Giant Page 5

  “We’re not going to the Shrouded Castle,” she assured him. “But we needed to go this way to reach the place where we are going. A place, I’m afraid, that’s . . . well . . . even worse.”

  “What?” The young giant sitting beside her jumped, nearly sliding into the river. “Do you really mean that?”

  “I do,” she said gravely. Pausing to choose the best words to describe her plan, she listened to the constant whooshing of the water. Finally, she explained, “We must go to . . . the Haunted Marsh.”

  “What?” he sputtered. “Why would we ever want to do that?”

  “Because that’s where we might find the sorceress Domnu. She is terribly unreliable . . . and in her own way, even more dangerous than the Haunted Marsh. But she is the only person on this whole island who might possibly have enough magic to help you. To keep you safe! With Tuatha gone and Stangmar on the throne . . . she is our only hope.”

  Utterly baffled, Shim stood up and waded into the river. Dunking his head again, he shook himself wildly and rubbed his fingers into his ears. As he returned to the bank, dripping wet, he shook himself again before sitting back down.

  “There,” he said with relief. “I needed to rinse out my cloggily ears! I thought you said we need to go to a truly dangerous, haunted swamp . . . to find an even more dangerous sorceress . . . who might possibly help us if she doesn’t kill us first.”

  Vonya peered at him sadly. “That’s right.”

  “What? Motherly, have you lost your mind?”

  “Maybe,” she replied, slumping dejectedly. “And yet . . . I can’t think of any other way to save you from Stangmar.”

  “We can hide, can’t we? Go someplace so secretish that he’ll never find us.”

  “There is no such place, Shim. Remember what Lunahlia said before the attack? Anyone who looks like a giant will surely die.”

  “But we’ll die if we do this crazily thing!”

  “Maybe so, my dearest.” She inhaled a long, uncertain breath. “Or maybe not. Which is why we have to try.”

  For a long moment, Shim peered at her, chewing his lip. Finally, he declared, “Whereverly you go, I’ll go.”

  9.

  FLOWERS OF PEACE

  Together, the intrepid pair crossed the river and climbed out of its canyon. Leaving that shelter behind, they found themselves exposed to the wind that often whipped across the grassy plains. Sometimes it blew so hard that Shim or Vonya lost their balance, grabbing the other’s arm for support.

  One of those howling gusts nearly knocked both of them over. To keep moving, they hunched their massive bodies down closer to the ground. Vonya’s hair rope, so recently decorated with white pelican feathers, had long since fallen free, so her auburn hair blew in the direction of the wind. And Shim’s always-wild mane looked even more frenzied than usual, blown in all directions like the radiating spines of an enormous sea urchin.

  At a lull, he asked, “Who could possibly live in this windsilly place?”

  “Dwarves,” replied Vonya. “But they live in caverns down under the ground. So they’re rarely seen by anyone.”

  “What are dwarves? I’ve neverly heard of them.”

  She waited for another gust to die down before responding. “They’re little people. Very little. About knee-high on a human.”

  Shim gave a compassionate sigh. “Poor them, being so smallsy. I’m very glad to be a giant . . . even on such a windywild day!”

  He didn’t notice Vonya’s frown.

  For the rest of that morning, they trekked eastward across the plains. While they met no creatures bigger than a tan-colored hare who hopped across their path, they saw abundant tracks of antelope as well as daggerclaw bear.

  Finally, when the sun was high overhead, they came to a deep ravine carved by a stream flowing out of the Dark Hills. Vonya proposed they stay the rest of the day in that spot, hidden by the ravine’s shadowed walls from the wind—and also from sight. Shim didn’t object. In fact, after a good drink from the stream, he quickly propped himself against the bank and fell fast asleep.

  Vonya, meanwhile, kept watch. Suddenly, she heard gruff voices and heavy boots approaching. Peeking over the eroded edge of the ravine, she spied a troop of gobsken, armed with spears and broadswords, marching across the plains. Completely motionless, she watched them pass, fighting back her fears . . . as well as her rage. She wanted to burst out of hiding and stomp every last one of them into dust! But she resisted. For she knew that her life now had just one purpose: to save her child.

