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.
21
As Camille savored her first hot meal in more than a moon, she glanced about the common room of Le Sanglier, the only inn in the village of Ardon. Illuminated by lanterns set in sconces along the walls, the chamber, though modest, was rather large for such a small thorp, or so Camille judged. Perhaps that in itself held out the promise that travellers and traders oft came this way. The room had but one fireplace, unlit, on the far wall to the left. A handful of oaken tables, with chairs about, sat here and there-one of them occupied by four men drinking ale and playing cards. More or less in room center there were two long tables, common benches on either side, also made of oak. A modest bar sat nigh the back wall, three or four stools in front, two of them occupied by elderly men who spoke across to the innkeeper as he washed earthenware mugs. On the back wall stood two doors, and Camille knew they led into the kitchen, for it was from there the servingwoman-the innkeeper’s wife, it seems-had fetched Camille a trencher filled with slices of roast beef smothered in gravy, with bread and cabbage and beans. Camille herself sat at one of the smaller tables, there along the front wall, and to her right beyond the foyer stood an archway leading into a vestibule, where a set of stairs led to the rooms above. It was the first inn Camille had ever seen, and her gaze roamed here and there, taking all in.
As she studied the wild boar’s head mounted over the fireplace, one of the doors to the kitchen swung open and out bustled the matronly innkeeper’s wife, bearing a tray laden with a teapot and cup and small pitcher of milk and a small pot of honey. “Here you are, mam’selle, freshly brewed.”
“Merci, madam,” said Camille, smiling. “And madam, if you are not too busy, I would ask you to sit and tell me: do you have any travellers or traders staying at your inn? I am trying to find a place, and I know not where it lies.”
“Oh, Mam’selle, just call me Jolie; everyone else does.”
Camille took up a piece of bread. “And my name is Camille.” She took a bite and chewed.
Jolie smiled and called to her husband to bring her a mug, then sat down in the chair across and poured Camille a cup of tea. When her own mug arrived, she waved her husband away, and then poured herself some tea, adding milk and a bit of honey. She took a sip then said, “This place you seek, Lady Camille, has it a name?”
Camille shook her head; she swallowed her bite and said, “East of the sun and west of the moon is all I know it by.” Camille sliced off a bit of beef.
Jolie frowned. “I have not heard of such, and-Oh, my, but is that a bird you have in your pocket?”
Camille grinned and nodded and said around the chew of beef, “Scruff. A sparrow. Asleep for the nonce. He is my travelling companion.”
Jolie shook her head. “A young fille like you, out on the roads alone with nought but a wee sparrow for company. It is quite dangerous, you know, what with villains and thieves about, Spriggans and such, ghosts of Giants they once were-the Spriggans, I mean. Tell me, aren’t you afraid to go about without a strong guard at your side, a knight or some such?”
“I have no choice. I must travel alone, though I can accept help along the way.”
“Alone?”
“Aye. Lady Sorciere so bade me.”
Jolie’s eyes widened at the mention of that name; even so, she took it in stride. “A quest it is, then?”
Camille nodded, chewing.
“I take it you are bound for this place east of the sun and west of the moon, but where did you come from?”
Camille vaguely gestured. “Through the grass and over the mountains, I came from the Summerwood.”
“Oh, my. All the way across the land of the Serpentmen and then through the les Montagnes Sans Fin?”
Camille frowned in puzzlement. “Why do you call them the Endless Mountains?”
Jolie shrugged. “Although I’ve never entered the chain, it is said that the range is only one hundred miles or so across this side to that, yet I am told the ways within are so twisted that one could travel endlessly and never make it through. The merchants mostly go around.”
“Around? But the chain seemed quite long to me; the way through quicker.”
“Ah, but there is a twilight border somewhat down the road”-Jolie pointed… south, Camille thought-“and beyond that marge one can go ’round, for there are no mountains there. No Serpentmen plains either.”
How can that be? — Ah, I know: ’tis Faery. Camille sighed. “Well, I went through, and endless they did seem. It took thirty days altogether; and even with careful rationing, I ran out of food on the last day, though Scruff had no difficulty in finding a meal.”
Jolie tsk ed and shook her head, saying, “You were fortunate, for even with a guide who knows the way, they say one will travel three or four times the distance-days and days and days of travel, just as you did, simply to get from one side to another.”
Camille nodded, saying, “Indeed, ’tis true.-And I was guided by one who knew the way.”
“Who?”
“Jotun.”
“Jotun the Giant?”
Camille nodded.
“A fearsome sight, is Jotun. We all run a distance away when he comes nigh.”
“But he is quite gentle,” protested Camille.
“That he may be,” replied Jolie. “But he once stepped on a herd of sheep. Squashed them flat; killed them all dead, there in their wee little pen, when Jotun, unthinking, took a step backward, and his heel came down upon them. And now when he comes about, we all run to a safe distance.”
“Ah, then, that’s why he did not come to the village,” said Camille. “He believes you are afraid, you know.”
“That we are, indeed. That’s why we run somewhat away, just in case he loses his balance and takes an unplanned step, or even stumbles and falls. You are to be commended for your bravery.” Jolie frowned. “Even so, I do not understand. Jotun the Giant can cross over the mountains in but a day or so, and yet it took you thirty?”
Camille sighed. “I did not realize he was a Giant.”
“How could you not know he was a Giant, that big fearsome thing?”
Suddenly Camille realized that the folk of Ardon might not know that Jotun could take on another form, and she did not know whether it was a secret he wanted her to keep.
Before Camille could answer, “Jolie!” called one of the card players.
“One moment, Camille,” said Jolie.
As Jolie went to serve the man, Camille continued to eat, and she wondered how she would answer Jolie’s question without betraying Jotun’s secret, if indeed a secret it was. But when Jolie came and seated herself again and took up her tea-“Did you see the Serpentmen?”
Camille nodded. “A band rode past me, and one saw where I lay hidden. He came back, his long whip in hand.” Camille pointed to the staff leaning against the table at her side. “My stave saved me. He recognized it as Lady Sorciere’s and fled away.”
