Giants of Anglesey

Contents

PROLOGUE

1

SUMMONED

2

THE BAT CAVE

3

MIDGARD

4

COUNCIL OF ELDERS

5

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

6

STOWAWAY

7

VALLEY OF FEAR

8

THE GREAT ESCAPE

9

THE DRAGON KEEPER

10

GIANTS OF ANGLESEY

11

THE HERMIT

12

THE RAVEN

13

THE HAMMER OF THOR

14

THE TRAITOR

15

THE LAST GREAT BATTLE

EPILOGUE

Dedicated to the memory of

Kati Olga Sauer

{Always in our hearts}

AND

A special thanks to Darik Smith

for designing and illustrating

the front cover

PROLOGUE

The moon broke through a thin veil of clouds, bathing the land in silver light and illuminating a clearing ringed by ancient oaks. Wishing to remain unseen, a solitary raven hopped along its perch on a long, drooping branch to hide in the shadow of an overhanging limb; its greedy dark eyes never once straying from the black lamb nestled in the cavity of a sacrifice stone situated in the center of the glade.

The clearing was deadly still—like most nights the raven observed—and if not for the glint of steel in the moonlight, the bird would have drifted off to sleep long ago. But no matter how heavy its eyelids became it resisted the urge to close them. Instead, it regarded the flared blade lying on the flat surface next to the drugged lamb’s exposed neck with grim satisfaction.

The raven was still eyeing the blade when a hooded figure emerged from the darkness and approached the stone. For a few moments, its eyes sparkled with anticipation. However, instead of seizing the knife and running the cutting edge across the lamb’s tender flesh, a long-fingered hand grasped the only other object in sight: an empty wooden bowl. The agitated bird swiftly danced back and forth, bobbing its head up and down, and cawing in irritation. A loud clap of thunder all but drowned out its squawk of indignation.

While the frustrated raven preened its ruffled feathers, the hooded figure held the bowl out and chanted unintelligibly. The incantation lasted for about a minute, during which time the person scooped up and threw a fistful of gritty earth into the bowl.

Never before had the raven witnessed such odd behaviour and, as much as it wanted to see the sacrifice made, it would have dearly liked to know more about this secretive character in the flowing red robe. Who could this person be and what was he doing on this hallowed patch of ground among the sacred oaks? The raven searched for an answer in the skull-like features beneath the hood, but before it could make any sense of the person, a cloud passed over the moon and blotted out the light.

A strangled cry followed a second incantation and, even before the moon reappeared, the raven knew that the deed had been done. The smell of death was in the air. Controlling the urge to swoop down and quench its thirst, the patient bird remained in the shadows, a casual observer to the most bizarre and gruesome sequence of events.

As the cavity on top of the sacrifice stone filled with blood and covered the lamb’s black coat with gore, the hooded figure kneeled to collect the overflow that ran down a narrow channel cut deep in the rock. Only when enough of the liquid had spilled into the bowl did the Druid—restored to human form after centuries of lesser transmigrations—rise and mix the two components together with the aid of a crystal-tipped wand.

Once again he broke into a steady chant, murmuring in an archaic tongue and stirring the mixture until it had the consistency of paint; blood red with a distinct earthy odor. The red gleam in his deep dark eyes was chilling as he removed the wand and casually wiped it clean with his sleeve.

Deep in the woods a mournful howl shivered on the wind, raising concerns for the watchful raven. With the wolves now on the scent there was a distinct possibility that the feast it envisioned might never come to pass. It cawed loudly to show its disdain for the thieving canines.

Oblivious to the sounds around him, the Druid backed away from the sacrifice stone. Then he held the wand out in front of his willowy frame and turned around slowly in a clockwise direction. A brilliant, blue-white light radiated out from the tip of the wand, drawing a protective ring of fire around the clearing and revealing a collection of moss-covered standing stones previously obscured by the darkness. The ancient stones, which ranged from four to five feet high by two feet wide and just as deep, stood roughly the same distance apart and followed the circular pattern of the barrier. To a casual observer the stones may well have been taken for the hour markers of a gigantic clock created, if for no other purpose, to arouse curiosity. But who ever heard of a clock with thirty-three digits?

