by Lou Anders
Karn shifted uncomfortably. From imagining draug in the dark, he’d gone to imagining a host of dead relatives all peering up at him and sticking their noses into his business. He wondered how far from Korlundr’s Farm you had to go to get away from their scrutiny.
“When I go into the earth, Karn, I want to know that I’ll be able to look up and be proud of you.”
“That’s a long time away,” said Karn, finally shaking off his father’s hand altogether. He didn’t want to think about a time when his father wouldn’t be around.
“Fortune and fate don’t always go hand in hand, Karn. You know that it’s said that the gods’ end may be written in the runes, but not even they know the path to get there.”
Karn had heard the death-and-destiny talk before. He yawned loudly, hoping his father would get the point.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Father,” he said, lying down heavily on his bench and making a show of rolling over. Maybe tomorrow he could find someone in Bense who could give him a good game of Thrones and Bones. It was all well and good to talk about destiny and responsibility, but board games were serious business.
Thianna didn’t come home until well past sunset. She slid open the ornately carved stone door in the cliff wall as carefully as she could. Softly, she tiptoed down the hallway to her bedroom cavern. Her caution only made her feel worse. Being able to tiptoe at all was just another trait that marked her as different. No giant could ever step this softly. Only a sneaky little human could.
Thianna wanted to slip into the pile of furs atop her block of ice as fast as possible. She had had enough of this day and wanted to put it behind her quickly. Sadly, that was not to be.
“Is that you, Thianna?” a deep, rumbly, but pleasant sort of voice called. Thianna sighed. “I suppose you could answer, ‘Who else could it be?’ ” the voice went on. “And while it could be any number of persons, I confess that it is extremely unlikely that it is anybody else but you. So I’ll amend my words to ‘Hello, Thianna,’ if you’ll permit me.”
“Hi, Dad,” Thianna called out. Some people might find it annoying, but she found her father’s rambling way of talking endearing.
“Hello, Thianna,” her father replied. “It would please me if you could come talk to me before you knock off for the night.”
So much for ending the day quickly. She continued past her bedroom to a cavern farther on, where Magnilmir kept his workshop. Thianna stopped in the archway, taking in the familiar sight of her father in the flickering candlelight.
Magnilmir was sitting on a stool at his workbench, but he turned toward her as he saw her approach. Thianna saw his carving tools and several pieces of ivory spread out before him on the ice tabletop. She was sad to see that the ivory was untouched. Magnilmir’s elbows were propped on the table and he was rubbing his great knuckles over and over in his palms. He did this when he was distracted or concerned.
Magnilmir opened his arms, beckoning her to him. She came forward and let him embrace her in a great bear hug, disappearing in his bushy red beard.
Magnilmir stayed seated so that he could look his daughter in the eye. Large even for a giant, Magnilmir was eighteen feet tall, a good eleven feet taller than she was, so even seated, his face was a little above hers.
“I understand, er, I mean, it’s come to my attention … that is, I was told … that you got into another scrape with Thrudgelmir today.”
“Who told you that? Was it Eggthoda?” asked Thianna, naming an older giant that was on friendly terms with her father. “She’s not telling the truth. Not all of it.”
Magnilmir shook his head.
“Everyone is talking.” He chuckled softly. “Apparently the stupid lad still can’t walk straight.” Magnilmir swallowed his laugh and tried to look stern.
“It wasn’t a fight exactly,” said Thianna. “Anyway, it wasn’t my fault. It just set him off that I beat him at Knattleikr.”
“He has been beaten at Knattleikr before,” said her father. “He’s really a rather unexceptional player, if you ask me. Actually, he’s a poor player even if you don’t ask me. Just the same. Anyway, losing a ball game hardly seems cause for a fight.”
Thianna wasn’t sure she agreed with that. She didn’t like to lose at anything. But she hadn’t lost.
