No Name for the Free

by Devin Harbison

  One would be a fool too to talk too much as we walk, for every word just lets what little heat we have out of our mouths, but I am so confident we are close that I open my mouth to speak with Em about what comes for the first time since I put her to bed back in that valley, now that there is no time left to avoid it anymore.

  "Em... If your father has such a large army, and has had it for some time, why not just fight to take back his old home?"

  Such a question is just a random thought, rather than something I would want Gorm to do since fighting giants is enough to satisfy any of the desire a man in this group carries with him, blood, glory, or death filled with both, but I'm curious if it has ever been considered. She explains why that would never happen.

  "Because there are good men there he doesn't want to see die and because he does not want it."

  The two of us walk close enough that I can step into the holes her boots make in the snow, as she looks over her shoulder to stare at me, and Em uses that as an opportunity to share even more.

  "You know, our people have been fighting the giants for centuries. Our entire lives revolve around it, you could say, and the worst yet live not too far away."

  Both fear and excitement fill me at the thought, and new questions come equally.

  "Why did your father not kill those closer to home first, then?"

  The answers start to put together the pieces of their past.

  "Because they never would have lent him aid. Now he has army, and we've killed every other giant from the coast of this continent to here."

  I try to step closer to her and get to her side, as the wind and the sound of the wagons creaking through the snow make me strain my ears to hear, and, in doing so, I still don't have many additional thoughts to share.

  "So, he's proven himself to them, now?"

  It is odd that I joined these people and managed to prove myself while Gorm had always been set out to do the same for someone else, or others. Perfect timing, if nothing else. I do not know if it was luck, good or bad, that brought me to them before the men had taken on even a single giant, but, all the while, I am a bit disturbed that these giants have existed not too far from my home, unknown to me besides warnings not to settle or play in the valley behind our castle as I grew from a tot to a teen. Part of me is glad we have only had to fight two to get here, but I am also surprised that, if they are the focus of Gorm's people, there are more to be found throughout the lands. Maybe I speak too soon, but I can only think so much about that before Em responds.

  "My father has always been a fighter, never a doubt about that, and, if fate destined that he was not meant to make a name for himself back home, then he would make a name for himself across the lands and invite every man he came across to help him on his journey."

  I guess one could consider that the beginning of this journey, the reason it came to be, but I wonder where the time has been spent. How long ago did Em and Gorm leave their home, how long were they alone, how long before they found Abraham, Yemi, and everyone else? The brief thought of Ham hurts, despite the weeks gone by, and I try to stop thinking about him as quickly as I can for now and, instead, pray that we have done enough to convince other men to join us, now that we have lost so many. In that time, several miles pass by, with nothing said between most of us. I even take my own turn at the back of a wagon, until I trade with Em, and the only event to put an end to the dullness of the endless snow, trees, and the city that has yet to show is Yemi and his pups.

  Better a father than many I have known, Yemi's children, four-legged and covered in fur, follow him in tow, and one can just see the tips of their tails above the snow as they follow in the steps that Yemi takes. The weeks have been kind to them, kinder than they have been to the rest of us. They are still pups, but they have grown so much that they long stopped fitting in the box Yemi once kept them in. They know to stay close, to stop when Yemi does, or stay put when they are told to like dogs, and someone who didn't have the teeth of their parents at their throat might even think they are just that, when they are not as large as horses yet.

  One day not too far off, I don't doubt they'll be as big as even the tallest men, and always carry more weight and strength than them. They already eat enough for twice as many human guts, so we are lucky that the animals we have slaughtered along the way have provided enough meat. And, as we walk or whenever we stop at night, Yemi has been teaching them what their parents might have, for the man knows how to hunt just as well. So, occasionally, one will run off from the group and return with a hare between its jaws, or bits of squirrel between their toes, and I'm just waiting to see all of them disappear at once and return with a deer, or something just as large.

  All this talk of growing up reminds me of something that I meant to ask Em too, so, now that enough time has passed since I last spoke out loud, I do so again, as I go for her hand.

  "Do you remember what the city looked like the last time you were there?"

  I know the last time she was there she was not happy, and their departure was less than good, so I only hope a question about the appearance of the city is distant enough from any of those negative thoughts, when Gorm has already talked about it so much. That is why I take her hand, to comfort us both, and find it warmer than my own thankfully, and, with everything else going on around us as we all walk, the two of us look like star-crossed lovers once more, oblivious to how people around us freeze, bleed, and cough. Each of us has to find comfort in something, and I find that in her response.

  "It has been half my lifetime since, but yes."

  Time changes many things, thoughts, memories, and emotions, all entwined in some way. In the months since my father passed, the memory of his body floating down the river is already so less present, so less consistent, and I feel even less than I did that day for the man, somehow, so I can only imagine it is hard for Em to remember anything but sparse images in her mind. I hope that the same applies to her past trauma enough to get us safely through whatever comes, but I focus on those images that I'm sure are happier, in the meantime.

