Giants

CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Seraphs

Joash bolted upright, his face sweaty. He looked around and saw grooms on night-duty. He frowned. A moment ago, trolocks had held him down, waiting for Tarag to slash him with the adamant sword. He sagged back onto his mat. The stars overhead blazed with glory, and he was exhausted. Every muscle and joint ached. Maybe that’s why he’d had the nightmare. He rolled over and fumbled among his belongings, found his water-skin, uncorked it, and drank his fill. Unfortunately, the movement woke him up more than before, and he was so exhausted that he was almost too tired to fall back asleep. He’d been sleeping fitfully for half the night.

After putting the water-skin away, he noticed that Adah sat at one of the fires, staring into the flames. She’d wrapped herself in her colorful cloak, and her head nodded. She must be exhausted, but something kept her up. Maybe she had nightmares, too. Maybe after all she’d gone through in Poseidonis, being in the presence of a First Born again had shaken her all over again. He felt sorry for her. Maybe he should go over and console her, put his arm around her. As he pondered about getting up, he drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, it was torture to move. His muscles screamed, and his eyes felt like gravel pits. He rolled his mat, ran his fingers through his hair, and splashed water on his face.

“Go take a swim,” Herrek suggested. The warrior sat nearby, having his face tended to. Amery, a young girl, ministered to Herrek. Amery was Herrek’s niece, being Jeremoth’s daughter.

Joash bathed along with a few other runners.

“Is it true you’re a groom now?” a runner asked.

“Yes,” Joash said.

Joash held his breath and ducked underwater. It felt good, and it woke him up. He surfaced, scooped sand from the bottom, and scrubbed his skin until it was red. It would be nice to use soap, but he didn’t have any in his kit, and he didn’t feel like asking anyone else to use theirs. They’d start asking him questions, and he wasn’t ready to answer or fabricate a tale. Adah had told him to keep quiet about what had happened. For the time being, only Lord Uriah and Zillith would be told the truth.

He scrubbed his clothes and went to a fire.

“How are you feeling?” asked Gens, his eyes red.

“Tired,” Joash mumbled.

Shaggy-bearded Karim, wearing chainmail, sat down by the fire. “So you’re a groom now, eh?”

“Yes, Warrior.”

“Herrek says he’s been teaching you to throw a spear,” Karim said.

“He has,” Joash said, grimly recalling the night training.

Thick Othniel sat down, and his son Beker sat beside him. “You look tired. Drink some tea.” Othniel nodded to his son. Beker poured tea into a tin cup and handed it to Joash.

“Thanks.” Joash sipped the scalding liquid.

Another runner turned sizzling sausages in a pan. “These are for you,” the runner told Joash.

Joash’s stomach rumbled. He was ravenous.

Othniel laughed. “I’m glad to see you alive.” He frowned. “Elidad, Brand, and Ard all died, I hear.”

Joash nodded.

“Was it the old sabertooth who killed Jeremoth?”

“Yes, Warrior,” Joash said, his eyes on the sizzling sausages.

“Herrek says he slew the terrible beast,” Karim said.

Joash nodded.

“Good,” Karim said gruffly. “And a good thing you didn’t meet up with any more giants.”

Joash nodded, aware that Karim shrewdly stared at him in the sudden silence.

“You really didn’t meet any more giants, eh?” Othniel asked as he scratched his face, studying Joash. “We came across many giant tracks.”

“Groom,” Herrek called. “Come get your new spear.”

“Save those sausages for me,” Joash told the runner, before he hurried to Herrek.

“Don’t let them squeeze the tale out of you,” Herrek whispered, handing him a spear.

Joash wrinkled his nose. The ointment on Herrek’s bandaged face smelled. He nodded, however, and accepted the new spear. He went back to the fire, finished his tea and devoured the sausages.

“By the looks of you, it must have been rough,” Othniel said.

Joash nodded with a full mouth.

