Into the Hourglass

by King, Emily R.

The first mate pulls another shiny red apple from his pocket. “I’ve other plans.” He smiles thinly. “Enjoy your meal, my lady.”

  He takes a bite of his apple and saunters out, locking me in the giant’s lair.

  Chapter Nine

  It is a well-known fact that a human who enters a giant’s domain is likely to never again see their family or friends. I think of this caution, and of my chances of surviving and seeing my uncle or Jamison again, as I scan Captain Redmond’s quarters.

  In many ways, his cabin is furnished like any officer’s, with a bunk, a table, and a desk, except everything is larger.

  A leathery tail sticks out from under the bunk where the captain’s crocodile sleeps. I stay across the cabin, far from the croc and near several carnyxes propped against the wall. Each battle horn has a bell on the bottom shaped in the form of an animal, including a bear, a crocodile, a serpent, and a wild boar. They all have dings and nicks, as though they spent time on the front line of a battlefield.

  Colorful maps and globes on the captain’s desk catch my attention. Seven globes are set in order, with the Land of the Living in the center and the six Otherworlds circling it, three on each side. They are the Land of Promise, the Other Land, the Land of Youth, the Plain of Delight, the Land Under the Wave, and finally the Silver-Clouded Plain. Although the flag of the Realm of Wyeth features the seven worlds, I’ve never noticed the layout resembles a round clockface, with the worlds in place of numbers.

  Each globe has its own moon, with an individual symbol on the base. The Land of Promise, the elves’ world, has an ivy crown wreathing an apple, the same mark I found on the torn flag and the coin while near that ship on the Skeleton Coast. Was the ship we took shelter in elven? Did Radella recognize the symbol?

  My fingers brush over the Land of Youth, Markham’s world. Seeing it again from a different perspective carves in me a deeper well of sorrow. I cannot fathom the total number of innocent lives lost and futures stolen. For a whole world to fall, the casualties . . .

  Beneath the globes, a large map of the Land Under the Wave is spread across the desk. This world has one continent that, according to the scale, is the size of a large island. I locate the Skeleton Coast on the northwest end, and on the eastern side are Merrow Lagoon, Skull Reef, and Hangman’s Spit. The village of Eventide, the only town on the land that’s labeled, is right by the lagoon.

  I commit the map to memory, relying on my experience drawing charts of my own. As I do, I notice another city far away from the continent, in the middle of the sea—the mythical underwater city of Everblue.

  Seamen back home sing a chantey about the merrows’ stronghold at the bottom of the sea. My father would sing it sometimes while he was combing or braiding my or my sister’s hair. The lyrics flow off my lips.

  Below the sun dance sapphire stars.

  The moon bleeds rubies to catch in a jar.

  The tides sing a song for the true,

  Ever strong, ever flowing, ever blue.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve heard that tune,” says a rumbly voice.

  Captain Redmond enters his cabin, followed by two crewmen bearing utensils, bowls, and a large pot. The giant changed into an elegant burgundy velvet dinner jacket with black buttons and oiled down his mustache to frame his thin lips.

  His crocodile slides out from under the bunk to greet his master.

  “Tattler, come say hello to my new timepiece,” he says.

  I force myself to address the croc, something I couldn’t do if I were merely a mechanism. “A pleasure to meet you, Tattler.”

  “I found him off Skull Reef when he was just a baby, chewing on a waterlogged clock. I knew straightaway we would be friends.”

  Tattler lies still as his master strokes his scaly head and back. The crewmen finish setting the table and leave us to our dinner. I stay near the desk, equally avoiding the giant and his pet, and waste no time addressing my foremost worry.

  “Did you truly give the sword of Avelyn to the merrow king? Or was that said to misdirect Markham?”

  The giant’s lips slip up in amusement. “Are you usually this quick to call someone a liar?”

  “My association with Markham has taught me to be thorough.”

  “The sword is indeed at the bottom of the sea, I presume in King Dorian’s castle. No land dweller can survive the swim down to Everblue, so give up all thought of getting it back.”

