Giant

by T.A. Barron

  Umdahla wrinkled her massive brow in concern. “Yet you remember me, right?”

  “Surely, I do! You were my neighbor in Varigal. Why, I even remember your smell, yes indeedily! That’s why when I smelled the skin of—whatever part of you we thought was an island—I thought it was familiar.”

  “My nose,” the giant replied, lifting her other hand out of the lake to touch the very tip of her nose. “You landed on my nose.”

  Confused, he squinted up at her. “But you’re so underwaterly, how do you breathe?”

  She shrugged her gargantuan shoulders, making her blue hair, still wet from the lake, ripple with starlight. “Through my nostrils, of course—those two caves you saw before. Aside from my nose, I’m entirely submerged. Fortunately, this lake is deep enough to cover someone as big as me.”

  “And as bigly,” he added with a frown, “as I used to be.”

  Elf zipped down and landed again on his shoulder. “But you’re still a giant at heart,” she reminded him. Turning to face Umdahla, she added, “I can testify to that, I promise you.”

  Umdahla pursed her lips thoughtfully. “So then what happened to you?”

  “I told you alreadily. I just don’t remember.”

  “Yet you remember me, and even my particular smell. And you said you remember Varigal.” She paused. “Do you remember your mother, my dear friend Vonya?”

  Shim started. That name sounded so very familiar . . . yet, at the same time, cut off from his memory. He could almost recall it—but not quite. Like so much else, it seemed hidden behind an impossibly thick veil.

  He rubbed his forehead, trying to recall. It felt like the information was there, somewhere in his mind, but completely shrouded. Behind that veil, he sensed, was a secret door to the room that held all his lost memories . . . but there wasn’t any way to find that door, let alone open it.

  “No,” he answered glumly. “I don’t remember.”

  “Strange,” observed Umdahla. “Very strange.”

  She glanced up at the constellations, as if hoping for some wise counsel from the stars. Turning back to Shim, she said, “Maybe this will help. You know why I’ve taken to soaking day and night in this lake, don’t you?”

  Uncertainly, he replied, “Because you like a good bath?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You may have earned your true name—and I was there on that night, watching it happen—but you still have a lot to learn!”

  “That’s for surely. So why are you here, being so wackily waterish?”

  Lowering her face so that her chin nearly touched the hand that held him, she said, “Because I’m hiding, Shim! From all the enemies of giants—starting with that wicked Stangmar. His warriors would love to carve me into pieces, just like they did to so many giants that night they invaded Varigal.”

  He grimaced. “I remember that night, believe me. The most horribobulous night of my life.”

  Sympathetically, she nodded. “Mine too.” Blinking back some tears, she said softly, “Until you came along just now, I thought I was the only giant who survived that night. The only one of all our people, so ancient and bonded to the history of Fincayra, who still lived.”

  She paused to blink again. “The only way I escaped was by using the old gate behind Lunahlia’s cottage. The attack came so suddenly, without warning . . . the only chance anyone had to survive was to run and hide. Either that or—”

  She caught herself, struck by an idea.

  “That or what?” both Shim and Elf asked at once.

  “Transform.” Seeing their bewildered expressions, she explained, “When the attack came, every mother and father wanted desperately to protect their children. That’s what Vonya wanted for you, I’m certain.”

  She took a deep breath. “To protect you during the attack was hard enough. But even if you survived, there was another problem—a truly terrible problem: how to keep you safe afterward, and for the rest of your life. Or at least until Stangmar could be overthrown and giants could live freely again.”

  “Giants and all the rest of us,” the faery added somberly.

  “But as long as you still looked like a big, strapping giant, you—”

  “Would still be hunted by Stangmar’s wickedly warriors,” Shim finished grimly. “And we know what that means.”

  “Right. So you could try to hide—but there are only so many lakes and boulder fields that might work. Or maybe . . . you could transform into something different. Like a bird or a living stone or a sea lion.”

