Secret of the Giants' Staircase (7 page)

“Actually, no,” Owen said, stepping away from them. “I side with the crazy tar-covered boy.”

“Really?” Jesse blurted.

Owen gave him a withering look. “You're not exactly helping my case.”

“Fine,” Nero said, quickly recovering from a look of shock. “Talia and I will continue without you.”

“And the reward for a completed mission will be ours without you,” Talia added.

“Happy for you,” Owen said, waving. “Let me know where that Giants' Staircase led to, eh?”

Talia shot him one last dirty look before she and Nero disappeared into the thickets of the deep swamp.

“That was your squad,” Jesse said, staring at the redhead in disbelief. “You can't just
leave
them.”

“What do you mean? I've been looking for an excuse to get rid of them for weeks now,” Owen said, waving him away. He held up the arrow. It was empty. “Slipped the tar-strider into Talia's pack when she wasn't looking,” he confessed, grinning. “Too bad I won't be there to see her reaction.”

Jesse didn't think it was too bad. In fact, he hoped Nero and Talia would be far, far away by the time that happened.
But I doubt they will be
. The sun was already setting. In another quarter of an hour, it would be too dark to travel far.
Unless Nero and Talia want to chance the Swamps of the Vanished at night
.

He looked back at the tar pit, a distance away and hoped, for their sake, they wouldn't be so foolish.

“That was some story you were telling,” Owen said cheerfully, sticking the arrow into a colorfully woven bag on his back. The tip poked out dangerously. “How did you come up with it?”

“Easy,” Jesse said flatly. “It's true. The king is trying to kill the Youth Guard.”

Owen stopped and stared at him. “You don't have to keep it up, you know. As long as you're headed out of here, I won't leave you by yourself.”

“There's nothing to keep up,” Jesse said, feeling like he was endlessly repeating himself. “It's true.”

“But you're not in the Guard,” Owen said. “At least, I don't recognize you from the training camp.”

He seemed to be waiting for a response. “That's part of the long story I told you about,” Jesse said, not sure how to summarize a month's worth of adventure in a few sentences. “But, I tell you, you're in danger. You and your squad need to leave here.”

“I'm all for that,” Owen said, shrugging. “I'm through with this madness. We've been here for weeks now, barely finding enough food and clean water to stay alive. Searched the whole swampland three times without any sign of a giant or a giant civilization. Ever since Barnaby disappeared—”

Jesse's hand automatically went to the token around his neck. It was still there, tar pit and all. “What happened to him?”

There was no trace of Owen's grin now. “We don't know. That's the worst of it. He left to gather fruit from the orchard early one morning just before dawn, and he…never came back.”

Jesse swallowed hard. “That seems to be the theme in these swamps.”

“And his bird too,” Owen added. “I think Barnaby left and went back to his family. They live near the swamps, you know. That's what kept us alive for so long—Barnaby knew things about the swamp. What to eat, how to make shelters, all that.”

That was good. Jesse hoped Owen had paid attention to Barnaby's lessons. They might need that information. Then he started thinking about what Owen had said about Barnaby's disappearance.

“Like I said,” Owen continued, “this mission of ours is pointless. Giants, they said. A staircase, they said. What kind of crazy—”

“Did you say Barnaby was in an orchard?” Jesse asked. “An orchard back in the ruins of Lidia?”

Owen stopped, blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Yes. There were several in different parts of the city that he—”

“What time of day was it?”

Owen squinted at Jesse. “You know, you have a bad habit of interrupting people when they're talking.”

That didn't seem particularly important to Jesse at the moment. “Owen. Was it night when Barnaby disappeared?”

“Yes,” Owen said. “Just before dawn, anyway. But what—”

Jesse was already running back up the hill, toward the ruins. Barnaby had disappeared at night looking for food in the city. The Guard Rider had probably disappeared during the night while making camp in the city.

Parvel, Silas and Rae were all in the city. And night had fallen.

There was no one in the city.

As soon as he stumbled over the city walls, Jesse half expected Silas to scold him for leaving the ruins, Rae to laugh at his tar-covered clothes and Parvel to lead him to a rare mural he had uncovered. But none of them did.

We have to find them
, Jesse thought, his panic growing every time he and Owen turned onto a new street and saw no one.

On the way up the hill, through the growing fog, Owen had peppered Jesse with questions, but now, in the city, they moved silently, pressing themselves against crumbling walls and ducking under old archways, always keeping their backs to the wall, always looking for something, anything.

Jesse wasn't sure if he should call for Parvel, Silas and Rae.
What if they're making camp on the outskirts of the city or in the swamp somewhere? Or what if they're looking for me?

Or what if someone else is looking for me…but for a different reason?

They wandered through a street that looked like it had once been the home of a bustling marketplace. The moonlight, reflecting off the white stone, was their only light.
At least here there aren't any tar pits to fall into
, Jesse thought.

“Let's go up higher,” Owen said, louder than he should have. Some of the buildings had two stories, with pillared porches jutting out over the street. Jesse examined them doubtfully. A few looked like they might fall apart and crumble into dust. Some already had.

