Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  Ignoring the ghost, Terrek moved toward Gaelin and knelt to clasp his shoulder, gently rousing him. “Gaelin. What is it?”

  Shivering, Gaelin glanced up. In a slow, agitated rhythm, his palms thumped the floor by his feet. “It’s Holram,” he breathed. The warder came and went in the depths of his wide stare. His mouth twitched and his brows furrowed.

  “What can we do to help you?” Terrek asked.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Gaelin murmured. “Holram hopes to give you a gift, Terrek, and to free himself from the pit of this mountain. He seeks to heal, to . . . destroy. He’s . . . here. Argus is right.” Gaelin blanched as he peered around him. “We must hurry.”

  Chapter 54

  THE CHILD PRODDED the hard ice of the beach with his stick, stabbing furiously at the zigzag trail filling with water. “Over here, Master!” Kray called. Confidently now, he poked with his twig to cut the creature off, and from the packed gray surface came a swift ejection of foam.

  Grevelin bent beside the boy to strike with his shovel. Bracing his feet, he dug deep into the sand, seizing the slippery sea cone and dragging the mollusk out. With a squelch, the rubbery body hit the crowded interior of his lidded bucket.

  “Sails!” Grevelin peered in at his catch and then thumbed the cover shut. “Your eyes are keen, little human. It well serves me to have your sight so close to the ground.”

  Strutting around him in a circle, Kray kept his gaze fixed on the hollows he created with his splashing feet. Abruptly he hopped onto a half-buried rock to clasp Grevelin’s thumb. “You mean it’s good I’m small?” he asked.

  “Indeed,” said Grevelin. “We make a formidable pair. Come.”

  The boy, clutching the stuffed rabbit Ponu had given him, jumped from the rock. As Grevelin scooped him up, Kray scaled his shoulder to straddle the back of his neck, his tiny fingers twining in Grevelin’s hair.

  Hoisting the bucket, Grevelin walked bent against the wind, aiming for Hothra’s massive cliff and the modest stone homes set beneath its shelter. Even from here, he could tell his house from the others by the tinkling seashell chimes his daughter had hung beside the doorway.

  A dark figure waited next to the porch. He recognized his leader’s muscular shape, his upper body outlined by candlelight through the frosty front window.

  Trentor came to meet him, his burly arms swinging in his familiar saunter. Grevelin tensed as Hothra’s ruler, jerking to a stop before him, caught sight of the child.

  “There is a conclave that requires your immediate presence, Master Second,” Trentor said, and Grevelin met his calm gaze. Gravely, Trentor reached up and, with a dignified nod, took the small boy’s hand and shook it, bowing. “I am Trentor Govorian,” he said, “the eldest son of Thresher Govorian and Tavahra Sky, and I command these giants. I bid you welcome to Hothra Hone Isle, young human.”

  Grevelin paused, feeling the child tremble against his neck. The boy’s arms slid below his ears to hug him tight.

  “He is frightened,” Trentor observed. The leader stepped back, flashing Grevelin a disapproving glare. “I must ask why he is here, Master Second. You risk much, including his life. The gathering is to discuss this, my friend. Is there a safe place your guest may stay while we meet?”

  Grevelin glowered. Hothra’s ruler was younger than he was, and as the eldest son of the one who had freed them from bondage, Trentor enjoyed considerable respect from his peers.

  “I vowed the little one would not leave my sight,” said Grevelin. “He is Ponu’s ward. You know how Ponu can be!”

  Trentor thumped Grevelin’s chest. “Come!” he urged. “Ere this tempest in the making blows the child away and us with him! Our fellows are gathering at the Hall.”

  Grevelin trotted across the frozen sand, his bucket of sea cones banging his thigh. Up the cliff’s slippery steps, he scrambled after Trentor. The leader’s unruly black hair was blown back, and as his gray wolf’s cloak raised from his wide shoulders, Grevelin caught a glimpse of the younger giant’s belt, the symbol of the great sword stamped deep into the brown leather.

  Above the steep stair, the crystalline monument known as Freedom Hall appeared in stages as Grevelin climbed. Gazing up, he drew a breath as he so often did, fighting back tears when he recalled his escape long ago, and Trentor’s father, the savior they had been forced to leave behind.