Horns blared. Dogs barked. Lord Uriah’s standard-bearer lifted the Gyr Falcon banner. One by one, the charioteers climbed aboard their chariots. Like Herrek, however, a few of the charioteers were without vehicles. They would march in the company of the grooms and runners, and with the spearmen who made up Lord Uriah’s guard. The rest of the expedition was at the main camp. Joash learned from Beker that Captain Maharbal had arrived at the island off the coast. Yesterday, a small boat of Further Tarshmen had rowed to the beach. This morning, no doubt, herders would lead the steppe stallions aboard the barges brought expressly for that purpose. The herders would be working hard all day. Joash didn’t envy them, and for the first time he was in no hurry to return to camp.

Another horn blared. The signal came from the standard-bearer, a warrior who wore a two-lion emblem for bravery around his thick neck. Two chariots rattled ahead, runners and dogs racing behind them. They were the scouts. The rest of the chariots rolled at a horse-walking pace.

The rising sun glinted off the charioteers’ proud lance-heads, while from somewhere in the distance an orn screeched. The lake, with the sunlight slanting off it, was beautiful.

Joash was glad to be alive, even if his body ached. Herrek and Gens were in a chariot, having traded places with the lowest-ranked Teman Clan charioteer. Adah rode with Lord Uriah. Only he had to walk, but that was all right. Two big dogs kept him company, and Beker kept talking, trying to pry more of the tale out of him. Joash just shouldered his new spear, stared at the lake, and caught glimpses of jumping trout. He hoped Adah was all right. He also wondered how she’d treat him now that they were back with the others. She hadn’t met his glance this morning, and that troubled him.

“You must have seen more giants,” Beker was saying. “The tracks my father talked about were near the boulders where we found that old sabertooth’s carcass.”

“Huh?” Joash asked.

“I thought that would startle you.”

They moved to the left as dust rose from the chariot ahead of them.

Joash pondered Beker’s revelation as they traveled alongside the lake. The pace was sharp. In the distance dire wolves chased a herd of horses. A small colt struggled to keep up with the herd. The dire wolves closed in.

Joash’s mouth went dry. All the fine feelings of safety he’d been having fled. The wolves reminded him that the steppes were a dangerous place. Tarag, Mimir, and savage sabertooths were nearby, and by what Beker said apparently more giants. The Elonite expedition to Giant Land was anything but safe. Tarag had gone to great lengths to acquire adamant armor and weapons. Surely Tarag had reasons for doing so, and just as surely, he didn’t want anybody else knowing about it. Joash swallowed. They were all in danger.

Joash noticed that they weren’t headed toward the main camp at Hori Cove. He said as much to Beker, and Beker agreed.

Joash looked back and saw Amery. She was the girl who had tended Herrek’s wound. She was Lord Uriah’s runner. Just like him, she’d lost her parents. She was Jeremoth’s daughter. He wondered if she’d kicked Old Three-Paws’s carcass. He would have in her place. Amery had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and small bronze earrings. She was a smart runner and missed little. Joash knew Lord Uriah was fond of her, and he’d listened to Amery say more than once that her great, great, great grandfather would someday find her a prince to marry. He also knew that Amery liked him.

Joash steered himself beside her. “Are we returning to the main camp?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” asked Joash.

Amery smiled. “I’ll trade you a secret for a secret.”

Joash became thoughtful.

“I’ll tell you where we’re headed, if you tell me who really slew your horses and smashed your chariots.”

Joash eyed her.

“Nothing for nothing,” she said.

He knew Amery could keep a secret, and he knew she eavesdropped a lot on Lord Uriah. She reminded him of a sharp-eared fox. Even her smile had a hint of mischievousness.

“Sorry,” Joash said. He didn’t need her to tell him anymore. They were headed toward the next good beach. That was obvious now that he thought about it. Giant Land’s coast was rocky, with only a few good places to land ships. Maybe because of Tarag, Mimir, and sabertooths Lord Uriah had decided to use another route to the ships. The Patriarch could be sly that way.

Amery grinned. “That you won’t say means sabertooths didn’t kill the horses and smash the chariots. Since more giant tracks have been seen, I bet giants did the destroying.”

Joash gaped at her for only a moment. Then he shrugged.

