Strangely, I’m in the dark. The stars are far away, as though I’m still on the ground gazing up at them.
A prickle scuttles across my back. I turn in a circle and see a shadow slide across my vision. My sword vibrates in warning and sets off in a rush, dragging me back toward the Silver-Clouded Plain. A long, thick shadow with toothy jaws hurls after us.
“Time Bearer,” the thing hisses.
My sword pulls me faster. From the corner of my eye, I see the
shadow barreling right at me. I try twisting away, but its teeth graze my side. The attack knocks me into a free fall. Down I tumble through a bed of clouds, spinning end over end. At the last second, my sword pulls me forward, adjusting my trajectory so I land in my body.
I sit up with a gasp and clutch my side. My hand comes away
bloody. The shadow chasing me left shallow slashes where its teeth
grazed me. The wounds sting worse than they bleed. I quiver all over, 106
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my hands cold and sweaty, my ticker a hollow thud. What was that
thing?
I tuck myself closer to Neely’s side. Every shadow around me
appears to grow fangs. Far off in the distance, the same clunking and puffing noises from earlier come nearer. I stare out at the pond, images of charging monsters in my head, and refuse to close my eyes and let in the night.
Something tickles my nose. I wake up and look into the eyes of the
biggest rabbit I have ever seen. I scramble backward, wide awake in a second. The gray bunny, the size of a dog, stares at me a moment longer and hops away.
Daylight has transformed the pond and greenery into a softly lit
haven. Morning dewdrops sparkle on the grass like diamonds in the
morning light. Neely is up the rise beside the stone cross, singing.
“Sea, land, stars. Great Creator, your home is ours.
Animals, plants, trees. Madrona, we rest upon our
knees.
Gathered beneath thy leaves. Brothers and sisters
three.”
I join him up the hill and pause in awe of the brilliant reds and
oranges staining the eastern sky and blending downward to the prairie in layers of pink, purple, and blue.
“I was only in the Land Under the Wave one year, but here it’s been
over thirty,” Neely says, tears simmering in his eyes.
“That’s a long time to be gone from home. Was your world always
so striking?”
“Aye. Before the Creator cursed us, the sunrises and sunsets were
even prettier.”
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I notice a wooden roadway that runs east to west across the prairie.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. It’s new since I’ve been away.”
My stomach grumbles with hunger. As the sky lightens to peri-
winkle, I return to the supply pack to eat breakfast—water and two
hard biscuits. Neely plucks berries off a bush, eats a handful, and offers me one. The berry is monstrous, the size of an apricot, so I decline. He tosses the berry into the pond. Tentacles rise from below and snatch the fruit under the surface.
“It’s good luck to feed a grindylow,” he says. “Throw them food
and make a wish.”
“No, thank you. A grindylow almost drowned me.”
“You must have met it on an unfortunate day. They’re mostly harm-
less.” Neely drops a berry into my palm. “Go ahead. Make a wish.”
Neely urges me to the water’s edge. I think of a wish, the first thing that comes to mind, and toss the berry. A tentacle nabs the sweet treat, and the grindylow’s eerie face flashes under the surface. I shuffle away from the pond.
“What did you wish for?” Neely asks.
“Jamison’s safety.” I stare up at the rising sun. Wherever he may be, he might be watching the same dawn. “Let’s head out.”
We pack up and set off across the grassland at a conservative pace.
The cuts on my side ache, and Neely favors his sore foot. He notices me hugging my side but doesn’t ask about it. He probably assumes I hurt myself climbing the skystalk or running from the spriggans. We follow the wooden trail west. The entire crisscrossed roadway is staked into the ground. Neely and I take turns guessing what it could be—a cattle fence, a fairy repellent, or the skeletal remains of a huge contraption.
None of those ideas feels right, so eventually we give up.
He hums to himself, his steps jaunty despite his hurt foot. The
rolling green prairie and clear skies grow more vibrant as the sun rises overhead.
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“Why would the giants want our world?” I ask, thinking of my
home where the sky is perpetually gray, the weather rainy, and the
ground soggy.
“The gates to the Everwoods are there. As firstborns, we want to be
closer to the Creator.”
I squint slantwise at him. “Your birth order entitles you to take
away our world?”
“Giants crafted the Land of the Living. The father of giants, Hanish, assumed he and his people would inherit the first world, but Eiocha
insisted humans should possess it and sent our kind here. Giants constructed these plains into glory as well, but Hanish was never the same.
He died from homesickness. His eldest son, Nothor, blamed his death
on the humans, and he and his brothers began plotting for retribution.”
I cringe, remembering the warrior giants I saw in my vision of the
battlefield. “My kind know none of this.”
“What do you know about us?”
“Most of our stories are about giants who sneak into our cities at
night, kidnap us from our homes, and eat us.”
Neely nods. “Nothor feasted on men, just as you described. The
flesh of a human was said to make male giants virile and give female giants strong and healthy babes.”
