Giants lc-1 Page 17

  Joash didn’t know what to think. But he dared ask, “Lord, do you think Tarag will try to stop us from leaving Giant Land?”

  “Yes. But let us see if we can outfox him at least one more time.”

  Afterward, Joash found himself walking again. That had been a strange talk. He wondered where Mimir was, and how quickly the giant and First Born would learn the sabertooths hadn’t slain them. He hoped Tarag wouldn’t learn until he was safely aboard ship.

  * * *

  Mimir ran his big thumb along his axe. A spot of blood spurted. His Bolverk-forged weapon was sharp and ready for the grim work ahead. Behind him were his brethren, towering giants who had met them since they’d left Draugr’s Crypt.

  To his right, Tarag gathered his sabertooths. The massive First Born wore the adamant mail and helmet, and he readied his adamant shield and sword.

  Tarag and he, after a grueling march from the crypt, had come upon the manslayers, Tarag’s special sabertooths. Each was a vicious beast, each as big as Old Three-Paws. From cub-hood to maturity Tarag had trained these sabertooths. They obeyed him with precision, and they fawned upon him in a way that puzzled Mimir. Perhaps only in the company of such beasts did Tarag have a sense of belonging. Mimir had noticed that while Tarag freely sent untrained sabertooths to their doom in order to further his plans, the manslayers were used only when the odds favored a quick victory. Whether the First Born did this out of love for his brethren, or out of cold calculation to keep his own elect troop intact, Mimir hadn’t yet decided.

  In any regard, Tarag had been surrounded by his manslayers when they came upon the giants at the cedar-topped hill. Ygg the Terrible would have dared to march to Draugr’s Crypt, but Tarag had declined his offer. None of the other giants had offered to join the quest but had awaited the outcome. Among the giants, Ygg was the only necromancer. The others practiced their gift when the need arose. Otherwise, they refrained from magic. Like Mimir, they relied on their powerful limbs, their Bolverk-forged swords, spears, and axes, and their unmatched valor.

  The giants wore horned or nasal-guarded helmets, heavy scale-mail shirts that hung down to their knees, and leather leggings, which like their shoes, had been reinforced with iron plates. The legendary Bolverk, the mastersmith of the giants, had forged each piece of armor, each weapon.

  “The human scouts are dead,” said Ygg the Terrible.

  Mimir nodded. This was his idea. He had talked Tarag into it. No one must learn what had occurred in the crypt. Otherwise the humans and their champions might find a way to thwart them. Nor did he trust cunning Lord Uriah. That old fox thought he was safe in his camp. The coming surprise would badly startle Uriah.

  Mimir rose and carefully peered below, being sure that no one spotted him. Ships were anchored in Hori Cove. Out of the circular stone fort herders dragged steppe stallions. They dragged them to the waiting barges brought close to shore.

  No one could leave Giant Land to warn others that giants had joined with Tarag.

  Light flashed off Tarag’s sword. It was the signal.

  Mimir lifted his axe and jumped up. He roared his battle cry and led his giants down the gentle slope. The slaughter was about to begin.

  * * *

  The screams of the dying lessened as the sabertooths feasted upon human flesh. Ygg the Terrible reveled in the death. By his heinous arts, the necromancer managed to contain several spirits in his sun-bleached skulls. Later in an underground vault, or upon a raging battlefield, the spirits would be consumed. The spirits would fuel Ygg’s grisly spells.

  Mimir had little taste for such magic, nor did he care to observe the monstrous manslayers lap blood from the brave, from dead charioteers and herders. There seemed to have been fewer charioteers here than he’d expected.

  The attack had been sudden and swift, and had caught the humans in the midst of their horse loading. Only one ship and a barge had limped out of the cove and into the Suttung Sea. Unfortunately, neither cunning Lord Uriah nor iron-willed Zillith lay among the slain. It was too much to hope that they’d drowned with the panicked throng on the beach.

