by Ross Lawhead
“Lor lumme, Nuncle,” said the one with the beard in a big, booming voice. “I fancy I saw that one speak.”
“Nooooo. .” said the uncle in a considered voice. “It’s a trick of the wind. I’ve seen it before. It passes over their ears, which are hollow all the way through, and-”
“We can speak!” Fergus shrilled. Kieran remained frozen, still too scared to make a sound.
“I know what I heard, Nuncle,” the nephew said, frowning. “You can’t now tell me that I didn’t hear what I heard. Doubtful age, indeed!”
Fergus looked up at his brother. Your turn, he nodded.
“Who are you?” Kieran shouted. “What are your names?”
“Don’t tell it,” the uncle snapped.
“Oho! Then you heard them too?” said the nephew.
“Don’t get too close. They’ll enchant you!”
“My name is Humphreybodie,” the bearded giant said in a slow, explanatory voice. “Humph-rey-bodie. This is my uncle.” He placed a hand on the moustached giant who didn’t really look much older than the other. “His name is Osgoddodius. Osgod-dodius. Have you got names?”
“Don’t be silly, of course they haven’t.”
“I’m Fergus, and this is my brother, Kieran.”
“I’ll be blown over,” the uncle said in a murmur like a foghorn. “What strange things to call one’s self. However do they remember such short names?”
“Where did you come from?” Kieran called. “How did you get here? What are you doing?”
“Came up through the ground, of course,” Humphreybodie said matter-of-factly. “Like respectable giants.”
“Why?” Fergus hollered. “Can’t you swim?”
“Swim?” Humphreybodie looked alarmed. “No honourable giant ever learned to swim. Not when there’s jumping to be done.”
“Jumping?” asked Kieran. “Why are you doing that?”
“Why,” Humphreybodie replied, “we’re getting ready for tonight’s practise, of course.”
“What are you practising?” yelled Fergus.
“Why, jumping, of course. Got to practise our jumping,” Humphreybodie answered with a look across to his uncle.
“Blow me over,” Osgoddodius said under his breath. “I didn’t know they could talk.” He clutched at his stomach. “I’ll never eat another one as long as I live.”
Fergus renewed his clutch on Kieran’s sleeve.
“We jump at night,” Humphreybodie continued. “It’s good for the lungs and makes the muscles work harder. We need to be in good shape for the competitions.”
Something clicked for Kieran. “Wait, is it you who’s keeping everyone awake? Jumping at night like that?”
“Sorry, pet,” Humphreybodie said, bending closer. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Did you know you’re keeping people awake?!”
“Keeping people awake? There are no people on this island-only you little creatures. There used to be, but there aren’t anymore. It’s deserted. That’s why we use it. That’s why we’re testing it.”
“Testing it for what?” Kieran hollered, his throat getting hoarse now.
“Why, for the games, of course,” said Osgoddodius.
“What games?” yelled Fergus.
“The Giant Games,” Humphreybodie said expansively, throwing his arms wide apart. “It is a meeting, a coming-together-of. My uncle and I are going to compete in jumping. But first we have to see if this place is made of the right stuff for jumping. We’ve been here each night for the last couple months, testing out every inch of it. If we like what there is, we’ll spread the word and all the giants will descend upon it and we shall compete in jumping up and falling down.”
“How many are in the competition?” Kieran asked.
“Oh, hundreds,” Osgoddodius answered.
In their mind’s eye, Kieran and Fergus saw hundreds of enormous feet falling from the sky like a shower of meteors, pounding the ground, making craters in the streets, shaking houses to the ground. Was there any way to stop them? Could they warn people? Evacuate the island, perhaps?
“Are you any good?” Fergus shouted.
Humphreybodie drew back and puffed his chest out. “Any good? I should say we are. Did you hear that, Nuncle? ‘Are we any good?’”
“Good? We’re the best. That’s why we have the job of finding the jumping grounds.”
