The Black Reckoning

by John Stephens

  This was when they needed Dr. Pym, and Kate found herself wishing that Rafe would appear, even if it meant Michael seeing him. She needed to talk to someone.

  “It’ll be fine,” she repeated, rubbing her mother’s locket between her thumb and forefinger. “It’ll all be fine.”

  “They’re coming,” Michael said.

  Kate heard it too, a far-off thud, thud, thud, thud growing steadily louder, and the ground began to shake, the tree trembled, and the branch from which their cages hung quivered so that Kate and Michael had to hold the cages’ bars for balance. Whether by chance or intention, the giants were approaching as a group, and the effect was like watching a mountain range sprout legs and march toward you. As they came closer, Kate could pick out individual giants, fatter ones, taller ones, bearded ones, bald ones, a few women; there were perhaps fifteen in all, moving at a jog, driven on by excitement, curiosity, and (Kate feared) hunger.

  “That’s right!” Big Rog roared. “Come and look at ’em! Come see what the Thumb’s found!”

  The giants amassed around the children’s cages, jostling and elbowing and punching one another to get a better look. The cages were almost exactly at the giants’ eye level, and for a moment, Kate thought that she and Michael and Emma were going to be crushed, as humongous eyes and noses and mouths pushed in, ooohing and aaahing. A few of the giants were licking their lips. Kate felt like an animal in a zoo, though in this case, a zoo where the animals got eaten.

  Up close, the giants were stomach-churningly gross. It wasn’t just that they were so generally unclean and mucky, that they had families of rodents living in their hair, that they were so extravagantly warted, that the breath of any one of them could have knocked over a cow; it was their sheer size that tipped the scales of repulsiveness. Kate could see deep into the pores of their faces, dark, greasy pits she could’ve placed a whole finger inside; she could see the crusty yellow-brown tartar that covered their teeth, the mossy green-black patches on their tongues, the mushroomy yellow goo in the corners of their eyes. She found herself wondering if this was what everyone looked like close up. Was everyone this revolting?

  The giants were all talking at once:

  “Look at ’em! Look at ’em—”

  “Tiny little wee folks, sure enough—”

  “Bet they taste good fried—”

  “Everything tastes good fried—”

  “Serve ’em with ’tatoes, I would—”

  “Hardly a mouthful, any of them—”

  “This one’s all skin and bone! No meat at all—”

  “Me uncle Nathan ate tiny people once. Said they taste like chicken—”

  “All right, get back the lot a’ you!” Big Rog came through pushing and shoving, moving the giants away from the cages. Kate glanced over and saw Michael, one hand on the bag that held the Chronicle, looking very pale.

  “Michael?”

  “It’ll be okay, right? You said it’ll be okay?”

  She nodded firmly. “It’ll be okay.”

  Big Rog was now addressing the assembled giants. The sun had begun to set behind the hill, and shadows stretched across the valley. Strangely, Kate found that she was starving. Was it weird to be hungry when you yourself might soon be dinner?

  “Now listen up!” Big Rog was saying. “Sall’s gonna put together a nice pie with ’tatoes and onions and leeks and carrots and”—he paused for effect—“TINY LITTLE WEE FOLK!”

  There was a cheer among the giants.

  “You all seen there ain’t a lot a’ meat on their bones. They’re more a delicacy than a main course. But you’ll each get a slice a’ tiny-people pie that you can tell your grandnippers about, you have the Thumb’s word on that, and Sall’s also cooking up her sheep stew, there’ll be sheep kebabs, a few sheep dumplings, and even a sheep custard for dessert! Now crack that cask! The Thumb’s thirsty!”

  There was more roaring and cheering, and a pair of giants pulled the lid off an enormous cask, and flagons were dunked into the frothy dark brown brew, which the giants proceeded to chug with no concern about how much streamed down their fronts.

  “Maybe they’ll get too drunk and forget to cook us,” Michael said.

  “Yeah,” Kate said. “Maybe.”

