Ektor returned with a bundle of scrolls under his arm, the first one he rolled out being a map. ‘You see,’ he said, pointing, ‘here is Ripa; the Kurgan ruled this area.’ He traced a line with a finger.
Fidele nodded, intrigued by the map, seeing Ripa, Jerolin, Forn Forest, other names she was familiar with, and many she was not.
‘The Kurgan wrote much about their history, and that is mostly what fills this room, and most of that is after the Scourging, detailing their clan wars, day-to-day life; much of it would be quite tedious to you.’
‘I can imagine. Have you read every scroll in here?’
‘Yes, at least once. There are so many, though, that some I have forgotten by now. It may take some time to locate what I need. There is one scroll in particular that I remember; I thought it more philosophical than historical at the time I read it, but now. .’
‘Well, let’s make a start with what you have now, shall we?’
‘Yes, yes.’ He flicked through his armful of scrolls, then paused at one. ‘This isn’t the one I was speaking of, but I’m sure. .’ He opened it, eyes flicking across the archaic script, then paused. ‘Here it is. A reference to Halvor. He is the giant that you mentioned, and that Nathair spoke of when he came here; the writer of your prophecy. Listen. We have rebuilt Balara, but Taur and Haldis are lost to us. The Hunen hold them now, and Drassil, though they will never find it, not if Halvor spoke true. It is talking about the contestation of borders between the Kurgan and the Hunen, I think. Halvor is mentioned a few times throughout their histories, or the Voice, as they refer to him in other passages. Apparently he was counsellor to the first giant King, Skald. Somehow this Halvor survived the Scourging and ended up in Drassil, the giant city that is said to lie in the heart of Forn Forest.’
‘Counsellor to the first giant king, and yet alive after the Scourging. That is a long life to live,’ Fidele said. ‘This is the difficulty I have,’ she continued, ‘discerning where truth ends and faery tale begins. I believe in much that has been spoken of — Elyon and Asroth, the God-War — I have seen too much not to believe. But some of these things — they just cannot be true, surely?’
‘The giants often talk of long life,’ Ektor said, a rare enthusiasm sparking in his demeanour. ‘If the histories and tales are true then all that lived on this earth were immortal once — giants and mankind alike — until Elyon ripped our immortality from us as judgement for the first murder — the giant King Skald, slain by his brother, Dagda. But even then, after that, there are many references to giants especially that have lived extraordinarily long lives. Nemain is written of somewhere here.’ He thumbed through scrolls, a silence stretching.
‘If you remember it well enough, you don’t have to find every reference,’ Fidele said, growing impatient.
‘All right then,’ Ektor said, putting the scrolls down. ‘In the later scrolls, written — from what I can deduce — just before our kin the Exiles arrived on these shores, Nemain is written of, spoken of as Queen of the Benothi, the giant clan that held sway in the west until we Exiles took it from them, though their remnants still rule in the far north-east.’
‘What of it?’
‘Nemain was Queen to Skald, the first King. Measures of time are a little unreliable, but by anyone’s counting that was over two thousand years ago.’
‘It must be a different Nemain to the one ruling today, then, surely. An honorific?’
‘The giants don’t do that. They would never take another’s name; they think they’d be cursed.’
‘But that is just impossible.’
‘You would think so,’ Ektor said.
‘Well, then surely it is just mistakes in the scrolls,’ Fidele said.
‘Textual inconsistencies are remarkably rare in the giants’ histories; they were quite particular.’
He paused, studying Fidele, as if considering whether she was capable of understanding.
Or worthy of hearing, she thought.
He nodded to himself and resumed talking.
‘But if we are digging through the mysteries of our past, and giving weight to the argument that myths we previously considered to be faery tale, or elaboration at least, could possibly — in fact likely — be true, then we must consider the Seven Treasures.’
‘Yes. Aquilus mentioned them to me,’ Fidele said, trying to remember the specifics of their conversation. ‘Some of them were weapons, yes?’
‘That is correct,’ Ektor said, beaming like a tutor at a favourite pupil.
‘Aquilus spoke of trying to find them, to use in the God-War. He had set Meical to the task.’
‘Ah, well, whether that is good or bad we have yet to discover. But the Treasures, yes. In a way, I think they were all eventually used as weapons, even if that was not the purpose they were fashioned for. They were carved from the starstone, you see; a star that fell to earth, the tales say, through Asroth’s design. Each of the Treasures held different properties, or power. One of them, the cup or chalice, if you drank from it you were given unnaturally long life.’
He looked at her expectantly.
‘So that would explain some giants living far longer than others, such as this Nemain,’ Fidele said.
‘Exactly.’
‘What else did the Treasures do? What are they capable of?’
‘Well, there were the axe, spear and dagger, all fashioned after the War of Treasures began — they were obviously weapons, no real powers but they’d never blunt, never break. Also there was a cauldron — to eat from it would cure ill health. The cup would lengthen your life and increase your natural state — make you stronger, faster and so on. There was also a necklace. I cannot remember what that could do, or the torc. I shall have to return to my studies.’ He looked longingly over his shoulders at the rows of scrolls in their compartments.
‘But not right now, Ektor,’ Fidele said.
‘No, no. I shall do that later.’
‘Was there anything else that these Treasures could do?’
‘Well actually their main design, or Asroth’s main intention, was said to be that they made the veil between the Otherworld and our world. . thin. Asroth desired to break through this veil and become flesh. Obviously it was not as simple as that — I would imagine that it would need willing parties on both sides of the veil, spells, sacrifice, other unpleasant things. That of course is when Elyon stepped in and decided enough was enough.’
‘Yes, I know that tale well enough,’ Fidele said with a wave of her hand.
She drew in a long, thoughtful breath. So much to learn, so much to understand. But somehow, deep in her bones, she knew this was important. She felt excited by this, and a little scared as well.
‘You are a treasure yourself, Ektor; there is much value in what is inside your head.’
Ektor blinked at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, blushing.
‘Now, shall we talk about Meical, and what you think relates to him.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Ektor said. He went back to his bundle of scrolls, now strewn across the table. He picked one up, examined an inscription and then put it down, moving on to the next one. Fidele noticed the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth.
‘Here it is,’ he said at last. ‘When I first read it I paid it little mind, as it seemed a philosophical work, and my interests lean towards the histories. Also it is quite maudlin — the giants were — I imagine still are — a melancholy bunch, but who can blame them, I suppose, after the tragedies they have survived: death, humiliation, defeat, near-extinction, loss of lands, more death. .’
‘Ektor, you’re rambling now. As much as I would love to stay here for the next moon, I am queen and have other tasks that I must see to. Please, back to Meical.’