  She watched the gobsken depart, vowing to succeed somehow.

  When the sun, at last, fell below the horizon, dusk cloaked the world in shadows. She roused Shim from his slumber—no easy feat. Then, side by side, they left the ravine and continued their trek.

  Bearing south to avoid the gobsken, they marched in silence. With nightfall, the winds lessened considerably, making it much easier to walk. Like two hulking shadows that had materialized out of the deepening dusk, they strode across the plains. But for the endless trill of crickets, and the distant howl of a wolf, they heard no sounds.

  Sometime during the night, they smelled smoke from campfires. Fearing a gobsken encampment, Vonya led them as far away as possible until the smoke dissipated. Heading south again, they passed near a human settlement from which they could hear strains of lovely music. Some people played on harps and flutes, while others sang soulfully.

  Caer Neithen, realized Vonya, the place people call Town of the Bards.

  Knowing that the town was the home of the great poet Cairpré, she felt tempted to veer over there and tell him all about the giants’ peril. But she held back, aware of the risks. Stangmar could have spies there, even in a place where music and scholarship ruled. Besides . . . a bard as wise as Cairpré probably already knew about the fate of Varigal, perhaps from his conversations with a soaring eagle or with one of those invisible wind sisters, beings who had flown high above Fincayra for almost as long as giants had walked upon its surface.

  As dawn began to brighten the sky, they smelled something rancid in the air—a revolting mix of stagnant water, rotten wood, and decomposing flesh. As the stench grew steadily stronger, they knew they were approaching their destination.

  Less than an hour later, they stood at the edge of the Haunted Marsh. The ground underfoot felt moist, even mushy. Ahead of them, dead trees stood in puddles of oozing murk. Distant shrieks and moans wafted out of the dark fog that encircled the skeletal trees and smothered the surrounding land.

  Shim set his hand on Vonya’s shoulder. His voice just a whisper, he asked, “Are you sure this is a goodly idea?”

  A spine-tingling shriek, from somewhere out there in the putrid fog, made him start. “This place feels shiverishly haunted.”

  Vonya turned toward him, her feet squelching in the muck. “Listen to me. We won’t know if this is a good idea or a bad one until we try.”

  She waved away a flock of bats who flew past her face. “But I can tell you this: The Haunted Marsh isn’t entirely what it seems.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Long ago,” she explained, “this place wasn’t a smelly bog at all. It was a vast meadowland, full of beautiful flowers and delicious fruits. Trees blossomed, birds sang, and colorful butterflies danced among the flowers.”

  Shim frowned in disbelief. “Really? Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Giants have long memories. And I remember hearing my dear grandpa tell me about how this place looked long ago . . . which he’d heard described by his own grandfather.”

  Still not convinced, Shim scanned the fetid landscape. Strange shapes, some that seemed almost aglow, moved through the fog. “If that’s true, then something awfullous must have happened here.”

  “It did. You see, a community of women also lived here. Women of magic. They called themselves the Xania-Soe,
which in the oldtongue means Flowers of Peace. For many years, they studied these meadows, learning how to coax powerful perfumes from the flowers—scents that could be used for healing and creating. But the magic of those flowers was strong. If used wrongly, it could also be made to destroy other forms of life.”

  She paused, still hearing the wonder—and the fear—in her grandpa’s voice as he described what came next.

  “So powerful was the work of the Xania-Soe, even the wind refused to blow through this region. That was the only way to prevent such dangerous knowledge from spreading elsewhere . . . and falling into evil hands. Hands that would seek not to heal, but to destroy.”

  A round of terrifying shrieks, from deep in the fog, halted her. Protectively, Shim slid his arm through hers.