  Shim’s whole body tensed. “Or a teensily little person who nobody would ever suspect is a giant.”

  Gravely, Umdahla nodded. “There’s a big problem with that, though. Transformations require a huge amount of magic. And with the wizardking Tuatha gone, nobody in Fincayra has that much power.”

  The giant shook her enormous head, causing her wet hair to slap against her shoulders. “I don’t know how anyone, even a mother as smart as yours, could have ever gotten you shrunken.”

  “Shrunkelled,” said Shim, correcting her grammar.

  She grinned ever so slightly, then looked with grave seriousness at the little fellow in her hand. “I knew Vonya very well . . . and I’m sure she would have thought of getting you transformed. Yet there’s nobody alive who could actually do it.”

  Under her breath, she muttered, “Except maybe Domnu. But that’s impossible.”

  Shim suddenly perked up—as if hearing that name had broken a single thread in the veil that separated him from his memories. “What was that name again?”

  Umdahla shrugged. “Domnu. An ancient hag. A sorceress.”

  Shim’s eyes widened as, deep in his mind, another thread broke. “Whateverly else do you know about her?”

  “Well . . . she lives in the Haunted Marsh. That’s the deadliest place on this whole island—so frightful that nobody would ever choose to go there.”

  More threads burst apart. Shim felt himself pulling at the veil deep inside his mind, trying as hard as he could to tear it away. Yet it still held firm, shrouding so much—including the secret door he wanted desperately to open.

  “I’ve heard about that place,” said Elf with a shudder. Though Shim could still hear her, the faery’s voice sounded more faded and distant than before. “And I’ve heard that the only other beings who live there are ghouls with haunted, glowing eyes.”

  Now, inside himself, Shim fought and flailed, pulling against the veil with renewed strength. More threads ripped, revealing a gaping hole. And beyond that, he could almost see a distant shape—something that just might be a door.

  “Yes,” answered Umdahla, her voice also sounding muffled to Shim. “Just one look into those eyes, they say, will drive anyone mad.”

  Shim struggled even harder, reaching through the veil. He stretched out his arms, grasping at the door. He could almost touch the latch . . . but just couldn’t reach it.

  If Elf and Umdahla hadn’t been so engrossed in their conversation, they’d have noticed signs of Shim’s anguished struggle. His eyes blinked rapidly, while the fingers of both hands twitched frantically.

  “I’ve also heard,” continued Elf in her faded voice, “that Domnu’s lair is even more terrifying than the ghouls. The whole place is supposed to be surrounded by . . .”

  Stretching even farther, pulling hard against the veil, Shim felt his fingertip brush the latch.

  “Surrounded by what?” asked Umdahla, her voice still muffled.

  Elf hesitated before replying. Deep in his internal struggle, Shim barely heard her say, “By thousands and thousands of . . .”

  Shim grabbed the latch at last. He threw open the door and shouted, “Bones! Bones everlywhere!”

  Shaking from the strain, he announced, “I was there. Really and truly and scarily, I was!”

  Umdahla gasped. Her voice loud and clear aga
in, she exclaimed, “If you were there, then so was your loving—”

  “Motherly!”

  All at once, Shim remembered everything: The perilous journey with his mother. The ghouls who finally helped them cross the marsh. The precarious pile of stones surrounded by bones. The terrible wager. The horrendous sacrifice his mother made. And last, in painful clarity, Domnu’s spell that so brutally smallified him.

  As he stared at Umdahla in astonishment, more memories returned. How lovingly his mother embraced him. How proud she looked when he earned his true name. How diligently she tried—and failed—to keep his leggings repaired.

  And then one more memory returned, echoing with the sound of her voice. How she urged him to remember: Bigness means more than the size of your bones.

  Though he remained small in body, Shim felt somehow bigger. As if an important part of himself that had gone missing had suddenly been restored. He stood up, balancing himself in Umdahla’s palm. Glancing from her to Elf, who was glowing her brightest blue, he spoke to them with fierce determination.