“How awful!” And disappointing. Something from our storybooks
is true, and it’s this. “Have you ever . . . ?”
“Consumed a human? Once. I disliked the flavor.” His brow fur-
rows. “Stay close to me. Your smell may draw interest.”
I sniff at myself. Other than my need for a good wash, I smell rather bland. “Does your family eat humans?”
“Not that I know of, though I do have quite a few cousins.” Neely
winks at me. “You’ll be all right, poppet. You’re with me.”
A trail of smoke appears straight ahead. Neely and I hurry for a
copse of trees and hunker down low. Something big and metal charges
toward us down the tracks. The front has a blade for a nose and a
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chimney that puffs smoke. The machine grunts and clangs uproariously, the same mysterious sounds we heard last night. Several wheeled carts are attached to the smoking front portion. The carts are loaded with iron scraps and lumber, while others are closed in with windows. The contraption emits several piercing whistles as it chugs past us down the wooden roadway. Turning wheels propel the machine over the rails, yet I cannot tell what fuels them.
Neely steps out of the trees to watch the contraption steam off.
Neither of us says anything, and we don’t linger. We maintain a swift pace well into the middle of the day, our path gradually splitting away from the wooden tracks to a meandering road along a woodland.
He stops at a cairn that marks a fork in the road. High up, a hawk
circles. I pause for a drink, thirsty, tired. My forehead is warm to the touch. The hottest part of the day is wearing on me.
Neely wanders to the woods to pick wild berries. I put on the pack
and wait for him. A cheery birdsong carries ou
t of the trees. The trill-ing reminds me of Radella. I still to listen, and a shadow falls over me.
The hawk, four times the size of any I’ve ever seen, dives at me. I
duck low, but the hawk snatches the supply pack in its talons and lifts.
My feet rise off the ground.
“Neely!”
The hawk draws me higher. Neely runs out of the woods and puts
his hands on his head in dismay. I’m too far away for him to reach.
“Jump, Everley!”
I pull one arm free of the pack and dangle by one strap. My side
aches, my hold on the cloth tenuous. We’re already high above the
ground and getting higher. My clock heart skips a beat, then another.
Neely runs to stand beneath me. I let go of the strap and drop.
The hawk swoops away with my pack. I’m still falling. The ground
gets closer and closer. Neely catches me in his arms, and I shut my eyes and breathe. Thankfully, my clock heart hasn’t stopped.
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Neely sets me down, then winces and shifts his weight off his
injured foot. I bend over to collect my breath, my side aching, and
pat my pocket. Jamison’s contract is still there, but the hawk flew away with our supplies.
“Let’s get out of the open,” Neely says.
I stay close to the giant. I’m not likely to leave his side again. We go down a dirt footpath into the woods. The ache in my side grows
stronger. I touch it, and my fingers come away wet with blood. My
cuts reopened during the fall. Neely notices the crimson stain on my fingers and frowns.
“We’re over halfway there, poppet. We walk past the cairn that
looks like a falcon, follow the river, and cross the walking bridge to my sisters’ cottage. Can you make it?”
“Can you?”
He’s limping worse with each step. He says he’s fine, but no more
than ten minutes later, I suggest to him that he sit down, and he does so without argument. The giant favors his outstretched foot.
“Let me have a look.” I pull off his boot. The puncture in his sole
is swollen and seeping. He shouldn’t be walking. “I think part of the thorn may have broken off inside your foot.”
I poke at the wound, trying to fish out the piece, and he yanks
away.
“I’m sorry, Neely.” I’ve never seen him in this much pain. “Soaking
your foot may coax out the broken piece. How far is the river you
mentioned?”
A howl fills the air. Neely and I look at each other. He slides his
boot back on and starts to get up, but the second he puts weight on his foot, he sucks a quick breath between his teeth and sinks back down.
“Maybe they’ll go around us,” he suggests half-heartedly.
“I’ll go and see how close they are. Wait here.”
I draw my sword and creep into the trees. Movements sound
ahead, footfalls and rustling leaves. I stop behind a bush and peer out.
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Commander Asmer and the elven guard are coming up the trail. The
barghest pads down the path at the front of the group, sniffing every bush. Sweat beads along my brow, my forehead hotter. The barghest
loiters near the footprints Neely and I left in the dirt minutes before.
Commander Asmer inspects the tracks he located and pats his back.
“They’re close. Go get ’em.”
The canine sets off down the trail faster.
I make my way back to Neely quietly and quickly and tug at his
arm. “Get up. The elven guard is coming.”
The giant rises and hobbles after me. He’s too big for me to support, and his foot is in too bad of a condition to leave the path, so I try to choose even ground for us.
The barghest howls. I can hear it tearing through the underbrush.
Neely pushes himself to go faster and keep up with me. A flash of
black fur streaks across the corner of my vision. The barghest’s howls sound so close to us that my belly tremors.