  “Eventually, the secret power of this place was discovered by a terrible warlord bent on conquering the entire island. An ancestor of our own evil Gawr. He tried to conquer the Flowers of Peace and steal their great knowledge—and he almost succeeded.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just when the evil army was about to invade and the women knew that all hope was lost, they made a terrible sacrifice. To repel the invaders, they threw a curse on their beloved homeland—a curse that made their magical flowers spew poisonous vapors into the air. Those very poisons seeped into the land itself, twisting all life into death, all light into shadow. Despite all their rage and grief, the women refused to leave their longtime home. Soon, they transformed into deadly, ghastly beings—the marsh ghouls.”

  Shim’s whole body stiffened. “So this place really is verily haunted!”

  “It is, yes. The marsh ghouls are all that’s left of that once-marvelous community. And they continue to guard their territory. They feel only sorrow and rage, I’m afraid . . . and they take deadly revenge on anyone who dares to enter.”

  “Which is what you want us to do! Motherly, you is full of madness!”

  She heaved a heavy sigh. “I suppose you’re right. I am full of madness . . . at least when it comes to saving you.”

  “So we really must go in there?”

  “Yes, we must. It’s no accident the sorceress Domnu chose to live in the middle of this frightful place. She wants only visitors who are truly desperate, who will give everything they have for her help.”

  Shim shuddered. No telling which was worse—the ghouls, the swamp, or the sorceress. “Do you truly want to do this?”

  Peering deep into his eyes, she asked, “Knowing everything I’ve told you . . . do you?”

  He gazed back at her. Finally, he said, “Whereverly you go . . . I’ll go.”

  “All right, then.”

  They faced the Haunted Marsh, where voices shrieked and wailed, poisonous fumes drifted, and shapeless forms floated. Then, arm in arm, they entered it together.

  10.

  MARSH GHOULS

  A reeking smell, like festering fish, drifted over the two giants as they plodded deeper into the swamp. Their enormous bare feet squelched noisily in the muck. Arm in arm, they kept walking, even as the fog darkened around them.

  Meanwhile, the wailing and shrieking cries swelled louder. One high, thin voice in particular made Shim’s skin crawl. Heavy with suffering, it came from someone keening in anguish.

  Suddenly, Vonya halted, making Shim also stop. Off to one side appeared a faint, wavering light . . . as eerie as the vague glow they’d seen earlier, but more intense. The light hovered in the darkness, shrouded by swirling vapors. It seemed, somehow, to be watching them. A marsh ghoul!

  Another eerie light appeared, floating right in front of them. Then another, and another. Before long, a dozen or more lights glowed ominously, wavering and watching.

  “Let’s keep going,” said Vonya. Trying to sound more confident than she felt, she added, “Maybe the ghouls won’t harm us.”

  Slowly, they trudged ahead. The wailing voices grew louder, like a pack of wolves surrounding their prey. With every step, the muck smelled more rancid, assaulting their noses and throats, even as it oozed between their toes and clung to their ankles.

  All the while . . . the lights circled, drawing ever closer. Reflected in pools of slime, the lights flickered rhythmically. Sometimes they flared with sudden brightness. Shim felt sure the ghouls were communicating with each other, plotting their attack.

  “Aaaarrgh!” cried Vonya as she stepped off a ledge into a deep pool. She pitched forward, losing her grip on Shim. As she splashed down, she sank steadily deeper into the muck.

  “No!” shouted Shim. Panic exploded in his mind, making him freeze.

  Then, unexpectedly, he felt a surge of strength, pushing aside the panic. Help her! Must help her! She couldn’t be far away. Maybe still within reach.

  Guided by the sound of her cries for help and her wild flailing, he fell to his knees. Creeping as close as he dared to the edge of the pool, he reached forward, feeling for her. “Come to me,” he shouted. “I’m right here!”

  Her flailing continued. She coughed violently, spitting out ooze that she’d swallowed. Though Shim knew she was somewhere close, he couldn’t see her in the gloom. But he reached out even farther—for in just a few more seconds, she could drown.

  “I’m right here! Let me help you!”

  Her hand! It slapped against his wrist, clasping tight. He grabbed her with his other hand and tugged mightily.

  At first, she didn’t budge. Her continued flailing seemed only to drag her down deeper. And then . . . she moved a bit nearer to him.

