Chapter Thirteen

Sat astride one of Garlon’s horses, Jack realised how much he’d missed riding, and momentarily wondered about his own horse, sold without his knowledge some years ago.

Jack’s mission to Cloud Mountain had begun, but he wasn’t alone. Three of Garlon’s men, none of them familiar to him, served as his escort. Having left the Mariosha Road behind them, they eased their pace and slowed their horses down to a walk.

“How long have you been in Garlon’s employ?” said the leader, Quentin, riding alongside Jack.

“Almost three months.”

“You ride well for a peasant.”

Scowling, he said, “I’m not a peasant, I’m nobility.”

“Ah, one of those.”

“One of what?”

“The poor nobility.”

Jack’s frown deepened. He hated the term, hated being looked down on, mistaken for a peasant simply due to the state of his clothes.

“What misfortune befell you?” asked one of the other men, urging his horse up to ride alongside Jack.

When he spoke, he did so through gritted teeth. “My father, his business was ruined. We lost everything. I lost him,” he finished softly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the man, and the other two echoed him.

After a long silence, the third man, riding on the other side of Quentin, asked, “Are you from Mariosha?”

“We lived in Silverwood.”

“The eastern outskirts,” said Quentin, looking as impressed as his companions on learning Jack’s family had lived in one of the more affluent neighbourhoods.

“So, have you been anywhere else?” asked the man on his left side.

Jack shook his head. “Have you? I haven’t seen you around Garlon’s place.”

As they nodded, Quentin said, “Garlon usually sends us on duties to either Beckway or Floret.”

All Jack knew of those cities was they were smaller than Mariosha. “So, that road leads to the other cities?” Jack pointed to where the Mariosha Road disappeared past the trees.

“A few miles along, the road separates, leading to Beckway and Floret, and the inland sea.” Turning slightly in the saddle, Quentin pointed past Mariosha, where another road ribboned off into the distance. “That will take you to the great port town of Salmarin.”

“Have you been to Salmarin?” asked Jack.

He shook his head. “One day, I hope to. There are wonders to behold, they say–”

“And ships and more from across the sea,” finished the one on the other side of Quentin.

“Up there, where the road separates,” said the man next to Jack, “the other road heading towards the mountains leads to Aiqos. That’s a wonder too, they say.”

“Well, so long as you’re in Garlon’s employ,” said Quentin, “you won’t be visiting anytime soon.”

They laughed as Jack wondered why anyone would even want to visit; he doubted a city inhabited by giants to be any kind of wonder.

Garlon’s spies had informed him of the presence of guards on the Aiqos road near Cloud Mountain, so he’d instructed Jack and his escort to take an indirect route, heading to the left side of the mountain. A forested area, barely any went in that direction, which meant less chance of their progress being noticed.

Jack absently touched the small pouch that hung from his neck, half-hidden under his coat, pressing the bulge of the bean between his finger and thumb. Garlon had given it to him, ordering him to plant it at night by the base of the mountain before he went to sleep. Although he’d kept his mouth shut when Garlon had explained the purpose of the bean, Jack remained sceptical that the bean would supposedly sprout overnight and grow into a beanstalk, nearly as tall as the mountain. Even if that did happen, he doubted it would hold his weight.

On the evening of the fourth day, they set up camp near the mountain. As the men prepared the meal, Jack stared at the fire, mentally going over, yet again, what Garlon had told him. If the spies’ information was correct, the giant’s home should be about halfway up the mountain, about a half hour ride up the path. According to them, the path wound close to the side of the mountain not far from the giant’s house. With luck, Jack should be able to spy it and get off the beanstalk and make the rest of his way on foot.

Before they turned in for the night, Jack took the bean and planted it near the base of the mountain. His companions were as cynical as him, chuckling at the thought of a magic bean.

As the fire died down and darkness crept closer, Jack guessed the men must be used to sleeping out in the open for their quiet chatter soon faded into silence, broken by soft snores. Try as he might, he couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t used to this kind of quiet, which wasn’t quiet at all. The rustling of leaves on the trees, and the scampering of unseen animals and unfamiliar calls seemed to get louder with each passing moment.

He also couldn’t stop thinking about his task the following day. As doubt started to build, he forced himself to focus instead on the measure of gold that would be his reward. He’d be able to rebuild his life and return to living as a nobleman. No longer would he be scoffed at; no longer would he have to endure condescending looks from those who thought themselves his betters. And he would buy himself a horse to rival that of Climence’s grandson.

Lying on his back, staring up at the inky sky, he grinned at the thought of riding up to show off his horse to that fool. He might even start courting Climence’s granddaughter. Now, that would be a welcome addition to his reward.

An owl glided past, obscuring his vision of the sky. Startled, his musings abruptly ceased. Turning onto his side, he pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

Jack felt like he’d only been asleep a few minutes when someone shook him awake. Grumbling, he turned away only to have his blanket yanked off him.

“Get up. Look.”

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he scowled before his mouth fell open.

The other men stood close by, staring up at an immensely wide beanstalk that spiralled skywards.

His gaze fixed on the broad, thick vined plant, Jack slowly got to his feet.

“I guess magic beans do exist,” said one of the men.

“Where did our lord and master get it?” said another.

Quentin snorted. “As if he’d ever tell you.” He glanced over at Jack. “Hope you’re good at climbing,” he said with a wink.

