The Stillness of the Sky (5 page)

I smiled. “Thank you for the concern, but I think I’ll be all right. Try to stay out of trouble, though. I’d hate to see more harm come to you.”

With one last curious tilt of its head, the bird bounced a little and lifted off into the air again, circling swirling patterns in the sky before it faded from my sight. As I looked back to where it had perched moments before, I noticed a single black feather left in its place. Carefully, I reached out and plucked it off of the leaf. Up close, it was more of a deep blue, with a shimmery, iridescent sheen along the footlong shaft of it. I wondered how many would take the time to admire such a thing up close, for the beauty of it was truly remarkable, and I couldn’t imagine missing out on it. Unable to leave it behind, I tucked it inside my pack for safe keeping.

Hefting myself to my feet once more, I turned back to my task. There was still very far to go.

Chapter 4

Gasping, I struggled for each breath. The air was so thin I was slightly worried I’d black out if I pushed myself too hard. At the thought, I glanced down through the greenery, imagining the horror of tumbling through the leaves and vines as I rushed to meet the ground I could no longer see. Steeling myself, I pushed aside the terrifying possibility. Little by little, I was getting there, and the bottom of the cloud was mere feet from me. Even though my body protested every movement, I’d come too far to give up.

I had to see what was up there. I had to know, from within the deepest place of my soul, what it felt like to be amongst the clouds.

Three more leaves behind me and fog enveloped me, the cool mist gathering in tiny beads on my skin. My vision was completely obscured, but I could suddenly breathe again. Inhaling deeply, I made sure not to make any sudden movements, as I didn’t want my first moments there to be my last. I stopped, relishing the utter stillness around me. I heard nothing but the thudding of my heart and the exhale of air from my lungs. For the first time in forever, the entire world disappeared. Hanging on to the silence, I closed my eyes. Was this peace? Was this what was missing from my life? I knelt, opening my eyes again and taking in the constantly shifting, but never clearing haze around me. Frowning, it occurred to me that, while it was still and quiet, it wasn’t at all what I thought it would feel like. Though there was a kind of tranquility to it, it wasn’t an overwhelming sense of peace I felt. It was simply empty, devoid of anything, whether it be conflict or happiness.

Nothing wasn’t peaceful, it was simply nothing.

My frown deepening, I wondered what it was I thought I would find. The beanstalk’s arrival was so sudden, I hadn’t really considered what I expected when I decided to climb it. My only driving thought was to touch the clouds. I was there, so what next? Return to the ground?

It occurred to me that it would be a very anticlimactic end to my story. Certainly none had ever climbed so high into the sky and sat inside a cloud before. I’d not yet taken the time to admire the view from that altitude, but, at the moment, there wasn’t much to see, and the thought of moving backwards from such a height made me dizzy. Perhaps, if the plant went a little higher, I could break through the fog and catch a glimpse of the world as the stars saw it. And so, onward I went.

My fingers slowly explored the surface in front of me, and I crept forward on my knees, feeling for the next leaf. What I encountered instead made me jerk back. I couldn’t see it, but I’d met with solid stone. How was such a thing possible? Had the beanstalk, in its sudden surge of growth, taken rocks from the ground all the way to the top?

I pushed against it, checking for any sign of instability. If it was something brought from below, it might easily topple over the edge.

The stone didn’t budge.

Carefully, I felt my way to the top edge of the rock and lifted up. The way brightened some, but not enough to cut through the thickness of the cloud. I hefted myself up onto the surface, staying low to keep my balance lest it begin to wobble. As it held steady, I kept going.

Three stone steps later, I was frozen in place. There, the fog cleared, leaving me in even more disbelief than I had been that morning.

Gaping, I wondered, not for the first time, exactly how hard I’d hit my head to account for the unparalleled vision before me.

A garden, with plants taller than a castle, towered above me. Fruits and vegetables larger than my entire body bulged from vines, the scent of enormous roses and lilies weaving between the stalks and bushes, over the path paved with sparkling granite. Grapes the size of my head hung above me, and melons bigger than my father’s house sat off to the side, with strawberries as wide as my torso sticking out between them.

My mouth watered, but I didn’t dare touch any of them. No matter how hungry I was, I’d heard too many stories of fairy food enchanting any mortal that consumed it, or witches luring in their prey with tempting treats. While I was mostly certain the garden was neither of those, the plants were undoubtedly magic, and I wasn’t so close to starvation that I’d risk it.