“I’m so much faster than he is. I can jump around in ways that he can’t. He’s just a big, clumsy—”
“Giant?” her father suggested.
Thianna dipped her eyes for a moment. She picked up a piece of ivory, then set it down again.
“He hates me because I’m not a giant.”
Magnilmir turned his daughter to face him.
“You are a giant, Thianna. You absolutely are a giant. It is simply not all that you are.”
Thianna turned away from her father’s gaze. She looked up at a ventilation shaft tunneled through the roof. In the daytime, its angle would allow sunlight to fall on her father’s workbench. Looking through it now, she could glimpse a handful of gleaming stars in the night sky.
“I wish that it were. I wish I was all giant and nothing else.”
She didn’t turn toward her father, but she could hear the shifting of leather and furs as he sank into himself, as if he were sighing with his whole body.
“Come with me,” he said after a time. He didn’t wait for her, but rose and walked out into the hallway leading deeper into the mountain. He unbarred their rear door and led her into the larger network of natural caverns inside the mountain.
They walked along an icy ledge in silence. The plateau was the outer face of the village, but the bulk of the settlement was inside the rock and ice. To their right, Thianna could hear the rush of water in the river that flowed through a small canyon inside the cave, though it was too dark to see down into its depths. The subterranean river gave the village a constant source of fresh water, as well as blind cave fish. The river, though, was also treacherous, and spilled into tunnels too small for a frost giant to move in. Once, a giant had fallen in and the current had carried him inside one, only to wedge him against a low roof, where he drowned. They found his hat far away on the other side of the mountain, where the river emerged.
They crossed a bridge of ice to a ledge on the opposite side and Thianna frowned. She knew where they were going. The Hall of the Fallen.
At the great vaulted entrance to the cavern, Thianna squared her shoulders and stepped inside.
The hall was brightly lit at all hours by magical fires that gave a cold blue light but no ice-melting heat. They walked past scores of shadowy figures glimpsed beneath sheets of ice. After a time, they stopped at one.
Magnilmir waved his hand through the air and the frost on the ice wall faded. The wall became transparent, as clear as crystal. They both looked at the figure entombed inside.
“Hi, Mom,” Thianna said.
Her father said nothing. Just closed his eyes and bent to lay his forehead against the wall. A foot beneath the ice, Thianna saw her mother, as beautiful as the day she died. The Hall of the Fallen was where all the deceased members of the village were interred. It was an honor, Thianna supposed, for a human to be placed there.
“Once upon a time,” Magnilmir began, speaking in a deep, soft voice, “a giant looked up into the sky to see a human woman falling from the clouds. And he caught her.”
Thianna bit down on her lip. She knew this story by heart, by all of her heart, but she wouldn’t dream of interrupting.
“Her name was Talaria, and that was all of her background she would ever tell him. The woman pleaded with the giant to shelter her in his village. He did this despite the objections of several other giants. It wasn’t long before his combination of strength and honor won her over. Or maybe it was just his sense of humor. I’d like to think it was his good looks, but I’d like to think a lot of things. At any rate, they fell in love. They had a child they named Thianna, after her mother’s people, whoever they were. For a time, the giant was the happiest giant in the world. But
even the ice atop the world will melt one day.…”
Magnilmir turned to his daughter and knelt down. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“There is a human woman under that ice, Thianna. A tiny, little human woman, smaller even than you. And that human woman means more to me than all the giants of Gunnlod’s Plateau and all the giants of the world, frost and fire and earth. And I won’t have you disrespect her or her kind.”
“Father, I—”
“Quiet,” he said in a rare stern voice. When Magnilmir stopped rambling, it meant he was serious. Then he reached inside the furs of his vest and fumbled around. When he withdrew his hand, he clutched something small within his fist. At first, Thianna thought it might be one of his carved ivory pieces, but its craftsmanship was more delicate than he could work, and it was made of metal, not ivory or stone.
“Take it,” he said, holding the object out to her.