“I don’t know, I saw you jumping just now, and it didn’t look that far. I bet you couldn’t even jump to the Calf,” Fergus said, sounding disappointed.
“‘Calf’?” Osgoddodius repeated. “What ‘Calf’?”
“The Calf is what we call that island over there,” Fergus answered, pointing out to sea, to the southwest. They had been walking from Port Erin to Cregneash, and the Calf of Man was clearly visible from where they now stood.
“That little thing? No problem.”
“I bet you can’t,” Fergus taunted.
“’Course we can,” Humphreybodie said. “A child could make that.”
“A toddler,” said Osgoddodius.
“Show us, then.”
“Right,” Humphreybodie said. He turned and stood up straight. He gazed the distance and then took two enormous steps and leapt.
They watched him rise up, up, into the air in a great arc, and then come down, down, and alight upon the island. A couple seconds later they heard the impact shock.
Osgoddodius snorted derisively. “He barely reached the place, the pillock. He’s not as strong a jumper as myself, not that it needed saying.”
They watched Humphreybodie, still fairly visible at this distance, take another run and leap back up in the air toward them. He hung in the sky, then grew larger and larger, and came down only a few feet from where he had jumped off from. The thundering shake nearly knocked both Fergus and Kieran off the rock they were on.
“Now,” Osgoddodius said. “Watch this. No run up. Watch this.”
And, sure enough, from a stationery start, Osgoddodius leapt up into the air and came down on the Calf.
“Silly old bugger,” Humphreybodie said, sniffing condescendingly. “What’s he trying to prove? He’ll do himself an injury, at his age-pull something he’d rather not have pulled.”
“You mean you can jump farther?” Fergus asked.
“’Course I can,” Humphreybodie said, just before Osgoddodius came back and landed next to him, toppling Kieran and Fergus.
“What did you think of that?” the gigantic uncle asked. “Pretty keen, eh?”
“Humphreybodie didn’t think so,” Fergus called. Kieran didn’t know what his little brother was up to, but he was obviously running the show now, and he had an intense look on his face, the kind he wore when he was thinking hard about a card or board game. “He said you were old, and he might be right. I don’t think you could even make the Isle of Booty.”
Kieran blinked. The Isle of Booty? That was an island they had made up when they were little and played pirates on the beach.
“’Course I can make it,” Osgoddodius said, turning around and scanning the horizon. “Where is it?”
“I didn’t think you could see it. Humphreybodie said your eyesight was going.”
“Yeah, yer blind old duffer,” Humphreybodie taunted.
“Well, where is it then, knucklehead?” Osgoddodius asked his nephew.
But Fergus answered, “It’s right there, on the far side of the Calf. It’s about twice the distance again.”
It suddenly dawned on Kieran. “Twice? More like three times.”
“Probably more,” Fergus rejoined.
“Most likely more,” said Kieran. “It’s too far for either of you, in any case.”
“Much too far,” Fergus said. “Forget we said anything.”
“Forget nothing!” Osgoddodius exclaimed. “I’ll hop to the Calf and skip to the Booty, no problem, just you watch.”
Osgoddodius dug his feet into the sand. “Right, here goes,” he said under his breath and started boun
ding along the shore, each footfall growing farther and farther apart. He touched down once on the last tip of the Isle of Man, came down on the Calf, and crouched and sprang for the final jump. He leapt so high up in the air he became obscured by a cloud.
“You know,” Fergus called to Humphreybodie, who had watched his uncle’s progress with interest. “It didn’t look like he was going very fast. I’ll bet you could make it there before him, if you really tried.”
A wide grin spread across Humphreybodie’s face. “I’ll just bet I could, and all! Hah! Wait ‘til I see the look on his face!” And without any more hesitation than it took to say those words, he was off and running.
Fergus and Kieran watched him take the same route off the island and into the air, toward an island that only existed in their imaginations.
Fergus cleared his throat. “I hope that’s the last of them,” he said.
