Haven Magic

by B. V. Larson

  The very first night, of course, he had broken the promise by consuming two. He forgave himself this weakness. After all, it had been the very first time he’d tasted ham in so many years. Could he really blame himself for his lack of control?

  The second day had gone poorly, however. He had consumed one ham for breakfast, figuring that after all it was indeed a new day. This left him starving by lunchtime of course, but he had managed to sate himself with a rather stringy black bear that he had dug out of its lair where it tried to hibernate. By evening, he lost control and gorged himself on the fourth and fifth hams.

  And so it went throughout the week. He had miscounted, fortunately, and had several more than the dozen he had estimated. But they were all gone far too quickly. It was with great sadness that he gnawed on the heavy bone of the last one. He cracked the bone and used the shards to pick at his teeth dismally.

  Within a few days he found himself eyeing the farm again. His foot hadn’t even healed over, and there had been no less than seven arrows and bolts he’d had to pluck from his hide. What horrors would he find waiting for him if he raided the farm a third time? He felt a new sensation as he eyed the farm this time. Twrog felt afraid of the River Folk and their wrath. Singly, they were helpless against him. But they were tricksy, and working together as a pack, they were dangerous and could cause him a great deal of hurt.

  But his hunger would not leave him alone. The hams were forever in his mind now, his memory of their flavor sharper than before. He dreamt of them. Standing under the Rowan tree, he slavered over the heavy smells of the last pigs that still milled about the pens. He had to have them.

  If only he could come up with a plan. He spent the night with his great arms wrapped around his knees, staring downhill at the farm.

  The next morning at dawn he woke with a start. Birds scolded him from their safe perches. Squirrels cast sticks down at him. He considered uprooting their trees and giving them the surprise of their tiny lives—he had done such things before—but it was simply too much effort today. Besides, he was hungry. He had been here many times, looking down on the farm, while he was hungry. But today was different. Today, he felt he could do something about it. Today, he knew where they kept the hams. And so he stood and stretched, reaching for his club.

  And he froze. Down in the yard around the farmhouse, something was happening. There were people down there. Four of them. They marched out toward Twrog. One of them looked shiny and glinted in the sun. Twrog had to search his hazy memories, but he felt sure that the man wore armor. He had not seen a man in armor in many, many years. He could not recall the last time, in fact. But he knew that a man in armor was dangerous. Such men knew weapons, and knew how to hurt a harmless fellow like Twrog.

  Twrog growled and slammed his club idly into the trunk of the Rowan tree. It shuddered and burst with fleeing birds and at least one shocked squirrel. Twrog paid no heed to these tiny creatures. His eyes were fixed upon the man in armor. Had the farmers brought him to protect their hams? Just how many hams did they have left?

  Twrog’s eyes narrowed in calculation. They would not have brought a man in armor for just their last broken buildings and a scattering few hams. They probably had to pay the armored man in hams, what else did they have? He nodded to himself with a growing certainty. They had more hams, somewhere. Plenty of them. Scores of them. Perhaps down in the basement. He might have to dig them out, and he vowed to do it. He would tear that house apart this time. They had unfairly hidden their meats from him, and made a fool of him. He would not leave again without having them all.

  The man in armor walked closer. A few others with bows ready walked with him. He seemed to be heading toward the very spot Twrog stood. Could he have seen him? Or perhaps they had noticed the burst of birds? Twrog wasn’t certain, but he hunkered down and moved away from the hill, circling the farm in the forest. He would wait until the armored man was gone, then he would find those hidden hams.

  Twrog managed to stick to his plan for many long minutes. He hunched in the trees, at the very border of the farm that was closest to the farmhouse. He would begin his search at the house, for he could not figure any other spot they might be keeping their horde of fresh hams. He was quite convinced by now they had a great number of hams. Probably in the basement. It would be cool and dark there, like a cave. They must have stacked them down there. Stacked them like cordwood.

