by Leta Blake
Jack’s pulse raced when the moon disappeared altogether and the darkness seemed to close in even tighter. As the narrowing stalk rocked from side to side, he curled his fingers around a thin stem, certain it would snap. But the stalk seemed made of iron at its core, and no matter how thin it became, it did not break, not even at the point where Jack wrapped his arms and legs around it, pulling himself up as he once did on the rope Adair nightly dropped from his chamber window so many years ago.
It wasn’t until the stalk was almost at an end that Jack looked up and realized the deeper darkness shrouding him was due to the hulking shadow of a structure above him. With a burst of adrenaline, he realized he’d made it to the giant’s lair. As he’d heard from those very few who had returned with their lives, it was a stone castle, as huge as any Jack had seen in picture books.
Eagerly, he looked for a way inside. He shimmied farther up the stalk and reached. He touched only air. In the dark hulk of the castle above, he could make out a hole in the bottom. With a sinking heart and a violent churn of his stomach, he realized his predicament.
The stalk had not finished growing, of course.
The wind, sharp as a blade, slashed Jack’s face, and he closed his eyes as the stalk wavered and whipped to and fro. Panic unspooled in his gut, and he swallowed hard, his throat like sandpaper. I’m going to die. A whimper escaped his lips, and he clung to the stalk, utterly rigid.
Earlier he’d told himself that death was preferable to his lot, but now as he faced the very real possibility of the end, he found the yearning for life still held sway over him. There was a frantic need deep within to survive, and Jack drew on that urge to bring energy to his body and clarity to his mind.
Inching up, Jack climbed as high as he could on the stalk, squeezing it between his knees as he stood on the last stem and reached. His fingertips barely grazed the stone. If he could go just a bit higher, he could grasp the ledge and pull himself into the castle. For a wild moment, he wondered how quickly the stalk grew, and whether he could simply wait.
Laughter tinged with an edge of hysteria escaped Jack’s lips. No, he must act now. He knew what he must do. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as he bent his knees. He would have but one chance. After all the years of dreaming, of imagining his victory over the stalk, the moment was here. He could go back, or he could go forward and make the world new.
With a desperate burst of power, he jumped, arms outstretched.
His left hand lost purchase almost immediately, and he gripped the ledge with only his right hand. Swinging his legs with a grunt, Jack propelled himself up and caught hold with his left hand. His fingernails cracked as he dug in, tendons in his fingers screaming.
His chin reached the ledge and he managed to get his arms up, digging in with his elbows. The wind shrieked, and he used it to rock back and forth until he had the momentum to swing his left leg up and over the ledge. With a groan, he hauled himself up and rolled to safety.
Heart pounding, he forced a deep breath into his lungs, exhaling slowly. I made it.
He panted and stared up at the domed ceiling above him, exhausted. He felt giddy as he chuckled softly, his body burning and aching all over from his climb. He knew he should move, should find the treasure, but for a minute, all Jack could do was breathe and revel in the fact that his heart still beat and his aching body remained in one piece and not splattered red on the fields far below.
But there was no rest to be had, for a bellow of rage boomed like thunder.
Jack clasped his hands over his ears, gasping as the foundation of the castle seemed to shudder. Summoning strength from he knew not where, Jack leapt to his feet and turned this way and that, not sure where to run.
Light appeared in the passageway ahead, flickering flames that illuminated the great shadow of a beast. The giant’s growl filled the air as if dredged up from the depths of hell, and Jack quaked, clammy fear clawing its way from his throat in a cry. He stood and ran blindly into the castle.
The giant pursued.
Jack turned left, then right, running deeper into the darkness. Lurching forward, he sought a place to hide, but he could barely see in front of his face let alone discover a hidey hole. The giant’s booming footsteps filled Jack’s ears, moving ever closer.
The giant’s outraged roar reverberated off the walls, and with the ease of a child plucking a worm from the garden, Jack felt a rending tug on the back of his tunic. Then only blackness.
