Dusk was deepening by the time Big Feet approached the city gates, covering the surrounding hills with veils of shadow. Even before he left the forest’s mesh of trees, he saw the bright flames of the bonfire. Reaching high above the walls of giantstone that surrounded Varigal, the flames slapped at the darkening sky and shot sparks upward.
Young though he was, he’d seen a few such bonfires before. And he knew that those flames rising from the city’s vast market square could mean only one thing.
Celebration! he thought gleefully. Something special must be happening tonight.
Then he realized, with a tingle of delight, that every celebration meant food. Lots and lots of tasty, mouthwatering food.
Indeed, as he strode through the main gates, he caught the scent of roasting ubermushrooms . . . one of his most favorite treats. Fincayra’s largest mushrooms, they grew only in the darkest groves of spruce and swelled to the size of a giant’s fist. Roasted on an open fire, glazed with thick apple cider, and dusted with tarragon and thyme, they had always delighted him. Especially when he dipped them in honey . . . which he did with almost every kind of food.
As he turned into the market square, the enormous bonfire crackled and snapped ferociously—reminding him, for an instant, of the wyvern’s angry snarls. But that memory quickly vanished, replaced by all the colorful sights and wondrous smells of a festive celebration.
Giants of every description filled the square, some of them standing taller than the stone columns holding intricate sculptures, carved by skilled giants long gone. Wearing colorful hats and vests and capes made from rough barkcloth or silken grasses, they traded stories and jokes around the bonfire, jostled each other in games, swilled barrel-size flasks of ale, or hurled fallen trees onto the flames. One pair of giants, twin sisters with lavender hair and square jaws, made soulful music with their enormous fiddles, while giants young and old danced to the songs. The two guards from the gates arrived, having left their posts to join the fun; immediately, they set aside their treespears and picked up huge flasks of foamy ale.
Over by the gargantuan tables loaded with food, Sister Behemoth waved enthusiastically at Big Feet. He waved back, somewhat awkwardly, not wanting to tempt her to give him another kiss. Then he spied Lumpster and Greeno, who were busy throwing sacks of grain at a painting of a wide-eyed dragon on the side of a building. One sack burst open and sprayed grain all over a surprised old fellow who was juggling several of the biggest garlics Big Feet had ever seen.
Continuing to maneuver through the crowd, he nearly tripped over a giant who was lying on her back while someone painted her face with radiant colors. At last, he spotted the person he most wanted to see.
“Motherly!” he called, seeing Vonya in animated conversation with her good friend Umdahla, whose azure-blue hair was unmistakable.
Vonya promptly said goodbye to Umdahla and strode over to join him. Clearly dressed for the occasion, she had tied back her bushy hair with a rope and decorated it with white pelican feathers. She wore a handsome plaid blouse and her finest barkcloth skirt. And in the spirit of celebration, she had donned her favorite wagon wheels, all painted bright yellow, three on each ear.
“My son,” she said as she hugged him to her chest. “Back from your outing, are you?”
“Yes indeedily.”
She studied him with care. “You look different. Maybe,” she added with a twinkle, “you’re feeling even more grown-up?”
He almost grinned. “Mostly I’m feeling hungrily!”
“Go eat, then.” Vonya nodded, clinking her wagon wheel earrings. “You’ve earned your supper.”
As he started to walk toward the food tables, he paused and asked, “What’s this celebration about, anyway?”
She merely chuckled. “Go eat. I’ll tell you later.”
Needing no more encouragement, he jogged over to the ubermushrooms turning on a spit by the bonfire. Even as he approached, the giant who was roasting them—a wide-shouldered fellow whose nickname, Sideways, came from how he needed to turn to pass through any doorway—greeted him merrily.
“Come fer some tasty mushers, have ye, laddie?”
Big Feet nodded enthusiastically. With a practiced twist, Sideways speared a freshly roasted mushroom and tossed it over. The young giant smiled gratefully as he caught it, then immediately dunked it in a huge tub of honey.
Seconds later, he bit into the treat and savored its sweetness as honey dribbled down his chin. He made quick work of the mushroom—and then did the same to two more.
Moving to the food tables, he drained a wooden flask of pear cider before gobbling down a plate of lemonleaf wraps filled with minced elk. Barely pausing to take a breath, he downed a cinnamon doughnut as big as his nose, a bowl of cashew meganuts, two slices of still-steaming apple pie (sweetened with extra honey, of course), a gigantic slab of mountain goat cheese, one overflowing handful of fried locusts (commonly called “crunchybugs”), and half of an enormous sea trout stuffed with hot chili peppers. Plus, for good measure, another honey-dipped mushroom.
He licked his sticky fingers—more to catch every last drop of honey than to clean them. Just then, above the din, he heard a familiar voice.
“Big Feet!” called Vonya. “Come over here.”
Still licking his fingers, he sallied to her side. “I never get tired of hearing you call my name.”
She peered at him, a mysterious glint in her eyes. “Ah, but that’s the last time I will ever call you Big Feet.”
Confused, he sputtered, “What? Why everly . . . what? Why?”
Vonya drew a deep breath and said proudly, “This big celebration is because someone earned his true name today.”
“Really? Who?”
She ruffled his scraggly mane. “You, my dear. This celebration is for you!”
“Me?” he asked, still confused.
“Yes indeed. Word has it you saved somebody’s life today.”
He blinked at her in amazement. “How could you everly know that? And besides,” he added modestly, “she was really tiny—very, very smallsy.”
“Small?” she retorted, her turn to be confused. “Are you kidding?”
“No. After all, she fit snuggishly in my hand. Wings included!”
“What in the world do you mean? We’re talking about Sister Behemoth! You saved her life at the cliffs, didn’t you?
“Oh, that! Yes, I did.” He beamed, finally understanding. “Forgive me, Motherly. I’ve had a busily day saving people.”
“Evidently.” Her smile then melted away. “But there’s one thing I just can’t forgive you for.”
He hunched defensively. “What terribibulous thing did I do this time?”
She tried to look at him sternly . . . but that only lasted an instant. “You ripped your britches again!”
Pulling him close, she tousled his hair and said softly, “I don’t care a bit, my jelly roll. And I’m very, very proud of you.”
He relaxed into her hug. For the first time this busy day, he felt neither very big nor very small. All he felt right now was . . . loved.
“After what you’ve done today,” she said gently, “I believe you’ve learned the most important thing about being a giant.”
“What’s that?”
Just then someone tossed another tree on the bonfire, making the flames rise even higher than before. Her face aglow in the reflection, she answered with a single sentence: “Bigness means more than the size of your bones.”