  After the armored man had long since vanished into the trees, Twrog made his move. He felt he was quite clever, actually. They had gone to the spot where they had twice seen him exit the forest. Now, he would surprise them with a trick! He was coming at them from a completely different part of the forest. They would have nothing planned to stop him now, he felt certain of it.

  He gripped his club and regripped it. Slaver ran from his chin. The farm was quiet, and he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. He stood tall and marched out into the open fields.

  At first, everything went very smoothly. He was wary, however. His foot had not yet healed, and it still pained him and caused him to walk with a limp. But as he approached the farmhouse and heard the whoops of the surprised humans inside, he began to run in a stumbling gait, dragging his bad foot behind. The thatch roof had not been completely repaired since his last visit, but they had done some work on it. Timbers shored up the beams, but it still sagged down deeply in the midsection.

  He dug into the smokehouse first, of course. He was horrified to find it empty. He could have sworn that he had left a few hams behind in his rush to escape last time.

  He roared in disappointment. It was so wrong! So unfair! They had taken their meats and hidden them. They wanted them all for themselves, these greedy little creatures. He swung his club with a heavy grunt and demolished the smokehouse once and for all. Splinters and smoldering bits flew everywhere.

  He stepped up to the farmhouse next, and small screaming figures fled in all directions.

  * * *

  Brand was in a foul mood. Telyn had brought him here, and he had expected a fight. Instead, he’d found a lot of stinking pigs and a cold trail. She had neglected to mention the giant hadn’t been seen in a week. The thing could have been anywhere by now. He had no desire to trudge about in the Deepwood on the barest hope they might encounter the creature again. He was no tracker, no huntsman. He (and the axe, very definitely) preferred a stand-up fight. Brand found himself nostalgic for the circumstances of his earlier battles. Rhinogs didn’t make you go hunting for them! They came up and did their business and died where they stood, at least you could say that for them.

  He walked with Telyn and her two cousins, glowering fiercely. His chainmail, the same shirt he had taken from the redcap’s armory, glinted and jingled as he walked. The Fobs all exchanged worried glances, eyeing him in concern. He tried not to notice this, as it would only irritate him further.

  They led him up to a spot under a rowan tree and showed him where the earth was trampled down. They explained the giant had often watched them from this spot. They figured that he might just come back at any time.

  In fact, they stared at the trees around them and gripped their bows tensely, as if they thought the monster might burst out upon them any second. Brand snorted. They weren’t cowards, not exactly. Cowards would not have come out to a giant’s favorite spot in the first place. But they were a nervous bunch of farm folk. Telyn nosed around in the trees, showing more bravery than her cousins.

  “Come out! Come out! Come on, worthless, fat oaf of a giant!” shouted Brand at the trees. The Fobs looked at him, startled. He grinned at them. He thought suddenly, strangely, how easy it would be to pull out the axe and slay them both. He would make quick work of it, that was for sure.

  He shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to settle himself down. His mood dampened somewhat. He told himself that was the axe talking. It was bored, and had been promised a fight, and now it wanted blood. Any source would do.

  The Fobs were staring now. They weren’t starin
g into his eyes, but rather…. He looked down and noticed he had the axe in his hand. He could not quite recall having pulled it out of his pack.

  Even the axe made him angry. He gave it a good shaking, cutting about at the air with it. His throat burned with a growl.

  “Brand?” asked Telyn from behind him. He almost whirled, but caught himself. He didn’t want to face Telyn like that, with the axe in his hand and having a good grip on his mind. Lavatis, which still rode in his pocket, wasn’t helping. The Blue Jewel was not in contact with his skin, but his mind was affect just by carrying it. His mind, for its own part, squirmed.

  “Brand, I don’t see the giant. Why don’t you put that away for now?”

  Brand took another breath and nodded. He put the axe away, slowly.

  “Sorry,” he said briskly, “the axe is just bored, that’s all.”

  He noticed the Fobs were all a fair distance from him. This made him grin. They were afraid of him. Telyn blinked and smiled in return, hesitantly. She took a step forward, but only a single step. Brand figured there must be a wolfish quality to his grin.