  Blindingly radiant, the structure revered by his people stood tall atop the cliff, designed to be visible from all three corners of Hothra Hone Isle as a beacon of hope to the world. Its torches burned perpetually, their light intensified by the clear dome, beckoning Hothra’s heroes and ships alike from the dangers of the sea.

  The ice that had gathered on the building’s roof during the night was melting, rippling down the hall’s translucent sides. Grevelin, ascending the flight of glass steps and moving on through the arched doorway of woven crystal, trailed his superior and friend into the foyer. How he wished that he could have prepared the little boy for the hostility he was about to be exposed to, yet before he could ask his leader to spare a moment, Trentor came back across the white floor and gently addressed the child.

  “Remember who you are,” Trentor told him. “It is not for these great brutes to determine your identity, for they know you not! They will be angry, innocent one, but never with you. For you have done nothing wrong. Do you understand?”

  When Kray spoke, it was almost a whimper. “Yes.”

  Trentor shifted his gaze to Grevelin. “I called this meeting myself, Master Second, as I wish to bury this matter at sea. I like it not, but what is necessary is often unpleasant.”

  Grevelin bent, setting his bucket on the pristine marble. Then he reached with both hands to catch Kray’s shoulders, lifting him forward and cradling him in his arms. “Whatever happens, keep watching me,” Grevelin told him with a comforting smile. “Soon this will end, and we can resume our day as we planned.”

  He nodded at Trentor. “We have an appointment with Stitch after we break our fast,” he explained. “The tailor is a friend of mine; he has agreed to fashion thicker garments for the boy. Whether or not you allow him to remain on Hothra, the human has little to wear. Ponu is dear to me. But he knows naught of fatherhood.”

  Trentor snorted and gestured him through the hall’s central arch into its largest chamber. Around the elaborately carved dais and leader’s seat, nine white stone chairs stood in a loose circle, three each to the east, west, and south, representing the corners of Hothra Isle.

  The giants rose as Trentor sauntered past them to mount the platform. Five of the attendees were the senior captains, representing Hothra’s productive fisher trade. Grevelin recognized two as commanders of the isle’s great warships, there to speak on behalf of the warriors. He grunted as his gaze settled on the last pair. Politicians, he thought, identifying both the governor of Hothra and the short, burly giant who was their sheriff.

  Grevelin knew every face in the bright and airy room, yet they had changed. They shied away from Hothra’s small visitor, glaring at the floor or their hands or even the walls.

  “Master Second,” said Trentor formally from his place on the dais. “We welcome your guest to Hothra Isle.”

  Trentor waited as the nine giants reseated themselves. “I have allowed this assembly so that you may judge for yourselves the human in question,” he announced. “For I grow weary of these petitions requesting the youngling’s removal. Now observe him. Behold, he is naught but a child. You are giants. What manner of threat could he be?”

  Sledgefist Arelian, Hothra’s sheriff, glanced at Grevelin. “I have no problem with the little one,” he said. “But I fear for his safety, and of course, potential riots. Regrettably, we cannot reeducate every giant on Hothra. Nor do we all have the benefit of a winged elf to ease our hurt, Leader Second. For most of us, the word human conjures much that is painful. We think slaver. Many of us still feel the whip. A child without magic is no match for an enraged giant, I fear.”

 
“I will be happy to remain on my ship,” one of the fisher captains growled. Grevelin recognized him as Urphelus Churnin, the grizzled captain of the Deluge, Hothra’s largest fisher vessel. “I refuse to acknowledge this infant now. Nor will I, ever! He is my enemy, and I do have the future of my son, Lorean, to consider. I vowed I would never again endure these unnatural abominations. This island is my home, and I should not be subjected to torture in my home, Leader Trentor. No giant should!”

  Grevelin smiled reassuringly at Kray. The tiny human moaned, tears glistening on his cheeks. “This shall not be borne!” Grevelin snapped. “What a shameful thing to say. He is not an abomination, and you are all grown giants making a little boy cry! Leader Trentor, I shall take my leave of you! Kray and I have a pleasant day planned. Decide what you will. Frankly, I care not.”

