Giants - 1. Spoils of War

When I retired from my post in the Imperial capital to live in this remote village, my fellow bureaucrats thought I was mad. They laughed at my intention to chronicle life here, sure that nothing more interesting than a cow getting stuck in a ditch would ever happen. Neither they nor I foresaw an invasion by giants ten years after my arrival. You may have heard of the young blacksmith Pireno as a hero of that time -- or maybe as a traitor. Years earlier, he had been my pupil, in my little school, a few hours a week for a few months in winter. He did well, hungry to learn letters and numbers, eager to read anything. Still, I was surprised that it was to me that he entrusted his story from that year of the giants.

He arrived at my door the morning after we all thought the whole business was finished. He was dressed for travel and seemed agitated.

“Pireno!” I said. “Come in! I’m so glad to see you, and honored, of course. You’re quite the hero now. And you left so suddenly yesterday -- I wondered why --”

“I’m not a hero, Heskelion,” he said. “And I’m leaving. And I want to ask you to do something.”

I said, “Anything, anything.”

“I want you to write what I tell you. People are going to talk about me, and I can’t stop that, but I want at least one person to know the truth. And you can write a lot faster than I can.”

“Then sit down while I get something to write on.” The art of rapid writing was part of my training as a scribe. Pireno sat and seemed to calm down a little. “Have something to eat.” He accepted a piece of bread. “How old are you now?”

“I turned eighteen this summer. Old enough to say word in shiluntam.” He dug his fingers into his eyes.

I have studied the language of the giants, and I recognized their word for council. But that was an odd thing to say. “I take it that this is about the giants. Shall we start from when they arrived from the North?”

He smiled. “People say they came from the North, or the far Northeast, or from a country in the west over the ocean, or from the sky, or from Hell.” His smile faded. “They don’t know. People talk rot. Already they’re saying the giants were twenty feet tall, or a hundred.”

“Yes, I’ve heard them. I’ve never seen a giant taller than twelve feet. They might look bigger because they’re built so broad and thick.”

“Still big enough to run over this little place with no trouble.”

Of course there were no Imperial troops to protect us, this far north. We were the last province added to the Empire and first one abandoned. Most of the area’s own men were off fighting on the western borders a thousand miles away. They come home only rarely, bringing their pay in silver and a little gold when they have leave.

“Wherever they came from, you remember when we first saw them, the giants, setting up camp just north of us. Everyone was so scared.” I did remember, and I remembered that people had reason to be frightened.

When giants approach a village or a town, they camp nearby and size up the defenses. If a place seems likely to put up a fight, giants offer trade. If a place seems poorly armed, giants simply take what they want -- food, metal goods, jewels, slaves -- and kill anyone who gets in their way. Our village was weak and the giants knew it. They scouted us for only a day before marching in.

I asked, “Wasn’t the blacksmith killed on that first day? And where were you?”

Pireno shook his head. “Yes, he was. He was already dead when I got there. And that’s when it started.”

“When what started?”

He hesitated, then said, “Ready to write?”

I nodded. I knew already that he could remember his lessons or conversations perfectly, but the tale he told was particularly vivid. He had to remind me a few times to keep writing. This is his story.

************

I was still the blacksmith’s apprentice. He taught me to work in iron, of course, but also other metals, even gold and silver. He armed himself and a few others with pikes and they tried to resist the invasion. He tried to talk me into it, and I tried to talk him out of it, and neither of us succeeded. I am bigger than most men, but I’m no fighter. While he ran off, I went to as many houses as I could, telling people to stay inside, lie low, and not do anything foolish.

We heard a fight -- yelling, the sound of weapons. I ran to see what happened. The smith and his men managed to kill one giant. But within a few minutes the other giants cornered them and cut off their heads. Giants don’t go in for torture or elaborate punishments. They just want troublemakers gone.

One of them, smaller than the rest, just a little over ten feet tall, with reddish brown hair and red beard, was sitting by the dead giant and the dead men, staring at nothing. His eyelids were red and his jaw was working, but I walked up to him anyway.

I pointed to the smith’s body and head. “I have to bury him.”