Amery gave him an impish grin.

Joash scowled and walked faster. She was quick, that Amery. He was troubled, however. Lord Uriah wished to leave Giant Land from a new beach. That he took such a precaution meant that the Patriarch was worried, and that worried Joash. But Lord Uriah should be worried. Tarag, Mimir, and sabertooths were near, and maybe even more giants. What would happen once Tarag learned his sabertooths hadn’t killed them?

Joash wanted to run all the way to the beach. The sooner they left Giant Land, the better.

“Joash!”

The standard-bearer shouted. The thick-necked warrior pointed at Lord Uriah’s chariot. Adah was no longer in it but rode with Herrek and Gens. Joash ran and climbed aboard Lord Uriah’s chariot. It was just the two of them.

Lord Uriah nodded.

Joash gulped and nodded back. Lord Uriah had such wise seeming and cunning eyes. The Patriarch of Elon wore gleaming chainmail and had a long slender sword belted at his side. He drove his chariot-team with skill and ease. His white beard and mustache were well groomed, and sprinkled with rosewater. Still, there was an odor of ale about the chariot. Joash noticed a corked ale-skin hanging from a peg.

“I’ve heard of your deeds,” Lord Uriah said. “You did well in the cave.”

Joash blushed, but a part of him noticed that Lord Uriah’s breath smelled like ale.

“Know, young one, that it pleases me to see you again.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Lord Uriah drove in silence. “I do what I do in order to make the world a safer place for those whom I care about.”

Joash listened, but was bewildered as to why he was being told this.

“Look at Amery.”

Joash did. She petted one of the dogs as Eber talked to her. Joash knew Eber was crazy about her.

“She is of my blood.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Her father was slain by Old Three-Paws, her mother killed by raiding Shurites. Now I protect her, thus I keep her at my side. Unfortunately there are many like Amery, many of mine who have been hurt, or will be hurt. Yet there are more terrible things out there, Joash, than mere beasts or raiders. There are beings that plan great evil. These beings must be stopped. Otherwise the world will suffer even worse pain. And then, my kin shall know even greater sorrow and suffering. That I would stop, if I can.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Because of that, I sometimes send grooms into frightful danger. Because of that, young men sometimes have to grow up quickly.”

Joash’s chest felt hollow. What was Lord Uriah saying?

“Our world can be a harsh place, Joash. Once, however, it was harsher still. Shining Ones were sent to help humanity. Now we must help ourselves overcome the legacy of that time.”

Lord Uriah uncorked his ale-skin and took a swallow. He offered some to Joash, but he declined.

“You are gifted in ways that you don’t yet understand,” Lord Uriah said. “And you have been severely tested these last few days. I am glad you passed the tests.” Lord Uriah studied him. There seemed to be pain in his eyes. “Because of who I am I make many difficult decisions. Thank you for keeping a little more blood off my hands. I cannot apologize for where you were sent, but I can rejoice in your return.” Lord Uriah put a hand on Joash’s shoulder.

Joash didn’t know what to think. But he dared ask, “Lord, do you think Tarag will try to stop us from leaving Giant Land?”

“Yes. But let us see if we can outfox him at least one more time.”

Afterward, Joash found himself walking again. That had been a strange talk. He wondered where Mimir was, and how quickly the giant and First Born would learn the sabertooths hadn’t slain them. He hoped Tarag wouldn’t learn until he was safely aboard ship.

Mimir ran his big thumb along his axe. A spot of blood spurted. His Bolverk-forged weapon was sharp and ready for the grim work ahead. Behind him were his brethren, towering giants who had met them since they’d left Draugr’s Crypt.

To his right, Tarag gathered his sabertooths. The massive First Born wore the adamant mail and helmet, and he readied his adamant shield and sword.

