As she took a seat at the edge of the rocky plateau, Liandra found herself alone with her thoughts. She sighed. These weren’t her favorite moments, but the days were taking their toll. Looming above were the Sundered Spires, and highest among them, The Great Spire. She watched in idle captivation, thinking how they looked like massive white tipped torches. Their misty peaks almost like smoke trying to choke out the morning light, casting dull shadows over the waking world.
It reminded her of just how far they had left to go, to reach that Great Spire. It reminded her of the struggles to get even this far. And all of it for what? Her thoughts raced. The leylines might merge, regardless of their efforts. This wasn’t the only option. What hope did they have to make it in time? How many would survive the journey? Images flashed through her mind of Thomas’s fall. The blood trailing from his nose, ears, and mouth. His broken limbs, bones extruding from the flesh. The pale horror on his face as he passed, knowing he would die, and that there was nothing to be done about it. They all watched as he faded from this world to the next, then buried him in stone.
Someone’s heavy breaths rolled over her. The prior thoughts were all suddenly pushed to the side, as Liandra realized she was not alone. A gargantuan face peaked its eyes over the lip of the plateau, staring at her. Its skin was weathered, worn, and grey. Its beard a tangled forest of white. This was the one that the Tribe had called Grandfather. He seemed harmless enough. In fact he had barely said a thing to them since entering the village. One couldn’t fault the giants for being cautious though. Not here, so close to the Spire.
Having fully made eye-contact, Liandra spoke first, dry and dispassionate. “Can I help you.”
“Yes, well… I couldn’t help but notice your… isolation from the others, and your… mannerisms. Have many hardships found you before us?” The words echoed from beneath the cliff-face, raspy like grinding stones, but slower, thoughtful, and warm. Like embers burned within his ashen soul, and his words were sharing their warmth. The giant pulled himself up onto the plateau, and sat beside Liandra, towering in comparison. “Does something bother you, little one?” A necklace of bone clattered as he loomed closer, chiming in the silence that followed.
Liandra lingered in that silence, as she prepared to conduct herself with all the reservation and poise expected from one with her title. That moment quickly passes, however. She couldn’t find it within herself. Simple pleasantries would have to do. “The journey here has not been easy, Grandfather. Your hospitality is most gracious.” The words offered with a listless bow of her head.
The Grandfather hummed thoughtful consideration, smacking his lips and stroking his beard, as he too lingered in silence before speaking. “The birds tell me there is conflict in the hearts of you and your compatriots. Uncertainty? Disagreement? Your goal is noble, if I am to believe it. It would be a shame to see you falter at our door.” The muted appraisal that followed matched the calculated nature of his reveal.
Liandra blinked, caught off guard if only for a moment. “As I said, the journey has been difficult. It wears on us all. I have no doubt that the time we spend here will be precisely what we need to pull through to the end.”
There was yet another long silence between them. The Grandfather exhaled, relenting in a moment of matched exasperation. It was strange to behold, Liandra thought. Some shared vulnerability in the lives they had led up to this point, perhaps. Living here on the mountain surely wasn’t easy.
Grandfather nods a few times over, gaze turned towards the misty peaks above. “Well, may I offer you some of our village’s wisdom?” “Of course, you are truly gracious.” It was a well rehearsed reply. He smiled, distantly, almost as if he weren’t even talking to her anymore. Still looking to the peaks. “Do you know the word for mountain in our tongue?”
Liandra simply shook her head.
“Sliauloch,” He let it linger, as if tasting the sound. “It has two parts. Sliau, meaning obstacle. Then Loch, meaning constant. You see, some obstacles… are constant. We will always fight them. Instead of trying to… to knock down a mountain? Instead of running away? Make your home upon it, as we have. Let it become a part of who you are, and in that way… you never stop fighting. You master the mountain.” He finally turned to look at Liandra, and his smile only grew. Soon nudging her with one of his large fingers, prodding for some sort of reaction. No doubt testing whether or not her emotionless exterior was made of glass or not.
But her face was steely resolve. She was trying her damnedest not to shed a tear in the moment. Her throat clears, “ … doesn’t that get exhausting?”
Giant Grandfather turned about, glancing back towards the village as he considered her question. In the distance, his people were going about their daily routines, teasing, chastising, and playing along the way. All despite the hardships from the night before. They shorn goats and sharpened spears. They churned cheese and stacked stones. It prompted a long contented sigh from him.
“Yes. It does. Sometimes it so exhausting that one wishes nothing more than to shout thunder and shatter the peaks. A curse upon this place and all who come after.” He pauses, still gazing out at his kin. “But knowing the lives that are enriched… the lives that are nurtured… to watch them grow and join in the marvel of living. To watch that cycle prosper each turn of the sun… ” Giant Grandfather smiled once more, looking to Liandra as he stood. “It is why you are on this task, no?”
Liandra quickly forces her throat clear once more, and for the first time in weeks she finds it within herself to smile. Images flashed through her mind. This time of Khaeril sitting around the fire telling his tall-tales. Of Haestor and Nimrodel wrestling for the last bit of roast. Of Arnd and Sophie’s never-ending prank feud. Of Lyle constantly trying to impress everyone with a new trick. Of just how much inane trivia Gillil always seemed to know. And at last of the kind letters Limhelse would always write and hide in people’s packs.
She finally stood, wiping her face with the backs of her hands, and taking a deep breath. “Yes, I daresay you’re right. ”
