Giants lc-1

by Vaughn Heppner

  Joash could barely nod.

  “Good.” Elidad released his hold, smiled, and patted him on the back. “You’re a wise lad. I like you. Make certain you remain a man of your word.”

  Joash rubbed his throat, bewildered. The emeralds’ baleful power was driving them mad, making their deepest desires come bubbling to the fore. What should he do?

  “Groom?” Elidad asked, suspiciously.

  Joash looked into the bloodshot eyes. “You can depend on me, Warrior. I’ll do everything I must.”

  “Splendid,” Elidad said.

  They walked to the fire. Herrek quietly set aside his sharpening tools, Gens bundled his birch-bark, and Adah rolled the map and stuck it in her sash. They boarded the chariots and headed toward the hills.

  They didn’t stop until the sun sank into the distant horizon, and the stars appeared. The stars shined brightly in the clear air. Far off to the east the half-moon rose. Dire wolves howled. Sabertooths roared. The distant thunder of hooves told of a chase. Joash waited as he rubbed oil into a pair of reins, hoping to hear the trumpet of mammoths. Instead he heard the creak of boot-leather and the soft chink of chainmail.

  He turned.

  Herrek stood beside him. The warrior held onto his spear and shield, looking longingly at the dark hills. He wore his helmet, the nasal-guard snug over his nose. Herrek blew out his cheeks impatiently.

  Joash saw Adah laying on her bedroll. Koton stood beside her, yawning. Gens withdrew dung from the dung-sack and tossed it into the fire. It stank, but it gave them a flame. All day long Joash had been filling the sack with dried bison chips. Elidad already snored, his body between the parked chariots.

  “I long to meet them,” Herrek said softly.

  Joash folded the reins and capped the oil flask.

  Herrek glanced at him. “Are you ready, Groom?”

  “Warrior?”

  “Are you ready to face the evil foe?”

  “Nephilim?”

  Herrek grunted, shifting his hold on the oblong shield.

  “Do you think giants will be at the cave?”

  “They must be there.” Herrek looked longingly at the dark hills. “I came to Giant Land to challenge the enemy. I knew that something of this sort must be in my great, great grandfather’s heart. He’s a cunning man. He does not leave the center of his kingdom to chase after illusionary quests. Therefore I was honored when he chose me to be his champion.” Herrek expanded his chest. “Elidad spoke with you before, no doubt encouraging you to be bold. I, too, challenge you to face the enemy as you did Balak when you charged him. Hold your spear with courage. Thrust the spear-point at his eyes. Make him blink. Make him turn away.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Herrek gave him a quizzical glance.

  “I-I haven’t been trained yet, Lord.”

  Herrek stepped back and lifting his shield. In a smooth motion he reversed his grip on the spear and held it over his shoulder in the casting position. “Notice how I balance the spear.”

  Joash did.

  “Hold your spear likewise.”

  Joash tried. The spearhead dipped.

  “No! Find the balance point, where neither end wavers.”

  Joash finally got it.

  “Now heave!” Herrek hurled his spear. It flashed into the darkness. With a roar he drew his blade and bounded after the spear. In moments, Herrek stood beside him again. He breathed heavily. “In a like manner, I will charge the hated enemy.”

  Joash stood motionless, the spear still over his shoulder. Herrek never bragged nor tried to overawe him. Perhaps, though, in the depths of his heart, this is how Herrek saw himself: a fierce warrior, a champion of Clan Teman, of Elon. But did Herrek really believe he could slay giants by himself?

  “Cast your weapon. Let the lesson begin.”

  It wasn’t until the half-moon was high in the sky that Herrek let him quit. Joash’s arm was sore, although his throwing technique had improved. It was a lot like javelin throwing, except you had to put your body into the cast more and snap your arm just so. As he lay down Joash glanced at Herrek. The tall warrior strode around the camp. Joash hoped he would tire in time to catch some sleep. But maybe Herrek was too eager to lie down. Then, Joash recalled the emeralds. Now would be the perfect time to try to steal them.

  “Psst!”

  Joash turned and saw Elidad staring at him. The bear-like warrior seemed to be judging him. At last Elidad smiled and nodded good night.

