Land of the Giants, page 9
Once they were at the top, Rimball lay flat on his belly like a lizard, working himself into an opening between an oblong boulder and some thorny shrubs. Elise wiggled in beside him, and Rygor resigned himself to trying to peek between their heads, crouching on his belly behind them.
Elise scanned the area. From this vantage point, they could see the valley of sloping hills that stretched from west to east around Mount Monkton, one of the tallest stalactites in Fal. The peak of it rose so high it almost reached the ceiling of the Fal cavern. Elise wondered what it was like for Corbin to be with the surface dwellers right now. She tried to imagine what it was like not to live in one giant cave with a myriad of stalagmites hanging from the jagged roof.
Far in the distance, she could see the Great Crystal floating close to the cavern ceiling, glowing a bright blue. Even from here, its light was warm on her skin, reminding her that most life in this cavern owed itself to Baetylus. She did not dare tell any of the villagers about Corbin’s experience with the crystal and the false god’s true nature.
Rimball scanned the landscape with his scope, a long leather tube held together by a cord around the middle. At either end was a lens made from the shell of a dead tortoise. Elise was not sure how it worked, but when the turtles were ready to die, they secreted an oily substance that calcified their shells. Over time, the river and sand worked down the material, turning pieces of their shell into a glassy substance. Hunters would scour the banks for the rare material once every tenth year, hoping to find some that they might sand down and polish into these lenses, which they would then trade to the nearby towns.
“Do you see anything?” Elise asked as quietly as she could manage. She thought for sure the hunter would reprimand her for speaking, but all Rimball did was shake his head and continue scanning.
Elise looked down into the valley and tried to make out her homeland. She could see the log cabins of Riverbell lining the west banks of the Naga River, but it was so far away, down past the hill and a couple miles over the fields they used for farming, that she could not make out any of the villagers.
Rimball tapped a finger in the dirt, gathering Elise’s attention, and pointed at the village. Handing her the scope, Rimball waited until she had it up to her eye and then guided the lens until the village square came into her view.
The scope magnified objects so that she could see them much clearer than with the naked eye, except her view was curved, bent slightly by the lens, and the edges of it were smoky. At first she did not understand what Rimball wanted her to see. There was the village square, empty, and…wait, no it was not empty. Elise flicked the scope back a fraction to the left, and goosebumps crawled across her skin.
A large group of soldiers was corralling villagers into the square, while their leader yelled something at Avery the blacksmith. The soldiers had the rest of the villagers gathered in a circle, forced to huddle together, surrounded by Fafnir’s men. The blacksmith fell on his knees, blocking his own wife and small boy, and clasped his hands together. Without being able to hear them, Elise knew the conversation. The soldiers wanted to know where the villagers were hiding, and Avery was begging for mercy, swearing his innocence. The soldier shouted again, pointing at Avery as he spoke. Avery said something, and the soldier snapped his head to look directly at Elise.
Gasping, she ducked her head low to the ground and dropped the scope.
Rimball patted her back. “They cannot see us. We are too far away.” Whenever Rimball spoke, Elise always felt the hunter must need a drink of water. His voice sounded cracked and dry.
“They looked directly at me,” she said doubtfully.
“Then our friends have given us away,” Rimball lamented. “You will not want to see what happens next.” He reached for his scope.
Elise pulled it toward her, rolling the leather tube away from Rimball. She shook her head, determined to see what would happen to her people.
When the lens came back up to her eye, Elise had to stifle another gasp. The lead soldier had stuck his sword through one of Avery’s hands, which he must have thrown up to block the blade, and into one of his eyes. The angry soldier snarled and pushed the dead man off his sword with his boot. The rest of the villagers were screaming and crying. Avery’s wife threw herself on her husband, hysterically shaking his body and clutching his face close to her own. Avery’s little boy looked catatonic when the soldier hacked his blade across the woman’s spine and shouted for his men to get to work.