But Owen was already inside one of the buildings, a blacksmith's shop, judging by the large brick oven inside. He darted up the staircase at the back of the shop.

“Slow down,” Jesse grumbled, leaning heavily on his staff as he limped up the steps.

“You're like an old man with a cane,” Owen said, laughing.

Right then, Jesse wanted to act like an old man and hit him with his “cane.” “I'm fifteen, only one or two years older than you. You're just faster.”

“You're more than two years older than me,” Owen said, a mischievous grin appearing on his face. “Promise you won't tell anyone?”

Jesse gestured around to the moonlit ruins. “Who, exactly, do you think I'm going to tell?”

“Good point,” Owen admitted. “I'm eleven and a half.” He kept going up the stairs. “Told the Patrol at the muster that I was thirteen.”

“And he believed you?”

“I don't think he cared very much.”

Owen had a point. Most Patrol didn't care about anything other than getting paid.

They had reached a landing that led out to the balcony porch. “Watch yourself,” Jesse warned as Owen scampered over to the low railing at the far end of the porch. Jesse hung back a few steps, ready to lunge forward and grab him if anything started to crack or groan under their weight.

Jesse scanned the intersecting streets. No movement, no light from a fire, no signs of life at all. Just the mist slowly seeping into the ruins from the swamp below.

“Anyone here?” Owen shouted down into the empty street.

With strength he didn't know he had, Jesse jumped forward and pulled Owen back. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “You're going to get us both killed.”

“If you're so worried about danger, let's just leave,” Owen said, not sounding alarmed by Jesse's outburst. “Spend the night somewhere else and come back in the morning.”

Jesse felt his heart rate increasing. Panic flooded his body.
Where are they? They have to be here. They have to be.
“I have to find them, Owen. You don't understand.”

“Calm down. They're probably just on the other side of the city.” But even he sounded doubtful.

“I will
not
calm down!” Dimly, Jesse realized he was shouting, but he didn't care. “The last time people I loved disappeared, I never saw them again.”

There was a pause for a moment. Then Owen ventured timidly, “Who?”

“My parents.” It hurt even to say it.

“Oh,” Owen shrugged. “Maybe they got stolen by the giants too. Or maybe they just didn't want to come back.”

For one insane moment, Jesse wanted to strike out at him, push him over the side of the balcony, for talking about his parents like that as if they didn't matter. But he was frozen with rage, unable to move.

Jesse blinked. His hands were knotted in fists. Slowly, he loosened them, shame washing over him.
I could have killed him
, Jesse realized, stunned.

Back in Mir, he would sometimes let his temper get the better of him, especially when someone was taunting him because of his crippled leg. Now, though, he was a believer in God, a Christian. He hadn't expected to still get angry…and never like this.
God, forgive me
, he prayed.

Deep down inside, he knew why Owen's comment had made him so angry. There were those old doubts, coming up again like they had in the long nights right after his parents disappeared.
What if Owen is right? What if they really didn't want to take care of me anymore? What if they moved on to a better life…without me?

Owen was still looking out over the city, not even realizing the impact his careless comment was having on Jesse.
He's only eleven
, Jesse reminded himself.
He doesn't know any better
.

“Well, no one's there, as far as I can see,” Owen said, turning. “How about we search again in the morning, eh?” He snapped his fingers and started down the stairs. “And I know just the place to spend the night.”

Jesse followed without protest. He suddenly realized how tired he was.
Maybe Owen is right. We can't do anything more until morning
.

“Where are we going?” he asked, once they had gotten down to the street.

“Somewhere I found when my squad first got here,” Owen said, never turning around. “Don't worry, it's about the safest place we could find.”

That wasn't very comforting. Everything about the city gave Jesse the sense that nothing within its walls was safe. The distant croaking of frogs in the swamps was the only sound, and their footsteps the only movement. Not even a breeze made its way through the thick forest that surrounded the city. It was as if the city itself, once alive and thriving, was silent in the grave.

“Look,” Jesse said, pointing to a grate in the street. Something wispy seemed to be coming out of it. “Is that…smoke?”

Owen studied it for a second. “It's just the fog,” he said, “a trick of the light.”

The way he said it so confidently, Jesse almost believed him. But some nagging voice told him that the wisps looked exactly like ghosts coming into the ruins.
That's impossible
, he told himself.
Ghosts don't exist
.

After a few streets, Jesse lost all sense of direction, but Owen moved confidently, pausing only a few times to glance back at the towering tree in the center of the city. Finally, Owen stopped in front of a thick wall decorated with spikes. “Climb over,” he said.

Jesse stared at the spikes. “No thank you.”

Owen laughed. “Just kidding.” He turned the corner and pointed. The wall, spikes and all, must have been hit with a battering ram the likes of which Jesse had never seen, because boulders were scattered about like they were no more than a child's set of clay blocks.

Jesse scrambled over the rocks, using his staff to keep his balance. Even though they started at the same time, Owen was waiting impatiently for him at the bottom.
He could probably best Rae with his climbing skills
.

Thinking about Rae made Jesse worry again, so he pushed the thought aside.
In the morning. We'll find them in the morning
.

