Where Giants Fall

By Angela R. Watts, Michaela Bush, Matt Starr and 11 more

Man-eating monsters. Devils in the dark. Darkness lingering in the shadows.

Can light overcome it? Can the weak and fearful stand strong?

This anthology will keep you reading past your bedtime with heartfelt stories of light illuminating the darkness. Featuring bestselling, award-winning, and up-and-coming authors...

Angela R. Watts
Michaela Bush
S.D. Howard
Sara Francis
Matthew Starr
Jonathon Mast
Sarah Ryder
Kara Linaburg
Abby Smith
Nathaniel Luscombe
Michaela LaVoice
M.H. Elrich
AJ Skelly
R.J. Setser

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela R. Watts
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201534691

Book preview

WHERE GIANTS FALL

Angela R. Watts, Michaela Bush

Copyright © 2022 by Angela R. Watts and Michaela Bush

All rights reserved.

Cover design by miblart.com. All rights reserved. 

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any form whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except the brief use of quotations in a book review. 

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, places, incidents, and so forth are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any similarities to people, living or dead, and actual events, are entirely coincidental. 

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 9798411244724

Contents

1. WHEN DEVILS WALKED THE DARKNESS

2. THE CHILDREN OF ARNBJØRG

3. NO HERO

4. LIGHT AND TRUTH

5. NEPENTHES

6. A DANCE OF STONES

7. THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF FALLING

8. WAVERING LOYALTY

9. THE LORD OF THE HARVEST

10. INTO THE LIGHT

11. THE BEASTS OF THE SEA

12. A BREEZE SO SOFT AND GENTLE

13. WHAT THE DARKNESS FEARS

14. THE SILVER DRAGON

THANK YOU!

WHEN DEVILS WALKED THE DARKNESS

AJ Skelly

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Samhain. The most dreaded night of the year. The eve when the devils stalked the earth, wreathed in shadow and darkness.

The entire village was on edge. Every year on Samhain, wickedness reigned. Babies went missing. Livestock was slaughtered, men burned. The devils roamed free of their hellish confines, and we paid the price.

You take this, keep it tight. Do not set it down once tonight, Mother admonished me as she tied a bundle of warding herbs into a pouch and strung the leather thong around my neck. Garlic whiffed around me as the pouch settled against my chest.

But what about the things the man of God has said, I started, conflicted with the old ways and the strange new-fangled talk of the holy man.

No. She said the word with enough force that I took a step back. It does not matter what the man of God says. He is mistaken. He knows nothing of the old ways. He speaks in foolish babble. The devils will eat his heart and leave his bones for the dawn light. Mother’s bottom lip quivered. I was sorry I’d said anything. Mother was especially aware of Samhain and the devilry that took place in the deep folds of night. Her sister had been taken on Samhain as a child, never to be seen again. Not even the royals were immune.

She gently took my golden circlet and put it on the simple table beside my bed. Now, into your night clothes with you. You keep that pouch on until daylight. No silly words of an outsider will keep you safe. But this, she tapped the herbs and the scent of garlic wafted afresh into the room, this is the way we’ve always warded against the demons. For all the good it did us. Her face gentled. Good night, Elaine.

Good night, Mother. She kissed my forehead, gave me one last lingering look, then exited and closed the door to my chambers. The key turned in the keyhole. It would keep physical intruders out…but I doubted it would do much against the devilish sort.

Instead of getting into bed, I cautiously crept to the window, far too anxious for sleep. The cool stones of the window ledge were rough beneath my fingers. From the vantage of my castle chambers, I had a clear view of the meadow and the forest beyond.

The forest where the demons lurked.

Even now, the ominous glowing of yellow and orange lights flittered like malevolent fireflies between the thick gnarled branches of the trees. My heart leapt into my throat, and my chest constricted, making breathing difficult.

Instinctively, I clutched the packet of herbs dangling from my neck. My heart pounded beneath my clenched fingers. Something moved at the corner of my vision. Blinking, I squinted in puzzlement.

There, coming across the green to the edge of the village, was a tiny white light. Just a pin prick against the darkness. But white.

Momentarily forgetting my fear, I leaned out of my window, curious and slightly terrified at what that white light represented. Shock dropped my jaw as a white-robed figure slowly materialized behind the white light.

It was the man of God, carrying a single white taper, the end flickering, wavering in the darkness. Ripping my eyes from the holy man, I searched the forest. There, at the edge of the meadow, masses of translucent orange, yellow, and red gathered. Wraiths, wiggling like ribbons, teeth glinting like predators, disjointed bodies floating as an eerie scream pierced the night that had fully fallen over the land.

