In the morning, I determine to try refilling my reservoir again, in order to be ready (or, readier) for whatever we may find in the valley. I take myself aside and concentrate as Oden taught me, and go through the process of meditating, and visualizing the reservoir, and the flaming rope.

Only, something goes very, very wrong this time. I can sense a difference the moment the rope appears, though I can’t quite express how it differs. I know I should abort the ritual, guide the rope back to the Nether and consider the experience carefully. It’s what Oden would have done, what he would have counseled.

But I don’t. I push forward, forcing the rope downward despite a growing resistance. The rope itself is more difficult than usual to hold, and writhes more violently. I persist, teeth gritted, sweat beading on my forehead, and the rope is nearly to the reservoir when it slips from my grasp.

Pain.

I have a vague impression of someone shouting, and there is a sharp pain from the back of my head. I taste blood and smell burnt hair. The overriding sensation, though, is pain. Pain, pain, pain. It seems to reach from my fingertips to my toes, covering every inch of my body, and it seems to last forever.

Eventually, though, I come to myself again, panting and covered in sweat. I’m lying on my back, and Delkash is kneeling beside me. He turns my head so he can examine the back of it, and when I can see him again he is wincing.

“You are bleeding,” he says. “You struck your head against a stone when you fell backward.” He gets up and moves away, looking for something to bandage the wound.

I reach up to test the wound with my fingers, and am astonished to discover that my head is perfectly smooth… I have no hair.

What happened? I am confused, and frightened. Delkash returns and I struggle to decide whether to ask him.

He takes the decision from me. “What were you doing?” he asked.

“I was…trying to fill my reservoir.”

“Your essence reservoir?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

I tell him about the resistance I felt, and how the rope slipped from my grasp. He is nodding. “You are fortunate,” he says. “You are still alive. Many who experience a backlash like this are less fortunate.”

Backlash. Oden talked about that, about a ritual gone wrong and the mystical energies being redirected against the one invoking them.

“My hair—“ I say.

“Gone,” says Delkash. “Probably permanently.”

I think about that, uncertain how I feel about it. I wonder how I look. I think about Giliana.

“Can you sense your reservoir?” he asks me.

I should have thought to check that myself. Cursing myself silently, I take a deep breath and feel for my pool of essence. It is there, unchanged.

“Yes,” I say.

He exhales and nods. “Good. That could definitely have been much worse.” He extends his hand to me and helps me to my feet. I feel a bit dizzy for a moment, but it passes. “Are you able to walk?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s gather our things and see what we can find in the valley.”

The day is cold at the top where we camped, but as we descend into the valley the temperature warms perceptibly. I keep my eyes on the ruin at the far end of the valley, wondering what we’ll find there, and wondering if the water we find there will actually help against the bonewalkers.

And that’s when I see it. Something enormous. I had originally taken it for a worn statue set against the wall of one of the buildings. Scale is difficult to make out at this distance, but whatever it is must be a score of feet tall or more. If it weren’t for my Sight, I probably wouldn’t even have noticed it, but with Sight, the figure almost seems to glow.

I must have gasped, because Delkash looks at me, then looks at where I’m looking. I hear him gasp, then.

“It’s huge,” I say. “What is it?”

“I think,” he says, “it is one of the Firstfolk.”

“The Firstfolk? You mean an elf?” All the stories I’d heard of elves put them at much smaller size, more like us.

“There are many different kinds of Folk,” he says. “Elves are just one kind. I think that—“ he gestures at the figure in the ruins, “—is a giant.”

I look again, and wonder. Fear burns like a coal in my belly. Giants—in all the stories—are great brutes who rampage through villages, stealing away men and women to toss into their cook pots.

“Have...have you ever met a giant, before?” I ask.

Delkash shakes his head. “I have not. They tend to stay far from the lands where we dwell.”

“Will it eat us?” I ask.

Delkash laughs, then, and I feel simultaneously embarrassed and pleased. I can’t remember if I’ve ever heard him laugh before, and the thought that I had brought it about is absurdly gratifying.

“No,” he says, finally, “it will not eat us. It might kill us,” he adds, “but only if we especially annoy it.”

I nod, unsure whether I ought to be comforted by that distinction or not. “Has it seen us?” I ask.

“Probably. Giants are, as I understand it, quite perceptive.”

“Well then, we probably shouldn’t give it any reason to suspect we’re up to something.”

The fear is still there, like ice in my gut. I struggle to not let it control me. I’ve already embarrassed myself once today with the failed ritual—twice, counting my question about whether the giant will eat us—and I’m not in a hurry to give Delkash a third reason to think poorly of my abilities.

It takes the better part of an hour to navigate the dense brush of the valley floor, but eventually we enter a slightly more cleared area and can see the tall ruins ahead. The giant is clearly visible now, standing still against the wall of one building. I realize I would barely come up to its knee if I were standing beside it.

And…I can see now that it—she—is female. I’m not sure whether that’s better or worse. Are giant women more or less aggressive than giant men? I almost ask Delkash, but remember his reaction to my last question. I hold my peace.

As we approach, I can see the giant’s enormous eyes tracking us. It is unnerving. My heart is pounding so hard I fear she must be able to hear it over the buzzing of the insects. I see her breast rise and fall as she breathes.

We stop about forty feet away from her and I set my pack down. I look to Delkash, who nods.

Taking a deep breath, I step forward a few paces and hold my hands out, palms up.

“My name,” I say loudly, “is Inka. How are you called?”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and I feel foolish, realizing that she probably doesn’t speak our human tongue. She blinks twice, and finally moves. I cringe as she lowers herself into a crouch, bringing her head just a span above mine. When she finally speaks, her voice is low, and her accent strange, but I understand her.

“My name,” she says, “is Tanua. I have been waiting for you.”