THE LAND AT THE BASE of the last bridge was flat and gravelly, the larger rocks and debris having settled at the wall of the previous valley; but all around us, moving like a thing alive, the fog bubbled and hissed, stroking us with icy fingers as we passed. Before long, the gray of the sand, sky, and fog began to wash together. Indeed, if I had been suspended from my ankles, the landscape would have appeared no different, and I began to worry that we might be walking in circles. The longer we marched, the more disoriented and depressed I felt. Even my thoughts trudged in circles, returning continually to my lost wife, my lost son, my lost friend.
“Odysseus, look!” said Proteus, freezing in his steps. I nearly ran him over.
“What is it now?” I snapped. To keep from stepping on him, I’d had to steady myself by putting both hands on his head.
“The tower,” he said, as he pulled away. He nodded toward a peak rising out of the mist directly in front of us. It couldn’t have been more than a bowshot away. In my distraction, I hadn’t even noticed it. The effect of suddenly confronting something so large and so close served only to disorient me further, and I again found myself reaching for Proteus’ head. Then the tower moved. An arm extended from its left side, then another from its right side, and a deep yawn echoed through the mist. “That is not a mountain,” observed Proteus.
“Well observed.”
Proteus stepped forward and squinted his yellow eyes into the mist. “Why, it is human!” he exclaimed.
Or rather, it was humanlike, for its proportions were well beyond those of any man I’d ever seen. As we inched closer, it appeared that the giant was buried from the waist down, its broad belly resting on the sand like a sweaty sack of barley.
“He must be fifty times the size of Ajax!” I gasped.
We were close enough now to make out the giant’s features, which, aside from his enormous girth, were surprisingly ordinary. From a distance, he looked no different from any other man. On drawing closer, however, those same features took on a grotesque particularity—every hair on his skin a swinging rope, every boil and pore a spurting geyser. His nostrils opened above us like two dank caves, bristling with black spines, thick as stalactites and dripping with damp.
“I wonder if that’s how we look to a rabbit?” I whispered.
“It is,” replied Proteus.
The giant was asleep, and his shoulders slumped forward. His head rested on his chest, and a great lake of drool was collecting in his lower lip. I was so engrossed in this spectacle, I failed to notice when Diomedes’ tracks veered sharply to the left, and soon found myself tumbling to the bottom of a deep rut in the sand.
If he wasn’t awake before, the giant was certainly awake now. The lake of drool emptied from his lip in a great torrent, and he leaned forward to look at me, curling his other lip in disgust. “Raphèl mai amècche zabi almi!” he exclaimed in a voice so deep and loud, I thought my head would burst. “Raphèl mai almi!” he shouted. His breath washed over me in a hot, noxious wave.
“Run!” I cried as the giant raised his fist. Lucky for me, he was as clumsy as he was inarticulate. The fist came crashing down beside me, and I was on my feet and away before the giant could take another swipe. Proteus, however, was not so lucky. His leg was broken.
“That looks bad,” I said, once I’d caught my breath. I could hear the bone cracking under the skin. Slowly, he pushed it back. “But then, I guess you’re used to it.”
Proteus grimaced as he rose to his feet. “This would explain the ruts in the sand,” he said, turning to look at the hole we’d fallen in. It extended in a broad half circle that marked the extent of the giant’s reach. We set off to the right, therefore, hoping to find a way around him.
Where the giant’s reach ended, however, another giant stood, equally fierce and twice as ugly. But there was no trench around this one, and closer inspection revealed that his arms were pinned to his sides by a thick chain. We thus concluded that he was safe to approach, and, with caution, ventured near enough to see that neither he nor the other giant was in fact buried to the waist; they stood, rather, in a deep, broad crater, their stomachs resting on its outer edge.
I couldn’t see all the way across, but in the distance, I could make out the shapes of other giants—a dozen or so, standing at intervals around the rim. This meant we had at last arrived at the lowest level of Hell. I strained my eyes in the fog. I could only guess at its depth. “We could search for a way down,” I said. “Or you could lower me down by the rope.”
“How do you know it will be long enough?” asked Proteus, peeking over the edge.
“I don’t, which is why I’m expecting you to fly down there and have a look around.”
Proteus considered my proposal for a moment, then shook his head.
“It would take you only a moment!” I protested.
“It would,” he said, frowning at the mist, “but there is just no telling what may be down there.”
“Which is precisely why it would be much safer for you to fly down and check it out.”
“Safer for you,” he said.
“You really are selfish.”
“Would I be here if I weren’t?”
I grumbled, unwinding the rope from around my waist.
“Do be careful, though. If you get to the end of the rope and there is no earth beneath your feet, it could be a long drop.” Then he wound the cord around his waist and slowly assumed the shape of an ox.
I peered over the edge. Nothing but gray. I dropped the rope into the swirling fog, passed a loop through my belt, and eased myself over.