by Alex Aster
Tor winced as something snapped in the distance. A tree cut clean in half.
“It’s coming!” someone yelled.
The man with the stones worked even faster. He made a flame, but it quickly burnt out against the damp wood.
An old woman had two more rocks and was trying the same thing without much luck.
“Let me see the backpack,” Melda said, and Engle handed it to her. She rummaged around for a few moments before her hand surfaced, holding the orb of light. Without missing a beat, she set the orb on the ground, grabbed one of the torches, and used it to smash the glass to pieces.
As soon as the orb broke, its light released in a burst of flames. She dipped the torch inside and held it high over her head, standing beneath the front gate.
There was a moment of silence.
Then, the forest went still.
Sighs of relief were followed by villagers hurriedly using Melda’s torch to light the ring of fire once more. They worked quickly, everyone pitching in before the beast decided to attack the village from a different angle. A few people began murmuring, wondering how the flames had possibly gone out in the first place.
Tor, Melda, and Engle slipped out of town as silently as a falling snowflake.
The Giantess Nar
Once upon a burst of light, the sky transformed. When the universe was born, it yawned and screamed—each cry creating its own planet. So beautiful were these little worlds, filled with color and people, they required someone to guard their treasure.
They required a protector.
So, a man taller than the trees and stronger than the seas was formed, his job to guard all creatures from danger. When it rained, the giant gathered the clouds and stroked them until they calmed down. When a tornado appeared, he held it in his hand and squeezed tightly, until it was no more than sand.
He lived for years in isolation, on the peak of a mountain, high enough for him to reach into the sky should he have to shake the sun awake or keep his people dry. The giant lived peacefully in this manner, until one day a traveler happened upon his domain and a hunger awoke. As soon as the giant saw him, he wondered just how good he might taste.
Before he knew it, the deed was done, and he had liked it.
So guardian became huntsman.
Down from his mountain he climbed, throwing into his mouth all the creatures he could find. And though he ate hundreds, his hunger never seemed satisfied.
Word spread of the terrible beast, who had come from the heavens and made the world his feast. The people prayed to the wish-gods, hoping for aid.
“Give us a new protector, one that will not hurt us,” they said.
And so, the sky sent a new kind of guardian.
This time, it was a woman. Bigger, stronger, and pure of heart, she defeated the monster and helped make the world new.
She is Nar: the protector of people, sent from the stars.
13
The Ring
I leave for a few moments, and you two awaken an ancient snowbeast,” Melda said, using a ribbon to tie back all of her hair.
The farther from Frostflake they walked, the warmer it became. Once they were out of the shade of huddled clouds, the sun shined down upon them, and the blanket across Tor’s shoulders fell to the ground in a puddle. He supposed his shield and sword would have met the same fate, should he have remembered to bring them.
Engle opened his mouth to reply to Melda, and Tor expected a snarky response. But instead, he said, “That was…really quick thinking back there, Melda.”
She blinked. Her lips parted, then closed. They continued in silence, Melda walking a little straighter.
A meadow of fat dandelions stretched out to the horizon, fluffy white balls that looked light as air and soft as a sweater. The tickling sensation on Tor’s ankles almost made him smile.
Melda looked over her shoulder at them, shrugged, then started running, arms stretched out. As her legs made contact with the flowers, they burst, sending a confetti of white florets flying through the air behind her.
Engle and Tor didn’t hesitate in joining in.
They ran and ran, laughing on their way, Tor watching the little pieces of flower floating through the air like little parachutes. They got stuck in Melda’s long black ponytail and brushed across Tor’s nose.
Engle rolled around the ground. “It smells like summer,” he declared. And Tor didn’t know what that meant…but somehow it made sense. He thought it smelled like the soap his neighbor sold at Estrelle’s market every weekend, large lavender-colored bars with flowers trapped inside. When Engle stood up again, white was stuck to his clothes in patches, making him look like a partially plucked chicken.
Tor was just about to laugh, when he heard something. Just a whisper of sound…a sharp zing.
Engle’s eyes widened—but, before he could speak a word, Tor winced and reached for his ear.
His fingers came back covered in blood. The tiniest part of his ear, at the very tip, had been cut away.
“Get down!” Engle yelled, spotting something miles off. They immediately sunk to the ground, and Tor heard the same whizzing noise from before, over and over again, quick as rain.
Finally, the whistling stopped.
When Tor looked up, he saw he had been outlined in arrows, the weapons’ long points stuck firmly into the ground. Some had landed less than an inch from his body.
Whoever had shot at them had not missed by accident.
They stood, legs trembling, hands raised high over their heads in surrender. And all Tor could do was watch as four figures approached on horseback, bows and arrows still drawn.
* * *
As their attackers drew closer, Tor saw that the people on horseback were all women about twice his age, their brown braids decorated with ribbons like Melda’s. Their arms were covered from wrist to shoulder in bands of paint, the shades like smeared moonlight against their dark skin.
They did not speak. One of the women jumped off her horse and approached them, strings of rope in hand. As she got closer, Tor could see how tall she really was.
