Swordless, bound, and aching all over, Angus struggled in vain.

A clang echoed. Angus looked over to see his sword. There was no face at the barred window, far above Angus’ reach. Only his cold blade, lying on the floor.

Angus grinned. He wiggled over to it, and rubbed the closest strand against the steel. His rope began to fray, then it broke. Turning, Angus repeated the procedure until he could move his arms. Then he cut the ropes binding his hands, then grabbed the sword and sliced away the remaining bonds. He rose and stretched. His joints creaked, and he shook himself all over.

Considering the door, he decided the best way out was through the barred window. The bars were designed to keep in giants, not humans, after all. Tying the rope lengths together, he pushed the end through and around one of the bars with his sword.

Nudging that end into reach with the blade was more difficult, but once he had hold of the end, he quickly pulled it even with its twin. He tied them together and tugged the construct thoughtfully. It would have to do. He got rope burn trying to climb up, and fell a couple of times. Eventually he reached the window ledge.

He barely fit through the bars.

Sliding past them, he pulled his rope along and used it to climb down the other side. His rescuer was nowhere in sight. He’d have guessed it was Oakley, but his friend—although tall-- was nowhere near tall enough to drop Angus’ sword through the bars. If he had been, he would have dropped the keys, too.

Shaking off the question, he crept down the corridor. He kept his breathing steady and deep—quiet—despite the sharp pains that were plaguing him. He must have cracked another rib.

Rounding the corner, he heard distant voices, and dived into another cell. Keeping the door ajar, he hid behind it, anxiously trying to keep his pained breaths from rasping.

“Zealots.” Angus heard as the giants came into hearing range.

“But there’s no way—”

“They have spies, they’re well organized.”

“Still, there’s no way to know for—why would they want to free him?”

“Who knows? They’re Zealots.”

Angus heard thick hair flopping as one of them shook their head. “This is crazy—let’s hope it’s ill-founded.”

The two continued on. When their footsteps went around the corner, Angus slipped from his hiding place and crept down the hallway. He turned left at the next fork, grateful there were no giants to stop him. It seemed to Angus that there were a great deal more passages than giants. He continued on, choosing the quieter halls when faced with a choice. Eventually he came to a dark room and sighed. Some of these, he remembered, had blocked exits.

This one’s window had been stuffed with some kind of cloth, and he pulled it out in wads. Crawling out, he tried to re-stuff it with little success. Climbing back in, he tied all the rags together then pulled the bundle up behind him. Hopefully, as long as the room was dark now, they wouldn’t notice the difference.

Lying low in the smooth trench entrance, he peered up at the topside world. The packed dirt had turned grey, and the strange ravines were less prevalent, now. Angus listened for the buzzing. Nothing but set silence reigned. He stuck his head up out of the ravine.

A half-mile away, another human did the same.

Oakley turned, grinned and began to bound across the grey plain. Angus rose to meet him, and they embraced.

“I thought you were dead meat.” Oakley whispered.

“Me too. Radicals or something rescued me.”

“I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Angus put his hands on Oakley’s shoulders. “My brother.” He decided. “My younger one.” He added cheekily.

“How do you know I’m not older? I’m taller, after all.”

“Intuition.”

Oakley snorted.

They ducked into another dip in the ground, checking it for windows, and traveled along it.

“Did you make any progress towards the crown?”

Oakley shook his head. “There are no leads. What does it even look like?”

“Well?” Angus asked, looking vaguely towards the ground.

There was no reply.

“No idea,” Angus said. “I supposed it’s a crown of some kind.”

Oakley chuckled. “I’m sure.”

They continued towards the city. Neither of them could say how they knew where it was, but they walked the same direction without discussing it.

