First Trip: Get Up and Walk the Land 12
The cavern could fit a small town, which made sense since its denizens were the size of small buildings. A fire pit large enough to barbecue mastodons roared in the center of the cavern, painting the walls red and yellow.
Yay, heating in the hottest week of summer. Just what we needed…
The walls of this stupendous space were illustrated with cave paintings only a touch more artistic than stick figures. They displayed people picking up stones, people walking with stones, people ordering stones (in all senses of the word), people sitting on stones, people throwing stones, people catching stones, people getting hit by stones, people hitting people with stones… Some illustrations forsook people altogether and just focused on stones in all their dull variety.
This was disappointing but not surprising. After all, Samaria was little more than a big pile of stones inhabited by people who threw stones at each other to resolve disagreements about stones. Why would its giants be any different?
A couple dozen giants reclined on the floor. Most were dressed in faded skirts sewn from old tarpaulins, burlap sacks, grocery bags, and tires. A few stylish giants wore banana leaves or fronds on top of their clothing.
All giants, regardless of sex or age, moved with ponderous slowness that made Eran search for the fast forward button. However, he already knew this languor was deceptive. The memory of the giant children hopping his way with impossible speed was fresh on his mind.
Tamar sat on the floor, massaging a swollen wrist while looking about in wonder. Dor and Yaniv stood beside her with gaping mouths and eyes gleaming in the firelight. Waffle was scrambling inside the basket in an attempt to evade the seeking hand of the female giant. The poor thing probably thought the giants were going to eat her.
While the female giant was busy playing girl-in-a-barrel, her brother walked to an adult female weaving a huge blue basket of extraordinary design.
If ten buckets of color were spilled on this cave, nine were taken by this giant and the rest was wiped off by the others. She was surrounded by baskets of all shapes and colors, painted stone balls, and carefully ordered art supplies. The floor and wall behind her were enlivened with paint splotches and hand prints that would have won prizes in any reputable modern art gallery.
The giant herself, presumably the child’s mother, was a lean specimen with sharp features that were handsome despite her vapid eyes. Her hair was a black cascade of tangles intermixed with peacock feathers, colorful beads, discarded toys, and faded posters of Jewish and Arabic politicians who clashed even in this strange environment. A vibrant red shawl thrown around her shoulders stood out in the otherwise drab cavern like a circus tent in a refugee camp.
Her son bowed his head demurely and growled. It was difficult to read the expression in her blank eyes, but if Eran had to guess, he’d have gone with “amused disapproval.”
“Speak Hebrew,” she replied, her fingers never ceasing from weaving fibers into her basket. “It is rude to speak a language which a guest does not comprehend. Do not shame me by being a poor host to our little cousins.”
The boy frowned in the poor imitation of shame common to kids and puppies. An older female hidden in the shadows grumbled, “Like anything could shame this one…”
A young male in a yellow skirt who was busy inscribing letters on a petrified tree shot the crone an alarmed glance. He took a breath as if to speak, but then thought better of it and returned to his work.
Red Shawl wove another fiber into the basket. “It is the second time you cross paths with the Children of Enos.” She picked up her basket-in-progress and examined it. It was a very nice basket. Turned upside down, it would make a very nice cabin. “Have you been inscribing Keys under the moon? You know this is not permitted.”
Her son shook his head. “We were only throwing stones.” He pointed at Dor. “This one was injured and needed our help.” Well, ‘was injured’ is one way of putting it. Sort of like ‘the glass broke’ or ‘the cake was eaten’ or the politicians’ favorite: ‘mistakes were made’... “The girl is of priestly blood and has invoked the treaty with Solomon son of David, peace be upon them and blessing, and so her visit is permitted.”
A plump female giant scoffed. “The boy thinks he’s a decisor now…”
Red Shawl glanced in Tamar’s direction before resuming her rebuke. “You are early. Surely, you have not had enough time to train until you are tired. How will you pass your exam if every night you come to me with new excuses…” She didn’t sound angry, just disappointed.
“This isn’t an excuse!” Her daughter pouted. “My brother hit the Son of Enos with a stone even though we only have the Third Key. Surely, this is the will of God. How else would our paths cross?”
