Chapter 1: The Giants

Who are the giants, and what is their past?

Once, there were seven giants; Xadrac, Corinth, Dorin, Cyn, Nella, Helleth and Zamorath. All were kings, none were kings. The giants were a dying race, and though they had long life-spans, soon they would die. For already, the humans were planning war, and after the last Age's war, the giant's race was sorely depleted.

And so, they prayed to their ancient goddess, Salutra, she who weaves all paths. Salutra was the weaver, the guider, she who writes the very fates. 

Quille appeared. The last surviving giantress in existence. But she was on the sacred mountain Elieth, praying to her goddess endlessly. Only the foolhardy would try to climb this mountain that ran over the river Erion; that very same river was said to be the very first waterway ever made.

But never have Salutra's visions been completely clear, and this one was no exception.

7 giant kings left for Elieth.

None returned.

"We have no time!" thundered Helleth, pounding his throne's arm. His natural red skin was coal-hot in anger.

"Brother, we have a thousand years, maybe more." Cyn spoke these words quietly, undermining his elder's authority. He was seated lower in the circle of thrones, though not as low as Nella or Dorin.

His authority could easily overrun any of his brothers.

"Death shall not take us so easily," said Corinth, readily agreeing with the youngling. The color of his skin was a mix if ocean blue of history past and long-forgotten glades. He was the right hand of his oldest brother, sitting opposite Xadrac. 

"Helleth is right. A thousand year is nothing to us." Xadrac straightened in his throne, glaring at the giant opposite him; the sight of Corinth sickened him, making him wish that his skin would turn a darker shade of black.

"And what do we do? Surely you have a plan brother?" Dorin was constantly questioning the left-hand giant, even though he himself was only 6th of them all.

Nella said nothing, simply watching the others fight. He stared at his hand, clenching it to see if his color would change; it stayed the same molten gold.

"Enough!" yelled Zamorath, making the others fall into silence. "Salutra shall guide our paths."

"All hail Salutra," rumbled the brothers, making the customary gesture.

"As leader of us all, what I say leads us. Fighting will lead us to war and death." As he said this, the giant viewed his multi-colored brothers. 

Xadrac, black as night. His left-hand in war, bravest of them save Zamorath himself. Spiteful and acidic.

Corinth, a mixture of the ocean's changing colors. Reluctant of fighting and a loyal disciple of Salutra. Peaceful and forthright.

Helleth, red as the Inferno Plains to the west. A near twin of Xadrac and a welcomer of death. Tempered and quick to action.

Cyn, indigo of the night in twilight. Opposite of Helleth, his rival brother. Quiet and obeying.

Dorin, a dark blue of quick warmth. A questioning giant who despises Zamorath. Angry and forever-remembering.

Nella, golden as an ancient sunset. The most dangerous of the brothers. Silent and overpowering.

"Salutra shall guide us," the giants said in unison. Zamorath nodded at them.

"The seven of us will pray for the goddess' wisdom, she who weaves all fates." The eldest giant stood, indicating for his brothers to bow and follow him to the temple.

They walked in single-file along the dying paths that used to have been their domain; a shadow of it's ancestor. Crumbled buildings lay around them; they were a memorial to the giants who had given their lives to fight the humans.

Humans had rebelled against their rulers in a massive war. The small ones had banded together in forces greater than the giants in the hope that they could win.

But the giants had the dragons as their allies. In an Age long ago, the dragons lived in the mountains with the giants. The two races had an uneasy alliance, each suspicious of the other. Until the humans decided to invade their homeland, making the two races unit to drive out the weakling warriors.

After that Age's war, the giants settled in the land to rule over the humans while the dragons returned to the mountains. Both made a pact to return to war together.

The pact had been put to use sooner than originally thought. Barely halfway through the new Age, the humans rebelled. The pact was called upon and the dragons returned.

