Storm's Clouds, page 22
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
“The Xythox wars? Those were only legend.”
“How old do events have to be to become only legend? I’ve asked myself that question many times. The war with Xythox was real, much like the armor those assassins were wearing.”
Waya realized the fog, which had once been a dull mist over the land, had descended from the mountains and grown steadily thicker. He could barely see the tree line at the edge of the platform. “Should we be out in the open like this?”
“The assassins will not follow us here. They should remain lost until nightfall.”
Waya thought through all he had seen and heard. “My grandmother used to tell me stories. About the Xythox wars. About ogres and goblins and fae.”
“Your grandmother must have been someone very special to you.”
“She understood. About Adsila and I. She accepted us.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have met her.”
“Goblins we’ve seen. Ogres I’d heard of. But no one has seen the fae in generations.”
“The fae are real, just not as common these days.”
“You’ve seen the fae?”
“I lived among them once. My knapsack is of fae make.”
“That’s why it can hold so much?”
“That’s why.”
“Are they really so small?”
“Who? The fae? How small do you think they are?”
“Like the size of a bird.” At least, that’s how Waya had always pictured them.
Garth shook his head. “That would describe the sprites, the wood spirits who partner with the fae as stewards over the forest. The fae would be about your height.”
Waya glanced around, wondering what they were waiting for, when he saw treetops appear through the mist and pass silently by. “We’re moving!”
“Yes, we are. We’re on our way to see the giants.”
Waya looked down, realizing he could no longer see the stone platform they had been standing on. Below his feet was only mist – like a cloud. Around him, the mist billowed and floated, and beyond the mist the trees, rocks and landscape drifted past. “How is this happening?”
“The fae have their magic. The giants have their own. These giants live high on the mountain slopes. It’s how they avoid unwanted visitors.”
Looking ahead, Waya could see a stone structure in the distance, clinging to the side of the mountain. As it came closer, he began to recognize the size of its proportions. The stone structure rose above and dwarfed the surrounding trees. It had a towering spire, like from a castle in a tale – but bigger, so much bigger. At the front of it, facing them, was another stone platform overlooking a sheer cliff face. Beyond, he could see buildings: some long and low – others soaring like the tower which overlooked the landing.
Waya stepped involuntarily backwards. Garth reached back, gripping his arm. “Stay where you are, Waya. We will be there shortly.”
The cloud took them up, faster, riding the wind. The tower was huge. Broader by half again than any buildings or houses Waya had ever seen. Taller than any tree he had ever imagined. Its window slits were the size of barn doors. He had to crane his neck to look up at its heights.
The cloud on which they were borne slowed, bringing them over, then down onto the stone platform beneath the tower. The mists of the cloud dissipated, spreading away from them as it broke apart. Garth led his horse forward.
From the gloom beneath the eaves of the building before them, a giant stepped forward from the entryway. He was easily over thirty feet tall, with bright orange-red hair and a full beard. Garth, who was himself considered taller than most men, would have barely come up to his knees. The giant’s limbs were like tree trunks, and it held a great spear in its hands, its metal tip carved with the swirling images of clouds, its wooden shaft the size of a sapling. He wore a grey surcoat, clasped at his waist by a broad belt. Great, black boots were on his feet.
“What’s th’ meanin o’ a mage beggin entry intae mah moontains?” The giant’s voice boomed across the stonework of the landing. Waya stayed where he was, feeling very small and inconsequential.
Garth bowed. “Only a lowly human traveler, seeking shelter from an untimely storm.”
The giant towered over them, staring down upon his visitors. “Ah had nae heard o’ a mage what knew clood speak in a lang time.”
Garth looked up, careful to make no sudden movements, hoping the boy had sense enough to do the same. “I am called Garth. My companion’s name is Waya. He requires a place to stay until the storm has passed.”
The giant gripped his spear tightly. “Tis th’ roar o’ th’ storm ‘at makes a man-growen.”
