Ru Emerson - Against the Giants

She drew a thread from the ragged hem of a sleeve and wound it around her finger so that she would remember to have the common room readied after the soup was simmering. There’d be no dancing in the open square this night-not for long, at least. The ache in her bones told her that this would bethe kind of storm her long-dead husband had called a giant killer.

An interesting name, she thought. Why it was called that, however… She didn’t know for sure. Probably because it described a truefury of a storm, a storm that hit just short of midnight and pulverized the senses with forks of lightning and sent thunder to set the dogs howling and make the elders glad their ears no longer worked so well.

After a full day under that hot, muggy sky, most of the harvesters would be exhausted, only the young still willing to dance. With luck, the worst of the storm wouldn’t hit until the children were sound asleep.

She’d best remember to tell Yerik to make sure a few of thevillagers had enough energy to patrol the fields. Lightning-fires could devastate what few grazing lands they had.

She shoved the braid over her shoulders. Storm weather was making her feel broody and old, but there was work to do. She glanced toward the sunrise one last time before setting to her tasks. The sun had cleared the distant peaks and now seemed merely a little too bright. West, the mountains were still a dark mass, smothered in black towering cloud.

Out in the fields, the harvest went on as the sun rose tomidday and fell toward the ever-thickening cloud in the west. Women and men, bent nearly in half, worked their way efficiently backward down the ranks of dry plants, grabbing a fat handful of stems and scything them right at the dirt before dropping them in place and moving on to the next handful. Behind them, others came to free a single stalk and use it as a binding cord around the rest. Boys and young women followed, gathering up the bundles and carrying them to the two handcarts, while children picked up whatever had fallen and tossed it into baskets.

Yerik allowed a decent break for midday meal, knowing people would be able to work harder and longer for food and a short nap. The weather still held off, but the late afternoon air was pale gold and utterly still, as if some god had distilled it.

The sun was still a full hand above the clouds when the last basket was picked up and the carts were hauled back under the stable’s low rooffor the night. Abandoning the carts and baskets, villagers and their guests went to remove the layers of dust and chaff-coated sweat before gathering in the village square where two black pots bubbled, spreading the soothing odor of a familiar soup.

Night came early, with a rising wind and heavy black clouds that blotted out the western mountains and even the near foothills. Thunder grumbled in the distance, and occasionally the western sky was briefly pale with lightning. But the air was cool and fresh for the first time in long hours, and the rain held off.

After everyone had eaten well, Dikos broke out his three-stringed b’lyka, while Mikati unpacked the four flat drums from their hidecase, settling them on his broad lap. People cheered and clapped as the two consulted before finally breaking into the familiar jigging tune they always played first. For some moments they played to an empty square while some of the older women clapped time. Then Emyas tugged her newly pledged Arkos to his feet, and got him dancing. Others joined them. A half dozen of the girls got up and formed a circle, dancing, giggling at the boys and at each other. Gran and the other cooks settled back, pleasantly tired, to watch and occasionally gossip about the dancers or those who sat close together, chuckling as they wagered on which would be the next pair to pledge.

Song followed song as evening deepened into night.

All at once, the air turned much cooler. Lightning forked across the southwestern hill country and thunder rumbled, louder and closer to the flash of light. The two players set aside their instruments as a gust of wind blew across the ground, sending a swirl of dust and cook-fire smoke high. At that moment, a dark, bulky man in leathers came into the open light, followed closely by a youth of perhaps seventeen years. The older man carried a strung bow in one hand and a drawn sword in the other-unusual in a peaceful village.His face, normally expressionless, was set and grim. Yerik wove between the suddenly stilled dancers, the old woman right on his heels.

“Lharis, Lhors, what is it?” the headman demanded in a lowvoice. Lharis held a finger against his mouth and made a warning glance at the gathered villagers. His son Lhors was pale to the lips. Lharis beckoned urgently, drawing Yerik and his mother under their porch.

“Giants,” he murmured. “We were crossing the fallow ridge atsunset to get help bringing in the kill, and we saw two giants, hulking brutes twice my height and breadth at least. I don’t think they saw us. They wereangling away from here, north and west, but they seemed curious and interested in what they saw. We had to go to ground for some time until we were certain they’d left.”

Lhors swallowed. His two thrusting spears clattered together.

“We’d better ready for an attack,” the retired warrior addedevenly.

“Ready? Attack? Against-?” Yerik’s voice broke.

The other man nodded firmly. “Hold together, man. It’s notimpossible. We’ve a few who can use bow or spears. Find them, and warn them tomove quietly but quickly to fetch their arms. Meanwhile, you get everyone else out of sight and kept quiet.” He glanced over at Gran. “See that those fires areput out. With luck, the creatures aren’t after this village, and they may notknow exactly where it is.”

He didn’t believe that last, Gran realized, her own mouthdry. “If we tell people what the threat is, everyone will panic,” she said.

Lharis shook his head.

“No, don’t do that. Just say there’s a danger. Say it’sbandits. Get the women and children to the root cellars where they won’t beheard. Pick some of the older boys to douse all those torches and ready as many others as we have, once they’ve put out the cook fires. Put them down next tothe oven and keep it lit. The flames won’t show, and the torches will be rightthere to light, when it’s time.” The aged warrior eyed the headman, who wastrying to say something. “Cheer up, Yerik. Giants aren’t immortals. They can dieas readily as men.”

Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed almost on its heels, shaking the ground. “No one should be out in this anyway. Get our people undercover because the storm’s setting up strong. I saw only the two, Yerik. Our mencan deal with two giants.”

“Deal… with…” Yerik echoed blankly.

“Do what he says, my son. Go!” Gran gave him a shove. Shewaited to be sure he was moving in the right direction then turned back to the two hunters. “Your spears, Lhors, have you more of them?”

The boy stared at her, his eyes wild, then jumped convulsively as a small child screamed. The village flared with blue light, thunder cracking on top of it. Gran felt the hair stand up on her head and arms. She turned to see terrified people suddenly running in all directions, her son standing in the middle of the square staring up into the trees. And up. Darkness was followed in a blink by a brilliant blue-white flash that cast strange shadows.

“That isn’t one of our oaks,” Gran said to herself. Suddendread seized her as lightning illuminated trees, roofs, and a huge snarling face looming above the roofs.

The heavily bearded giant was more than twice her size, and most of his head was covered in a metal cap. His body was clad in heavy-looking hides that bared massive arms, and several long spears dangled from one meaty hand.