And still, even while seeing the cavalry horses of Ismere approaching at a blinding speed, Atilion arrogantly yelled, loudly, so that he would not go unheard, ���Fine. Let it not be said that I did not give you your ‘fair chance,’ ��� he said, with a besmirching gleam that was wide and horrid.
���Take your shot, infant child,��� the giant warlord shouted, spreading his arms at length apart, still holding the club, outstretched in his fist.
���Finally!��� Timothy shouted within his head.
The ringing began to whirl inside his ears. He lifted up his crossbow, aiming the tip of the arrow at Atilion’s face. The ringing built louder, but was instantly silenced, as soon as the arrow released from the bow.
It sailed upward through the air, straight toward the giant’s eye, but in the last second Atilion swung his club as a shield, and the arrow sunk deep into the wood.
Almost immediately, the giant king became disoriented. He tried to wield his club, striking Timothy down in his rage, but the arrow and the club lifted high above the battlefield, out of reach. While at the same time, King Corwan, galloping at full speed, his armor and his horse’s armor glimmering in the morning sunlight. Wrapping the reins in his hand, he drew himself up, so that he was standing upon the horse’s saddle as he rode, unstoppably, toward Atilion and his murderous army.
And with one hand bound in the reins, and another holding fast to a mighty javelin, that in itself may have been twice the King’s own size, Corwan dug the toe of his boot under the pommel of his horse’s saddle to support his stance, and he flung that javelin with all the force and strength that his body could possess, and it struck the giant, Atilion, who fell down dead upon the field like a thunder clap.
To the sound of Atilion’s fall, his giant army turned to flee, leaving behind them: giant swords, and weapons, and artillery. And from that day hence, there has not a giant dared to set foot in the land of Gleomu, nor to cross the northern borders, except to bring their yearly gifts to present before the King, as were the terms of their surrender.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Springtime
In the late springtime, when the weather was more forbearing, and safe travels could be made, and once the breaks in the wall had been mended, and the citizens of Ismere had begun to join together to restore some of what the giants’ fire boulders had burned, or decimated. It was at that time that a rescue team was appointed to retrieve the Prince, Asa, from his ���imprisonment��� in Darius’s house.
Through much better conditions than their previous ventures had shown them, they rode across the plains through the pass, and onward to the high plains, with clear sun and the sweet smell of spring flowers, to Hrim, and upward along the mountain trail to Darius’s english-style house, hidden within the shallow mountain valley.
Among this group that made the journey, there were only allowed those men who’d first volunteered with Matilde at the beginning (and only those of them who’d been brave enough to make the full journey). There being: King Corwan, and Prince Reuel, and the fourteen remaining men who’d survived the giant war, and Wilbur and Matilde, and Timothy and Barbara, of course, because they were the only two of them who’d known the way.
And there in the house they found Asa, rested and thoroughly recovered; Although several pounds heavier, after staving off his boredom and the winter months, eating platefuls of perfect food from Darius’s kitchen. And as with others, his memory had taken a similar affect, although not nearly as drastic, so that within no time he was relaying to them the stories of his confinement, and about all of what he’d read within Darius’s scientific books, and about the glory of making instant food, purely by molecular compound. Except that some of what he’d said made those from Earth, especially Wilbur and Matilde, laugh aloud though they tried to restrain themselves, because they understood he did not fully realize all that he was describing, as someone from Earth might.
Saying things like: ���Automobiles are fueled with olive oil,��� or comparing train engines to lifeless metal land dragons, that blow smoke from their spouts and can transport men several hundred miles at a time.
Notwithstanding, as a true budding scientist, during his time there he’d made several substantial, or noteworthy, discoveries and observations.
And they, in the order he told about them, were these:
Firstly, that when Atilion’s club and Timothy’s arrow had been shot away from the battlefield, and squeezed through the painting, that monstrous club had smashed apart the globe and had fallen backward, tearing the painting through the center. And it was Asa’s newly formed scientific opinion that the globe and the painting could never be repaired. (And this summation was in fact true. After all, at the time of their creations, both the globe and the painting had been made by far better sciences, and were far more intricately designed than any of them would ever be capable, within their lifetimes, of achieving. Those precious artifacts were gone for good, along with all the abilities they’d possessed, and there was no hope that they would ever be put back together.)
And secondly, Timothy’s ���compass���, that he had brought with them to Gleomu when they’d first arrived, well it was not in fact a compass at all, as you might have guessed. Though, as Asa had decided, it was most likely a gauge of some kind, which is another thing he had read about in Darius’s science books. (This, again, was correct; To be specific, this device that Timothy had brought along with them under the assumption of a compass was actually a luminometer, or a gauge that measures trace amounts of light energy.)
And thirdly, and this was saved for the end, because Asa had been so excited about it: In his exploration of the grounds of the house, he’d stumbled upon a flying machine, laid under a thick sheet cover, and stored within a shed adjacent to the house.