  “We were there. Motherly is still there now. And I am going to go back there to save her.”

  He paused, then declared, “Certainly, definitely, absolutely!”

  27.

  THE LAST OF HER KIND

  Beneath Fincayra’s starry sky, Elf and Umdahla tried their very best to dissuade Shim from his plan. They reminded him that surviving the Haunted Marsh was an absolute miracle, and he’d somehow already done that twice. So he wasn’t likely to survive it again. They convinced him that Domnu had hidden his memories of his mother precisely to prevent him from ever trying to come back and rescue her. They told him that he could never outwit Domnu—just as he could never beat her in a wager. On top of all that, they pleaded with him to remember that he wasn’t nearly as physically big and strong as he’d once been.

  None of it worked. He was absolutely determined to go back for his mother.

  As he stood in the hand of Umdahla, he declared, “I want to give her the same greatly devotion she gave to me. You’re her friend . . . so you must understand.”

  The giant drew a long breath of night air and shifted her weight in the lake, which sent star-sparkled waves rolling in all directions. “Here is what I do understand,” she replied in her gentlest voice. “That night in Varigal, you really deserved to earn your true name.”

  “Thanks, Umdahla.”

  She peered down at him. “But I still think your plan is absolutely foolish, dangerous, and doomed.”

  He nodded. “Full of madness, that’s me.”

  He turned to the faery who was standing on his shoulder. “I know you don’t agree with anyishthing I’ve said.”

  “Except for the part about madness,” she replied.

  “All rightly, except for that. But, Elf . . . can you ever forgive me?”

  “No,” she stated firmly. “Which is why . . . I’m coming with you.”

  Shim brightened. “Really and truly?”

  The faery bobbed her head, ringing her bells with finality. “As you would say—certainly, definitely, absolutely.”

  Umdahla shook her massive head. “So you’re both crazy! And I can see there’s no dissuading you.”

  “You’re correctly.”

  Gazing down at him, she said grimly, “Part of me wants to join you, make no mistake about that. But I’m sure there’s just no way for anyone to defeat Domnu—so you and Vonya are certainly going to die. And while I could sacrifice my own life for a great cause . . . I just can’t sacrifice the life of the very last giant alive. The only one of our people who will remain. The last little connection to all our history, all our stories. Can you understand?”

  His expression equally grim, Shim declared, “I understand. And if we don’t survive this . . . I hope you will live long enough to share the giants’ awesomely stories with the whole wide world.”

  She studied the brave little giant and the faery on his shoulder. “You remind me of something I haven’t thought about for a long time. Something my father once told me.”

  Both Shim and Elf watched her, intrigued.

  “He was a boat builder, Papa. Worked many years to help humans build their fishing boats on the west coast, in the great bay near the Misted Hills. He used to carry the trees they needed for masts and lift them up high so they could ready the sails.”

  She glanced up at the stars. “Once, when I was very young, he talked about times like this. He said: On the stormy seas of life, the winds of hope and goodness and love are always blowing. All we need to do is find the courage to go out there . . . and raise our sails.”

  The companions nodded gratefully.

  Umdahla then announced, “There is, at least, one way I can still help you.”

  “What?” asked Shim.

  “I can save you another swim.”

  With that, Umdahla stood up, lifting her immense head and shoulders so high above the surface of the lake that, it seemed to Shim, she could almost brush her hair against the stars. Rising up, she caused rows of waves to splash against the lakeshore. As she stood waist-deep in water, she winked at the passengers riding in her hand.

  “I haven’t carried you, Shim, since you were a wee newlyborn.”

  He smirked. “Hope I didn’t go poopishly in your hands.”

  “No,” she said with a chuckle, “you didn’t.” Then in just two giant-size strides, she carried them to the water’s edge. Kneeling, she gently set them down on solid ground.

