10. The Giant’s Last Breath
It took every single ounce of nerve in their bodies to make them move forward. Bodkin could feel his heart beating so fast it felt like it might leap out of his chest and make a run for it. He wanted to do that anyway…
But then he thought of poor Xar, shivering in the night as the Witch-stain crept up his arm. Xar would have to stay forever locked up in Gormincrag if they could not find the ingredients for this spell. The Witches were not going to go away if they closed their eyes and hoped for it… So Bodkin walked on.
Each one of the toes of the giant came up to Wish’s waist. The toes were absolutely still, unmoving. They appeared to be green, now they got closer, not because of gangrene, but because they had been there so long that moss was growing over them, so they must not have moved for a very long time.
“Is he alive, this giant?” whispered Wish. “Or is he dead?”
“Find out, sprites!” ordered Xar fiercely.
Bravely, Tiffinstorm and Ariel and the Once-sprite flew up to the head of the giant.
Tiffinstorm flew back down first. “Dead,” said Tiffinstorm.
“But he can’t have been dead for very long,” argued Wish. “Because after a while, don’t dead bodies… sort of decay?”
“Yucky!” said Squeezjoos, inspecting the giant for signs of decay with delight. “They’s do! Letsss me look… letsss me look!” The hairy fairy buzzed around excitedly, but returned extremely disappointed. “He’ss just the sssame asss when he wasss alive… No yucky bits… no squidgy bits… The green is just moss…”
“It’s some kind of enchantment,” said Caliburn, shivering. “An enchantment so strong I’m not sure I want to know what it is…”
“Which may mean,” said Xar triumphantly, “that we CAN get his last breath! The spell to get rid of a Witch-stain must be true! And this giant here must have been waiting for us to come so that he can die…”
“You’re making a whole load of assumptions there,” said Bodkin, terrified. “Maybe he’s waiting so that he can eat us.”
“We keep telling you! Giants are vegetarian!” said Xar.
“Yes but, Xar, we don’t know much about the really, really big ones…” said Bodkin. “Most of them waded out to sea hundreds and hundreds of years ago.”
But Xar wasn’t listening. “Follow me!” he ordered.
The snowcats and the werewolf climbed each table leg as if they were tree trunks, claws gripping either side, with Wish and Xar and Bodkin on their backs. Xar had never been on a giant’s table before. The plates were larger than any he had ever seen, more like enormous silver lakes. The three young heroes steered their way around the massive cups and knives. The Enchanted Fork perched on the rim of one of the spoons, gazing down with admiration at its unfeasibly enormous cousin, a monster in spoon form. The fork shook its head, as if to say, “Will I ever grow that big? Could I?”
Squeezjoos and Bumbleboozle and the baby, always easily distracted, had a great time slipping down the center of the giant’s spoon as if it were some sort of gargantuan slide, until Xar snapped his fingers to get them to concentrate.
“We’re on a mission here,” whispered Xar. “There’s no time to mess about! Once-sprite, you’re the Chief Spell-Raider. How do we get the last breath out of the giant, if there’s still one in there?”
Up above them was the giant’s head, tipped to one side. He certainly LOOKED dead. His eyes were closed. His great wrinkled map of a face was covered in bracken and ivy, and if they had not known that it was a giant and seen that foot down below, they might have thought it was a rock face, or some other broken landscape, covered in a rich tangled mess of briars and thorns as if it wore a mask.
A sad face.
A broken face.
A lost face.
The Once-sprite flew the falcon upward, and leaped from the bird’s back. He swung for a second from one of the giant’s nose hairs, peering up into the dark depths above as if it were some sort of enormous snot-filled cave.
He poked his spear into one edge of giant nostril.
The giant did not move.
“He’s dead,” announced the Once-sprite, dropping back onto the falcon.
“Yes, I know he’s probably dead!” said Xar impatiently. “The point is, how do we get a last breath out of him?”
And then, as if in response to Xar’s question, and making them all jump, there was a reverberating sound like the noise of a muffled distant drum, and a slight wheezing wind poured faintly out of the nostrils above like the breeze in coral caves.
Oh, by green things and white things and mistletoe and ivy…
The giant wasn’t dead after all!