“What is it?”
“It was hers,” he said by way of answer. “Something of her culture, of your culture.”
“I—”
“Take it!”
Thianna did so.
“I believe it is a drinking horn,” Magnilmir said. “The tip was cut off, so I mended it. I plugged it with ice.”
“I don’t know how good a cup this will make,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter,” said her father. “You will carry it with you.”
“I don’t want—”
“You will carry it. Perhaps having something of hers will awaken you to your full self.”
Thianna saw the pain in her father’s eyes. As much as she hated her human half, she hated the pain she was causing him more.
“I will carry it,” she agreed.
Sunrise found Thianna sitting on the very edge of the plateau, dangling her feet over the cliff. The light of the new day set wind howling through the mountains. She paid the wind no mind. Instead, she stared at Talaria’s horn in her hands.
“Oh, troll dung,” she spat. Her body heat, hatefully so much hotter than a pure frost giant’s, had melted the ice plug in the end of the drinking horn.
She wished she had the guts to toss it off the plateau. What good was a broken drinking horn except to remind her that she didn’t fit in?
Thianna ran her fingertip around the hole in the narrow end. It didn’t look damaged. The hole was smooth, with a slight lip. The details were probably too fine for Magnilmir’s eyes. Maybe it wasn’t a drinking horn at all? Maybe it was a horn, just not one meant for holding liquid.
Thianna drew in a great breath, filling her lungs with the mountain air. She gazed around at the peaks of Ymiria, then stared due south to the world of humans beyond.
She placed the horn to her lips. She blew long and hard and strong.
There was no sound. Nothing. Not even a squeak. She blew several more quick blasts. Nothing.
“Stupid thing,” she said. “What good is a horn that doesn’t work?” Thianna raised her arm to toss it off the cliff, but then she hesitated, remembering her father’s face. She put it back into a satchel at her waist and stared down the mountain at the clouds below. “Stupid, useless thing,” she said again.
Thousands of miles away, far beyond the borders of Ymiria or any of its neighbors, a noise not meant for human—or giant—ears rang out. And thousands of miles away, countless hordes of scaly creatures howled.
The Woman in Bronze and Black
Karn was back in Stolki’s Hall, killing time. Though the city of Bense held its share of excitement, Karn found bartering to be a tedious affair. So while his father’s hirelings loaded the carts with their newly acquired goods and harnessed the few remaining oxen, Karn busied himself with his favorite pastime. He was playing Thrones and Bones with a dwarf named Gindri.
Gindri was a traveler from the Dvergrian Mountains who visited their farm once or twice a year, selling his services as a healer, metalsmith, and general handyman. He was always good company, though this was the first time Karn had ever played him in a board game. Unfortunately, Gindri was proving disappointingly easy to beat.
“Check,” said Karn with smug satisfaction. He had spied an exit from the board for his Jarl and could win in the next turn if Gindri wasn’t careful. There was one move the dwarf could make to block him, but he didn’t seem to see it. Gindri had been playing poorly the entire game, taking the obvious moves and missing the subtler ones.
“Do you concede?” Karn asked, grinning. The dwarf held his eyes for a moment, then broke out into his own smile.
“Only that you are about to get your butt well and truly kicked,” Gindri said. He laughed, which shook his broad frame and made all the bits and bobs of metal he had woven into his clothing jangle like wind chimes.
“I don’t think you see the situation you’re in,” said Karn, but Gindri reached across the table quick as lightning. His large hand came to rest on a draug on the far side of the board, which he brought into play now for the first time. Gindri placed the piece alongside Karn’s Jarl, sandwiching him between the draug and a hostile square. Karn was captured. Grinning, the dwarf plucked Karn’s Jarl from the game.
“I win,” he said.
Karn stared at the board. He was impressed. He was also a bit miffed. He rarely lost. “Well done,” he said sincerely. At least they hadn’t been betting anything.