Tarag and he, after a grueling march from the crypt, had come upon the manslayers, Tarag’s special sabertooths. Each was a vicious beast, each as big as Old Three-Paws. From cub-hood to maturity Tarag had trained these sabertooths. They obeyed him with precision, and they fawned upon him in a way that puzzled Mimir. Perhaps only in the company of such beasts did Tarag have a sense of belonging. Mimir had noticed that while Tarag freely sent untrained sabertooths to their doom in order to further his plans, the manslayers were used only when the odds favored a quick victory. Whether the First Born did this out of love for his brethren, or out of cold calculation to keep his own elect troop intact, Mimir hadn’t yet decided.

In any regard, Tarag had been surrounded by his manslayers when they came upon the giants at the cedar-topped hill. Ygg the Terrible would have dared to march to Draugr’s Crypt, but Tarag had declined his offer. None of the other giants had offered to join the quest but had awaited the outcome. Among the giants, Ygg was the only necromancer. The others practiced their gift when the need arose. Otherwise, they refrained from magic. Like Mimir, they relied on their powerful limbs, their Bolverk-forged swords, spears, and axes, and their unmatched valor.

The giants wore horned or nasal-guarded helmets, heavy scale-mail shirts that hung down to their knees, and leather leggings, which like their shoes, had been reinforced with iron plates. The legendary Bolverk, the mastersmith of the giants, had forged each piece of armor, each weapon.

“The human scouts are dead,” said Ygg the Terrible.

Mimir nodded. This was his idea. He had talked Tarag into it. No one must learn what had occurred in the crypt. Otherwise the humans and their champions might find a way to thwart them. Nor did he trust cunning Lord Uriah. That old fox thought he was safe in his camp. The coming surprise would badly startle Uriah.

Mimir rose and carefully peered below, being sure that no one spotted him. Ships were anchored in Hori Cove. Out of the circular stone fort herders dragged steppe stallions. They dragged them to the waiting barges brought close to shore.

No one could leave Giant Land to warn others that giants had joined with Tarag.

Light flashed off Tarag’s sword. It was the signal.

Mimir lifted his axe and jumped up. He roared his battle cry and led his giants down the gentle slope. The slaughter was about to begin.

The screams of the dying lessened as the sabertooths feasted upon human flesh. Ygg the Terrible reveled in the death. By his heinous arts, the necromancer managed to contain several spirits in his sun-bleached skulls. Later in an underground vault, or upon a raging battlefield, the spirits would be consumed. The spirits would fuel Ygg’s grisly spells.

Mimir had little taste for such magic, nor did he care to observe the monstrous manslayers lap blood from the brave, from dead charioteers and herders. There seemed to have been fewer charioteers here than he’d expected.

The attack had been sudden and swift, and had caught the humans in the midst of their horse loading. Only one ship and a barge had limped out of the cove and into the Suttung Sea. Unfortunately, neither cunning Lord Uriah nor iron-willed Zillith lay among the slain. It was too much to hope that they’d drowned with the panicked throng on the beach.

As he sat near a boulder, Mimir poured over Zillith’s notes jotted on a roll of Iddo papyrus. In her haste to escape she must have forgotten it. The other giants tended to their minor wounds or sharpened weapons. Stout, white-haired men bred as hereditary slaves and burdened as mules waited patiently nearby. Mimir lowered the papyrus roll. It was a list of herbs and plants discovered by Zillith in the nearby marsh. It was of slight interest. Mimir scowled. She should not have been allowed to escape. They needed to kill the Seraphs. They could yet prove troublesome.

“Look,” Gaut said, a cousin of Mimir’s.

Two sooty sabertooths padded toward them. Mimir saw they were manslayers. Their fur was singed, and they smelled like smoke. He’d seen the night-fire, but midsummer flash fires weren’t that rare. The manner of these cats worried him.

The two sabertooths ignored the giants. They zeroed in on the feasting Tarag.

Watching the two cats, Mimir wondered once more upon his father Jotnar’s wisdom. Tarag’s hatred of anything human-like was consuming. Tarag often boasted how he ate meat raw, how he needed nothing in the way of civilization, how even the giants had turned soft in their quest for luxuries. And by luxury, Tarag meant books, boats, fine clothes, and works of art, anything that made life bearable. From these ravings, Mimir had learned that Tarag envisioned a much different world than Jotnar, or his children the giants, did. The humans were to be slain, their edifices burnt to the ground. Only the pristine glory of the wilderness would be left. In that wilderness would rule the Pride of Tarag.

