The Titan's Tome Page 3

In the fading light of the sun and the flames of her mundane fire, sipping at her bitter broth, she read the Traditions book, determined to follow the laws, the morals of her people, more closely. Now that she was alone, she would have no one to correct her when she made a mistake. In the passage regarding exiles, she realized she should be wearing black clothing, so other mountain giants could avoid her.

  She fought back her tears. Her family was dead. She knew no one else in the world. She had no home. And she was expected to wear black. Where was she ever going to find black clothing? At best she’d have to find a way to dye the leathers she wore.

  She would have preferred to be reading the Titan’s Tome, her clan’s ancestral book, but it had been stolen. The Titan’s Tome had been her favorite, because it had information not only about the mountain giant god, but the other races’ gods, the devils, the Entities, and the forming of the world. It told stories of other planes of existence, and tales of heroes and heroines that made her dream of places beyond her clan’s home. An ethereal realm that only the undead could reach, where a dark sword was kept, the NecroKwar. A Maze that was a test of bravery and intelligence, where a bright sword was held, the Alisande.

  The air turned frigid as she lost the sunlight to read by. She snuggled down under the furs she’d salvaged from her clan’s cave and hoped she wouldn’t have nightmares again.

  It wasn’t to be.

  She’d been the only one awake. She wasn’t supposed to be outside her seclusion. She’d heard the thief, the beating of wings, and when she’d discovered the tome gone, she’d tried to recover it. It had been a futile attempt, there was no way to track something that could fly in the dead of night.

  When she’d returned home, after several days of trying to track the illusive thief of the Titan’s Tome, she’d thought someone had carelessly spread sausage and meat in front of the clan’s cave. It had been so odd, so out of place, her mind couldn’t make sense of it. A doll’s arm, gray and frigid, became the severed arm of her young cousin. The girl had only begun to walk. The small wrist still bore the bracelet with colorful rocks her mother had made. The sausage and meat around the cave entrance became the intestines and shredded remains of her clan.

  Stuttering steps inside the cave. Blood coated the floor, thick enough to still be sticky.

  Bodies opened. The smell of offal and rotting meat in the air.

  Her uncle’s severed head, an eye out of socket and hanging against his cheek.

  Her brother dead in the boys’ room, his spear clean, the children dead in a heap behind his mauled corpse.

  She’d found her betrothed’s body, beside his father. Their clan hadn’t done this. Kern’s dead eyes still stared at her accusingly.

  He rose, his jaw loose, partially severed. His speech was clear.

  “You left us!”

  A blow to her stomach.

  She dropped to her knees. A strike to her face knocked her to her side.

  “Your fault!”

  His foot stomped on her ribs.

  Again.

  And again.

  Madger woke in a sweat, a whimpering cry on her lips. Her stomach cramped from her betrothed’s phantom kicks. She rocked back and forth in the cold morning air, clutching her stomach and wishing Kern’s ghost would stop punishing her. She wanted to go home; she wanted her mama and dadda. She missed her brother, Merion. For all the times she had wanted quiet growing up, she now yearned for the noise and chaos of her clan at meal time.

  She took a deep quivering breath and squashed those emotions, walling them away like she had walled up her clan’s cave. She wiped away her tears, angry she’d shed them. She was supposed to be done with her mourning. She was supposed to be an adult.

  Madger snatched up her sling and rocks, and went to wait for her beaver. The sun warmed the earth around her. If it continued, the snow might melt by midday. She could almost nap in the direct sunlight, it was just warm enough.

  A sound pulled Madger’s attention back to the beaver dam. Her gray eyes widened as the squat creature began to climb up the bank. Her muscles tensed and she stilled her rapid breathing. She waited for the beaver to move a little further from the water, and readied her sling. It was simple luck the critter was waddling closer to her, so she took her chance.

  She stood, spun the sling, tracking the beaver as it tried to hurry away and released the rock. It struck the beaver, and it gave a little cry as it collapsed. Madger had a heartbeat of triumph before the bloodied beaver slid toward the water.