Soon it appeared on the horizon, black and magnificent. It sprawled untidily across the grey landscape. Surrounding it was a moat of charcoal, of fallen logs—the kind you find in a campfire after the flames have died. Farther out, large buildings of stone reared—burnt black. They blocked the horizon with their girth, still surrounded by charcoal. The whole city looked as if smoke should be rising above it, but no ashes floated on the wind. Buildings in the center of the city were nothing more than tall, metallic skeletons —like groves of metal trees, their canopy welded in geometric patterns. The air began to feel sick the closer they got, thick and smelling of bad eggs and foot fungus. The brothers tied handkerchiefs around their faces, trying to ward off the bouts of coughing which sprung upon them unawares. These fits were especially painful for Angus, who was still nursing two cracked ribs. His breathing began to sound raspy and coarse, as if his lungs were made of tar paper. They rested often.

When they reached the edge of the charcoal ring, they paused. Angus sat on the ground, panting at the black expanse.

“Come on,” Oakley said. “You can make it.”

Angus nodded. “I don’t give up,” he said. “But I do rest.”

Oakley looked at him for a moment, then sat beside him.

“So,” Angus said. “We might die in there. You ready?”

Oakley studied the ground. “Yeah.” He said.

“Good,” Angus said, stumbling to his feet. “Let’s go.”

The charcoal dust made Angus and Oakley cough. It stained the legs of their pants and stuck to their eyelashes.

Angus looked down at himself. “I’m a moor.” He joked.

Oakley rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“I think it is.”

“Oh, excuse me, center of the universe. Didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

“Easy,” Angus said. He would have said more, but a fit of coughing gripped him. He held his ribs, nearly crying from pain. Oakley looked at the ground, where their feet stirred up black dust.

“Sorry.” He said.

“It’s fine.” Angus replied. They kept walking.

The band of burnt remains was about a mile wide, and soon they were on more solid turf. Charcoal dust still floated on the wind, but the ground was mostly composed of rocky turf. The shadow of the bulky buildings swallowed them up, and the sky became a thin grey strip overhead. The paints had been shades of blacks and browns and greys, it seemed, when Jokim had colored this stretch of the world. Angus held his hands up to the dim light and frowned.

“I can see why the giants live underground.” He said.

Oakley just nodded.

They camped at the base of one of the taller buildings. They were loath to go inside, but Oakley popped inside the building for a moment.

“It’s empty.” He said.

They still camped outside. In the morning Angus watched the sunrise come in greys and greens and pinks. Rising, he woke Oakley.

“Huh?”

“Morning.”

“Right.”

They walked on.

Halfway through the morning, Angus stopped.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“You alright?” Oakley asked.

“Look.” Angus said, pointing.

Growing up the side of a grey wall, a dark green vine clambered towards the dim sun. Its flowers were a rich purple. Angus stared at it as if he were hungry.

“Is it spring?” He asked.

“I dunno,” Oakley replied. “Could be.”

Angus smiled. “Let’s get moving.”

“Ai,” Oakley replied. “Not like you were the one who stopped.”

Angus ignored him studiously.

Oakley snorted, inhaled a puff of charcoal dust, and spluttered. Angus patted his back, he coughed up what he could, and they kept moving.

As the sun began to tip towards the horizon, Angus started to see flickers in the shadows around them. Large shadows. Angus picked up the pace.

When it was time to camp, he shook his head at Oakley.

“No,” Oakley replied. “You’re not fit to keep walking.”

“Giants, following us.”

“Then we’ll face them. You sleep.”

“Reckless.”

“Bold, my friend.” He posed. “Oakley the bold.”

Angus chortled, and regretted it. His friend sighed.

“I’m tired, too,” Oakley said. “We need to stop.”

Angus nodded, and curled up on the cracked rocks. He closed his eyes, but was unable to sleep. Finally, he rose to get out his bedroll and found that the stars had risen. They sparkled through the haze as if it were a veil. Angus unrolled his bed and sat on it. Oakley had passed out sitting up, leaning against his sword. Angus rolled his brother in arms onto a bedroll, then went to his own. Getting out his sword, he gripped it as he slept.

Oakley woke him gruffly and they both continued, compelled on by their destination.

By the end of the journey, they were both very aware of the following giants. They walked just out of sight. They could see them from the corner of their eye—hear them, even, as they breathed like a blacksmith’s bellows. But when they turned, the creatures had leapt aside as if by some sixth sense. Neither of them spoke during this final stretch. Neither did their unwanted companions.