“You’re a giantess,” Melda said, her voice full of excitement, even though the same woman she was in awe of was currently binding her hands tightly with the rope. The corners of the woman’s mouth formed a small smile for just a moment before she turned toward Tor and Engle and tied up them, too. Then, they were each hauled onto the monstrous horses.
Giantesses were said to be the descendants of Nar, the woman giant sent from the stars to protect humans. Over time, according to lore, her descendants had grown smaller and smaller. Now, they stood just over two feet taller than the average Emblemite.
Tor’s fingers dug into his palms as they rode, the speed of the horse’s galloping making him nauseous. Soon, he caught sight of something up ahead—two rows of torches, holding cups of fire. The women rode between the line of lights, which stretched for a mile and eventually led to a sprawling village.
It was entirely made up of rounded huts like mounds. The doors looked much larger than normal ones—for obvious reasons—and several people walked about, holding weapons that made Tor nervous. One woman polished a sword the size of his entire body. Another wielded a staff, twirling it expertly in her hands.
They passed a market that seemed to sell more weapons than food, metal glinting like diamonds, and the horses did not stop until reaching a hut larger than all of the others, with a symbol painted on the outside. An emblem Tor didn’t recognize.
Hands still bound behind them, they were led inside. Tor figured he should be afraid, but something about the giantesses, as muscular and strong as they clearly were, was gentle.
The hut was simple, without any type of decoration other than a hearth, which burned not wood, but white moss. The flames that flickered were strange, too, tipped with an icy blue Tor had never seen be
fore.
“Burning white makes blue,” a woman said. She sat in front of the fire and looked just like the others—long hair in a braid, markings on her arms—yet, there was one difference. She wore a thin band around her head right below a plunging widow’s peak, almost like a crown. “Burning purple makes red. Green makes orange. Like mixing together paint.” She stared at the flames intently before her eyes snapped up to meet his. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We found them out in the dandelion fields,” one of their captors declared.
For a moment, their leader considered them with a blank expression. She squinted. “What are you three doing so far from home?” Her voice was firm, yet kind, a combination Tor had only ever seen in his mother.
“We’re on a quest,” Melda said. “To get rid of a curse.” She held out her arm in lieu of any explanation.
The woman winced. “A shame,” she said. Then, she locked her hands together, “I am Claudia, leader of the giantesses. We serve all living things on the island, promoting peace.” She motioned for the other women to cut away the trio’s ties, and they did, each of them using a curved knife as long as Tor’s forearm. The rope fell away with a slicing sound that made him wince. He rubbed his wrists, relieved to be released, his skin a bit raw.
Claudia lowered her chin. “Now, tell us how we can be of service to you.”
Tor looked over at Melda and Engle, then pulled The Book of Cuentos out of his backpack. It was worth a shot. The giantesses likely knew the land surrounding their compound better than anyone. Something in the next monster story might sound familiar.
He flipped to the following chapter and read its title. Yes, this next tale could be summarized fairly easily, he thought. “Do you know of a woman spirit that wanders around crying?”
The giantesses looked at each other, confusion drawn across their faces. Claudia raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “A woman who cries?”
Melda stepped forward, clearly thinking Tor was doing a bad job at describing the tale. “Maybe you’ve heard unexplained sobs somewhere? Perhaps in a well or in an old structure?” They remained silent. “In the legend, the woman wanders around Emblem Island, mourning her lost children.”
Engle snorted. “Yeah, children she almost killed.”
The giantesses gasped, horrified. Claudia’s eyes narrowed. “And just what is this horrible story called?” she asked, voice stern. “I’ve never heard of such a dark tale.”
“‘The Weeping Woman,’” Tor responded quietly. Perhaps it was a mistake asking about it. It was clear they had offended their captors-turned-hosts.
One of the giantesses’ faces lit up. She was younger than the rest, with braids styled into a pile on top of her head. A moment later, her expression faltered. “Oh—never mind.”
“What is it, Lara?” Claudia prodded.
The girl cleared her throat. “Did you say weeping woman?” she asked. Tor nodded. Her face flushed pink. “Oh, I thought you said weeping willow, my mistake.”
Melda chewed at the inside of her mouth. “Wait, there’s a weeping willow tree around here?”
She nodded. “Hundreds of them. An entire forest—Willow Wood.”
Melda’s eyes brightened. She grabbed the storybook from Tor’s hands, then flipped a few pages, tapping her foot as she tore through “The Weeping Woman” story.
“Come on…” she mumbled. “It’s here somewhere…”
Finally, she seemed to have found what she was looking for, because she exclaimed, “Aha!” and jabbed her finger against the thick parchment. “There.”
The sentence beneath Melda’s finger read:
The woman’s cries seeped into the trees and birds around her, who echoed her weeping.
“The weeping woman’s cries seeped into the trees,” she explained. “Weeping willows, get it? A forest of them must be exactly where we’d find her.” Melda rummaged through Tor’s backpack for the map, then opened it up. “Now we just have to locate it…”
They watched as Melda consulted the map’s key, looking for the forest symbol. It turned out to be—no surprise—a tree.