  “No!” Madger screamed and raced after the wounded animal. She was a step too late, and the beaver disappeared under the water and ice. With a desperate curse, she tried to track where the beaver went. The bright red blood flowed under the ice, as the dark body skimmed along with the current.

  Madger scrambled after the shadow under the ice, sliding on the mud and splashing along the shore. The dark shape caught on something and she plunged after it. The ice gave way under her and she fell into the freezing water.

  The cold hit her like a boulder, the air in her lungs rushed out in a wheeze, as the current ripped her under the ice. In a panic, she tried to smash her way out of the icy tomb, but she was weak from starvation. Her lungs burned for air, and the river sucked her further downstream. The river bed came up under her as it became shallower and she pushed up against the bottom and crashed into the ice.

  She had meant to hit the ice with her shoulder, but in the dark swirling chaos of the water, it was her head that impacted. Still, the ice gave way, shattering and letting her suck in her first lungful of air. Warm blood spilled from her scalp as she tried to grab the slick surface to pull free from the river.

  She fought and clawed, but the ice offered nothing to grip. Her teeth chattered and blood tried to blind her as it poured down her face. The edges of her vision were darkening, and with a desperate cry, she kicked with enough force to get most of her body above the water and onto the ice’s surface. Her numb fingers could just reach the mud of the opposite bank and she grasped at the roots, hauling herself clear of the water. It took the last of her strength to climb the bank, with the world spinning as she rolled onto the flat ground. She needed to get up, dry off, and get warm, but her body refused to respond anymore. As her eyes blinked closed, her muddled mind could only wonder how there was a muddy road under her.

  ***

  Unfamiliar voices broke Madger’s dreamless sleep, and she only caught phrases as she was moved. One voice was deep and gruff, with a thick accent, muttering about lifting her. Another sounded elderly, something about magic to load her. She understood the human tongue, the Merchant language. She wasn’t supposed to know it, but her brother had taught her.

  Her consciousness was like a butterfly, just out of reach, fluttering between her outstretched fingers in a warbling path. She dreamed of Merion, his laughter and the mirth in his eyes. His patience as he taught her to read and write not only their language but Merchant and Titan. It could have ended with her eyes gouged out and his tongue branded if the clan had found out.

  Timeless darkness was interrupted by occasional sharp jostling and the noise of creaking wood. The smell of hay filled her nose. The sun warmed her aching body. The sound of hooves splashing through mud and snow at a slow pace hammered at her throbbing head. Loud voices echoed around her, animals bawled, people laughed.

  The warm, scratchy hay was gone; she was on something softer, and there was a scent of drying herbs and wood smoke. It was quiet here, and she was finally warm, too warm, sweating. A damp cloth brushed at her forehead, and she murmured for her mother.

  Dreams of her clan's slaughter began to buffet her. She would wake as she thrashed, but the scent of the herbs and the soft bedding would settle her, and she would drift to sleep again. Kern, her betrothed, accosted her in her nightmares, and she would try to shield herself, but the blows cramped her stomach and the dry heaves would wake her. Coughing racked her body, making her ribs ache, and blood, coppery and warm, filled her
mouth more than once.

  She spat the blood onto her bedding, and someone came to her side, trying to soothe her and telling her to be still. It was the elderly man. The human’s tongue was strange to hear, but the words were calming. His hands were small and childlike to her, as he coaxed her to settle, and unable resist, sleep overtook her once more.

  A damp rag pressed against her dry, cracked lips and she sucked at it, eager for the moisture. She blinked open her eyes, finally having the strength to shake off the captivating sleep. Her vision was blurry, but there was that human leaning over her, offering the moist cloth.

  “There you are, little rabbit,” the elderly man said with a smile.

  Madger blinked up at him and looked around in listless confusion. The room was small, and everything was built to suit a human’s size. She was on the floor on several blankets; a stone fireplace warmed the wooden building. If she stood, she would hit her head on the rafters seven feet above her. Herbs hung from the beams, a bed was nearby, with more blankets neatly laid out. On the wall opposite the bed, was a workbench with more plants and various containers.