The giant sighed and turned toward me. He was very handsome, once you got past the shock of the size of him. Obviously, the dead giant had been his friend. I wasn’t afraid of him; I just felt terribly sorry for him. We stared at each other in silence, probably only for a few seconds, though it seemed longer. The poor guy, I thought, I should have left him alone. But at last he said, “You friend by he?”

It took me a moment to understand. You know that odd pidgin they’ve made up for their dealings with humans. And friend sounded more like flind. “No, not his friend. I was his apprentice.”

“You slave by he?”

“Apprentice. I worked for him. To learn to be a smith.”

“He give gold you? He give silver you?” Gold and silver sounded like gowd and sirvar.

“No, he gave me food and a bed and clothes, and he taught me.”

“Not gold, not silver, you slave.”

Fine, I thought, have it your way. “All right, I was his slave.”

He squinted. “Was?”

I moved as if I were tossing something back over my shoulder. “Was.” I pointed to the ground in front of me. “Not now.”

He nodded. “Was. Was, you slave by he. Now, you slave by I.”

“What?”

“He kill friend by I. I kill he. Hafta.”

“I know. I understand.”

“Was, thing by he, now, thing by I. I Saghir. You slave by Saghir.” He knelt down. From a pouch on his belt he took out a short chord and tied it around my neck. One end had a small flat piece of ivory attached. There was a character burned on the ivory.

So now I was a giant’s apprentice? What would that mean? “I have to bury him.”

“Bury?”

“Put him in the ground. In the earth. Cover the body with stones.” I mimed a burial.

“Good. You bury he. I fire-burn friend by I. Then you come here.”

“You want me to come back here again?”

“Again. Ya. Here. Again. Hafta.”

What had I gotten myself into? “You can’t just tie a token on me and say you own me.”

A truly enormous giant had been looking on sternly. Pointing to my giant, he said to me, “Saghir.” Poking my ivory tag into my chest with an enormous finger, he said, “By Saghir.” It sounded like a threat. “I Ulukhar. Here. Again.” Clearly this was someone I did not want to cross. Ulukhar put his arm around Saghir’s shoulder and led him away.

************

I cut into Pireno’s story. “I remember Saghir keeping an eye on you while we were burying the dead men. And the pyre they built, and how the burning giant flesh reeked.”

“Yes, and you asked me if I was going to stay at the smithy. Well, of course -- what else would I do, where else would I go? And you told me what Saghir’s name means.”

“Oh, yes. ‘Small.’ It’s like calling him ‘Tiny’ or ‘Shorty.’ I’m still not sure if that would be his real name or a nickname.”

“And I told you about him saying I was his slave now, and you said, ‘Well, then, you are,’ but not to worry about it, because giants don’t stay in one place very long.”

“Normally they don’t. They take what they want and move on. But I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.”

************

I was splattered with mud and my hands were bleeding from moving rocks. We finished and I returned to where Saghir waited.

“You come. Good.” He looked me over. “You dirty.”

“It’s a dirty job.”

“Where you live?”

“I’ll show you.” I walked, and he followed.

The smithy has a high ceiling to let the heat escape, so once Saghir was through the door he didn’t have to crouch. “Now this place by I.” ‘Place’ sounded more like ‘blice.’ He ducked outside and tied another cord with his ivory tag by the door. Then he came back inside and looked around. “Work iron? You work iron?”

“Yes, I work in iron, and copper, and silver and gold. The smith taught me.” I crossed my arms and ran a finger along a scar on my arm.

“Smith. He hit you? Hurt you?”

“No, I burned myself while I was working. Hazard of the profession.”

“Haz--?”

“Hot iron. Fire burn. My fault, not the smith’s.” Certainly no one in the village had ever asked me about it. And now here was a giant, not concerned exactly, but curious. Maybe he was planning to sell me and wanted to know if I was damaged.

“Hand hurt?”

“I scraped them when we were moving rocks to bury the dead men.”

He nodded. “Smith, he give food? Enough?”

“Yes, he gave me enough food.”

“Live good?”

“I live as well as anyone.”

“He fuck you?”