“The storm is mine to weather. The boy will have storms of his own to brave, but not this one.” Garth paused, debating whether he should ask. “There was once a giant who lived in these parts named Ludan. Do you know if he still lives among these peaks?”
The giant shifted, taking a step back, regarding Garth carefully. “Ludan passed away ower two centries past.”
“I’m sorry, I meant no offense,” Garth replied, bowing again. He knew there were times when humility was the appropriate response. Even for a mage. “I remembered hearing his cloud speech long ago.”
A female giant, with long blonde hair arranged into great, plated braids, stepped out from the shadowed entry. She was wearing a long, loose-fitting white dress. “Invite thaim in awreddy, Maldouen. It widnae murder ye tae have some company.”
The giant lowered his spear, still regarding Garth carefully.
“I’m Mariory, an’ this is mah guidman, Maldouen,” the giantess said. “This way. I’ll show ye whaur tae stable yer beasties.”
Garth bowed again to the giant. “Our thanks for sharing the warmth of your shelter.”
* * *
Waya adjusted himself. Even resting on pillows and perched on his knees, he had trouble reaching the table. Everything in the giant’s home was on a massive scale. The tower they had seen, although huge, amounted to no more than three flights for giants such as these. They were seated in the dining hall – a room obviously built to host a much larger gathering. It echoed empty, voluminous, with only a giant, his wife, and two pathetic human visitors.
From inside, Waya could more fully appreciate the scale of the stonework which made up the giants’ abode. The stone blocks of the walls were massive. They would have required a team of horses to haul into place. Each was dressed to fit precisely against its neighbor, its surface smooth and with no signs of either mortar or chisel. It was as if each stone had been formed from the rock, rather than cut.
The rafters overhead were hewn from great hardwood tree trunks, their ends flaring into reinforcing buttresses at the walls. And everywhere, among the columns, across the table, and in the metal flagon the giant drank from, were patterns reminiscent of clouds, the flowing currents of the wind, and the lightning of storms. Everything on a scale Waya had never imagined.
Wooden benches lined the table on either side, with the giant sitting at the head in a massive wooden chair. Maldouen’s gaze never left Garth. His wife, Mariory, sat across from them and did most of the talking. “We seldom have visitors. Livin’ so far oot. Ah didnae know thare were human mages ‘at spoke clood speak.”
“There have been a few,” Garth replied. “Gnotrix was the most well-known.”
“Wisnae centuries past?” she said. “Ah was a wee lassie when ah heard ay him.”
“Yes, Gnotrix would have disappeared around then.”
“How did ye know Ludan?” Maldouen asked, speaking up after a prolonged silence.
“The echoes of his cloud speech could be heard across the Feideid mountains, far to the south, in the East Feyfell.” Garth had brought out his own cups for himself and Waya to use, there being none small enough among the giants’ cupboards. Mariory had served them soup in teacups – each teacup making for a generous bowl by human standards.
Waya ate in silence. He had never felt so small, so insignificant, or so vulnerable. The giants could have lifted them in a single hand as easily as Waya could have lifted a cat. And there would have been nothing he could have done to stop them. He didn’t know how Garth could sit and chat so nonchalantly in the presence of such beings.
“I am sorry if I offended,” Garth continued. “I remember hearing the echoes of Ludan’s cloud speech fondly. A long time ago.”
“Ludan was mah father,” Maldouen replied, his stare still locked on Garth.
“Was he? I never had the fortune to meet him. I only remember hearing his cloud speech as it echoed across the mountains.”
“Sin when dae humans bide th’ lifetime o’ a giant?”
“Being a mage has both its benefits, and burdens.” Garth sat down his cup. “Waya, would you please collect your belongings from the horse? The evening will be upon us soon enough.”
“I’ll show ye whaur ye can bide th’ night,” Mariory said, rising from her chair.
Waya begrudgingly climbed down from the bench, lowering his legs, dangling them over the edge, before dropping onto the floor. He followed Mariory back to the stable, but not before shooting a disapproving glance in Garth’s direction. He knew when he was being dismissed so the adults could speak. He didn’t appreciate being treated like a child. But then again, when you’re in a room with two giants who could toss you like a toy, and a mage who could command thunder from the clouds, there wasn’t much you could do in protest.
