Tilda Marsh's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Tilda Marsh counted teeth on her belt while the giant crossed the far field. Three teeth, each pulled from a giant she had dropped with the sling braided from her own white hair. She was too old now to run. That was why she wanted a boy at her side who could learn the throw before her arms failed for good. The boy stood beside her instead of behind her, which was worse. Ned Larrow gripped a rolled map like it might shield him. His ink-stained fingers shook. She had asked him to watch and mark distances. He was a mapmaker, not a fighter, but he was the only young one who had stayed when the others fled. "It's coming faster," Ned said. His voice barely carried. The giant's steps flattened a fence. It smelled the smoke from the village hearths and turned toward the nearest roofs. Tilda had homes to save. She loosed a stone. It struck the giant's ear. The giant roared and charged, no longer wandering but hunting. "That was wrong," she muttered. Her fingers had lost the old speed. The second stone flew short and buried itself in mud. She reached for a third and found her pouch empty. The giant was thirty paces off now. Tilda's arm ached. She would not clear the sling in time. She pressed something into Ned's palm. It was a small clay whistle, painted with faded flowers, the toy she had carried since she was a girl no bigger than him. "Blow it hard," she said. "When I say." Ned stared at her. "You want to draw maps of safe roads. There are no safe roads while that thing lives. Blow it." She fed a stone into the sling and began to swing. The giant filled the sky above them. Tilda's boots slid in the wet grass. "Now," she said. Ned blew. The whistle shrieked, thin and sharp. The giant flinched and cocked its head toward the sound, and its huge foot came down wrong. It stumbled. Its chin dropped level with the hilltop. Tilda released. The stone cracked into its temple. The giant swayed, then fell backward across the ruined fence. The ground shook. It did not rise. Smoke still drifted from the untouched roofs below. The homes stood. Ned lowered the whistle. His hands had stopped shaking. "I made it stumble," he said, half to himself. "You did." Tilda took the whistle back and closed his fingers around empty air. "Keep the next one. You'll need your own." She walked to the fallen giant and drew her knife to claim a fourth tooth. Behind her, Ned unrolled his map and looked at it differently now. He had come to chart a path out of these hills. He was starting to think about the path back in.