“The beassst isss alive…” whispered Ariel, burning so bright green with alarm that he shone like a torch.
The giant twitched.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh my! Ohhhhhhhh my! He’s moving!” said Squeezjoos.
Slowly, slowly the great eye above cracked open the mess of thorns above it, and one enormous eye focused grimly on the children—an eye you could lose yourself in, a mighty desolation like the desert of the ocean. And then the great mountain above them jerked upward with such startling suddenness that the plates bowled over, and the young heroes lost their balance on the table, set a-shaking by his sudden coming-to-life. They all forgot that giants are not ogres and that they’re supposed to be vegetarian, even the really, really big ones, and they scattered like scurrying ants across the table, for safety under the plate rims and to hide under the forks.
Their hearts beating like rabbits’, they cowered, Bodkin under a plate rim, Xar flattened behind a salt cellar, Wish under the spoon.
Was the giant friendly? Or was he unfriendly? Did he know they were there? Had he seen them?
They could hear the giant breathing now, the wheeze in and out of his lungs like some great wind, and suddenly it seemed that their quest might have been a little, well, foolish.
Bodkin held his breath.
Maybe the giant didn’t know they were there…
Minutes passed.
There was silence again.
Bodkin began to breathe a little easier.
And then a very beautiful voice, one that definitely could not have belonged to a giant, said sweetly and out of nowhere: “There’s one hiding under the plate…”
And…
BLAM! The sheltering plate above Bodkin went spinning from above his head and sailing across the room, where it smashed with ear-shattering violence.
That was a little too, well, ROUGH for the giant to be entirely friendly, and when Bodkin looked up at the face looming above him like a great green god, the glowering fury of his expression was unmistakable.
It’s all very well, people telling you not to move when you’re being charged by a forest animal, or if a great desolation of a giant is poised over you, but in those sorts of situations instinct tends to kick in, and Bodkin ran across the table with some considerable speed.
SLAM!!!! A fleeing Bodkin was caught by a mighty force from above that sent him sprawling—OOF!—onto his stomach, and when he scrambled, petrified, back to his feet, an immense hand imprisoned him like a great green cave.
Peering out from behind the spoon, Wish shouted, “Bodkin’s been trapped!” Forgetting all about how much she liked giants, she ran forward and jabbed one of the massive fingers with her sword, and it couldn’t have been much more than a pinprick, but the fingers startled upward, and then all three humans were scurrying and running, and weaving and dodging across the table with the giant and frankly not-very-friendly hand slamming down around them, trying to catch them.
Which it did, eventually…
Xar and Bodkin hid in the salt cellar, but the giant shook them out and pinned them to the table between the prongs of a fork.
And then the giant took a cup and slammed it over Wish. For one horrible moment she thought she would be trapped there forever, but the giant flipped the cup over, picked her up, and dropped her in it. And there she hung, peering with one terrified eye over the rim, into the grim eyes of the enormous and, let’s face it, extremely annoyed giant.
An unintelligible noise came out of the giant’s mouth. It was opening and shutting as if it were making words, but the wheeze of his voice meant it was impossible to hear what he was saying. He paused.
The three children looked at one another, terrified. None of them could make head nor tail of what he was talking about.
The giant spoke again, equally unintelligibly, soft anger in the wheezing.
Caliburn bravely flew up to the giant’s mouth, so that he could hear more clearly.
The giant seemed to be choking, fighting for breath, until from out of nowhere an ethereal little something appeared in a trail of light, something so bright it made you blink to look at it, and the something poured a little potion into the choking giant’s mouth, and the dusty desolation drank it down greedily.
“What is that?” asked Wish, with an open mouth, trying to look at the brilliant little something as it dashed past. It didn’t look quite like any other sprite, or elf, she had ever seen before.
“I am a Frost-sprite who once belonged to the great Wizard Pentaglion,” said the little something, moving so quickly they still couldn’t see what it was, “but you can call me Eleanor Rose… That is not my name, but it’s a very pretty one, don’t you think?”