“Oh, it was, if I do say so myself,” said the dwarf.
“But—how did you …?”
Gindri hopped to his feet.
“Come with me,” he said, and led Karn across the room to the bar where Stolki served his customers. Gindri was little more than half Karn’s height, but he was almost as wide as he was tall, so he still cut an imposing figure even amid all the Norrønir crowded into the room. Plus, Gindri wore antlers shoved into his hat.
Gindri reached up over his head to the bar and rapped on it loudly until he had Stolki’s attention.
“What’ll it be?” said Stolki, leaning forward and then rearing away just as quickly, avoiding an antler poke in the eye in the nick of time.
“Water. Two bowls of it, please,” said the dwarf.
“Water? That’s it?” asked Stolki.
“Yes, and quickly,” barked the dwarf. “I have a lesson to impart.”
Stolki shrugged and set two bowls on the tabletop, pouring water from a jug into each.
Gindri rummaged around inside his heavy fur cloak. Then he brought both hands out, closed into fists. Karn wondered what he was grasping.
“Place your palms under my hands, Karn,” he said.
“What for?” Karn asked.
“Just do it. Don’t they teach you to listen to your elders?”
Karn placed his palms under Gindri’s fists. Gindri winked and opened his own hands, dropping two identical stones into Karn’s open palms. Or nearly identical. One stone felt warm, while the other was icy cold.
“One is giant-cooled,” said the dwarf. “The other is dwarf-heated.” Spells like this were often used to help preserve or heat food. The people of the mountains were capable of such useful magics, which humans couldn’t master. “Squeeze them both tight for a moment,” Gindri said, and Karn did as he was told.
“Now put the stones down,” said Gindri, “and place your hands in the water.”
“In the water?” Karn asked.
“Yes,” said Gindri. He grabbed Karn’s wrists and plunged them into the bowls. One bowl of water felt hot, almost painfully so, while the other bowl was chilly.
Karn frowned. He had seen water from the same pitcher being poured into both bowls, and yet their temperatures were very different. Or were they? It was his hand that had held the hot stone that now felt cold while his hand that had clutched the cold stone felt hot. Had the dwarf somehow magicked the bowls as well? Karn looked up and saw Gindri smiling at him.
“The water hasn’t changed temperature, has it?” Karn asked. “I just think it has because of what my hands each felt before?”
“Never trust appearances,”
said Gindri with a smile. “You bring false assumptions with you. You see a dwarf play a poor game of Thrones and Bones and you let your guard down. You should have considered that I was leading you into a trap. As old as I am, don’t you think I’ve played my share of board games?”
Karn nodded. The Stone Folk were long-lived and Gindri was rumored to be older than most. He should have watched the board, not the absurd antler hat bobbing across from him. Next time, he’d pay more attention to his opponent, not just to their moves.
“Little wisdom from a little man,” said a new voice. Karn and Gindri both looked up.
A woman stood above them. She was tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and olive-skinned. She elongated her vowels in an odd way, a strange accent that Karn had never heard. She was clearly not a Norrønur. She wore a bronze breastplate that was more finely sculpted than any armor Karn had ever seen. It was cast to look like the body underneath it. Karn could see every muscle in its metal abdomen. It even had a navel engraved on the stomach. Below this metal torso, straps of black leather hung down over a black tunic. The woman’s knees were bare despite the cold northern temperatures, though she had made a concession to the weather by wearing fur boots and a fur cloak. Under one arm, she clasped a bronze helmet with a black mane. There was a sword at her side and also a long lance slung on her back.
Karn was sure he’d never seen anything like her before. Her clothing and weapons were intriguing. They hinted at faraway places and grand adventures more interesting than life on a northern farm, but there was something haughty and dangerous about her too. Karn didn’t like the way she had dismissed Gindri because of his height. He had misjudged Gindri himself, but he hadn’t been quite so rude about it. Perhaps that was why Karn surprised himself by speaking up.