Secret of the Giants' Staircase

by Amy Lynn Green

  “My mother always told me not to play in the swamp tar pits in my good clothes,” Jesse said dryly.

  Owen laughed out loud. “You’re funny.”

  At the moment, Jesse didn’t feel funny—more like hot, tired, and sticky—but he didn’t argue.

  “Now, if I can just find a rope or a stick…” Owen said, looking around.

  “I have a stick!” Jesse said. It took a mighty yank, but he managed to pull his staff out of the tar and wave it in the air.

  Owen paused. “That’s nice. You practically rescue yourself.” He lay down on the ground near the pit. “So you don’t pull me in,” he explained. “That would be a little messy. All right, I’m going to pull you over to the bank, then up and out.”

  Jesse made sure to hold the end with the knob, to give himself a better grip. Owen took the other end and gave it a good yank. For such a small fellow, he had a strong pull. Still, Jesse barely moved forward. The tar didn’t want to give up its prisoner.

  “Awful sticky, this stuff,” Owen said, almost apologetically. “The muck of doom, I call it.” He gave the staff another yank. This time Jesse barely managed to hang on to his staff, and still he was too far away from the edge.

  “Owen!” a distant voice called. A girl’s voice.

  Owen closed his eyes and muttered something to himself. “They’re coming,” he said to Jesse, a look of dread on his face.

  “I’m in a tar pit,” Jesse pointed out. “How much worse could it be?” Even his voice sounded squeezed and forced after the exertion of fighting the tar.

  “You haven’t met Nero and Talia,” Owen said in a low tone. “Sure you don’t want to duck under that tar for a bit?”

  Jesse shook his head, one part of his body he could still move easily.

  Owen shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He raised his voice. “Nero! Talia! Give me a hand, will you?”

  Jesse had a suspicion that he was going to meet the other missing squad members. But there are only three. Don’t all squads have four members?

  Two sets of footsteps, soft against the moss. The newcomers came from behind Jesse, so he couldn’t see them. He knew it would be too much work to turn. “Owen, what—” a girl’s voice started.

  Jesse realized he was not making a good first impression. “Let me explain,” he said, trying to focus his tired mind enough to come up with an explanation. “I—”

  “Who are you?” a strong male voice demanded, interrupting him.

  Jesse decided to attract their attention right away. “Jesse. I’ve come to rescue you.”

  Silence. “Are you sure you have that right?” Owen asked. “Because we’re just fine. You’re the one in trouble.”

  Jesse just closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to explain. If only he knew.

  “I don’t trust him. How do you know he won’t kill us once we get him out?” the girl – Talia? – pointed out. “Or lead someone to us? He knows where we are now.”

  Jesse fought a growing frustration. “We’re here to rescue you, not kill you!”

  “Explain yourself,” Nero ordered. It seemed like everything he said was an order. “Quickly.”

  Jesse tried to think. This was not how he pictured their meeting with the missing squad. Besides, his head felt like it was full of the tar around him. “Parvel got sick, so I went into the desert…and we were almost executed…a Patrol captain is chasing us…and we went into the mountains with the dwarves…before escaping the Rebellion…and finding the Forbidden Book….”

  He trailed off. I must sound like a madman. “It’s a long story,” he finished weakly. “Several long stories, actually.”

  “Parvel,” Talia muttered. “Silas and Rae are in his squad, aren’t they?”

  Something about the way Talia said their names made Jesse want to deny it. “Yes?”

  “Excellent,” Owen muttered, still flopped on the ground, almost at eye level with Jesse. “You had to bring them up, didn’t you?”

  “I should have known,” Talia said. “They always taunted us during training. Said that we’d fail in our quest. Rae especially. You say the others are nearby?”

  “Yes,” Jesse said, “in the ruins.” Something caught his eye, over in the sand of the tar pit bank. Odd. Was that…?

  No. Your imagination. That’s all. But Jesse wasn’t sure that it was. For a moment, he thought he had seen something moving in the sand of the bank.