I clapped my hands over my ears as terror rooted me to my place at the window. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the horror that unfolded before me. There was no moon tonight. Only blackness, the hateful devils, and the man of God all swathed in white. At the sound of the shriek, the masses lurched forward across the ground.

Slithering and hissing like snakes through the dry grasses, floating as specters, twisting and running, long teeth exposed, enormous claws protruding from withered hands, they raced across the meadow.

My eyes focused on the man of God. This was his end. Tears welled up in my eyes. No one man could stand against these demons from the darkest pits of hell. My knees quaked—not even if every man in the village stood beside him could they defeat these other-worldly foes.

Then, as my heart banged against my ribs and my breath came in tight pants, the white Light around the man of God grew. Not from the candle, its circle of light remained the same. But the Light. It…spread.

You will not traverse here this night. By the might of the Lord of Hosts, I stand between you and this place. Go back, you vile devils! the man of God boomed into the darkness. He planted his feet wide apart, his shoulders firm and steady beneath the halo of white that seemed to emanate from inside him.

He’d once told me that his God had delivered him from great wickedness and now lived inside his chest. The thought of a god inside me was nearly as terrifying as the hordes of demons racing to devour the flesh from the holy man’s bones. But…but what if he was right? What if his God did live inside his chest? Was it possible a god could live there?

Wasn’t the white Light coming from inside him proof of what he said?

Garlic and rosemary coated my hand where it squeezed tight against the pouch at my chest. But surely, no god could ever defeat such masses of writhing evil. I’d seen the horror they wreaked. The man would be dead in moments. Still, I could not look away. I would watch and mark his passing.

Shrieks, yips, and howls rent the night as the horde descended, encroached around the ring of the man’s white Light. As one, they leapt, jumped, and sprinted towards the man, their teeth and claws fully exposed.

Thunder boomed across the sky as lightening crackled around the man of God. Yells and screams rose into the night as the stench of burnt flesh suddenly flooded my nostrils.

Go back! the man shouted, authority ringing in his words.

Shrieks, angry and wild, shuddered around the man as he stood fast. For long, agonizing minutes, the swirls of livid sparks battled against the white Light. It never faltered, never wavered. Smoke rose from the circle around the man of God. Devils screamed in pain, writhed in terror, even fell at his feet. Light still streamed from the holy man’s chest. Where his God lived.

If that man and his God could stand against the hordes of hell where no one had done so before, then what he said must be true. Yanking the pouch of herbs from my neck, I threw it on the floor as tears streamed down my face.

Save me, too, I whispered to his unknown God.

White Light pierced my chest, sending my fears screaming to the shadows.

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Samhain descends once more onto our village. With slow, marked steps, I trace the path that time has worn into the ground. Darkness threatens, and there at the edge of the meadow, the evil lights begin to appear. Awareness tingles over my scalp as the white Light inside my chest builds in power.

The man of God has gone on to his rest, safe and secure in the arms of our God. Tonight, I will stand against the armies of devils. Loneliness surrounds me. The words of the man of God did not go out void. There are others in the village who have accepted the Light, but they are yet weak. The burden rests with me. Light pulses in my chest, reminding me that I am never abandoned.

The devils stand there, encroached at the edge of the field. I see their twisted forms, their pock-marked faces, the claws, the teeth, the wickedness oozing from them. Fear threatens, but I push it aside. Fear has no place here.

I thump my chest and the Light inside me flares, warming me with confidence and assurance. I do not stand here alone. My God stands beside me, within me, in front and behind me. Through His power, these devils will not prevail.

I widen my stance, my palms facing the heavens. Inside my chest, the Light throbs, ready, willing, able.

A shriek pierces the night, ripping away the façade of peace. Streams of color, sparks and flames, race over the meadow howling in rage and hate. Desperation pulls at me, but I stand firm.

From the corner of my eye, Light flickers. I tear my eyes from the hordes only long enough to see two figures rushing towards me, their Light wavering.

We will stand with you. Where two or three are gathered, the Light is stronger.

Heat envelopes me in a rush of thankfulness as two of my friends, fellow Light bearers, flank me on either side. We plant ourselves, elbows touching, Light flaring, and face the demons.

Light pours from my chest, and the chests of my friends, forming a shield around us.

Let the devils come.

Let the Light prevail.

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AJ SKELLY is an author, blogger, and lover of all things fantasy, medieval, and fairy-tale-romance. And werewolves. She has a serious soft spot for them. As an avid life-long reader and a former high school English teacher, she’s always been fascinated with the written word. She lives with her husband, children, and many imaginary friends who often find their way into her stories. They all drink copious amounts of tea together and stay up reading far later than they should.

THE CHILDREN OF ARNBJØRG

Sara Francis

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Völundr wondered what death was like. 