A tall male who stood by the fire like an honor guard with no pants, squinted at the humans. “Mayhaps they are the offspring of King Solomon son of David, peace be upon them and blessings, of whose seed the Anointed One who will end the sorrow of our father, light may his exile be, shall spring?” He pointed at the humans with a massive cudgel. “What tribe do you hail from, O sons of Israel?”
The young male inscribing the petrified tree swallowed nervously. “The Jews have forgotten their tribes, as it is written, ‘My people have forgotten me days without number.’” This sounded like a verse from the Bible. Maybe. Eran wasn’t a very good student.
“However,” the nervous young giant went on, “there are many crossroads in which our paths may cross without so grand a reason, for all paths have their beginning in the Light of the First Day, for it is written ‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.’ Perhaps one of them is a slayer of dragons or beloved by the angels?”
The plump scoffer scoffed again. “It is more likely that one of her wanton brats confused the Third Key with the Sixth Key.”
The young scribe shook his head. “The Sixth Key is not enough. The reason is–”
He was interrupted when Red Shawl plucked a stone from the ground and hurled it into the darkness with the speed of a striking viper. The cave shook with the force of the impact, raining dust and cobwebs on the party. Tamar shrieked as a spider got entangled in her hair.
“Speak ill of my children again!” the giant cried in a voice so strong it left Eran’s ear ringing, “and I’ll put your placeholder in a garbage pile and the nibbling of angels be damned! You mark my words, you empty wretch!”
The scribe turned the color of a spoiled eggplant. Far away, someone harrumphed like an authority figure faced with unorthodoxy in a Robin Williams movie. The rest of the giants paid no attention. Either this was the millionth replay of this fight or they just generally didn’t care about things.
“Hi!” Tamar walked up to Red Shawl and curtsied as gracefully as her battered state and lack of skirt allowed. “My name is Tamar Kogan, which is like Cohen with a Russian accent. My ancestors were priests in the temple of Solomon. I can prove it by doing this.” She raised her hand in a Vulcan salute, known among non-Trekkies as the Priestly Blessing. “It’s an honor to meet you!”
Behind her, the giant girl held the kicking and screaming Waffle at arm’s length. Unmoved by pleas and curses, she examined the young human with unabashed curiosity. This reminded Eran of his grandmother, a woman who absolutely refused to accept the fact that anything smaller could have a sense of dignity. However, kittens and grandsons had Eran’s father to protect them. All Eran could do to help the poor Bedouin was change his profile picture and send his thoughts and prayers.
“Put the Daughter of Enos on the ground!” Red Shawl bellowed. Her daughter let go at once. The tiny Bedouin scrambled to join the Jews. Her braid was gone and in its place was a wilderness of hair from which branches and plastic forks stuck out at odd angles.
Tamar hugged her tightly and whispered something into her hair. Waffle nodded and remained standing with the others, still shaking like an agitated chihuahua. All this commotion shifted her shirt up a few centimeters, revealing a scar on her belly. The Bedouin intercepted Eran’s leer and pulled down her shirt so low it nearly became a dress. Eran looked away, cheeks burning.
Red Shawl took a deep breath as if to calm her nerves. “If the Children of Enos wish to stay as your guests, take them to the decisor so he may bless their visit. Make haste for it is not dignified to dally. Besides,” she pointed at Tamar with her chin, “this girl looks so sweet someone may chug her in a cauldron and eat her.” The last statement had no adverse effect on Tamar’s smile, but made Waffle take a step back and cast a nervous glance toward the exit.
“Thank you! We’d love to be your friends!” Tamar exclaimed gleefully. Behind her, Dor grinned like a challenged baboon while Yaniv examined the wall paintings with scientific detachment. Waffle calmed down and was studying the inscriptions on the petrified tree with great curiosity. The girl moved from one emotional state to the next like she was swiping pictures on a phone. Eran always envied people who could do this; even a brief online fight with a stranger could leave him agitated for hours.
The giant girl crouched in front of the humans. “Come and I will show you a Cainite who is so wise he has committed the whole Teaching to memory. After he blesses your visit, I will show you my lay and teach you how to throw stones like we do. Then you can play with Mother’s hair. You are so small, maybe you will find something there that no one else can see?” She leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “We are going to make Mother’s hair the most beautiful in Creation. We have a secret stash. It will be a surprise!” The girl’s eyes shone. “Everyone will come to look at how beautiful she is and will stop saying barbed words to her.”