Chapter Three
With a grunt, Rion dropped the invader from his shoulder. The man landed with a thud on the dank dungeon floor. Rion quickly backed out and slammed the door with a clang before the Outsider awoke. He peeked in through the small, barred window in the iron door. The man hadn’t moved a muscle.
Stepping away, he carefully stripped off his gloves and lifted the hard leather mask, breathing deeply. He’d collapsed the high metal frame inside his cloak to carry the Outsider, and now he carefully lifted the heavy garment from his shoulders completely.
It had been more than two years since he’d had to don the contraption to frighten and fool an Outsider. Sweat beaded on his forehead even in the chill, and he swiped at it with the sleeve of his nightshirt. He hadn’t had time to dress when he’d been awoken by the invader.
Rion made his way to the center of the castle, his slippers silent on the stone floor. After so many years alone in the castle, he knew its every moan and groan, every creak and rasp. A moment after waking he’d known without a shadow of a doubt that an intruder had somehow breached his home. Now that the Outsider was locked away, the question of how returned to Rion’s mind.
Reaching the portal, he could make out the top of the stalk wavering below. Rion lowered himself onto his belly, leaned out of the portal and inspected beneath the hole, searching for climbing apparatus.
Nothing. Sitting back on his heels, he pondered. How had the man made it the last distance to the castle?
Still pondering the question, Rion went to the kitchen to stoke the fire and heat water. The Outsiders were disgusting, disease-ridden creatures, and even with his gloves and cloak, Rion couldn’t be too careful. If he took ill before fulfilling his duty to carry on his family line, he would fail his parents and ancestors so completely he would not be able to face them in the afterworld.
Rion scrubbed his hands and arms up to his elbows in scalding water and lye soap, remembering his mother telling him, the hotter the water the more disease it kills, Rion. When his skin was red and raw, he returned to the kitchen. Quickly, he prepared the necessary equipment and filled an iron pot with boiling water.
Once again donning his hard leather mask carved with an ornate, demonic design and topped with horns, and the hulking cape, Rion returned to the cell and peered through the bars. The man shivered on the stone floor, his back to the door. Wary, Rion turned the key, one eye on the Outsider, who froze.
With a dramatic flourish, Rion threw open the door and growled, “Who dares trespass here?” The cell fairly shook as the mask amplified his voice. He’d been taught the giant’s script as a child and he rarely altered it. He stayed out of sight just beyond the doorway but hoped his shadow cast from the torch behind him appeared as a terror to the Outsider.
There was a scuttling sound, followed by a gasp for air. Then a plea. “Please. I beg for mercy.” The Outsider’s voice was hoarse.
Mercy. Why should Rion show mercy to any Outsider? They were ruthless, greedy thieves. He had no pity for an Outsider.
“Face the wall.”
He waited a few moments before peeking in. The Outsider did as he was told, and stood in the far corner, his back to the door, shoulders hunched. “Please, sir. If I could just explain—”
“Silence!” Rion roared.
The man trembled and said nothing. Good. It was easier this way. Rion placed the iron pot in the cell, along with a scrub brush and lye. He pulled the door partially closed. “Remove your garments.”
The Outsider hesitate
d and started to turn. “M-my garments?”
“Face the wall!”
Jerking back around, the man nodded and yanked his tunic off. With erratic movements, he stripped down. Eye to the crack in the open door, Rion watched as the Outsider revealed his flesh. He was long and slim, his forearms colored from the sun as if he rolled up his sleeves. The rest of his skin was pale, and Rion wondered if it would be smooth to the touch…
His back flexed, hands dropping to his waistband. As the Outsider bent and bared his round arse and firm thighs, Rion’s cock twitched, his throat suddenly dry. Unbidden, images flooded Rion’s mind as he watched. Those muscular legs spread, the Outsider’s arse in Rion’s hands. He would punish him…or taste him…
Rion flushed and shook his head as if he could banish the thoughts. It was repulsive, feeling…what? Desire? For such a creature? Alone too long.