But the humans had alliances of their own. They promised the elves the death of all dragons, and so the pointy-ears joined them. They promised the dwarves the mountains for mining, and so the metal-heads joined them. They promised the druids the giant's heads, and so the forest lovers joined them.

The two races were outnumbered greatly now, but they had no choice but to fight.

The giants roared and banged on their shields with their weapons, a sound that thundered through the plains. Dragons joined their roar, making the ground quake beneath their enemies.

The elves stood upon a distant hill with half of the druids, ready to fire arrows from afar. Dwarves stood at the front of the battalion, hammers hungry for blood. The humans were gathered behind them, rag-tag in battered armor. And lastly, the other half of the druids, with double-bladed staffs and magic at their fingertips.

"For Salutra!" roared the giants, raising their weapons. Their allies spat fire in response.

"For The Land of A Thousand Tears!" shouted their enemies. The giants looked at them scornfully before walking forward. The airborne dragons flew as well, spitting fireballs at the amassed army.

The short ones charged in great force as arrows rained down form the sky. Normally they would have been like mere pinpricks, but with the fire and the vast amount of them, they were like very sharp spears; not to mention the elves had tipped them with steel.

The giants began to run, sweeping their swords at the smaller army. Dwarves fell in vast numbers, but not before they lamed a few giants. Humans joined the turmoil, slashing and breaking a few legs.

The plains wept tears of blood as a thousand dragon's smoke filled the air. Flames were everywhere, and the battalion began to fall with serious burns. Druids charged in, healing the not-yet dead so they could rise and fight again.

It was a desperate fight for both sides; the elves fell as they were set on fire and there were not enough druids to save them. Giants fell in huge numbers as their legs were cut from beneath them and were savagely hacked at once they hit the ground. 

Few dragons died, but when they did their corpses landed on the armies below; the bodies didn't much care for which army it was.

Hours and hours passed, until the humans and dwarves fled; the druids and elves were dead. 10 giants remained; the seven brothers of the royal family and their father. Many dragons remained and their leader, Orexon, landed to speak with his allies.

"Peace be with you, giant." The current king of the giants nodded at the greeting.

"And you, dragon. Does our pact still stand?" Orexon dipped his head.

"Yes. I am sorry for your losses." 

"We shall rebuild ourselves." One of his sons, Cyn, tapped him on the shoulder. He was pale and could barely say a word.

"Father, you have been injured." The king looked at his wounds. Arrows stuck out of his chest and arms and swords had been stabbed into his legs.

"It is nothing," he said, wincing.

"But Father... there is a spear in your back." Cyn frowned at the ground as his father pulled out the said spear. It was coated in the kings life-blood.

"Our pact stands, great one." Orexon lowered his body to the ground, bowing. "Fortunes be with your race." He flew away to his own clan, bidding them to fly back to the mountains.

The king fell to his knees and his sons joined him.

"Zamorath. Corinth. Xadrac. Helleth. Cyn. Dorin. Nella." coughing, their father grinned. "Control our land with strength. Lead us carefully." The king died, leaving behind his decimated race and a dying legacy.

The temple loomed over the 7, and the giants climbed the large steps. The temple was the largest and only one left, in worship to Salutra.

They bowed at the entrance in honor of the one who weaves all fates, the guiding one.

"All are seven; seven are all." The doors opened and they stepped inside.

A giant statuette of Salutra stood inside, a sword in one hand, a hammer in the other. The royal family knelt before Her.

"In our humble ways, we ask you answer us. Is there another giantress to carry on our legacy?" After an hour of prayed, the goddess answered.

"Elieth," whispered the statuette. "Above the Erion. Quille. Quille."

"Kill?" muttered Helleth, confused.

"Quille," She said one last time. The brothers stood as one.

"We will have to travel to Elieth." Zamorath sighed. "All of us shall go. If we fail, none shall remain."

"All hail Salutra."

And so the last of the giants set off to Elieth.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Winter of '97]

Love it! Some things seem a bit repeatitive though. I like your writing style(: Keep it up!