“It should be, providing they can’t swim. We’ll be able to tell if we start getting some good nights of sleep from now on,” Kieran replied.
“That’s true.”
They started climbing down from the rock, carefully scaling the slippery surface. Once, they thought they heard the noise of a distant splash, and after that another. Neither brother mentioned it; they both just started laughing.
Kieran looked down at his little brother. “That was pretty clever,” he said. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”
“I’m not as dumb as you look,” Fergus answered-the standard retort. “I’m cold. Let’s get home.”
“Yep, it’s late,” Kieran said, turning and starting back up the ridge to the road. “We’re going to be in a lot of trouble, you know.”
“Do you think? How are we going to get down from this rock?”
II
“Yes, I’m his sister-his baby sister,” Vivienne said.
“And you complain about me holding things back. I thought that Gad would have been older-as old as Ealdstan. Mortal enemies throughout time. Something like that.”
“No, he is a Simpson. His name is Alexander Douglas Simpson-Alex was named for him. He is twelve years older than I am-and five years older than James.”
“No. No, I definitely remember Ealdstan telling us about Gad.” She pointed a finger at Modwyn. “You lot had never heard of him, but Ealdstan said he is the oldest. The most dangerous of my foes.”
“I remember,” Modwyn said. “Ealdstan had his own reasons for saying that. He must have.”
“Which is another good question-where exactly is Ealdstan?”
“He left-before the invasion.”
“Do you have any idea where he went?”
Modwyn shook her head sadly.
“Really? Vivienne?”
“I had hoped that we might find some clue in his journals, but you know as well as I what we found there.”
“Why don’t I completely trust either one of you on that point?” Freya asked. “But getting back to Gad. .” She shook her head, bewildered. “How? Why?”
“He grew up being taught the knowledge, as we all did, though it was clear he was the most passionate of our three siblings. He began to make excursions on his own, staying longer and longer each time-days at first, and then weeks. He went to university at St. Andrew’s in Edinburgh. He went down to read Medicine but began pursuing his own studies, digging deep into ancient texts, lore, and legends. He went on many excursions, both aboveground and below. At that stage, it was hard for us to keep track of him, being as independent as he was, but I suspect he also began to travel to the mythic Otherworld, or Elfland, of the fairy tales.
“He did not finish his studies. His final year was incomplete. He simply left his rooms one night of his first term and was not seen again for twenty years. We were worried, obviously, but he left no trace or clue as to where he went. Apart from alerting the authorities to his absence, there was naught we could do.
“The next we saw of him, he appeared much older than twenty years could account for-he had white hair and a much slighter frame-and yet he also seemed more vital. His eyes twinkled, his hands were fast and nimble. In this he gave the impression that Ealdstan himself gives, albeit to a lesser extent-a less intimidating extent.
“It was myself who bumped into him in the streets of Edinburgh. There is much of the city there that is still buried, besides the Arthur’s Seat tunnels, and it is my belief that he was living in one of these rabbit warrens-possibly near Candlemaker Row, beneath West Bow. That is a place with many dark secrets. I caught him by surprise and persuaded him, against his will, to take tea with me.”
“What did he say-where had he been?”
“He obviously was loath to share his history with me, and yet wished to appear as though he were being completely open. He is clever, and therefore did not give much away, but he had travelled into another world, he told me, in which time passed quicker than in this. He had learned secrets forgotten to these lands, as well as magics of his own.”
“Why was he doing that?” Freya asked. “What-what was he after?”
“That I did not find out. He claimed it was all his private interest.”
“But. .?”
“But for that I know him. Growing up, he would do nothing without purpose. He loved games, games of all sorts, and nothing was so important to him as to win his games. I say ‘his games,’ since he would make up rules to games he felt were too simple. We-James and I-would not play with him if we could help it, since he was a notorious cheat. Nothing, not even his own rules, would prevent him from winning.” She rubbed her forehead as if it pained her. “I paint him with a dark brush, but I love my brother-I do. But I certainly do not trust him.”
