The boy was terrified. He was little comforted by the stolid presence of his father beside him on the wagon seat. Fear was the defining theme of his young life: fear of the dark, fear of his brothers’ continual bullying, fear of death. The fear of starvation was real; every meal was a competition for food which either you won, or you went hungry. As the youngest of his father’s sons, he had constantly been told that he would never amount to anything, much less inherit anything of worth once Father’s meager possessions had been divided among his six older brothers. The one love he had known died with Mama. Death had taken the bloom from her cheeks and stolen away her sweet smell of wildflowers. His young heart longed for a world with love in it — a world without fear. But he had all but resigned himself to a life of hardship and privation. Then, a lot had been cast, and his entire world had been turned upside-down.
Today had been like a dream. He had been bathed and dressed better than at any time in his young life, wearing the best clothing his brothers owned. Although patched at the elbows, the plain cotton shirt was clean, and his feet, which until now had gone bare, wore good, oversized boots with rags stuffed into the toes. His two sisters had even combed his hair and trimmed his nails. These preparations weren’t done out of kindness, but to show respect for the Giant.
The wagon continued to creak and sway over the uneven ground. Father clucked and flicked the reins, guiding the team over the overgrown dirt track. The boy clutched a rough bag holding bread, cheese, fruit, and a small bottle of home-brewed beer placed there for his lunch. He rocked sideways into Father at a large bump in the trail and received a sharp corrective elbow, so he scooted as far away as he could without falling off the hard board seat. The shock of recent events had allayed his fears for a time, but the dark wolf of fear would not be denied but had stealthily crept into the wagon behind him.
The Giant’s Boon, commonly known as “the Pact,” had been a tradition of the land for as long as anyone could remember. The elders passed the story on to the children; how every generation or so the Giant of the Hills demanded a youth be given to him to consume. In return, the village would enjoy peace and protection from the endless, bitter warring of neighboring kingdoms and fiefs which had caused so much loss of life and suffering among the common people. At the very least, the fear of foreign invaders had never troubled the boy.
It was considered a great honor in the commonwealth to have one’s child chosen by the lot. But the boy found the weight of the honor laid upon him was not heavy enough to still the trembling of his limbs.
Hours passed uneventfully, and the wagon reached a secluded, grassy vale in the wooded hills where the Giant dwelt. Father halted the wagon and tied off the team at an ancient stone hitching post. Nearby, three gigantic stone slabs formed an immense archway opening onto a tree-shaded path. The lintel itself was twenty feet high. On the archway were carved runes naming various families, a litany of sacrifices, one for each child ever brought here. The boy walked over and ran his fingers over the smooth stone and the roughness of the carved runes, which extended beyond his reach. Now, it was his turn to be immortalized. Father found a bare spot next to the mark left by an ancient ancestor, and taking a chisel and mallet from his belt he carved the family symbol into the mossy stone. It was a mark of pride to a family to have many such signs carved on the archway. When Father had finished the work, he sheathed his tools, cleared his throat, and faced the boy to speak the ceremonial words:
“Now has come the day of the Giant’s Boon. Be of good courage and give honor to your family. The giving of one life ensures the life of the village for a generation. This is a good and fair exchange, and the blessings of the village rest upon you. Your name will long be remembered.”
It was the most words Father had ever said to him at one time in his life and he was startled speechless when the man leaned down and took the boy’s head in his work-roughened palms to plant a kiss on his forehead — another first.
“Eat now, and drink.”
Although his heart was beating as rapidly as a rabbit’s within his narrow chest, the boy obediently sat on a nearby log and took out his bread, cheese, and a bit of fruit. He really had no appetite but dared not disobey. Father sat himself on the other end of the log, and taking out his pipe, pointed the stem at the bottle still in the bag.
“Drink. All of it!”
The boy docilely un-stoppered the bottle and let the warmth of the bitter brew flow down his throat, while Father sat and smoked. The strong drink relaxed and bemused the boy, and as he emptied the bottle, he also forgot his fears for a time.
“Good!” said Father, knocking the dottle from his pipe and taking the empty bottle and bag from him.