Was it peaceful like the sea? Or violent like a storm? He was told that a child did not need to know. But he was becoming a man and wished for an answer.

He stood on the edge of the rocky shore, listening to the waves. The hairs stood up on his arms as a gust blew off the water. He reminisced about the times Mother spoke of how she couldn’t wait to see the ocean.

But Völundr stood alone.

He hoped for Mother’s sake that death was peaceful like the sea she dreamed of. 

A lump formed in his throat as he thought about the day she was dragged away by Jarl Dagur’s men. Muffled screams resounded in his head. He hadn’t been strong enough to save her. He hated himself for that. 

As did his father.

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Darkness blanketed the Clan of Arnbjørg’s encampment. The orange glow of torches warmed Völundr’s face as he snuck through the line of tents. He wasn’t allowed to be out at night. Father forbade it. Disobedience was an invitation for punishment. However, Völundr tried not to fear his father’s reprimands. He reached twelve years; a man in the eyes of the Clan. He thought defiance was a step towards the strength of his ancestors that he desired.

Völundr crept around the back of his family’s dwelling to where a small opening had been slit earlier in the day. He scooped away the dirt at the base of the tent. Lying on his belly, he dragged himself under the flap, across the wolf-skin rugs, and beneath his wool blanket. 

As he was drifting off to sleep, the black behind his eyelids turned red, and a man cleared his throat. The boy swallowed hard and peeked. 

His father towered over him like a giant. Dark eyes shone with anger in the flickering lantern light. His black skin was rough and filthy from the day’s hunt. Völundr, he began in a low voice. What have you been told? 

I don’t — I don’t see what the danger is, the boy stammered. The bravery he felt while venturing in the dark disappeared like shadows after sundown. His strength failed.

Father grunted. You know members of our Clan are untrustworthy. A child like you would not stand a chance. He rested his forearms on his knees, dangling the lantern between them. My boy, you are aware of the dangers of our people. We are a dying race. You and your sister are the final generation of the Arnbjørg Clan. Some will do anything to keep it alive. Anger flooded behind his eyes and he growled, Our family already experienced that tragic truth. 

Völundr’s limbs quaked and his heart hurt. The hatred in Father’s voice was not just for Jarl Dagur and his men. He knew Father resented his weakness. 

The boy looked over at his younger sister, Aksinya, who slept soundly on her mat. Draping across her soft ebony cheeks were locks of her bushy silver hair. Völundr was not blessed to have his head kissed by the Ancestors. He looked like Father—with thick black hair pulled tight into a braid—while she looked just like Mother. 

Völundr wondered if Aksinya blamed him, too.

He didn’t want to know. Shaking his head, Völundr brought his attention back to his glowering father. I would never go near the Jarl nor even look at him, he snapped. I cannot believe we still call him leader after what he’s done.

Not for much longer. Father reached out to pat his son’s face, but Völundr flinched. Father scoffed, took his hand away, and stated, A plan is being devised. I will inform your sister and you in the morning.

Völundr’s eyes widened. Overthrowing the Jarl was a difficult task, but if it meant proving himself as a man of strength to his father, then he would accept the challenge.

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The Clan awoke with the sun and bustled about the encampment as they set out for a day of work. 

Völundr and Aksinya walked down the line of tents while watching the blacksmiths, carpenters, seamstresses, traders, and jewelers set up their stations. 

Only three days remained until their people set out for the next village to share their wisdom and treasures as they’d done for generations. The mighty Clan of Arnbjørg was kind, humble, but not without strength. They were known to defend their honor and people against all enemies, including themselves. 

Völundr and Aksinya believed it was their turn to fight for their family.

When the children reached the merchants’ tents, they made a right off the path and continued straight until they reached the shore. 

Cold waves crashed against the rocks, leaving a line of white foam against the black. Völundr stared, perplexed. He was told the night prior that they would receive further instructions about Father’s plan. Instead, he was directed to the ocean which he started to dislike. He felt the pain of loss with every tide.

Völundr pushed away the thoughts and shouted over the noise, Did Father speak with you, Aksinya?

She nodded and took a piece of parchment out of her bag. Standing beside her brother, she opened the paper and pulled it taut. The letter read:

My beloved children,

You know what must be done. For years we have lived quietly as Jarl Dagur gets away with tearing our family apart. No longer. We will avenge your mother, Sif, and prevent the same from happening to anyone else. 

Your first task is to steal. It may not replace your mother nor the amethyst pendant she desired to pass to Aksinya, but it will hurt him as much. 

Your second task is to spy. Gather information about the Jarl: his tent layout and items within. 

In the meantime, I will prepare for the next steps. We only have three days. If all goes well, you will never see the notorious Jarl Dagur again.