Garth waited for Waya to exit the room before he began. “Thank you again for letting us stay. I need to keep the boy out of harm’s way until I can reunite him with his family.”
“Seems tae me th’ laddie has been mixed in things better left alone.”
“Yes. It’s unfortunate. The boy ran off, too young to understand how unforgiving the world can be.”
“It disnae explain a mage on mah doorstep what knows clood speak, or what claims tae have heard mah father speak it. How do ah know yer who ‘n what ye say ye’r?”
Garth took a deep breath, trying to frame his thoughts before speaking. “There’s nothing I could tell you which would likely satisfy your questions. I will have to hope my gratitude will suffice. Like you, I have lived many lifetimes of men, witnessed events great and small. I learned cloud speak when I was very young. Your father was not the only one in these parts who spoke it.”
“Mah father was th’ only giant in th’ East Feideid Moontains. That ah know.”
“Yes, but not the only giant east of the Gorm Mountains. I used to hear the messages of cloud speak from your father echo across the East Feyfell, or the distant rumbling of giants among the Apyahu Mountains to the east. Long ago, it could even be heard among the Lwydion Mountains to the south. But the rumblings of cloud speak have become fewer and spread further between.”
“No one has heard clood speak in th’ Lwydion Moontains in mair than a generation. A giant’s generation. Nae since Uhlwor passed away.”
A solemn sadness fluttered briefly across Garth’s brow. These were sensitive subjects, he knew. “That is true. I am aware that the giants do not usually concern themselves with the wars of humans, or fae – except when those wars spilled over and across their homes in the mountains. I take no pleasure in telling you those wars threaten to spill across the lands again.”
“’N how wid ye know this?”
“Not long ago, a kehereth was unleashed upon the land. A wraith – a form of undead servant only the darkest of magic can summon. This wraith was destroyed, but the forces who conjured it forth have reawakened, more than three hundred years since their last defeat.”
“They wulnae threaten th’ homes ay giants, here in th’ moontains. Ay that ye can be sure.”
“Even as a giant, I know you can feel it. The roots of the earth are being poisoned. There is an evil creeping in. A disease sapping the lifeblood of the world – trees, rivers, and yes - mountains. It’s why there have been so few giants born in each generation.”
“What know ye o’ such things?!” Maldouen slammed his fist on the table.
“Maldouen, let him speak.” Mariory stood at the door.
Garth looked between them and knew. “You know I speak the truth. The evil means to sap the energies by which all things live.”
“Ah came from th’ north, from th’ Apyahu Moontains,” Mariory said. ”Mah brother Broccin still abides thare. Maldouen ‘n I, we have been tryin tae have bairns. For years. But ay tis for all giants, th’ same. Too few bairns.”
“I don’t know the source of the poison, but I know it’s connected to those responsible for the wraiths. Which is why I must face the assassins who are pursuing me. Alone. There’s no need for the boy to be in the middle of this.”
“Who are thae assassins?” Mariory asked, taking a seat at the table.
“They attacked us while we were passing through a village near here, at the base of the mountain. There were three of them. One was struck down, but the others are still in pursuit. I need the boy kept safe for the night.”
“Ah thought ye were a mage,” Maldouen said. “Why didnae ye finish thaim at th’ first?”
“They were wearing armor enchanted against lightning. And I didn’t want to chance using anything more destructive, and less controlled, within the confines of a human village.”
“What are ye off tae do?” Mariory asked.
“Hopefully, to get some answers.” Garth slid off the edge of the bench. A current of air swept up, billowing his cloak, carrying him gently to the floor. “My thanks again for keeping an eye on Waya. I’ll be back before dawn.” Garth bowed and exited the room – heading towards the stables.