An image of the dancing flames that encircled the glade was cast off by the flowing red robe, creating the impression of a human torch. The tall, angular figure that seemed to be aglow drifted forward until it was standing before one of the smaller blocks, stunted even further by a characteristic stoop common to most of the stones.

Once more the Druid began to chant, as he set about restirring the bloody concoction with his invaluable wand.

He wore an anxious expression on his pale, gaunt face as the doubts he had harbored for so long, but kept hidden in the shadows of his troubled mind, suddenly surfaced. What if his contemporaries were wrong? What if the counterspell didn’t work? When he thought of how he had humbled himself, allowing his restless soul to migrate from one form of lesser being to another, year after year, century after century, it pained him to think that he might fail and that the revenge he sought may never come to pass. His musings were interrupted by a flash of lightning that lit up the sky and, an instant later, a long rumble of thunder told him that time was growing short. If he didn’t act now all would be lost, until the next full moon coincided with the vernal equinox. Extracting the dripping wand from the bowl, the Druid marked the face of the stone with a simple inverted cross. Then he stepped back and waited for something to happen.

There was a lull. A period of intense unease when time itself stood still and it seemed as if nothing was going to happen.

The Druid felt helpless, but he didn’t know what more he could do except watch and wait, much like the raven that remained alert high up on its perch. Eventually, his patience was rewarded as a wisp of smoke rose from the glistening red mark, followed by a hissing sound and a foul stench. Soon tiny bubbles began to form, appearing, at first, only where he had made the mark. Within a minute the entire stone was covered in a foamy mass of energetic pustules, crackling and belching steam. As the stone began to slowly dissolve and lose shape it underwent a rapid metamorphosis, transforming and evolving into a living, breathing organism. From two swellings that burst forth near the bottom came a pair of stick-like appendages. While at the top, a head and arms sprouted from similar eruptions.

The vanishing vapors gave rise to an odious little creature that looked as vile as it smelled. From the bald head, pitted face and pointed chin to the hunched back, gnarled hands and dagger-like nails, it had the mark of a true fiend. An expression of awe gave way to a slow, cruel smile. But before the grin widened too much the beady eyes took in the commanding form of the Druid. The fiend fell to the ground, prostrating itself before the dark wizard.

Master, it hissed.

The Druid regarded the stunted figure with distaste. It was disheartening to think that after all this time he should give life to such a pathetic, little creature. He almost wanted to stomp on the groveling idiot and grind its hairless head into the leaf litter and other decaying matter at his feet. Despite the temptation, he let the fiend live. And for good reason; to fulfill his dream he would need an army of beings just like this very one.

Rise, Number One! commanded the Druid, in a deep, throaty voice that befitted his dark and sinister character.

The fiend stood, wringing his hands and nervously licking his dry lips.

The Druid looked down his nose at his creation.

We have a lot to do before the night is through, Number One. Serve me well and you will be rewarded handsomely. Disobey, and I will squash you like a bug.

I will, Master. I will, said the fiend in an ingratiating manner.

The Druid gave the fiend a satisfied smile as he reached down and patted it on the head; just as a hunter strokes an obedient hound.

Then start now by relieving me of this vessel.

The Druid handed the wooden bowl to his minion and strolled over to the next stone. Before joining his master, the fiend glanced back at a sound he had heard. He caught a glimpse of the raven, drinking greedily as it splashed about in a pool of blood trapped in the cavity of the sacrifice stone.

1

SUMMONED

KYLE DUNLOP WAS FUMING and justifiably so.

The rugby match had not gone as planned, and then he had allowed the captain of the opposing team to snatch the girl of his dreams right out from under his nose. He was not surprised that his team had lost given that their best player, Hector ‘Lumpy’ Stokes, had to attend his sister’s wedding. But when Anne Marie Pratt walked off with the enemy, Calvin Bruce, it came as a shock.

The tall and gangly teen, with thick blonde hair that had a tendency to hang down and cover up his bright blue eyes, kept going over everything that had just occurred; but he couldn’t quite figure it out. Anne Marie seemed happy enough to see him when he bumped into her at the mall and he finally found the courage to ask her how her summer was going. And when he heard she was planning to attend the rugby match that evening he could hardly believe his luck. For a moment he thought about asking her if he could walk her home after the game, but he didn’t want to sound too presumptuous. So, instead of taking the initiative, he merely said, "Maybe I’ll see you after the game, to which she promptly replied, Maybe." She might have said something else before she walked away and left him standing alone in the food court, but by that time his heart was pounding like a drum and he couldn’t hear a thing.