“What about the yfelgopes? Where did he pick those up from?”
“I know little of them. Somehow, in a way unknown to me, he has willed them over to his cause. He has great appeal to those with unforgiving minds that are full of checks and balances. Jealous minds in which mercy and grace do not fit-worldly minds of perfect justice.”
“Perfect justice doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It is the worst sin of this world-it does not allow for forgiveness.”
“Coming back to the Carnyx-what are we going to do about that? Are we still going to go after it?”
“You would need me to find that,” Modwyn said. “And I would not willingly contribute to the destruction of Ni?ergeard.”
“Modwyn, Ni?ergeard was destroyed as soon as Ealdstan left. He had eight years to come back and rescue you-rescue you all. But he didn’t come back-we did. We’re what you’ve got. Where’s the Carnyx?”
“Godmund took it. He is with it now. He will protect it with every muscle in his body until the moment of need.”
“Modwyn, my queen,” Vivienne said, “that moment is soon here. Ecgbryt and my nephew Alex are even now awakening an army of the greatest warriors this island has ever known. They are bringing them here directly, and we shall deliver this city from its invaders, track down my brother, and deliver him to justice-in whatever form that takes.”
Modwyn sat silently. Frithfroth, at the door, made no sound.
“Trust us. What other choice do you have?” Freya asked. “Because right now, now that your spirit is back in your body, I think that anyone at all could walk into this tower without any trouble.”
“It has been years since anyone attempted-”
“Maybe so, but Daniel just walked out there and he hasn’t come back. As terrible as it is to think it, he may have been captured. If so, people will be wondering where he came from.”
Modwyn looked down to the knife in Freya’s hand.
“I suppose you could try stabbing yourself again, if I let you have this-or I could do it for you. It might be a little more permanent if I do, though, me being mortal-a lifiende.”
“Leave me to consider,” Modwyn said after a moment’s thought. “I would contemplate alone for a while.”
Vivienne pulled Freya to the side and whispered to her in a low, urgent voice, “We
need to find the Carnyx; that is the utmost priority of our mission. Nothing else matters as much as that. If she were somehow to escape, or do away with herself completely, we could never find it.”
Freya nodded and turned back to address Modwyn. “Personally, I don’t trust you enough to let you out of my sight. You can think about it, but we’re going to stay in this room with you while you do. Take your time, we’ll be quiet.”
Settling themselves on opposite sides of the room to Modwyn, the women steeled themselves for a long vigil as Modwyn settled back into her bed. Freya turned her back on the wall of lamps and folded her arms, placing her head against the wall beneath a shuttered window. Her mind was now weighing and evaluating the information she’d received. Things were getting started-they were getting closer to the Carnyx, Alex and Ecgbryt should be well on their way to gathering the rest of the knights, and Daniel? What had happened to him? When things happened, she got the feeling that they would happen quickly. She had the feeling that she would need as much rest as she could grab.
III
Dawn broke, and Night released Daniel. He laid on the ground, cold, too exhausted even to shiver. He barely breathed; only the thinnest stream of air entered his lungs through his open, gaping mouth. Dew covered his body and the grass around him. He was aware, but thoughtless, his mind brutalised by the Night. He felt as if he could move, but he had no desire. His will had been completely pulverised.
He moved his hand-more of a jerk-just an inch. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to break him from his nearly catatonic state. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up-and vanished, becoming incorporeal. He was reminded once more that not all of him was in the world-that his soul, his mind, whatever part of his consciousness that made him him was still separate.
This again, he thought, with a sort of sigh. What had he gone through? All that pain just to-
It was that thought of pain and the suffering of his body that brought him back together, standing upright. He felt the leaden, painful, dreary weight of existence pulse with every beat of his heart as well as a deep weariness. He remembered the pain that had racked every cell of his body, and at last he was corporeal again.
