Twenty-five: Torches and giants

  “So here we are,” Ko-Rethal said. “Three large cargo boats for you.”

  It was the next morning, and we stood with a group of perhaps forty korreds in a passageway further into their cavern. They all seemed excited for the journey, and there was a pleasant buzz as they chatted quietly. The underwater stream flowed before us, coming down a tunnel that stretched as far as we could see. There was a small aperture in the ceiling that let in light, but the korreds carried torches, not yet aflame; apparently there would be no such illumination farther along.

  The stream was very smooth. I would have guessed it was still water from just looking at it. We would be traveling upstream, and most of the korreds carried paddles, but it seemed the progress would be easy enough.

  All the boats were lined up along the bank. They were simple wooden canoes. Our three were in the middle, and on either side were about ten much smaller ones which would accommodate, it turned out, a pair of korreds each.

  “I will fit in that thing, but barely,” Freydis said. She seemed resigned to the trip, frowning and perhaps shaking her head very slightly while surveying the flotilla. She did not mention the obvious awkwardness of navigating a ship while chained.

  Caiside, for her part, seemed eager to start. She hopped around a bit on her crutches, looking impatient.

  “These are for you,” Ko-Rethal said. He handed us one paddle each, lifting them up to us. The three boats we would travel in were much larger than their two-korred counterparts, but the paddles were the same ones the korreds carried. They were about the size of the violins that some of the other musicians of Enkel Kanindal played.

  “Listen,” he then said. He breathed in deep and started in on what sounded like a prepared speech. “We want to remove those chains from your wrists and ankles. You know why we want your aid, now. We hope that you are willing to help us, and you won’t try to escape.”

  “But what about our belongings?” I asked. “Can we have those back too?”

  “Well, we want to have some leverage, though. So I’m afraid we will hang on to those. Now, you may be thinking that if you want to escape anyway, it might be easy to just turn around and do so, since you can probably paddle more quickly than we can. And you could likely barge through our smaller boats. And yes, the current is now running back toward our cavern, as I’m sure you have noted.”

  In truth I had not been thinking any of this, and I doubt Freydis or Caiside had been either.

  “But,” he continued, “I’m aware of all that. I am no geck. Don’t forget that back in those caverns there are scores of doughty korreds. And if you turn up without the rest of us, they’ll know what happened.”

  “Certainly,” I said. “You raise good points.”

  “And speeding ahead of us would be no easier. You can exit these tunnels here and there, but again you’ll just find hill trolls once you are outside. Or you could ascend by yourselves in the tower we are going to, but I don’t think you want to take that on without our guidance. And our spears.”

  “Very well.”

  “So then. If we remove the chains, do I have your word you will not try to escape?”

  “I will not.”

  “And you two?” he asked Freydis and Caiside.

  “I will see this through, to try to aid that ghost,” Caiside said.

  “Word,” was all that Freydis said.

  One of Ko-Rethal’s ever-present assistants produced keys. This one was female.

  “This is my daughter, by the way,” Ko-Rethal said, nodding to her. “Aethelflaed.”

  She looked like him; of course, all of them looked very alike, to my eyes. The three of us spoke our “pleased to meet yous,” and she gave the briefest half-smile. We lowered our wrists and she unfastened our chains.

  We were free; free to paddle ourselves up the dark underground creek, to a tower that was apparently haunted, in hopes of meeting a threatening specter.

  *

  We shoved off, soon entering the total darkness of the tunnels. Korreds in front and behind lit torches, then. It truly was an extraordinary sight and experience, I must say: a smooth creek stretching before us with orange torch-light flickering on the rock walls. The paddle-strokes and some quiet words from the korreds echoed around. Our flotilla had ten or so of the two-person boats leading the way, followed by the three of us in our craft that seemed the size of river barges by comparison; and then another score of korreds in about ten little boats behind us. There were indeed some stalactites and stalagmites, and occasionally shadows where the tunnel widened or was edged by natural alcoves.