  “You understand me?” the man asked, as he dipped the cloth in a small bowl of water.

  Madger nodded and sucked at the cloth as he pressed it to her lips again.

  “You were quite the mess when we found you. You’ve been asleep for three days.”

  His pale skin was wrinkled and his blue eyes were soft. Thin wispy white hair crowned his head, and its length brushed the top of his shoulders. It was odd to see a man with hair, mountain giant men were hairless. Only the women had long hair, gray and often with blue highlights. A brown linen robe hung from his bony shoulders, with sleeves too short to reach his wrists. A soft halo of light surrounded the man, a wavering of colors that made her wonder if she was hallucinating.

  “My name is Gerran. You think you can drink from this?” He offered a bowl of water to her, having to use both his hands, but she easily took it in one.

  Madger nodded again, not trusting her parched throat to speak yet. She struggled to sit up, surprised at how weak she felt, and held the blanket to her naked chest. The thinness of her hands shocked her as she reached for the water, and she shook as he helped her tip it to her lips.

  “Your magic is slipping, little rabbit.”

  Madger startled, spilling a little of the water, but with an effort of willpower, she corralled the magic spilling out of her. She glanced at Gerran over the bowl of water, and the strange halo was gone. She’d seen auras before, every person had one, but they’d been more muted than Gerran’s.

  “Well done.” Gerran set the bowl aside after she drained it. “Can you tell me your name?”

  She licked her lips and swallowed. “Madger.”

  “Madger,” Gerran echoed, mimicking the soft g. He smiled when Madger nodded he had pronounced it correctly. He eased himself up and went to the workbench, and refilled the bowl from a bucket of water on it and returned to Madger’s side. With a grimace, he knelt down beside her. He didn’t need to kneel, the giantess’s head came up to his chest when sitting up, but Garran felt it might put her more at ease if he was below her eye-level.

  “Old knees,” Gerran explained. He gave her the bowl again and let her finish it before asking, “What happened to you at that river?”

  Madger rubbed at her face, the bruise from her father was gone, but there was still a bump and scab from when she’d split her scalp on the ice. She concentrated on putting her words in the Merchant language and haltingly began to speak. “I hunted beaver. It went under ice and I went under too.” She frowned and tapped at her head. “Broke ice.”

  Gerran nodded in understanding. “What were you doing out there alone?”

  Madger frowned again and looked away. She didn’t want to answer him. He wasn’t a mountain giant, she didn’t have to answer. But he’d saved her from dying of exposure, and was a man. The Ancient wouldn’t have let her be with her family in the afterlife if she’d died in such a poor manner. She should have died with them.

  She glanced back at him with a furrowed brow and frowned at his expectant look. It took her a moment to think of the proper word in his language to explain. “Sent away. Not part of family.”

  Gerran gave her a confused expression before finally saying, “Disowned? Exiled? What could you have done to cause that? Is it because you’re a mage?”

  Madger shook her head and regretted the action, a headache blossomed to life from the movement, and she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want to tell him anymore. It made her think about her clan, their bodies, and the feel of their cold limbs as she pieced them back together. Tears threatened her eyes, and she waved the question away.

  Gerran grunted and gave her a disconcerted look, but let the question go unanswered. “How did you learn the Merchant language? You’ve got the right dialect for Teranack, although most countries use it with a few differences.” He said the latter more to himself than her. He brushed the thought away and focused on the eight-foot tall giant in his house again. “I’ve never heard of a female of your kind coming out of the mountains. Always thought all your kind were hairless.”

  Madger froze, much like a rabbit as he’d been calling her. Had she given too much away? That she knew the language he labeled as Merchant? Could that be forbidden to their women like it was with her people?

  “It’s all right,” Gerran said upon seeing her fear. He could give her some time before finding out more about her. “Well, I’m a mage too. It was a good thing too, because it was the only way me and Kharick could get you in the wagon. You made poor Bill work for his oats to get you here.” He paused as he used a spell to send the bowl to the stew pot over the fire and dipped out some broth. He didn’t like spending his magic on such simple things, but it might be something that would relax her and demonstrate what he meant. Once the bowl was back in his hands, he offered it to her.