It didn’t take long for her to spot the marking painted right beside Garth, the giantess settlement. “Willow Wood isn’t on the map by name, but if you say the forest is around here, then it must be this one.”
One of the giantesses looked over Melda’s shoulder, at the tree symbol. “That looks about right.”
Melda snapped the map closed. “So, it’s settled. We have to go through those woods to get to…” She took a deep, nervous breath. “To get to where we’re going.” Tor noticed she avoided saying Night Witch for once and wondered why.
The young giantess grinned widely, clearly excited at having been of assistance.
Claudia nodded, then slapped her hands together sharply. “Now that we’ve been able to lend aid—and have established you’re not a threat,” a corner of her lips lifted. “How about some lunch?”
Engle practically squealed in delight.
* * *
The giantesses watched Engle eat with mild amusement. They had been led into the town’s dining hall just a few minutes before and had already been presented with various plates of colossus vegetables. According to Claudia, there was a special garden behind Garth that grew food big enough for a giantess. Engle was in the process of skinning an arm-sized corn on the cob raw.
One of the women raised an eyebrow. “Do you not feed him?”
Melda almost choked on a marble-sized bitterberry. “We feed him a little too much.”
The beautiful woman tilted her head to the side. “He eats more than we do.”
“Tell me about it.”
Melda had finished her meal and was sneaking glances at the knife sticking out of a pouch on the woman’s waist. It hung over her skirt and sandals, both fashioned from thick leather.
The giantess had caught her staring. “Do you want to hold it?”
Melda flushed pink. “Oh, no. I was just looking.”
The giantess stood. “Come,” she said, her voice deep and raspy. “Let us show you.”
“Show me what?”
“How to wield a weapon.”
Melda’s mouth fell open, shocked. She recovered quickly and nodded, before following three of the women out of the dining hut. Tor trailed after, curious to see what would happen. Right outside they passed a man, the first they had seen at Garth, who looked incredibly small in contrast to the giantesses. He gave them a polite nod.
“Here.” They had reached a sprawling field of white grass, and the giantess held out a sword for Melda to take.
She reached for it tentatively, and almost toppled forward when it was in her grip. The weapon was clearly much heavier than it looked, made of solid metal.
“Like this,” the woman said, planting her feet firmly, digging her heel so far that the ground spat up pale dirt. Her knees bent slightly. Then, she gripped the weapon, one hand above the other.
Melda nodded and copied the giantess’s stance. Or, at least tried to.
The woman looked impressed. “That’s excellent,” she said.
Melda held her head up high.
“Now, fight me.”
Melda’s confident expression disappeared in an instant. She hesitated then said, “Um, no, I don’t think I’m ready for that.” She threw a worried glance in Tor’s direction. The woman didn’t seem to have heard her. She yelled out a warrior’s cry, then swung forward, knocking her sword against Melda’s.
The metal collided, creating a slicing sound that made an earthquake of chills erupt up and down Tor’s back.
Nonetheless, when the giantess struck again, Melda moved her sword to the side—and blocked it.
“Confidence is everything,” the woman said, as their weapons clashed a third time. She jumped to the side, as light on her toes as a cat.
“Believe you’ll win, and you just might.”
Melda smiled. She charged forward, then sent her weapon down, toward the giantess’s toned stomach. The woman laughed in approval, dodging the blow, then sending another one Melda’s way.
The other giantesses cheered them on, clapping by clicking their silver swords together.
“I like your necklace,” the giantess said, deflecting a hit from Melda. “But it’s a liability in battle. Someone could choke you with it.”
Melda turned her blade to the side, groaning as she blocked an advance. “Oh. I never take it off.”
The giantess smiled. “That’s fine. Just tuck it away.” She expertly twirled the weapon in her hands before sending it forward again. “You see, a warrior always assesses their opponent’s weaknesses. Weakness for one is opportunity for another.”
Tor thought about that. Could the Night Witch possibly have a weakness?
Before long, the heavy blade drooped in Melda’s grip—she was sparring a giantess. The warrior set the tip of her own sword into the ground and bowed. “Good fight,” she said. “I’m Valentina.”
“I’m Grimelda,” Melda said, returning the bow. When she looked up, her teeth were bared in a fierce grin, one Tor had never seen before. Then she said, “Teach me more.”
* * *
As Melda learned the finer points of sword fighting, Tor decided to wander. He passed another man in the market who seemed to be pounding metal into different shapes—possibly for body armor. All at once, the blacksmith dropped the hammer he had been using and started to twist the gleaming material with his bare hands. The emblem on his arm jumped out as his bicep flexed and bulged: the mark for strength.
There were several different categories of gifts a person could be born with. Strength fell into the classification of warrior emblems. Anyone born with a mark that could make them useful in battle had a responsibility to fight, should a war take place—at least, that’s what his mother had told him. Instead of schooling, these children were sometimes sent to Garth, to be trained in battle by the giantesses.