Goose bumps prickled across the queen’s arms, and she felt it again, stronger this time. She knew that magic. So much energy was swirling in the air all around her—fairies and spirits and wildlings of all sorts wielding their own spells and charms—but this magic was special. Where was it coming from? It was like trying to pick out a familiar voice in a chorus. And there it was.
Fable’s magic.
No. Her daughter could not be here. Not now.
The queen took two steps forward, and then, halfway across the field, a circle of earth rose like a platform. Roots pushed up out of the ground and spun themselves into thick vines, which wove into tighter and tighter knots, fat leaves sprouting from their sides in rippling emerald waves. It was a nature barrier—a wild-wall as sturdy and thick as any the queen had ever summoned. It grew with lightning speed, weaving a circular barrier twenty feet in diameter. In its center—through the fog, and between the rapidly closing gaps in the vines—the queen could see a head of dark, curly hair.
“Fable,” she breathed.
Within the wild-wall, Fable took a slow breath. She could still hear the pop of gunfire and the clang of steel—but inside their leafy cocoon the noises were muffled and far away.
Cole stood and brushed his hands off on his pants. “Whoa,” he said. “Nice.”
Fable blinked and spun, surveying the wall with unmasked wonder. “Huh. Yeah. I—I did this.” She nodded to herself. “This is a thing I did. Now what?”
The ground within the circle was cracked and uneven, churned up by the motion of the roots. The framework of the fractured rig was now leaning even more heavily to one side. Beside it, a wicked-looking tricone drill bit had been partially unearthed, its muddy teeth glistening in the sunlight.
Tinn pushed himself to his feet. “Old Jim is still breathing, but he’s in bad shape.” He leaned his back against the ruins of the rig, and the wreck creaked and groaned. He pulled hastily away as it swayed ominously.
“I guess now we know Hill was telling the truth about what smashed that thing,” Cole said. “That was a real, actual giant back there. Old Jim is lucky it didn’t just crush him completely. I thought there were no giants left in the Wild Wood.”
“There aren’t,” said Fable. “Not . . . technically.”
“How was that not a giant?”
“I’m pretty sure it was a spriggan. But a big one.”
“I thought spriggans were tiny,” said Evie.
“They are,” Fable said. “Except when they’re not. They’re forest spirits. And spirits are . . . flexible. Some of them turn into plants, or winter winds, or bullfrogs. Some of them turn into . . . well, that, apparently. They can’t stay giant forever, though. So, that was a temporary giant. Doesn’t count.”
“Spirits of the old giants,” Tinn mumbled, more to himself than the rest of the group, remembering Kull’s lesson.
Fable nodded. “That’s right. Mama once told me that spriggans could make themselves huge if they needed to—I’d forgotten all about that until I saw it. I’ve never ever actually seen one do it. It basically never happens.”
“They probably haven’t had a reason to for a long time,” said Cole. “Not with the old saw mill closed down and people not chopping down trees anymore—plus your mom protecting the forest for them.”
“Well, they have reason now,” Fable said. “Humans ruin everything.”
Nobody said anything for several moments as the dull roar of the battle continued all around them.
“Hey. Look at this,” said Evie, breaking the silence. “There’s stuff all over the bottom of the drill.”
They turned to look where she was pointing. The drill was a heavy industrial thing, built for tunneling through rock. It ended in a trio of jagged cones all rimmed with metal teeth—and each of these was caked in some sort of iridescent mud. It glittered like diamonds where it caught the light.
“Is that oil?” said Tinn.
“It doesn’t look like any kind of oil I’ve ever seen,” said Evie. She stepped closer. “It looks like clay, but there’s all these sparkles in it, like it’s full of tiny rainbows.” Light bouncing off of the drill cast a spray of colors across Evie’s arms like fancy confetti as she neared. She poked at the mud and a clump broke off in her hand. “It’s all powdery,” she said, dropping the lump to the ground.
A shadow fell over the circle of vines, and all four children looked up. A massive face like sheets of granite stared down at them. It did not look happy.
“Your temporary giant,” Cole managed in a hoarse whisper, “appears to be still a giant.”
The giant’s fingers ground slowly closed to form a fist the size of a boulder.
“Look out!” yelled Tinn.
“Stay away from my friends!” Fable cried. She pointed both hands at the giant and screwed up her eyes in concentration. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes. “Oh, come on,” she growled. “Stupid magic! You’re supposed to work now!”
The giant’s fist rose to strike.
Fable pointed both hands upward again. “Be a hedgehog!” she yelled. “Butterfly? Turtle?” The giant—still very much a giant—drove his fist down like an avalanche.
Evie dove, catching Fable from the side a split second before the stony knuckles could catch her from above. The two tumbled over the uneven terrain, bouncing as the impact of the giant’s blow shook the earth. Something behind them cracked loudly, and they could hear the boys yelp in alarm. Evie’s face ground against the dirt and Fable flopped beside her. They righted themselves frantically as the giant’s fist withdrew, bracing for the next attack. But the behemoth turned away. It bellowed deeply as its attention was drawn elsewhere.
“You okay?” Fable panted.
Evie did a rapid inventory of limbs and nodded, wiping dust out of her eyes. Everything hurt and she
