Chapter 3

Once Swiftbow had been properly washed in a nearby river, Fallowmark sent several squads of soldiers into the city to prepare for Vera’s arrival. The streets were evacuated and a strict curfew was enforced. The people were told only that Lord Fallowmark had captured a monster of the Southlands and was bringing it to the chancellor’s palace to decide its fate.

Nonetheless, rumors had begun to spread. The fisherman who had first spotted Vera had already been telling wild tales. Farmers from the highlands had seen the monster from the tall cliffs. Soldiers who had escaped from Vera had said too much in their hospital beds or while calming their nerves in the local pubs. Many citizens of North Piconorea were pressed against their windows or gathered on rooftops, hoping to get a glimpse of the supposed giantess.

And what a glimpse they received. As Vera stepped carefully over the city wall, the populace caught a collective breath. The people had expected a creature of humanoid shape but not one of such striking beauty or such scandalous attire. Countless little men (and a number of women) gawked in amazement at those magnificent, mountain-like curves, at the acres of creamy bare skin, at the swirling quarter-mile of chestnut hair. Mothers covered the eyes of their children and slapped their husbands back to reality. North Piconorea had been a secular state for many generations but the people could almost believe that a goddess had come among them.

Lord Fallowmark had insisted on accompanying her and stood perched upon a bare shoulder, tied securely to a strand of hair. If he could not bind or command the giantess, he was determined to maintain some element of involvement. Swiftbow, still only half conscious following his ordeal, was cradled in the palm of Vera’s hand.

“Careful now, woman!” Fallowmark insisted. “If you destroy anything or crush any citizens of the North, you will answer to the full force of my army. Count yourself lucky that I am allowing you to move unencumbered.”

“Allowing me,” Vera repeated. “Riiiiight.”

Vera set forth down the tiny road, her bare feet cracking the cobblestones with every step. Her toes left deep depressions worse than any pothole. Each footfall sent a massive tremor through the ground, rattling the buildings and shattering a few windows. Vera tried to take gentle, baby steps but still found that the city was shaken by her sheer weight.

She shifted uncomfortably as she sensed thousands of tiny eyes upon her. She was used to being watched and ogled in her modeling career but never quite like this. On this scale, it was as if her body was being projected on the jumbo screen in Times Square. Vera had never felt so exposed. She hugged her arms about her in a fruitless attempt to cover up.

“God, this is horrible!” she thought to herself. “Leave it to me to get shipwrecked in Tinytown half-naked. Just try not to think about it. Imagine you’re on the catwalk. Strut. Own it, girl! Who cares if your ass is bigger than a house? Who cares if your boobs could crush city hall? You look good! You look—okay, don’t strut. I think I just knocked over that flagpole. And stepped on a fruit stand. And wow, is it me or does that building look kinda wobbly all of a sudden? Jesus, how far is this damn palace?”

As the street wound its way through the city, Vera’s path narrowed at times when the buildings were arranged closer together. She had to turn sideways and wriggle her wide hips between the dollhouse structures. Vera blushed as she thought of the view this was giving to those within the buildings: a gargantuan pelvis or backside brushing past their homes and eclipsing the daylight. Chunks of masonry and statuary broke off the buildings as she squeezed past, tumbling down to the street.

At last, Vera reached the outer walls of the chancellor’s palace and stepped inside the castle grounds. She sat down in a wide green courtyard (accidentally squashing some topiary bushes under her rump). Vera set the still-woozy Swiftbow on her thigh but left Fallowmark where he was, stranded a hundred feet in the air upon her shoulder.

A few moments later, a high-pitched trumpet call was sounded and Chancellor Brogan made his way out onto a balcony of the upper levels. The small, balding, middle-aged man was clad in a long ceremonial robe and carried a tiny scepter with a bright red gem at its peak.

“My Lord Chancellor,” Fallowmark called from his perch. “I bring you the much-rumored monster of the South. I have subdued her…” Vera rolled her eyes at this notion. “…and appealed to her human-like qualities. She wishes to address your most excellent personage.”

Chancellor Brogan stood near the edge of the balcony, openly leering at Vera’s curvaceous, larger-than-life figure. “Fantastic. So like a maid and yet so magnificent in size. What’s that, Fallowmark? Address? You mean the creature can speak?”

Vera scowled once again and tried to cover her chest with her arms. This only succeeded in enhancing her cleavage line, which to Brogan seemed several stories tall. She cleared her throat.

“*Ahem* Yes, your excellency. She can speak.” Brogan jumped backward in fright at the sound of that booming voice but quickly composed himself.

“My name is Vera Kruscinski,” the young woman said. “Please excuse my attire, or lack thereof. I find myself without accoutrements after the recent storm.”

“Extraordinary!” Brogan exclaimed. “She speaks Piconorean. Or at least a debased doggerel form of it. From whence do you hail, giantess?”

“Well, I’m not a weapon from South Piconorea like some people seem to think.” She shot a dirty look at Fallowmark, who withered slightly under the gaze of those huge blue eyes. “I come from a land called America. Chicago, Illinois to be specific. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I was washed ashore after falling off a ship during the storm.”

“I know not this ‘A-mare-ee-cah,’” Brogan replied. “Our explorers have sailed the seas surrounding Piconorea for many centuries and found no trace of other landmasses. We believed all other kingdoms were lost in the Great Deluge of ancient legend.”

“To be honest,” Vera admitted, “my people have never heard of Piconorea either. You must be very well hidden. Or perhaps we’re even in different planes of reality.”

“Planes of what now?” the chancellor repeated.

“I’m in a foreign world surrounded by inch-tall people,” said Vera. “I’m willing to believe anything at this point.”