Godspeed,

Your father

Aksinya folded up the paper, shoved it in her pack, and explained, Father gave me the letter and some instructions before he left this morning. I was told to bring lots of supplies for us. 

Völundr’s cheeks burned as he wondered why she received the tasks. Was he not trusted? He was told he would receive direction. He assumed it would be from Father, not through Aksinya. A knot formed in his stomach as his mind thought of all the things Father might have said about Völundr’s incompetence. 

Aksinya dragged the bag across the rocky shore until she came upon a small grotto. He said to take enough for two weeks. With a grunt, she tossed it to the back of the cave, then turned to her brother. Does that mean we’re leaving the Clan? she asked in a small voice barely audible against the waves.

 It appeared so to Völundr, but the pain in his sister’s face made him refrain from admitting it. Even if Father didn’t recognize his adulthood, he would act accordingly for his sister. I’m sure it’s only a precaution, he lied. Now, let’s avenge our mother.

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No one noticed the siblings walking around the Jarl’s section of the camp. It was common for children to wander during the workday. If they were not tasked with a job by their parents, they were free to enjoy time outside. Since Völundr and Aksinya were the youngest, no one spoke up when they started to run and play evade and capture in the open field by the leader’s tent. 

Aksinya squealed as her brother snatched at her garment. He wasn’t fast enough and she slipped away before he could drag her to the capture point. The little girl’s heart raced as she pumped her legs harder. She sensed Völundr gaining on her, but she would not succumb to fatigue. Besides, she played enough. She had a job to do. 

Aksinya darted to the left and headed towards the Clan leader’s dwelling.

Jarl Dagur’s tent was six meters long and crafted from the finest fabric. Aksinya ran along the side, searching for a different way in. A tear in the cloth or a dip in the earth would permit a child of her size to enter through. As she turned to go around back, she noticed slack by the corner post. She skidded to a stop and knelt. Lifting the draping fabric, she took a deep breath and crawled inside. 

The finest animal skins lined the floor and draped across a high wooden bed frame. Armor hung on a rack beside a crate of weapons that were crusted red with blood. A circular sitting area wrapped around the center beam. Two lanterns hung down, dimly lighting the dwelling. Brass goblets, leather wine sacks, and scraps of food scattered across the benches. The faint aroma of meat filled Aksinya’s nostrils. She could taste the warm flesh of veal fresh off a roaring fire. 

Her stomach growled like a dog’s. She clutched it tightly, praying the tent was vacant. Holding her breath, she peered around the bed. No one was there. Time to begin.

Quietly, she crawled across the floor and inspected all areas of the Jarl’s quarters. She  first looked over his maps. Aksinya could not interpret much; she stared at the vast sea that stretched across several pages. 

She recalled Mother’s lullabies about lands beyond the ocean. Melodies of warmth, joy, and peace resounded in her mind.

The memories made Aksinya sorrowful, so she pushed the maps aside and continued her search. 

After snacking on scraps from a meal unfinished, she went to the crates beside the Jarl’s bed. Unlocking the first, she pushed it open with a grunt and gasped. 

Gold bracelets, silver brooches, and other riches lay unguarded. Her eyes sparkled in the shine of the jewels. 

Aksinya rifled through them, searching for her mother’s amethyst pendant. The one she admired as a little girl. The one stripped from their mother as she was dragged off into the night. Aksinya was asleep when it happened. She didn’t get to say goodbye.

Shaking away the memory, the girl focused on her task. To her surprise, she didn’t find it. Perhaps Jarl Dagur gave it to his wife, but Aksinya never saw her wearing it.

Muffled voices erupted outside the tent. Aksinya could not make out the conversation, but she knew one belonged to Völundr. She assumed the deep murmur of the second man belonged to Jarl Dagur. 

Aksinya’s heart raced as they grew louder until the volume evened out before the entrance. Her hands shook as she shoved a few gold bracelets into her satchel and snapped the box shut. As she rose to rush out the back, the front flap flew open. The light of day blinded her and she shielded her eyes. 

Aksinya, a deep voice announced, what are you doing in my chambers?

The girl’s knees knocked and her breath quickened. Slowly, she lowered her hand.

Jarl Dagur stood tall, casting his long shadow over her. A fine green tunic hugged his bulky frame, and a dead fox draped over his broad shoulders. His thick arms were covered in scars from battles won. A long silver braid hung down his back. He was the image of a ferocious leader with the strength of all the Arnbjørg ancestors.

Water welled in the little girl’s eyes. Dropping to her knees, Aksinya sobbed, F-f-forgive me, Jarl Dagur! Her shoulders shook from hysterics. She wanted to think of an excuse to explain her