  As he sat near a boulder, Mimir poured over Zillith’s notes jotted on a roll of Iddo papyrus. In her haste to escape she must have forgotten it. The other giants tended to their minor wounds or sharpened weapons. Stout, white-haired men bred as hereditary slaves and burdened as mules waited patiently nearby. Mimir lowered the papyrus roll. It was a list of herbs and plants discovered by Zillith in the nearby marsh. It was of slight interest. Mimir scowled. She should not have been allowed to escape. They needed to kill the Seraphs. They could yet prove troublesome.

  “Look,” Gaut said, a cousin of Mimir’s.

  Two sooty sabertooths padded toward them. Mimir saw they were manslayers. Their fur was singed, and they smelled like smoke. He’d seen the night-fire, but midsummer flash fires weren’t that rare. The manner of these cats worried him.

  The two sabertooths ignored the giants. They zeroed in on the feasting Tarag.

  Watching the two cats, Mimir wondered once more upon his father Jotnar’s wisdom. Tarag’s hatred of anything human-like was consuming. Tarag often boasted how he ate meat raw, how he needed nothing in the way of civilization, how even the giants had turned soft in their quest for luxuries. And by luxury, Tarag meant books, boats, fine clothes, and works of art, anything that made life bearable. From these ravings, Mimir had learned that Tarag envisioned a much different world than Jotnar, or his children the giants, did. The humans were to be slain, their edifices burnt to the ground. Only the pristine glory of the wilderness would be left. In that wilderness would rule the Pride of Tarag.

  Mimir returned to Zillith’s journal.

  Sometime later Mimir looked up sharply. Tarag roared with rage and shook a fire-singed sabertooth like a rat. With a final snarl, Tarag sank his fangs into the sabertooth and hurled it away. The furry body twitched on the beach of bloody sand. The massive First Born, clad in the adamant armor and with the adamant sword at his side, clanked toward Mimir. Sabertooths trotted behind him like dogs.

  Mimir cleared his throat. The giants arose, their weapons in hand.

  Soon, Tarag motioned for Mimir to approach. Reluctantly, Mimir did. Despite the nearby giants, Mimir cautioned himself to follow all the rituals of protocol. He knelt on one knee before Tarag. The First Born’s yellow eyes shone with fury. Mimir bent his head.

  “The humans who went to the crypt still live,” Tarag snarled.

  Mimir blinked several times as he gathered his thoughts. This was bad.

  “They used fire to drive away my manslayers.”

  Mimir nodded, but still didn’t look up.

  “Speak!”

  “High One, we must stop the humans from reaching the ship which escaped.”

  “Well spoken, O wise one.”

  The First Born Gog, Mimir knew, sometimes saw Lord Uriah and Zillith in his visions. But Gog never saw Lod, nor had Gog ever seen this Joash. Could the manling be as dangerous as Lod? How otherwise to explain this disaster? He’d been a fool not to enslave Joash the first night of their meeting.

  “You will take your giants and insure the death of these humans,” Tarag was saying.

  “High One, surely your sabertooths can better track these interlopers than I or my kinsmen can.”

  “No! You will repair the damage.”

  “High One, it was your sabertooths who failed the simple task.”

  Tarag hissed with rage.

  Mimir kept his head bowed in submission. “O High One, we must destroy these humans before they spread word of our deed. Therefore, let us each send a team to destroy them, or perhaps we should all go and make certain of this killing.”

  “I must leave immediately. The Gibborim will grow suspicious if we do not show up in time.”

  “We should both send a team then to slay these humans, and slay Lord Uriah.”

  “I will send two parties of manslayers. They will drive any local sabertooths onto the battlefield and
thus increase their numbers.”

  “I’ll send Gaut Windrunner with as many giants as he can gift for speed.”

  “You yourself will also go,” Tarag said.

  Mimir was beginning to believe that Joash could be a powerful addition to the giants. Yes, there were ways to trick one like him. “Very well, High One. As you will it.”

  Tarag strode away.

  It was only as he dusted off his knee that Mimir wondered upon Tarag’s easy acceptance of his plan. He nodded. It would be wisest to take the hardiest giants, because the sooner they finished with this, the sooner they could be back to insure Tarag’s good faith.

  * * *

  Adah hobbled beside Joash. When he offered her his arm, she declined.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “You mean besides my blistered feet?”