  The next hour or so passed with drinking; singing (mostly drinking songs); a kind of dancing that looked a lot like stomping and made the branch holding them shake so badly that Kate and Michael were forced to lie flat on the floors of their cages; a flatulence contest won by a giant named, appropriately, Stinky Bill, though really Kate thought it was a draw between him and half a dozen other giants; and a great deal of fighting, which Big Rog always seemed to be in the center of, executing his favored move of jumping on an opponent’s back and jamming his thumb into the other’s ear or using it to fishhook a giant’s cheek till he cried for mercy.

  All the while, Kate watched Sall cooking her various sheep dishes while also carefully preparing a huge round tin with giant-sized leeks, carrots, onions, and potatoes.

  That’s for us, Kate thought.

  Part of her was glad that Emma was unconscious and not seeing all this.

  She didn’t hear Willy till he was right behind them.

  “I’m real, real sorry.”

  The giant was cowering in the shadows under the tree, out of light of the fire where the other giants were drinking and singing and carrying on.

  “Can’t you do something?” Michael demanded. “Get us out of here?”

  “Well, now,” Willy said cautiously, “I could, technically, yes, but I think that might make the Thumb awful mad.”

  “What about the prophecy?” Kate said. “We’re supposed to take death away? Don’t they all know that?”

  “Well, now, I sort of doubt they do. We live in a degraded time. The old stories aren’t given the same respect they once were. People forget.”

  “But you remember!” Michael insisted.

  “Well, now, true, true. But it won’t do me much good if you take death away and the Thumb’s already killed me. Bit of a dilemma, that.”

  Part of Kate wanted to call him a coward, as she knew Emma would if Emma had been awake, but she also knew that wouldn’t get them anywhere. She took another tack.

  “What would your dad say if he knew you were letting them make us into pie?”

  “That’s right!” Michael said. “I bet he’d be ashamed.”

  “Ah now,” the giant said, hanging his enormous head, “don’t be bringing me old da’ into it.”

  “You have a chance,” Kate said. “You could make him proud of you.”

  “Instead of him being glad he’s dead,” Michael said, “so he doesn’t have to watch you be such a big chicken.”

  Kate thought this was a bit much and was going to signal to Michael to lay it on more mildly when Big Rog’s voice boomed across the clearing.

  “What’re you talking about I can’t eat them? They’re my little wee folk! You’re lucky I’m sharing ’em at all, ya ungrateful slob!”

  Kate and Michael both turned to see Big Rog, his black beard glistening with pearls of beer, talking to a jowly, round-bodied giant. Big Rog kept jabbing the other giant in the gut with his thumb as he spluttered in his face.

  “You’re trying to spoil my feast!”

  The other giant held up his hands in surrender. “It’s just an old story, is all! I don’t even know the whole of it! Just thought I’d mention.”

  “Just thought you’d mention,” sneered Big Rog. “Well, I never heard of it!”

  “IT’S TRUE!” Kate shouted. “YOU CAN’T EAT US! ASK WILLY! HE KNOWS! MAKE HIM TELL YOU ABOUT THE PROPHECY!”

  With the attention of the other giants on him, Willy tried to shrink back into the shadows, but Big Rog seized him by the collar and dragged him out into the firelight.

  “What’s this she’s talking about? What prophecy?”

  Willy was waving his hands before his face. “I don’t know! I don’t know what she’s talking about
!”

  “He’s lying!” Kate and Michael both shouted. “Tell him! Your father told you the story!”

  Big Rog laughed. “Oh, so that’s what it is, is it? More of that old fool’s stories! I always was sorry he fell off that ridge and cracked open his stupid head. Meant we didn’t get to hear more of his nonsense! Ha!”

  It was in that moment that Kate saw the change come over Willy. His enormous eyes narrowed (very slightly), his shoulders drew back, and he even stood up a little straighter, another three feet or so.

  “They weren’t just stories. Me da’ knew things about the old world. Things everyone else has forgot. That’s a lie, saying they’re stories.”