Mimir returned to Zillith’s journal.

Sometime later Mimir looked up sharply. Tarag roared with rage and shook a fire-singed sabertooth like a rat. With a final snarl, Tarag sank his fangs into the sabertooth and hurled it away. The furry body twitched on the beach of bloody sand. The massive First Born, clad in the adamant armor and with the adamant sword at his side, clanked toward Mimir. Sabertooths trotted behind him like dogs.

Mimir cleared his throat. The giants arose, their weapons in hand.

Soon, Tarag motioned for Mimir to approach. Reluctantly, Mimir did. Despite the nearby giants, Mimir cautioned himself to follow all the rituals of protocol. He knelt on one knee before Tarag. The First Born’s yellow eyes shone with fury. Mimir bent his head.

“The humans who went to the crypt still live,” Tarag snarled.

Mimir blinked several times as he gathered his thoughts. This was bad.

“They used fire to drive away my manslayers.”

Mimir nodded, but still didn’t look up.

“Speak!”

“High One, we must stop the humans from reaching the ship which escaped.”

“Well spoken, O wise one.”

The First Born Gog, Mimir knew, sometimes saw Lord Uriah and Zillith in his visions. But Gog never saw Lod, nor had Gog ever seen this Joash. Could the manling be as dangerous as Lod? How otherwise to explain this disaster? He’d been a fool not to enslave Joash the first night of their meeting.

“You will take your giants and insure the death of these humans,” Tarag was saying.

“High One, surely your sabertooths can better track these interlopers than I or my kinsmen can.”

“No! You will repair the damage.”

“High One, it was your sabertooths who failed the simple task.”

Tarag hissed with rage.

Mimir kept his head bowed in submission. “O High One, we must destroy these humans before they spread word of our deed. Therefore, let us each send a team to destroy them, or perhaps we should all go and make certain of this killing.”

“I must leave immediately. The Gibborim will grow suspicious if we do not show up in time.”

“We should both send a team then to slay these humans, and slay Lord Uriah.”

“I will send two parties of manslayers. They will drive any local sabertooths onto the battlefield and thus increase their numbers.”

“I’ll send Gaut Windrunner with as many giants as he can gift for speed.”

“You yourself will also go,” Tarag said.

Mimir was beginning to believe that Joash could be a powerful addition to the giants. Yes, there were ways to trick one like him. “Very well, High One. As you will it.”

Tarag strode away.

It was only as he dusted off his knee that Mimir wondered upon Tarag’s easy acceptance of his plan. He nodded. It would be wisest to take the hardiest giants, because the sooner they finished with this, the sooner they could be back to insure Tarag’s good faith.

Adah hobbled beside Joash. When he offered her his arm, she declined.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You mean besides my blistered feet?”

“Adah!”

She was silent for a time. “We’re no longer alone, Joash.”

His heart sank. What was she trying to say?

“I’m older than you,” she said.

“So?”

She finally faced him. “Joash, you know so little about me. Believe me, I’m not the sort of person you want to…”

“Yes?”

She avoided his eyes. “You kissed me before.”

He felt heat rise in him. It wasn’t that he’d never kissed a girl before. He’d kissed Amery once, but she’d slapped him afterward. He’d also kissed this girl back in Elon, many times. Then her father had found out, and he’d never seen her again. Adah, though, she was different. Yes, she was older, but not that much older.

“You should know a girl first before you kiss her,” Adah said, reproach in her voice.

“I know that when that orn attacked me, you shot it. I know you stopped Elidad from beating me.”

“Those aren’t reasons to kiss someone.”

“They are if you like the person,” Joash said.

“But you don’t know me! You don’t know the horror I’ve gone through. You don’t know how scarred I’ve become.”

“You mean in Poseidonis?”

“Yes!” she said.

Joash nodded. “I’ve heard a little about that. It sounds like Balak. It sounds like you were something close to an egg thief.”