Removing a length of rawhide cord from his tattered coat pocket, the man bound the unresisting boy’s wrists behind him, securing them to an iron ring set low upon one on the archway’s pillars. The boy sat on the fragrant grass, glad that his trembling had ceased. He smiled at the clear, blue sky and the warmth of the sun, at the busy scurrying of a squirrel and the happy trilling of a lark. He didn’t even startle when Father struck an iron triangle hanging from the other pillar with his mallet. As the loud clangs reverberated through the hills the birds and squirrels fled as if pursued. A moment later, Father did likewise.
The boy sat comfortably enough on the soft grass, the sun-warmed stone at his back. He wanted to kick off the uncomfortable boots and feel the grass between his toes, but it seemed like too much effort. Besides, what would the Giant think of him? Oddly enough, the thought of a Giant being offended by his bare toes made him laugh aloud. And so, lulled by the strong liquor, his fears momentarily forgotten, he watched as the shadows shifted and the wild creatures crept back. Eventually, he dozed.
He awoke to a false twilight cast by a lowering figure above him. The boy uttered a choked scream, and the returning fear of the morning shocked him like a plunge into an icy river. He stared in terror at the unmoving mountainous shape, then blessed darkness came over him and he knew no more.
Waves crashed and receded. Cool green and azure roiled about him sweeping him up and back. A song of the deep thrummed in his belly and filled his awareness like the wind filling a banner. The waves flowed over his head, and he was not afraid. It was like the memory of a long-forgotten song, a song not of fear, but of comfort and love — he remembered being rocked by Mama. Now as the waves settled down, he felt himself rising toward the light, and he awoke.
He found himself lying on a heap of clean, fragrant straw in a vast, stone room. The flickering of a hearth-fire illuminated the heavy beams of a smoke-stained, wooden ceiling far above. The fear which had gnawed at him had left and he felt as empty and at peace as he ever had in his brief life. The echoes of the song of the sea still thrummed in his ears and he turned his head toward the source of that singing.
At first his eyes could make no sense of what they saw: a mound of rumpled shapes, as high as the roof of a hut, with complicated folds and shades. Now, the shapes began to resolve, and he saw a head the size of a barrel balanced atop the mound. He made out two enormous, clear eyes, a bulbous nose like a large potato, a great slash of a mouth. There were ears like flapjacks, partly hidden by coarse, unkempt hair. Hands — they must be hands because they were at the ends of log-like arms which depended from shoulders as round as the rumps of the horse team. The boy’s gaze returned to the great, luminous eyes above him and he heard and felt a deep voice slowly rumble:
“I bid thee welcome! Be not afraid. Be content. Ye shall live for many days yet. For twenty times shall ye serve me. Twenty seasons of spring shall be yours from now until the end comes. Fear not! I am not cruel — but I must live, and thou must be consumed in twenty turnings that the Giant may continue; it is the way of my being.”
“Understand ye mine words?”
The boy nodded somberly. Hope filled his heart; he had been given a reprieve! The elders had gotten it wrong: he would not die today, but in twenty years — an eternity!
“It is good,” the great voice continued. “Eat and sleep in peace now. I promise thee no hand shall strike thee and no harm may here befall thee.”
The Giant’s calm demeanor and speech gave the boy unaccustomed confidence and he found his voice: “May I ask you a question?”
“Ye may ask, and ye may be answered.”
“What are you?”
The Giant sat silently for an entire minute before answering:
“Many have asked this of me, but none so soon. Mine answer ye shall receive, but not at this time.”
The hill that was the Giant shifted and rose, and rose some more, and when it seemed that he must crack his enormous head against the lofty ceiling beams, he turned and moved silently away on legs as massive as tree trunks.
The Giant had left him food and drink on a low, wooden table against the cool, stonework wall. The boy discovered that he was famished! He ate unfamiliar food, consisting mostly of cooked herbs and roots, and found it tasty and filling. He drank from a ewer of water and found that he could stay awake no longer. Falling back into the dream of endless waves, he sank down into the sweet-smelling straw and slept.