  “But if you traded with the merrow king, there must be a way—”

  “For you to take back the sword and return it to Father Time?” The giant laughs at my outlandish suggestion, the sound a cavernous rumble. “I think not, Ticker.”

  He must not believe I was sent here by Father Time. “But it’s true. Father Time asked me to find the sword of Avelyn. You must—”

  “I won’t discuss this matter for another second. Remember that your husband’s comfort aboard this ship depends on my generosity. Now, let’s have a pleasant meal, shall we?” Captain Redmond lifts the lid of the pot and inhales the steam. “My cook boiled a piece of centicore backstrap that I traded for the last time we were at port. Meat is a rare treat in these waters. We don’t get much wild game here.”

  I encountered a centicore while in the Thornwoods. The massive horned beast charged and tried to gore me to death. “The stew isn’t also made with something else . . . ?”

  “You mean the flesh of humans? No, I’ve never favored the flavor. You must be hungry. Osric said he hasn’t fed you all day.”

  I squeeze out a small smile. “I would have some, but I don’t eat meat.”

  Captain Redmond sets the lid down on the table. “Why not?”

  “My parents worshipped Mother Madrona. They believed all life is blessed by her creation power.”

  The captain stirs the stew with the ladle. “Are you one of these so-called children?”

  “I suppose so.” Before I visited the Everwoods and met Father Time, I never thought of myself as one of the Children of Madrona. I had conformed to my family’s beliefs for simplicity’s sake, yet I have now come to accept that creation power exists in us all. “I was raised to believe giants and elves are legends; however, we accept the existence of the Otherworlds.”

  “Otherworlds,” Captain Redmond scoffs. “The Creator crafted the seven worlds collectively. There is no ‘other.’ As a whole, the worlds have one name—Avelyn.”

  My clock heart ticks faster, its beat soft but purposeful. My sword was named after Avelyn, or perhaps Avelyn was named after the sword.

  “The giants were the firstborns of Mother Madrona. We keep the histories of Avelyn straight and even named each of the seven worlds. Giants were Madrona’s rightful inheritors of the Land of the Living, yet humankind inherited it.”

  I note his bitterness, though I cannot say if his opinion holds validity, as I have never heard this story. “How so?”

  Captain Redmond lowers into his chair. “Humans truly are a forgetful lot.”

  “Giants are condescending.”

  He chuckles without humor. “Sit, Ticker, and I will tell you the story of the triad.”

  Obviously, my invitation to join him for supper was for his entertainment. If he wants to teach the ignorant human why she and her kind are thieves of his inheritance, then let him.

  I slide onto the bench and kneel to see over the tall table. Before me are a regular-size spoon, bowl, and cup of water. He pours a ladle of stew into my bowl despite my declaration that I don’t eat meat, and I notice ink markings on his forearm. The first mark is a sandglass with all the sand in the bottom and the second the face of a clock. I sip my water as he lifts the ladle to his mouth like a spoon, dining directly from the big pot. He does not slurp or shovel in his food, and he dabs his mouth with his napery. His manners are better than I presumed a giant’s would be.

  “When the ancient elderwood, Mother Madrona, created life, she bore giants from her bark, elves from her leaves, and humans—”

  “From her acorns. Yes, ye
s. Humans know the origin story of the triad.”

  “Impatient,” the captain mutters. “Humans are also impatient.”

  I press my lips together.

  “For a time, the triad lived as brothers and sisters in the Land of the Living, but when they began to contend among themselves, Madrona sent the elves to the Land of Promise and sent the giants to the Silver-Clouded Plain, and then bestowed the Land of the Living, her first and most precious world, upon mankind.” His meaty hand tightens around the ladle, his voice coarsening. “Giants live longer than humans, so we had ample time to fester over this injustice. As the first generation of humans died off, the giants began to plot an invasion to reclaim our birthright.”

  This story feels familiar, not sweet in the way my mother would recount The Legend of Princess Amadara. I recognize the tale from a deeper, hazier memory.

