Chapter 20
I took Ri’s lead and we sank further into the cover of the trees. The footsteps pounded on, bouncing off the tree trunks, but they weren’t coming towards us. When I was satisfied that we couldn’t be seen, I peered out from behind my tree and watched. Waited.
Then they came. There were four of them, walking on the same path I’d been traversing in a gangly, awkward manner, their arms swinging around as if to balance them. Thick, leathery legs carried them forward, and set into their foreheads was one large, round eye. A single eye. I’d never seen that before. Never even heard of that. But it was their size I couldn’t comprehend. Despite having heard time and time again about how tall they were, seeing it with my own eyes left me at a loss for words. Even if I stacked three of myself on top of each other, I still wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye. In my own mind, even knowing they were so strong and deadly, I’d always painted a rather comical picture of them, lumbering around mindlessly. But these were not comical. Nothing about them was. They were large, brutal creatures, ones who could pop my head right off its neck as if they were plucking a flower. There was nothing humorous in that.
The very thought made me raise a hand to my neck, as if to ensure my head was still attached.
They thundered on, leaving my line of sight. A few moments later, I heard a tussle in the distance, then a roaring growl, and then silence.
Sweat had gathered on my palms despite the cold, and my head swam from my shallow breathing. Jōt. I’d just seen the jōt. Darkness clouded the edges of my vision and I kneeled in the snow to collect myself. All of the childhood stories and whispers of the giants that roamed the mountains couldn’t have prepared me for the sight of them.
I waited another few minutes before leading Ri back through the trees. This time, I stayed off the path and walked parallel to it from afar. Their footsteps were so large, three or four times the size of mine. As I walked, contemplating their size, their origin, where they lived, I dared to entertain perhaps one of my more foolish ideas. As if, after travelling all the way from the coast to mountains, alone, with almost no defined plan, anything could be more foolish.
But after seeing that bear run, dreading the approaching jōt, part of me wondered if I kept close to them – though still far enough away to not be seen – would all other life in the mountains let me be. The danger of this plan backfiring was far from lost on me, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The mountains feared the jōt. I feared the jōt. But that fear, if I kept a safe distance, might work in my favour.
My hands shook, though not from the cold. An all-consuming terror had found its way into my veins and surged throughout my body. I fought to think rationally, to keep my head free from panic, but with every footfall into the snow beneath me, my dam of resolve cracked a little more.
Up ahead, I could hear their footsteps again, travelling onwards to the Goddess knows where. Their camp, probably, wherever that might be. Once they reached it, I’d have to make off on my own again, but for this brief time, hints of safety began to peek through the fear. Ri didn’t feel the same way. Her ears kept twitching forward and backwards, listening, anxious.
A new sound wafted through the forest, just barely reaching my ears. I struggled to understand it at first, tilting my head to take in as much of the sound as possible. A full minute later, I realized it was notes. Song.
Gregor’s words replayed in my mind, about the man who’d ventured into the mountains and heard singing that came from nowhere.
The notes stopped and started again, ebbing and flowing like the tide. I continued through the trees, listening as hard as I could over the sound of our footsteps. All other noises in the forest had vanished. No birds sang, no small animals chattered, but whether that was from the jōt passing through or the voices on the breeze, I couldn’t tell.
When we crested a forested hill, I could see them below. They were still carrying on, nearing the mountains themselves, but they had a new addition. Hanging on a large stick that was carried by two of the giants hung the bear. That must have been the growl I’d heard.
The bear was so big. It would take a handful of grown men to lift it. These aren’t men, I reminded myself, taking in their enormity again even from such a great distance. Far from it.
When they’d rounded an outcropping of rock, hiding all but the tops of their leathery heads, I dared to descend the hill. I still walked beside Ri rather than ride her. Being on my feet left me more nimble. More ready for what might come.