  Countless worries gnawed Joash, not the least that somehow Elidad could sense or read his thoughts. But the day’s activities had wearied him. He fell into troubled slumber. It was filled with bad dreams. Joash shivered himself awake later, rose, and threw more dung onto the fire. The night was cold and filled with menacing sounds. Gens crouched near the chariot, his spear ready. Herrek slept with his armor and weapons beside him. Elidad had a blanket thrown over his shoulders. Joash stealthily stepped in the bear-like warrior’s direction. Elidad groaned. Joash stepped closer. Elidad’s eyes flew open and he sat up. Joash pretended to stumble and made his way back to his bedroll. He stared up at the stars for a long time before he finally fell asleep again.

  * * *

  “Wake up,” Elidad said, toeing Joash’s shoulder.

  Joash opened bleary eyes. It was still dark, although the hidden sun painted the horizon with streaks of red. Somewhere in the distance a steppe stallion neighed.

  “Get up,” Elidad said. “Hitch the horses.”

  “It’s still dark.”

  Elidad shrugged, the motion evident by the clink of chainmail.

  Sleep drugged Joash. Elidad toed him again. With a groan Joash sat up. His right arm and side were sore, his legs tired. Shivering, he pulled on his leathers and sleepily rolled his blanket. He stowed it in the chariot, then went to the fire, splashed his face with water, rubbed his eyes, and drank a scalding cup of tea. He chewed on salted herring, warmed his hands by the fire, and finally dragged himself to the stallions. Gens whistled as he hitched Galay and Geirrod, while Herrek paced impatiently. Even Adah seemed well rested. She brushed Koton with swift strokes.

  Maybe he should look at the emeralds again, Joash thought bitterly. If they imparted a good night’s sleep from only the barest of hours and after a grueling day—

  Pondon butted him in the back and tried to walk off. Joash stopped himself from hitting the horse, but stroked Pondon’s neck and spoke soothingly. The stallions were tired and didn’t like the early morning hitching. They, too, felt the grueling pace.

  Something odd made Joash pause and look over at Elidad. The warrior squatted by the fire and examined the emeralds. But that wasn’t what had caught Joash’s eye. Elidad looked haggard. His cheeks seemed to shine, and he had a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Joash tightened the last buckle and walked to the fire.

  Elidad looked up. His eyes were even more bloodshot than they’d been yesterday. He grinned as he pocketed the emeralds. “All is ready?” he asked, as if vigor-filled.

  Joash nodded.

  Elidad rose, kicked out the fire, and strode to the chariot.

  Joash went to each of them and unobtrusively studied their features. Herrek’s eyes were bloodshot, although not as much as Elidad’s. Gens’s face seemed paler than yesterday, and the skin under Adah’s eyes was puffy.

  The hard pace affects them, Joash thought in horror, but the magic won’t let them feel it. He felt utterly alone, abandoned among strangers. He didn’t want to travel any closer to the hills, he wanted to flee back to the camp. He wanted to tell Zillith everything he knew. Yet he couldn’t do that. For one thing, he’d never make it back. Tarag’s sabertooths would catch him, or perhaps a pack of dire wolves, or some orns. Or maybe the others would hunt him as a traitor, and slay him. At least Elidad might do that. The reason Joash wouldn’t try to go back went deeper. These were his friends. He had to save his friends. That’s what a warrior would do, that’s what Herrek had done for him two years ago.

&nbs
p; Did warriors fear the way he feared now? And did warriors feel alone and abandoned? The pit of Joash’s stomach curled, and he felt drained. Koton brushed against his leg then, and the dog wagged his tail. Joash touched Koton’s big head. Koton licked his hand. Joash grinned and rubbed behind Koton’s ears.

  “At least you’re not bewitched,” he whispered. “At least I’m not all alone.”

  Before he could do any more, Herrek shouted, and Gens spoke to his team. The chariots rolled and Joash followed. They traveled toward the pass. By late morning they would reach the dreaded hills. By then it would be too late to do anything to save the others. Of that, Joash was certain.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Hills of Kel-Hemen

  They called to the mountains and the rocks, “Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who sits on the throne… For the great day of their wrath has come, and who can stand?”

