Giant's Eyebrows

By G. Wizzard

The life of a sheltered young girl is shattered when Deus Ex Magicae attacks and captures her friends and family. She manages to escape to the cabin hidden in the woods, but her freedom is short-lived. She is soon captured, and for the first time in her life she is brought face-to-face with the magic that DEM embraces, a magic that emanates from the Broken Mountain.

Far outside of the life she knows, she must find a way to escape and save her family. With a little help from an interdimensional gnome, a witch, and one of her captors, she might have a chance to bring everyone home.

 

Set several generations after a nuclear event in the Pacific Northwest, Giant's Eyebrows tests your grip on reality, as our heroine tries to return to the peaceful life she once knew. Covering a range of ideas from science fiction to philosophy, it is sure to capture your attention, if only to set it down again and say, "what the hell did I just read?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Wizzard
• Release date: Dec 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201773175

G. Wizzard

About One of the Author’s Cats Bones was adopted. A bit nervous about the rest of the family at first, he now struts around the house loudly proclaiming that he’s hungry, or lonely, or has just used the litter box, or for no reason at all. He thinks he is one of the dogs, and will follow us all down to the back door, where he stares at things intently through the glass while the dogs take care of barking at all the squirrels. Once the squirrels have been dealt with, Bones tries to get in on the treat action rather aggressively. Basically, you don’t want to deprive him of food, or you’ll regret it. Bones does not feature in Giant’s Eyebrows, but if he did, he would be Werelynn’s cat.

Book preview

Norse Creation Myth

Between Muspelheim and Niflheim, there was ginnungagap; a void of chaos, nothing, and silence. Into ginnungagap crept the fires of Muspelheim and the hoary ice of Niflheim. They crept closer and closer until they met in a hissing, steaming, screaming conflict that melted the ice of Niflheim. The meltwater flowed and formed into the first of the god-giants: Ymir. As Ymir slept, other giants arose from the flesh of his thighs and the sweat of his armpits: the frost giants. As more of the ice of Niflheim melted, a cow called Audhumla was revealed. Four rivers flowed from her udder, and she nourished Ymir as she licked at the ice. After three days, she freed a man from the ice. He was tall and strong and handsome; he was Buri, first of the Aesir. Buri had a son called Bor, who married Bestla: daughter of Bolthorn. They had three children: Odin, Vili, and Ve.

Over time, Ymir became larger and more terrible, so much so that the three brothers set out to slay him. Striking a mortal blow, such quantities of blood flowed that it drowned all of the frost giants but for two; thus, the three brothers slew Ymir and created the nine worlds from its corpse. From its skin and muscles, they made the earth and soil, and from its hair they made plants and vegetation, from its blood, the oceans. Its skull—the sky—was held up by four dwarves—Nordri, Sudri, Austri, and Vestri—and its brains were thrown into the sky to make clouds. Finally, the three brothers used Ymir’s eyebrows to encircle the world; creating a safe haven: Midgard.

Two

She hums tunelessly as she wanders through the flowers. The flowers are bright, the sun is warm, and She brushes the soft petals with her fingertips while She hums. Trees encircle her world, creating a boundary for everything She can see. She has never been out to the trees because they are dark and scary, but they provide a kind of persistent comfort. Some of the people in her village have been to the trees, some of those people come back with strange tales, but some of those people never come back.

Today is a good day. Today is the day Uncle comes back from his trip to the neighboring city, where he bartered their surplus tech junk for food for Juoltide week. She has always looked forward to Joultide; the one week out of the year when everyone stops working and works hard on relaxing. When Uncle returns, they will begin preparations for the Joulday feast.

She stops wandering when She reaches a point where the flowers are less numerous and a shallow ditch winds its way through the verdant field. There is a stone here. It lies atop a small mound of dirt; dirt that was purposely heaped on top of her brother. They wouldn’t let her see him when he was born. People said her mother miscarried and it was too gruesome to let Her see. She doesn’t understand, but She has come to the small mound for many summers, when the sun is shining warm and bright, to weave a wreath of flowers for him. She hums to herself as she brushes a piece of auburn hair from her face and begins collecting long-stemmed flowers.