It was just like the drawing Barbara had seen sketched out in Darius’s study, months before. It was all earthy brown with canvas propellors, and a wind sail along its ridge. A perfect flying machine, except that there was a small tear in the sail, and that would need to be mended before any test flight could be had.
Though happily, the job of this, by their own design, was quickly taken up by Wilbur and Asa, who spent a week’s time combing through every inch of the machine’s surface, polishing cables, and triple checking rudders, until they understood its mechanics completely, and the entire thing was marvelous to look at.
However, when the search party’s rations began to dwindle, to levels needed for a safe return trip home, King Corwan made plans to leave there, for fear that they might become tempted to eat Darius’s food, and would soon begin to forget themselves, as all who’d eaten that food before them had done.
And on the following day, the team made preparations to leave, but Wilbur and Asa had hoped to take their flying machine back with them to Ismere, and also Timothy and Barbara could not wait to try it out, leaving one space open for Matilde, if she would squeeze into it.
���Please come,��� Wilbur said to her that morning, as they wheeled their spectacular flying machine out of the shed and onto the lawn in front of the house.
But Matilde, who’d been deathly afraid of planes for years by that point, shook her head and her long grey streaked hair, and answered him, ���You know I can’t.���
To this the old man looked at his wife, and ducking under the wing, came to her and put his arm around her shoulder. And they both stood there, side-by-side, admiring that elegant machine.
And after a moment had passed, Wilbur, the King of Earth, pointed at his work.
���Just look at it,��� he said. ���Tell me it’s not beautiful.���
���It’s not beautiful,��� the old woman muttered.
Wilbur chuckled in his jolly way.
���Come on, now… if you weren’t afraid of planes, wouldn’t that be the sort you’d like to fly in?��� he asked, giving her a tender squeeze with his arm.
&nbs
p; Matilde drew her fingers through her hair and gave that machine a hard look.
���Probably…��� she finally answered.
���See there,��� Wilbur said looking at his Queen. ���How about, starting now, you’re only afraid of all other planes, except this one?���
���Now you’re just being silly,��� she replied.
���Oh, come on,��� Wilbur insisted. ���We’ve only got so much time left, to do the things we want.���
���If we go up in that thing, for sure,��� Matilde snapped back, showing her wit, and the two began to laugh at each other’s reactions, and eventually, Matilde decided to make an exception, just this once.
And it is my opinion that she could not have been happier, as their sail caught the wind, and they all flew up above the crest of the valley, seeing miles and miles of the land of Gleomu stretched out before them, waving farewell to King Corwan and the rest below them, pointed onward to Ismere, their new home; A city of safety and prosperity, and new kinships… and if all their world back on Earth had thought that they had died, and had grieved them, at least they would know the truth of it, if only they and no others, that they were very much alive.
Afterword
A year, with its seasons, had come and gone in that world: There was the marriage of Pemberley, the Queen’s youngest daughter. And as for Timothy, he had vastly improved upon his knack for swordsmanship, and had also grown rather keen to matters of the council, so that Wilbur said that he should make a fine court questioner one day, if the laws allowed for a foreigner to sit at court.
And during that time, Barbara had not been idle either. Among other things, she would take long walks with the Queen, who seemed to fancy her, through the countryside, and she had grown to be the life at royal parties, and gatherings. So that she had many suiters requesting if she could be betrothed, but to that Matilde, the Queen of Earth, who’d taken Barbara in as almost a second daughter, always had a standard reply. That, ��� …she [Barbara] was too young for that now, but when she was ready she would make the decision on her own.���
It was a year of all the best that Gleomu had to offer, and in the fall, when the last brick of the last building in Ismere had been rebuilt, King Corwan, who was true to his word, held a feast in Timothy’s honor: Three days of banquets, and dancing, and performers reenacting scenes from the Great Giant War, as they had come to call it.
Yet, as delightful as it may have been, a year had come and gone, and Timothy and Barbara, Wilbur and Matilde had decided to ride out to Lochshire for May Festival, and on their return they had elected to take a detour, along the rim of a gully river with steep canyon walls on either side, and a stream that poured over waterfalls and splashed in deep pools below.
The ride was pleasant enough, but they had been traveling all day long, and Timothy was by then very bored. So he began to fiddle with his gauge that he had brought along with them just in case, as it had become his habit to do if they were planned to travel to someplace new. Most often, this habit would only disappoint him, however this time was quite different.
When they rounded a bend in the river, the needle on the center dial began to spike. Timothy could not withhold his excitement.
���I found something,��� he shouted to the others ahead of him, and leapt off his horse, following the direction of the mysterious reading, or signal, of some sort. Which led him at a brisk pace through the treeline, and down a narrow, almost unnoticeable footpath to the bottom of the canyon: The needle on his gauge slowly rising as he descend further toward the stream.
