by Ryan Cahill
That unmistakable thickness seeped into the air again. Calen’s lungs worked that little bit harder to take in each breath. As the grass fields yielded to the spongy forest floor, the horse’s hooves sank a little deeper, its steps dragging a little more each time. The crickets chirped, and Calen heard the occasional flutter of wings as a bird awoke from its slumber, but otherwise, there was silence. It was a little eerie. The forest usually seemed alive, day and night, like a bustling city going about its business in complete ignorance of the world of men. There was something in the extra silence that made the hairs on the back of Calen’s neck stand on end.
He saw it in Erik too. His eyes darted from tree to tree, scanning for danger. He was much more awake than he had seemed earlier. “Father, I—”
“I know,” Aeson responded bluntly. He pulled one of his swords from the scabbard across his back, holding the reins with his other hand.
Calen tried to focus, although it wouldn’t do him much good. It was too dark to see anything. The forest canopy blocked out what little the moonlight had allowed him to see until that point.
They must have vision like kats because—
Crack.
He heard the branch snapping as clearly as if it were right beside his ear. He stopped trying to see what was happening and instead listened. Listened to the deafening silence.
Crack.
“Ride!” Aeson snapped his reins, kicking his horse into a gallop. Without hesitation, Erik and Dahlen followed suit. Calen tightened his grip around Erik’s waist as he was nearly thrown from Ildarya’s back, the horse lurching forward into the depths of the forest at lightning speed, bounding over fallen trees and ditches.
There was a whoosh of air, almost entirely masked by the thunderous sound of hooves tearing chunks of sodden earth from the forest floor. Something massive flew out of the darkness and crashed into a tree only five or six feet away, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. Shards of fragmented bark battered against Calen’s raised arm as he tried to protect his eyes from being shredded.
Shouts and roars rumbled behind them, each one more ferocious, as if it were answering the last. Guttural, blood-curdling roars.
An arrow whizzed past Calen’s head, a little too close for comfort. He looked up to see Dann holding Dahlen’s bow, nocking another arrow. Calen thought he could see him shrug apologetically.
An Urak burst out of the bush to their right, launching itself at Calen and Erik. Its blood-red eyes were the only thing that Calen could see clearly. It was halfway to them when an arrow plunged into its neck and knocked it straight out of the air. With a monstrous scream, it hurtled into the abyss of the night.
“Uraks!” Erik roared. He snapped the reins up and down, sending Ildarya into a frenzy of speed. The horse lived up to its name. It was all Calen could do to hold on as it bolted forward with astounding force. Most horses Calen knew would struggle to match Ildarya’s speed, even if they were not riding double. Vibrations shot up Calen’s back as the horse’s hooves pounded against the forest floor. His muscles strained as he gripped on with his legs, his arms firmly wrapped around Erik’s waist.
Just as he thought that there was no way anything could match their speed, the world started to spin. He tumbled through the air, helpless as he spun, before he slammed into the trunk of a tree. He was not sure if the cracks he heard came from the brittle bark of the old oak or the bones in his back. All he felt was pain.
He slipped in and out of consciousness. Bursts of the aching pain flared at the base of his spine. It was hard to tell whether or not he was awake; his eyes closed to complete darkness and opened to more of the same.
He heard Ildarya wailing. Whatever had hit them, the horse had taken the brunt of it. It would not survive the night. His head was pounding, as if it were being struck with a hammer, over and over. Dragging strength from the pit of his stomach, Calen pulled himself to his knees. Slowly, his eyes attuned to the darkness. As he gripped onto a vague sense of consciousness, he saw shapes.
The Urak was ripping Ildarya apart, limb from limb, as it lay wailing on the ground. The horse howled and shrieked in pain as the Uraks teeth tore into its flesh.
There was a flash of steel, followed by a spray of blood. The Urak collapsed, its head following its body to the ground. It looked like Erik had fared a bit better in the collision than he had. Within seconds, there were two more Uraks trading blows with Erik. Heavy, merciless strikes pummelled down on him like hammers pounding on folded steel. He parried, dipped, and sidestepped. The blur of motion gave Calen a renewed headache as he tried to follow it. He attempted to get to his feet, then collapsed onto his back as the strength in his legs failed him. The pain in his back seared like fire.
