David Tallerman - Giant thief

"What?"

"Saltlick carry." He stepped into the thin streak of light from the fissure far above. Kneeling, he cupped his arms together, hand locked to hand to form a sort of cradle.

"You're joking."

"Carry. Not tired. Go home."

It was as many words as I'd ever heard Saltlick string together. There was a new tone to his voice too; even his monosyllabic grammar couldn't disguise the note of longing. I wanted to tell him it was all right, that I could go on. The truth was, I couldn't. I'd meant what I said. I felt as though the muscles in my calves and thighs were dissolving like ice in a fire.

"All right."

I moved nearer, let him scoop me off the ground. I thought I'd be embarrassed, but all I could feel as my feet left the earth was relief. I let my eyes slide closed, and soft blackness wrapped around me.

"Damasco, you can't… I mean…"

I felt Saltlick straighten up. He held me as carefully as any mother ever had her baby.

"It's okay," I murmured. "Just for a little while. Then it's your turn, promise."

"It isn't that. You'll wear him out."

I let my body go loose when he began to move, let myself bounce along with his steps.

"It's really okay."

"Damasco…"

I woke to a velvet sky splashed with shimmering, fluid stars.

The moon was gibbous, almost full, shining brightly through shreds of cloud. The rock stood out like alabaster beneath its light, glowing faintly, seeming slightly unreal. There was no transition from sleep to wakefulness, and no hint of what had roused me. I had the vague memory of deep, dreamless sleep. My nostrils filled with a musky scent like damp, warm straw, and I breathed in deeply, until I realised it was the smell of unwashed giant.

I remembered where I was.

"Hey, hey… put me down, Saltlick."

Saltlick lurched to a halt, bent his knees, and set me on my feet.

"Better?"

I thought about it. I ached from head to toe, yet it was almost pleasant compared with the numbing weariness of before.

"I am. I can feel my feet again."

"Quiet, Damasco. They're close."

I barely recognised the voice as Estrada's. I stepped around Saltlick, saw her, and gasped. She was skeletal and deathly pale under the moonlight. I fell into step between them and said softly, "Saltlick, can you carry Estrada?"

"Yes. Go home."

"Easie, I don't need carrying."

"Then do it, Saltlick. As your chief, I command you — whatever she says or does."

"Damasco, you…"

Estrada hadn't time to finish her sentence before Saltlick swept her from the ground. She glared down at me and looked as though she'd try to struggle free.

"Listen to sense for once. He can manage."

"Not tired," agreed Saltlick. Though it couldn't possibly be true, he sounded as if he meant it.

"Easie," she murmured.

"Quiet."

And for once, she was. I held a hand near her face and felt gentle, regular sighs of breath. She was fast asleep.

"All right, Saltlick," I whispered, "let's get going."

Estrada and I swapped places twice through that interminable night, one carried while the other clambered up the rock-strewn trail. At least, I assumed there was a trail. I saw no sign of one, but Saltlick seemed to be guided by something. I followed in his footsteps as well as I could. Whenever I diverged even slightly I'd trip over some obstruction or slip on a loose patch of ground.

My first shift on foot ran to around midnight. I remember the moon hanging directly above me like a pendulum, fat and heavy, ready to fall at any moment. Saltlick clambering over a particularly awkward outcrop roused Estrada, and she insisted we change places.

My second shift began a little before sunrise. I woke, saw Estrada labouring beside Saltlick and was overcome with guilt. I'd already regretted my nobility by the time we'd swapped places, but it was too late. Estrada was fast asleep in Saltlick's arms and I was stumbling around boulders beneath the flush of a new day.

It was a glorious dawn, the sky streaked with shades of crimson and orange and bright, brittle pink. It was spoiled only by the crawling black dots far below that represented Moaradrid's men. They were still on our trail. But they were no nearer. Thanks to Saltlick, we'd kept our lead through the night.

If the three of us might not be good for much, we were good at surviving. When Saltlick chose that moment to point with his free hand to a gap in the peaks above and whisper, "Home," I couldn't help but laugh aloud. Against all the odds, through everything Moaradrid and fate had conspired to hurl at us, we'd made it.

That final stretch of mountainside was almost a pleasure. It was as hard as everything that had gone before, and worse for the fact that I could see now how broken the terrain I clambered over was. Yet what did it matter? I'd kept a promise for the first time in my life. It was a good promise and I hadn't broken it. That victory seemed more important to my giddy, sleep-starved brain than the ferocious battle in the valley ever had. I scrambled with gusto, smiling to think of Moaradrid's thugs suffering below. They had no giant to help them, no small triumphs to keep them going.

For the longest while we clambered up wide steps littered with splintered chunks of rock. Then near the summit, those gave way to a wide slope of pebbles and loose shale. If there was the faintest suggestion of a path, it was no less treacherous than the rest of the climb had been. I tripped frequently, only saving myself each time by driving my fingers up to the knuckles into the scree. Even Saltlick, who so far had managed to compensate for the loss of his hands with sheer strength, began to struggle. Estrada gurgled unhappily in his arms whenever he slipped.

The opening was tantalisingly close. Estrada stirred and mumbled something. It seemed a shame for her to sleep through Saltlick's homecoming.

"Wake up," I called. "We're almost there."

She shook her head and wriggled, forcing Saltlick to set her on her feet. She stared around, rubbing her eyes, clearly not quite awake.

"What? Where are we?"

I pointed.

She followed my finger, looked drowsily at Saltlick and back to me. Then her eyes widened, as realisation dawned.

"Oh! Is that it?"

I nodded, grinning hugely.

"Way home," agreed Saltlick.

Estrada gazed back in the direction we'd come from, to the indistinct, dark shapes that represented our pursuers.

She smiled, and the smile widened and ended in a ringing, bright laugh. "We did it. After everything…" The smile flickered, and was gone. "Everything that's happened."

I could practically see the memories parading behind her eyes: that first, hideous battle all those days ago, Panchetto's death, the fight in the canyon and Alvantes's terrible injury. But there was nothing there that could be changed now, and nothing I was about to let spoil my good mood.

I punched Saltlick on the thigh, and said, "Come on. Lead the way."

Saltlick, perhaps following the situation for once, set off hurriedly towards the gap above. I fell in behind, taking more care, and after the slightest hesitation Estrada moved to join me. By the time we'd caught up, he'd come to a halt on the narrow outcrop that topped the incline. Twin crags towered ahead of him like miniature mountain peaks. Between ran the narrow cleft of the opening, and beyond that…

I heard a choking sound, and realised it was me.

" You can't be serious! "

The gap between the crags ran for perhaps another twenty paces. Beyond that point the trail continued with only empty air to either side. It could optimistically be described as a bridge, albeit one crafted solely by the forces of nature, and then in one of her more capricious moods. Bridges, after all, were traditionally wider, and generally had something to stop a traveller being torn away by screaming winds and hurled into the void.