Braddle and the Giant

by John Mallon

  Chapter 2

  The Ruling Council of Carporoo filed into the circle of twelve chairs, under the orange light that always shone in the night time sky, and sat down. Around them in a second gigantic circle stood the people of Carporoo: men, women and children, squashed together and nervous. In the front row, nine year old Braddle stood next to his mother and held her hand, more for her benefit rather than his (or so he told himself). He had taken seriously his father’s request, made before he had left to lead the first expedition down the White Road, to take care of her. Behind them stood his great Uncle Malik who placed his large hand on Braddle’s shoulder as Drostfur, leader of the Council, stood up within the circle of chairs. The crowd fell silent. Braddle glanced at his mother. She smiled at him and winked.

  “People of Carporoo”, Drostfur began, “we meet tonight to make the biggest decision of our lives – whether we leave the land of Carporoo and travel along the White Road in search of a new home. As you all know, our land has become a wasteland. For reasons we do not know, great mountains have fallen and great holes have split open the ground. The land can no longer sustain us – it can no longer feed us nor provide us with shelter”.

  Drostfur bowed his head and sighed. He then looked at each of the counsellors in turn and then at the people of Caporoo standing around them.

  “We have no choice” he said finally “but to leave now without further delay”.

  “I'm ready,” a young voice shouted out from the crowd. Drostfur looked at the boy in the front row with his black hair pushed back from his determined looking face, just as his mother was telling him to be quiet and smiled faintly within his bushy beard.

  “Though it is clear that we have no choice but to leave this place”, he continued, “it is not certain that the White Road will lead us to a new home. Recent expeditions sent down the road have either failed to return or brought back conflicting reports as to what is there waiting for us and so we embark on our journey without any certain knowledge that it will take us to a better place. We must undertake the journey, however, because it is certain that we will be doomed if we do not. Let us go then and let us face the future with courage, resolve and hope like those that have gone before us”.

  Braddle, his mother and Uncle Malik finally stepped on to the White Road three days after the decision to leave was made. The sun was rising between the trees behind them and a morning mist was beginning to swell above the ground. He had never seen so many people together in one place before. In front of them it seemed that billions of people stretched into the far distance. Behind them the same number waited, still, to be lowered on to the White Road by the thousands of engineers that operated the ropes and pulleys. Alongside the mass of people, at the edges of the road, soldiers marched carrying swords, spears and shields. In their uniforms and armour they looked as strong as giants. Braddle touched his dagger and made sure that it was secure in his belt.

  “This is a great day” he said to his mother and uncle. His mother smiled a sad smile.

  “Yes it is” she said “but let us hope that we are somewhere safe by the end of it”.

  Alfie sat on his back door step and looked at his bicycle leaning on the fence opposite. His mother had placed it there fifteen minutes before after he had complained that he was bored.

  “How can you be bored on a lovely sunny morning like this?” she asked. “Why don’t you get in some bike practice before your dad comes back?”

  Why did his parents insist that he ride his bike? Hadn’t he told them often enough that he didn’t like bikes, that he didn’t like riding bikes and that he didn’t like, especially, learning to ride a bike? He would leave it standing there in the summer sunshine, gleaming still with its Christmas newness.

  Something caught his eye. A movement, up and to the left. He raised his head and squinted. All he could see was the washing line, fence, garage, houses and blue sky. There it was again. This time on the right. He turned and looked. At first, it was difficult to believe but it looked as if something small, dark and long was moving along the top of the washing line. He stared hard at it. Yes. Something was there and it was definitely moving.

  What could it be? He stood up and went closer to the washing line but standing below it made it harder to see what was happening on it. He took a chair from the kitchen to stand on and then decided that a magnifying glass might prove useful as well. He ran to his bedroom as fast as he could to get the one his dad bought for him the week before.

  “Where’s the fire?” his mum asked as he rushed passed the living room door.

  “Just exploring outside, mum” he replied.

  He placed one foot on the chair then stopped. What if the thing on the washing line was a long hungry snake with big fangs searching for dinner or a hairy thing with a million legs desperately praying for a boy to get too close? He was about to take his foot off the chair and remove himself to a safe distance to think about it some more when, to his surprise, he jumped up onto the chair. After steadying himself, he put the magnifying glass to his eye and looked at the creature on the washing line. Almost immediately, Alfie fell backwards. If the back of the chair had not been there in the direction of his fall, he would have soared towards the pavement at great speed. He steadied himself again.

  “No, it can’t be” he said out loud.

  Trembling, he raised the magnifying glass again.

  “Yes it is” he replied.

  The creature on the line was not a long, hungry snake or a hairy thing with a million legs up to no good. It was not a creature at all but, rather, creatures. The thin moving line was, in fact, a tightly packed column of tiny men, women and children moving along the washing line from the direction of the carport roof to the garage. They were all carrying something whilst some pulled and pushed carts full of boxes and colourful bundles. Impossible. Impossible, repeated Alfie. IMPOSSIBLE. People cannot be this tiny! he told himself. He thought about calling his mother but then decided against it. Maybe later. He peered closer. It did not seem that any of the tiny people had noticed him. Some looked his way but it was not clear whether they actually saw him. There was no panic or any general running around and shouting, which you might expect if a large face suddenly appeared in the sky. He did notice, though, that there was consternation amongst them but it did not seem that he was the cause of it. People looked concerned and were pointing in the direction of the front of the line. He noticed, also, certain individuals running towards the front carrying swords in their hands.

