As Joash unleashed the last one, the dogs began barking, their hackles up as they glared at the dry riverbed.
“What do they sense?” Herrek shouted at Joash.
Joash stood among the dogs, away from the others and closest to the riverbed. “I’ll go see,” he shouted.
“Wait, I’ll go with you,” Nestor said, as he drew his sword, running to help.
The dogs took courage in the company of the armed groom and barked louder than before. Perhaps stung by that, a hidden sabertooth roared with hatred. The huge beast scrambled out of the riverbed and charged Nestor.
Joash snatched his javelin from where he’d laid in on the ground. Blood flowed from recent wounds on the sabertooth’s flanks, and the beast’s saber-like fangs were an odd yellow color. Joash hurled his missile and missed. He drew his dagger, and froze as the sabertooth roared again. The dogs jumped out of the sabertooth’s path, leaving an open lane to Nestor. The groom shouted the Teman war cry and swung viciously. He might as well have swung a stick. The massive sabertooth sent the sword spinning. Then its claws shredded flesh as the beast crushed Nestor backward into the ground.
Horror struck Joash numb. He blinked once, twice, and then forced his arm to lift. He stepped near the beast with his puny dagger. A parrot-feathered arrow hissed past him and sank into the sabertooth’s side.
About to bite Nestor’s head, the beast snarled rage and whipped its head up.
The dogs recovered from their surprise. Harn and the others swarmed the sabertooth, lunging in, biting, darting out and dancing about the beast as they barked wildly. The beast flicked its paws and sent a dog tumbling. Brave Harn darted in from the other side and dug his teeth into gray hide. Furiously, the sabertooth whirled and slashed. Harn fell back with a whine, blood pumping from his side.
Now Herrek arrived. He roared his battle cry and hurled his spear. The beast sagged, and another parrot-feathered arrow hissed into it. Herrek raced past Joash and thrust his sword. The sabertooth snarled and tried to swat the warrior. Then, others hurled spears and the sabertooth died.
Sick with fear for his friend, Joash helped the warriors drag Nestor out from under the beast. Incredibly, Nestor breathed, but white thighbone stuck through torn flesh, and he must have several cracked or broken ribs. Adah knelt beside him. Like many singers, she knew the healing arts. She pushed the bone into place and used her long dagger-sheath as a splint, winding a cord around it. Nestor awoke, groaning. Then he clenched his teeth and remained silent.
Chariots rattled into the riverbed and out beyond. Warriors roamed the area but spotted no more of the big beasts.
Seeing that Nestor would survive, Joash turned in horror toward Harn. The huge, tawny-colored dog panted on the ground, his exposed side torn and bloody. Lord Uriah had given Joash express orders that Harn must not fight sabertooths. Now Harn would die because the order had been disobeyed.
Meanwhile, the wagon masters begged the charioteers to escort them back to camp. “The new stallions,” wailed the chief wagon master. “You can’t afford to lose the new stallions.”
“The sabertooths we saw earlier surely went south,” Herrek said.
“No! The sabertooths are here,” the chief wagon master shouted.
“That one was a young male,” Adah said.
The chief wagon master stared uncomprehendingly at her.
“Examine the beast’s wounds,” Adah said. “Another sabertooth recently attacked him. This one acted alone, not with a pride.”
“Madness!” the chief wagon master cried. He turned back to Herrek. “Escort us back to camp.”
“Hurry there,” Herrek shouted. “I’ll not fail those who need my help against sabertooths.” He nodded sharply. Gens flicked the reins, and the chariot surged south.
The chief wagon master shouted panicked orders to his cousins from Havilah Holding. Others rushed about yanking up stakes. Others pulled down the awning, or heaved heavy water-skins into the wagons.
Joash hardly noticed any of that. He was sick with grief, and dreaded explaining Harn’s wounding to Lord Uriah. He carefully washed the blood, examined the broken ribs and the ugly flaps of torn skin. Harn’s eyes glazed over, and his panting turned shallow. Only quick action might save him. First, taking a steadying breath, Joash pressed the ribs together, and with a needle and catgut thread (sometimes he mended Herrek’s clothes) he sewed the skin together. Harn barely whined, too in shock to feel this new pain. After wrapping on a bandage, Joash wiped his eyes, stood, and stretched the kinks out of his back. He looked around in surprise. The wagons already trundled across the plain.
