The Firbolg

  We encountered no more excitement that day, and bedded down for an uneventful night. While walking we had taken turns staying last in line, and trying to keep alert to anything coming from behind. At night we set a watch, each of us staying awake for a third of the darkness. I took the middle shift, since it seemed the least desirable.

  We made no fire. In the morning we each ate one of the shadechoke cakes which the korreds had given us, and also some of the kobolds’ hard biscuits which thankfully were nearly finished.

  As we continued to walk, the Drearwold began to get thicker, and darker, more like we had found it where we first entered. We took heart, despite the gloom, that we at least must have been making good time. After some hours we stopped for lunch, and it wasn’t much further along from there than the odd ridges began again.

  “One more night,” I said, “and we should have made up all the distance we lost. We should then be out of this, the next day. So, perhaps tomorrow.”

  It took no longer than the late morning of the next day for our caution, while we walked, to pay off. Freydis had taken her turn in back, and at one point, as we made our way along the small ridge, she hard-whispered to us:

  “Stop! Something’s there!”

  “Down the bank, and hide,” I said, and the three of us slid down. There was a clump of gnarled trees down in the trough, and we squatted down behind them. Between their trunks and the dimness, we should have been well-covered unless something was actively looking for us.

  I held the bow, and nocked an arrow. Freydis pulled out her Elven knife. Caiside just sat there, doing nothing more than enjoying the break apparently.

  “Do we run?” she asked.

  “Depends what it is,” I said. “It could just be a korred again. Or korreds.”

  But from the branches and brush being disturbed as the thing approached, we could see it was far taller than a korred, and likely taller than us. We shrank down.

  We heard its strides quite clearly now as it made its way down the ridge which we had just been on ourselves. I turned sideways to give myself a better shot with the bow, if it came to it, thinking all along how we had known that we would be very unlikely to fight our way out of trouble if it came.

  We held our breaths; but a rough voice called out:

  “Yes, you have found a firbolg. Here it comes. Well done, very vigilant of you.”

  With a few more strides it was upon us. Up on the ridge it towered over us like one of the trees. It stepped down the slope, just on the other side of our cover, and was still half again as tall as me.

  So this was a firbolg. It looked something like the troll, but even taller, while more slim, and with a more person-like visage. The troll had looked like an animal, with its lumpen eyebrows, scowl, and deeply lined face. This firbolg had yellowish skin, so it would never be mistaken for a human even at a distance; but it had a high, clever-looking forehead and fine, if dour, features. It somewhat reminded me of the older farmers one would find outside Enkel Kanindal, very no-nonsense types who minded their labors and suffered no fools.

  He held a walking stick, which was a thick hornbeam pole as tall as I was. He wore linen-looking overalls, sleeveless, which again reminded me of our Enkel Kanindal farmers.

  “So,” he said. “There are three of you? Two and a half? I’ve been seeing just five footprints.”

  “I’m actually at least four-fifths, sir,” Caiside said, as she stood up.

  “Ah, pardon my manners,” it answered. “I am called Highview.”

  “Highview?” she asked.

  “Yes. Just as it sounds. You know.” He held his right hand flat and waved it horizontally over his head, patiently explaining the name as he must have done many times before. “I live in these parts, with a few of my people. And you?”

  “I am Caiside. I am a traveler, from the west. These are my friends Flicker and Freydis. Cousins from Enkel Kanindal.”

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  “Your cousins?”

  “No, to each other.”

  “What brings you to the Stillwold? We have had very few visitors for many years, now.”

  “We have heard that there is a wise woman up to the north of here, and we are journeying up to see her.”

  “A wise woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “A sage, or some such?”

  “That’s right. In the northern hills. A long walk from Enkel Kanindal.”

  “A sage, eh? I’m afraid you may be mistaken. I know the lands to the north well, and I’ve never met such a person.”

  “She may not have been there for long,” Caiside answered. "We have heard she might have moved up there somewhat recently."

  “And where did you hear this?”

  “Back where I came from. Wastemoor.”

  “Wastemoor? That far away? The land of the Mage I have heard about?”

  “The same.”

  “An impressive leader she is, or so I have been told. Taller than her bones, as we firbolgs say. But I don’t know why they would presume to know more about my back yard than I do.”

  “We – hope that the reports we heard are true.”

  “Hmm. Well, what do you want to learn from this wizened person? That they don’t know already in Enkel Kanindal? I’ve been there. They seem like level-headed people already.”

  “You’ve been there?” Freydis asked. “We’ve never seen you. Or any of your people.”

  “Well, it’s been a long time. And I only skirted the edge, you know, and tried not to be seen. I’m afraid I may have frightened a few children and shepherds. It’s hard for me to hide in tall grass, you know. But anyway – what sort of questions does this wise woman you’re seeking answer?”

  Caiside started singing. Her description consisted of couplets, this time, and laid out a very ambitious list of topics for our make-believe sage:

  Should a mage lead by herself, or more through delegation?

  Can she truly guide her folk just through a strong oration?

  Hermits: Are they truly happy, in their separation?

  Is it truly healthy to lead lives of abnegation?

  Dryads: Do they benefit from tricking all their suitors?

  Would they be quite better off just being more straight shooters?

  Will all men be drawn to plaintive singing from a siren?

  Do sad songs sound grim to someone not from our environ?

  “Let me stop you,” Highview said. “Sad songs? What is the question there?”

  “Songs of loss, mourning.” she said. “Songs of death. They tend to sound alike.”

  “Of course.”

  “Slow notes. Fewer tones. And we might say they are rolling rather than hopping, you know.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, does such music make us think of loss, of mourning, because of something innate to it? Or is it learned? Could there be some faraway land, or island perhaps, where their funeral songs are like our reels, while their faster, higher-pitched music puts them in mind of sorrow?”

  “Well, of course not,” the firbolg answered. “Solemn songs are solemn songs.”

  “Ah, but do they have to be that way? Would a young child know the difference? Or a baby, let us say, who has never heard them?”

  “I would say yes,” he affirmed. “Even a tiny one . . . some things must be common to us all . . . ”

  But he trailed off and now seemed unsure.

  “We have a musician right here,” Caiside said. “Our Flicker is a professional musicmaker. What do you say, Flicker? Could you guarantee that a glad song would be glad to every last traveler you might play it for?”

  “Well,” I answered her, “I certainly wouldn’t play a wedding reel at a wake. That would not be a promising way to earn a living.”

  “But what if you were to travel south, into the deserts? Down to the bottom of the world? Do you think their music might be entirely different?”

  “I would have to try it to tell you, I suppose.”

  “But even animals,” Highview interjected, “have their sounds of loss. You know, I killed a cave bear up in the hills, once. A giant thing, old and proud. On its hind legs it was nearly as tall as I am. I was sorry to have to kill it, honestly. But it had to be done; it had started tracking one of our young firbolgs. And after I had dispatched it, and was walking away, its mate appeared. An equally old and stately she-bear. And she roared in sorrow; and I don’t mean a warning roar, or a call. It was a low, plodding sort of quiet howl. She went on with it for some time. As long as I was in earshot, she was doing it, and I was in earshot for some time up there. So that sort of – music, I suppose we might say, seems common even to animals. I don’t know how it could mean anything else.”

  “Well, but we are not animals,” Caiside said.

  Highview tilted his head, at that.

  “Hmm. Sometimes I wonder, my short friend. Sometimes I wonder how different we really are from the cave bears, as well as from the rest of them.”

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