The center of the city was amidst the tangle of tall, tall metal frames. The sun shone there, unblocked by solid walls. The reaching structures sparkled behind their black guise. Oakley and Angus slowed. Stepping past the final metal column, they came into a space clear of buildings or frames or thick layers of charcoal. It spanned about a half mile and was paved with one piece of shiny, black stone.

Angus looked down at his reflection, in the stone, as they walked. He was pale, and had bags under his eyes. His thin frame looked as if it might blow away in the next gust of wind. Smiling, he looked to his right and left. To his right was Oakley. To his left was a shy giant, who skipped away. It looked young. He wondered how many there were.

They all wandered into the square. Angus could feel the giant’s eyes boring into his back. There was one by his side, again.

In the center of the center, the heart of the dead city, there was a small hole. It was the width of Angus’ arm, but he couldn’t see its bottom.

“This is it.” Angus said.

“How do we get it out?” Oakley asked.

“I don’t know.” Angus rocked back on his heels thoughtfully. He squinted at their reflections. The giants had disappeared from them. He stood, and looked around the square. They were hiding among the pillars of metal. Not a single one was standing on the polished black stone. “I don’t think we’re supposed—”

Oakley cried out in pain.

Angus turned just in time to step out of the way of an enormous club. Looking up, up, up, he saw the face of a monolith of a person, which sneered down at him. It was at least twenty-five feet tall. Angus dodged another crushing blow. He saw Oakley holding his leg at the edge of the square. The leg was bleeding and bent.

Angus ducked the swing of its huge boot, and pulled out his sword. He hopped out of the way as it stamped its foot at him, then ducked a swing of the gnarled looking club. Dashing towards the monster’s pantleg, he climbed it. The weave was loose, and Angus used it as a ladder. The giant swatted at him, and he dropped, burning his hands on the thick threads. He could feel it preparing another blow, and he tensed. It came at him, and he darted upwards as fast as he could. The creature’s flesh rippled and Angus held on. Then he kept climbing. He adjusted his course as the great hands came down. The club was flung aside carelessly, clanging against the bare structures bordering the square.

A huge thumb narrowly missed Angus’ head, and he barreled to one side. He lost his foothold and dangled by his arms for half a moment before the giant tipped back again, slamming him into its chest. Angus grunted and scrambled onto the monster’s collarbone. The creature covered its neck with a hand, and Angus dove out of the way, rolling onto the shoulder. He dashed towards the spinal cord and jabbed it with his sword.

The monster roared, and shook itself. Angus held onto his sword. His knuckles went white. When the monster stopped shaking, he hacked at the spine. There was only so much of it he could reach. Moaning, the creature dropped its fist and crumpled to one side. Angus felt gravity disappear for a moment as they toppled towards the ground.

Then the world was a merry go round of colors and pain.

When he woke Oakley was lying beside him, trying to fend off a lynx the size of a sheep. He must’ve succeeded, because when Angus woke a second time, he was still alive.

Angus looked around and found Oakley about ten feet away. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. He had another deep cut across his face, and a smaller one on his right upper arm. His leg bled as well, twisted at a horrible angle—Angus could see white bone showing through.

As for Angus, he could not rise. His lower back pulsed with pain. It centered on his spinal cord.

The group of giants—zealots, Angus guessed—gathered in around them. Tentatively, they picked up Oakley, cradling him like a child’s doll. Others picked up Angus. He squirmed, but they ignored it. Sobbing, he reached for Oakley. He found nothing but air.

The giant who held him shushed him solemnly. Walking across the black clearing, they stopped at the center. The Draibais blood dripped into the narrow hole, and it disappeared. A gold and red crown bubbled up from the stone, bobbed, and sat still on the surface.

A zealot picked it up, and crouched beside Angus.

“Remember us.” He whispered. Then he placed the crown on Angus’ head.

Sheer power filled his bones, warm and pulsing. His eyes glowed black. The giants shrank back, fleeing. He could see them running—running back to their holes and dank dens. They would have been easy to end, then, their small lives burning like matches in a great darkness. He didn’t. The small lights went out anyways, as their fellow giants killed them.

