by J Battle
Rekk nodded his head and smiled, and he bounced on his heels. ‘My, sis, you’ve turned hard, you have.’
Fleur matched his smile with a tired one of her own. ‘I’ve always been hard, Rekk, but now I’m going to be a mother, I have to be harder still.’
Rekk rested his eyes on her bulging belly. ‘The baby, it’s alright, ain’t it? Can you… women feel babies moving in their bellies, don’t they? Can you feel it, you know, since…?’
‘Ay, Rekk, I felt him right after, but he ain’t moved much since then.’
‘He? How do you know he’s a boy?’
Fleur thought about the voice in her head for a second. ‘Ay, Rekk, he’s a boy. Sometimes a woman knows.’
Chapter 46 BobbyJ
He kept away from the road, lest he be spotted by anyone chasing him and the Stone. And he knew that the clothes he’d stripped from Aavtaar were marked with the stains of his bloody death. He'd torn a strip off the shirt to make up a bandage for his hand, but it would not stand up to close examination.
He came upon a small camp of travelers, in a cleared space amongst the reeds between the road and the beach. He waited until dusk before he approached, hoping that the dim light would hide the evidence of his crimes.
‘Hoh, there campers, a stranger approaches, harmless and alone,’ he called, as he got closer.
A large powerful-looking man stepped from one tent, a heavy club in his hand.
‘No need for that tree, friend,’ said BobbyJ, with a smile. ’unless you need it for the fire.’
‘I’ll keep it close, stranger, if it be all the same to you. Who are you, and where are you from?’
‘Oh, friend, my name is Cavour, and I’ve been visiting friends in Hesselton along the road.’
‘Strange folk in Hesselton.’
‘Ay, and that’s the truth. I was glad to be on my way. Can I ask you for a sit by your fire, and mayhap a taste of your supper?’
‘Well, the fire cost nothing extra, and we have little enough food to spare. But, if you let me have that there bag across your shoulder, we’ll take that as payment in full.’
The man moved a little closer, and seemed to hold his club with firmer grip.
‘Well, ain’t nothing of any value in this bag, sir. Unless you have a taste for my soiled underwear.’
‘Looks like you have heavy underwear, from the way the bag hangs.’
‘Ah now, you have me there. I was just having a little of my fun with you. There was little enough fun in Hesselton, I can tell you that and not charge you a penny.’
‘So, the bag?’
‘Oh, yes. If you really want it, here it is.’ He threw the bag as hard as he could, catching the taller man with a glancing blow across the forehead.
The man fell and BobbyJ was on him, punching with both hands.
When the man was unconscious, he dragged him into the reeds. Then he grabbed the bag and brought its heavy weight down onto the man’s head, cracking his skull with a single blow.
He popped his head up to make sure there was no one about before he set to the task of stripping the dead man.
Moments later, dressed in his oversized but clean clothes he walked into the camp, with the club over one shoulder.
There were three tents, but the first two were empty. He found her in the last tent. She was hiding and quivering in the shadows.
‘Now there, my dear. No need to be afraid of old BobbyJ. No, not at all. Come out here and let me have a look at you. Don’t you worry yourself none; you look a little young even for me, but pretty enough for all that.’
‘What you done with my Pa?’ The voice was surprisingly firm.
‘Your Pa? Was that your Pa? I’ve sent him on his way. He’ll be back soon enough, I should think.’
‘You’ve got his clothes on.’
BobbyJ looked down at his attire.
‘Well now, I see I can’t fool you none. You’re a smart girl, and that’s for sure. Now come out so’s I don’t have to come in and get you.’
She stood up and walked towards him. A girl of maybe nine Falls of Leaves, dressed all in brown, with long straight hair.
‘What’s your name girl?’
‘It’s May-Jane, sir. What you done to my Pa?’
‘I’m sorry May-Jane, but he came at me and I was forced to defend myself. Have you other folk?’
‘He’s…dead?’
‘Yes, girl. Now, have you folk nearby?’
‘But…Pa!’ She leapt at him, catching him by surprise. They both went down, but only BobbyJ regained his feet.
He looked down at her broken body at his feet and tried to work out what had happened. He hadn’t intended to hurt her; he was sure of that. He’d planned to leave her alone, when he was sure that she had people to look after her. That seemed the normal, human thing to do.
He walked away from the tent, back on to the coast road.
The human thing to do, he thought. That was what he’d intended, but he was no longer human.
With every day; with every moment, he was becoming as his father.
How long could he walk amongst men and not be known for what he was? How long could he walk amongst men and resist the temptation to feed on their weak, tasty flesh?
*********
Elstar stood at the window, in the very position that Anders had occupied hours earlier.
He saw little of that which was before his eyes and his mind was turned inwards to wallow in his loss and misery.
He had thought that by now he'd have the Wellstone in his hand; feeling its power course through him and restoring him to the creature he once had been. The other crawlords would have followed behind him, wonder in their eyes as they saw their new Elflord, in all of his glory.
