Telekinesis.

The art of moving objects with one’s mind. It wasn’t that simple, of course—like all magic, it had a process.

First, she grasped quintessence, which drove the workings of every physical law. It was a primordial force, but not a single, homogenous mass: it had shades. Different forms sparking different reactions. Finding the correct one was like sifting through mud to find some slightly wetter mud.

Then, it needed to be directed. Mishandled quintessence could produce some… interesting results. She sought a ring of kinetic force exuding from her, so she found the fuel. The world was full of random, dissipated energy waiting to be converted, and she harvested in bulk. Lesser minds would have melted.

After this, one step remained. The trigger. Converting fuel into effect with no more than a thought.

There was no sound. It was energy, and she controlled that. The men holding her were first to die, ripped away and crunched into walls. Crash! Buildings crumbled, clouds of dust rising as wreckage flew.

Walking through would have been suicide. Even standing still, chunks of wall and roof threatened to gut her, necessitating a shield. She smiled grimly when her pyre exploded. She baulked when half of it cannoned toward her.

Windmill blades fragmented, then fell in a hail of disaster—skewering any who had survived her initial blast, and a few who hadn’t—and the structure itself creaked and toppled, shattering in a deafening wooden explosion.

A pungent stench jammed itself up her nose. The force had torn into the crowd, punching the life out of everything, loose limbs and viscera littering the ground around her. Corpses rested at odd angles, some impaled on chunks of wood.

Shrapnel pinned most bodies. Surveying the damage, Lydia felt a twinge in her midsection. That had been stronger than she’d intended. If they were all dead, who was she supposed to question?

Groaning.

It was around thirty feet away, apart from the rest of the corpses. Striding over, she found Joshua crawling away. Though one arm jutted in the wrong direction, he struggled through the dirt, his features bloodied and haggard.

When he saw her, he dragged himself harder. “Stay away, heathen!”

“Now, now…” Smirking, she trod on the fingers of his working hand, eliciting a crack. “Are you sure you don’t wish to revise your attitude?”

“Burn in hell,” said Joshua.

“Very well,” she said. “Enjoy yourself.” Her senses struck out, prodding his nerves. He yelped. All bodily sensations came from electrical signals sent and received by the brain. She could overload his pain receptors with the same effort it took to yawn.

He screamed, hoarse and rough, his back arching painfully. His spine popped. Sweat poured down his forehead, his mouth twisted in agony, and he writhed around. Pounding the ground, he grit his teeth.

“Now,” she said, grinning, “how do you feel about a little chat?”

He spat at her feet.

She shuddered. She’d always loved it when they played hard-to-get. Her heels itched, though; she had a greater purpose. How to make him talk?

Curling her lip, she doubled her intensity. His cries filled her with gooey satisfaction.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!” he shrieked. “Please! Mercy!”

Shoving her foot into his shoulder, she levered him over, restraining him. She pasted on her sweetest smile. “Thank you so much, Father. Tell me, this Giant I’ve heard of, did she happen to have somebody with her? A scruffy-looking man with a sword, perhaps?”

Joshua nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“Where did they go?”

“Into the woods.”

She readied to finish him. He shook his head, crying and begging. She stopped. Why bother? This man had tried to immolate her, seen his entire communion butchered before him, then grovelled. Whatever grand design he thought he was part of had fallen apart. He’d lost everything.

A fitting revenge for his lame attempt at murder.

With a throaty chuckle, she took off toward the forest.

***

“So,” said Jack awkwardly, “beans.”

He sat across from the witch—Esmeralda—astride a stool almost too small to hold him. Between them was a table, holding a crystal ball and bones and ashes. The room was cosy, with a bed, the table, a hearth, and not much else, the smooth walls covered by hanging portraits and mysterious objects. Was that a rhino skull?

It smelled of cut wood and a million other things, ranging from fruit and ocean to rot and urine. His brain wobbled.

Though small, the witch’s abode was almost twice as tall as Salia. Chittering jays nested at the top. Twenty-five feet up, in the wall facing her, a massive hatch stood open, Salia’s curious expression staring through.

“Beans,” said Esmeralda, sighing, “it’s always beans, innit? I can see your past and your future, every dirty little secret you’ve yet to know, and you want to talk to me about beans.” She cradled her face. “Figures.”

Jack frowned. Of course he didn’t want to talk about beans! What the hell else was he meant to start with? ‘Hello, I’m from the future and my friend over there wants to not get lynched everywhere she goes’ wasn’t exactly icebreaker material. Luckily, something else caught his attention.