He turned to see inwards. The wounds that had plagued him seemed miniscule. He looked to Oakley, and saw that his life force flickered. Reaching out, he healed his brother. Then he healed himself.

Rising to his feet, he stared around at the dead center of a dead city. Black rock, black buildings, a trench of black dust, and miles and miles of grey earth. He tossed his head back and laughed.

The city came back to life. Green vines burst into every burnt shell of a building, climbed up the stripped towers. The charcoal dust turned to water, settling down in a mist around them. It began to rain. The rocky earth churned, bringing soil to the surface. Grass sprung up in the damp turf, and below the new ground Angus felt the old tunnels and reinforced them. The vines blossomed, and purple flowers were everywhere.

A wave of greenery swept into the land surrounding the city. Grey dirt turned a rich black, and grass and trees shot up as the rain fell. A stream formed, running until it became a small river, spreading in streamlets over the land.

Angus laughed and laughed and laughed.

Then he blacked out.

Oakley shook him awake. “You’ve got the crown.” He said. His eyes were weary, although his face had only two thin scars.

Angus rose. His head pounded, but otherwise, he felt better than he’d been in weeks.

“What happened to the city?” Oakley asked.

“It’s the crown,” Angus said. “It’s—it’s very powerful.”

“You did it, then?”

Angus nodded.

“Good job.” Oakley said, looking up at the towers, which were now clothed in purple and green. Beyond them, the stars shone clean and bright. They seemed to dance, unveiled and sparkling. “This is a good thing to do.”

Angus nodded. A lump was in his throat, so he stared at the black stone they still stood on.

“You left it?” Oakley asked, seeing where Angus looked.

“It seemed to belong.”

And it did. The black square made a good center for the city. Around it, things spread out in a roughly geometric pattern. The city was a strange, vine-covered place, now, but it was still a city and that square would have been the thrumming heart of it, a bustling place filled with dickering and hawking and people. The stone still remembered them, and to take it away would have been to remove the city itself.

They both stood and found their bags stranded in the mud. There was only enough food for a week’s walk. They hiked north in contemplative silence. Passing the tall structures. Passing the low buildings, now blanketed in vines and thick foliage. Passing the moat of charcoal, which was now a boggy place with a red stone bridge across.

As they walked into what was once the grey land, the terrain became unfamiliar, so they navigated by the heavens. All around them were trees filled with blossoms and young fruit. They walked on thick, soft grass—the kind found in the meadow pass. The thin blades waved gently as animals and breezes passed through them. Angus and Oakley hunted and gathered for food. They still went hungry, sometimes, but after all that time in the black city the hunger pangs seemed trivial. They ate enough.

It took longer than a week—but shorter than a second full moon—for them to reach the hill at the edge of the desert. It had been an island of green, once, but now it was a peninsula. They camped on it that evening.

The stillness of the place filled his sleep, and he dreamed of morning dew, and leaves trembling in a fall gust, and the whisper of air between clutching fingers.

Then he woke, halfway through a dream, to find himself in a wide meadow, filled with wildflowers. Cerias was standing in it, picking flowers. He stood beside her, then reached out and took her hand.

She froze. “Hey Angus.”

“Hey.”

“I guess we’re both asleep at the same time, huh?”

“Yeah. Miss you.”

“You too.”

They sat down amidst the brightly colored flowers and listened to the bees hum. The scent of grass and dirt and honeysuckle hung in the air.

“Angus?”

“Yes?”

“Things have changed, haven’t they? For both of us.”

“Yes.”

She put her head on his shoulder and wept.

He woke perturbed.

Rising, he walked up to the crown of the hill. Before them spread out the long, lean stretch of desert. Light stretched across it in the early morning, creating stark shadows.

Oakley stepped up beside him.

He pointed. “The Ble.” It was a thin blue line in the distance. “It’s done flooding, now. People will be out planting water crops. The camps will be gathered opposite the villages, and no one will mind.” He shrugged. “You’ll be home soon, friend.”

“And where will you go, Oakley?”

There was a long silence. “I don’t know.”

They filled their water bags and set out to cross the desert.