That was the future he'd seen when he first stepped in to this damned valley; that was the future he deserved; the future the Elvenfolk deserved.
But now? Now there was nothing but loss and ignominy. He'd been mocked before; of course he had. But to come so close; to know that it had been within his grasp. And now he would have to sneak back through the wall of mist and hope he could find a place to hide away until the laughter stopped.
He looked out through the window then, as a thought occurred to him.
The mist wall; it still held. What did that mean? Did a last remnant of Magic remain in the valley, holding it together for a brief moment before it fell away altogether? Or was the Stone hidden away from sight close by?
With a yell, he swung away from the window and rushed to the stairs. If he could still find it, then all would be saved.
He emerged from the doorway and stopped as he reached the road. Which way? Which way to choose?
He spun around in a complete circle. He could spy the mist wall in all of its colors in the distance, but, just down the road a little, it was closer.
If he examined the wall, he might be able to judge if it was holding firm or waning.
Firm, and the Wellstone was still here. Waning and it had passed from his reach.
His long legs carried him along the road and he soon came to the reservoir with its shroud of mist.
He stepped over the low stone wall and into the cold water, oblivious to its touch. His eyes were on the mist, the mist that wavered and bent and bulged before his eyes.
Was it the water causing the mist to thin as he watched, or the draining away of the Magic?
He splashed closer and walked into the mist.
After a couple of paces, he turned and looked back. The stone wall was clearly visible to him. He turned again and walked further into the mist. When he stopped once more, he could still see the wall.
For a second he slumped, as the cold water lapped at his waist. The answer was clear. The Magic was gone and the mist was failing, as was any hope of glory.
After a moment, he stood higher and turned his back on the valley, his back on the way to his home.
If Magic was lost to him, then why return? There was nothing for him now amongst his o
wn kind; nothing but loss, and failure and cruel mockery.
He took a step, splashing through the heavy water.
Whatever he might find on the other side of the mist must be far better than the world he’d left behind.
Mayhap there was some comfort in that.
**********
At the other end of the valley of Misthaven, beyond the weakening mist wall, the glacier known as God's Saddle moved inexorably forward, inch by inch.
And inch by inch, it melted and flowed away to either side of the beacon of light that was God's Challenge.
For a full year, it had stood there, holding off the remorseless onslaught of ice, and protecting the valley from its cold and its winds.
As night approached, if there had been eyes to witness the change, they would have seen a flicker in the flame.
Nothing more, at first.
The next night, those same eyes might have seen a change in the color of the flame. Less red; more yellow even. And perhaps the beacon didn't reach so high into the night sky.
If the owner of those eyes had managed to remain awake throughout the long night, they might have seen a sight to sing songs about when dawn peeked over the mountains.
The flame was just a spluttering at ankle level; struggling to stay alight amongst the puddles of melted ice.
In the middle of that dying ring of flickering light stood a figure. Bent he was, with one hand holding fast to the hilt of a sword buried deep in the cold ground, and the other gripping a heavy stone.
The observer might have thought to hide himself behind a handy boulder to see what would happen next, for the figure was large, even bent over, and the pain he had endured was writ large on his broad features.
As the cold wind blew off the ice of God's Saddle, and the last flame died, the stone dropped from his hand.
Book III
‘Even God holds his breath at the prospect of their return.’
Chapter 47 Giants
‘What did she hit me with? My head aches something terrible. It must have been a big hammer.’
Raarvan bumped shoulders.
‘She hit you with your own stupidness, she did.’
‘It were only ale; ale don’t hurt like this.’
‘It weren’t ale you was drinking there at the end; it was Rumm, and it’s surely powerful stuff.’
Aarvarn groaned as he settled his great buttocks on the road by the harbour wall. 'It must have been poisoned; that Rumm.’
‘The Lady-woman seemed fine enough.’
‘Where we going, anyway? Waking me up and it’s not even noon.’
‘You lost, so we have to help these little Humans. Maybe we’ll have some sport. I ain’t never seen an Elf; have you?’
‘What does one look like? I might have seen one and not known what it was.’
‘I don’t know what they look like. The Lady-woman didn’t tell us.’
‘How will we know what to hit, then?’
‘I guess we’ll just hit everything that ain’t human; that should do it.’ Raarvan laughed and reached to give his old friend a pull-up.
‘Leave us be a while. I’s hungry; it’s ages since I ate anything.’
‘We ate before we left the tavern; the Lady-woman made us breakfast.’
‘Breakfast? I heard of that, but I’m not sure what it means.’
‘It’s a meal humans have at the front of the day.’
‘What’s a meal? It’s like eating, ain’t it? But there’s something different about it.’
‘A meal is where you put something on a plate and eat it.’
‘That’s just eating. How’s it a meal?’
‘Er…I don’t…Oh, yeh; I got it. A meal is when you put some food on a plate, and then eat it, and then you’ve finished and the meal is over.’
‘When you stop eating?’
‘Yes, I reckon.’
‘When there ain’t no food left?’