  “Then let them find you.” Talia’s voice got more distant. She’s walking away. “I say we—”

  The movement again, this time sending a trickle of sand down into the tar in front of Jesse. “There’s something in the bank,” Jesse said, trying not to panic.

  “Don’t interrupt,” Talia said coolly.

  “No, there’s something alive,” Jesse said, trying to back away from…whatever it was. He didn’t care if it would make him sink deeper into the tar. “In the bank.”

  Owen winced. “Not good, not good.” He looked up. “You two, get back over here and help me haul him up.” No movement. “Now!”

  Apparently Owen, unlike Nero, didn’t give orders very often, because Talia and Nero came over and grabbed on to the end of the staff. The force of the pull nearly tore Jesse’s arms out, but he held on.

  He let go with one hand and grabbed at the edge of the bank, tearing away mossy plants. “Stop it,” Owen shouted. He threw Jesse’s staff on the ground. “Let us pull you.”

  The sound of more sand falling, then something like a hiss. “Pull fast!” he yelled back.

  Two pairs of arms grabbed him and the tar pit surrendered. Nero and Owen helped Jesse away from the edge.

  “Watch yourselves.” Talia’s voice. When Jesse looked up, he saw a girl aiming an arrow…right at him.

  He gasped and rolled to the side. Talia let go…and shot into the pit. “I think I got it,” she said, leaning over to look.

  Jesse peered back into the tar pit. There, floating on the surface was what looked like a long, flat lizard, with strange webbed feet splayed in either direction.

  Owen reached in for it, lying down on the bank’s edge again.

  “Get your hand out of there,” Nero commanded.

  “It’s dead, Captain,” Owen said sarcastically. “What’s it going to do, slime me to death?”

  He pulled the creature out of the pit, holding onto the arrow. “A tar-strider,” he said, displaying the stabbed creature like a trophy. “That’s what Barnaby called it, anyway. They’re kind of poisonous.”

  “Kind of?” Jesse asked.

  Owen shrugged. “Well, one bit Nero a few weeks ago, but after Barnaby sucked the poison out, he only just swelled up for a few days. And got a rash. And had a fever.”

  “Well, if that’s all, why don’t we find one and keep it for a pet?” Jesse asked, rolling his eyes.

  Owen’s face lit up. “That’s what I said.” He turned to Nero. “See? You said I was the only one stupid enough to suggest something like that.” He looked down at the tar-strider. “Hey, do you think we could eat these?”

  But Talia, at least, wasn’t watching Owen and the tar-strider. She was staring right at Jesse, like he might bolt into the swamp or draw a sword and stab her.

  Jesse stood, his sticky clothes peeling apart slowly, and stared at his three rescuers, trying to match them to the pictures in the Forbidden Book.

  Talia wore a full-length dress, longer than the tunics that Rae often wore, and her blonde hair fell down her back in a thick braid. But her hawk-like eyes and stern glare refused to let Jesse think of her as a girl content to sit around and embroider pillows.

  Nero was even more intimidating, with close-cut brown hair, heavy eyebrows and broad shoulders. The oldest, probably. Certainly the strongest.

  It was strange, recognizing their faces when he had never seen them in person before. The court
artists who had sketched them for the Book had done a remarkable job, recreating every feature to the smallest detail.

  But there were only three, and Jesse knew who was missing. “Where’s Barnaby?” he asked.

  Immediately, Nero’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know about Barnaby?” he demanded.

  “Maybe he’s a spy,” Talia said, “sent by the Rebellion to kill the kings’ Youth Guard.”

  Jesse started to protest, but Nero interrupted him. “This is no member of the Rebellion,” he said, sounding disgusted. “Look at him! He can barely walk.”

  “I need to talk to you,” Jesse insisted. “You’re in great danger.”

  “We saved your life,” Nero said, turning away. “Now, leave us be, or it will be the worse for you.”

  He and Talia began to walk into the swamp.