Blinking rapidly, Jack remained silent, turning his attention to tidying away his bedroll and blanket. Knowing it would be best to start as soon as possible, he still lingered over breakfast with the men even though the thought of climbing something unnatural had robbed him of his usually hearty appetite.

Quentin eyed Jack’s half-empty plate. “If that’s all you’re going to eat, you better get started. Who knows how long it will take you to get there. And if the tall-folk is there, that will delay you more.”

Unable to think of a reason not to start, Jack had no choice but to prepare himself for a long climb. Having already divested himself of his coat, he stood before the beanstalk and gingerly touched one of the vines. He raised his brows, surprised, for the vine felt as sturdy as thick rope. Raising his gaze, his vision partially obscured by broad leaves, he could make out the vines curling around the stout trunk.

Grasping the vine, he hauled himself up and placed his feet on a lower vine curled around the trunk; it proved to be a firm step. The smile that tugged at his mouth widened into a grin and he reached for the next vine. And the next.

“Don’t forget to check for the path,” said Quentin, sounding small and distant.

Jack looked down at the almost doll-sized men. If he kept climbing at this rate, it shouldn’t take him long to get to where he’d be able to spy the path.

The air began to feel cooler against his face, but his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his back. Jack had no idea and no way of telling how long he’d been climbing. So far, he hadn’t seen anything that looked like a path. He’d even tried to get off the beanstalk to have a better look, but the vegetation was too thick.

Jack stopped. His arms ached and his belly grumbled. He regretted not eating more of the hot breakfast as he undid the pack tied to his back. At least it contained a couple of chunks of cold meat, though the hard bread proved as tasteless as it looked. By the time he finished, his waterskin was more than half-empty. Chiding himself to be more careful, he took a deep breath and continued climbing.

He hadn’t been climbing long when he stopped. The vegetation on the mountain was no longer as thick. Carrying on at a slower pace, his diligence was soon rewarded. A path became visible past the sporadic trees and shrubbery.

Jack heaved a sigh of relief, glad to feel solid ground under his feet once more. About to set off on the wider than expected path, he stopped, frowning. If he didn’t mark the area, he wouldn’t know where he’d gotten off the beanstalk. It took him a moment to realise he could use the cloth that had held his meagre fare. Tying it around a tree trunk, he hoped it wouldn’t be easily noticed.

As he made his way, Jack kept stopping, his gaze darting up and down the path, listening intently for the sound of an approaching horse or person. His mouth remained dry despite his incessant swallowing, but he refused to touch his low supply of water.

His surroundings were far from silent. Unseen creatures skittered through the abundant flora that bordered the path to his right. Birdcalls sounded above him, but he saw nothing.

Wanting to be done with this task, Jack picked up his pace and trotted up the path, hoping he’d hear if anyone approached. Strange, pale wisps occasionally drifted past, and it took him awhile to realise they were clouds. Trying to grab them, he wondered if that was the reason for the name, Cloud Mountain.

After some time, he noticed the vegetation beginning to thin and slowed his pace. Following the curve of the path, it led him within sight of a pair of buildings. His heartbeat promptly started racing and he ducked into the shrubbery.

Hidden by the trees, Jack moved along to the right, keeping an eye on the house. He spied washing on the line, swaying lazily in the breeze. Opposite the house, he stopped as he had a better view of it.

A well-tended garden stood between the treeline where Jack hid and the sturdy timber and stone house. The other building, to the left and a little behind the house, he suspected to be either a barn or stable. On the right and past the garden was a tower, taller than the house. It faced the open sky and what Jack suspected to be a drop down the side of the mountain.

Used to living in the city, the obvious isolation caused his scalp to prickle. Yet, he had to smile for the remoteness would, no doubt, make his task easier.

The door opened, and he moved further back. A female tall-folk stepped out and began retrieving the washing off the line. Clearly taller than Jack, dressed in a flared hip-length blouse worn over an ankle-length skirt, she was neither muscular nor fat. With her rounded shape and dark auburn hair caught up in a roll on her head, he grudgingly had to admit he found her pleasing to look at.

Picking up the basket, she paused and glanced to the left, to the path Jack had been on moments ago. Smiling, she turned and disappeared into the house, shutting the door behind her.

Scuttling back to the path, Jack hunkered down and ran awkwardly to the house, the sound of clucking chickens drifting towards him. Only then did he notice a fenced paddock. He’d mistakenly thought there was only the mountain rising behind the house. His eyes bulged at the sight of the horse grazing peacefully at the far end, its tail flicking away flies. The height and size of the dark bay made his horse, of average height, look like a small pony.

Continuing to the side of the house, he jerked to a stop. Did the horse in the paddock mean the giant was home? Then he remembered the female looking down the path and smiling, and reassured himself surely that meant she must be expecting the giant.

Clinging to that hope, Jack pressed his body against the rough stone wall. Sidling up to the first window, he glanced into the room. His initial elation on seeing it unoccupied disappeared on finding the window was shut. He had no choice but to enter the house through the front door.

His legs weak, he slid to the ground, questioning why he’d ever agreed to this. Knowing he couldn’t remain there, he forced himself to think of his reward, the gold. Repeating it silently, he got to his feet.

Creeping to the front door, he held his breath and tried the handle; it turned. He opened the door slowly, slipped in and quietly shut it behind him. Eyes wide, he pressed his body against the door, his breath coming out in short gasps. The open entrance area meant he had nowhere to hide if the female appeared.