“Ask her, then. And slice her afterwards. It’s been so long since I’ve tasted—”

No.

“But—”

No.

“The future?” said Jack. “Alright, then—what’s mine?”

Her eyes went white. Esmeralda spread her arms, shuddering and shaking as she groaned, a dark, heavy air enshrouding her. The table rattled as her knees trembled. Eventually, her irises returned, piercing into his.

“One seeks you,” she said.

The image of a backstabbing priest popped up, and he fought the urge to clap slowly.

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“No shit,” he said. “What’s next, Bruce was a ghost all along?”

“Not that one!” She waved it away. “Another. You should mark your passing for this one… she is a witch.”

He blinked. “Why are you looking for me? I’m right in front of you.”

“Fool! I speak of the black sorceress, with whose heart you have connected.”

Black. The symbolism couldn’t be that simple, could it? It couldn’t be this easy, could it? All he had to do was carve his name into a few trees and Lydia would find him?

That sounded too good to be true. Had she fallen through the wormhole, too? What had that thing been? Could he use it to get home?

One thing at a time; even if she was there, she was probably as stuck as him.

“You could have been thinking about this when you were climbing beanstalks and seducing Giants, you know.”

“There is more,” said Esmeralda. “I see a demon, the same I see in your past, when—”

“That’s enough of that, thank you!” His stool clattered as he stood, gesticulating. Panic flooded his throat. “One prophecy is all I need for the day.”

Salia considered him, then said, “What about me?”

With a lilting moan, Esmeralda entered her trance again. Jack stared as she vibrated. She thumped the table, brow creased, her sight snapping to Salia.

Her aura screamed pain.

“You,” she said, “will live out the rest of your days in happiness.” Gasping, she clutched her chest.

“Well, that was rather anticlimactic.”

What were you expecting?

“For her to turn green and become the face of corporate beans.”

The image of a green bean in a suit strolled across his imagination, and he fought not to giggle.

“That’s good.” Salia smiled through the hatch, and he could swear the room brightened. “So I should just keep doing what I’m doing, right? And then my dream comes true.”

“That seems to be the point the fates are making, yeah.”

Jack glanced back at her. “Your dream?”

“Yep. I’m going to live in peace with the humans, and see every corner of this world! Also, um…” She blushed, hedging. “I—”

Esmeralda scowled. “No, none of that, please. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He bristled. How rude could you get? Obviously that had been something personal, so why interrupt her? What had she been about to say?

Razor sighed. “Can’t you tell?”

Enlighten me.

She said nothing.

Huffing, Jack regarded Esmeralda. “Beans.”

Holding out her hand, she replied, “Gold.”

***

Jack and Salia fell over themselves to avoid goggling at each other. They were at the edge of the clearing, dawdling as they readied to leave. The sun was still high. Viscous breeze rolled over them. They had the beans, after lengthy negotiations that had almost ended with him paying a portion of his soul. They’d settled on sixty-seven acorns and a leaf shaped like a dog.

Salia’s quest was clear, and so was his. He’d carved a penis with wings into the trees at the entrances. Lydia would know what it meant. Probably.

Esmeralda also held a message, telling her to bring chocolate, so he’d covered his bases. All that remained was for them to leave the forest. They’d find a settlement, plant their seeds, then negotiate with the locals. Food for security. It was a decent plan, but he couldn’t shake the emptiness pervading his stomach.

People could be awful. They might attack her, but they might also use her, or take advantage of her endless kindness.

Still, it had given her energy. Purpose. So, he was behind it.

It required them to move, though, which they weren’t.

Instead, they idled. A million different words bustled on the edge of his tongue, fighting to get out. If he opened his mouth, which would escape?

Screw it.

“What did she mean?” blurted Salia. “When she said she saw a demon in your past?”

His cognitions halted. To get to those memories, he had to climb through all the heartbreak he’d shoved on top.

That was awful enough.

“Nothing,” he said, studying the dirt.

“Smooth,” said Razor. “Nothing says ‘healthy relationship’ like lies with a side order of insecurity.”

You know what? No-one asked you!

“I asked myself, and I was satisfied with the answer.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Salia, crouching down to peer at him. “You stopped her before she said anything else, but that was really personal, wasn’t it? You seemed spooked.”

Swallowing, he turned away. “Because I was.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I was just curious.”

“It’s fine. A, uh—a demon slaughtered my entire family.” Flickers of flames menaced his psyche. “I was seventeen. When he was done, he looked at me, saw me, and you know what he did?” The phantom stench of offal plugged his nostrils, the taste of copper coating his tongue. Flashes. Entrails. Corpses.

Him.

