The Wanderer's Tale (75 page)

And for the next hour, under the cover of the trees, this was exactly what they did.

It is not every day that you come face-to-face with a god. Not while you are still alive, that is. And sane. And sober, come to that. So when a two-hundred-foot-tall Giant steps out into your daylight, waking world, bringing with it the stormclouds of hell, you have to question your sanity. Quite possibly for a long time thereafter. It did not help any of the company that they had all witnessed the very same thing. It was all, simply, too big.

Their flight did not in fact consist entirely of running. That first hour was mainly spent hiding, darting out to move on, then hiding again, and all the time staring upwards and listening. At first there were just Bolldhe, Kuthy and Wodeman. But gradually, and purely by chance as they scampered about like fieldmice running from a kestrel, they bumped into others. First Nibulus and Appa, the Peladane almost dragging the spent form of the priest behind him like a lame old Boggart; and then later Paulus suddenly appeared among them. Finally Finwald came running up, wild-eyed and clasping his hat to his head. But, soon after, the shaman disappeared, and they were six again. At no time was there ever any sign of Zhang.

Driven by terror and instinct alone, they continued to dart through the cover of the trees. None knew, cared or even thought about the direction they might be taking. The gods had come down to earth, or risen from its depths, and were trying to destroy them. All they could do was keep fleeing.

It was a terrible flight, one that none of them would ever forget. None of their previous encounters had been even a fraction as awful. Above them, around them, behind and sometimes before them was the Giant: unrelenting, omnipresent. At every roar they expected its foot to come crashing down through the treetops to stamp them into the mire of their own blood. Yet this never happened. Sometimes they would see that awesome, terrible face peering at them through the forest canopy, and occasionally a huge hand would pull the upper boughs aside to try to get at them. But in spite of the ease with which it could have rubbed out their lives, it seemed reluctant to push too far. Almost as if something unseen were hindering it.

At other times they heard it move off, drawn by something they could not see. On one or two of these occasions, they heard a distant scream of terror, but whether it was human or horse they could not tell.

Eventually, as they ploughed deeper and deeper into the woods, the stamping and roaring receded. It seemed that, for the present, they had miraculously escaped certain death.

‘It was the forest that saved us,’ Kuthy stated. ‘They cannot pick their way through the thicker reaches of the woods without harming their sacred trees.’

They sat huddled beneath the cover of a large rowan. It was late evening, and the sun would have gone behind the mountains by now. But no sunset could be seen here: in these dense woods it was almost pitch black. A few furtive noises could be heard around them, sometimes a snuffling and a scraping, and as a kind of background hum there was also an almost continuous low moan from Bolldhe as he nursed his burnt face. The fragrances of scented wood and summer flowers were almost overpowering, but still not strong enough to completely mask the smell of his crisped and suppurating skin.

Nibulus, though, had other things on his mind. He leant closer to Kuthy and, with his face mere inches from the other’s, suddenly yelled: ‘And how the hell would you know that? You’ve never even seen any of these things before – have you?’

Kuthy stared back at the younger, bigger man. His grey eyes gleamed in the near darkness, but his expression could not be judged.

Then Finwald’s weary voice was heard. ‘There’s no point in denying it, Kuthy. You’ve led us up the pixie path ever since we met you – first the tunnel, now this. You knew what dwelt in this land all along, didn’t you?’

There was a pause, then Kuthy admitted with what sounded like genuine repentance: ‘Alas, I cannot pretend otherwise. I have been through Eotunlandt before, and yes, I have seen the Giants. I’ve never seen them quite so close up, but I did know about them, yes.’

‘Then why in the gods’ own surnames didn’t you tell us?’ Nibulus asked in exasperation. ‘Did you want us to get killed?’

‘Now, you know that’s not true,’ Kuthy responded levelly. ‘If it hadn’t been for me you’d all probably be nothing more than a stain on the sole of a Giant’s foot by now.’

They thought about this for a moment, and had to admit the truth of it. Had Kuthy not returned to them and cut through their terror with his whistle, they would have run witless in circles or sat paralysed with fear, and would now be very much ‘at one with the earth’.

