The child rolled to his right as the giant slammed down its fists, the force ejecting a plume of dirt from the ground. A thunderous crack echoed across the ridge. James crawled into the open to watch the chaos, no longer trembling, his fear replaced with disbelief. He tried to locate the child again but a dust cloud now covered the lower ridge, the giant towering tall and still visible.

A blur of motion near a cluster of rocks grabbed James’ eye. It was the child, crouching—trying to hide. He was a hundred yards away, perhaps two stone throws of a distance, and the giant howled as it lumbered towards its prey. With a lunging downward strike, the giant smashed the largest rock of the cluster, destroying it completely. The child, unharmed, again darted out of sight.

If hide and seek was played with giants, this was it. James couldn’t divert his eyes from the spectacle. It might even be entertainment he’d watch with Yoyo, but he wasn’t laughing and the giant’s howls frightened him. He hoped the child would eventually win, although he wasn’t sure what winning meant when the gargantuan giant was twenty times his size. It wore no clothes, its body formed from stone, and it had all the features of a human but no part was flesh or bone. The giant appeared built from the mountain itself.

The child at least looked human. James wondered if he was also lost in this strange land, or heck, maybe he was trying to get home too. He could have been a lost boy; he wore brown clothes and boots, his size similar to James, and his hair was wavy and long, with all the reds, browns, and yellows of an autumn forest. Switching hands effortlessly, he carried a long staff as he maneuvered swiftly around the rocks, his speed quick and his movements agile.

Meanwhile the giant carried nothing and didn’t look lost at all. They were opposites in every way.

As the minutes went on, the giant grew more sluggish. It slouched as it lumbered, its fists hung barely above the ground, and when a misstep led to a stumble, the child seized the opportunity—he darted under the giant, wielded his staff in both hands, and drove it into the giant’s heel with a powerful thrust.

“HOW!” wailed the giant, kicking the child away.

The child tumbled head over heels down the ridge.

Lifting his leg, the giant began to stomp mightily, soon throwing a thunderous tantrum as the ground shook like an earthquake. Boulders loosened and rolled, dislodging other boulders, creating a landslide that tumbled down the slope while destroying all obstacles in its path. An expanding gray cloud formed in its wake and after several minutes of settling, the child emerged from the dust unharmed. He started back up the mountain in a sprint.

The giant howled and gave chase. The pair moved erratically, almost random at times, the child dodging the giant’s blows until the chase stopped at an outcrop of rock, near the place where James first saw them. The child tried to hide but became trapped beneath a large slanted rock. The giant stopped in front of him, releasing a howling laugh that seemed to cause the child to cower closer to the ground.

He’ll never make it home unless I do something!

James leapt into action and weaved across the terrain. He sprinted toward the giant, optimistic he’d find a pointy stick to use in battle. The weapon wasn’t for attacking of course, it was for distracting; he had to lure the giant away.

As he approached the rock outcrop, trees were scarce—pointy sticks were nonexistent, and he’d have to settle for throwing rocks. He grabbed two that looked like baseballs. His next goal was finding height. James sneaked to the base of the highest boulder and started climbing, the throwing rocks bulging out his pockets, and he reached the top with the giant unaware, for its howling laugh had been replaced by song, and a terrible song it was.

“RUM DOO,

“RUM DOO,

“MOUNTAIN STRONG,

“SMASHING ROCK AND SMASHING BONE!”

The end of the song marked the return of the smashing. James had to act fast.

“Up here you big freak!” taunted James.

He threw a fastball at the giant. The rock sailed high, soaring way over the giant’s head and landing unnoticed on the slope below. James held the second rock in his hand and put everything he had into throwing a slider. It landed low, split between child and giant, and the child noticed James for the first time.

“Run this way!” said James, waving frantically.

The child appeared to ignore him, his hands never waving back, his gaze turning to the giant. Suddenly, a fortuitous column of wind swirled dust all around them, swallowing the rock outcrop in a tan, fast-rising spout. The giant emerged from the dust flailing his fists as the child followed, his staff striking the giant’s back with a leaping thrust.

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Falling forward with a wailing shout, the giant collapsed in a terrible heap.

James gasped.

Moving quickly and with purpose, the child leapt onto the giant. Wielding his staff with both hands, he lifted it above the gargantuan head of the stone-built monster.

Crack!