  He threw his hands up and laughed a true laugh, shaking his head. “It does that sometimes,” he explained, “if I become moody, just back away. Telyn will handle such moments, she’s very good at it, as you have just witnessed.”

  Before any of the Fobs could speak, however, a great cracking sound came to their ears. The sound was rather like that of a tree being felled in a forest. It came from the direction of the farm, behind them.

  “The giant!” said Brand, and the grin slashed open his face again. He showed all his teeth and flashed out the axe.

  “Brand?” said Telyn at his back, but he didn’t stop. He was running and the axe was out, and life was good again. The others ran after him. Let the fools follow. Let them play with their bows. He would give them a show.

  When he came out of the forest and first saw the giant he felt surprise. Not shock, but surprise. It was bigger than he had imagined. Its head rode even with treetops, as high as any farmhouse chimney. The legs would be all he could reach, most likely, the belly being too high, about ten feet up.

  He ran faster.

  The giant, having finished with the smokehouse, advanced upon the sagging farmhouse. Children and oldsters ran from the windows and doors.

  Brand gritted his teeth and ran hard, wishing he had a horse. He had less than a quarter mile to go when the giant took hold of the roof. The giant’s arms bunched, then relaxed as the roof came away. Brick walls shivered and fell partly to rubble. A plume of smoke and dust curled around the huge head as the giant dipped its face down into the interior, looking for something.

  “What do you hope to find, monster?” roared Brand, hoping the challenge would slow it. The monster showed no sign of hearing. Taking up its great club again it beat down the walls with methodical swings. Brand was surprised at its power, but didn’t slow his step or feel even a thread of fear.

  The giant was digging now, tearing into the floors. The second floor pancaked down onto the first. The giant smashed its way further in, standing fully in the house’s remaining walls. Suddenly, it went down to one knee. Brand realized that it must have driven a leg down into the basement.

  Roaring, the thing continued to smash downward with its club, widening the hole.

  Brand raised the axe, he was near the monster now. He commanded the axe to flash, and was gratified to see the great head wince. A thick-fingered hand came up to shield a misshapen face.

  Brand was winded, but cared not one whit about it. He began slashing. A huge hand batted at him, as if he were an insect to be shooed away. The ends of two great fingers fell into the barnyard. A great gout of blood burst from the severed fingers and the giant loosed a howl of pain.

  The giant threw handfuls of bloody bricks at him. One struck his head and his skull rang inside as might a bell. He saw arrows sprout from the giant’s face and chest, but both of them knew arrows were insignificant.

  The giant had its foot free of the cellar. With its good hand, it lofted a massive club.

  Twrog turned to face the Axeman, and the Axeman did what he had to do. He did not step back, he did not quail in fear, he did not worry about the brick that had that left one eye shut and swollen. He charged in close. The club whistled down, striking explosively where he had stood a moment before.

  Brand came close enough to slash at the legs, making the giant back up. It smelled of sweat, blood and crushed leaves.

  The giant’s leg slipped into the hole it had made so recently. Brand swept with the axe once more, slashing open the great belly which was now within reach.

  An ear-breaking roar sounded. The great oaken club swung and Brand’s axe flashed to intercept it. Brand was shocked that club didn’t give way to the sharpness of the axe. Any normal wood should have parted, but the club was not a normal club. It caught Brand and sent him sprawling. Only the giant’s awkward position kept Brand from being dashed to death upon the ground.

  Struggling to rise, Brand wondered if he lived his last moments. One more swing and the giant would have him. But the giant had other concerns. Holding his slashed open belly up with one hand and dragging his club with the other, he yanked loose his foot and ran for the Deepwood with a rolling gait. As he ran, he gave great honking cries, like blasts of a huntsman’s horn.

  Brand judged the giant’s pace, and decided he could never hope to keep up. He thought vaguely that he needed to get a horse for these adventures.

  He let himself sag down in the dust. Bricks pressed against his back, but he didn’t care.