What are you doing? a slightly nasal, gravelly voice asks.

I’m making a flower wreath for my brother, she responds, looking around. Where are you?

I’m right here. You’re looking right at me.

She looks around, hands paused mid-weave. I don’t see you.

I’m next to the small brown mushroom, the voice replies.

She finally focuses on the small mushroom in the grass and notices a small man next to it. Oh hello, she says. Who are you?

That should have been your first question, the small man says, waggling a knobby finger back and forth at her. Who are you?

I asked you first, She says.

You probably did, the small man says, but you’re more important than I am.

How do you know that if you don’t know who I am?

A smile slowly forms on the small man’s face. You’re a clever one, Calisha.

Calisha looks back to the flowers in her hands and continues constructing the wreath. So you know who I am, but won’t tell me who you are?

The small man continues to smile. I will tell you who I am if you ask politely.

Calisha weaves for a moment more, enjoying the scent of the flowers and the grass, and the sticky, sandpapery feel of the stems in her hands. Please, sir, what is your name? She looks into his piercing, violet-colored eyes.

His grin widens until he lets out a small laugh. Thank you, kind lady. He stands up and puffs out his chest, his head is barely level with Calisha’s, and she is sitting down. I am Rip Stipley, he says, with a bow and a flourish of his gnarled hands.

Pleased to meet you Rip, Calisha says. I like your hat.

Rip takes the greenish-yellow hat from his head and looks intently at it, gently touches the small brim, brushes his fingers across the braided leather band, lightly ensuring the shape of the top. Thank you. This is my Amadou. It has travelled with me far and wide.

Where did you get it? Calisha asks, as she turns her attention back to her wreath.

A wise man gave it to me when I finally understood. Rip puts the hat back over his short white hair.

Understood what? Calisha asks, but there is no response. Rip? She looks around for the small figure. Rip?

Strange, Calisha says.

With the sun low on the horizon, she finishes her wreath. She examines it for a moment, then smiles, stands up, and sets it on the small mound of earth.

I met a weird... person? today, she says out loud, eyes fixed on the earthen mound, the green tips of grass peeking out of the soil, and the ring of flowers she set there. He had an interesting hat and a long beard, and he said his name was Rip. Birds start singing in a tall bush nearby. I didn’t notice him until he started talking to me... She brushes debris off of her dress. But he was standing next to that small mushroom. She points as she speaks, then lets her hand fall back to her side. He didn’t say a lot, and he disappeared suddenly, but I have a feeling I’ll see him again.  Calisha looks at the horizon; the setting sun coming through the trees; the colors the clouds proudly wear; the golden light that seems to emanate from everywhere. I probably ought to get back home, she says, but I’m glad I could come visit.

As she turns to go, a quiet, low voice speaks. I’m glad you came to visit too. Rip’s voice. She turns and looks around but cannot see him. After a moment, she shrugs and turns to go but hesitates, turns back, plucks the small mushroom, then hurries home trying to protect the small cap and fragile stem as she skips, trips, and jostles her way through the field.

Three

The morning sun is warm on Calisha’s cheek. It streams in through the window, refracting through the imperfections in the glass, casting rainbow colors in fits throughout the room. Her eyes flutter several times and then open quickly. She smiles. It is Joultide morning. Everyone will gather today and celebrate with food and games and stories. Perhaps her father will even bring out the projector, start the generator, and play a movie on the side of the house. Calisha smiles again and jumps out of bed, removes her bedclothes and tosses them in a heap by her dresser. She rummages around in a pile of clothing, sniffing at various items until she settles on underclothes that have probably been washed recently. Then she pulls a probably-once-was-white sundress over her head; it has a small pattern of ivy crawling across it. Then she pulls on some socks and her old boots and, without bothering to lace them up, rushes down the stairs.

Good morning mom, she says, as she approaches the fireplace where her mom is stirring something in a large pot. The pot sizzles and burps and issues forth wonderful smells of cooking meat, potatoes, and herbs that mix in a pleasant way with the smell of woodsmoke.

Good morning dear, her mother says from her place by the fire. She smiles then turns back to stare at the stew.

