by karlov, matt
Noash ignored his brother. It was Jon’s fault they were late. Jon had insisted they stop at the mouth of the narrow inlet to skip rocks across the lake, an activity that provided the opportunity to show off his superior strength over his younger, smaller brother. Noash knew better than to try to dissuade him; defiance made Jon angry, and it might be days before he let it pass. Besides, Jon was the eldest, and their mother would hold him responsible for any delay.
His questing fingers closed around a fat clay neck and he drew forth the bottle of cow’s milk from its cool storage place, heaving it onto the grass at Jon’s feet.
“Now the other one,” Jon said. “Hurry!”
Noash returned his hand to the clear pool, setting his teeth against the chill; but as he did so he felt something stir out in the lake, the ripples of its motion reaching up the inlet and into the pool to brush against his fingers like an underwater shadow. He gasped, snatching his hand back and scrambling to his feet.
Jon gave him a startled look, then burst into laughter. “What happened? Fish nibble your finger?”
“No.” Noash gazed down the inlet at the vast, placid lake. The shore curved away behind a low rise that concealed the first of the cliffs away to the west. “Something’s coming,” he whispered.
“Mother will be coming if we don’t bring back her milk,” Jon said. “Fetch another one and we can — hey, where are you going? Hey!”
Noash darted away, heading for the rise that marked the edge of the village’s land, his brother’s shouts receding behind him. It was in the air, now: a hush, as though a hundred men all held their breath together. Something’s coming. He pushed himself up the hill, slowing as the ground steepened, until at last he reached the top, stumbling to a halt and looking out along the rocky shore.
Strangers trudged toward him, two light-brown men and a dark-skinned woman; and there, marching beside them, a giant made of stone and clay, walking with a sound like a millstone. Noash stared at the great, lumbering shape in amazement. It carried a fourth figure in its arms, holding it close like a mother cradling its child.
The woman nudged the man beside her, the one with the beard, and pointed directly at Noash. Terror closed over his heart. He turned and ran, pelting down the hill and toward the village as fast as his feet would take him.
Jon stood by the pool, shaking his arm dry, a pair of clay bottles on the grass beside him. He glanced up at Noash’s approach and scowled. “Mother’s going to be so angry when I tell her what you did.”
“Strangers,” Noash gasped, sprinting past his brother and on to the village. His father spent each morning out on the lake, catching the fish that fed them all, but he would be in by now, cleaning his catch, or maybe mending nets. Noash craned his neck as he ran, searching for a glimpse of his father’s shaggy head. There, by the boats. He veered toward the shore, calling out and waving his arms. “Father!”
His father looked up, dropping the net and coming out to meet him. “Noash? What is it, son?” He crouched, reaching out his great arms, and Noash was swept into their embrace, burying his head in his father’s chest. Then the hands took hold of his thin shoulders, pulling him away, and his father put a finger under Noash’s chin, lifting his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“Strangers,” Noash said, panting so hard he almost couldn’t talk. “Three of them, or maybe four, coming along the shore. And they have a giant made of stone!”
“A giant, you say?” His father gave him a grave look. “How big would you say it was?”
“As tall as our hut, at least,” Noash said. “And it made a noise like the stone Uncle Goloth uses to sharpen his big knife.” His father nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking in a smile, and Noash gave a frustrated cry, beating his hands ineffectually against his father’s chest. “It’s true, father! I saw it!”
“I’m sure you did, son,” his father said in that familiar, hated tone which meant exactly the opposite. He stood, resting his hand on Noash’s head and tousling his hair. “Look, there they are now.”
The four strangers stood at the top of the hill, one leaning heavily against a companion. Two were dressed in what looked like the same clothes, grey-black and earthy brown. The tall woman and the bearded man conferred, then seemed to come to a decision. At a signal from the man, the group began the descent toward the village.
There was no sign of the giant.
Noash stared with a mixture of relief and dismay, unable to understand what had happened. “It was there! I know it was!”
“All right, son.” One of the other men caught his father’s eye, and he nodded. “You run along now and find out if your mother has anything she needs done. We’ll go talk to the strangers.”
His father gave him a last tousle and moved away, heading out with Uncle Goloth and Old Rob to meet the strangers just beyond the first huts. Noash watched long enough to see them clasp hands, Uncle Goloth greeting them with his usual uncertain grin, his father exchanging a slight nod with Old Rob before turning and gesturing to the village.
“There was a giant,” Noash muttered as he walked away, remembering the sound it had made as it moved, the way it turned its head back and forth as though examining the ground before it. “There was. I saw it.”
When Noash looked up, he found that his feet had taken him back to the mouth of the inlet that led to the pool. The pool. He glanced along the narrow channel to the place where the villagers stored things that needed to stay cold. That’s where I felt it first. In the water.
