Once Upon a Winter's Night

20

“Wh-what?” Camille looked about in the dusk, yet she saw no one. “Who is there, s’il vous plait?” Again the voice squeaked out. “Jotun the Giant. And still I ask, who dares tread in my domain without paying the proper toll?”

Now Camille turned about and about, seeking to see the speaker. On her shoulder, Scruff, drowsy in the twilight, emitted a soft “ pip ” as Camille faced a small pine among the aspens.

“Stay away from me, you beady-eyed sparrow,” piped the tiny voice. “I am not for you to taste! And you, mademoiselle, control your bird, or I shall have to stomp on him!”

In spite of not seeing this Jotun the Giant, Camille laughed. “Scruff? Why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.-No, wait. That’s not right, for he would indeed eat a fly.”

“See! I told you!”

“Stay calm, sieur,” replied Camille. “Scruff will behave. Besides, he is nearly asleep, and quite well fed, I assure you.”

“All right,” grumped the wee voice, somewhat mollified,

“but see that you keep him in hand, for I might stomp you by mistake.-And now about the toll.”

“Toll?”

“Are you planning on going through my pass, Mam’selle um…?”

“Camille. My name is Camille. And, yes, I seek to go beyond this range, and I hope to find someone to tell me where might be a place east of the sun and west of the moon. Would you happen to know, by the way?”

“First things first, Lady Camille,” replied Jotun, still unseen. “My toll.”

Camille sighed. “I can pay. What will you have? A bronze, a silver, a gold?” The moment she said it, Camille gritted her teeth in silent admonition, for though she had the coins, still she should not have admitted such to a total stranger.

“Pah! What need have I for bronze or silver or even gold? Instead I would have something of more value.”

“And just what might that be, M’sieur Jotun the Giant?” asked Camille.

“Have you any pepper?”

Pepper! And here I thought it might be jewels he would demand. “I have a wee bit, m’sieur.”

“Fine-grain or coarse or peppercorns?”

“Coarse-grained, sieur.”

“Then it’s one grain to pass through my col; for another grain I will give you directions to guide you beyond; or three grains in all, and I will conduct you through the range myself and to a town beyond.”

“Done!” said Camille, unslinging her bedroll and rucksack and setting both down and laying her staff aside. “Would you have me pay you now?”

“Indeed,” piped Jotun. “Else how would I know you have the fee?”

“Very well,” said Camille, and in the fading light she rummaged through her goods and drew forth her small lantern and unscrewed the brass oil-keeper-cap from the wick and struck a match and lit it. Then she found her pepper tin, and asked, “Have you canister or some such to store it in?”

“Of course,” replied Jotun. “Right here.”

“Where are you?” said Camille, looking up, yet unable to locate the speaker.

“As I said, right here,” querulously replied Jotun. “On the pine.”

Camille held up her lantern the better to see, and her eyes widened in wonder, for stepping forth along a needled branch came a tiny being but an inch or so high. Dressed all in green, a miniature man he seemed. Brown hair, he had, that much Camille could discern, but as to the hue of his eyes, she could not say, for in this dim light they were entirely too small to see any color in them at all. In his hands he held a very tiny canister.

“M’sieur Jotun the Giant?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Camille burst out laughing.

Jotun frowned. “Why do you laugh, mam’selle?”

Camille managed to gasp out, “It’s just that you name yourself a Giant, when it is plain to see you are a Twig Man, or so my love did describe such as you.”

“Twig Man, ha!” scoffed Jotun. “I merely take on this shape as necessary, for, you see, this way it is much easier to find food and such to meet my needs.-I would change into my true form, but I am afraid it would frighten you quite witless.”

“Oh, m’sieur, no need to change,” said Camille, yet giggling. “I’ll simply take your word for it.”

“All right, then,” said Jotun. “Now about the pepper. Will it be one grain, two, or three?”

“Oh, three certainly,” said Camille, opening her pepper tin. “I would have you lead me across these mountains to a town beyond.”

She held out her tin, and Jotun searched through the contents as if examining a great pile of gemstones, and he stirred the pepper with a twig now and then, and one by one he carefully selected three large flakes. “The best of the lot, I think,” he murmured, stowing away the grains in his own wee canister.