“Come on,” I say, tugging Neely’s arm.
He stops and braces against a tree, his face bright red and his breathing labored. “Poppet, find my family’s cottage. Do you remember the
way I told you?”
“I—I think so.”
“Then go!” The giant shoves me behind him and blocks the trail.
The barghest’s next howl is followed by the commander yelling for
us to surrender. I stand in the path, unwilling to leave my guide.
Neely looks over his shoulder at me. “Everley, run!”
I grab the hilt of my sword and take off. Twigs crunch under my
feet, and the tightness at my side worsens. Perspiration rolls down my face and back.
Neely yells in anger. I glance back and see the elves have netted him.
I sprint faster, leaving the trail and racing through the trees across a rocky, shallow stream to the other side. The barghest howls behind 112
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me. I start up a tree. My skin is on fire, but I push myself to the highest branch and huddle in the leafy cover.
The barghest appears across the stream, sniffing the ground. The
running water should dull my scent, or at least this would be the case with bloodhounds in my world.
Commander Asmer appears behind her canine. She looks around
and calls the barghest back. They slowly disappear down the trail.
I slump against the tree trunk, my back slick with perspiration, my
skin burning yet chilled all over. My side is bleeding worse than ever.
Why are the elves wasting their time on us? Queen Imelda sent them
here to find Markham.
By the time the bleeding stops, daylight is growing short. Still, I
don’t get down. Neely is gone, and no one knows where I am. How did
I ever talk myself into coming here? Markham wanted me to follow
him. I should have known better than to give him anything he wanted.
A chill racks my body, my teeth chattering together. I want to go
home. I want to find out if Jamison is safe. I could call out. One whistle, and the barghest would be back for me. Though I feel alone, I am not.
I hug my sword close. “How do we travel without a portal? Can
you take me home?”
The sword does nothing in response.
“Fine. Don’t help me.”
A good hour or so later, I wipe my brow and carefully descend
the tree. The woods are quiet and dim. I walk down the middle of the stream, soaking my boots and stockings. Neely said I have to find a
cairn that looks like a finch. No, a falcon.
I walk and walk, cradling my aching side. My fever hasn’t gotten
worse in the last little while, but it isn’t better. I would spirit jump to hover overhead for a bird’s-eye view of my surroundings to make sure I’m headed in the right direction, but I haven’t the strength.
About the time I spot a cairn shaped like a bird, the sun begins to
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Emily R. King
wings. The road splits. One way leads into the trees, and the other way leads to the prairie.
I sit at the base of the cairn. I could easily lie down and go to sleep, but I’d rather not spend the night this exposed. “Which way did Neely say to go next?”
My sword vibrates.
“So now you’re talking to me?”
The hilt warms in my hand. I point the blade down the path to the
prairie first and then into the woods. The sword vibrates when aimed at the trees.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I set out, th
e shadows in the trees deepening to night. My entire
body aches, my soreness felt in every step. I hear the river before I spot it through the underbrush. Moonlight reflects off the water, act-ing as a beacon, the trail along the river coming and going out of sight.
My sword helps me remain on course, though lifting it gets harder. I stumble to the side of a tree and rest. I’m not sure I can go another step.
Then I see it—a footbridge over the river.
I pull myself up and drag my tired body to the bridge. Lights greet
me from the other side. I trudge across, and a charming cottage comes into view, its water mill turning in the flowing river. The thatch-roofed building is huge, an oversize replica of the homes I’m used to. I almost feel foolish calling it a cottage.
Music plays from inside—the bright, intense sound of a brass
instrument.
Almost there. A few more steps.
A sharp ache shoots through my side. I drop to my knees a few
strides away from the front door. I try to get up, but the cottage lights float in and out of focus.
The music stops. A door opens, and the big barrel of a gun is shoved in my face. Before I can respond, the pain sweeps me away.
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Chapter Thirteen
The scent of cooked cabbage fills my nostrils. I blink myself back to awareness and spot two giantesses out of the corner of my eye. One
stands by the hearth, stirring a bubbling pot, and the other holds a lengthy brass instrument near a dining table. The kitchen window is
dark. I don’t think I was out long. From the food the giantess is cooking, the hour seems to still be in the evening. Although my side pangs fiercely, I pretend I’m asleep on the sofa.
“Are you certain she’s a human, Mistral?” asks the giantess by the
table.
“She looks just like the women in the pictures in our history books,”
replies the other giantess. She lowers her voice. “Corentine, should we send for the surgeon? She’s wounded and feverish.”
“No, no surgeon.”
“Surely we should tell someone we found her. At the very least the
sheriff.”
“Mistral, that dumb goat will empty all our food cupboards. He
might even eat her.”
A shadow falls over my face. The giantess that was cooking, Mistral, stands over me. “She’s a wee lass,” she says. “Why would anyone eat a human? Not much there worth cooking.”
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