  — Revelation 6:16-17

  Joash clenched his teeth and concentrated upon proper breathing. Two long strides, breathe in, hold for two more strides, then let out for two more. His right side felt as if his muscles had been sewn together. Every turn, every twist pulled at the spear-throwing muscles and caused needle-sharp pain.

  At times he almost pitched aside his spear. Carrying it hurt his rhythm, and it was heavier today than yesterday. He longed for a javelin, remembering how its slight bounce had seemed to add to his running rhythm rather than destroying it. Pride ran too deep, however, to ask either Herrek or Elidad to carry his spear in their chariots.

  The others pulled ahead until Joash was fifty yards behind. They topped a small rise, leaving him all alone. It was then, from behind a clump of boulders, that Joash heard loud screeching. He whirled around to see a huge, ten-foot orn dashing at him. The flightless bird had a wicked-looking yellow beak, like a pickaxe. The orn ran on big, three-clawed toes with razor-sharp talons. Orns were like the ostriches of the South, but were bigger, were meat-eaters, and were known for their savage temperament.

  Joash froze before he yelled and brought up his spear. The orn screeched and flapped its stubby, useless wings. Its eyes blazed with predatory zeal. When it was only twenty feet away and closing an arrow whizzed over Joash’s head and sank into the orn’s breast. The orn staggered, righted itself, and renewed the charge. Another arrow hissed. The orn screeched with rage, baffled at these slivers of flying wood.

  Joash took that split-second to regain his courage and hurled his spear at the staggering orn. If he missed, he was dead. He didn’t miss. Incredibly, however, the orn didn’t go down, but still staggered for him as if drunk. A final arrow hissed into the orn’s head. The orn sank to the ground, its huge legs spasmodically kicking.

  Joash knew that if there had been just one more orn, that he’d be dead. He also knew he didn’t mind carrying the heavy spear.

  Adah walked up to him with a strange smile on her face.

  “That was wonderful shooting,” he said. “Thanks.”

  She laid a warm hand on his cheek.

  Impulsively, Joash kissed her.

  She blinked. “What was that for?”

  He shrugged sheepishly, but felt supreme.

  “Koton kept barking at me,” she said. “The only way to get him to stop was to come back and help you. Now, hurry up and get your spear. We have no more time to waste.”

  For a while he kept thinking about her hand on his cheek, and how he’d kissed her. He thought, too, of the orn, and that Adah had come back to help him. Maybe Adah wasn’t under the emeralds’ spell as much as the others were.

  The pace never slackened, and Joash worked hard to keep up. The heat truly began when they came to a pool of black water. A basin of stone held the murky water, while bleached skeletons of bison, horses, and prairie dogs dotted the rocky ledge.

  “It’s poisoned,” Adah said. “Don’t let the horses drink from it.”

  They drove from the well and later parked in the shade of stunted bushes. Small red birds nested in the thorny branches and sang warbling songs. Joash unhitched and watered the stallions, using the chariot’s water-skin to fill the leather bucket.

  The hills were close, and from here Joash saw sharp ledges, pointed boulders, and deep, dark crevices. Yellow lichen clung to the rock and shale abounded. The hills looked rotten, as if they were brittle and ready to break. Grass, trees, and bushes were noticeable in their absence. No animals roamed there, although vultures soared on the heated updrafts. The nearby pass looked bleak, and Joash spied brown, diseased grass. The sun blazed with malignant might. It was like an evil eye, watching them, gauging their levels of endurance, mocking them all the while.

  “We must find water to refill the water-skins,” Adah told Herrek.

  From underneath his helmet, Herrek frowned.

  “There will be no good water in the hills,” she said.

  “Perhaps you’re wrong,” Herrek said.

  Adah shook her head.

  “Look at the river,” Herrek said, pointing far off to the right.

  “That portion is no longer cursed,” she said. “The rains have cleansed it.”

  Herrek shrugged. “We will drive to the cave, defeat the enemy, and drive back. The water we have will have to last.”

  Adah shook her head, muttering.

  “We cannot delay,” Herrek said. “Speed is of the essence.”

  “What do you know?” Elidad asked Adah.

  Her hand went to the red sash where she kept the parchment. She opened her mouth.