“Have another,” said Camille, yet holding out her tin, “and tell me what you know of a place east of the sun and west of the moon.”

“No, no, mam’selle,” said Jotun, “no more pepper. Three grains I asked for and but three will I have. They’ll last me quite awhile as it is.” Camille started to protest, but Jotun added, “As to this place you seek, I’ve not heard of a site so strangely located, nor do I know where it might be. And so another pepper grain would gain you nought, and I would not dupe you so.”

Camille sighed. “It would have been but by chance alone had you known of such; even so, I had to ask.”

“Perhaps some of the wise folk in Ardon will know,” said Jotun.

“Ardon?”

“The town on the far side of the range.”

“Ah,” said Camille, “a town will be nice, for I would sleep in a bed again. Yet for now, Jotun, ’tis a camp I must make, and then we’ll have a meal-if you would join me, that is. I have some rabbit- and marmot-jerky and some nuts and dried berries and roots-wild carrots and parsnips, in the main… a bit of wild onion, too. What say you?”

“Is the jerky peppered?”

Camille nodded, adding, “And spiced with other seasonings as well.”

“Ah, then, there is a nice glade within the grove, where a fire will not be easily seen. Still, with me about, you wouldn’t have to worry overmuch concerning brigands and such.”

As Camille gathered up her things-“Brigands?”

“The Serpentmen from the grass plains below sometimes come up this way”-Jotun puffed out his wee little chest-“especially when I am elsewhere. They pursue any poor folk caught within their demesne. You were fortunate that they did not see you, for they are quite cold-hearted, I say.”

“Oh, but they did,” said Camille. “-See me, I mean; or at least one did.” She held out her hand. “May I carry you to this glade of yours?”

Jotun stepped to her palm, and she set him to the shoulder away from the sleeping sparrow. Holding on to a tress, he directed her toward the center of the grove. As she wended through the trees, Jotun said, “The Serpentmen saw you? And you got away?”

“Aye.”

“Well, then, you are most fortunate. The last one that tried to cross over from the Summerwood was slain. A woman, I believe, or so it seemed to me, as I watched from here on my mountain. I would have helped her, but they were done and gone ere I realized it was a woman.”

Camille sucked in air through clenched teeth. Was it the poacher’s wife, I wonder? Oh, and it was I who sent her to her death. I shouldn’t have suggested that she be exiled from “How did you escape?” asked Jotun.

“I don’t know,” said Camille, glad for the diversion. “The Serpentman may have actually run away from my sparrow.”

Jotun snorted. “Unlikely.”

“Well, then, I cannot explain it.”

“What exactly did you do? — Oh, wait. Here we are.”

Camille set Scruff to a nearby branch, the sparrow peeping an irritated chirp or two at being so disturbed ere falling back to sleep. Camille cleared a patch of ground, then gathered up fallen branches and suitable stones for a ring. Within half a candlemark altogether she had a small fire ablaze.

She shared out the jerky and some of the dried berries; Jotun took but a tiny portion of each, a mere nip by Camille’s standards. As they settled down to eat, again Jotun asked, “What exactly did you do to evade the Serpentmen?”

Camille shrugged. “As they rode past, one of them must have espied me, there where I hid in the grass. As the others raced away, that one turned and came back, him with his long, cruel whip. He came at me, ready to strike, but then he fled away. I looked down and from my high vest pocket”-Camille tapped the one near her left shoulder-“Scruff was peering out. It seems he hides there when danger is nigh. Regardless, the Serpentman cried out in fear and galloped away, and that’s all I know.”

“He just fled?”

Camille nodded, and took a bite of jerky.

“And you did nothing else at all whatsoever?”

Camille turned up her hands.

They sat without speaking awhile, placidly chewing before the small fire, Jotun savoring the tiny jot of spiced meat. At last they finished their meal, and Camille yawned sleepily. “I must rest, for I am weary, having walked uphill all day.” She rolled out her bedroll, but as she did so she said, “Oh, I remember, but I don’t see how it could mean aught.” She reached over and took up her garlanded walking staff. “When the Serpentman came at me, I thought I might fend off his whip with this.” In the light of the fire, Camille thrust the stave out before her, holding it like a quarterstaff.