“Take my hand.” The voice was calm and cool, with an assuring tone. It reminded Calen of Erdhardt Hammersmith. He managed to raise his head to look towards whoever it was that held that voice, half-expecting to see the village elder standing over him.
Calen’s mind must have been playing tricks on him from the fall. The man in front of him was far taller than Erdhardt, taller even than the Uraks, maybe eight feet tall from head to toe. His skin shimmered a pale whitish blue in the weak moonlight. His dark hair was tied into a ponytail. Calen tried to make out his face, but it was difficult in the darkness. He was bare-chested, his body made up of thick slabs of muscle to rival any blacksmith. He wore long dark trousers that had the same look as Therin’s cloak did – old, worn, but with a sense of timelessness, like they could neither burn in fire nor be torn by a blade.
To his surprise, Calen reached up and took the man’s hand without thinking. His hand was warm to the touch. Calen was not sure why he expected otherwise; maybe it was because his pale skin looked like a thin sheet of ice. Something about the enormous man put Calen at ease.
Without warning, the man shoved Calen away with enough force to send him thumping back to the ground. He winced with pain as his back hit the forest floor.
Calen looked up towards the man. Tendrils of shimmering red light wound from his hand in both directions, wrapping and weaving themselves around each other, like vines crawling up the side of a house. The light was so bright it was almost blinding, illuminating everything around them in a flash. As the tendrils of light weaved around each other, the form they left behind became solid. The handle and blade of a massive, double-sided axe formed in a glowing red light, the strength of which died down as it settled into its shape.
The man hefted the axe backwards and then swung it over Calen’s head with almighty force. It crashed straight into the chest of a leaping Urak, lifting the beast higher into the air. The entire blade disappeared into its flesh.The man shook the body of the Urak off the axe as if it were nothing but a splinter. Whirling around, he let go of the axe, launching it through the air and into the distance. Calen watched as it sliced straight through the head of a charging Urak and buried itself in a tree behind the collapsing body. Then it was gone, faded into the darkness faster than it had appeared.
More Uraks emerged from the forest, leaping over the bodies of their fallen companions. They snarled and roared, swinging their heavy axes and charred-black swords above their heads in a frenzy.
The man stepped past Calen, roaring ferociously in return. He raised both of his arms in the air, as if pushing something imaginary towards the incoming monstrosities. Thick vines erupted from the ground below them, weaving their way through the air much like the red light had done. Except these did not form a weapon; they were the weapon.
They shot through the air faster than Calen’s eyes could follow, growing thicker the farther they went. Five Uraks, five vines. Each vine found its target, piercing straight through the Uraks’ torsos. The vines kept moving until each of them was buried in the trunk of a different tree, leaving the lifeless bodies suspended in mid-air. Calen’s jaw hung open. He wanted to be terrified, but his head couldn’t process what was happening quickly enough. The bodies dropped to the ground as the vines ret
reated to the undergrowth.
When Calen’s thoughts came back, he felt the terror building like a ball of ice in the pit of his stomach. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stuck out like the spines on a porcupine.
“It’s okay.” Erik knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder, staring straight into his eyes. Patches of dirt and mud covered his clothes. Thin streams of blood dripped from newly earned cuts on his face and arms, but he was alive. “Asius is a friend. He is who we are here to meet.”
Calen wanted to reply, but the words buried themselves in his throat. The man – or whatever he was – stared at Calen. He extended his hand, which had to be twice the size of Calen’s. “I am Asius, son of Thalm. I am pleased that our paths have crossed, though I apologise for the manner in which it had to happen.” Something that resembled a smile sat on his face. At least, Calen thought it was a smile. Without really intending to, Calen extended his hand in return. Asius wrapped his gargantuan fingers around Calen’s forearm and pulled him to his feet with unsettling ease.