  “We must leave,” Herrek said.

  Elidad rubbed his bristly chin. “We must know the number and type of our foes.”

  “It matters not.” Herrek lifted his spear. “This will be enough.”

  Elidad didn’t look convinced. “Tell us what you know,” he told Adah.

  “Much is hidden,” she warned.

  “Yes, but you’ve studied the parchment,” Elidad said. “Perhaps you’ve deciphered some of the strange marks.”

  She nodded slowly, her features showing her uncertainty.

  “You know many of the old legends,” Joash added.

  Elidad glanced at him, smiled, and nodded in approval.

  “I…” Adah touched the sash again, and then she lowered herself until she sat on her boot heels. Her eyes shone, and she began to speak quickly. It was as if a dam had holed up her words, but now that dam was broken, and everything came gushing out.

  “It is bene elohim script, as you guessed, difficult to decipher. The script speaks of names infamous during the Accursed War. Names that defined magic, power, and brutal conquest. There is Draugr Trolock-Maker, Magog, and the wicked Morbain Kang. First Born were also named. There is Jotnar Father of Giants, Gog the Oracle, and the Nameless One who led the evil Niflmen of the Far North. Allied with these terrible ones was a host of the sons of Cain. They planned to sweep all before them.” Adah paused before adding softly, “A battle was fought here and awful magic released.”

  “The parchment said all that?” Elidad asked suspiciously.

  Adah slowly shook her head. “The rest is old knowledge, forgotten lore of a lost battle that helped save the world from darkness. Lod, my teacher, told me a portion of the tale. After reading the parchment, I remembered his words.”

  She looked at them, her dark, hypnotic eyes wide and her brown skin drawn over her cheekbones. “The powers of the North gathered for a surprise attack. They hoped to shatter the legions of Arioch the Archangel and lay waste to all the holdings along the Suttung Sea. Then, with those lands secure, they would join forces with Azel and his southern captains, and they would join with Moloch, Baal, and Surtur. With the combined hosts and with the covering legions of Arioch but a memory, they would crush the armies of Caphtor, Ir, and Iddo. But, such was not to be. Arioch the Archangel marshaled his legions earlier than was his wont, and he gathered many allies. Sturdy spearmen from Nearer and Further Tarsh joined with Huri archers. Many Shining Ones and their guards also joined Arioch. They sailed across the Su
ttung Sea in an armada of open boats and landed close to where we now stand.”

  Adah smiled grimly. “Such is the old story. Now, combined with my parchment, I know where we are. That is why I have grown fearful. My back is bowed, my burden more than I can carry.”

  Herrek stirred impatiently.

  Gens carved on his birch-bark.

  Elidad stared at her, his emotions unreadable.

  “Draugr Trolock-Maker was counted among the mightiest of the bene elohim,” she continued. “He, along with Necromon, studied the terrible magic of spirits. Wicked were Draugr’s ways, crafty his hideous art. Luckily, his host this time was less in number than that of Arioch’s, and it was too late for Draugr to flee. But his skills didn’t desert him, nor did his soldiers. By his evil arts he caused these very hills to rise from the ground. Here he awaited Arioch, and here he made his fell plans. In dark caves Draugr forged a horrid army of trolocks, using spirits to animate the humanoid piles of living rock.

  “Only when he was ready, and after a month of siege, did Draugr dare march from his hill-made fortress and meet Arioch on the plains below. The clash of armies was terrible, the battle bloody. Many champions died, countless warriors perished. In the end, Arioch the Archangel drove the evil horde from the field and back into the artfully risen hills. The slaughter there was horrible, but evil also befell the victorious. For the hills were rigged with traps by the crafty bene elohim. Even so, Arioch was merciless and hunted his ancient foes. Draugr Trolock-Maker fled to a cave, ‘tis said, and there Arioch found him and sealed him within. Many trolocks were sealed with Draugr, so they could torment their dread creator until he released his spirit for judgment. Jotnar escaped the hills, as did the Nameless One and a thousand of his Niflmen. They fled north.

  “The hills were thereafter called Kel-Hemen, meaning, the Hills of Death. The Nephilim, I’m told, have named these the Gjoll Hills, which means, the ‘Blood of the High.’”