But standing amongst the bounty greatly displeased my stomach, so I decided it was best to keep moving. Amazed that such things sat on top of clouds, I didn’t entirely trust the ground beneath me. And ground it was, in the truest sense of the word. The dirt between the cracks of the paving stones and from which the plants grew was the same as any dirt I’d ever slept on, swept up, dug in, or washed from my hands. It was darker, richer than the land I grew up tending, and for that I envied the owner. What I could do with soil such as that…

A tremble beneath me stopped my wandering thoughts as well as my feet. A distant beat, not unlike the cadence of slow, heavy footsteps, shook me where I stood. A little panicked, my first thoughts were that whatever enchantment conjured the place was failing, and I, like the rest of the impossible garden, would soon plummet from the sky. Gradually, the quaking faded, and with it my fears. Well, my fears of a sudden, precipitous end, at any rate. Reassured, I continued on, hopscotching from stone to stone as I explored the strange landscape.

It was an hour’s walk, but eventually the garden path wound around, and the huge bushes and stalks gave way to lush grass. Even trimmed, each green blade was nearly as tall as I was. That was not what caused me to pull up short, however.

In the distance, a castle loomed at the end of the path. Unless I was mistaken, it was larger than the king’s castle in Torell thrice over. What being would need such an enormous structure? The door could easily accommodate the biggest of…

I gulped, total understanding hitting me in that moment. How I could’ve missed it left me flabbergasted at my own stupidity. That place, and everything in it, belonged to the people King Ivor had spent two years waging war on.

Giants.

I’d never seen one myself, as they lived on the other side of Litania and weren’t given to travel much. My knowledge of giants was almost less than my knowledge of magic, in that all I could speak to was fanciful stories, typically of knights and princes rescuing fair maidens from their clutches. The king had dedicated himself, and by extension, the army, to removing them forcibly from his lands, though for what reason and to what end I couldn’t say. Soldiers once came to our house seeking more hands to fight, but one look at my father and they moved on fairly quickly.

Given they were at war with humans, would the giants I’d stumbled on see me as an enemy? Would they pitch me into the sky the moment they laid eyes on me? Or would they allow me to leave and forget I’d ever come across a mundane pouch with life-altering contents?

I decided there was a better question, and one that I could answer on my own. If I turned back and pretended I’d not seen a thing, would I be content not to explore it? By all accounts, my life up until a few short days prior was unremarkable. Perhaps there was a sad certainty in knowing one’s place in the world, but was the place I’d left one I would’ve been content with? It wasn’t that I thought I was meant for greatness or any such delusions. The honest truth was that I simply wasn’t willing to continue that path when presented with a possibility of something even marginally better. In leaving my home, I might not have had the surety of food or shelter, but I had given both myself and my father the chance for a life of freedom without the constant threat of violence. What my father chose to do with his was up to him, and I couldn’t do any more for him. If taking that first chance granted me as much as the sight before me, why not continue and see what else might be gained from it?

No further debate was necessary. My feet moved of their own accord, albeit a little slower than before, but still forward. The what-if pulled me onwards, toward the castle. I paused briefly before I crossed into the shadow cast by the massive structure. Two to either side of me, four turrets stabbed their shade across the ground like enormous, pointed lances. Sunlight glinted off of their rooftops, sparkling cheerily, which eased my trepidation a little. If not for the sheer size of the place, it might’ve almost been welcoming.

Granted, I would’ve been equally afraid of walking up to King Ivor’s castle. After all, what place did I have there? I was neither wealthy nor noble, and although I worked hard and put all of my effort into even the simplest of tasks, what value was I to a king? A sixteen-year-old girl without a penny to her name was nothing to anyone. If the giants there were kings, queens, lords, or ladies, what use would they have for one tiny little human?

As I stopped before the door, I realized they probably didn’t have a use for me. More likely than not, they wouldn’t even see me.

And if they couldn’t see me, they’d never know I was there.

All I had to do was stay quiet and keep to the shadows, and no one would be the wiser for me being there. That would make for an amazing story for certain.