“Th… Thank you, Asius, son of Thalm. I am Calen Bryer, son of Vars Bryer. I owe you my life,” Calen stammered, struggling to pull the words from his throat. He hadn’t noticed his heart was racing until that moment.
“You owe me nothing, little one. All that is given will be received, as sure as day begets night.”
Calen was not sure what Asius meant, but he nodded anyway. He heard the soft pad of horse hooves pressing into the moss that covered the forest floor. Aeson and Dahlen sat atop their horses, surveying the scene in front of them. Urak corpses were strewn about, Calen and Erik were bruised and a little bloody, and there was an eight-foot man with skin as pale as the thinnest paper and muscles as thick as the hardiest blacksmith. Dann and Rist sat behind them, worried looks on their faces as their eyes searched for Calen’s.
“You are all okay. I was worried for a minute there. It was near impossible to count their numbers. Asius, good to see you, old friend,” Aeson said. A warm smile spread across his face at the sight of the giant man, who nodded in return, mimicking Aeson’s smile.
“It is good to see you also, Aeson Virandr. Far too many years have passed since our paths last crossed. I was excited to receive your message. Do you have it?”
“Yes, they have. Too many to count, old friend. Too many to count. And yes, I have it.” There was a pensive look in Aeson’s eyes as he stared off into the distance for a few moments, seeming lost in his thoughts. “Come,” he said, his eyes snapping back to the group as he finished swimming through his memories. “The camp must not be far if you are here, Asius.”
“No more than fifteen or twenty minutes from here. Senas and Larion await us there. There is a fire to warm you and food to fill your bellies. For certain you are both tired and hungry.”
It wasn’t until the mention of a fire that Calen’s body remembered just how cold the night was. A shiver spread through him, and he blew into his hands for warmth. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. The look on Rist and Dann’s faces told him they were much the same.
“Erik, are you and Calen okay to walk? If you are hurt, then we can trade places on the horses.” There was a matter-of-fact tone in Aeson’s voice.
Erik looked at Calen, who nodded with a grunt. The fire burning at the base of his spine disagreed, but it was nothing a bit of rest couldn’t fix.
“Yes, Father. We can walk. It is not far.”
“Good, let’s be off. The quicker we move, the sooner we will have food in our bellies.” Aeson gave a slight tap of his heel into his horse’s ribs, urging it into a slow walk.
Erik elbowed Calen in the ribs to get his attention, a mischievous grin on his face. “Now you’ve fought Uraks twice.”
Calen frowned. He wasn’t sure how Erik was laughing after what had just happened. It took all the strength Calen had to not empty the contents of his stomach. His heart still pounded in his chest. And his mind flitted between the monstrous Uraks and the look on the soldier’s face as he died, the way the light in his eyes had faded. They continued in silence.
After about fifteen minutes of walking, Calen saw the warm, orange-red glow of a fire, flickering shadows through the gaps in the trees. As they got closer, he heard voices, one male and one female, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
The trees opened into a small clearing. A large fire burned at its centre, with a massive cast iron pot suspended over it and four large logs arranged about its perimeter.
Calen, Rist, and Dann all stopped in their tracks when they saw the owners of the voices. They were both the same height as Asius, with skin just as pale. Just as icy blue. Though, unlike Asius, they were not bare-chested. They wore matching leather jerkins, well-made, with steel toggles. The others walked straight into the campsite without a second thought, leaving the boys standing there, gawking.
“Larion, Senas, it is fantastic to see you again!” Aeson’s voice rang with sincerity. He clasped them both on the forearm, his smile extending from ear to ear.
“As it is you, Aeson Virandr,” Senas replied, her voice soft and warm. It almost didn’t suit her massive frame. “And who are these fine young men? Not all your children. No, but these two are. They have your eyes.” She was looking over towards Erik and Dahlen as she spoke. Calen could see a kindness in her eyes.
“You are correct, Senas, as always. These are my children, Erik and Dahlen. The other three are new companions of ours. To be honest, I haven’t properly been introduced. It was Erik who brought them onto our path.”