* * *
“Do ye have everything yi’ll be needin?” Mariory said, peering into the guest room. It was tight and cozy for a giant, but cavernous for a human. The guest bed was an empty metal frame. Even without a mattress or covers, it was like a small shed next to Waya. The chickens on his parents’ farm had less room.
There was a window, set high into the wall. Too high for Waya to peer out of. On a nightstand, small by giant standards, sat a metal harp with patterns of clouds etched in silver. Gold highlights depicted strokes of lightning, accenting its design. Mariory had laid a folded, woolen blanket at the side of the bed.
Waya was rolling his bedroll out across the floor. “I’ll be fine,” he replied.
Mariory stepped into the room. “Ah forgot ye widnae know how tae change th’ bed.” She strode to the bed frame and tapped the metal. “Wee’er,” she commanded. Waya stood, scarcely believing his eyes, as the metal frame began to shrink in size. Its metal legs grated across the stone floor as it shrunk. In a moment, it was half the size it had once been. Mariory tapped it again. “Wee’er,” she repeated. The metal frame shrank a second time, down to the dimensions of a human bed.
Mariory picked up the woolen blanket and folded it to fit the shrunken bed. Folded over, it was like a thick mattress to someone Waya’s size. “Sorry,” Mariory said. “Ainlie th’ metal bed wull shrink. Wid ye like tae have some music tae sleep by?” She traced a finger across the harp, and it began to softly play a melody of its own accord.
“That would be fine,” Waya replied, still taking it all in. He laid his knapsack to the side, then heaved the sack of stones Garth had insisted he stand watch over. The sack sounded noisily against the stone floor as he lay it down. It seemed to him the rocks had grown heavier still.
“What’s in th’ sack?” Mariory asked.
“Garth called them grief seeds,” Waya said. “Some sort of fae magic.”
Mariory leaned against the doorframe for support. “It’s magic a’ right,” she replied. “But nae fae.”
* * *
The night was already dark, the insects chirping beneath a crescent moon. Garth had finally located a broad glen which met his needs. He found a rock near the center of it and lay his knapsack down. He drew out a pouch, and began to scribe a narrow trail of granular, white powder. He was careful to leave no gaps, tracing the edges of a broad circle spanning a dozen feet across, with the rock at its center.
With the circle closed, he drew his sword, and sat down on the ground, his back against the rock. He inhaled the cool air, listening to the sounds of the night insects. He bowed his head, closing his eyes – absorbing the sounds of the night. He waited, paying attention to subtle changes – the sound of the nighttime insects gradually subsiding, until they finally ceased. Even without opening his eyes, he sensed their presence, and knew.
“What new sorcery is this, mage?” Taverian was standing at the edge of the circle. He had been searching all day, wandering aimlessly, aware his sense of direction had gone vacant – until nightfall, when it all became clear. The air had grown colder, and his armor, which had been hot and unbearably itchy all day, was now comfortably cool. He had sensed – no, scented – the direction he needed to go. Only to find his quarry seated behind a barrier of fine, white powder which he was unable to touch or cross.
Garth raised his head. Taverian stood at the edge, just beyond the trail of white powder. Damian stood at his side. Both with their long, curved blades already drawn. “Glad you could join,” Garth replied.
“You can’t stay inside this circle forever,” Taverian spat. “Come out now, and I’ll make your death brief.”
“I thought we should wait for your companion to join,” Garth replied.
“Our companion?” Taverian growled. “Hector is dead!”
“Hardly any more than you are, I’d wager,” Garth said.
“You don’t frighten us mage! I’ll see your blood spilled before dawn. Hector’s death will be avenged!”
“If your comrade is so worthy, let him avenge his death himself.”
“What nonsense are you talking?”
“You will see soon enough.”
Taverian and Damian began circling around Garth’s powdery ring, looking for an opening. Try as they might, they could find none. Taverian felt his fingers burn each time he tried to reach across the circle. Trying to touch the white powder with his blade sent another wave of pain through his arm. His anger and frustration were growing. Garth, on the other hand, merely stayed where he was, his back against the stone – waiting.