  “There,” she said kindly. “Now you can get going without delay.”

  Shim looked up at her with sincere gratitude. Although he stood only as tall as her ankle, he knew beyond any doubt that they belonged to the same people. With his memory—and his identity—finally restored, he felt certain that he was truly a giant. Just a rather little one.

  “Thank you, Umdahla, from the bottomishmost part of my heart. You helped me remember why I must do this.”

  “And thank you, Shim. You helped me remember why I must stay alive.”

  A gleam in her eyes, she said, “Now I have one more thing to do before you go.” Glancing at Elf, she added, “Faery, you should take flight.”

  Shim shot the giant a puzzled look. What was she going to do?

  As Elf lifted off, Umdahla reached out her hand and extended one finger. Very gently, she touched the tip of her finger to each of Shim’s shoulders—the traditional Giants’ Salute.

  The moment she touched him, Shim felt as if his heart had expanded inside his chest. To the size of a heart that belonged to a giant.

  “As you know,” she declared, “this salute is only for someone who has earned another giant’s highest respect.”

  “I won’t everly disappoint you.”

  She curled her lips in a smile. “There’s no way you could, Shim. Now go out and show that sorceress who’s boss. And if, by some miracle, you survive . . . come back here and visit me.”

  “I will, yes indeedily.”

  Elf landed back on his shoulder, chiming softly. She peered up at Umdahla’s face and said, “I am so glad to have met you.”

  The giant nodded, her azure hair glistening in the starlight. “Yes, little one. It was good to see you again.”

  The faery started. “Again? What do you mean? We haven’t met before.”

  Umdahla furrowed her brow. “You don’t remember? You came here just two nights ago, very tired. You rested on the island—my nose—until I lifted out of the lake for a chat.”

  Elf shook her antennae, confused. “Are you sure it wasn’t some other faery?”

  Taken aback, the giant replied, “Come now! A luminous faery with golden bells? How many of those could there be?”

  Elf’s whole body blazed bright, casting blue light over them all. “Two! And only two!”

  “What?”

 
“You met my sister. She must still be alive!”

  Shim gasped. “Most probobily, she thinks she’s the only one left, the last of her kind.”

  “Right,” answered Elf, her joy now mixing with concern. “And I know how hard that can be.”

  “So do I,” agreed Umdahla.

  Fluttering up to the giant’s face, Elf hovered there. “Tell me. How did she seem?”

  “Sad. Very sad.”

  The faery’s radiance dimmed. “Did she say where she was going?”

  “No. But she flew off to the west.”

  Slowly, Elf floated down to hover above Shim’s nose. “Big Friend . . .” she started to say, but her voice failed.

  He gazed at her knowingly. “You’ve got to go after her. You indeedily must.”

  For several heartbeats, she gazed back at him. “You are a true friend.”

  He made a sad smile and tapped his shoulder where she’d so often perched. “There will always be a place rightly here for you.”

  Her glowing wings brightened a bit. “I plan to be back there sometime soon. After you save your mother and we meet again.”

  He swallowed. “I surely hope so.”

  Suddenly remembering, he pointed at the bulging pocket that held the Leaper. “What do you want to do with this, Elf? It belongs to you.”

  “No,” she said with a firm shake of her bells. “It now belongs to you.”

  “But—”

  “You’ve earned it, Shim.” She zipped closer and put her hand on his ear. “And I have a feeling you could use it right now.”

  Seeing the wisdom in her words, he replied, “You’re right.”

  “Haven’t you learned by now?” she teased. “I’m always right.”

  “Of coursely.”

  “All right, then,” she declared, flying back up to hover in front of him. “Let’s both go and find our families.”

  He nodded at her, this little creature who now had such a big place in his heart. “Till we meet again.”

  She rang her antennae bells one last time, a sound that wove together joy and sorrow, gain and loss, hope and fear. And then she said softly, “Go now . . . and live with light.”