  Big Rog snorted. “Oh is that right? Like how I’m not supposed to eat these little people?”

  “For one. Yeah.”

  Big Rog stared at him, and for a second Kate thought he was going to slaughter Willy then and there. But Big Rog turned to face the other giants.

  “Right! Everyone, listen up! We got a treat. While Sall finishes up her sheep stew and puts together the fixing for the pie, Willy here is gonna tell us one of his dear old da’s stories. Now make sure no one laughs or sniggers, ’cause it’s one hundred percent true! Every word! And not a bunch of made-up gibberish! Ha!”

  Willy glanced over at the children, and Kate nodded and tried to give him strength with her eyes. Then he turned back to the group of sneering, hooting, and really pretty sloshed giants and waited for them to quiet down.

  Michael looked over at Kate. “At least it bought us some time. And we’ll get to hear the whole story.”

  Kate said nothing. She was watching Sall cutting onions into the pie. It would be ready for them soon.

  —

  “This wasn’t always the way things were.”

  It was very nearly fully night, and Willy stood in the slashing glare of the firelight, facing the half ring of giants. To Kate’s surprise, the other giants had all taken seats—some on rocks, some on the ground—and now appeared to be giving Willy their whole attention, the only noise being the gulping of beer and an occasional ear-splitting belch.

  Emma still had yet to stir.

  “We didn’t always live as we do now. As little better than animals. Drunken. Filthy. Scrabbling for food. Giants used to be a respected race. We lived in the High City—”

  He said this, Kate noticed, with capital letters, and the other giants nodded, as if the High City was something they had all heard of. And she noticed too that Willy was speaking differently than he normally did, and it occurred to her that he must be telling the story as his father had told it to him, in his father’s own words and tone.

  “We all know where the High City is. North. Through the forest. Past the wide river, which no giant has crossed and returned from in a thousand years. But that was where we once lived. And it was a golden time. We giants had culture and music and literature. There were tailors who made the most exquisite clothes, not these stitched-together rags we wear now. There were smiths who made the finest tools and weapons. The shops were filled with goods. And the most delicious sheep-liver Danishes anywhere in the world!”

  There was a gasp of awed appreciation among the giants.

  “And we had a king in those days too. King Davey the Extremely Tall. It was said that he’d go out for a walk and come back with the clouds wreathed about his hair like a crown from heaven.

  “A golden time…”

  Willy paused—somewhat melodramatically, in Kate’s opinion—but the giants were all listening with rapt attention. She tried to imagine a time when these giants had been all that Willy described, cultured, with fine clothes and tools, living in a great city. Was it true? Or was it merely a story that had been created to make them feel better about themselves?

  “Then one day, a troubling report reached the king. An entire community of giants, out at the edge of the kingdom, had perished suddenly. It was said the buzzards circled about so thick that noon was like the deepest night. King Davey sent two scouts to find out what had happened, but the scouts never returned.

  “Next, he sent a platoon of soldiers. Twelve giants, girded for battle. A week passed. One soldier returned. He told the king that death had entered the land. That it had been brought by a stranger. That the stranger had let him live so that he could bring a message to the king.

  “ ‘What message?’ King Davey asked.

  “ ‘That the stranger is coming to take possession of your throne and your city. And anyone still within the walls in two days’ time will die.’

  “Well, the first thing King Davey did was to lop off the soldier’s head, since it was a long-standing tradition to kill the bearer of bad news.”

  Kate was shocked by this, but she saw that all the giants were nodding, and one raised his hand and asked, “Did he eat it?” but was quickly shushed by the others.

  Willy went on: “Now, there was a great field before the city, and exactly two days later, the sentries saw the stranger approaching from the distance. A tiny little dark speck. King Davey marched out with fifty of his warriors, all armed to the teeth. They say you could feel the ground shake a thousand miles away, that waves the size of mountains flooded cities on the far side of the world.

  “King Davey led his soldiers forward, intending to crush the stranger underfoot and grind his bones into the earth.”