  "Are the walls really as tall as your father says?"

  She laughs at first, which turns into a smile as she looks down to her feet, dragging through the snow, and, while her hair covers most of her upper face, a few strands get in her mouth as she responds.

  "Yes, taller maybe. He is a big man, and so what is short to him may not be short to us, and I was much shorter then, but... You'll see. Believe me. It's hard to miss."

  She speaks with that smile still on her face, which tells me this visit may not be all bad for her, but, as much as I try to smile, I can only sigh when she reminds me that the city is hard to miss, since it still has not come into view yet. The cloud cover is so thick, the wind and snow so heavy, and the branches of the trees above our heads are so plentiful that one would struggle to make up much of anything that surrounds us. How Gorm can tell surprises me most, for none of us can see any signs. One can only see so far out into the trees around us before even their bark disappears, so nobody could see the mountains that should be around us, when white covers the view up to our heads and higher until the gray of the clouds does the rest. Nothing marks where we walk either. No signposts, no other prints in the snow, nothing.

  The snow grows so thick at times that even the wolves seem upset that all of their heightened senses are for nothing, so, sooner than I lose what trust I still have in Gorm to lead us all, I shift my focus to the last of Em's words, how our age and height can make what is normal to any man seem so small to a child. I can only imagine that, if I had left my family's castle ten years ago or more, the same way Em had left her home, I might've been even more saddened upon my return to see that not only is every one I once knew dead, but the sense of grandeur the castle had when I was younger is gone now too, much like the innocence it seems either of us, Em or I, lost or never had to start with.

  That final thought is deep enough that I feel the need to sit down at the back of one of the wa
gons again, so I can gather myself and focus on the future rather than the past, but a single sound echoing through the forest we are in is enough to set us all on that path. I know mountains surround us, but for this sound to travel so well miles out, when every tree acts as a guard, is enough to strike caution, fear, and anxiety into each of us. But, when we hear it a second time, grumbling, roaring from afar, Gorm seems so intent, and so sure that what he hears is several stories tall, that he takes his axe off of his back and starts to run ahead of all of us, and, rather than let the man go ahead on his own, a couple of us try to keep up, as best as we can. Yemi and I are the first and followed by only a few others who seem ready to fight, while the rest stay back with the wagons and Em, who I look back at briefly, but, soon enough, the few of us trying to keep up with Gorm are unable to see either group.

  The haze from the blowing snow hides our view forward or back the way we came, and the only clues as to where to go are the trees that still surround us, making a path, and the tracks left by a man with legs the size of small trees. So, forward, we keep running, with no signs of Gorm besides his footprints, but, the further we go, the louder the roars grow. And, in time, the other men have started to falter behind us, leaving no one but Yemi at my side, the two of us ready to collapse too, yet all of us are saved, in some sense, when we can make out a silhouette in the path ahead. I half-expect it to be a tree growing out in the middle on its own, but, thankfully, it proves to be Gorm, standing and watching something out in the distance without saying a word.

  Yemi and I take a few moments to bend over and catch our breath, but it's impossible to do that for too long when the roars appear to be so close, now followed by what sounds to be rocks crashing against one another. And, when we both look up, we see what it is and why Gorm stands to watch. A wall stands so tall and so white it could be mistaken for a mountain, or blend in with the falling snow that finally lets up, out in the open where no trees grow, and a giant, just as tall, slams into the wall, fist after fist, then with a foot, and a shoulder, all in attempt to topple the wall despite what appears to be blood rushing down the giant's flesh, as heavy as any river.

  As far away as we are, we can still make out why the beast runs with red. Atop the wall, shadows dance back and forth, and I can only assume that is the defense. From time to time, a couple of them will stand still, despite the danger, and, before they run off again, we can hear the sound of metal grinding, and then spot a flash of light that flies towards the giant, piercing its hide and forcing it to cry. The three of us walk up close enough to eventually make out the bolts of metal that stick out of its body, dozens of them, and the massive devices above never stop firing, just as the giant refuses to fall. One bolt after the next, neither side ceases, and, occasionally, one of the shadows will jump from the wall. Some hit the giant as they go, but still fall to their deaths. Whether or not some men cling to it, or whether they just jump and sacrifice themselves with the hope that they can hit the beast once, it is impossible to tell, but, the longer we stand around, the more I itch to help. Soon enough, that desire grows strong enough for me to speak, while Gorm doesn't move an inch.

  "Are we not going to help them?"

  My question sounds like a cry for help on its own, but that isn't even enough to get Gorm to avert his eyes from what is happening as he responds.

  "They can handle it."

  He speaks so certain that I know this is something that has happened before, if not time and time again, but it still feels wrong to do nothing, and remains that way until the rest of our group catches up. Both the men who once followed us and the rest of our caravan line up behind us, with all of the same people at the front, and Em moves to where I stand, just as I seem ready to run off. She then grabs my hand so hard that she either fears for my life, or knows what Gorm does, and, when they both seem so insistent that we do not help, I give in, and no longer resist.