  “Adah!”

  She was silent for a time. “We’re no longer alone, Joash.”

  His heart sank. What was she trying to say?

  “I’m older than you,” she said.

  “So?”

  She finally faced him. “Joash, you know so little about me. Believe me, I’m not the sort of person you want to…”

  “Yes?”

  She avoided his eyes. “You kissed me before.”

  He felt heat rise in him. It wasn’t that he’d never kissed a girl before. He’d kissed Amery once, but she’d slapped him afterward. He’d also kissed this girl back in Elon, many times. Then her father had found out, and he’d never seen her again. Adah, though, she was different. Yes, she was older, but not that much older.

  “You should know a girl first before you kiss her,” Adah said, reproach in her voice.

  “I know that when that orn attacked me, you shot it. I know you stopped Elidad from beating me.”

  “Those aren’t reasons to kiss someone.”

  “They are if you like the person,” Joash said.

  “But you don’t know me! You don’t know the horror I’ve gone through. You don’t know how scarred I’ve become.”

  “You mean in Poseidonis?”

  “Yes!” she said.

  Joash nodded. “I’ve heard a little about that. It sounds like Balak. It sounds like you were something close to an egg thief.”

  “What?”

  Joash told her about Balak and stealing pterodactyl eggs, and he told her how Herrek had rescued him from the brutal half-giant.

  “Now I’m more certain than ever you’re one of us,” she said. “Elohim must have guided Herrek to that beach in order to rescue you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When the bene elohim descended onto Earth, the Shining Ones followed shortly,” Adah said, switching to her singer’s tone. “After a thousand years of war, the bene elohim were defeated and their spirits taken to a terrible place of punishment. Now, in their fathers’ stead, stand the First Born and Nephilim. They, however, are mortal beings. It is not in Elohim’s plan to contest against them with celestial beings. Rather, mortals will contest them.”

  Joash wondered at this sudden shift. They’d been talking about her and him. Now, she was talking about First Born and Shining Ones.

  “Others must take the place of the Shining Ones,” Adah said, still using her singer’s voice.

  Joash shrugged, but decided to play along. “You mean champions, like Herrek?”

  “At times.”

  “Who can defeat First Born?”

  “A wise question indeed.”

  “No one is strong enough to defeat Tarag,” Joash said.

  “Maybe strength isn’t the prized quality.”

  “What is?” he asked.

  “The inner flame of a person, his or her convictions, the ability and the desire to do what is right.” Adah paused, taking a deep breath. “Elohim lifts His own champions. He or she can be anyone: a singer, a patriarch, a warrior, or even a groom. But one is never forced into the contest. Elohim’s choice must be accepted. A free will is needed for that. Maybe that is the reason Lord Uriah made you a groom. He wanted you to learn to be free, and to make choices.”

  “Lord Uriah?”

  “Such a one, called to Elohim’s service against the bene elohim brood, is called a Seraph. Sometimes, a Seraph is a map-reader, or a ship captain, or a singer, or a groom. Always, however, it’s someone who stands in the breach against the evil ones.”

  Joash couldn’t speak. He was beginning to understand where she was taking this.

  “The magic emeralds didn’t overcome your wits,” Adah said. “Your inner flame must be high indeed. Maybe even as high as Lod’s.”

  “Who’s Lod?”

  “He’s one who wars with all his heart against the First Born and their children.”

  “Is Herrek a Seraph?”

  Adah shook her head.

  “Herrek fought against the evil ones,” Joash said.

  “All good people should fight them. A Seraph, however, is one who dedicates his life to stopping the evil ones. He is in a sense like the Shining Ones who were here to defeat the bene elohim.”

  Dread filled Joash. All he wanted was to be a warrior, and to have Adah. To become a…a…Seraph— “Will I be a prophet?”

  “Not all Seraphs are prophets, nor are all prophets Seraphs. For instance, I’m not a prophet. And it’s wise to know that the evil Morningstar uses many false prophets with lying tongues.”

  Joash wiped his brow. Adah, the woman he’d kissed, was obviously a Seraph. “Is Lord Uriah a Seraph?”