“What?”

Joash told her about Balak and stealing pterodactyl eggs, and he told her how Herrek had rescued him from the brutal half-giant.

“Now I’m more certain than ever you’re one of us,” she said. “Elohim must have guided Herrek to that beach in order to rescue you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When the bene elohim descended onto Earth, the Shining Ones followed shortly,” Adah said, switching to her singer’s tone. “After a thousand years of war, the bene elohim were defeated and their spirits taken to a terrible place of punishment. Now, in their fathers’ stead, stand the First Born and Nephilim. They, however, are mortal beings. It is not in Elohim’s plan to contest against them with celestial beings. Rather, mortals will contest them.”

Joash wondered at this sudden shift. They’d been talking about her and him. Now, she was talking about First Born and Shining Ones.

“Others must take the place of the Shining Ones,” Adah said, still using her singer’s voice.

Joash shrugged, but decided to play along. “You mean champions, like Herrek?”

“At times.”

“Who can defeat First Born?”

“A wise question indeed.”

“No one is strong enough to defeat Tarag,” Joash said.

“Maybe strength isn’t the prized quality.”

“What is?” he asked.

“The inner flame of a person, his or her convictions, the ability and the desire to do what is right.” Adah paused, taking a deep breath. “Elohim lifts His own champions. He or she can be anyone: a singer, a patriarch, a warrior, or even a groom. But one is never forced into the contest. Elohim’s choice must be accepted. A free will is needed for that. Maybe that is the reason Lord Uriah made you a groom. He wanted you to learn to be free, and to make choices.”

“Lord Uriah?”

“Such a one, called to Elohim’s service against the bene elohim brood, is called a Seraph. Sometimes, a Seraph is a map-reader, or a ship captain, or a singer, or a groom. Always, however, it’s someone who stands in the breach against the evil ones.”

Joash couldn’t speak. He was beginning to understand where she was taking this.

“The magic emeralds didn’t overcome your wits,” Adah said. “Your inner flame must be high indeed. Maybe even as high as Lod’s.”

“Who’s Lod?”

“He’s one who wars with all his heart against the First Born and their children.”

“Is Herrek a Seraph?”

Adah shook her head.

“Herrek fought against the evil ones,” Joash said.

“All good people should fight them. A Seraph, however, is one who dedicates his life to stopping the evil ones. He is in a sense like the Shining Ones who were here to defeat the bene elohim.”

Dread filled Joash. All he wanted was to be a warrior, and to have Adah. To become a…a…Seraph— “Will I be a prophet?”

“Not all Seraphs are prophets, nor are all prophets Seraphs. For instance, I’m not a prophet. And it’s wise to know that the evil Morningstar uses many false prophets with lying tongues.”

Joash wiped his brow. Adah, the woman he’d kissed, was obviously a Seraph. “Is Lord Uriah a Seraph?”

“Yes, and so is Zillith. Now you, Joash, can also become a Seraph, if you accept the charge.”

“What you say is difficult.”

Adah nodded.

“I don’t know what to say.”

She nodded again.

“I must think on this.”

“Wise,” she said.

“I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

“Does a Seraph always win?”

“No.”

“But a Seraph is Elohim’s agent.”

“In this life, victory does not always go to the righteous. It rains on the wicked and on the good. In fact, evil is strong, for many hands work against Elohim. The rebellion begun in the Celestial Realm is now carried out on Earth.”

Joash was unconvinced he was qualified to be a Seraph. How could he hunt First Born and Nephilim? Who was he to take up such a task?

“How do you know if I’m even qualified?” he asked.

“At the cave,” Adah asked, “who was not bewitched by the emeralds?”

“I must think carefully,” Joash said. This was all so sudden. He wondered, for just a moment, if Adah was dumping all this on him so she could avoid talking about the two of them.

“Very well,” Adah said. “But remember, sometimes no answer is an answer.”

“What does that mean?”

She smiled, squeezed his arm, and then signaled Lord Uriah that she wished to ride again. Soon Adah stepped beside Lord Uriah and left Joash to his thoughts.