Inside the wall was a round tower, rather small compared to the size and strength of the gate. “In here,” Owen said, slipping inside the archway. The door had rotted away, or been broken down, long ago.

It took a few seconds for Jesse's eyes to adjust to the even deeper darkness. The only light came from three windows, complete and unbroken, made of bits of colored glass. They were placed at equal distances from each other, set deep in the thick walls of the circular room.

A dark figure stood in front of each.

Jesse almost gasped before he realized the figures were statues, stiff and unmoving.

A sharp crack split the silence. Jesse jerked his head to see Owen striking flint and lighting a torch. The light cut through the darkness, showing more features of the room: a tiled floor, a huge golden chandelier with partially melted candles and a staircase at the back of the hall.

Owen joined Jesse in the middle of the room, casting strange shadows with the torch. Jesse glanced down at the floor beneath him. In the tiles was a blue circle with three intertwined silver
S's
.
Strange that a city would have its own coat of arms. But then, this place is like no city I've ever seen.

“This must have been a fortress or a citadel of some kind,” Jesse said, more to fill the silence than anything else. “A last line of defense.”

Owen shrugged. “Whatever it was, it has beds upstairs. Nero and Talia said we couldn't stay and that we needed to accomplish our mission, blah, blah, blah. So we traveled around the swamps and slept on the ground.” He started to head for the staircase.

Jesse stopped him, pointing to the statues. “Who are they?”

“Probably the people who lived here.”

It was obvious from his tone that Owen didn't care, but he followed Jesse to the first statue.
Probably doesn't want to be left alone in the dark any more than I do
.

The first was an imposing figure, a man with straight, even features, every detail on his stone robe etched to perfection. He was very tall, so tall that Jesse thought his height must be exaggerated for effect. A circlet rested on his high, noble forehead.

“Jardos, Sovereign of Lidia,” Owen said.

“How did you know that?” Jesse asked.

“I may only be eleven, but I can read.” Owen pointed to the base of the statue.

Jesse knelt down. Sure enough, there was an inscription in the stone. “Bring the light closer, please.”

Beneath what Owen had read was a poem in perfectly carved letters:

High was my reach,

Strong was my will.

Still do I rule,

Though I lie still.

Forever mine

The noble hill.

“He must have been the ruler of Lidia,” Jesse said.

“That would explain the crown,” Owen said, yawning.

For once, Jesse moved faster than the younger Youth Guard member, following the curve of the tower wall to the next statue. Owen trudged over, dutifully holding up the torch so Jesse could see the second figure.

Compared to Jardos, this man seemed insignificant. He had no hair and stooped over, plain clothes sagging around him and a book in his withered hands. Still, there was something important about him, not in his bearing, but in his eyes. Where Jardos' eyes had seemed proud and noble, this man's were quiet and wise.

Hyram, Scholar of Lidia
, the inscription read. Then, beneath it, another rhyme.

The toast of all

The seers and sages,

I sought to live

Within the pages,

Preserve the past

For future ages.

“Why would they make a statue of a stuffy teacher?” Owen muttered, making a face. “He even looks like the schoolmaster back home: old and boring.”

“Don't be disrespectful,” Jesse said.

Owen looked at him in disbelief. “He's
dead
!”

Jesse sighed. “That's
why
you should be respectful.”

“So, I can be disrespectful to living people, but I'm not allowed to say anything bad about dead people?” Owen demanded, incredulous.

Ignoring him, Jesse moved on to the third statue. He liked the fact that the Lidians had honored
Hyram
, someone who wasn't strong or powerful, but who had clearly done great things for the city.

Owen flashed the torch's light on the third statue and started to back away. “Okay, there they are. All three. Now can we get some sleep?” But Jesse was already reading the inscription, “Vincent, Shipbuilder of Lidia.”

Something about the name must have made Owen curious, because the torchlight stopped, then moved closer. Jesse looked up at the statue. A strong man with powerful arms held a scroll of paper in his hands and surveyed the room with piercing eyes.
Thorough and calculating
, Jesse decided.

The rhyme on the base read:

You bid me here

Across the land.

The walls that would

Push back the sand,

Built up beneath

My guiding hand.

Something about the lines reminded Jesse of the riddles down in the Rebellion Headquarters. “People from District Two must have liked riddles and rhymes,” he muttered to himself, “even back in ancient times.”

“It's not a riddle. It's a poem about a dead person,” Owen said, “who I'm not allowed to be disrespectful to.”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean the poems aren't mysterious.” Jesse glanced back up at Vincent. “Who were these people?”

“Who cares?” Owen replied.

“But why honor a shipbuilder?” Jesse pressed. “Why not a general or an advisor or someone important?”

“Shipbuilders are important,” Owen insisted hotly.

Jesse had identified Owen's accent as District One, Jesse's home district, but now he was sure he knew exactly where Owen had lived before the Guard. “You're from the coast of District One, aren't you?” Jesse asked.

Owen nodded. “My father was a merchant,” he said. “Is,” he quickly added. “At least, I think so. I've been gone for so long….”