This took me by surprise. I stared at him. But many masters used their apprentices for sex. I didn’t see any reason not to admit it -- cautiously.

“Yes.” No need to mention that he hadn’t been the only one.

“Hurt?”

“No.”

“Like?”

“What?”

“He fuck you. You like he fuck you?” He spoke matter-of-factly and calmly.

The only times I had been asked that question, it had sounded like a threat. I felt a little contrary, so I said, “Yes. I liked it.”

“Good.”

Oh. Oh. Stupid, stupid, I thought. Why did I say that? Outside, women were shrieking. Saghir opened the door and listened.

“Other giant go, take woman.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

“I -- not. Not woman. You. You good.” He saw I was afraid. “Not hurt. Slow. Easy. You say not, I stop. Wait. But not long time. Then, again, I fuck you. Water?”

I was lost. I just said, “What?”

“I thirsty, you dirty. Water. Drink, wash. Where water?”

“I’ll get some.” I went to the well, glad for the change of subject, and brought Saghir a bucketful.

He chugged it. “Good. Where wash?”

The house and smithy are built around a central courtyard. The courtyard has a raised area paved with stone where the smith and I bathed. It had a wooden tub. I filled it. I fetched soap and a cloth to wash myself and a larger cloth for Saghir to use.

Saghir watched, then said, “Good. I wash you. Then, you wash I.”

“All right.”

“Clothes not.” He pulled my shirt off. I pulled off my boots and pants. I started to pick at the knot on the cord around my neck. Suddenly he was stern. “Not. Keep tie.” It sounded more like “Keeb tie” -- again, he seemed to have trouble with the sound “p.” “All time keep tie.”

So I left the cord on and stood on the stones while Saghir washed the mud off me, using the small cloth with surprising delicacy. He paid extra attention to my rear end. Inspecting his newly acquired property, I thought. Then he filled the bucket with clean water and poured it over my head. It was a mild day for winter, but I was shivering, as much from fatigue and apprehension as from the cold.

Saghir noticed. “You cold.” He tied the larger cloth around me.

“Thank you.”

“Now you wash I.”

Saghir disrobed and sat on the stone. Giants have a particular scent. It’s not a bad smell, just different, as if the smell of a man were mixed with wild animal and wet earth and sawdust and the taste of mushrooms. I was expecting his hair to be coarse, but it was the same as a man’s, denser on the arms and legs and chest and lower back but just as fine. I washed his head, then his back and chest and shoulders, then his stomach and arms. Then he stood. I washed his feet and legs.

“Wash here.” He patted his butt. I washed it. He made sure I got every part of it, though to my surprise, everything was quite clean already. Then he turned around and we proceeded to -- his front side.”

************

Pireno seemed to hesitate.

“So -- you washed every part of him.”

“Yes. Washed, and washed, and -- things went quite a bit farther than just getting clean.”

“Really. I can’t say I’m familiar with giant anatomy. I know they’re about twice the height of a man, but is -- every part of them double-size?”

He chose his words. “You know how they’re built. Their arms and legs are twice the length, compared to a man, and more than twice as thick. And yes, that applies to everything.”

“So how was it even physically possible for you to --”

“Oh, it’s possible. You’d be surprised what a handsome face can persuade you to do.” He smiled. “Or maybe you wouldn’t.”

I coughed and said, “Well, back to your story.”

************

After the bath I was shivering.

He said, “You make fire. You go.”

I brought wood inside and built up the fire in the big room where the smith and I had spent most of our time when we weren’t working. It’s at a right angle to the forge, with no wall between, and with the same high ceiling. There are a table and chairs and my bed and a fireplace where I cooked our meals. The smith had a room next to it, forming another side of the courtyard, and on the fourth side of the courtyard are storerooms.

Saghir brought in our clothes, wet. He had washed them. He laid them out to dry near the fire. “Eat?”

I must have looked startled.

He smiled. “Meat? Bread?”

The fire was burning well. I found a loaf of bread and some cheese in a cabinet. Saghir sat on the table and broke off a piece of bread for me -- about a quarter of what was there -- and a bit of the cheese. He ate the rest in a few bites. “More tomorrow. Now sleep. Where?”