  Willy paused again. He was not afraid, Kate saw, of abusing the dramatic pause. But again, it worked. The giants, even Big Rog, were hanging on his words.

  “The stranger killed them. Faster than you can blink, King Davey and all his warriors were dead on the field. And this is the truth, passed down from those that watched it happen from the city walls. They had been expecting to see the stranger stomped to bits, but instead their king and all their soldiers were lying dead and the stranger was walking toward the city.

  “So they ran. They abandoned their homes, left pots boiling, sheep half-cooked, laundry half-clean, and when the stranger entered the city, the gates closed, and no giant has set foot in the High City ever since. And in the years that followed, we fell into the sad state we find ourselves in now. As little more than animals.”

  Michael had whispered, “What about the prophecy—” when Willy spoke again.

  “But the giants who fled heard the stranger’s last words. Just before entering the city, he said, ‘I will abide in here till three children come who will take death from this land.’ ” Willy gestured to the cages. “Now they have. The first humans seen here since the stranger’s time, more than two thousand years ago, and three children at that. We can’t eat them. This is our last chance, you see, to return to what we once were.”

  He stopped talking, and Kate waited, holding her breath. Would this be enough to save them?

  “He must’ve had the Book of Death,” Michael whispered. “The stranger, I mean. That’s the only way he could’ve killed all those giants. Emma was right: the book is here.”

  Kate couldn’t argue. But she also found herself wondering, as Michael had earlier, who the stranger was. It couldn’t have been the Dire Magnus, because the Dire Magnus was searching for the book. So who was it?

  “Well, that’s a fine old story, Willy-boy.” Big Rog stood up. “But if you think it means that I’m not eating these tiny wee children, then you’re even loonier than your loony father was. And be reminding me to give you a good clout later for trying to ruin my feast. Now, Sall, how’s that piecrust coming?”

  “You’re going to die soon.”

  The voice that spoke was not a voice that had yet been heard and it was not loud, but it was loud enough for Big Rog and Willy and the other giants, and especially for Kate and Michael, who were closer and knew the voice well, to hear it and turn.

  Emma was standing up and gripping the bars of her cage.

  —

  “You’re going to die soon,” Emma repeated.

  Emma heard Kate say her name, but she didn’t look over. She was staring at Big Rog, who had
stepped past Willy and come up to her cage.

  “Ah, so you’re feeling better. That’s fine. I wouldn’t want to eat you when you were sick. Might give me a bellyache.”

  “You won’t die tonight,” Emma said, as if the giant had not spoken. “But soon.” Then she pointed at the jowly giant who was refilling his tankard in the cask. “Him, the fat one, he’s gonna die tonight.”

  “And how do you know that?” Big Rog sneered.

  “I just do. Same way I know that you killed Willy’s dad.”

  A tight, deadly silence descended on the clearing. Big Rog leaned in till the bulbous tip of his nose was almost touching the bars of Emma’s cage.

  “Don’t be telling stories that’re gonna get you into even more trouble, girl. I’m gonna eat you, sure. But humane-like. In a pie. Get me angry and I might just eat you raw, limb by limb.”

  But Emma couldn’t have stopped talking if she had tried. It felt as if she was on a path, clear and definite, and there was no way but forward.

  “You came up behind him and bashed him in the head with a rock. Then you pushed his body down the hill and told everyone he had fallen.” Emma looked at Sall, who had frozen next to the pie tin. “It was your idea. You talked him into it so you could get that cruddy house. You knew your dad was going to give it to Willy.”

  Emma could feel Kate and Michael staring at her, but she kept her eyes on Big Rog.

  Then Big Rog did exactly what Emma was hoping.

  He turned and roared at the other giants.

  “So what? He was old and useless and ate too much and who was gonna stop me, eh? Ha! That’s right—”

  That was all he got out before Willy barreled into him. The other giants were on their feet in a moment and forming a ring. As high up in the tree as they were, the children had a good view of the proceedings.