Giants

CHAPTER SIX The Song of Tarag

Joash saw a body lying in the grass. The stiff corpse wore the leathers of a runner. Joash grew faint and felt vomit rise in his throat. The front of the corpse’s head had been smashed in. Joash saw details of familiar things: a bone-handled skinning knife, an armlet of brass smeared with dried blood, an old pouch lined with rabbit fur. Inside the pouch, Joash knew, would be Ard’s lucky stone, one specially polished and purchased from a merchant of Further Tarsh.

Joash’s chest felt as if it were hollowing out. His eyes grew watery. “Ard,” he whispered.

Herrek averted his face from the stiff corpse.

Joash jumped off the chariot and staggered toward his dead friend. His own body was numb. He wiped his eyes, and knelt beside Ard. Slowly he reached out and touched the corpse. It was stiff, immobile, and rigid. He put his hand on Ard’s cold neck.

Joash jerked his hand away.

Herrek squeezed Joash’s shoulder. “The attack must have come quickly. Ard probably felt no pain.”

Joash bowed his head. Ard was dead, lying forever in Giant Land. He hated the Kragehul Steppes, the ancient name for these plains. Why had Lord Uriah come here? Joash finally noticed Adah. She studied the ground.

“Notice these sabertooth tracks,” she said to Herrek.

Herrek held his spear, his big knuckles white. “I’ve already seen them,” he said.

“What is it?” Joash wheezed. He felt drained, although his anger was strong. He wanted to know what had happened. He wanted to slay his friend’s killer.

Adah glanced at Herrek.

Herrek nodded.

“These tracks,” Adah said softly. She faltered and turned away.

Joash looked in bewilderment at Herrek.

Herrek pointed at the ground. “Ard was thrown off his feet there.” Herrek pointed at the corpse. “There, he landed.”

Joash frowned, too drained to understand.

Herrek knelt by the tracks. He was a keen hunter, one of the best at reading spoor. He pointed at the various indentations. “A sabertooth with a crippled left paw leaped at Ard, and knocked him against that rock.”

Understanding filtered into Joash’s numbed mind. Old Three-Paws had slain his friend.

Adah knelt by the corpse. Her knowing eyes examined it. For a time she stared intently at the crushed head. Then she did a strange thing. She plucked a strong stock of grass and probed inside the wound. The blood drained from her face. She leaped up, making a strangled sound, and dropped the blade of grass as if it was a fiery brand. Her hands trembled, and she stumbled, almost drunkenly, away from the corpse.

“What is it?” Herrek asked. “What did you find?”

Joash forced himself to see what Adah had. He couldn’t understand what—a shudder passed through him. The head. He, too, made a strangled sound and leaped back.

Herrek stared at him.

“The head,” Joash whispered, with horror in his voice.

Herrek peered at the skull. His eyes widened. He bent closer. Rage filled his face.

“What do you see?” asked Gens, who stood in the chariot.

“The brain…” Herrek took a deep breath. “Something scooped out Ard’s brain and feasted.”

“How could the sabertooth do such a thing?” whispered Gens.

“No sabertooth did that,” Herrek said grimly. “Something used an instrument to scoop out the brain. It was a deliberate act, an intelligent act, and an insulting act that I shall avenge.”

“But…” Gens said. “From the signs, Old Three-Paws slew Ard.”

Herrek grew quiet, his lips pressed together.

Joash wiped his eyes.

“Singer,” Herrek said harshly. “Elidad and Brand are still lost. We must harden our resolve and do what we can. We—”

Adah’s head snapped up. A fierce light was in her eyes. “Oh yes,” she said, her voice odd, “we must indeed harden our resolve. Either that, or flee for our lives. But we won’t flee, because Elidad and Brand are in danger. And you’ve seen to it that only we are here to help them.”

Herrek met her strange gaze.

“Is your courage great enough that you dare to hear what I have to say?” she asked.

“Let me know the worst,” Herrek said.

Adah shook her head. “Let us bury Ard first so his bones won’t lie awake on these terrible plains.”

Joash went to his chariot and took the entrenching tool. As he dug Gens and Herrek gathered what stones they could find. Then Herrek and Joash picked up Ard’s corpse and reverently placed it in the grave. As the highest-ranked noble of Elon, Herrek spoke about Ard’s good nature, about his doggedness in training. He spoke about the love and mercy of Elohim, and he asked Elohim to take Ard into the Celestial Realm. Then Herrek departed from custom, and asked Joash to give his friend the parting words.

Joash looked down at the grave, but he didn’t look at the corpse. A hot wind caused the grass around the grave to bend, as if in prayer. Off in the distance, an orn screeched.

