. Now, I would not question the danger that these giants pose, and the fame they may bring by being a part of ending their lives, but for him to point out that he does not question anyone's intention to avoid being asked the same says just as much, if not mo
re than telling me why. Something eats at him, deep down inside. Em has made it clear previously that there is more to their past, like there is to mine, and the way she came to hold his hand only strengthens those thoughts. The three of us sitting here, so close to one another, him and I on the same mattress, her right next to him with their fingers entwined, it is an odd but beautiful scene, and the beauty of it keeps the oddity at bay so that I continue to feel comfortable enough to speak my mind.

  "And what if a man dies fighting for you before he is ready, or before it is his time?"

  I can only imagine the weight he already feels having lost a couple dozen today, as there is so little weight in my heart when I knew none but the one twin, and he pulls at those exact emotions in his response, while he rids his eyes of a blank stare that my question initially brought to let him look between Em and I.

  "You saw that man fall today. You met him once before. You may not have known him well, but you knew his face at least. That should be enough for you to feel something. Think of how his brother felt. He lived to tell of what he saw today, but, for fear of losing his own life, he has now given in. There was no need to ask me, but, before he left tonight, he wanted my permission for him to go. Do you know why?"

  Stumped at first, I stand up and walk towards where Em once sat, and, as I turn back to face her and Gorm, he is more than happy to tell me why before I have to admit my own ignorance.

  "If he was to die too, no one would be alive to go home to where they came from, and tell the tale. Stories keep us alive far longer than our bodies do, Fjord."

  I could easily dismiss what he says as nothing but the vain feelings of someone with so little else, but I would only be dismissing myself, my feelings, and everything I have lost. For, I feel the same and pose a thought that is even crazier in response.