Once again, the boy awakened to the looming presence of the Giant, who sat as solid and patient as a mountain.
“Thou wakest — it is well! Make thy water there”, a finger the thickness of a spade handle pointed to a small anteroom, “Wash, and break thy fast now, then shalt thou learn of thy course of duties.”
The boy made his toilet, and quickly ate the provided food, ever aware of the immense presence watching him.
“Thou art obedient — it is good!” The Giant stood. “Come with me.”
The boy followed, taking several strides for each one of the Giant’s. He marveled that someone so huge could move so silently over the polished flagstones. The Giant halted next to a wall mosaic made of pebbles and glass, wondrous in its complexity and color, showing a lad performing various chores. It reminded him of the stained-glass window in the village meeting house! Although the boy had only a passing familiarity with books, he understood at once that it was a wordless primer. The Giant’s table-sized hand gestured.
“These, then are thy present duties. He sighed as if embarrassed, “There is even a rhyme to help thee remember:
‘To draw the water,
To hew the wood,
To keep hearth and floor both clean and good.
To pour my drink,
To serve my meat,
Until thy time shall be complete.’”
“Begin thy work now, and this even shall I answer thy question; aye, and more!”
The boy stared at the mosaic of a young boy chopping wood, hauling water, and doing various other chores. He sniffed — had he not been doing such chores all his life? The marvelous picture also showed where tools and utensils were stored. He looked up and found himself alone.
The boy worked hard. He was determined to give his new master no cause to punish him or to end his life before his allotted time. His muscles were already strong from a life of hard work, and he possessed the patience of the unimaginative. The mosaic also showed him where he might find food and water to refresh himself. Since the Giant had shut himself up in another part of the great hall, the boy worked undisturbed. The black wolf of fear, his constant companion, had dwindled and was now more like a small, dark hound sniffing at his heels.
Sunlight from a lofty skylight reached a mark on the wall which, according to the mosaic, meant that it was time to prepare the Giant’s supper. The boy laid the fire in the immense hearth and struck it to life with steel and stone. He drew and carried water from a well in the courtyard many times which he poured into an iron pot the size of a washtub. Once the blaze was going well, he swung the pot on its iron arm over the fire. He couldn’t suppress a thrill of fear that the Giant may have lied to him, and that he was to be supper for that enormous body. Fear began to nip at his heels, and he considered running back home to his village, even knowing that he would be killed by the villagers for betraying the Pact. As if in response to his mounting fears, he heard once again the deep, slow song of the sea. He recognized it as the Giant’s song, and it resonated throughout the great hall, soothing him. Reassured, he got on with preparing his master’s meal.
Supper itself was unremarkable save for the sheer quantity, and the bizarre reality of who he was serving. The Giant sank onto a cushion beside the great oaken dinner table and waited. The boy laid the table, served the plate, and refilled the drinking bowl when it became empty. Eventually, the Giant finished and indicated with a gesture that the boy could begin cleaning up. In his haste to obey, the boy’s elbow bumped the half-filled drinking bowl, emptying it into the Giant’s lap.
The boy covered his head and flinched away, awaiting the blow. Instead, the Giant gently handed the bowl to the child and spoke in a soft, sorrowful voice, “Did I not promise thee that no hand would strike thee here? Thou mayest continue thy chores.”
The boy took the master’s bowl and plate away and cleaned them. He scrubbed the cooking pot with fine sand and swept the hearth. After eating his own supper, he washed himself and rejoined the Giant who awaited him in the great dining hall. An immense hand indicated a cushion for the boy to sit.
Minutes passed in silence, then the sonorous voice began to speak:
“Thou hast done well this day. Thy work has been done without question or complaint. I find no fault in thee, other than fearfulness. Did I not tell thee to be unafraid?”
The boy nodded and waited, saying nothing.
“Thy people call us Giants — and such we are. The Creator of all things, in His wisdom, hath given to us the wild places of the world: the deserts and the mountains, the fens and fells — places that thy people do not covet. We dwell apart from mankind and from one another. Here we fulfill our appointed role as sustainers of the world. We are the Preservers and the Singers. When thine own people would have been swept from the world by wicked men, we visited their own evil upon them instead and wiped them away. Your elders teach that we do this because of the Pact; and so it is. And in keeping the Pact, thy village, and many others, also serve the Creator’s will.”