“Wait for me,” Joash shouted.
It was too far for them to hear. Beyond the wagons, the faster chariots churned dust.
Joash wanted to bolt after them. Harn whined and thumped his tail against the ground. Joash bit his lip. He was afraid to remain alone out here in Giant Land, but he stroked Harn’s neck and whispered encouraging words.
A vulture circled overhead, showing Joash that predatory creatures already began to gather. In time, there would be jackals, hyenas, and maybe more sabertooths.
Joash hurried to the abandoned camp. In their panic the others had left much behind. He pulled up two poles, laid them side by side, and cut empty water-skins to fashion crude netting between the poles. Carefully, he worked Harn onto the netting and lashed him into place. A hyena from somewhere in the distance uttered its strange cry. Joash studied a tall, waving field, his closest destination. Beyond the large stalks were purple flowers, and then a line of thorn bushes.
His legs felt leaden. He should have kept one of the other dogs and hooked it to his hastily built travois. Now, he’d have to be the beast of burden.
“Are you ready, boy?”
Harn panted, his tongue hanging from his mouth.
The hidden hyena cried again. Joash glanced at his javelin, remembering how well he’d thrown when scared. He studied the spear lodged in the nearby sabertooth carcass. While a runner often picked up spears that missed their targets, he only touched such weapons because of a warrior’s previous permission. That seven-foot weapon of war belonged to Herrek. A non-warrior was forbidden to touch it. Vain about his weapons, Herrek might look upon such an action as an insult.
The hyena yelped louder.
Joash tore the heavy spear free of the carcass. Flies buzzed and a coppery stink wafted. Joash wiped off gore and lashed the spear to the travois.
In the distance, the cooking-wagons and captured ponies dipped below a drop in the terrain. The chariots had already vanished. Joash spat into his hands and bent his legs, grabbing the pole-ends. Harn was heavy, but Joash began to drag the travois.
His hands quickly become sore, causing his grip to weaken. Dragging the heavy dog also strained his weary legs. Joash endured. Harn’s survival depended upon his reaching Zillith. After a time, he passed the tall field of stalks. A quarter mile away, hyenas trotted parallel to him. One stopped and stared. Joash ignored it. The hyena nuzzled its companions. They all stopped. Finally, they trotted his way. Joash’s stomach tightened. He had feared this. Setting down the travois, Joash slid into the nearby riverbed. In moments he stood beside Harn again, with smooth stones in his pouch. Joash began to unwind a lion-skin sling that he kept around his waist.
He’d learned the rudiments of slinging from a Shurite slave. Herrek had captured the Shurite on a raid into Massa country, one of the most backward tribes of Shur. The Massa fought with slings, some carrying three different lengths of leather and four kinds of missiles. Joash knew about fireballs of flaming pitch and heavy lead balls that could break shields in a single blow. Joash had never practiced slinging in sight of the Elonite warriors, who would surely have mocked him for using Massa weaponry.
Joash put a stone in the pouch, twirled the sling over his head, and released. The stone kicked up dust in front of the hyenas. The beasts stopped and growled in their weird way. Soon they trotted toward him once more.
Back in Elon, the
hyenas were smaller and more cowardly. Here, they were huge, like everything else. Joash ignored the twisting in his guts and twirled the sling as he clenched his teeth. The hyenas yipped as their trot increased into a lope.
This time, the stone hit a hyena in the head. It sank, twitched, then stood up and wobbled away. The others peered at it. The Massa slave could have slain the hyena from this range, but Joash didn’t have the knack down yet. Still, with his increased confidence, he hit another hyena, this one in the side. The hyena screamed and took off running. The others, as they watched Joash put a fourth stone into his sling, turned and dashed away.
Joash picked up the travois afterward and found that the scare had drained his strength. He willed himself toward the nearest thorn bushes. With each step the travois grew heavier. “The thorn bushes,” he told himself. Before he stopped he’d have to reach them.