Rimball saw all the color drain from Elise’s face and gently pulled the scope out of her shaking fingers. She continued to stare at the far-off village with horrified eyes and a gaping mouth. When a great bonfire erupted in the center of the village, Elise finally turned away, tears uncontrollably clouding her eyes, though she fought hard to choke them down.
“What is it?” Rygor asked excitably, rising to try to see the village. “What’s happening down there? Are Fafnir’s men taking them prisoner already?”
Elise wanted to answer, but his words seemed far away, and she could not stop the grisly scene playing across her mind’s eye.
“Yes, Rygor,” Rimball answered for her, “the magistrate’s men have come.”
Rygor fell to his knees. He tried to ask more questions with trembling lips, but Rimball’s tone had said it all. He did not need the scope to know their people were being executed. “Damn them,” Rygor cursed. “Why didn’t they listen to reason and come with us when they had the chance?”
Rygor had been very reluctant to accompany Elise on this journey. He had never needed any convincing when she arrived and told the villagers they were all in danger. Rygor had gathered up his wife and two children straight away and prepared to follow Elise, the new village Elder. When she asked him to accompany her back to Riverbell to convince the remaining villagers to join them, he had a hard time parting with his wife, who was absolutely terrified he would not return.
“The damned fools…” Rygor muttered again, angry at the villagers for not listening.
Elise slapped him hard across the face, and tears streaked out of her eyes. Rygor held his burning cheek and gaped at her. Elise was gaping right back, just as surprised as he that she had struck him.
“Don’t you call them fools,” she said. “Don’t you ever call them that.”
Rygor slowly nodded, feeling that he might begin weeping himself. Rimball insisted it was time to head back to camp, and Elise numbly agreed.
They were a good mile and a half away, heading southeast, when the winds shifted and the smells caught their nose.
“Mmm, I think someone’s roasting chicken nearby,” Rygor said, looking around the forest they were about to enter. Elise snapped her head up, looking as well, the aromas of cooking meat making her stomach growl. In the land of Fal, winds could travel far and fast with no sky above to escape into.
Rimball looked over his shoulder at them and shook his head solemnly. Rygor cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow. Then the hunter’s meaning took hold in his mind.
Elise too caught his meaning. Her stomach lurched, and she bent over to vomit in the grass. Rygor followed suit, unable to keep the contents of his stomach. Though he did not join in, the weathered old hunter could hardly blame the pair for their reaction. After all, who could be expected to smell the burning bodies of their fellow villagers without becoming ill?
The air was still filled with the smell of burning animal hide from the tent fires they had worked labouriously to put out. Without a river nearby, it had been hard, leaving them to rely on smothering techniques over a large scale of the burning Agma camp. If the jungle had not been so musky and humid, the fire would have likely spread out of their control, so Logan begrudged that there was at least one perk to the dank place.
The next day they slept in rounds while members of their party took turn keeping watch, staying alert both for the Agma, who only a night ago planned to sell them off as slaves, and for the raiding tribe of cannibal lizardmen, the Agmawor.
The chieftain had called them to his hut, a good-sized structure made of straw and mud with animal skins for a roof, for a private audience, attended only by Shaman Nan, his son Tokl, and a handful of the older Agma whose council he valued. No weapons were allowed in the chieftain’s hut, not that the humans’ equipment had been returned yet anyhow. They sat cross-legged, trying to blend in with the Agma customs as best they could.
“Tell us, Kyra Tarvano, what was your soft-skin tribe doing in our lands?” the chieftain inquired, holding a stone over the fire with wet ceramic tongs.
“My people are from Agarta,” she replied, hesitating to gauge their reactions to her kingdom’s name, which seemed to mean nothing to them. “It was…is a country far to the south of your jungle, where we are in danger from the jotnar. My people sent us north to see what the jotnar threat is like up here, in hopes of finding a safe haven.”
The chieftain looked at Nan and smiled softly. “You lie to us,” he stated flatly, turning the rock, which was beginning to glow red. Before Kyra could object, he held up a hand to silence her. “Have no fear in your heart of hearts, Kyra Tarvano of Agarta. Your reasons for holding truth locked away are your own. Branx does not judge you.”