“I will not forget you,” Joash whispered. “And I will not forget this horrible deed done to you.”

Adah’s eyes showed her worry. She motioned to Herrek.

Herrek didn’t budge, with his auroch-hide shield at his side, and his spear planted like a towering redwood. He honored Ard, and something else was on his face: fierce resolve.

Joash breathed deeply. He picked up a clod of dirt. “Keep a place by the heavenly fire for me, old friend.” As tears ran down his face, Joash tossed the dirt-clod into the hole.

Soon Herrek and Gens clattered stones atop the soft dirt, lest carrion animals dig up Ard’s corpse. When all was finished, Joash took Ard’s skinning knife, whispered a secret oath, and spat on the blade. He drove Ard’s knife all the way down to the hilt into the ground.

Done with the burial, Joash joined Herrek and Gens as they sat on rocks and watched Adah. She gloomily plucked lyre strings. They knew now was the time for her to tell them of her fears.

Joash, knowing this was important in order to avenge Ard’s death, paid close attention to the singer. There would be magic in her voice and in her lyre. But it was welcome magic, not the dark and supernatural kind First Born and Nephilim wielded. A singer’s magic was a part of the world. It gave lessons, it entertained, it brought joy, it brought sorrow, but most of all, it took people away to different lands and places. Such a thing should not be rushed, not even beside a grave.

Adah gloomily plucked strings and started to speak. It wasn’t a chant or a part of her song. Instead, she talked to them.

“It is wise to understand that much is concealed about the bene elohim, and even more is hidden about their First Born. For the bene elohim were exceedingly secretive, and their First Born even more so. But fragments of tales have survived. Oftentimes, when the Shining Ones from above stormed a bene elohim stronghold, they discovered annals. Or sometimes slaves who had spent an eternity in thralldom to their wicked masters told unbelievable tales. Seldom, however, did captured First Born utter any words. A few of that abominable race we know today, Yorgash of Poseidonis, Jotnar Father of Giants, and Gog the Oracle.

“These are modern terrors, banes upon the lands where they dwell. In the misty past, there were others who walked in the light of day, others who openly plagued humanity. Join me in a journey to that awful time when the bene elohim caused the earth to groan under their tyranny. Come with me, and learn about the horror known as the Beast-god, Bloodlicker, the Berserker King, of him who was named at his birth Tarag of the Sabertooths.”

Adah concentrated upon her strings. The rhythm changed. Haunting music filled the gravesite as she began to chant.

Long ago, the bene elohim entered the world. The kingdoms and clans of humanity fell before them. Then did hideous acts commence. Beautiful women were dragged into the palaces of the bene elohim. The dread rebels lay with the women, and knew them. From such unholy unions came diabolic progeny. These progeny were known by many names, but the most that fell came to be known as the First Born. To the First Born came many bizarre powers and abilities, and often their shapes and desires were anything but human. Like their fathers before them, supernatural powers belonged to the First Born, and like their fathers, they yearned for dominance of all kinds. They became terrible captains of war and wicked councilors, becoming a burden to humanity.

However, not all offspring were of this ilk. To understand why this was so, one must first realize that although the bene elohim were the masters of the world, still they despaired. They were chained to corporeal forms, imprisoned to a worm-like existence, where before they had been the princes of the air. They possessed great powers but wondered at their limitations. So began the days of fiendish investigation. It was a blasphemous time, and as much from these experiments as the subjection of humanity, did the Shining Ones above become wrathful.

Moloch the Hammer was a grim bene elohim. He, like Azel, once served in the Temple of Elohim in Heaven. Evil Moloch knew the heights from which he had plummeted, and yet he wished to descend even farther. To him were brought many animals, and many things of which it is not right to speak or sing of. Yet one dreadful day, a female sabertooth of monstrous proportions was left in his chamber. Moloch the Hammer then knew the savage beast in ways that are not natural. After the harrowing ordeal, the grim lord of sin-flame waited to see what the female would propagate.

It was known even then that the union of horses and asses would give forth mules. And it was known that such unions would produce offspring unable to reproduce its own kind. The bene elohim had awful powers, however. One such power was that of their seed, to give life in unrecognized forms. If cunningly conjured, such blasphemous life was able to reproduce its own kind. In the days of their power, the bene elohim investigated many avenues. The sabertooth was simply one of Moloch’s.