  “We’re leaving him?” Owen protested. He ran to catch up, waving the tar-strider in their direction. For a moment, Jesse was afraid it was going to go sailing off the arrow and hit Talia in the head. Thankfully for Owen, the arrow held.

  They don’t believe me, Jesse realized. They think I’m crazy. Or lying.

  He also knew he couldn’t give up. This was a matter of life or death.

  Jesse struggled to his feet and grabbed the tar-encrusted staff. “You don’t understand,” he shouted after them. This time, he was careful to watch for pits. “The king is trying to kill you!”

  At that, Talia hesitated, but Nero kept walking. “That’s impossible. Don’t listen to him. He’s trying to get us to abandon our mission.”

  “No,” Jesse insisted. “I saw your names in a book. I saw the assassin’s camp in the ruins.”

  “I don’t see any book,” Nero said. “I’ve never seen any assassin, and we’ve been in these parts for weeks now.”

  “You know what I think,” Talia said, green eyes squinting at Jesse in hatred. “Rae and Silas aren’t here at all. They sent him here. To follow us.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Jesse blurted.

  Wrong thing to say. Talia stiffened. “They should have at least come up with a better story. The king determined to kill us! Why, even telling such a lie is treason.”

  Jesse gritted his teeth and tried to remember that he had thought much the same when he’d first heard the truth about the Youth Guard. But at least I was willing to listen to reason.

  “Go back to those who sent you,” Nero said, and his voice sounded like a final judgment. He glanced down at Jesse’s crippled leg. “You don’t belong here.”

  Jesse felt his face grow hot under the layers of tar. In Nero’s voice, he heard the taunts of every schoolyard bully, every leering beggar who had reminded him of his crippled leg.

  He did belong here. He had survived a sandstorm, assassins, a cave-in and a fall into a rushing river. He had kept going when others would have turned back, risked his life for his squad members when others would have let them go. I am a Youth Guard member as much as any of them, and probably a better one too.

  Jesse opened his mouth to tell Nero all this, but nothing came out. Anger had taken his voice away.

  “Come on, Owen,” Nero commanded.

  “Actually, no,” Owen said, stepping away from them. “I side with the crazy tar-covered boy.”

  “Really?” Jesse blurted.

  Owen gave him a withering look. “You’re not exactly helping my case.”

  “Fine,” Nero said, quickly recovering from a look of shock. “Talia and I will continue without you.”

  “And the reward for a completed mission will be ours without you,” Talia added.

  “Happy for you,” Owen said, waving. “Let me know where that Giants’ Staircase led to, eh?”

  Talia shot him one last dirty look before she and Nero disappeared into the thickets of the deep swamp.

  “That was your squad,” Jesse said, staring at the redhead in disbelief. “You can’t just leave them.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of them for weeks now,” Owen said, waving him away. He held up the arrow. It was empty. “Slipped the tar-strider into Talia’s pack when she wasn’t looking,” he confessed, grinning. “Too bad I won’t be there to see her reaction.”

  Jesse didn’t think it was too bad. In fact, he hoped Nero and Talia would be far, far away by the time that happened. But I doubt they will be. The sun was already setting. In another quarter of an hour, it would be too dark to travel far. Unless Nero and Talia want to chance the Swamps of the Vanished at night.

  He looked back at the tar pit, a distance away and hoped, for their sake, they wouldn’t be so foolish.

  “That was some story you were telling,” Owen said cheerfully, sticking the arrow into a colorfully woven bag on his back. The tip poked out dangerously. “How did you come up with it?”

  “Easy,” Jesse said flatly. “It’s true. The king is trying to kill the Youth Guard.”

  Owen stopped and stared at him. “You don’t have to keep it up, you know. As long as you’re headed out of here, I won’t leave you by yourself.”

  “There’s nothing to keep up,” Jesse said, feeling like he was endlessly repeating himself. “It’s true.”

  “But you’re not in the Guard,” Owen said. “At least, I don’t recognize you from the training camp.”

