Lydia blinked.

One second, Hannah’s arm reached for her. The next, nothing. There was only empty air and a gnarled oak behind it.

She tensed. The impact rattled her ribs and cracked her neck, rough bark scraping through clothes and flesh.

Ow.

Groaning, she stood. Her leg gave, pain lancing up her hip. With a hiss, she fingered it, shaping quintessence and knitting the fractured bone back together.

Taking flight again, she ignored the stabbing branches and ascended through the canopy. Blood welled from scratches on her face, dripping down her nose. As irritating, itchy, and draining as it was, she couldn’t afford to deal with it right now.

Her lift had left without her.

Bitterness crept up her throat. It couldn’t have been on purpose, could it?

Impossible.

Even if Hannah was angry, she wouldn’t go that far. And Dr. Wen was an idiot, but he wasn’t malicious. Which left the obvious answer—that it was another malfunction—and their ‘fixing’ the HARDON had been more akin to slapping duct tape on a sinkhole.

Naturally, they’d return for her. But when? Where? They’d aimed for Jack and ended up in a forest miles from him, three weeks after he landed.

It was a lottery.

This being the case, she decided not to worry too much. She’d leave breadcrumbs, of course, but there was no sense camping somewhere they wouldn’t land.

So she soared, the wind stinging her cuts. Jack had landed over the hills. Granted, that had been three weeks before, but the trail had to start somewhere. Colourful shapes blurred with green beneath her, a sweet smell drifting up her nostrils. A pigeon twittered next to her.

“Be quiet,” she said.

She would find Jack, but what came after? Were they supposed to sit and wait?

That was too reactive.

And what if she couldn’t track him? Would she remain there forever, some spinster in a cabin in the middle of nowhere?

No.

As well as Jack, she’d find them another way home. All her schemes and plans and manoeuvres had ceased to matter—her chest hurt, and it wasn’t just her ribs. It constricted, a lump forming in her throat when she thought of Hannah. An apology was due, for being…

Selfish, she thought. And perhaps she had been. Perhaps she was. But she knew she needed to get back as quickly as possible. With Jack. It had to be the three of them.

She couldn’t explain it, but she felt better with them. Like they filled some part of her she’d never realised was empty.

Finally, she crested the hills, revealing more of the same. Fields to the horizon—these had houses and crops and livestock—trees flanking them, and a lake some distance away. There was one difference. Next to the lake sat a cluster of dirty buildings.

Civilisation.

She gawked.

***

Salia trembled in time with the beanstalk, halting as she stared down. “Why? Why would they go so far?”

“Probably shoulda mentioned this before,” said Jack, pressing his lips together, “people can be dicks.”

“You’re not,” she countered.

“You just don’t know me well enough.” Bracing against her neck, he scrutinised the commotion. It was too small to make out, but a squad of villagers appeared to be hacking the magical plant down. Wonderful. “How long until we hit the top?”

“A—another day, I think.” Her breaths grew deep and ragged, her eyes like dinner plates. “Oh god, what do we do?”

He rubbed her shoulder, massaging coiled muscles. “Calm down.” The beanstalk was thick, and tough, but they didn’t need to slice all the way through.

Only far enough to make it topple.

Which, given how top-heavy it was, wouldn’t be far. A little more than halfway? Regardless, it wouldn’t take them a day.

And even if it did, wasn’t the top more dangerous? Having a castle didn’t mean it wouldn’t fall. With a full complement of villagers chopping like their lives depended on it, he gave them a couple of hours, at best.

“Oh well,” said Razor, her voice light and cheery. “Nice try, matey, but it’s time for you to abandon ship.”

Like hell! I can’t just leave her.

“Of course you can. It’s easy. Say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and walk away.”

We’re not in a relationship!

“See, you’re getting over her already.”

Put a sock in it. He palmed his forehead. I’m not sending her to her death.

“I’ve been thinking this for a while, but you’re not responsible for everybody. Some things aren’t your problem.”

“We have to get down,” he finally said. “No other choice. How long?”

She sputtered. “A couple of hours, but wouldn’t we be right on top of them?”