Happy Joultide, Calisha says.

Happy Joultide, her mother replies without looking up. Your father is at the hall preparing for the Joultide festivities. Why don’t you go see if he needs help?

Sure mom, but I was hoping we could spend some time together and talk, Calisha says, rocking back and forth on her feet and holding her hands clasped behind her back.

I would love to dear, but I have to prepare for the feast, and in just a little bit we’ll have more people in this room than can hardly fit. It would be better if you went to help your father, so you aren’t underfoot.

I guess, Calisha says, looking down at the wood floor. She turns and slowly clomps towards the front door, turning back to look at her mother for a few seconds before continuing on. Though she is gentle with the door, it squeaks loudly when she opens and shuts it.

The morning air is fresh, cool, and carries the scent of animal and plant life; the pungent, acrid odor of grazing animals is mitigated by the scent of the fruit trees and flowers. She meanders through the open field, generally toward the meeting hall, but allows herself to be distracted with this or that as she goes. Eventually, she is facing the stout, no-nonsense, plain doors of the hall, one of which is open. The room within is nearly pitch black as she enters, but the woodland scenes that are carved into the walls come into focus as her eyes adjust. Only two of the many candles in this room are lit, casting little light in the small foyer; the shadows dance crazily as Calisha walks to the interior doors, which aren’t shut all the way. She hears people talking: her father’s voice; a voice she recognizes as her nearest neighbor, Lain; and a third voice that is too quiet to distinguish.

And how are you going to handle this rash of idiocy? Lain asks.

Be careful how you choose your words, her father says. It is not kind to call people idiots.

But that’s what they are!

Calisha peers between the interior doors, taking care to stay in the shadowed room.

Lain is gesticulating at her father, a frown upon his face. We can’t have people going around saying they tried magic and it worked. That will undermine everything we’re trying to achieve here.

Her father strokes his beard and gazes at the rafters. That is true, but in order to quell this interest in magic, we need to demonstrate that, no matter how useful it is, it will ultimately lead everyone toward selfishness and destruction.

The third person in the hall is a woman that seems vaguely familiar to Calisha. Her skin is tanned and though she has some wrinkles, she doesn't look old; her hair is black and unkempt, with a few leaves and twigs clinging to it. Her clothing is simple, rough-woven, and tinged with green. She is facing the door where Calisha is standing, and her eyes are bright, green, and piercing. Calisha jerks back a step when the woman’s gaze turns toward her.

Be careful what you call magic, she says in a clear voice. There is knowledge we have forgotten that could be confused with this new... force, but it might be wise to continue this conversation at a later time.

What the hell are you talking about?! Lain says, throwing his hands up. This needs to be addressed now. Today. Before the Joultide feast! He stomps his foot.

I mean to say we might not be the only three people participating in this conversation anymore.

Calisha’s father and Lain both turn and look toward the foyer.

Calisha quickly pushes open the door. Hi dad.

Lain frowns, scoffs, then turns back to the strange woman.

Good morning Calisha, her father says, returning the smile. Have you been waiting for me long? He embraces Calisha when she nears.

No, she says, shaking her head and looking up into his kind eyes. I came in as soon as I got here. Her father’s perpetual scent smells vaguely of sweat and tobacco, which makes Calisha smile.

He releases Calisha and steps back, looking into her hazel eyes. I’m glad you’re here Calisha. I need help hanging the wreath and garlands.

Calisha’s eyes drift to the many iron hooks jutting from the plain wooden columns that hold up the rafters. I guess I can help with that.

As she speaks, Lain brushes past, nearly knocking Calisha over.

Lain, her father says in a low voice.

Lain continues a few steps before stopping and flipping his blond hair as he turns around. What?!

...Remember what I asked of you.

Lain scoffs and turns again, walking quickly with heavy steps, out of the hall. I’ll be checking on the chickens since I have nothing better to do!

Calisha recovers her balance and looks to her father again. Why is he so mean?

Her father sighs. Some people are just like that.

Calisha’s gaze is drawn to the strange woman over her father’s shoulder. Who is this?