Eleanor Rose, for that was not her name, had a very beautiful voice that reminded you of running water, or bells. It must have been she who had told the giant where they were. “And this big decaying chap here is Proponderus,” said Eleanor Rose, as if they’d all dropped in for a cozy chat, rather than broken into a ruined castle whose name was Death. “So, since we’re all here, perhaps you might introduce yourselves? Proponderus and I have not had company for many a long year. And even when we do, uninvited guests tend not to stay very long… particularly if they are burglars…”
There was something a little sinister in the last statement, even though she said it perfectly good-naturedly, even somewhat sadly. They didn’t need Caliburn to whisper, “Don’t trust her…”
Eleanor Rose didn’t appear offended. She even agreed and might have been nodding her head if she had been still enough for them to see her. “Yes, it’s probably wiser for human beings not to trust me… Frost-sprites have no hearts, you see…”
The giant spoke in a wheezy whisper, which was nonetheless very loud to human ears, for he was so very large a giant.
“Who,” said the giant, “are YOU, little ants, little nothingnesses, and how dare you disturb the peace of a giant of the ancient lines who is on the verge of dying? Is nothing sacred?”
“Oh, you’re on the verge of dying are you?” said Xar, without thinking, and heartily pleased to hear it. “Excellent!”
The giant blinked down at them.
Bodkin prodded Xar frantically.
Xar started, suddenly realizing that it wasn’t very polite to be seeming to welcome the imminent death of your host.
“I mean, we’re very sad to hear that,” said Xar hurriedly.
Eleanor Rose laughed again. “Oh, don’t worry!” she said kindly. “You’re on the verge of dying too!”
“A-are we?” stammered Bodkin anxiously.
“Of course you are!” said Eleanor Rose with great humor. “What did you expect? You are entering, uninvited, a castle whose name is Death, with the burglarious intention to steal something infinitely precious from one of the inhabitants within who also happens to be your unwilling host… Don’t bother to deny it!”
For Xar had opened up his mouth in instinctive denial.
“Unless…” said Eleanor Rose.
“Unless?” prompted Wish, ever-hopeful.
“Unless… you are the people we have been waiting for, which is terribly unlikely, considering the amount of people there are in the wildwoods, and how surprising it would be if they were to accidentally make their way here,” said Eleanor Rose. “Which is the reason we have been waiting such a very, very long time. So, who are you?”
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
They had to hope the Spelling Book had not tricked them. They had to hope that their names would be good enough.
“Tell the truth,” Eleanor Rose advised them.
“I am Xar, son of Encanzo, boy of destiny,” said Xar. “And this is Wish, daughter of Sychorax… and this is Bodkin, Assistant Bodyguard.”
There was a long, long silence, and Eleanor Rose was still enough for Squeezjoos to see her clearly for one, tantalizing second, and for Squeezjoos to say with a sigh, “Oh! How pretty you are!”
“Beauty is not everything,” said Eleanor Rose, on the move again, “but the universe has found that, sometimes, it helps. And impossibility isn’t everything either, but it is surprising, particularly considering the nature of impossibility, how often the universe is depending on one…
unlikely…
chance…”
Bodkin and Xar and Wish had been holding their breaths, but now they let them out again with relief.
“Of all the numberless names of people in these wildwoods, you ARE the right ones,” said Eleanor Rose.
“Thank goodness for that,” breathed Bodkin.
“At last!” said the giant. “Are they worthy?”
Eleanor Rose hovered in front of all of them, and touched them one by one—Xar, Bodkin, Wish, and finally Caliburn—testing them for worthiness. Each of them cried out at the moment of contact, as if they had been hit by a sharp electric shock.
Eleanor Rose circled the room twice before she gave her pronouncement.
“There is room for improvement,” said Eleanor Rose. “Particularly in the one who calls himself the boy of destiny… but what can you expect from the humans? However, when it comes to the worthiness of the bird, why the bird…”
Caliburn ruffled his feathers, preparing to make modest protestations. This was his moment.
“The talking bird is the least worthy of all,” said Eleanor Rose.
“Oh!” cried Caliburn, very offended. “I think you must have mistook me! I am Caliburn, the raven-who-has-lived-many-lifetimes, and I have been put in charge of Xar, precisely because of my wisdom and my worthiness!”