“Go around the other side?” he said.

Whining, she shuffled across, features sagging. “It’ll take an hour to get across.”

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

He sighed. “That’s a bit long… you could always jump again?”

“What?” she said, mouth agape. “That’s the same problem!”

“Not really. Doubt any of them would survive it.”

“That’s even worse; we can’t kill them!”

“Why not? They’re trying to kill us.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Because it’s wrong!”

He shrugged. “Alright then. Just laying out the options.”

“Then please don’t offer options that involve murder.”

“Honestly, that woulda been more like ‘natural disaster’…” A glare skewered him, and he gulped. Damn. Who knew that soft gaze could turn so terrifying? Her size helped, but the main thing was he knew she was right.

He was too weak. No matter how he tried, he could never convince his opponents of a better choice.

Someone always ended up dead.

“Okay,” he said, “no murder plans. But if it’s us or them, I choose us.”

“That’s fair,” she said, nodding. “But I’d rather you—”

The beanstalk gave way.

Salia plunged down, still gripping it, while he flipped off and into the open air.

This was too familiar.

He screamed.

***

Across farms and fields lay a giant beanstalk. Its jagged base nestled against the hills’ slopes, and it stretched into what seemed like eternity. She’d be unsurprised to turn around and notice the other end. After picking up her chin, Lydia wondered where it had come from. How old was it? How could something that massive support its own weight?

The last question only had one answer.

She searched around for any recently chopped green stumps, but saw nothing. Given the lack of colossal drag marks furrowed into the dirt, the base couldn’t be far.

Wait.

A pair of hills were levelled, mounds and lumps bubbling on their sides. One was in two halves. From the fall? Had its weight dragged the bottom over? A cool breeze caressed her skin as she swooped down the way she’d come, scanning the green expanse.

She found it not far from where she started, thick enough to house a village on its own. Half of it looked like it had been hacked apart, splinters and twigs jutting out at all angles, while the other half appeared torn, sticky dew pouring from uneven edges. Something acrid crawled up her nose.

Why could she smell smoke?

Rubbernecking, she scouted for any wreckage or signs of fire, but found nothing. Did this matter? Why did she care so much?

She knew before she asked herself.

Magic.

Wherever it was, he wouldn’t be far behind. Knowing Jack, he’d likely been at the centre of whatever ridiculous chain of events led to this.

It was strenuous, but it was a lead.

Reascending, she surveyed the length of the beanstalk. This required her to fly along it, the scent of manure growing stronger as she went.

She gagged.

The fallen vines had come down on copses, livestock, and even a couple houses, crushing without discrimination. A few people tried clearing the damage, despondent. Even so far above, the air was heavy.

Others harvested beans.

What mystified her was the pile of rubble at the top. This indeed existed, beyond a rearranged river and several unnaturally flat farmhouses. Why fell it if it would cause so much damage? People would only tolerate so much before biting back.

Had it been her, she’d have simply vapourised it.

It might have been a castle, or a fortress. Who knew? All that remained was a mound of broken stone.

She spotted a farmer picking at a branch and alighted next to him. He jumped.

“Oh, heavenly father!” His accent was Scottish, but enunciated. He stood a head taller than her, neck thick and knotted, his cheeks round and ruddy. Peasant garb adorned him: a dirty, off-white shirt, and torn trousers held up with rope.

“Not quite,” said Lydia, giving him her friendliest grin. This was, admittedly, not very friendly, but it would have to do. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

“Um, well…” He stammered and swallowed, clenching his fists. “The, uh, the beanstalk fell over.”

“Did it?” she said, biting her tongue. “Thank you for the clarification. What made it fall?”

“The, uh, men from the village chopped it down.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because of the giant at the top.”

She paused. A giant? Atop a beanstalk? Had she wandered into a book of fairy tales? Anything was possible, but when she considered it, she’d seen stranger things. Moreover, she suspected she knew where Jack had ended up.

“This giant,” she said, “did it have a companion, perhaps?”