Kyra squirmed under the lizardman’s gaze, uncomfortable at being so easily called out on her ruse. Wanting to change the subject, she asked, “What of the Agma people? Last I came through these jungles, I knew nothing of your tribe. Where did you come from?”
Stur winced, hoping she was not pushing her luck with the question.
This time Shaman Nan spoke for the chieftain, “The Agma have long dwelled in these jungles, Kyra. Since the time of creation, the Agma have wandered the jungle in our constant journey to avoid the grasp of the evil ice giants and avoid the Agma’s cursed cousins, the Agmawor. Perhaps during Kyra’s last visit you did not meet the Agma because we were not in this place. The Agma stay only for a short time before moving on.”
Corbin found the idea fascinating; these lizard people were a nomadic tribe, always on the move to avoid detection.
“So you are also on the run from the jotnar?” Kyra asked.
“The Agma run not. By moving in constant cycles, we lessen the risk of enslavement, and the jungle provides sanctuary from the ice giants’ prying sorcery,” the chieftain explained, dropping the hot rock into a ceramic pot of water that Nan took from him after the steam dissipated.
“And what of Corbin Walker? You and your brother are not from the same tribe as Kyra’s people,” Nan coyly asked, as if she could see into the very depths of his soul with her single bloodshot eye.
Kyra shot him a look, and he could see she wished for him to make up some answer—something, anything, but the truth.
Corbin leveled his gaze at the chieftain, who waited patiently for his answer. “We are from there.” He pointed to the soil in front of Branx’s crossed legs. “Under the world of Acadia in a faraway land called Vanidriell.”
Kyra took a sharp breath, furious that the fool had given away his hand so easily. And maybe he had, but Corbin was not ready to spread lies among these new allies. Nor did he believe the world should be staged to expect such things.
“I see. And you have come to the surface for what?” Branx replied, much calmer at the revelation than expected, while he nonchalantly added roughly peeled vegetable roots to Nan’s pot.
Tokl snorted derisively. “Father, you cannot really believe this soft-skin fairy tale? This is ludicrous!”
The chieftain did not answer the impertinent question, merely shooting his son a dark glance for interrupting his conversation. Tokl withered under his gaze, and the chief motioned for Corbin to continue.
“Kyra is helping us search for Isaac, the man who will be the key to our land’s salvation, freeing us from a powerful adversary who controls the minds of my people and feeds upon their souls.” Corbin summed up their purpose with simplified clarity, though his quest was anything but.
The elder lizards in the tent bristled at his words, sending a low murmur rippling through the group. Even the chieftain and shaman fell to huddled whispering, as if the humans were not in the tent with them.
Corbin thought about peeking inside their minds to understand what they were discussing but did not let the idea take root. He would not live his life spying on all those he met. Just because he possessed ability over others did not mean he was justified to use it at his own whim. If he lost faith in the goodness of other people, along with everything else that had been shattered, what would there be left of the world to believe in?
Chief Branx finished speaking privately and gave a curt nod to Nan, who looked at the group of humans. As she spoke, she began grinding plants in a ceramic mortar. “We see your innocence in knowing, Corbin Walker. It is no mere man you search for. Isaacha be the very jungle around you.”
Corbin screwed up his face, trying to grasp her meaning. Before he could question the shaman, Nan continued.
“There is a legend among the Agma as old as our firstborn. Long ago, the soft-skins dared to wage war against the mighty blue devils, the ice giants, the jotnar. Your race paid dearly for this transgression, burned away from the world like a rotting disease. A soft-belly unlike any other travelled the land in sorrow, filled with a deep despair, searching for his kin. One day he came to this land and laid down his life, too tired to continue his futile search and giving up on this mortal coil. It was then that this soft-skin blessed the land, sacrificing himself to create a sanctuary free of the jotnar's prying magic. Thus Isaacha came into being, spreading its miracle across the plains and giving the Agma tribes a safe haven to grow in number and become strong. So you see, ever do we walk in the loving embrace of Isaacha.” Finishing her story, Nan stirred the herbs into her mixture. They smelled like jasmine and lemons melting into the hot liquid.