  “Yes, and so is Zillith. Now you, Joash, can also become a Seraph, if you accept the charge.”

  “What you say is difficult.”

  Adah nodded.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  She nodded again.

  “I must think on this.”

  “Wise,” she said.

  “I’m scared.”

  “You should be.”

  “Does a Seraph always win?”

  “No.”

  “But a Seraph is Elohim’s agent.”

  “In this life, victory does not always go to the righteous. It rains on the wicked and on the good. In fact, evil is strong, for many hands work against Elohim. The rebellion begun in the Celestial Realm is now carried out on Earth.”

  Joash was unconvinced he was qualified to be a Seraph. How could he hunt First Born and Nephilim? Who was he to take up such a task?

  “How do you know if I’m even qualified?” he asked.

  “At the cave,” Adah asked, “who was not bewitched by the emeralds?”

  “I must think carefully,” Joash said. This was all so sudden. He wondered, for just a moment, if Adah was dumping all this on him so she could avoid talking about the two of them.

  “Very well,” Adah said. “But remember, sometimes no answer is an answer.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She smiled, squeezed his arm, and then signaled Lord Uriah that she wished to ride again. Soon Adah stepped beside Lord Uriah and left Joash to his thoughts.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Beach

  Goliath… stepped out from his lines and shouted his usual defiance… When the Israelites saw the man, they all ran from him in great fear.

  — 1 Samuel 17: 23, 24

  Lord Uriah called a halt beside a muddy spring. It was hot, and the horses were tired.

  After waiting his turn, Joash used his silk cloth to filter out the worst of the mud. He lugged the water to Herrek’s new horse-team. For most of the day he’d kept a sharp lookout for sabertooths, or for a flash of reflected sunlight that meant an armored giant or First Born. He’d seen gorgeous orange poppies, and a field of dandelions where plump rabbits nibbled. With his sling he’d bagged two. After hobbling the horses in a pasture of lush grass, he skinned the rabbits and put the meat on skewers. Amery brought coals from Lord Uriah’s fire, while Beker tossed dry bison-chips that he’d collected during the march. Three pots of tea began to boil and the rabbits sizzled. Joash cut up
day-old meat for Othniel’s hounds. The big brutes gobbled the meat and then went back to the spring for more water.

  The chores helped calm Joash’s thoughts. Seraphs, giants, and First Born who controlled sabertooths, it was all very daunting. He wanted to forget about trolocks, the lichs of bene elohim, and ancient weapons forged in an age of Earth-shattering wars. He was a groom, and someday, despite his leanness, he wanted to become a charioteer.

  Joash rubbed his nose, wondering how Harn was doing, and then he wondered about Nestor. Would Nestor continue to be Herrek’s groom when his leg healed? Or would Nestor also step up in rank and become a warrior? Nestor’s bold drawing of his sword when the yellow-fanged sabertooth had attacked could be enough to propel him into warrior-hood.

  “Here now,” Othniel said, “quit staring at the flames or you’ll burn the rabbits.”

  Joash grinned sheepishly, giving the spits a turn. The rabbits smelled good. His mouth watered in anticipation.

  “Wonder which beach we’ll use,” Karim said, sitting at the fire.

  Joash cocked an ear, but was sidetracked when Amery nudged him.

  “Bet you don’t get to eat any of your rabbits,” she whispered. She ran off to Lord Uriah’s fire, where Adah and the standard-bearer sat.

  Joash frowned. He wondered if Adah was avoiding him, and he frowned because he knew that Amery was probably right. Too bad he hadn’t been able to bag one more rabbit. Actually, that he’d gotten one, let alone two, had made him feel good. His slinging had improved. Ever since the incident with the hyenas his confidence with the sling had soared. Confidence seemed more important than closing one eye and aiming, or trying to remember what the Massa slave had said about releasing one string at precisely the right moment. It wasn’t a confidence that he could manufacture, either. It had to be a gut-level feeling. After saving Harn and himself from the hyenas, he just knew he could hit what he aimed at. Now when he missed, it didn’t shatter his confidence like it used to. He just shrugged and tried again. Two rabbits had been the result.