“That’s my bed by the wall, but there isn’t anything here big enough for you.”

“I here.” He tapped the floor with his foot. “Hard. Soft thing? Grass?”

“There’s some straw in the storerooms.”

“You go, you bring.”

I went to the storeroom and shouldered a bale of straw.

I could have run away right then. It was almost dark and the woods were near and it would have been very hard to find me.

I brought the straw in. Saghir spread it on the floor and lay down. I brought in a large oilcloth the smith had used to cover a cart in the rain and pulled it over Saghir. Still shaking, I stood looking at him.

“Come. Here. Down.” Saghir reached his hand to mine. My knees buckled in exhaustion as he pulled me toward him. We slept, my back against his chest, my head by his, my feet straddling his cock. The heat of his body was welcome. He held the cord around my neck between his thumb and forefinger.

It was still dark when Saghir woke me. The fire was down to red embers. He had found the wine and drunk most of it.

We had sex, of a sort. I learned, for one thing, that his middle finger was the same size as the blacksmith’s cock.

After we finished, he lay down and pulled me to him again.

“I Saghir,” he said.

“Yes. You told me.”

“You?”

“My name?”

“Ya. Name?”

Why did he want to know my name? He could just call me ‘slave,’ or ‘you,’ or ‘man,’ or ‘boy.’ But I told him. “Pireno.”

“Bilinu,” he said. Well, close enough. He went back to sleep.

This was very strange. Everyone in my village had always spoken of the giants with fear. This one had insisted on sex but had not used force, and took care not to hurt me. He called me his slave and gave orders, but when I was tired or cold, he was more considerate than anyone else had ever been. I couldn’t tell if I was still afraid of him or if I just couldn’t understand what was happening.

************

In the morning he woke before I did. He sat on the table looking at me as I opened my eyes.

“I drink wine night.” He was almost apologetic. “Wine not good I. Little wine, head --” He made a revolving motion with his hand.

“Spin? Turn?”

“Ya. Head spin turn. Think bad. Do thing not slow, not easy. You -- I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You went slow. You went easy.”

“You slave, but -- I want I good master.”

Again I thought, he wants to sell me, he wants to make sure that I’m not damaged and that he can get a good price.

“Where shit?”

I showed him to the outhouse at the edge of the field on the far side of the storerooms. He raised an eyebrow at the tiny structure. But he managed to squeeze into it, and emerged a few minutes later. Probably he had used most of the leaves that were there to wipe himself. I told myself to remember to get a lot more.

“Little house. Hit foot. I make more big house after. Now wash.”

“Again?”

“After shit, all time, wash.”

So it was back to the courtyard to draw more water from the well. But Saghir preferred to do this particular bit of washing himself. Inside by the fire, his clothes were only a little damp as he dressed.

“I go see other giant. We hunt. We say word. We see what all giant take in village. Here gold got?”

“No, we haven’t been paid in gold for a while. There’s a little silver.”

“Silver good.” I gave it to him. “Other good thing?”

“This piece of wrought iron is some of the smith’s best work.” I showed him a delicate panel the smith had made for a rich client who never paid.

“Good. I take, other giant see. Other -- khusla --?” he searched for the word.

“Ornament? Valuables? Jewelry? He made some jewelry. Rings, earrings, bracelets. They’re just copper. I made a few, too.”

“Good. I take.” Well, I thought, we can’t have Saghir losing face in front of his buddies while they’re comparing loot. I gathered what I had in a box and gave it to him.

“After sun high I come back. I bring meat. You make food.”

“I have grain I can boil.”

“Ya. Much.”

There were also field turnips we normally fed to animals. I thought I’d better drag those out, too. Giants have big appetites. You’ve probably heard stories, most of which exaggerate. A giant eats about as much as four men.

He knelt and looked at me, then held my cord and gave it a tug. “Good.” He kissed me and whispered, “Khusla bik.” He stood and left.

Khusla -- that word again. Was he saying I was just more loot? Spoils of war? Well, why not? That’s all I was.