“Yes,” said Eleanor Rose, with an audible, dismissive sniff that still managed to sound affectionate, “and perhaps you might like to think, why, after all those lifetimes, you have ended up as a bird? I know perfectly well who you are, raven, and age is no proof of worthiness, or indeed of wisdom. We’ll just have to make do, Proponderus, and hope for the best, as is often the case with the humans. We can’t wait any longer. I am finding it harder and harder to slow down the dying process, and those are, after all, the right names.”
The giant snorted with relief.
“So,” said Eleanor Rose, “you have come here to steal something? Don’t bother lying, just tell me what it is.”
“We have come to take the Giant’s Last Breath,” said Xar defiantly. “We need it as part of our spell to get rid of the Witches.”
“Ahhhh…” breathed the giant with desperate satisfaction in a great wind above them. “They are the right ones.”
“That is precious, very precious,” said Eleanor Rose solemnly. “It is not something the likes of you could steal from a giant of the ancient lines, but luckily for you he will give it to you willingly. I presume you have come prepared?”
“We have,” said Xar promptly. “The Once-sprite here is a great spell-raider. He will catch the breath, and Tiffinstorm will shrink it, and between them they will put the breath in this collecting bottle here…”
Eleanor Rose laughed again. “Oh, you humans! You’re so funny! Your plans are so inadequate and yet you keep making them! You hadn’t a hope of doing that on your own, but I will help you.
“You shall have your wish,” said Eleanor Rose, “and maybe, as is the way of things… a little more than you wished for, as well. Settle down, everyone, make yourselves comfortable.”
Eleanor Rose did not bring out a wand or a staff or make any sort of movement that could be interpreted as spelling, but the fork lifted itself off Xar and Bodkin, and the cup tipped over gently, depositing Wish on the table.
“The giant is going to tell you a story, and I am going to help…”
Way above them, the not-quite-dead giant’s words came booming out with such loudness, they had to put their hands over their ears.
“LET ME TELL YOU A STORY!” said the giant.
“A story???” said Xar, between clenched teeth, for the words really were very, very loud.
“You don’t like stories?” said Eleanor Rose in surprise.
“I love stories!” said Xar. “But what is the giant doing, telling us a story? This is supposed to be his last breath! Surely you can’t tell a whole story with one last breath? And we’re in a bit of a hurry here… It’s complicated, but the Droods and the Wizards and the Warriors and the Witchsmeller and the Witches themselves are all chasing after us, and they could be here any moment… And my companion, Wish here, has lost her Enchanted Spoon, and we have to find him…”
“Have you seen him?” said Wish anxiously. “My fork and key are convinced he’s in here somewhere. He’s about so high, made of iron, and—”
“What did I say?” interrupted Eleanor Rose. “Plenty of room for improvement. You need to learn patience, boy and girl. There is always time for a story. The giant will give you his last breath and in return you will listen to his story, patiently, quietly, and humbly, for those are all things you need to learn. That is your payment, if you will.”
So in the heart of Castle Death, Wish and Caliburn and Xar and Bodkin and the snowcats and the sprites and Crusher the giant sat down cross-legged or put their shaggy heads on their paws or folded their wings or lay on their backs with their eight legs in the air depending on what or who they were. All of them listened quietly, obediently, and even Xar tried to be as patient and respectful as he could as they listened to the story.
Now, the last words of anyone who is dying have a magical power.
But the last words of a giant of such extraordinary immenseness… why, those have more power than most.
In real life this story was being told by a great giant the size of a small hillside, in the last stages of dying, crumbling at the edges and a trifle fly-infested, in a voice that was sometimes louder than the loudest thunder and at other times breaking and wheezing and barely there, and when his voice broke at the edges, like the crumbling of his fingers, and became so faint that you could hardly hear it, the story was taken up by the Frost-sprite, who was the absolute opposite, tiny and ever-moving, with a voice like the never-heard music of the universe and turning stars and the tiny bell-like chime of time…
But if I tell it like that it will make it hard to concentrate on the story, and the story is important. So I will speak it in my own voice, the voice of the unknown narrator.
This was the story the giant told.
It was “The Story of the Giant’s Last Breath.”