“So what does that mean for us?” Logan asked his brother doubtfully.
“Agma Crescent seekers will show you the way,” the chieftain answered.
Corbin could see he was missing something. Even with Nero’s language translator, there was a clear divide between the cultural meanings of words that was lost on him.
Nan caught his confusion and plopped the lid back on the pot. “Corbin does not understand? Kalilah and Tiko will show you the way.” She spoke slowly and a little louder, as if it would help him understand better.
“Show us the way where?” Logan asked, sharing his brother’s confusion.
“To the heart of Isaacha. Deep in the center of the jungle, where its spirit dwells,” Nan replied, throwing the chieftain a wry look.
“But you said that Isaac-ha is the jungle,” Corbin tried to reason.
“Tokl thinks it is more than their skin that is soft, Nan. How can we expect any less?” Tokl mocked. “Our esteemed shaman is trying to tell you that Isaacha, spirit of the jungle, holds his heart at its center. Kalilah is of age to take the pilgrimage and do the offering with Tiko as her heart’s companion and moon guardian. Corbin will accompany the pilgrims to the White Tree, where Isaacha still communes with this plane. Does this make sense to your limited monkey brain?” he finished, knocking on his own scaled skull and laughing.
Corbin ignored Tokl’s arrogance, thankful to have a straightforward answer. “So Isaacha is just a tree in the center of your jungle?”
The shaman glowered at them. “This is not accurate. The tree is where Isaacha’s spirit slumbers, where the people commune with him when great things happen for the Agma,” Nan corrected.
Logan looked at Corbin eagerly. This was something for them to go on. He could not be more delighted that they actually had a lead to follow, and it did not involve subservience to Kyra!
Corbin shared his enthusiasm, his heart daring to dream they were finally on the right path to find the answers they sought. “We humbly accept your offering, Chieftain Branx.” He bowed his head toward the tribal leader.
Tokl snorted arrogantly. “These ones are not doing you a favor, soft-brain. Kalilah was already ready for the pilgrimage. All they are doing is moving it closer to the new moon to get rid of your cursed souls.”
“Tokl will hold his insolent tongue,” Brax snapped at his son, cowing the hunter’s ego. “Tokl is not leader of this tribe yet, and until the dawning of that day, Tokl will not speak with authority for the Agma.”
Kyra cleared her throat, drawing their attention away from the awkward exchange. “Chieftain Branx, we are grateful for your offer of assistance, but I must decline. I fear there are more pressing matters for us to attend to with the jotnar, and I cannot risk getting waylaid by a journey to your White Tree.”
Corbin blinked as if openly struck by the hand of disbelief. Surely the marshal did not intend for them to pass up this opportunity.
Nan read the tension clearly and interrupted, ladling some of the broth she had made into a ceramic bowl with painted stripes. “Nan sees the soft-skins have much to talk about. You do this later, yes? For now we eat!” She offered Corbin the bowl, hitting him with the aromas of the ginger and lemongrass mingling in the hearty broth.
The silence was broken by a loud rumbling. Everyone looked at Bipp, who just shrugged with a sheepish grin. “What? My belly is as excited as my brain. I’m starved!”
The gnome laughed heartily and everyone joined in, forgetting their worries for a short time, sharing in the meal and joy of one another’s company.
Corbin let it go for now, welcoming the group’s fleeting bliss, but later he would need to handle this issue. Nothing was going to stand in the way of his quest. Nothing.
Daylight was beginning to filter through the jungle canopy. Even under the protective shielding of Acadian eyewear, dawn’s radiance was like staring into a hundred fires to the Falians, and Corbin’s eyes stung fiercely. Bipp complained about it and said he was going to bed with the rest of the weary Agma while the brothers worked out the details of their opportunity with Kyra. Corbin held his hand up to block the waves of daylight, peering through them in fascination that anything could exist so alive with energy.
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