All day it rained, and water rushed down through the foothills from the steeps of the mountains above, and the knoll she camped on became surrounded by a hurtling flood.
The following day the sky cleared and the water slowly subsided, and Camille and the bird basked in the warm rays of the sun as her clothing and blanket and rope and other gear dried out. The sun shone the next day as well, and they lazed in its warmth again, for they were yet trapped by rushing water. Scruff seemed quite pleased to do nought but peck about on the ground; Camille, though, fretted, for now they had lost three days to the storm, and she was anxious to get on with her search for a place east of the sun and west of the moon, wherever it might lie. Whether or no I am even going in the right direction, I cannot say. Oh, would that this land had someone in it other than those dreadful serpent-folk, someone whom I could ask. But there isn’t anyone. Oh, Alain, Alain, where are you? Where are you, my sweet love?
The day after, with Scruff perched on her shoulder, Camille waded through the runnel of water yet surrounding her hillock and at last began her trek up a long vale and toward the high col ahead.
Up and into the high valley she strode, the land rising before her, pines growing along the slopes, as well as silver birch and aspen, the leaves of the latter trembling in the faint wind.
All morning she hiked upward, wending among the trees as she climbed up toward the pass. She stopped in the noontide to take water and food-rabbit-jerky, for the most part-while Scruff dug about for grubs and beetles, as well as pecked away at the grass seeds Camille had thought to bring. But the pause was short, for she felt the need to go forward, and so she took up the sparrow and onward they pressed as the sun rode down the sky.
Twilight was drawing across on the land when she at last reached the crest.
“Time to make camp, Scruff,” she said, as she angled toward a small aspen grove in the throat of the col.
But even as she reached the stand of white-barked trees, a tiny voice squeaked, “Who dares tread in the domain of Jotun the Giant without paying a proper toll?”
20
“Wh-what?” Camille looked about in the dusk, yet she saw no one. “Who is there, s’il vous plait?” Again the voice squeaked out. “Jotun the Giant. And still I ask, who dares tread in my domain without paying the proper toll?”
Now Camille turned about and about, seeking to see the speaker. On her shoulder, Scruff, drowsy in the twilight, emitted a soft “ pip ” as Camille faced a small pine among the aspens.
“Stay away from me, you beady-eyed sparrow,” piped the tiny voice. “I am not for you to taste! And you, mademoiselle, control your bird, or I shall have to stomp on him!”
In spite of not seeing this Jotun the Giant, Camille laughed. “Scruff? Why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.-No, wait. That’s not right, for he would indeed eat a fly.”
“See! I told you!”
“Stay calm, sieur,” replied Camille. “Scruff will behave. Besides, he is nearly asleep, and quite well fed, I assure you.”
“All right,” grumped the wee voice, somewhat mollified,
“but see that you keep him in hand, for I might stomp you by mistake.-And now about the toll.”
“Toll?”
“Are you planning on going through my pass, Mam’selle um…?”
“Camille. My name is Camille. And, yes, I seek to go beyond this range, and I hope to find someone to tell me where might be a place east of the sun and west of the moon. Would you happen to know, by the way?”
“First things first, Lady Camille,” replied Jotun, still unseen. “My toll.”
Camille sighed. “I can pay. What will you have? A bronze, a silver, a gold?” The moment she said it, Camille gritted her teeth in silent admonition, for though she had the coins, still she should not have admitted such to a total stranger.
“Pah! What need have I for bronze or silver or even gold? Instead I would have something of more value.”
“And just what might that be, M’sieur Jotun the Giant?” asked Camille.
“Have you any pepper?”
Pepper! And here I thought it might be jewels he would demand. “I have a wee bit, m’sieur.”
“Fine-grain or coarse or peppercorns?”
“Coarse-grained, sieur.”
“Then it’s one grain to pass through my col; for another grain I will give you directions to guide you beyond; or three grains in all, and I will conduct you through the range myself and to a town beyond.”
“Done!” said Camille, unslinging her bedroll and rucksack and setting both down and laying her staff aside. “Would you have me pay you now?”
“Indeed,” piped Jotun. “Else how would I know you have the fee?”
“Very well,” said Camille, and in the fading light she rummaged through her goods and drew forth her small lantern and unscrewed the brass oil-keeper-cap from the wick and struck a match and lit it. Then she found her pepper tin, and asked, “Have you canister or some such to store it in?”
“Of course,” replied Jotun. “Right here.”
“Where are you?” said Camille, looking up, yet unable to locate the speaker.
“As I said, right here,” querulously replied Jotun. “On the pine.”
Camille held up her lantern the better to see, and her eyes widened in wonder, for stepping forth along a needled branch came a tiny being but an inch or so high. Dressed all in green, a miniature man he seemed. Brown hair, he had, that much Camille could discern, but as to the hue of his eyes, she could not say, for in this dim light they were entirely too small to see any color in them at all. In his hands he held a very tiny canister.
“M’sieur Jotun the Giant?”
“Yes,” he replied.
Camille burst out laughing.
Jotun frowned. “Why do you laugh, mam’selle?”
Camille managed to gasp out, “It’s just that you name yourself a Giant, when it is plain to see you are a Twig Man, or so my love did describe such as you.”
“Twig Man, ha!” scoffed Jotun. “I merely take on this shape as necessary, for, you see, this way it is much easier to find food and such to meet my needs.-I would change into my true form, but I am afraid it would frighten you quite witless.”
“Oh, m’sieur, no need to change,” said Camille, yet giggling. “I’ll simply take your word for it.”
“All right, then,” said Jotun. “Now about the pepper. Will it be one grain, two, or three?”
“Oh, three certainly,” said Camille, opening her pepper tin. “I would have you lead me across these mountains to a town beyond.”
She held out her tin, and Jotun searched through the contents as if examining a great pile of gemstones, and he stirred the pepper with a twig now and then, and one by one he carefully selected three large flakes. “The best of the lot, I think,” he murmured, stowing away the grains in his own wee canister.
“Have another,” said Camille, yet holding out her tin, “and tell me what you know of a place east of the sun and west of the moon.”
“No, no, mam’selle,” said Jotun, “no more pepper. Three grains I asked for and but three will I have. They’ll last me quite awhile as it is.” Camille started to protest, but Jotun added, “As to this place you seek, I’ve not heard of a site so strangely located, nor do I know where it might be. And so another pepper grain would gain you nought, and I would not dupe you so.”
Camille sighed. “It would have been but by chance alone had you known of such; even so, I had to ask.”
“Perhaps some of the wise folk in Ardon will know,” said Jotun.
“Ardon?”
“The town on the far side of the range.”
“Ah,” said Camille, “a town will be nice, for I would sleep in a bed again. Yet for now, Jotun, ’tis a camp I must make, and then we’ll have a meal-if you would join me, that is. I have some rabbit- and marmot-jerky and some nuts and dried berries and roots-wild carrots and parsnips, in the main… a bit of wild onion, too. What say you?”