At last he was stopped in front of a waterfall, cascading over a giant single boulder, as tall as the walls of Ismere itself, and the waterfall fell into a deep circular pool.
���Have you lost your head, Tim?��� Barbara shouted, trying to keep her footing as she followed down the narrow pathway, holding up the hem of her dress so she would not trip.
And when she at last made it safely to the bottom, in front of the waterfall, they heard yelling from the canyon ledge above them.
���What’s going on you two?��� Matilde yelled down below.
But before Timothy could answer for himself, Barbara turned around quickly, shouting, ���Your grandson’s gone mad, my lady.��� Barbara turned back to Timothy, still smiling at her wit.
���I am not,��� he said to her. ���Here, hold this.��� And he gave her his gauge for safe keeping, and began to unstrap his boots.
Whatever his gauge had found, it must be behind that rock, Timothy thought, and he was sure of it.
With his shoes off, Timothy dove into the water.
���What? Are we swimming now?��� Wilbur said, having just caught up with Matilde, at the brim of the canyon.
���Apparently,��� Barbara yelled as an answer.
The water crashed over his head with a beating weight, even in late spring it was icy cold. Timothy took in a deep breath, and dove as far as his lungs would take him.
���There’s a cave,��� he yelled, coming back up for air, but the pounding waterfall drowned away his words.
���What?��� Barbara shouted, trying to be heard above the crashing water, but it was too late, Timothy had disappeared below the surface again.
Kicking and pushing himself beneath the current, Timothy pulled through the underwater cave. Faintly seen through the murky water ahead of him, a pale airy greenish light, there was a single beam through the water, and he followed that light, almost sure he would drown. Until he came to the surface of a glass still pool, in an underground cave.
Bulbous columns of stone grew down from the ceiling, and a slant ray of light beamed through a small opening in the roof. Climbing out at the edge of the pool, dripping wet hair and clothes, Timothy saw on the walls of the cavern room surrounding him, cave drawings and paintings, but not rudimentary paintings, great works of art, depicting some moments in histories long forgotten. And surrounding each painting, walls and walls of text, in a writing he could not then understand.
And then, it caught his eye. There, directly across from the ancient pool, now illuminated by the single shaft of light descending from the ceiling was a globe: a real globe, a light globe, nearly the same in every way as the one they had before. He had found it, Timothy had found a way home.
Throwing up his hands, water dripping off his shirt and pooling around his shoeless feet, he screamed, a shout of victory, of triumph.
���Woo!!��� he shouted from deep within his lungs, and the echo of it repeated off the cavern walls.
Copyright
A Prince of Earth Globe Light Press :
All rights reserved. Copyright �� Steven J Carroll 2013
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper, or to be placed on a website for the purpose of review. For information address: Globe Light Press, [email protected].
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Acknowledgements
A great big thanks to Laurenish Designs, for her wonderful interior title. Thanks to Christine Hysell for her excellent work as an editor, and to Chad Lewis for his extraordinary cover art.
And my best thanks to my wife, Bre. You are my greatest ally and friend.
(Book 3 of The Histories of Earth)
May the habits of forgiveness be well
placed in our hearts.
Chapter One
The Marketplace
Istanbul, Turkey
The bazaar was overcrowded, as it is most days, and on this morning, an especially overwhelming huddle was eagerly gathered even more closely to the baker’s stand: Bin upon bin of every meat filled delicacy, or salted and sweetened crunchy pastry you might imagine, stacked precisely, and with great care and artistry, in mouth watering exactness.
Timothy waited there, with the rolling crowd, sometimes being pushed backward a few spaces, sometimes finding a better spot in line. This unevenness was at complete odds with what he had been used to back home in London; a proper British cue would be delineated, and fairly paced, and somewhat boring.
And I suppose that is why Timothy had grown fond of his morning breakfasts in the marketplace, since his family had ridden the Orient Express into Sirkeci Train Station only a week prior. Though even in such a short time as this, he felt like he was quick to find his roots in the city, and the rhythm of foot traffic in the alley streets, and he especially enjoyed watching the baker from his favorite shop (with his long and bristly, wire-brush mustache), handling the bread paddle with the ease of a sculptor.
Perhaps it was a favorite of Timothy’s, because this particular market had reminded him so much of the shops and merchant districts in Gleomu, where until last year he had lived as a prince. That distant world where Timothy had lived, had become a home to him, and for nearly a year he had been restlessly biding his time on Earth, counting down the days until he could return.
The pulsing wave of shoppers at the baker’s stand began to lessen. The baker’s young apprentice in a flowing white button-shirt yelled something to Timothy in Turkish, and although Timothy did not know the exact meaning of the words, their intent was clear. He knew they meant that it was his turn to order, and he had better be quick, or risk losing his spot in line.
The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending Page 24