“This sounds fun!” Tamar started to reach into her backpack, probably intending to produce the giant bead they had found earlier, but then changed her mind and hastened her step to follow the giants instead. “After we talk to your decisor, I have something cool to show you…” She grinned. “This is also a secret.”
Behind them, the scribe got up and started for Red Shawl’s art supplies. On his way, he brushed his hand against her cheek. She ignored him. She did, however, shout after her departing children and their human companions. “Know also that this does not excuse you from training for the exam as you promised!”
“I want to learn more about Keys and Sigils,” Eran said. “Sounds like it’s a way to hack the universe.”
“Hack the universe…” Yaniv scoffed. “You can’t even download a keygen without installing eighteen viruses in the process.”
The girls half-walked, half-ran after the prancing giants, while Yaniv and Eran lumbered behind under the weight of their injured comrade. Tamar used her phone to light the path. This revealed new giants previously shaded by the darkness.
A male with a heroic mustache was recounting an epic tale to a bunch of adolescents. A female dressed in hides that were too small for her bulbous figure leered at him. One baby was using her ample behind as a trampoline. Another was storing all sorts of drab baubles inside her shaggy hair. A young adult in a brown tunic was chalking on the wall an image of two giants and five humans walking toward a large chair. The tallest human in the picture had a crown hovering over their head while the shortest human was enveloped in smoke. Eran wondered if this was how cats saw the world.
Yaniv yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. “How come they speak Hebrew so well? I don’t remember seeing any giant students in school…”
“Really? That’s what worries you?” Eran asked.
Dor shrugged. “You have to start somewhere and just hope you don’t end up in a stew. Speaking of Hebrew, how come Tamar and Waffle are talking? Did everyone suddenly become a telepath? Was my invitation lost in the mail? Is this because I’m black?”
Tamar groaned. “You’re whiter than me! And it’s called Google Translate. Duh. I have the offline version… And don’t talk about me in the third person. It’s rude. And don’t be racist. We’re ambassadors: we should show them the beautiful Israeli. And halas dragging your feet. You heard their mother… It’s not polite to dally!”
“Sorry…” Dor mumbled.
After a considerable delay, Yaniv smacked himself on the forehead. “Google Translate! Oy, this is brilliant! And look! An illustrated giant, just like in Bradbury’s book.”
Eran followed Yaniv’s finger and saw a slim female with a massive belly sitting cross-legged in a dark corner of the cave. A shriveled crone dressed in gunny sacks held together by fronds and the mercy of God leaned over her young ward, with a massive gourd in one hand and a brush in the other. She was painting something on the female’s swollen belly. The rest of the woman was already covered in images of vines, crowns, birds, animals, and kabbalistic symbols. Eran decided the women were doing something intimate and that it would be impolite to stare.
The heat from the firepit became so intense the humans had to shield their faces. It was painful to swallow and painful not to swallow. Eran had to constantly wipe sweat from his brow to prevent it from stinging his eyes (which it did anyway). He wanted to kvetch, but his mouth was too parched to emit anything except the croaks of a toad on fire. He sucked water from his shapeless bottle until it deflated with a loud plastic crack.
Dor handed Eran a full bottle. He was the only member of the party to take the recommended four liters on this trip. For once, his excessive planning might end up saving the day… at least until something totally unplanned happened. Over the past few hours, Eran learned that you could look left and right before crossing the street and end up swallowed by a sandworm…
“This is where the dragon sleeps,” Red Shawl’s son remarked offhandedly and jumped over the firepit, landing on the other side with a thunderous thud. The guard didn’t seem to mind. “Come!” He cried. “We’re almost there.”
His sister shook her head disapprovingly while hiding a smile. “Stop doing this. It is dangerous and disrespectful.” She and the humans walked around the firepit. The guard didn’t mind this either.
Yaniv sighed. “I wonder if this decisor sits so close to the pit so he could kick people he doesn’t like into the fire…”
“Thanks for that image,” Eran muttered. The whole setup felt sinister, like running Against the Giants for a first level party. “It’s probably just because he’s old and old people are always cold—”
“Shhh!” Tamar hissed and pointed at a figure cloaked in shadows. “I think this is him. Remember: the beautiful Israeli. Be on your best behavior or I’ll kick you into the fire myself.”
You've got me hooked, though I suspect there are many gaming references which I don't get.