The notes grew louder, then faded away. Then grew louder again. I peered through trees, over rocks and into shadows, but all I found was snow. White, still snow. Perhaps the snow itself is singing, I thought to myself. Such a lighthearted thought felt out of place here, but it cheered me a little. The only other time I’d felt cheered since leaving home was when I found Uxi outside the cave.
Which reminded me that I hadn’t seen him again.
I prayed to the Goddess that he was returning home, somewhere high over the plain making for my village. Let whatever had guided me to that cave in the storm guide him to Ivar. I tried to imagine what Ivar would do, say, feel when he received it. Would it send him relief or would he still worry? Worry that perhaps I’d been killed since sending it. Worry that Uxi had been lost in the storm and the words were just echoes of my ghost.
I’m still here, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut, as if I could send the thought on the wind, across the plain, through the trees, and to Ivar’s ears. If only.
When I opened my eyes, I stopped.
Set into a large indentation in a cliff face – not quite a cave, for it had no roof – was exactly what I’d imagined. Broken bones made up the floor, and at the centre was a large fire, larger than any bonfire I’d ever seen. Beside it, one giant was working to skin the bear, though it looked small in its hands. Others were erecting a spit over the fire, and others sat by doing nothing.
And between me and them, there wasn’t a single tree. If one of them turned their head even the tiniest bit, surely they would see us, standing here in the open like we were waiting to be caught and skinned. I began to back away slowly, willing my feet not to crunch into the snow. Ri’s head hung low, her ears back – well aware of the danger mere metres ahead.
The singing had stopped.
Ever so slowly, I encouraged Ri to walk backwards, until we’d gone around the corner and out of sight. Then I moved us both well into the trees, far enough away that they’d have to truly be looking to find us. After tying her securely to the low-hanging branch of a tree, I slipped through the trees towards the jōt camp again. I didn’t need to get too close, but I’d heard so many stories, so many rumours passed from one generation to the next, that I owed it to my people to see for myself. Any knowledge I could bring back – assuming I made it back – would be new and useful.
Ahead, the outcropping where their camp was set up loomed, but I had an idea. Crossing the pathway, I moved quietly to the opposite side, where the ground sloped upwards to form the wall of the jōt’s den. It was a sheer cliff face, and with Gregor’s words about that man slipping into the camp playing over and over again in my mind, I made sure to stay well away from the edge. Snowy shrubs clung to the corner when the rock ended in a sheer drop, giving me just enough cover to peer down if I kept low to the ground.
They had almost finished skinning the bear, and the spit was being removed from the fire to roast it. I couldn’t help but be at least a little surprised at the sight of them. Somehow, I’d always imagined them as base, crude, lacking any manner of skill or refinement. Yet they knew how to make fires, how to use spits, how to skin an animal and preserve the meat. They were civilized in their own strange way.
On the edge of the camp, another giant, smaller than the others, used a large, rough stone to sharpen a long stick to a point. Shivering, I returned my eyes to the fire – and met the gaze of the giant skinning the bear.
She sat perfectly still, her head turned up and her eye locked on mine. She made no movement to come for me, showed no visible signs of having seen me, but I could feel her eye staring into mine so clearly. Her nose twitched a bit, and I realized with a little burst of hope that she perhaps had sensed me instead. I was surrounded by shrubs and high enough that she would have to strain to see me.
Then, slowly and deliberately, she laid aside her work and stood, eye still locked on me. One giant, heavy arm lifted into the air, a finger extended.
She was pointing at me.
I shouldn’t have moved. I should have stayed motionless and waited to see if she had, but I didn’t. I let out a small gasp before covering my mouth with a hand. The noise, though soft, only confirmed their suspicions. Within seconds, the camp was swarming. The bear lay forgotten on the ground, skinned and still, while the giants scrambled towards me in a frenzy. Forced to sacrifice cover for speed, I stood and turned, ready to bolt in the opposite direction as fast as my shaking legs could carry me. I tried to run, tried to force my body away, but instead I lost my footing on the slick rocks around me and plunged to the earth.
My head swiped against a stone on the way down, and before I knew it, there was only darkness.