“Belgriclungreians,” Frost said.
Persephone took a breath. “Really? That’s…that is a mouthful, isn’t it? And what brings you to the Crescent Forest? I don’t remember your kind ever coming this far north.”
The three exchanged looks—uncomfortable expressions—and Frost growled, “That’s really none of your business, now, is it?”
Persephone was becoming exasperated by the effort of the conversation. Even idle chitchat seemed to provoke their ire.
Outside, the noise grew softer, only rain now; the storm was lessening. The patter became a pleasant, comforting, non-threatening sound. Does that mean it’s over? Persephone wondered, realizing she wasn’t at all certain what it was. Not exactly.
That morning had begun so agreeably. A clear sky and a leisurely walk through the forest made a refreshing change from the growing tension about a potential war. Prior to a few months ago, the Fhrey were thought to be gods—seemingly immortal. Then, Raithe of Dureya had killed one, throwing everything in doubt. A few weeks later, he slew Gryndal, the seemingly all-powerful Fhrey Miralyith, and all skepticism had vanished. The Fhrey were not gods, but they were powerful. Retaliation was only a matter of time. Still, Persephone had expected an army, not lightning bolts.
“Headache?” Suri asked after seeing the Fhrey rub her temples.
Arion replied with a shallow nod and got up. Her movement sent a jolt of fear through the two bearded Dherg, who briefly jumped to their feet. When Arion lay down on the floor and rested an arm over her eyes, they relaxed.
“What’s wrong with the elf?” Flood asked.
“Don’t talk to them,” Frost snapped.
“Why do you call her elf?” Persephone asked.
“That is what they are to us,” Frost said. “Nightmares.”
Persephone said, puzzled, “But elf is a Fhrey word.”
“Not much sense calling them names in our language. What good is insulting someone if they don’t know you’re doing it?”
“You aren’t pronouncing it right,” Arion said. “It’s ylfe, not elf.”
Persephone moved to where Arion lay and knelt beside her. The Fhrey used both hands to rub her eyes.
“The pain is bad?” Persephone asked.
“Yes.”
“Is there—” Persephone stopped when the ground shook.
Everyone exchanged glances with similar worried expressions.
The earth quaked again, accompanied by a muffled thud.
“What is that?” Persephone asked.
No one answered.
The Dherg were on their feet again, all three looking up.
Another thud, louder this time, sent a tremor through the rol, and dust, bits of rock, and pebbles rained down from the ceiling, glinting off the gemstone. Persephone got to her feet and approached Frost, who, along with Flood, was backing away, moving toward the door again.
“During the war, did the Fhrey ever manage to get into these rols?”
The two Dherg looked at each other with so much concern that Persephone didn’t need an answer.
“How?” she asked, as another shudder shook the room. The stone ceiling cracked, and a large piece of rock fell, followed by a shower of dirt. Through the gap, a massive eye peered in.
CHAPTER TWO
Giant Problems
The first giant I ever saw was friendly and liked to cook. The second one might have as well. I do not know; I never asked. It is hard to pose questions while screaming.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
The huge eye drew back, and a fist punched through part of the rol’s remaining ceiling. The tawny-skinned hand was ten times the size of a normal man’s, its knuckles coarse and caked in dirt. Persephone and the others scattered as rock and dirt fell, bursting on the floor. Another blow and the great fist smashed through again, this time opening a hole large enough for an aurochs to pass through.
Frost and Flood were the first to the door.
“Arion!” Persephone cried.
The Fhrey was still on the floor. She’d sat up, but that was as far as she’d gotten.
Two massive hands slipped through the opening. They gripped the sides of the hole and tore back the roof. Brilliant sunlight entered as the unmistakable silhouette of a giant loomed. The mountainous man crouched on his knees, digging with bare hands, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. Tossing aside a fistful of heavily rooted forest floor, the giant thrust his craggy face into the opening, blotting out the light once more. He peered in, as if examining the contents of a sack. The green glow of the gemstone worsened an already terrifying visage. Narrow eyes set beneath a precipice-brow bulged with a maniacal leer. Shadowy canyons lay to either side of a promontory nose, beneath which gaped a cavernous mouth of uneven, intermittent, tombstone-shaped teeth.
“Hag-la!” the behemoth bellowed with hot breath smelling of rotted meat and strawberries.
The head drew back and a hand thrust in.
“Run!” Persephone yelled.
Frost and Flood had already escaped with Suri and Minna close behind, but Arion never had a chance. The giant grabbed at her as she struggled to her feet. As the massive hand closed, Rain swung and planted the spiked end of his pickax in the giant’s fist. The colossus let go and jerked his hand back. He clutched his blood-gushing wound while looking down with snarling fury. Persephone and Rain took that moment to help Arion, and together they dived out the open door just before the giant rose and slammed his foot down on the rol. The ground shuddered as dirt and dust blew through the door.
Outside, the trees were gone. Some had been uprooted, others snapped, leaving only splintered trunks. Mangled limbs, logs, branches, and leaves littered what was now a bald spot within the wood.
Frost and Flood leapt fallen trees on their way toward thicker cover. Suri and Minna paused atop a toppled hickory to look back as Persephone labored to get to her feet in the tangle of branches. Unlike the others, Arion wasn’t fleeing. She sat still, arms out, anger in her eyes.
The giant howled as he struggled to free his foot, which had become lodged in the hole where the rol had been. He became frustrated as it slipped deeper despite his attempts—sinking first to the ankle, then to the shin. Finally, the ground swallowed him up to the knee. The giant’s other leg was finding similar difficulty, as if the mutilated forest floor had turned into a swamp of tar.
“Arg rog!” he shouted in what sounded like a mix of anger and fear. Two huge hands came down in an effort to push himself up, but there was no solid ground, and they, too, were sucked into the mire.
Slowly, steadily, and with an occasional snap of a branch or rustle of leaves, the floor of the forest pulled the giant down. He sank past his waist, then his shoulders, and as the rich, leafy soil inched up around his neck, Arion lowered her hands and the descent stopped.
Flood clapped Frost on the shoulder and pointed at the Fhrey, and for the first time Persephone saw them both smile.
“Did you see that?” Frost asked.
Flood nodded. “Maybe there is a way back, after all.”
The giant began screaming then. A number of words Persephone didn’t recognize were shouted before he cried out, “Help!” in Fhrey.
“You speak my language?” Arion asked from where she had taken a seat on the fallen trunk of a maple.