Of course, he came to the wrong conclusion. And despite being kicked in the shins, slammed head-first into the turf, and dropped by a straight-arm that left him with a bloody nose, the pain went away as soon as the referee blew the whistle to end the game. It didn’t matter that his team had been trounced; he was going to see Anne Marie.

He recalled watching her drift through the throng that was clearing the stands and move purposely in his direction. The glint in her eyes was something to behold when she gazed at him for the first time. When she finally reached the last step and held her hand out to greet him, he was overcome with emotion. He extended a grass-stained hand. However, instead of falling into his arms and pressing her face against his pounding chest, she glided past him into the arms of Calvin Bruce. It was like being punched in the nose by him again. Only this time the hurt didn’t go away. "Oh! Hello Kyle. Nice game." Those were the only words she said to him, absent-mindedly, before the lout swept her away in his arms.

It might not have rankled Kyle so much if Calvin hadn’t pushed past him and added, "Yeah. Nice game, loser." The mockery in his voice and smug expression still grated on tender nerves as Kyle left the stadium and proceeded to walk home alone.

Kyle knew he would smolder forever if he chose to dwell on what had happened, but that wouldn’t bring him any closer to Anne Marie. The best thing he could do now was to forget the whole thing and channel his energy elsewhere; like devising a plan to elevate himself in the eyes of Anne Marie. He was about to give this notion some thought when the slap of footsteps in water distracted him.

Ever since last summer when Kyle, his two best friends and his younger sister Jan, stumbled upon a secret subterranean world[1], he had the uncanny feeling he was being watched. After being lost to the outside world for almost two weeks in this strange mythological world they suddenly reappeared. However, to keep their promise to the Goblin King—not to reveal what they had discovered—Kyle and the others told reporters that the seaside cave they were exploring had caved in, trapping them inside. They managed to escape by digging themselves out by hand. Kyle’s parents were so relieved to see that he and Jan were still alive after all that time that they decided not to punish him too severely, even though the cave was supposed to be off limits to them.

Unable to shake the feeling of being watched, Kyle found himself glancing back in the direction of the sound.

Was it just his imagination, or had the shadowy figure standing several car lengths behind him suddenly slowed down? Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Kyle fixed his eyes on the sidewalk ahead and maintained his pace.

Each time he splashed through a puddle left behind by a downpour earlier in the day, he counted how long it took the person following him to pass by the same spot. The intervals in his head were becoming shorter and shorter. He knew he had to do something soon or his pursuer was going to overtake him. Without thinking, he darted on to the street into the path of an oncoming vehicle. The driver honked and swerved to avoid hitting him.

Heart pounding, Kyle hurled himself onto the opposite sidewalk and, for a moment, he lay sprawled out on the ground, too shocked to move. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall dark figure standing still directly across the street from him. The sun was now a ruby-red glare over the person’s right shoulder so Kyle couldn’t make out a face or any distinguishing features, although he was certain it was a man.

Panic set in once again when he saw the man raise his arm and the object he was palming glinted in the waning light. However, instead of aiming the gun Kyle had conjured in his mind and releasing a volley of bullets, the stranger merely waved a cell phone.

Are you all right? Or do you want me to call for an ambulance? The stranger seemed genuinely concerned as he called out to Kyle from across the street.

Kyle was almost too embarrassed for words. He knew he had just made a complete fool of himself and what he really wanted now was to be left alone; but he could hardly say that to the stranger.

That isn’t necessary, he said, rising slowly to his feet. I’m fine. He brushed aside his hair so he could see the man more clearly.

Are you sure?

Yeah, replied Kyle.

The stranger hesitated briefly. Then he pocketed the cell phone.

You know, you really should be more careful, the man said in admonishment. The next time you try that stunt you may not be so lucky.

The man shook his head, then turned and strode away, leaving Kyle stinging from the mild rebuke.

Kyle watched the man closely to make sure he didn’t double back and, in the interim, he had time to reflect. Considering everything that had just happened, perhaps now was a good time to rein in his overactive imagination and stop presuming that every stranger he came across was stalking him, and that