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  “My friends,” Ko-Rethal said to us, after some time paddling. “I want to share with you another story about our folk hero, Mo-Ranevall. I spoke of him earlier. You should hear these. The stories about him are cautionary tales, in general, about being too concerned about one’s appearance, that sort of thing. Instructional for young korreds. Although there’s often a trickster element to them, in which Mo-Ranevall prevails despite his doubts and missteps.”

  “Trickster?” I asked.

  “Yes – one who flouts authority in order to evade oppression, overcoming some innate disadvantages he or she might have, that sort of thing. It’s a common trope in folktales, you know. We korreds are little different from everyone else in that regard.

  “So then. One day, Mo-Ranevall was striding about the Stillwold, hunting for shelf fungi on trees. There are many that are quite delicious, you know – the ones we call moths’ wings; and also sprite plates, flatnuts, and others. So he’s out there wandering, concentrating on the trunks, and moving farther away from his clan’s territory than he realizes. He does find a few slabs of the fungi, snaps them off to put in his bag. He’s admiring its contents when he’s mentally jarred by some physically jarring shakes that he realizes had been going on for some time; stupendous footsteps of some creature. But he notices too late, and a giant is upon him.

  “The thing just towers over him. It would have towered over you, too, so imagine it compared to one of us. Legs like tree stumps; a chest like a boulder, as wide as two of those boats you’re sitting in; long black hair dropping to his belt; a nose looking like it had been broken – although who would have broken it? – as big as your whole face; and glaring yellowed eyes.

  “‘What are you?’ it demanded of Mo-Ranevall.

  “And with that question, right away Mo-Ranevall knows that the giant is not familiar with korreds. That doesn’t really surprise him, because giants are rare in the Drearwold. He decides his angle instantly and answers:

  “‘I am a giant.’

  “‘Impossible!’ the thing roars. ‘I am a giant!’

  “‘Clearly you are,’ Mo-Ranevall says, very agreeably, ‘and I am too.’

  “‘But I am gigantic!’

  “‘Well,’ Mo-Ranevall answers, ‘you are smaller than that tree behind you. You’re smaller than most of the trees, in fact. And so am I. We are giants.’

  “‘I can rip down a tree limb!’ the giant says, and then it reaches up and does indeed snap off a thick limb easily, shaking it and then hurling it down to the ground.

  “‘As can I! That’s why there are no such limbs down here as low as I am. I have torn them all off already!’

  “And with that, the giant looks around, and sure enough all the tree branches and limbs he sees are much higher up than Mo-Ranevall.

  “‘Kobolds, dunters, trolls all fear me!’ the giant says. ‘None dare cross me!’

  “‘The same for me! Have you seen any here today?’

  “The giant had to think about about that.

  “‘Well, no, I have not,’ it answers.

  “And of course,” Ko-Rethal told us, “the odds are very good that on any given day, one won’t see any of those. But Mo-Ranevall takes credit for their absence:

  “‘That’s because I have terrorized them, and they have run off!’ he said.

  “‘I entered this wold yesterday,’ the giant said, ‘and I have seen no others of my kind! No other giants!’

  “‘But now you have seen one. We call these woods the Stillwold, and I am a giant here.’

  “And all of a sudden the real giant looks very confused, and concerned. Its face darkens. It had thin, unimpressive eyebrows – like yours – begging your pardon – but they do now come together at least a bit. Something has occurred to it.

  “‘Have you been outside this wold?’

  “‘Yes I have,’ Mo-Ranevall answered.

  “‘And you were a giant out there?’

  “‘Yes, I was.’

  “‘And now this is how you are, here.’

  “‘Indeed. A Stillwold giant.’

  “‘So – ’ the thing said. ‘Giants shrink, here?’

  “Mo-Ranevall was not going to say no to that, of course.

  “‘I’m afraid we do, yes. I used to be quite a bit larger.’

  “‘No more time in this cursed place!’ the giant said. It turned and ran off through the trees.”

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