A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings #1) - Kevin Hearne Page 0,154

and dangerous treasure

But it is her very danger that I treasure

And hearing her laugh on the ocean wind

Inspires the most distracting thoughts

And now there’s naught but passion in my thoughts

For her favor is what I most treasure

And peace never blows from the ocean wind

—

“Today our tales will remain here in the east, all regarding the aftermath of the Bone Giant invasion. Here’s an account from the trader’s daughter, Kallindra du Paskre.”

When our wagon crested the hill above Möllerud, we expected to see the familiar domed roofs nestled against each other and softly gleaming, bronzed like baked goods frosted with sugar. We expected to see people on the road and cattle lowing in the fields outside the city. We anticipated health and prosperity and a vibrant market in which to sell our goods. What we saw instead was the aftermath of slaughter.

Some of the domes were crushed, and dark holes yawned at the sky. Rag doll bodies tossed about on stained turf fed the blackwings. Some of them were children, and I wept when I saw them, small innocents having their eyes plucked out by sharp beaks.

But the true horror for me, though I didn’t realize it until later, was that nothing burned. Not a single trail of smoke curled into the sky. Somehow this made the people seem more dead.

Perhaps it is the bias of my background speaking, where the night’s fire is a ritual and a comfort, but somewhere in the chaos of the city’s death, a cooking hearth should have blazed out of control. At the least, someone must have grabbed a brand, or a torch, or even a poker to defend themselves and thus set fire to their surroundings in a mad bid for survival. Death should not be so cold and black and silent. A fire is both appropriate and necessary. It is the ashes that announce that the past is dead and the future is in the soil, bounty to be brought forth by the water of Bryn.

There is no hope in a blight of blackwings croaking over their bellies full of the dead.

—

“You’re going to meet the leader of the importer clave in Fornyd, Culland du Raffert, next,” Fintan said when he had returned to himself. “Like many of you here today, he lost everything at the massacre of Festwyf. But that loss was not the end of his story.”

The strange smoke of his new seeming revealed a man in middle age, his skin loosened around the jaw and neck, a bit of a spread around his middle, and the beginning of a bald spot on the crown of his head. His clothing was neither rich nor poor; it was the garb of a respectable merchant, sober and prim.

My knees were fine this morning, but now they threaten to buckle with every step. My lip quivers, and my eyelids twitch. All my muscles are uncertain, reflecting the fear and trembling in my mind. I don’t know whether to weep or to charge down the Merchant Trail with a sword to meet the invading army all by myself. Quartermaster du Cannym told all the clave leaders that Festwyf was lost and the evacuation of Fornyd would begin immediately to prevent us from being lost, too. We are supposed to flee before this deadly flood of giants. We have that choice.

But my son and daughter and their spouses in Festwyf were not given a choice. And neither was my wife, who had sailed downriver last week to visit them. If Festwyf was lost, then they were lost, too. And with them gone, my business was gone as well; the invaders may well be peppering their camp stew pots with my spices. Not that the business was worth a damn when my family wasn’t around to make a living from it.

The furniture in my house is kindling and cloth now, nothing more, if only I remain to use it. The flowers in my wife’s garden will no longer hear her humming as she weeds and prunes. The water filtration system my son made for a school project continues to drip, but it’s all poison to me now. The quilt my daughter gifted to us for our twentieth anniversary: Who could possibly be comforted by it? Certainly not me. When I think that I was asleep while my family was being slaughtered, I nearly sprain my jaw from grinding my teeth together.

I will hold on to a cupful of hope until I see their bodies. And I might