The staff split stone. The giant was no more. A serene quiet returned to the rugged slope, and as the wild grass bowed to the wind, the child stood tall among the stones.

The sun dimmed from a passing cloud as James slid down from his boulder. He waved and smiled. The child approached him, frowning.

“That was foolish! Fortunately the giant did not see you,” said the child.

James turned red. That wasn’t the reaction he anticipated.

“Next time stay away. There was another before you, and they were not so fortunate. You cannot kill a giant by throwing rocks—it takes a blow to the head. Did you even know that?”

“Yeah, of course I did,” said James, trying to save face. “Every good fighter knows that. And you should take your own advice sometime, that giant almost killed you too.”

The child rolled his eyes and then turned his focus to the forest in the valley. The trees swayed aimlessly in the wind as the sun emerged from the cloud. James wondered if the child believed him.

The child shrugged, “I suppose we both acted foolish, but we are alive and the giant is not, and that’s what counts. Are you coming then?”

It wasn’t the best start, but James was happy to have a companion, especially one that could kill giants. They walked side by side, the child using his staff as a walking stick, his autumn hair dulled by dust, his eyes striking and green.

“How’d you learn to do that?” said James.

“Do what?” said the child.

“You know, fight giants.”

“A steward does what he has to.”

“And you fight every day?”

“Every day a giant rises.”

The two arrived at a dirt clearing where many things were strewn about: a burlap sack, a cracked black horn, a big net on a stick, a shoulder bag, a bird foot, a pair of dragonfly wings, and a cluster of round stones.

The child picked up the shoulder bag and clipped his staff to the strap, then his interest shifted to the black horn. Meanwhile James went for the burlap sack. He shook it out, sighed at finding it empty, and went for the net instead. With a two-handed grip he lifted it up, and then playfully spun in circles.

“Could I have this?” said James, still spinning. “I want to show my brother.”

“It’s not wise to keep a catching net—you will attract the attention of fairies,” said the child, nudging the black horn with his foot.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“The fae know many tricks.”

“What kind of tricks?”

“The kind that end in forever death. Every good fighter knows that.”

James frowned. “Well I don’t care.”

“I suppose you don’t,” said the child as he crouched low near the horn.

James practiced swinging the net. With the weight what it was, swinging was tiresome work and the fun quickly wore off. Still, he could think of twenty reasons to keep it, one of them being he needed a weapon. It seemed useful. He wouldn’t give it up so easily.

“How do I get to Risanburg?” said James.

The only answer he received was a growl from his stomach. He couldn’t decide whether he craved lunch or his afternoon snack, not that it mattered much, he had nothing to eat. He wished for his backpack, the lunch he left behind, the crushed bag of chips. He liked chips a lot and didn’t mind if they were in little pieces. Sometimes he ate the off brand bags that sat forgotten in the back of the pantry, but with no idea where home was, he was stuck remembering chips instead of eating them. He sighed and tried the question again.

“How do I get to Risanburg?”

The child never answered the question; all his focus was on the black horn. It didn’t seem too interesting to James, but the child was holding it up to the sunlight and carefully looking it over.

“If you don’t know you can just say so,” said James. “No one knows everything, that’s what Miss Kim says, and she’s the smartest teacher in the whole world.”

“It seems to me there’s a lot you don’t know,” said the child. “Do you see this here?”

James shook his head no.

“The horn has a crack, do you see it now? No? Well come and look inside, what else do you see?”

James inspected the horn. “Nothing.”

The child frowned. “Yes, and that’s the problem.” He put the empty horn in his shoulder bag and wielded his staff. The green of his eyes dulled. “The cromworm is lost and now I need to go through the trouble to find it. Leave this place before it finds you first.”

“But which way is Risanburg?” asked James.

“That way,” pointed the child.

“All that way?” James looked at the forest in the distance and slumped down on a rock. “That’s going to take forever.”

“All the more reason to get going,” said the child, and with that parting quip, he began a search of the rock outcrop.

Without a proper goodbye, James set off in the direction of the river and toward the great forest in the valley. He daydreamed as he walked, thinking of giants and gnomes, of Harley and Yoyo, and then speculated if anyone from school had told his Mom that he never arrived on the bus. His stomach growled but he kept going, and he dragged the catching net behind him through the dirt.

“I can’t wait to show Yoyo,” said James, wondering if he’d get home before it got too late. There was a lot of ground to cover and he certainly didn’t want to miss dinner.