  The washing line was quite long and he could not see from where he was what was happening at the front of the column. He got off his chair and dragged it closer to where the front would be. On climbing back onto the chair he found himself springing backwards for a second time and nearly falling off. Unexpectedly, he found himself up close to, six-inches-from-the-tip-of-his-nose close to, something that was at the top of his long list of things he did not like, of things he really did not like…a spider! Though the spider was small, its brown and light colouring just emphasised the fierceness of its eight legs, eight eyes and tube-like mouth. He quickly put the magnifying glass between him and the spider and was suddenly presented with a chaotic scene of desperate warfare and individual heroics. At the front of the column was a wall of soldiers with shields. Long spears stuck out between the shields and jabbed at the spider. From behind the shields stood three lines of soldiers throwing and firing rocks at it. The rocks did not seem to bother the spider in the slightest and it stood there still stamping and swinging its legs. Suddenly, the shield wall ran forward and crashed into the spider in an attempt to push it off the washing line but the spider was too strong. With a swipe of one of its legs it smashed the shield wall and sent it over the edge of the washing line. Quickly, a new shield wall was made with long jabbing spears. The tiny people were obviously losing the fight – the spider was just too big and strong. He decided that he had to help. How could he stand by and watch them die? But what could he do? Whatever it was he
needed to act fast. Another shield charge had just been sent hurtling off the washing line towards the pavement far below.

  “Spiders” he thought “hate them. HATE THEM. What can I do? No time to call for help”.

  He raised his hand, curled his index finger down the barrel of his thumb and took aim at the spider. His hand trembled.

  “I can’t get a clear shot. The spider is too close to the tiny people” he thought “might hit them as well. Only one thing for it”.

  He uncocked his index finger and pressed the tip of it on to the tip of his thumb, forming a pincer. He placed it above the spider. “Here goes” he said out loud. Taking a deep breath he lowered his fingers fast, snatched the spider between them and flung it high over the fence opposite into Mr Nicholls' garden. He rubbed his finger tips hard on his t-shirt then raised the magnifying glass once again. Wounded soldiers were now being tended to, either assisted to their feet or put on stretches. Where the spider had stood a group of soldiers now stood surrounding a taller man with a long beard. They were pointing in the direction that the spider had been flung through the air. The taller man then turned and looked in his direction. Was he looking at him? He couldn't be sure.

  “Alfie, time to go to the shops” his mum called from the house. “Come on now”.

  “Do I have to?” he shouted back. Not only did he hate shopping but how could he leave now after discovering the tiny people and defeating the spider in battle. They might need his help again.

  “Come on. Francis and Lou are in the car already.”

  He jumped off the chair and carried it into the kitchen. I’ll check on them when I get back, he thought. I won’t tell anybody about them just yet either. I found them. They’re mine.

  Braddle put one hand on his dagger and squeezed his mother’s hand with the other as they passed the spot where the fight with the spider had been.

  “They say”, someone behind him said, “that General Stoo, managed to push the spronger off the White Road single handedly.”

  “Really?” his companion asked. “If this is true then he is indeed the saviour of us all.” Braddle looked at his mother. Her cheeks where red and she looked angry. She squeezed his hand and then turned towards the men who had spoken.

  “Gentlemen, I can assure you that General Stoo is neither strong enough nor brave enough to have done what you have said.”

  She then turned back and carried on walking without waiting for any response. Why is she so angry? thought Braddle. He looked at the ground searching for any sign of the battle that had taken place. There was nothing.

  Did my father meet this spronger when he came down the White Road? Is that why he did not come back? He was about to tell his mother his fears but then stopped. No. I’ll wait until we reach the end of the White Road. He might be there waiting for us. Everything might be alright.

  Alfie returned from the shopping trip late in the afternoon. As soon as it was safe to do so and wouldn’t cause unwelcome interest from other family members, especially from his sister Lou, he carefully carried a chair back outside and placed it alongside the washing line. He jumped onto the chair and looked at the thin, white line…it was empty. The column of tiny people had gone. He looked back down the line to where it was attached to the cracked and broken carport roof. They must have come from there, he thought. He then looked back up the line to where it was attached to the garage. They must have gone on to the roof or inside the garage itself, he said to himself. He climbed off the chair and decided, as he carried it back into the kitchen, that he wouldn’t stop until he had found the tiny people once again and had found a way to communicate with them. It was strange but they did not seem to have noticed him, except, maybe, that man with the beard. At least I sorted that spider out. He laughed to himself. They must have been pretty amazed to see it suddenly flying off in to the sky like that. His mother walked into the kitchen.

  “Do you know what mum?” he asked. “Spiders are not that scary.”