Her father looks over his shoulder, then looks back at Calisha and furrows his brow. This is Werelynn. She lives in the forest a few miles from here.

Calisha steps around her father. Hello Werelynn, I’m Calisha.

Werelynn shakes Calisha’s proffered hand and exchanges a look with Davrys. Hello Calisha, it’s nice to meet you. You have such a pretty name.

Calisha smiles. Thanks, I like your name too.

Thank you my child, Werelynn says.

Calisha frowns. I’m not a child...

Werelynn smiles. I can see that, she responds. She winks at Calisha, then faces Calisha’s father. You would do well to heed my warning Davrys. The world we live in may have changed drastically, but people are still people, and they will still pursue comfort.

Davrys’ face hardens. I am doing what I can with what I have, and I understand my duty to my people. He turns to Calisha and puts his hand on her shoulder. They are my reason for continuing when everything seems like it’s falling apart.

Werelynn shakes her head, her bone earrings clacking against each other. I want to believe you, but I have no faith in people.

Davrys’ face droops. I’m sorry to hear that. He removes his hand from Calisha’s shoulder and turns his gaze to Werelynn. And I will not forget that you came when I asked.

I may value my solitude, Werelynn says, matching Davrys’ stare, but I can’t turn a blind eye when people are in need. I need to get a few things from my cellar before I can be of real use though. It will probably take a couple days before I return.

Thank you Werelynn. I will repay your favor as we discussed. Davrys looks into Werelynn’s piercing eyes. If you need anything for your trip, talk to Greta at the bakery, and Taran at the stables.

Thank you Davrys. We may have different ideas about how the world should be run, but you have a good heart. Werelynn steps past Davrys and takes Calisha's hands. Take care Calisha, she says, eyes twinkling.

Thank you, Calisha replies, smiling.

Werelynn turns and exits the hall, her hand-made sandals slapping softly against the rough wooden flooring.

Davrys walks to the end of the hall, where a podium has been placed. The podium has a symbol carved into the front; it is shaped like a mushroom, only with scalloped edges around the cap. There is a skull and bones in the cap, and the words ‘Never Forget’ carved under the base of the mushroom.

Dantry has the decorations for the hall, if you wouldn’t mind finding him and helping, Calisha’s father says, as he inspects an aging book on the podium.

Sure, Calisha replies. How come Werelynn was here? She said something was wrong, is there something bad happening?

Davrys looks up from his book and pushes his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose. It’s complicated, Calisha. I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to worry about it right now. His face softens with a smile, his eyes wrinkle at the corners from years of smiling and laughing. Besides, now is a time for celebration, happiness, and family. I’ll explain what she’s talking about after Joultide is over if you still want to know. He comes back around the podium and hugs Calisha. Right now, I want you to focus on helping make this the best Joultide yet. He looks into her eyes. Can you do that for me?

Sure, Calisha replies, as she smiles and hugs him back. She releases her hold and steps back, eyes shining. I’ll help as much as I can.

Four

Calisha approaches the storage shed, noting that the door has been left ajar. She pulls it open and steps into the stuffy interior. The slightly uneven door slowly swings back to mostly closed as she takes another step towards the man who is hunched over an open box. Stacks of boxes block most of the windows, and the gloom is only pierced by small shafts of illumination, in which motes of dust twinkle and dance as they float through the air. The air is stifling, verging on hot; drops of sweat glisten on the floor on the path between the boxes.

Good morning Dantry, Calisha says, as she approaches.

The young man jerks up from his stooped position over an open box and frowns at her, but his face quickly changes to a smile. Good morning Calisha. I’m sorry, but you startled me. He gestures at the open box and the small pile of Joultide decorations. I’m still trying to find the Joultide candles. I could have sworn they were in the box marked Joultide candles, he winks, but they don’t seem to be here.

Have you tried any other boxes? Calisha asks, looking around at the various things written on the boxes.

I’ve been at this since sunup, he replies, sighing and wiping his brow; his brown hair sticks sideways afterward. There are just so many boxes, and I’m not sure labeling them helped. He grins.

Yeah, I can see why. She points at one marked ‘Useless Tools’. "What’s in