‘Yes, for that I will be eternally grateful, my friend,’ Appa wheezed. ‘By Cuna, never before in all my seventy years have I known terror like that . . . I still cannot believe it. Just what sort of world do we exist in? All these . . . things! Had I known what the world was like north of our borders, I’d never have ventured further than the Blue Mountains, quest or no.’

Indeed, none of the company could bring himself around to fully believe it. In this ancient, fey wood, crouching together in the dark beneath the rowan’s boughs, it all seemed more like a horrendous dream. Furthermore, a dream that had not yet run its full course.

Nibulus subsided a little, but was still angry. ‘Just tell me this,’ he said to the Tivor. ‘Why did you then hold back what you knew? Just what are your purposes, eh? We’ve lost our horse and all our baggage, we’ve got no idea where Wodeman is, or even if he’s still alive . . . We’re trapped in the land of our worst enemy, and we don’t even know what that enemy is, for Forn’s sake!’

But Kuthy did not answer; he had become absolutely silent, and though he still sat cross-legged upon the ground, his bearing had suddenly tautened. Instantly everyone froze, and they too strained their ears to hear whatever it was that had moved out there in the deepening dusk.

Footsteps, furtive, purposeful, coming their way . . .

A whining snort . . .

A familiar voice: ‘They are the Elder Spirits. The ghosts of the Great Ones who trod the world before Man awoke. Ancient enemies of the gods.’

Wodeman floated towards them through the darkness of the woods, moving strangely, silently, a dream-like expression upon his visage. Behind him came the slough-horse, walking with uncharacteristic quietness, in a way that suggested some great oppression of mind.

The company found themselves unable to move. Still closer the spectral newcomers came.

The spell was broken by Bolldhe. ‘Zhang!’ he breathed, and crawled out from under the roof of branches towards his friend. The horse backed off snorting, and would not allow himself to be touched.

Wodeman slumped to his knees and crawled groggily in among the others. They shied away, not quite sure what it was that had joined them. Paulus’s breath rattled in his throat, and his sword was drawn.

‘What’s going on?’ Nibulus asked cautiously. ‘Wodeman?’

But Wodeman remained as he was, and he did not speak. If it was indeed Wodeman. He looked like the wraith of his normal self.

‘Zhang’s all right,’ Bolldhe informed them, though he could not get near enough to lay a hand upon the terrified beast. ‘And it looks like our baggage is all here. I think.’

Nibulus hurriedly crawled away from the silent shaman and leapt up to check that his armour was all in place. Eventually the two of them managed to calm the troubled horse down, and reined him in. After doing so they both relaxed a little, and felt a lot more comfortable with their new visitants in the night.

‘Make a fire,’ Nibulus ordered. ‘This place is scaring our priests.’

‘No fire,’ Wodeman mumbled. ‘Not yet.’ He was on the point of collapse, but refused to succumb to his exhaustion just yet.

‘What happened?’ Finwald asked the shaman in a whisper. ‘Where did you get to? Is the Giant still out there?’

‘. . . Sent earthpower through the forest,’ Wodeman explained. ‘Shook the treetops a mile away. Drew the Giant off, sent it away . . . but only just. Didn’t like it . . . They didn’t like it, Erce magic in their realm, the realm of huldre . . . Tried to send it off after the thieves, but they got away, headed north. They’re good, that lot . . .’

Again he trailed off, not sure what he was saying, or even what he meant to say. Then he simply stopped, and went to sleep in that same kneeling posture, utterly drained by his recent elemental confrontation.

The others were not sure what to make of any of this.

‘The ghosts of the Great Ones . . .’ Finwald mused.

‘Hmn, didn’t look much like a ghost to me,’ Nibulus opined. ‘Altogether too substantial, I’d say.’

‘Mind you, there was something strange, now I come to think about it,’ Finwald said. ‘I’m not positive, but I think I could see right through its legs – the trees, I mean. Like a parallactic shift . . . or then again maybe not. But in any case I’m sure I could see the trees through it.’

‘Almost as if it weren’t really there,’ Kuthy agreed. ‘I know what you mean. The first time I saw the Giants, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of sadness, one that sprang up from nowhere . . .’

‘You’re joking!’ cried Nibulus.

‘I was a fair way off, mind,’ the old adventurer added. ‘They knew nothing of my presence. But I remember feeling that somehow it was all wrong. From the sagas we hear that their sort died out at the ending of the first days, and as I watched them march over their domain I felt that they shouldn’t be there – here. And maybe they aren’t, really.’