All eyes were suddenly on Calen, Dann, and Rist. A swift elbow from Dann hinted that it was Calen who would have to do the talking. “I am Calen Bryer. This is Dann Pimm and Rist Havel. We are from The Glade. We’re not quite sure how we ended up here either, but it is our pleasure to meet you.”
“Well met, Calen Bryer, Dann Pimm, and Rist Havel of The Glade. It is a pleasure to share our fire with you this night. I am Senas, daughter of Iliria, and this is Larion, son of Olin. Come, all of you, sit. You must be hungry. We have a soup here and some warm blankets.”
Except for Aeson and their new companions, the conversation was non-existent while they ate. Calen was not sure he had ever seen Dann eat that fast in his life.
“Would you like some more?” Senas asked, laughing. She stood up to stir the soup in the pot with a long cast iron ladle. Calen tried not to stare. She was handsome, in a way. Her eyes were a deep green that stood stark against her pale whitish-blue skin, and her silvery-blonde hair was tied up at the back of her head. All three of them – Asius, Senas and Larion – were like nothing Calen had ever seen before.
“Yes, please. It is delicious,” Dann said. He joined her by the pot, holding his bowl out to be filled. He looked like a small child next to her.
“So, Aeson, tell us of your journey so far, and of Milltown. Were you successful?”
Calen had not heard Larion speak until then. His voice was deep and measured, as if he pondered each syllable with the utmost of care. Aeson gave a quick sideways glance towards Calen, Rist, and Dann before answering the question. “Yes, my friend. We were successful.”
Aeson gestured towards Dahlen, who reluctantly handed over the large satchel he had been cradling for most of the night. Larion took it into his hands with the caution of a mother handling a newborn babe. His eyes lit up when he peeled back the opening and gazed upon whatever was inside.
“It was truly quite amazing,” Aeson said, a glimmer of excitement on his face. “We waited for three days and three nights and almost froze to death in that icy wasteland, but then, on the fourth day, just as we had given up hope, they returned. The journey back was a bit choppy. We ran into some issues with the empire, but we managed to get away, by the luck of the gods. We arrived at the dock in Milltown yesterday afternoon, though not without complications.”
“I see. And have any of you heard it?” Asius asked, his head stooping down.
Aeson shook his head, letting a sigh esc
ape. They spent the next while discussing the events in Milltown; the soldiers approaching them, and the fighting, right up until Asius had found them in the woods. More questions floated through Calen’s mind than he knew what to do with, or how to approach. Where did he start?
“Asius, do you mind if I ask… what are you?” Rist had been quiet, but Calen recognised the look on his face. He had been chewing on that question for a while now. A deep laugh emanated from both Asius and Senas. Larion just frowned for a moment, then peered back inside the satchel, running his hand along the outside with what seemed like affection.
“Well, little one,” Asius said when the laughter subsided, “your kind have always called us giants. But to our own, we are Jotnar. Do not think us rude for laughing. It is a laugh of joy. It has been a long time since we have met new friends. Sometimes we forget that you have never seen one of our kind before. The world is not as we once knew it.” There was a quiet reflection in Asius’s eyes.
Giants. The word echoed in Calen’s head. From every story he was told as a child, the giants were hunted and killed to the last by the empire. They were shrouded in such mystery for so long that he had never considered them more than legend, old wives’ tales. Yet here they were, right in front of him. He had always imagined that they would be… different? Some bards and storytellers, like Therin, told stories of how the giants were great city builders, shipwrights and scholars. But most painted them as savages; ten-foot-tall monsters with gnarled teeth and a vicious bloodlust – more similar to Uraks.
“I thought the giants were gone. They have not been seen in centuries. Where have you been?” Calen couldn’t help but throw Rist a dirty look. Rist never cared much for sensitivity when his curiosity was involved. And the more of his questions were answered, the greater his curiosity became. It seemed counterintuitive to Calen. Surely an answer should sate your curiosity, not stoke it?