  The captain blows across his steaming stew. “My ancestors strategized for forty years, and on the first full moon of the fortieth summer, they gathered their armies and snuck through a portal tunnel to the Land of the Living. Their line of attack caught the humans unaware, and they commenced their slaughter.”

  I shift uncomfortably, even more certain now that I have heard this story, yet I still cannot remember where.

  Captain Redmond swallows another bite of stew. I am not inclined to touch mine; the overly rich smell alone sours my belly. “The human armies were no match for the giants,” he continues with no small amount of pride. “When the elves saw that the giants would prevail, they allied with the humans. And so the triad fought, brother against brother, sister against sister.” He gestures at the rack of battle horns. “The giants’ battle cries carried through the tunnels all the way to our home world. They were unstoppable with the ax and the spear.”

  The captain describes the war as though it happened yesterday. This story must be passed down by his ancestors the same way the Children of Madrona pass on traditions about the call of life and the sanctity of creation power.

  “We were set to win until Father Time called the Creator to the battlefield.” Captain Redmond’s jawline hardens and his gaze flattens. “He showed her the future of Avelyn if the giants prevailed. Eiocha was sorrowful over the bloodshed, so she played a lullaby on her violin that put our army into a deep sleep. The elves aspired to slay them where they lay, but Eiocha would not abide more killing. She sent the elves back to their world and appointed them as overseers for the Land of the Living. Then she flung her violin into the sun, destroying it, and hid away the instrument’s maker.”

  This is not the first time I have heard of Eiocha’s music. It is said that after she cut the worlds from the cloth of the eternities with the sword of Avelyn, she sewed them high in the heavens with a song on her violin. Some say the true call of life is this song and that the melody can be heard in the first few moments of nighttime when the stars twinkle to life.

  The captain’s mouth twists grimly. “Over time, trees grew over the warrior giants, concealing them in the land. Humans forgot they were there, forgot their triad of brothers and sisters, forgot the violin and the Creator’s song. Even today, your people travel through the forest where our warriors sleep, unaware how close their ancestors came to annihilation.”

  I recall this tale now . . . well, a portion of it. My father often said that giants lived in northern Wyeth. I wish I could remember what else he told me.

  The captain’s focus turns inward, his tone bleak. “As punishment for infiltrating another world, Eiocha sealed off the Silver-Clouded Plain with a curse, so that any giant who leaves our world is shut out. We can leave, but we cannot go back.”

  “The portals only work in one direction . . . so you’re stuck here?”

  “Aye. The village of Eventide is full of runaways and castaways, all banished or marooned from the seven worlds. The merrow king and his subjects tolerate our presence, but we are taxed mightily, and land-dweller resources are scarce. We steal and trade and hoard and scavenge to find beauty in this inhospitable world.” He blots his lips clean with a napery, his manners a strange contrast to his morose mood. “I granted Neely permission to inspect your clock heart again, but I am not hopeful. He has been unsuccessful in keeping any of my clocks running.”

  My fingers tense on my water cup. Osric said the clocks were ruined by salt water or the damp air, but I think this world where the tides set the hour isn’t made for human timepieces. Our clocks don’t belong here and neither do I. I attempt to keep my voice light. “How long do the clocks run for before they stop?”

  “Some last a day, others last weeks. It depends on the quality of the craftsmanship.” Captain Redmond exhales a shallow sigh. “I didn’t intend to become a collector. I’m searching for a certain clock, so I began by trading for timepieces sight unseen. I have yet to acquire the one I’m after, a silver pocket watch with clouds painted on its face. It belonged to my grandfather. That pocket watch was the only possession on my person when I was banished from home.” The giant rubs a hand against his heart as though it pains him to live without his watch. “Show me your ticker.”

  His command feels like icy water dumped over my head. He could reach across the table and reveal my clock heart by force, but I would loathe for him to touch me. Very slowly, I tug aside my shirt collar.

  “It’s still beating,” he muses. “Perhaps you’ll be my clock that survives, Ticker.”

  I cover myself again, my throat hot. “I have a clock for a heart, but that doesn’t make me one.”

