On the Path of the Giants

Chapter 9: Joshua

        Neither Joshua nor Mary spoke while they ate, and the craking sound of the fire and the occasional gulping noises were the only things heard inside the small hut-like building. Although Johan had left, Joshua could still feel her presence permeating the building, as if she did not dare to go too far from Joshua, fearing for his safety the way a mother might fear for her son’s. “She is almost the same age as my mother” Joshua realized, in surprise. He had failed to realize their age difference through his sheer desire for survival, but now that the danger was dimming, his thoughts became clearer.

        Joshua heard dogs cheerfully barking far outside the hut. Children were answering them in their nasal tongue, playing and running around the village. Joshua was reminded of his own village, and he was glad to have found a place within the Giant’s forest that resembled it so closely. He enjoyed the sound of the children running outside, reminding him of a time when his biggest worries were of whether or not he could beat his friends in an arrow-making contest, or be the first one to catch the running hare. A smile wrought its way upon his face as he thought back to these memories, and for the first time in a long time, he felt blissful.

        Joshua finished his meal before Mary, putting his wooden bowl down on the stony earth floor, and patiently waited for her to finish. He shifted his weight around, still sitting crosslegged. Blood came rushing back into his legs, bringing pain with it, but Joshua did not flinch.

        Several minutes later, Mary put her bowl down, in front of Joshua's, although she stayed seated on her stool. The way she acted reminded Joshua of Old man David. This look of wisdom in her eyes, this sparkle of intelligence and of life well-lived. Of experience and expertise, gathering all the knowledge of the tribe inside of her mind, and distributing it to whomever was so keen as to listen to her voice of reason.

        “You are probably wondering why I speak your tongue” she softly said, as if her words were butterflies whose faint wingflaps carried the message. Joshua nodded with as much silence, trying not to break the spell of confidentiality.

        “Our tongue was very popular once” she said, in a hushed voice that sounded like a whisper. “In the time of my grandmother, half the village here spoke it. Of course, the village was much smaller at that time.” Joshua thought that comment slightly amusing. He had seen more people in the last couple of hours than he had ever met before. The Gats village had to be at least three times as big, and as populous, as his.

        “And then the Sharps came from the West, speaking the same language as I did, while the more peaceful people of the East spoke the other one. My family started being accused of sympathizing with the Sharps because of it, but my grandmother showed them. She was a strong woman, and she led our defence against the invasion. Thankfully, they never breached the wall, and we had plenty of supplies to survive their siege. They were never able to starve us, and it was rather us who started to starve them.” She chuckled as she said this. Joshua knew the kind of story old people liked to tell. There was always a bit of exaggeration, as if they were testing how far they were able to get before being caught in their own inventions. But Joshua did not mind; he always preferred an interesting exaggerated story over a real, boring one.

        “And then the Sharp understood that Gats would not stand for an invasion. We stood strong, and they never came back.” Her eyes swelled with pride as she said this, even though Joshua did not understand half of the things she was referring to. Before this morning, he never would have thought that other people lived outside of his village, and the thought that the Gats, and a certain people called the “Sharps,” also existed was too much for his brain to properly handle.

        Mary was examining Joshua’s face, and found bewilderment in it. “Do you know who the Sharps are, Joshua?” He blushed. He did not like to admit that there were things he did not know, especially to someone who thought they were so obvious. He looked down at his bowl, closed his eyes, and uttered a small “no.” He meant to say that he was sorry, but rather left it hanging in the air. He knew that Mary would pick up on the thought, the way she picked up on his ignorance.

        “It is better that way. The Sharps are not a people to be mingled with.” Mary had a way to leave stories untold, and Joshua understood that now was not the time to ask more questions.

        Mary looked at Joshua for a while, deep into his eyes, as if trying to read into his soul. He did not know how to respond, but knew that breaking eye contact would not be the right answer. It was then that she asked something that Joshua was afraid she might ask. He knew that he would have to tell the truth to Mary, that he would never be able to lie to her. He felt his insides wrenching, and almost felt like the fish stew he had eaten would come back the way it came.

        “Why have you left your village, Joshua?”