His shoulders bunched, the farmer glanced around. “Aye, now you mention it, there’s apparently a trickster running around with it. Made a mockery of honest men, I hear. Might be possessed.”

She smirked. That sounded like her quarry with a side order of embarrassment. He wasn’t any trickster, but a possessed one. What had he done? This could make excellent ammunition, as long as it didn’t kill him before she got there.

But they’d both survived worse.

She grinned. “And do you happen to know where they went?”

“Didn’t see it myself—you’d have to ask in the village.”

“Is that so?” she said, rocketing into the air and leaving his slack form behind. He’d been edgy, but coherent enough. She knew her next step.

***

Falling, blah blah, still falling, more blah, splat, etcetera.

Boring. His stomach didn’t even somersault anymore, and the wind felt more like a lover’s caress than a force tearing his skin away.

“Jack!” Salia lunged, brushing his fingers. She waved and wobbled her arms to avoid flipping.

Maybe he should try that.

“Maybe you should try taking her hand.”

I thought you wanted me to walk away?

“That was before the death scene, idiot!”

Flailing, he grabbed at her, but grasped nothing. His heart fluttered. Would this be it?

Another hand brushed his. Then, it wrapped around him, pulling him into darkness for a couple of seconds.

Boom.

The shockwaves reverberated through Salia and into him, bouncing him on her palm as his teeth chattered. Dust surrounded them, and he coughed when it invaded his throat. She opened her fingers.

At the stump stood a team of men too far to make out, but their celebrations were clear. Cheering and raising axes was a universal gesture.

Beneath them was another ruined hill, their landing having split it in half. On the hill next to him was a catapult.

Why did a tiny medieval village have a catapult?

Father Joshua stood next to it with a squad of burly farmers. “Turn!”

Jack slapped Salia’s wrist. “Run like Boris from a TV interview!” He braced himself.

“The only one of those words I understood was ‘run’!” She hopped out the crater and launched into a dash.

Her left leg buckled.

“Agh!” she screamed, staggering to a halt. “I’m sorry, I think I—”

“Loose!”

A twang rang out. Scrambling up her forearm, he noted a fireball whistling toward her back.

“Well,” he said, drawing Razor, “fuck that.” He leaped off, cartwheeling through the air and slashing. The heat overwhelmed him, singing his skin, and he winced.

Two lumps of flickering cloth thumped to the ground.

Looking down at nothing, he clicked his tongue. “Oh, yeah.” Having been gravity’s bitch so often recently, he must have felt defiant.

Before his descent began, a slab of meat cushioned him. He wobbled as Salia whipped around and ran again, huffing at him. “Don’t do that!”

He scoffed. “Do what, protect you?”

“I’m immortal, it’s not me who’s life’s in danger—you dragged me down here, you’re not allowed to die!”

“What, so that’s my fault?” Furrowing his brow, he frowned. “I distinctly remember something about wanting to find your own answer.”

“Loose!” The cry was distant, but still audible.

“I do,” she said, “but you gave me the idea. Take responsibility.”

“What a peach you’ve found yourself.”

It had been his idea to descend the beanstalk, and his words that inspired her to do so. That much was true. But was he compelled by feelings of responsibility? Or was it something else?

That question didn’t feel like one that needed an answer. Not right now. Hadn’t he resolved himself to his path, anyway?

Come hell or high water, he was going home.

She cringed, unsteady steps faltering further as she hissed. It hurt her. They hurt her.

“Head for the forest,” he said. “You can fit in there, right? And don’t worry—I don’t plan on kicking the bucket any time soon.”

Turning, she struggled onward, but each step was one closer to safety. He stroked her wrist, giving encouragement.

“You have your own journey too, don’t you?” Though it faltered, her smile shone in the moonlight.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

She peered into him. “Well, you can’t check out before you finish it, can you? So you’re stuck with me.”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. Even under threat of death and mutilation, the idea of her thinking he could be stuck with her tickled him.

He’d invited her for a reason.

She pouted. “What’s so funny?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sighing, he pivoted, observing the approaching tree-line. “Now, bring me that horizon.”

A branch took him in the face.