He looked out at the lake, then down at the clear water before him. A soft breeze stirred its surface, the gentle motion of the water throwing patterns of sunlight over the rocks below. Noash lowered himself onto the grassy bank, lying on his stomach with his head sticking out over the water. A grey fish no bigger than his finger drifted into sight below, then darted away with a swish of its tail. Clenching his teeth, he stretched out his hand and plunged it into the icy channel.
The sensation came stronger this time, thicker, as though he reached not into water but some other, more syrupy liquid. A thrill ran down his spine. There’s more than just one. They were moving together, purposeful in their advance. Some might even have been speaking. A lot more.
Hundreds.
He sat up, shivering, wiping his hand dry on the grass. Hundreds of ghosts, all trapped in the bodies of giants; and all of them were out there, somewhere, beneath the surface of the lake.
A shadow fell across his lap. “Father’s taking the strangers across the lake,” Jon announced. “They wanted to go to Lissil, but Father said that was too far, so they decided to just go straight across.”
Noash glanced up. “Is there to be a banquet tonight, then?”
Jon shook his head. “They’re leaving right away. One of them’s really sick, and they think she might die if they don’t get help soon.”
Noash looked back toward the boats. His father was already there, preparing his small craft for launch.
Jon flopped down onto the grass beside him. “Oh, and Mother’s mad.”
“They have ghosts trapped in giants of stone,” Noash said, hugging his knees to his chest. “Out there, where the water’s deep enough to cover them.”
Jon gave a solemn nod. He always took Noash’s pronouncements seriously, ever since the night Noash woke him to tell him their grandmother was saying goodbye before anyone knew she had died. “Who do you think they were?”
Noash shrugged. “I don’t know. Just strangers.”
“Not the strangers. The ghosts. Back when they were still alive.”
Noash recalled the sense of purpose he’d felt in their movements. “Soldiers, maybe,” he said. But there was something different about these ghosts, something unusual in the way they felt. Ghosts were usually sad, or angry, or upset about something, and they never seemed to stay very long. The giants had a feeling of calm about them; a still, settled patience. Almost as if…
He gazed out over the lake and gave voice to his thought, the wor
ds little more than a whisper. “I don’t think they ever died.”
There was a distant splash, followed by the sound of voices raised in farewell. His father’s boat nudged away from the shore, the strangers’ weight making it sit lower in the water than usual. Noash watched his father slowly work it out of the shallows, oars dipping and rising in strong, practised strokes, sunlight sparkling off the scattered water. When it reached the deeper waters, the lake’s surface rippled as though stirred by a sudden breath of wind, and Noash nodded to himself.
The giants were following.
The boat slid away over the water, leaving a smooth, ever-widening wake to mark its passage. Noash followed its progress until he could see it no more, and thought of ghosts, and giants, and wondered what it would be like to live forever.
About the Author
Like every child, Matt Karlov was raised on stories of the impossible, from the good parts of Sesame Street, to The Hobbit, to Watership Down and beyond. As Matt grew older, he had the good fortune to retain his taste for the fantastic, which soon developed into a deep love of speculative fiction in its many guises. He has been struggling to make room on his shelves for new books ever since.
Matt Karlov has been a software designer, a web developer, and a business analyst. He lives in Sydney, Australia. The Unbound Man is his first novel.
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to my father, Karl Karlov, who first introduced me to story
Hazel and Fiver
Frodo and Sam
Siren and Splasher and Grunt
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Saladin Ahmed, Adam Brymora, David Karlov, and Abigail Nathan for their feedback and editorial input at various stages in the development of this novel. Thank you also to Adam Brymora (again), Maxime Plasse, and Alisha at Damonza.com for their artistic contributions to the final book. And my grateful appreciation to my crack proofreading team: Karl, Merike, and Lisa.
Finally, a special thank you to my wife Anthea for her ongoing support throughout the writing, revision, and publication of this book.
THE UNBOUND MAN
Copyright © Matt Karlov 2014
All rights reserved.
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Maps by Maxime Plasse
Interior Art by Adam Brymora
Cover by Damonza.com
Published by Imago Mundi Press
Sydney, Australia
www.imagomundipress.com
ISBN 978-0-9925701-2-5
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Typeset by Imago Mundi Press
Version 1.1 (2014-10-12)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Maps
Dramatis Personae
Prologue
Part 1: The Falling Pebble
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part 2: The Comfort of your Tears
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part 3: To Wake in Darkness
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Table of Contents
Title Page
Maps
Dramatis Personae
Prologue
Part 1: The Falling Pebble
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part 2: The Comfort of your Tears
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part 3: To Wake in Darkness
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Copyright