  He seemed to be waiting for a response. “That’s part of the long story I told you about,” Jesse said, not sure how to summarize a month’s worth of adventure in a few sentences. “But, I tell you, you’re in danger. You and your squad need to leave here.”

  “I’m all for that,” Owen said, shrugging. “I’m through with this madness. We’ve been here for weeks now, barely finding enough food and clean water to stay alive. Searched the whole swampland three times without any sign of a giant or a giant civilization. Ever since Barnaby disappeared—”

  Jesse’s hand automatically went to the token around his neck. It was still there, tar pit and all. “What happened to him?”

  There was no trace of Owen’s grin now. “We don’t know. That’s the worst of it. He left to gather fruit from the orchard early one morning just before dawn, and he…never came back.”

  Jesse swallowed hard. “That seems to be the theme in these swamps.”

  “And his bird too,” Owen added. “I think Barnaby left and went back to his family. They live near the swamps, you know. That’s what kept us alive for so long—Barnaby knew things about the swamp. What to eat, how to make shelters, all that.”

  That was good. Jesse hoped Owen had paid attention to Barnaby’s lessons. They might need that information. Then he started thinking about what Owen had said about Barnaby’s disappearance.

  “Like I said,” Owen continued, “this mission of ours is pointless. Giants, they said. A staircase, they said. What kind of crazy—”

  “Did you say Barnaby was in an orchard?” Jesse asked. “An orchard back in the ruins of Lidia?”

  Owen stopped, blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Yes. There were several in different parts of the city that he—”

  “What time of day was it?”

  Owen squinted at Jesse. “You know, you have a bad habit of interrupting people when they’re talking.”

  That didn’t seem particularly important to Jesse at the moment. “Owen. Was it night when Barnaby disappeared?”

  “Yes,” Owen said. “Just before dawn, anyway. But what—”

  Jesse was already running back up the hill, toward the ruins. Barnaby had disappeared at night looking for food in the city. The Guard Rider had probably disappeared during the night while making camp in the city.

  Parvel, Silas and Rae were all in the city. And night had fallen.

  Chapter 8

  There was no one in the city.

  As soon as he stumbled over the city walls,
Jesse half expected Silas to scold him for leaving the ruins, Rae to laugh at his tar-covered clothes and Parvel to lead him to a rare mural he had uncovered. But none of them did.

  We have to find them, Jesse thought, his panic growing every time he and Owen turned onto a new street and saw no one.

  On the way up the hill, through the growing fog, Owen had peppered Jesse with questions, but now, in the city, they moved silently, pressing themselves against crumbling walls and ducking under old archways, always keeping their backs to the wall, always looking for something, anything.

  Jesse wasn’t sure if he should call for Parvel, Silas and Rae. What if they’re making camp on the outskirts of the city or in the swamp somewhere? Or what if they’re looking for me?

  Or what if someone else is looking for me…but for a different reason?

  They wandered through a street that looked like it had once been the home of a bustling marketplace. The moonlight, reflecting off the white stone, was their only light. At least here there aren’t any tar pits to fall into, Jesse thought.

  “Let’s go up higher,” Owen said, louder than he should have. Some of the buildings had two stories, with pillared porches jutting out over the street. Jesse examined them doubtfully. A few looked like they might fall apart and crumble into dust. Some already had.

  But Owen was already inside one of the buildings, a blacksmith’s shop, judging by the large brick oven inside. He darted up the staircase at the back of the shop.

  “Slow down,” Jesse grumbled, leaning heavily on his staff as he limped up the steps.

  “You’re like an old man with a cane,” Owen said, laughing.

  Right then, Jesse wanted to act like an old man and hit him with his “cane.” “I’m fifteen, only one or two years older than you. You’re just faster.”

  “You’re more than two years older than me,” Owen said, a mischievous grin appearing on his face. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  Jesse gestured around to the moonlit ruins. “Who, exactly, do you think I’m going to tell?”

  “Good point,” Owen admitted. “I’m eleven and a half.” He kept going up the stairs. “Told the Patrol at the muster that I was thirteen.”