Before wicked Moloch saw his begotten the Shining Ones descended from the Celestial Realm and began the Thousand Years War. The female escaped Moloch’s palace and bore her brood in secret. Only one of that evil union survived. His name was Tarag. Moloch captured him with beaters and nets and tried to train him in the arts of war. But the loathsome Tarag was not like other bene elohim offspring. He was uncontrollably savage and given to bizarre modes of thought. Several times Moloch almost slew him. In the end, the Hammer drove his spawn into the wilderness. There Tarag has lived ever since, waxing with evil wisdom, and growing with dark age, counting each century as men count the single years. To Tarag was given the power of control over sabertooths, for they are as much his people as the bene elohim ever were. The nature of the sabertooth is one of savagery and unrelenting fury. It is one of destruction and haughty might.

The music changed to one more serene and melodic.

“This too should be known,” Adah chanted. “Mammoths are sensitive creatures. They, like holy prophets, hate the smell of corruption that permeates the First Born. Mammoths cannot stand the smell of them. In the same country, the two will not abide. If the mammoths have fled, then First Born have arrived.”

The singer slowed the tempo of her playing. It had been a strange song. The poetry wasn’t there, although the horror had been. The song’s very lack of rhythm showed the hideousness of the terrible acts.

With her dark hair plastered to her forehead, Adah set aside the golden lyre. She drank palm-wine and dried her face.

Herrek stirred, drawing his brows together as he shifted his spear onto his knees. “Do you think Tarag is near?”

“I do,” she said. “He is an eater of human brains. It’s how he insults people. It would be understandable then why Old Three-Paws killed Ard, but did not devour him.”

Herrek brooded. “Do you think Elidad is still alive?”

Adah shrugged.

“Do you truly think Tarag is near?” Herrek asked. “One of the abominations? One of the terrible First Born?”

“Yes.”

Joash spine grew cold and his stomach tight. First Born. Not since Balak had he felt this scared.

“Is it by Ard that you have deduced Tarag?” Herrek asked.

“By the departure of the mammoths,” Adah said,” I have deduced First Born. By Joash meeting Mimir, I deduced the coming together of Nephilim plans. By the foul feasting upon Ard and Three-Paws killing, but not devouring, him, and by sabertooths attacking the steppe ponies, by all these things I deduce Tarag.”

“You think Tarag controlled the sabertooths each time?” Herrek asked.

“I have never heard of any other First Born, or Nephilim, with the ability to control sabertooths,” Adah said.

Herrek rested his powerful hands on the spear. “My great, great grandfather trusts your judgments. He believes you know much ancient lore.” Herrek seemed to choose his words with care. “But, can you be utterly certain about the judgments you’ve just made?”

“No,” Adah said, after a moment’s reflection. “But I’ve been in the presence of a First Born before.”

“Yorgash?” Herrek dared ask.

Adah painfully closed her eyes and managed a tiny nod.

Herrek continued to choose his words with care. “Could it be a different First Born than Tarag? Or perhaps not a First Born at all? Maybe these things were mere coincidences.”

“Maybe so,” Adah admitted. “But First Born are inordinately individualistic. Each behaves in unique ways. The ways we’ve been acted upon are Tarag’s ways. Of that I am convinced.”

“Tarag sounds more like a beast than a man,” Herrek said.

“I do not have the knowledge, or the wisdom, to judge the truth of that,” Adah said. “I deem it wise to hope not to find out, because few meet a First Born and tell of it. Those that do are never the same.”

Herrek sat warrior-straight, the muscles of his face under iron control. “How does Mimir figure into your calculations?”

“He is called Mimir the Wise for a reason. His wisdom is that of a lore master and diplomat. It is known that several times in the past he has acted as a go-between for feuding First Born. Maybe others wish Tarag to join them. Who better to be their herald than Mimir the Wise? I can think of no one more suited to the task.”

Herrek digested the weighty information.

“What chance do we have against Tarag?” Gens whispered. “H-He controls sabertooths. What if a phalanx of them should attack us?” Gens was pale and shaking. “I…” He clenched his teeth. After a time, he lifted his chin. “We are charioteers,” he slowly said.

“Yes!” Herrek said. “We are charioteers of Elon. If Tarag sends sabertooths against us…” The warrior eloquently shrugged, and plucked a blade of grass. “Tell me,” he asked Adah, “if cut, does a First Born spill red blood?”

“So the old tales say.”

Herrek picked up his spear. “We will fling these in his teeth, eh driver?”

Gens nodded sharply, although he wouldn’t meet Herrek’s gaze.

“And maybe, with luck, we will rid the world of this savage monstrosity.” Herrek turned to Adah. “You have warned us of the terrible peril that awaits us. But the charioteers of Elon do not abandon their own. We will track Elidad, and if it comes to it, we will war with Tarag and his sabertooths. We’ve slain the beasts before. Maybe it’s time to face their master.”