  How the wall has not cracked or fallen yet, I do not know. Each blow seems to make the entire structure shake, and I can only imagine how many people wait on the other side, wondering when it will end or when it will all come crashing down and leave them dead. But, before that happens, between enough bolts that I start to feel the giant's pain with each cry, a wave of black spills over one part of the wall when the beast comes in close to push against it, and, naturally, whatever it is covers his head, spills down his neck, shoulders, and arms. When he opens his mouth to wail some more, it sounds like he chokes on the substance too, but, before he can croak, another spark flies from the top of the wall. And, instead of a bolt that pierces his flesh, this one sets his skin ablaze, so bright that I'm sure the glow could be seen dozens of miles back if we hadn't walked so far, so quick.

  The cries only grow louder, and, eventually, whatever sadness I feel for the creature comes to an end when it falls to its knees with its hand against its eyes, catching them on fire too, and, just as the giant seems ready to give into the pain, he lies down in the snow, quenching some of the flames, until he goes peacefully, or quiet enough that none of us have to listen as it takes one, last breath. To think we've come here to fight these creatures and, somehow, I feel sorry for it, says more for the people of this city, than anything. Whoever they are, I understand why Gorm refused to help, or knew that the one-sided battle would end soon, and, when we'd normally be celebrating at the death of such a beast, we all seem to carry some weight on our shoulders, heavier than all the snow we have traversed, as our group approaches the wall.

  At one point, I thought our numbers so large, and able to kill anything, conquer anything, but just the scale of the walls as we grow close and the show the people above put on is enough to dash any of that hope, but not all is lost. The first giant we fought was taller, I'm sure, and I reason with myself that it could have taken down this wall, no problem. Yet, the hope that comes with that disappears again at the sight of the giant up close. These creatures are terrifying, but nothing has been more terrifying, yet, than the sight of this one scorched down to the bone wherever the fire has burned, and still does. The smell is unique, to say the least, but I think it is the smoke and ash I choke on as we come directly beneath the wall, which may just be worse than the smell when I know who, or what, the ashes belong to.

  The giant's body lies curled up like an infant, knees to chest, and his body has come to rest to the left of a door, small compared to the giant but big compared to what I am used to, if it is traversed by other men as large as Gorm. Past the door and the giant on the left, a whole 'nother valley opens up, empty of trees, so I wouldn't be surprised if that's where the beast came from, foolish enough to think it stood a chance. I was a fool to think the same too, especially when just a drop of that pitch and some fire would be enough to burn a hole through any of us it seems, and, at the same time, the wall seems unfazed. Where the black liquid may have dripped before, the fire has burned it up, and, in its place, there are no burn marks, nor are there cracks in even the smallest form from the giant's fists. The only cracks are those that make up the outline of the doors that are still a hundredth of the height of the wall, even if they are three times as tall as Gorm.

  Just like the snow and the wall, the doors are white, and blended with the rest of the color from afar, and the only detail that sets them apart are the patterns etched into it, and the shine. I've never seen a metal so bright, even brighter than the blade of any sword, but I do think it is some metal, at least. And, as all of us come to stand to the right of the door, not sure what to do, Gorm stands in stark contrast to it. The city, from the outside, shows so much elegance, and Gorm has none of that with his clothes, or his hair, or his beard. He seems in awe just as much as the rest of us, looking up to the peak of the wall, but I think he is staring so hard to see if they drop anything on us, as they have on the giant, rather than it be because he is amazed by the size of it. Everything so far has seemed to surprise him to no extent, but what he says for the first time since he told me we would not help is a surprise to most of us, inste
ad.

  "Set the camp against the wall. It will provide some cover from the snow and wind for the time being."

  So many of the men seem disappointed, others too cold and frozen to care, but I try not to let what he says dampen my spirits anymore. I imagine there is a reason, likely that they will not let all of us in, or give all of us trouble if they did, so we will have to pray the wall and one fire per soul is enough to keep us warm when night comes, whenever that will be. Without the sight of the sun above, it is hard to tell where it is in the sky or how much light it still has to give through the clouds and the rest of the misty flakes that fill the sky, so, while Gorm still refuses to move, I walk off and find the next person I know.

  Em is nowhere to be seen, which is a surprise with the way her father acts, but she probably wants to avoid the sight of the city's walls, unlike him. But, before I find the man I seek, I come across one of opposite stature, and with skin and little hair left that blends with the snow. Newt stands among a pile of furs in the back of a cart, and, were it not for his chilled expression sticking out between the ones he wears, I would brush off what he says to me as the sounds of the wind as I pass.

  "Do you think they'd share some of their fire and ballista with us?"

  I run my hand along the wood that acts as one of the carts half-walls, brushing off the snow, and, as I respond and go on my way, I am just tall enough to see Newt staring at me, with his few, loose strands of hair left frozen to his head, over the side of the cart.