Joash saw a dreadful sight then. A sabertooth bounded across the dry riverbed. The massive beast was still far off. When the sabertooth climbed the bank, the tall stalks hid Joash from view. As the first beast had disappeared, another sabertooth bounded across the riverbed. It was as if they crossed one-by-one in order to decrease their chances of being seen. When a third sabertooth repeated the performance, Joash knew Giant Land was finally living up to its ominous reputation.
Joash bent his head and dragged the travois faster. His lungs burned, and he couldn’t feel his fingers. The scrape of wood on ground sounded loud, and every time the ends clacked against a rock he winced. Finally, Joash reached the thorn bushes. He carefully pushed a sleeping Harn under the thorns. He slashed his shirt in the process and twice his arms, drawing blood. Joash sucked the blood off the thorns to keep the scent out of the air. Then he squeezed in beside Harn and lowered cut branches in front of them, barricading them in.
Joash watched through the thorns. In time, a huge sabertooth padded past. This beast seemed even larger when viewed while lying on the ground. Shortly, a second, third, and fourth sabertooth padded past. Out of caution, Joash waited for more.
Lying down, prone, resting at last, his eyelids became heavier and heavier. Although scared, the thorns gave him a feeling of security. As the fifth sabertooth padded past, Joash faded off.
***
A yipping cry caused Joash to jerk upward. A thorn stabbed him in the neck. He cursed and woke up faster. His eyes widened as he saw that the sun had set and the moon arisen into the night sky. Everything had become much more dangerous.
Joash listened but couldn’t hear any nearby animals. He glanced at Harn. The hound breathed raggedly. Joash wriggled out, drank water, ate deer jerky, and dragged Harn out. Guilt filled him. The others would think him lost and look for him. Joash spat onto his hands, picked up the poles, wincing, and dragged Harn.
The full moon cast a silvery sheen onto the landscape. The steppes seemed enchanted and eerie. It wasn’t hot anymore, but was refreshingly cool instead. A breeze rolled the silvery grasses like waves. Giant ostrich-like orns screeched their hunting cries, making Joash feel exposed. If—
He stopped, and stared at a footprint. In the moonlight, he couldn’t miss it. Joash lowered the travois, glanced about, and put his own foot in the print. The footprint dwarfed his. Although human-shaped, this was clearly the track of a giant.
Joash grew pale. First sabertooths had attacked two camps, now giants were near. If the giant should spot him—
Joash shook his head. The people in camp must learn that a giant possibly knew about them. It seemed unlikely a giant could have been this close to Hori Cove without spotting anyone. Joash picked up his end of the travois and dragged Harn faster.
A strange light appeared before him. It looked like lantern-light, but was too high, unless someone had put a lantern on the end of a long pole.
Joash moaned. Behind the light, he saw a face, a huge bearded face—a giant’s face. With heavy chainmail clinking the giant strode toward him. The giant wore a bronze buckle on his belt and was twice the height of Herrek. Although very broad-shouldered, the giant had a gaunt face, and his eyes were sunken in, as if he’d gone through terrible times.
Giants, Joash knew, were Nephilim, the children of First Born, who in turn were children of the bene elohim. All the old fear he’d felt in Shamgar, and later with Balak, returned. The giant towered above him, and held onto a monstrous axe with an anchor-sized blade. The giant didn’t look friendly, but rather like a hardened veteran of war. The eyes seemed haunted with dark knowledge. Giants lived longer than even the longest-lived patriarchs did.
“You survived the sabertooths,” the giant rumbled, as he strode near. He had an incredibly deep voice.
“Y-Yes, great sir,” Joash stammered. His knees felt weak.
He kept looking at that axe. Even in the moonlight, the axe’s iron seemed… unnatural—supernatural. It was black and curved gracefully as a lion’s back would as it leapt for the kill. Menace radiated from the axe, like poison dripping from a viper’s fang. It was double-bladed, the edge on each end the length from a man’s knee to his ankle. Joash could image the giant in battle, feet wide, bellowing, the long-handled axe swishing, the black iron sweeping three or four warriors at a time like a scythe chopping ripe grain. With such a weapon, the giant seemed invincible, the horror of war personified.
