The Giant
James D. Swinney
Everything was as it should be in the Snake’s Tongue River Valley, as it had been for nearly seven hundred years. The river itself meandered lazily along on its banks, carving away at the valley as always it had, with only the occasional boat floating on through its peaceful depths marring the tranquil surface. The soft breeze rippled through the tall grass, same as it had done for time immeasurable, gently tugging on wildflowers and the sparse, deciduous trees alike. The mountains nearby stood high and mighty, foreboding as the day they were made, while in the distance was the pale blue suggestion of more mountains to follow.
And the Giant waited high above it all.
No one really knew where it had come from, though there were always vain fools who claimed that they did. In fact, some outside the area didn’t even believe that it existed, that the photos of it were merely forged. But it was there; it had been there for a thousand years or more, sitting silently if not comfortably atop the highest mountain as if it were a mere stool. Some claimed that it had been there longer, longer than the people and the towns that were built on the river, longer than the ancient trees and newborn grass, longer even than the river and the mountains themselves. But no one really knew.
It was difficult living in the Giant’s shadow, to say the least. Most folk did their best not to think about it, but that was hard enough to do. It didn’t move, didn’t breathe, and didn’t do anything. But it saw. It saw everything that happened in the valley, everything that happened in Telsir, the city built on its banks. Wherever you went it was hard not to feel the Giant’s eyes watching everything that you did, however small. Some couldn’t handle it, and so they left. Most did their best to ignore those feelings, to pretend like the Giant wasn’t there or at least that it was a long-dead thing.
Only one did not ignore it, more fool him.
It was not a good night for travel, not by any stretch of the imagination. The moon had waned to it’s lowest point, giving almost no light by which to see. The mist, which obscured vision still further, was heavy enough that it started seeping through clothing, no matter how thick, leaving the wearer soaked. And it was already cold enough, to boot! All in all, it was a poor night for travelling. And yet two men decided, against their better judgement, to travel this night.
There was not much noise around them—the wind had finally stopped, for a time anyway. However, the lack of other sounds only made the chattering of Calthan’s teeth seem even louder than it was. He clutched his cloak and coat tightly about himself, and still the cold pierced through to his flesh. He cursed his rashness, for neither the first nor the last time in that night alone. Hardly able to see three feet ahead of himself, he plodded on through the darkness and murk stubbornly, praying silently that he remained on course. All he had to do was find one particular hill amidst dozens, marked only by a tall, dead tree. A simple task at noon and on a clear, sunny day. It was markedly more difficult at midnight in the freezing cold and mist, but he pressed on all the same.
“I’ll be honest, Cal,” said Tanner, whose voice broke the chilly silence that pressed heavily about them. “This is a downright shitty idea. Everyone says so, and I’m inclined to believe them at this point.” He cursed loudly, stumbling on a rock he’d not been able to see. “What the hell are we doing out here, anyway? Stumbling through the cold and mist and black to do what? Go and see the Giant, that’s what!”
“It’s only a statue, Tanner. No need to piss yourself over it. All we’re doing is going up to have a look around. That’s it.”
“At midnight, while we slowly freeze to death,” Tanner said irritably. He’d not expected it to be so cold—it was almost summer, after all—so he’d only worn one of his thinner coats.