  Shim pulled harder. The muscles on his back and arms and legs burned painfully. But he barely noticed. Nothing was going to stop him now—nothing at all.

  Finally, with a sudden lurch and a loud thhhwucckk, she reached the edge beside him. Weakly, she crawled higher as he pulled her out of the pool.

  Together, they leaned against each other, panting heavily in the darkness. Although Vonya coughed some more, she seemed uninjured. Shim, meanwhile, felt satisfied just to know that she was there with him again.

  As all this was happening, the marsh ghouls’ wailing cries grew more frenzied. At the same time, their eerie lights pressed closer. They floated right above the huddled giants, as well as on every side . . . as if all they wanted to do was cause more suffering, more anguish, more loss.

  Jumping to his feet, Shim shouted into the gloom. “Stop harassing us, you wickedly persons! We didn’t come to this place for your murkish madness. We came here for some help!”

  The voices shrieked angrily, unused to such treatment. Wild howlings swelled along with snarls and moans. Simultaneously, the lights flashed intensely, surging closer.

  Shim, though, paid no heed. With his mother slumped beside him, still coughing from her ordeal, he burned with righteous indignation.

  “Back off!” he cried, raising his muddy fists at the marsh ghouls. “I know you’re angry because you lost your homes and your families. Well, so did we! Just yesterday—we lost everything and everyone!”

  The wailing cries abruptly ceased. Meanwhile, the floating lights dimmed and pulled a little farther away.

  “We’re the only giants left,” he called into the fetid air. “My mother and me! She almost died just now . . . and you don’t care a bit. Don’t you know what it’s like to have a mother? A loved one? A somelybody you’d do anything to save?”

  The lights drew back even more. But Shim wasn’t yet finished.

  “Go back to your ghoulishness. Just leave us alone! So we can find that wicked sorceress who will maybily help us.”

  Roaring into the darkness, he added, “Go now! Go away! Just like you would if you was still the same as long ago—peaceful and magical and lovelyish. If you was still . . . Flowers of Peace.”

  Instantly, the lights went out, their glowing extinguished. Cast into complete darkness, the giants couldn’t see anything. All they could he
ar was their own ragged breathing, the occasional cough, and the pounding of their hearts. But at least . . . they still had each other.

  Wobbling, Vonya regained her feet. She wrapped both arms, dripping with muck, around her son. Gladly, he hugged her back.

  Though darkness blanketed them, she knew just where to find his ear. And into it she whispered, “Like I told you before, you know the most important thing about being a giant.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, my jelly roll, you do.” She cleared her throat. “Bigness means more than the size of your bones.”

  For the first time, he caught at least a hint of the meaning in those words.

  Suddenly—the marsh ghouls’ light returned, glowing brighter than before. Yet instead of surrounding the two bedraggled giants . . . they now formed a long, serpentine line of light that led across the marsh, stretching far into the distance. A radiant pathway.

  Then, to the shock of Shim and Vonya, they noticed something else: Beneath the glowing lights of the marsh ghouls, flowers bloomed. As brightly colored as the surrounding swamp was bland, the flowers lined the luminous path.

  Without any words, the two giants started walking. Stepping in unison through the flowers, they followed the path around bottomless pits, sharp ledges, and dead trees—as well as the shadowed lairs of beings that hissed or growled as they passed. Yet even amidst such dangerous surroundings, they knew beyond doubt that they would now survive crossing the marsh.

  For this wondrous pathway was a gift. A gift from the Flowers of Peace.

  11.

  NO TURNING BACK

  Wearily, the two mud-crusted giants trudged for several hours across the Haunted Marsh. Guided by the luminous, flowering pathway of the marsh ghouls, they avoided the various death traps that would otherwise have ended their trek . . . and their lives. Even so, both Shim and Vonya felt continually oppressed by the rancid, stifling air of the swamp. It stung their eyes and burned their lungs, making them both miss the clean mountain air of Varigal. Even the relentless, howling wind of the plains was preferable to this fetid fog!