Tiny though they were, Camille saw Jotun’s eyes widen in revelation. “Where did you get that?”

“It was a gift from the Seer by the Mere.”

“Lady Sorciere?”

“I do not know her name.”

“That is who she is,” said Jotun, “or so I do believe. Ha! It is no wonder the Serpentman fled. It was the staff he ran from… perhaps believing you were the lady herself.” Jotun laughed. “Ah, but what a gift it is you bear, for many know of that staff, and some fear it. Certainly the Serpentman did.-How came you by it?”

“It is a long tale, sieur. Perhaps I can tell it on the journey to come.” Camille yawned again.

“Oh, pardon, Mam’selle. I did not think. On our journey will be most acceptable.” Jotun stood. “Sleep well. And worry not in your slumber, for if danger comes in the form of Serpentmen, or aught else for that matter, I will stomp them flat.”

Camille laughed and took to her bed, and in the flickering light of the dying fire she was asleep in but moments, a smile yet lingering on her lips.

“Shall I change now?” Jotun piped in his tiny voice. “But I warn you, you might find it quite fearsome.”

“No, no,” said Camille, grinning. “I like you just as you are, my wee friend; that way you can ride on my shoulder, just as does Scruff-he on the left; you on the right. Or would you prefer a high vest pocket?”

Jotun sighed. “As you wish, Mam’selle, and the vest pocket high on the right will do, for there I think it will be easier for me to listen to your tale.”

“My tale?”

“How you came to be on this strange quest of yours to find such an odd place as might lie east of the sun and west of the moon. Also, tell me how you came by Lady Sorciere’s stave.”

“Ah,” said Camille, taking Jotun up in her palm and letting him scramble into the pocket. She slung her bedroll and rucksack over her left shoulder and set Scruff there as well, then began the trek through the high-walled pass. As she strode forth, she said to Jotun, “I am a mere farmer’s daughter, and I thought I would always be, yet one winter’s night as a blizzard was howling there came a loud knock on our door…”

“There it is,” said Jotun, pointing down the slope at the lights of the village in the near distance. “I will leave you here, for I do not wish to frighten the townsfolk with my presence. And, Camille, I have so enjoyed your company these last thirty days, coming across the mountains as we did, especially your singing. And I will always be your friend, and I cannot but wish you the best of fortune in finding your Alain. I do believe that Lord Kelmot was right: seek the advice of merchants and travellers and traders and mapmakers and such-especially the elders, for they are most likely to know where lies this strange place you seek. Let me down here, for I would say my au revoir now.”

Camille smiled as she set the wee mite to the slope, though tears stood in her eyes. “Oh, Jotun, would that I could take you with me, but Lady Sorciere, if that is her name, said I must go alone, though unlooked-for help would come along the way, and it certainly did, else I would have wandered about in those mountains for who knows how many years? Merci, my little Twig Man, for guiding me through, else Scruff and I would not be here now.”

“Go,” said Jotun. “Else I will be blubbering giant tears, and to see a Giant cry is a terrible thing. So go and go now; your destiny awaits.”

With Scruff asleep in the high vest pocket he had claimed as his own, Camille turned and started down the slope. As she went she heard Jotun call down after, “Though I will always treasure the days we spent together, I only wish you had let me change, for we would have been here much the sooner.”

From behind there came a great whoosh ing outpush of air, icy cold, as if all the heat, all the power, had been sucked from it. Camille turned and gasped, for looming up toward the stars themselves stood a giant of a man. Fully two hundred feet or more he towered upward in the night, and by light of the waning gibbous moon, Camille could see he was dressed all in green and had brown hair, and she knew his eyes were brown, as she had discovered Jotun’s eyes to be in the sunlight of thirty days past. The Giant waved down to her a sad good-bye and then turned and strode away over the mountains, heading back the way he had been borne.

“Oh, Jotun, you really were, really are a Giant,” whispered Camille to herself. “Only in Faery,” she added, as she turned and made her way down the long slope and toward the village below.