  “Grevelin,” Trentor said, rising quickly. “Wait.”

  By the chamber’s crystal door, Grevelin hesitated.

  “This is not about deciding anything,” Trentor said. “It is about promoting understanding. If these giants are reassured, mayhap they will pass it on, sharing what they have learned with friends and family.”

  Grevelin glanced at Kray. “Can I tell them something?” the small boy begged.

  “You need not defend yourself, little human,” said Grevelin, shaking his head. “You have done nothing wrong.”

  “Please?” Kray, clutching his floppy toy, looked up pleadingly. The boy’s wide, teary eyes tugged at Grevelin’s heart. Heavily he approached the dais, a sour taste of dread in his mouth.

  “Hothra’s guest requests you give him your attention,” he said gruffly, glaring at the captains and politicians. Then he regarded the child he bore. “Kray?” he prompted.

  The human pointed to the dais. “There!” he said. “So they can see me.”

  Grevelin lifted him up, setting him on the platform near Trentor.

  The boy barely reached the height of the leader’s knees. He wavered a moment, blinking in the shaft of light beaming through the chamber’s crystalline roof as he hugged his furry bunny.

  “I am Kray Middleton,” he said in his piping voice. “I am a citizen of the town Firanth in the land of Thalus. I . . . my mother died defending me! I watched our house . . . and my mother burn up. I . . . I have been in a cave on the mountain with Ponu. He has taught me a lot about magic. He told me what magic did to . . . to you. What bad humans did with magic to giants. He says it’s like when I dream about monsters, only I wake up. You never do.”

  Kray glanced back at Trentor. The leader smiled, nodding encouragement.

  “I . . . I wish I had magic to wake you. Good magic, so I could help you get more fish,” he said to the fisher captains. “Or help you to be safe,” he added to the commanders. “And I’d make your gardens get big, and your sick people to get better, too. So maybe you’d see I am good! But I can’t. I don’t have anything.”

  As Kray climbed once more into his arms, Grevelin bowed to Trentor and flicked a scowl at the other giants, all nine of whom had risen to their feet. Ignoring their astonished expressions, he strode with the little one out the door.

  “You—” Grevelin shook his head as he exited the crystal hall. Carrying Kray, he thumped down the building’s outer steps, his recovered bucket of sea cones tapping again at his thigh.

  “Did I say too much?” Kray asked.

  “No.” Gently Grevelin stroked the boy’s bangs from his eyes. “You spoke well, little Kray.” Stopping atop the great cliff, he peered over the edge at Hothra’s U-shaped bay, its shore studded with piers along one side, the black water beyond them clogged with boats and ships. He spied Dawncutter guarding the horizon, its distinctive silhouette shaped like the curving blade of a sword. Majestically the war vessel floated on waves touched to gold by the fingers of the sun.

  Grevelin smiled, envisioning his brother, Kurgenrock, dining with his crew and enjoying his morning meal of gull eggs, cheese, and toasted buttered bread. “Are you hungry?” he asked the child. “I am. I am famished!”

  “Me, too!” Kray exclaimed. “I’ve never had cone mollusks before.”

  “Not just the cones,” Grevelin said. “I make a perfect blending with onion, egg, and reef-weed!” Tilting back his head, he inhaled, savoring the tang of the salty air. “You and I are on our way to a feast this morning, Kray! Today we shall dine like kings!”

  Kray threw his arms wide. “Like kings!” he shouted.

  Grevelin, chuckling despite himself, began to descend the steep stairs carved into the cliff. Suddenly Trentor’s voice stopped him, calling his name. “Wait,” Grevelin whispered to Kray and then reluctantly turned, stepping back to the icy rim above the stairs.

  His wolf fur rippling back from his shoulders, Trentor hurried up. “Good news,” he said. “My giants were enchanted, Grev. I did not think it possible, but this child’s spirit has swayed them.” Trentor winked at the little boy. “Hear me, young man. It appears you may indeed possess some magic, for you have touched the granite hearts of my giants. After you left, they were moved beyond words when I strove to question them.”

  “It is as you hoped now?” Grevelin inquired. “They will let him be?”