“Yes,” Gens said, with his own spear in hand.

“Very well,” Adah said.

“Groom,” Herrek said. “See to the horses.”

Joash hurried to obey, intent upon avenging his dead friend, but terrified of Tarag.

“On our chariots we are invincible against footmen,” whispered Gens, who had risen to help Joash with the stallions.

Joash agreed.

“Tarag would be a fool to face us in the open,” Gens said. “We would run circles around him, pinning him with our javelins. Then we could destroy him at our leisure.”

Joash didn’t think it was like Gens to boast.

“Do I speak the truth?” he asked Joash.

Joash checked a strap, pretending he didn’t hear Gens’s question. For almost two years he had been their runner. For almost two years, he’d watched Herrek and Gens build fame with their exploits. Their foemen however, except for Balak, had always been beast or man, not Nephilim nor the dreaded First Born. Did the evil reputation of such foes wilt the driver’s courage?

Gens called Herrek. The mail-clad warrior entered his chariot and signaled to Adah. She and Joash stepped into their chariot.

“Keep your spear ready,” she told Joash.

They rolled over the steppes and toward the lake. Behind them, dust swirled from the bison herds, while beyond waited tall grasses and whatever lay hidden in them.

“Are your eyes sharp?” Adah asked Joash.

“I hope so.”

“A good answer. I hope so, too. I would teach you about your adopted people.”

“Singer?”

“Do you understand the futility of trying to wound Tarag?”

Joash said nothing, thinking rather of how Herrek had been able to beat Balak, although only a beastmaster with a touch of Nephilim blood.

“We are on a desperate mission,” Adah said, “One fraught with sudden death. You must understand that.”

Joash tried to maintain a cool pose, but was shaken.

“I do not wish for you to have a false front like Gens.”

“You shouldn’t say such things,” Joash said, trying to reprimand her.

Adah gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes, you judge my words by charioteer valor. I understand. But, you must understand the horror we ride toward. Only then can you be prepared to face it.”

He waited.

“Know, Joash, that my clan fought Yorgash and his minions. In the steaming jungles of Poseidonis, we struggled to remain free. Our courage wasn’t the valor of charioteers, but of a desperate people clawing for the last purchase of life. Herrek is a proud warrior. He has strong armor and a mighty arm. His Asvarn stallions are swift and his chariot is his joy. He is a champion and is on a quest to slay Old Three-Paws. However, we face the First Born and their progeny. Their arms are mightier than ours, their armor made with more cunning. Their valor is awful.”

“How can we win?” Joash asked. If she and her people had been like him with Balak, then his heart went out to her. He understood hopelessness.

“Herrek thinks by fighting with valor that he will overcome all,” she said. “So has been his experience under his great, great grandfather’s tutelage. With First Born, it must be otherwise.”

“Like it was for you in Poseidonis?”

Adah nodded approvingly. “You ask probing questions. Yes. Maybe Lord Uriah is right about you. Know that in Poseidonis we fought naked, smeared from crown to heel with the juices of repugnant plants. Yorgash’s Gibborim couldn’t abide the smell. The silent bow winging poisoned arrows was our way, and cunning traps laid for the unwary and the proud. Even now, viper-poison coats the tips of my arrows.”

“Poison?” That was a coward’s weapon, Joash knew. Courage and honor, on those alone did a warrior rest his pride, and on his skill with weapons.

“We do not play a game, Joash, but war to the death. Valor is a wonderful armor, but it rests too much upon ignorance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean that wits, and an undying hatred of the enemy, are better tools than merely fighting and dying well. Tarag is our master in a straight-out fight. Hundreds of sabertooths are his to beckon. He must simply give the word and we will be swarmed. Therefore, wits, and the willingness to use any tool at hand, must be our way.”

Joash looked away, troubled by her words. A warrior fought with honor and courage. He made himself brave by being willing to die for what he fought for, and to fight for glory. Herrek would fight until the end. But so, it seemed, would Adah, even if she was willing to flee. She feared, there was no doubting that, and she was trying to get him to fear too. Why? Ah, suddenly he understood. She wanted to see if he had the courage to face Tarag. He nodded to himself. This was a secret test.

“Think upon my words,” Adah said.

Joash pondered. Herrek thought that some day he might make a fine warrior. The warrior had said so in the sod house. Joash swore to himself that whatever else happened, he would not let Herrek’s faith in him prove false.

“Smoke,” Herrek cried. “I see smoke.”

Joash shaded his eyes. Sure enough, far away, atop a huge boulder, black smoke threaded up. The boulders were near the lake.

“We ride for the smoke!” Herrek cried.