‘Yes…No. There could be food in the cupboard; just not on your plate.’
‘Can’t you get the food from the cupboard and put it on your plate and eat it? I can’t see why you’d stop eating, when there be food in the cupboard.’
‘No; the food in the cupboard, that be for the next meal. Humans have three meals a day; breakfast at the front of the day; lunch at the middle of the day, and dinner at the back of the day.’
‘But…they eat in between; don’t they?’
‘No; just them three meals.’
‘Mayhap that’s why they be so small; they don’t eat enough.’
‘Come on you big lummox. We can’t stop here. We have to go and see these Elvenfolk and bang their heads together, if they have heads.’
Aarvarn groaned with great enthusiasm as he got back to his feet.
‘They must have heads. How would they eat without a head to hold their mouths? Do you think they’ll have food, or ale? Ale would do, if they ain’t got no food.’
Together the Giants began to walk away from the harbour, up the main street towards a wall of mist that seemed to weaken as they approached.
‘The Lady-woman said as we’d cross the reservoir and find ourselves in that there valley, and that’s where we’ll find them elfs.’
‘That’s a water, ain’t it? Like a lake, or the sea.’
‘Yes, and we can have a drink as we walk across, if you like. If you’re thirsty.’
‘Drink water? Pah! Now that would poison me, for sure.
**********
He stood upright for the first time in a year, and his body creaked and groaned with the effort.
He didn’t notice that the sword was still in his hand, drawn easily from the frozen ground, or that the wall of white mist beside him was being blown away wisp by wisp. He didn’t feel the cold wind blowing off the glacier, or the chilled melt-water at his feet.
All he knew, all he cared for, was the pain. The agony that had held him in the tornado of its grip for…how long had it been? He had no way to judge the time, but now it was gone; all of a sudden, with no warning.
He didn’t know if it was a momentary respite, or if it was gone forever.
All he knew for certain was, right now, he didn’t hurt.
He lifted both hands above his head and clenched his fists. He held the pose for a moment, and then he roared and drove the sword back into the ground.
Upright once more, he took a small step.
He turned and looked round him, as if he'd walked from the roaring pain into a reality where something else was possible. Where other thoughts might seep into his mind.
He shook his great head and turned to God’s Saddle. With a sigh, he pushed his hands elbow deep into its cold flesh.
His naked skin seemed to burn with the cold, but there was no harm there for him.
After an age, he pulled away from the ice.
The icy chill had cleared his mind somewhat.
‘Rootheart,’ he whispered. ’Rootheart; that’s my name. Chosen by myself, because none cared to name me. I am Rootheart the half-giant and…’
He stopped then, because he had no idea what followed. He was Rootheart, the half-giant and, what? What next? Who was he really? Why was he here? Who put him here? Why…?
It came to him then; a face, and a name. Suddenly he knew what came next in the life of Rootheart the half-giant.
For the face was that of a long-haired young man, and the name was Anders, and what came next?
Anders Low was the man who had bound him to the ground and set him aflame for all this time.
So, what came next was clear to see.
There would be blood and pain and death.
There would be vengeance.
Chapter 48 BobbyJ
He travelled parallel to the road, well out in the bush; not wishing to meet any of the irregular groups of people traveling from town to town.
It was unclear in his mind as to whether he was avoiding being seen, or seeing. He'd killed three people in the past few days, and it had been
so easy, at the time. But now, as he thought on it, he was troubled by his actions. He'd never killed before; hardly ever even fought before, if you didn't count his tussle with the Bayen boys when he was much younger.
Now, he was a killer.
The guard? Perhaps that was unavoidable. Aavtaar? Again, completely justifiable, if you ignored the bloody feasting afterwards. But the child? Barely into her 10th Falls of Leaves, if he judged correctly, and surely harmless, even if ferocious. And he'd taken her life without a thought; without even taking a moment to judge the wisdom or rightness of his action. He'd broken her poor little body and left her like a piece of meat.
He didn't want to meet anyone just yet; not until he understood what was happening to him.
He heard a sound from the road and ducked down amongst the low lying vegetation. He looked down so as not to see them, though he couldn't resist a quick glance to see that there were three of them, two men and a comely female.
'No,' he hissed, closing his eyes. 'No!'
He heard some chatter from the trio as they walked slowly along the road, and a quick blossom of laughter. He lifted his head. Her sweet laugh called to him; called to something inside him.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and lowered his head.
'Not today, BobbyJ,' he whispered. 'Not now.' His fists were clenched; the tight confines of the bandage causing a delicious pain as the knuckles of his seven-fingered hand bulged.
Then they were gone, still chatting and laughing, into the distance, and BobbyJ thought he should be able to relax a little. But the weight of the Stone in his bag made that impossible. He had days left to carry the Stone, and many miles to cover. Could he reach the home of his father without coming across any more poor, defenseless humans? There, he used the word 'humans', as if he was no longer part of that brotherhood; as if he was something separate altogether. And, of course, he was.