  “Who can say what giants will do?” said Trentor. “Yet I believe, at this moment, they would surrender their lives to defend this boy. Of course, that sentiment will fade soon enough. With them, such feelings always do. Their memories of the whip will guarantee that. But I suspect the sincere emotions they saw in this child today will also linger.” Smiling, Trentor patted Kray’s head. “You, little human friend, are welcome to stay on Hothra for as long as you wish!”

  “Good!” Grevelin returned his superior’s grin and, with a grunt, hefted his heavy bucket, holding it below Trentor’s nose. “We were fortunate in our quest this morning. Care to break our fast with us, Leader First?”

  Trentor pried open the lid and gasped. “Hmm, indeed! An impressive effort. But I wonder,” he intoned gravely with a nod to Kray, “will this friend of giants deign to share his kingly feast with me?”

  Kray beamed, his eyes glistening. “Yes, I will!” he said with a laugh.

  Chapter 55

  GAELIN STARED INTO the blackness of the void. The tight shaft where he lay on his stomach was freezing, the temperature of the granite creeping into his bones. As Avalar wriggled close behind him, the bundle she shoved in front of her jostled his feet. The scrape of her scabbard resounded in the cramped space, as did the random clangs of the blades his friends carried.

  Holding Mornius near his face, Gaelin glanced at its Skystone. The gem’s soft light showed him every detail of the rocky tube they crawled in, only to fade as he peered forward. What don’t you want us to see? he thought to his warder.

  The chute had ended abruptly, opening into a massive expanse. The Shukaia’s roar reverberated somewhere in the cave below, the condensation from its mist gathering on their eyebrows and chins.

  Vyergin, squeezing past him, had ventured out first. “Wait, I almost have it,” the captain called, his raspy voice echoing in the darkness.

  Gaelin heard a sharp click and saw a spark—a glimpse of Vyergin crouching on the stone with his steel and flint. Another strike and the tinder around the torch caught fire.

  “Let’s see what we’ve found, shall we?” said Vyergin, walking with hesitant steps toward the thunder. “Holram’s balls, this place reeks! Watch your footing when you get out here. This red muck is slippery!”

  Gaelin scrambled from the passage and lifted Mornius to illuminate what he could of the vaulted chasm. Avalar fought her way out of the crawl space next and sat on her heels, reaching her arm back into the chute to help their companions.

  “Did I not say?” she asked Terrek as she drew him to his feet. “This small tunnel would lead the way?”

  “Yes, you did,” he returned.

  “I hear the water,” said Vyergin, “but how far down is it?” He stood on the edge of the granite shelf, bending over his braced legs as
he stared into the mountain’s throat, the pounding rapids hidden under the misty gloom. The stone glistened below his feet as he swung the torch. Then he released his grip and the flames fell.

  Gaelin strained to make out the captain beyond his warder’s reluctant light. He caught the hiss of the torch striking the bottom.

  “Ah, there it is,” Vyergin confirmed. “Hades’s blazes, that’s deep. Hurry, Lavahl, bring your staff before I break my neck. Whatever this rock is covered with is nasty slick. If I take a wrong step . . .”

  Catching Terrek’s gesture, Gaelin extended the Skystone’s brightness, the warder’s fire forming a halo around his body. With Wren at his side, he advanced toward Vyergin, shuddering when the air went icy against his skin, wafting in drafts from the river to merge with the frigid breezes above. He gazed up into a darkness his staff refused to breach, the glow of its gem revealing only the broken ends of enormous teeth—huge dripping stalactites pointed at his head.

  As Vyergin’s elbow stopped him, Gaelin looked where the torch had fallen. He was teetering on the brink, the granite angling downward out of his sight, the black torrent spurting from the rocks below. He caught the flicker of Vyergin’s torch straddling the boulders at the water’s edge. Trails of pale smoke poured over the jagged bank, and the flames cast golden ripples along the Shukaia’s current.

  “What’s wrong with your staff?” asked Vyergin. “Is your warder trying to kill me?”

  “The enemy must be close,” Gaelin said. “I . . . Holram doesn’t want to attract attention.” He turned, hearing Felrina groan near the opening they had left. Revulsion twisted her features as she stared at a damp patch of stone beside her.