  Telyn came to him and ran soft light fingers over his face. The fingers felt nice and he smiled with bloody teeth at her. She was saying something, but he didn’t know what it was.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tree-bones

  When his eyes fluttered open again, he saw a different face looming over him. It was Myrrdin. He struggled and sat up, grunting. Telyn and her cousins had dressed his wounds. He found himself leaning against the side of the barn in the shade. They must have dragged him here.

  With a sudden jolt of worry, Brand looked for his axe. He found it still in his white knuckled grip. He had not released it, even when his mind had left his body behind. He sighed and put the axe into its sack and rubbed his face. The axe did not complain, as it had let blood flow today.

  “Welcome back, Myrrdin,” he said, trying to sound cheery and failing.

  Myrrdin chuckled and pulled a kitchen chair with a missing leg from the demolished remains of the farmhouse. He propped the broken chair against the barn and sat beside Brand. “I came to see how you were doing as the bearer of two great burdens. Not so well, it appears.”

  “I’m doing quite well! You should have seen it. Did the others tell you? The thing was huge. Not as huge as the Rainbow, of course, but bigger than anything else I’ve ever faced.”

  “I’m told that before you caught up with that unfortunate giant, you nearly turned the axe on the Fobs.”

  Brand growled. “That’s gratitude for you!”

  “Oh, they are thankful. But they are still afraid. Of both you and what may come out of the Deepwood next.”

  “Afraid of me?”

  “Brand, you are not acting as your normal self. You are bearing two Jewels. Many minds would break under the weight of just one.”

  “I only wield the axe. I never touch Lavatis.”

  “Yes, that is wise. But the Blue Jewel is still affecting you. It magnifies the fury of the other. It makes it harder for you to resist. You must give it up.”

  “The Fobs all live and the giant is gone,” complained Brand. “What more do people want?”

  Myrrdin shook his head sadly. “They want peace, not vengeance. None of this had to happen. Many have died here.”

  Brand eyed Myrrdin coldly. His eyes were slits. “So, what do you really want, wizard?”

  Myrrdin took a deep breath, but Brand put his hand up to stop him from answering. He
struggled to his feet. “Don’t speak, for I know the answer. It is plain on your face. You want the Blue Jewel for your own.”

  “No Brand,” said Myrrdin gently, as if he were addled. “I want to return it to Oberon, who has wielded it for so many years. He kept creatures like this out of the Haven for two centuries.”

  “I think we can handle our own affairs now. As should be self-evident from the state of that giant.”

  “Oh yes, he was mortally wounded, of that I have no doubt. But it’s a sad thing to be forced to take a life, Brand. Oberon kept this tragedy from occurring without killing anyone. He could have kept the giant in the Deepwood, where it has dwelt for so long. Even I took pity upon Twrog long ago when I found him there.”

  “So, you once took pity upon that giant?” asked Brand becoming furious. Every time a story of Myrrdin and the Faerie came to his ears, the tale ended in deep sorrow and death for the River Folk. The pity was always bestowed upon some other creature. “You admit yet another mistake that has caused my people yet more grief. Come with me, we will find the truth behind this giant.”

  Brand stood up and didn’t want to listen to any more nonsense from the Fobs or the meddling wizard. He marched into the Deepwood following the blood trail. Myrrdin followed him quietly.

  They marched for hours, until at last the shadows stretched long between the trees. Night fell, and still they kept marching. Brand’s axe lit the way, showing the giant’s trail clearly. Brand marveled at the giant’s vitality. A man would have succumbed to death miles earlier. It was early morning the next day when the two of them finally came to an open glade surrounded by vast thickets of spiny vines. The giant had run through these, blazing a trail through the twisted morass of wild growth. In the center of the glade was a massive oak tree. The giant’s corpse rested against the trunk amongst the black, snake-like roots. So large was the oak that it dwarfed even the giant’s body. The tree itself had been broken, the top half having long ago been torn away. Like a broken black tower, the trunk stood alone in the center of the glade.