  “Doesn’t it, though? We are what we carry in our heart.”

  The backs of my eyes burn. My ticker is made of cogs and gears, a balance wheel, and a torsion spring. It is crafted from wood and metal, materials that have no emotion. Perhaps that’s all I am. Perhaps Markham cut out all the good parts of me and left nothing but emptiness.

  Can I be more? Assisting Father Time gives me a defined purpose. Before this, my aim was to avenge my family. But neither accomplishment will change the past. What I want above all, what I’ve always wanted, is for the power that preserves me to become the power that changes me back into what I was. To make me whole, to help me out of the dark so I can stand in the light with nothing to fear about who I am. Secrets are a burden. The weight of mine has pressed down upon me for so long that sometimes I fear I will be crushed by it.

  The captain glances around the dim room. “The sun has gone down. It’s time for you to return to the day cabin.”

  “You have to let me go,” I say, my stomach quivering. “I have a family and home.”

  He bangs his fists against the table, his outrage so sudden it takes me aback. “Everyone here had a life before they were cast away! What makes you more deserving of keeping it?”

  “I’m not a castaway,” I retort. “I came here to fulfill a task. Please, you’ll kill me.”

  His face screws up in a nasty snarl. “Then that is your fate.”

  I push from my seat, wishing I had my sword. When I hold the sword of Avelyn, I feel more myself, less broken and more capable of confronting whatever comes my way. That blade was the only thing that survived Markham’s decimation of my previous life. I won’t let some dandy pirate tell me to accept this life without it.

  Osric swings open the door and enters with a pail of fish. He takes in our aggressive stances, the captain bent over the table and me glaring him down. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “Aye, remove her from my cabin,” Captain Redmond growls.

  “Captain,” I say as Osric pulls me from the table, “at least free my friends.”

  “They’re too valuable a commodity to let them go. Everything in the Land Under the Wave is a precious treasure that can be bought or sold. Everything.” The captain shoves pieces of beeswax into his big ears and then scoops a fish out of the pail and tosses it near his bunk. The last thing I see before Osric tugs me away is Tattler darting out and snapping up the fish.

  “Let me go,” I say, elbowing Osric in the side.

  Th
e first mate holds tight and hauls me back to the day cabin. “Don’t make this difficult, Countess. The merrows will start singing soon. You’re safer locked inside.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Go in or I will drag you.”

  I glower at him and try to determine if elves have special abilities besides their ridiculous beauty and extralong life spans. It is rumored that their hearing and eyesight are more advanced than humans’, but I cannot tell if this is true just by looking at Osric, so I step into the cabin. Someone lit the lamps and closed the portholes, presumably in preparation for the arrival of the merrows.

  “Does the captain wear wax in his ears every night?” I ask.

  “He has to. Elves aren’t tempted by a merrow’s singing—we’re of the same bloodline, a very, very obscure connection. However, giants can be enchanted.”

  What a terrible way to end each day, defending one’s self against a rapturous call so strong that it could lead to your death. Not that I feel sorry for him.

  “He deserves nightly torture,” I say.

  “Don’t be so quick to pass judgment. Years ago, Mundy traded his most prized possession in exchange for rations to feed his crew. Neely was in especially poor shape—naturally, giants require more food to sustain them than someone smaller. Because of Captain Redmond, we didn’t starve to death.” Osric sets down clumps of wax. “Wear these or, at the very least, cover your ears.”

  “We wouldn’t want one of the captain’s precious clocks to jump overboard, would we?” I counter. “I thought you were different than Markham.”

  “Don’t be a nidget. If it weren’t for Prince Killian, you and your friends would still be stranded on the Skeleton Coast.” Osric removes a small sack from his pocket and drops it on the table. “Your dinner, my lady.”

  I fling the sack at him as he closes the door. It bounces off the handle and strikes the grandfather clock. Inside the clock, the bell emits a low tone, like a person groaning after they’ve been struck. As the noise fades, somewhere outside the ship, in the waters, a merrow begins her song.