The man stood facing the corner with his arms wrapped around his waist. He was naked now except for his woolen cap. The torch flickered as a draft whipped along the stone walls, and the Outsider was cloaked in shadows for a moment. Rion leaned closer, the mask digging into his forehead.
As the torch returned to full strength, Rion commanded, “Take if off.”
The Outsider reached up, but then hesitated, his fingers frozen in midair. Then his shoulders drooped and he hunched into himself even further as he snatched the cap from his head and dropped it to the floor.
Rion couldn’t stifle his gasp, which echoed through the mask. In the torchlight, the man’s hair glowed like the embers of a fire, each strand seeming to shine with color. It was unlike anything Rion had ever seen.
“I know.” The man’s voice was ragged. “It’s…”
Only one word came to Rion’s mind. Beautiful.
“Hideous,” the man finished.
Rion blinked behind his mask. Yes, of course it was hideous. The man was repellent in every way. No matter if his hair was the color of the deepest sunsets. “Clean yourself.”
The man slowly peered over his shoulder and turned. Rion’s breath caught in his throat. The same burnished hair was sprinkled across his lean, muscled chest, and gathered in a thatch at his groin. And nestled there was a long, thick cock that made Rion’s mouth water.
The others he’d frightened away over the years had been boys. But this Outsider was every inch a man.
Rion watched through the crack in the door as the man scrubbed and rinsed himself. The Outsider’s pale skin was soon reddened, but he didn’t seem to mind, and his shivering had ceased. A gasp escaped the man’s lips as he poured a cup of water over his head, darkening his red locks.
Rion shifted uncomfortably beneath his cloak and resisted the urge to press his hand against his swelling cock. The Outsider was clean now, his skin gleaming. In the faint light, Rion thought he could make out freckles dotting the man’s thighs. He wondered what they would feel like under his fingertips….
Enough!
He tossed clean breeches and a tunic into the cell and pulled his thick gloves on. “Face the wall.” The Outsider did as he was told and Rion collected the man’s clothes to burn.
“My name is Jack. If I could only explain?”
Rion opened his mouth and closed it again. He was so surprised by the question that he couldn’t think of an appropriately terrifying response. He tossed the pot out of the cell, where it landed with a deafening clang without needing to be amplified. Taking a deep breath, he snarled, “Shut your mouth, or I’ll slice out your tongue!”
Slamming the door behind him, Rion twisted the key in the lock. He stalked away to go dress and figure out what to do with his prisoner.
* * * * *
There was only darkness. As the minutes—hours?—passed, there was a line of faint light under the door. With no window, Jack had no idea what time it was. He huddled in the corner, body aching and mind spinning. What was the giant waiting for? The few who’d made it to the castle had quickly returned after being beaten and whipped. At this point Jack welcomed that outcome if it would put an end to the waiting.
For a desperate moment, he wondered if, as time passed, he might stand a chance of rescue. He startled at his own harsh laugh echoing on the dank stone. Who would even know he’d gone? Certainly not his own family. Perhaps the baron’s foreman might notice his dung hauler was absent from the fields, but Jack would just be replaced without another thought.
The only one who might know of Jack’s desire to climb the beanstalk was Adair, and he’d likely long forgotten. Even if he hadn’t, it mattered not. Jack had ceased being of any importance to Adair seven years ago.
There was a faint thump from somewhere nearby, and Jack opened his eyes. The strip of light remained below the door, and after a moment a shadow crossed it. The giant coming to teach Jack a lesson? This selfish beast who hoarded his treasure—who was he to keep Jack locked up? Why should Jack just sit back and wait as always? It was time to take his fate in his own hands.
The element of surprise was the only weapon Jack possessed. As the key scraped in the lock, he leaped to his bare feet. He was tired of being the plaything of others. He would take charge of his destiny this time, or die trying.
As the door opened, Jack sprang forward and slammed full body into his captor, driving him to the floor. Blinking, he stared down at the beast. No, at the man. For he stood only a few inches taller than Jack. A grotesque mask and some kind of huge cloak with a metal frame gave him the illusion of a terrible visage and great height, but it was only that—an illusion. This devil was far from a giant!