‘So what are they?’ Finwald persisted.

‘I can only guess,’ Kuthy speculated. ‘A final vestige of the greatness they once were, perhaps – like ghosts, in a way, unable to understand that their time is up.’

‘Horseshite,’ the Peladane spat. ‘Did you see the size of that hole it made in the ground? I could have used it for my own bear-pit! Ghosts, you say? I don’t think so.’

Then Paulus spoke. It was not often he gave his opinions, or indeed said much at all, so whenever he did it caused the whole company to pause. ‘I suppose the Giants must be huldres, then,’ he said mockingly. (Nibulus groaned.) ‘After all, this is the land of the huldre, is it not?’

It was now completely dark, and they could see nothing of the mercenary’s face. But his tone was unmistakable.

‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘as you assured us, plenty of huldres, small, sweet and charming . . .’ He hacked and spat at the soldier of fortune in loathing. ‘If I did not need you to get me out of this accursed place, I would push my blade down your throat and into your heart.’

Cheated of the sport he had been craving for so long, the Nahovian drew his coat about himself and gnawed upon his own bile.

For once, the others agreed with him. ‘You lied to us,’ Bolldhe put in. ‘You lied to us about the Giants, you lied to us about the huldres, you lied to us about that tunnel being secret. You just can’t stop lying! Hell, I think I’ll join Paulus when it comes to carving you up!’

‘And why in Cuna’s name did you abandon us just before those thieves turned up?’ Finwald joined in. ‘You knew full well something was going to happen, didn’t you?’

But Kuthy Tivor was not going to let these whelps talk to him like that. ‘I go off on my own when it suits me,’ he said. ‘Just like your shaman here, just like you, Bolldhe. I didn’t know anything was going to happen, though with you lot dancing amongst the daisies and lighting fires in the night, maybe I should have guessed it would. If you think so ill of me, then go and find the northern portal without me.

‘But this I will say to you for nothing: the only traitorous deed any of us has witnessed on this day, my friends, is that of our dear Bolldhe. Or were my eyes playing tricks on me when I came out of the woods and saw our noble hero here standing over Appa with a voulge in his hands? What was that all about, Bolldhe, eh? One of those quaint old folk dances you picked up on your travels? Or were you trying to impress them with a conjuring trick?’

It was now Bolldhe’s turn to make excuses. Immediately he was conscious of the blood rushing to his face, pinning a rosette of guilt onto his unburnt cheek, and he instinctively put a hand up to his face.
What was that all about, indeed?
he asked himself; he still was not sure what had got into him.

Then he realized that it was too dark here for the others to see him. He hated the fearful darkness of these woods, but he had to admit it was now saving his bacon. He lowered his hand, and instead cleared his throat – several times – before speaking.

‘I was playing for time,’ he mumbled apologetically, then cursed himself for the feebleness of his reply. He cleared his throat again, then continued in a louder voice.

‘I had a religious maniac holding a soul-sucking dagger at my face, and it looked like any second you, Nibulus, were going to start a fight! In fact you said so, remember? Damn, I can’t believe you did that to me! “Be prepared to elbow that bastard in the guts, Bolldhe,” you said. Pel’s Bells, what a leader! All very well for you to say that in your position . . .’

‘Don’t talk bollocks,’ Nibulus sneered. ‘We saw what happened; there was no knife at your eye
after
that cultist shoved you towards us.’

‘Absolutely,’ Finwald agreed with his friend, his voice dark with accusation, ‘You were back amongst us then, no worse off than we. Why didn’t you stand and fight? I can’t believe you went and grabbed Appa like that, and dragged him back to your new friends. I told you, Appa, we should never have brought him along in the first place.’

Everyone waited to hear what the old priest had to say. But if Bolldhe had expected him to come to his aid, he was disappointed.

‘I’m afraid,’ Appa began gravely, ‘that I have to agree with you, my dear brother. He is unreliable, and not to be trusted. I have stood up for you all along, Bolldhe, and tried so very hard to understand you. But time and time again you have failed us. I really feel sorry for you, I do. What aching loneliness there must be in your existence. For that is how your life will always be: a long and empty road towards death, without partner, lover, family or friend.