  Madger stared in wonder at the control of his spell. That must be why his aura looked stronger, he was a mage too. She took the offered broth and drank the steaming liquid, mindless of how it burned her tongue.

  Gerran smiled at her appetite. He used his magic to refill the bowl again and handed it back to her. “That will be all the broth for now. Don’t want you getting sick from too much food at once. You had quite the fever for a while.”

  Madger wasn’t listening anymore, her focus on the broth. The spices sparked on her tongue, and the grease from the meat coated her mouth. There were hints of stewed vegetables, carrots, potatoes, and onions. She desperately wanted to chew on whatever meat was roasting in the pot, but the old man was right, it would only upset her starved stomach.

  “You know you aren’t the first person the Black River has spit up that I’ve rescued. Kharick had nearly drowned in it. I helped nurse him back to health too. He left, but eventually came back and was looking for work, so I hired him. Being one of the duke’s mages left me with a few enemies. He acts as a guard for me and runs errands. Friendly dwarf, I think you’ll like him.”

  Madger peered over the rim of the bowl at Gerran’s back. She had never seen a dwarf before, but she had heard stories of how they would try to steal caves from mountain giant clans. She hoped the dwarf wouldn’t attack her; she had no cave to give him.

  A realization struck Madger, and she almost shouted, “My pack?”

  “Your pack?”

  “My pack, at river,” Madger whined. “You find?”

  “No, but when you’re strong enough you and Kharick can go look for it. Were you wearing it when you fell in?”

  She shook her head, heartsick she had forgotten about the pack and her last few precious belongings.

  “It has been a few days since we brought you here, but maybe you and Kharick can find it, since it wasn’t lost in the river. We’ll speak with him about it when he returns.” Seeing she was worried over the loss of her belongings, Gerran continued talking about himself to settle her. “These days, I just do a little ma
gic work here and there. Mostly the townspeople pay me enough to support us, plus the stipend from my days working for the duke keeps me comfortable. But, the neighboring village was having a problem with a herd of dire boars digging up their fields. I suppose it wouldn’t have been so bad if the fields had been fallow, but they were trying to get their winter barley …”

  Gerran’s voice trailed off, and he looked at the door. A soft wave of magic clicked the iron handle open. “Come in, Kharick.”

  Madger dropped the wooden bowl and clutched at the blanket. She scrambled backward, her legs ached and were enervate, but she put her back against the roughhewn wood of the wall.

  Gerran looked back at her in surprise as the dwarf pushed the door open, his arms were loaded with cloth, and he couldn’t see over the top of it.

  “Thank ya, lad.” He plopped the cloth on the workbench and looked back at Madger curiously. “She woke!”

  Madger stared incredulously at the dwarf. He was so small! How could his kind possibly endanger her people? He was thickly built and just over half as tall as Gerran. His scarred, bald head reached the bottom of the old mage’s chest. His head was rimmed with a band of dark brown hair and his beard was thick and curly, just covering his neck and touching his broad chest. She was amazed both men had hair, especially the facial hair of the dwarf. To her, the hair gave them both an effeminate look. The humans who roamed the mountains near her old home had hair and beards, but they often wore furs and hats with the animal faces intact, giving them a beastly appearance.

  “I think you scared her,” Gerran chuckled. “It’s all right Madger, this is Kharick. He helped take care of you for the past few days.”

  “Hmm.” Madger licked her lips nervously. “Hello, Kharick.” The name was difficult for her to form, her tongue wanted to click afterward because it was like a word from her language.

  Kharick gave a broad grin that split his beard, his heavy eyebrows rose enough to show a glint of his brown eyes. “She know the language!” He walked over to Madger, his heavy boots stomping across the slate floor. He didn’t notice her shy backward again, instead he extended his hand. “Good to finally know ya name, lass.”