The Giant paused for a minute.
“We, the Giants, are also bound by the Pact. So long as it is honored, so long will we remember our obligation to thee. Now mayest thou question me.”
The boy screwed up his courage and blurted out the first thing he thought of:
“Why are you so big?”
The Giant actually smiled, if the stretching of that enormous mouth was a smile.
“Could a lad such as thee stop an army of armed, mounted raiders?”
The boy shook his head.
“That then is why I am so big.”
The answer was unsatisfying, so the boy tried again, “How did you get to be so big?”
“Ah, that is a different question! By magicks and by the will of the Creator am I so big. An oak does not begin as a mighty tree, does it? Neither then did I.”
The Giant rose.
“Go now to thy bed and rest in peace,” he said. And with that, the immense figure glided off.
The days passed uneventfully. The boy’s body gained new muscle and size as he grew stronger from a good diet, hard work, and restful sleep. The fear which had been his lifelong companion retreated into a cave of distant memory. The squalor and ignorance of his early years was forgotten as he hurried through his chores each day in order to gain a few more minutes of conversation with the Giant. As the boy’s knowledge increased, so did his hunger for answers. As weeks, months and then years passed, his questions to the Giant became more sophisticated. Often the Giant would volunteer information unasked, and eventually the lad and the Giant would have real conversations about peoples and far-away places, books, and new concepts. The fear that the uncouth and monstrous aspect of the Giant had inspired in him as a lad had gradually been replaced by feelings of admiration, fondness, and even love. Thus passed the days. Amidst the hard work of daily chores and the splendor of great ideas, the boy’s mind expanded even as his limbs lengthened.
At long last the fated day arrived. Twenty years, a lifetime, had passed like a dream, and the boy had grown into a man. He was of middling height, rudely handsome, and sturdily built, with the hardened hands of a laborer and the eyes of a thinker. Now the time had come for the Pact to be fulfilled.
Many times, late at night on his bed, he had considered fleeing for his life from his impending doom, but the thought of inviting destruction upon his people, and even more, of disappointing his kind master, had stayed him. Fear, which had formerly ruled him, had gradually been replaced by duty. The Giant, who had in time adopted the boy’s modern speech, spoke to him at their nightly meeting:
“Today has been twenty years since you arrived under my roof. You have served me well this score of years, and I have grown fond of you. It seems a small reward indeed to repay you thus.”
“Master,” he responded, “I have lived every day with you in the knowledge that this day would come, and I am prepared to die.”
“Die? Never did I say that you would die, my young friend. But you must be consumed by the Giant that the Pact may endure; that your people may endure. But my days are completed.”
The young man’s puzzlement and distress showed plainly on his honest face.
“Master, you cannot die! You are the Giant!
The great one smiled with that immense slash of a mouth. “Indeed, the Giant shall go on, but my time in this world is over. For twenty years I have been preparing you for this day. It is expedient that one man should be sacrificed for the people that the world should not perish. Come! Draw close to me.”
The Giant spread his enormous arms in invitation, and trembling, the young man drew near to him. Misshapen hands of rock-crushing strength embraced him as tenderly as a father would his infant son. The Giant opened his mouth in song for the last time and the man cried out in astonishment as golden energies flowed from the master’s body and were imbibed by his own.
The Giant had not lied. As glowing streams of vitality left the master’s body, it shrank and shriveled like dry brush in flames, and as the Giant decreased, so the man increased in size and strength until, finally, only the transformed man remained.
He gently disentangled himself from the withered husk of his former master and reverently placed the desiccated form into the fire. As the smoke rose, and the pitiful remains became ashes, he remembered the words of his erstwhile master: “We are the Preservers and the Singers … And in keeping the Pact, thy village, and many others, also serve the Creator’s will.”
The Pact would go on.
This is such a creative story! I love it!