The giant lowered the lantern to better shine his light on Joash. “You drag a wounded hound,” the giant said, as if surprised.
“I-I do, great sir.” Joash wanted to run, but his feet wouldn’t obey.
“You aren’t wounded yourself?”
“No, great sir,” Joash said.
“What’s your name?” the giant asked, with anger in his voice.
Joash worked his mouth several times before he said, “Joash, great sir.”
“Do you belong to yonder camp?”
“I do, great sir.”
The giant’s haunted, knowledgeable eyes tightened. “What’s your station?”
Sick fear washed over Joash. The giant meant him ill. He meant the camp ill. Trembling, Joash lowered Harn to the ground and squatted beside him. He used his body to shield the sight of the spear.
“Answer me, manling.”
Joash squeezed his eyes shut, finding it hard to breath. He was about to die. For how could one outrun or outfight a giant? Begging for mercy wouldn’t sway one with eyes like those. To die with honor, with a weapon in one’s hands, to face the foe stoutly, a warrior strove for such things.
“Do not grovel before me,” the giant said. “Stand and answer me.”
In a daze, but determined, Joash undid the knots and lifted the spear.
The lantern rattled as the giant set it down. “What are you doing?”
Joash had sweaty palms and couldn’t feel his stomach.
“I said—”
Joash whirled and blindly charged.
The giant grunted with surprise. Then he swatted Joash with the back of his hand.
Joash crashed to the ground, with the wind knocked out of him. The spear was torn from his hands, and the point driven deep into the ground. Joash was lifted to his feet. He swayed, had blurry eyesight, and couldn’t breathe because his lungs had locked. Finally, he sucked air and his vision cleared. The giant sat cross-legged before him.
“Sit,” ordered the giant.
Joash sank.
“Why did you just attack me?”
Terrified, Joash still dared to look the giant in the eye. “Because you’re going to kill me,” he whispered.
The giant grunted. “You were dragging the dog back to the camp?”
Joash nodded, unable to speak further.
“How was he wounded?”
Joash worked his mouth and finally said, “By a sabertooth.”
“Something is badly wrong,” the giant muttered. “Tell me what happened.”
A new fear came over Joash. As Nephilim, children of First Born, giants were said to posses an accursed gift. Each gift was different, each unique. Each gift was a magical ability. So
me turned water into wine, or made metal turn white with heat. Others ran without becoming tired. Some saw into the future.
“Listen to me well, manling,” the giant said. “I’ll give you your life if you will give me the tales I desire.”
“M-My life?” Joash stammered.
The giant made a dismissive gesture. “What’s one life, and that of a young man? Besides, small one, you’ve acted bravely. You didn’t rush back to your camp with your tail between your legs. No, you built a travois and dragged your wounded hound with you. I admire such loyalty. Then, when confronted by a giant, you were sly enough to secretly draw your weapon, and bold enough to attack, even when death would be the outcome.”
“We speak in peace?” Joash asked, thunderstruck.
“Yes, tonight a giant and a manling speak in peace. You have the word of Mimir.”
Relief swept through Joash, and it made him giddy. He laughed. Then he looked up at the giant. Mimir smiled slyly.
That scared Joash again. He thought furiously. He knew that the best way to work upon warriors was through their vanity. Surely, giants weren’t any different. Joash gathered his courage, saying, “I’ve heard it said that a giant’s word is worth more than gold, jewels, or Caphtorite steel.”
Mimir snorted. “Tell me, manling, how did your hound come to be wounded?”
Joash told him about the fight with the sabertooth.
Mimir studied the stars. At last, he asked, “What happened to the other sabertooths?”
“Sir?”
“Don’t lie, manling. What about the other sabertooths?”
“There were no others, at least not at the roundup camp.”
“What do you mean?”
Joash told Mimir about the sabertooths he’d hidden from in the thorn bushes.
Mimir tugged at his shaggy beard. “You’re lying,” he said ominously. “Where were the other sabertooths, the ones who attacked with the slain young male?”
“I do not lie,” Joash said. “There were no others with the young male.”
Mimir studied Joash with fierce intensity. “No,” he said, “you’re not lying. Then… then why did your charioteers dash off?”
Giants Page 4