After a stunned moment, they grappled for dominance. Jack hammered the man with his fists, the man’s leather mask making it difficult to injure him. The devil roared, and Jack’s ears rung as the noise reverberated around him.
They rolled and wrestled. Jack reached blindly for anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers brushed the iron pot he’d used earlier to clean himself, and he grasped for it desperately as the false giant straddled him. Lunging, he grabbed the pot and swung it up against the side of the man’s head.
As he toppled over and slumped to the floor, motionless, Jack was partly trapped beneath his body, and he shimmied out, kicking himself away. The beast didn’t so much as twitch, and for a moment panic shrieked in Jack’s veins. God, he didn’t want to kill the man.
Heart thumping, Jack crawled over, pot still in hand lest he need to brandish it again. It was hard to tell under the heavy cloak, but the man’s chest still seemed to rise and fall. Curiosity getting the better of him, Jack reached out and yanked the man’s mask from his head.
Breath stuttering in his chest, Jack took in the most handsome face he’d ever seen.
A strong jaw and high cheekbones sculpted the handsome features. His nose was straight, lips plump and ripe. He had dark, slightly curling hair, and stubble covered his chin and neck. Jack wondered what color his eyes were. With a face so fair, he must truly be the devil. Jack reached for him, but snatched his hand back before touching him. What was he doing? Run!
Murky sunlight swallowed by the gray gloom of the castle showed Jack the way back to the portal. At the edge of the opening, he knelt and peered down at the tip of the stalk. Seeing the distance he’d leaped churned his stomach. He needed a rope.
He glanced back the way he came, but all was still. What if he needs help? What if he dies? There didn’t appear to be other living souls in the castle, or Jack thought they would have come running at the earlier cacophony. What am I going back to? He thought of Inga and swallowed thickly. Nothing. I’m going back to nothing. A debt I can’t repay.
For too long he’d been at the mercy of others. For too long he’d meekly accepted his fate. He needed to find the treasure. He needed to escape not only the castle, but the valley far below.
And the devil would help him.
Chapter Four
Rion woke to find himself tied to a bare bed with a thin mattress in the corner of a small, windowless room. After a moment’s disorientation,
he recognized it as the long-disused servants’ quarters. His head throbbed and his throat was hoarse. He wasn’t used to talking, let alone roaring and shouting.
Movement from across the room caught his eye. Turning his head he sought the source of it, taking in the uncovered walls and the ancient disintegrating rug on the floor. He gasped when he saw his cloak in a heap on the carpet. Terror ripped through him, and he lifted his gaze to see Jack watching from the corner, his blue eyes cold and cautious. The Outsider.
Rion roused completely, bucked up and growled. A small knife rested in Jack’s belt, and Rion recognized it as his own. Tugging desperately with his legs and arms, he realized he was firmly bound to the four small posters of the bed. Rion pulled and yelled, using his full body strength to try to rip himself free, to break the bed, to do whatever it took to get loose of his restraints.
Falling back on the mattress, he glared at Jack, who kept his distance. Jack spoke with an attempt at authority that didn’t quite ring true. “Tell me where the treasure is.”
“Never.”
“Tell me where it is and I’ll go. I only require a small amount.”
“Over my dead body, you worthless, thieving scum.” Rion spat to punctuate his sentiments.
“Then we are at a stalemate.” Jack took a breath and blew it out, rubbing a hand over his shining hair. “What is your name?”
Rion stared at the ceiling, lips compressed.
“Truly, you are not much of a giant.”
Rion roared but it sounded ridiculous even to his own ears without his mask to amplify the sound.
Jack took the knife in hand and put steel in his voice, as if mimicking someone else’s fearless commands like a child at play. “Tell me!”
Rion growled low, but didn’t jerk against his restraints further. There was no use and it was humiliating to struggle before this Outsider. He decided on a different tack, closing his eyes and yawning widely. “I think I’ll have a nap.” For a moment there was only silence, and then quick footsteps and cold steel against Rion’s throat. He opened his eyes.