Of course, there was still the potential of being flung into the sky, but I was relatively comfortable in my ability to stay out of the way and make myself scarce after my years of practice with my father. With that in mind, I approached the door. It was easily fifty times my height, and the space between it and the frame beneath it large enough for me to crawl under. I hesitated one last time before reassuring myself I wouldn’t immediately die, took a deep breath, and set out to explore the new path before me.

At first, I didn’t hear the music.

As I crawled out from under the door, all I could take in for several minutes was the sheer enormity of everything around me. Marble columns larger than any tree lined the entryway, each soaring up to a vaulted ceiling of solid gray stone that glistened in the sunlight streaming through the windows above the door. Every surface gleamed with a high shine. The tiles of cream and brown formed a mosaic so sweeping that I couldn’t discern the pattern from my low vantage point, even with the gilded lines running between each piece. To my left, a hall table towered over me, casting its shadow until it met the edge of my foot. Realizing I stood in the center of the grand space, I dashed under the table, hiding myself in its darkness.

Once I was properly concealed, I took a moment to further survey my surroundings. At the far end of the room was a grand staircase, turned wood banisters curling down from the second floor like massive fronds of a fern. A red carpet ran down the center of the steps as crimson as a cascading waterfall of blood. I shivered. My mind leapt to the comparison of its own accord, and I greatly wished it hadn’t. Worse, I couldn’t help thinking how well I’d blend into the rug in question were one of the occupants to misstep and crush me under their heel. Likely they’d not even notice.

It was in that macabre reflection that I first noticed the gentle strains of a lute coming from another room. I paused, my breath held as I recognized the tune. With the rolling arpeggios and tinkling high notes, it could be no other but
The Lost Love of Falinor Meadow
, a ballad of such moving emotion that it was known to stir the hearts of the coldest mercenaries in the world, reducing them to tears if played by a master musician. Few performed it well enough to merit that, but I had heard it once by just such a person.

My mother sang it to me when I was five years of age. Even eleven years on, I still remembered how inconsolable I’d been when she finished. Her gift of song was the closest thing to magic I’d ever known, though she rarely used the talent and never when my father was near. I’d carried the words in my heart since that day, but never attempted to sing it myself. In truth, I sang so little I had no notion of if I was very good at it at all. Yet, the few times I would hum to myself or spare a tune for the cows, my spirits were instantly lifted, lighter despite any cares I had. Perhaps if I’d done it more often, I might have some idea of my skill level. As it was, the only audience I would’ve found was my father, and nothing I did ever pleased him, so there was little use in trying.

My stray thoughts vanished when the chorus reached me. The melody pulled me from my hiding place, and I moved towards it, entranced. On and on it carried me, through three different rooms I barely glanced at in my singular focus. It echoed off of the walls, the tables, the stone floor, growing slightly louder with each step I took. I reached a hallway, the floors a polished dark wood and slick as ice in the dead of winter, and I paused to get my bearings. The last few notes of the song played, and my breath caught. How would I find the source if I had nothing to follow?

“That’s all?” a great, booming voice vibrated the floors and sent me tumbling on the slippery floor.

Scrambling to my feet as best I could, I dove for the nearest shadow: a marble pedestal displaying a bust of some sort out of my line of sight. I crept around the back, searching for the source of the voice.

A minute or two passed in silence, and the music began again, a different song this time, and one I didn’t know. It was no less masterful than the first, but definitely more uplifting than the other.
The Lost Love of Falinor Meadow
was a beautiful piece, only it was melancholy and haunting. The next tune was a merry one, and I could almost picture the spinning reel in a town square where villagers danced in celebration of a holiday. The song spoke of happiness and the carefree, plentiful bounty of early summer, before the weather became oppressively hot and a lack of rain threatened drought. I immediately remembered such a celebration. At ten, my father brought me into Breen to celebrate the crossing over of spring to summer. While he wandered off to a nearby public house, I meandered the square, pausing to watch couples skipping circles around a large pole, brightly colored streamers wrapping around it as they twirled and laughed, turning the pole from weathered, gray wood to a celebratory spindle of blue and green. The skirts of the ladies swished in time with the flutes, and the men’s boots stomped the cobblestones, creating a tympanic beat for all to follow as the crowd clapped along. I watched them for the longest time, utterly forgetting my hunger and my aching feet, completely taken in by the coupling of sight and sound in synchronicity.