“He laughed,” continued Jack. “All I could do was watch, then run.” Contemplating the leaves, he sighed. “I dunno if I ever stopped.”

Salia nodded. “I understand. Not the demon part, but I know what it’s like to lose someone.”

“What happened?” he said, chewing his lip. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

He’d take any excuse not to think about Belial.

She tapped him, and lightning coursed through him. “It’s okay. I didn’t live at the top of a beanstalk all my life, you know? When I was young, I lived with my papa. We had this beautiful little farm—though I guess it’d be huge, to you—and we were happy. There were even humans nearby, but they didn’t bother us.

“Papa always said living things were friends, so we shouldn’t hurt them. And we didn’t. Even if people came from far away and tried to hurt us, we didn’t respond. The village had a food shortage one year.” She sniffled. “Papa, without saying anything, dragged an entire sack of potatoes to them.

“No-one mentioned it until the next year. Then they asked for more. But he said no, because they’d harvested enough that time. So they decided to get rid of him.”

His heart crawled into his throat.

“Oh, boo-hoo.”

“They poisoned our harvest,” she said. “That night, I felt sick, so I didn’t eat much. But papa stuffed his face. It went purple as he choked on his own tongue; I could barely move. Then they came in, giggling to themselves about how good their year would be, and stole our entire crop.” Her expression darkened. “I wanted to go and find them, tear their puny heads off their bodies and make them suffer like I was.

“But even if I did that, he’d still be gone. I’d still be alone. So I took the only beans we had left and planted them, then lived at the top of the stalk.” She wiped her eyes. “Until I met you.”

He stood stunned. How was he meant to respond to that? All the times he’d tried to understand, all the things he’d said, it felt so stupid. Frivolous. When she’d refused to fight, he’d subconsciously judged it weakness. Jumping to her protection, he hadn’t even stopped to wonder.

She’d been upholding a memory.

He’d worried about her plan, and chalked it up to naivety. But that wasn’t it.

She was hopeful.

“She’s staring at you.”

Her head cocked, she scanned him with an expression akin to a lost kitten.

A neuron sparked.

“How did they know about the poison?” he said. “And if they dosed your food, why steal it?”

“Apparently, it has no effect on humans.” She straightened. “I heard them talking, like they were bragging. A Giant Hunter told them.”

“A what?”

“You don’t know? You humans hunt just about everything.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his scalp. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be!” she said, beaming. “You’ve given me lots of good memories.”

Fluff saturated his chest. Even if their path was jumbled with thorns, he didn’t care—his life had never been easy.

“Let’s go make some more.”

“Please, excuse me while I vomit.”

***

Fingering the sword on his belt, Levi studied his surroundings. What had previously been a village was now a muddy mess of stone and wood and corpses, like Hell itself had visited here. Silence reigned. The stink of death hung in lifeless air, and his innards churned. Debris splintered beneath his boots.

He kicked it aside. To the west were the remains of a pyre—who had been set to burn?

There. South-east, down a path, leaning against a crumbling stone wall. He hurried over, checking for signs of life.

A pulse. Faint, but present. The man’s left arm—which hung limp—was crooked and disjointed, sweat soaking his robes and crimson flecking his chin. He was middle-aged, bald, and a little shorter than Levi. A priest, if his bloodied collar was anything to go by.

Levi shook his good shoulder. “Father?”

“I told you, I don’t know anything else!” He woke, gasping. “I—you—”

“A bad dream, Father.” Producing a waterskin from his satchel, he offered it to the priest. “What happened here?”

The Father drank greedily. “The witch happened… she is gone?”

He stiffened. As well as his prey, there was a witch to deal with?

“Which one?” he said. “East, or West?”

“Neither, my son. You are the Hunter, I presume?”

“Correct.” He watched the hills, where a beanstalk had once pierced the clouds. “Generations ago, my family sealed a Giant far above the Earth. I always thought it a mistake, letting any of them live, and I’ve been proven right. It descended?”

“Unfortunately,” said the priest. “We tried to chop it down, but that barely stopped the thing. It had a demon in human skin with it.”

“I see.” Levi’s intestines coiled. He couldn’t think of any greater evil he’d fought—he didn’t have time to worry about a witch. “I assume you sent for the Witchfinder?”

“Of course.”

Then Levi had no time to waste. As unfortunate as this situation was, it held no significance compared to his family's duty.

“Wait here for him. Where did the monster go?”

“The forest.”

Wordlessly, he strode off, all other things forgotten in pursuit of his target.

“Godspeed,” said the priest, “Giant Hunter.”

He had a monster to kill.