“Ah, yes, I see,” chuckled Brogan. “Intriguing notion. Very droll.”

“My lord, you cannot believe this spurious heresy!” Fallowmark shouted, almost toppling from the shoulder. “This beast was sent from the South to destroy us all!”

“Nonsense, Fallowmark!” Brogan countered. “If this charming young lady wished to destroy us, she could have done so with ease already. She seems quite amiable to me.”

“Merely lulling us into a false sense of security, my lord,” said Osric Fallowmark. “In my opinion, she should be sentenced to death at once!”

Vera turned an icy glance on Fallowmark again. “You’re a real sweetheart, you know that, Ozzy?”

“Ozzy!” the chancellor laughed. “Oh, that’s rich! I like you, giant! As long as no harm comes to my people, you are welcome in the Northlands.”

Fallowmark could hardly believe his ears. “But, your excellency—” he began.

“I would hear more of this ‘A-mare-ee-cah,’ Lady Vera,” said Brogan. “Fortuitous that we can communicate, eh? I wonder how it is that you speak our language.”

“Don’t know,” Vera answered. “I thought you were speaking mine.”

“Perhaps it’s the tongue of the goddess,” a voice called. Everyone turned to see that Lt. Swiftbow had regained consciousness and had been listening in.

“Superstitious madness!” Fallowmark bellowed at him.

“Forgive me, ‘sir.’” Swiftbow could hardly disguise his contempt. “But isn’t it plausible that someone from the giant’s world visited our ancestors and taught them this language? Could not that be the source of the goddess legends of the South?”

“Hey, yeah!” Vera cried. “That actually makes sense. I was wondering why you guys all looked like tiny Anglo-Saxons and Vikings. You’re Lt. Swiftbow, right? Er, sorry for, you know…swallowing you alive and stuff.”

“I’ll live,” said the lieutenant, shivering at the memory. “Incidentally, you look much better on the outside.”

“Well, one does.”

Brogan was in awe. “You survived a journey to the giant’s belly and returned to tell of it? Fallowmark, this man is to be commended!”

The commander was beside himself with rage. He sat in a huff upon Vera’s shoulder, wringing a strand of hair in his fists.

“Lady Vera, you are by far the most astonishing visitor this nation has ever received.” Brogan told her, “We shall hold a feast and revel in your honor! Now, my dear, please bring Lord Fallowmark to me. I would speak with him.”

Vera untangled the little man from her hair and scooped him up. She pinched the dejected commander between two fingers and lifted him up onto the balcony. Vera then returned to talking with Swiftbow.

Chancellor Brogan placed a hand around Fallowmark’s shoulder, ushering him into the palace. “You have done well, Osric. If this creature truly desires friendship, she will be a powerful ally. A most devastating weapon for the war.”

“Yes, your excellency.”

* * * *

True to his word, Chancellor Brogan commissioned an elaborate celebration that evening. Vera remained seated in the palace courtyard as tiny men, women, and children gathered and frolicked all around her. Musicians, dancers, and jugglers were brought in as entertainment. Some of the more daring ones climbed up ladders to perform in Vera’s lap. Tiny couples danced a charming folk dance upon Vera’s thighs and tumblers did a series of flips up and down the length of her legs. One particularly nimble jester stood upon her upturned foot, leaping dexterously from toe to toe.

“Watch, my lord, as I master this footpath!” he called to the chancellor. The man successfully traversed one foot and was leaping onto the other when Vera mischievously spread her toes. The jester fell face-first into the gap between them. Vera lightly squeezed her toes together, trapping him.

“Oof, well played, my lady,” he said with some effort. “It appears I must stay on my toes to stay on yours!”

The royal chefs had prepared a banquet and dozens of servers brought steaming dishes out to a series of tables set up along the sides of Vera’s legs. There the people gathered and feasted. For the giantess herself, the chancellor had spared no expense. Wooden carts were brought in by teams of miniature horses. Each of these was piled high with food—apples, pears, and plums from the city orchards; carrots, cabbages, pumpkins, and squash from the surrounding farms; whole oxen and cows freshly slaughtered and cooked for the feast; nets of fish caught off the coast of the island; and numerous barrels of Piconorea’s finest beers and wines.

Vera had not eaten since before the storm and she was positively famished. She gratefully scooped up each cart and wagon, lifting them in turn to her lips and dumping their bounty into her mouth. The meat she chewed and munched on but many of the fruits and vegetables were so minute that she simply swallowed them whole. She sipped and slurped up the contents of the barrels, though the amount in each was negligible. Vera felt as though she were drinking from thimbles.

In her hunger and her haste, Vera became a bit careless. As the next cart of fruit was wheeled in, she snatched it up greedily, forgetting to wait until the horses were detached and the farmer was able to disembark. The pack animals dangled from the reins a few inches below her hand, neighing in alarm. As for the fruit farmer, he found himself tumbling with his crops into the gaping maw of the giantess.

The tiny man plummeted past her front teeth and landed on the wide, slippery plane of her tongue. He was nearly buried in an avalanche of apples and pears. The huge wet muscle soon shifted, pushing the fruit and their harvester between her massive teeth. With a yelp, the man rolled to the side and back onto the tongue, barely avoiding the crushing weight of the descending molars. Juice and fruit mush squirted from each huge bite, spraying the farmer’s clothes. At last, the tongue began to lift to the roof of the cavernous mouth as Vera prepared to swallow down the remainder. The little man started to slide, inching his way towards the dark gorge of her throat. He screamed in abject horror.

The whole time, the people seated in the shadow of Vera’s hips had been shouting at her in a panic. Desperately, they tried to get the giant’s attention but their squeaky voices were hard to discern. At last, Vera glanced down and saw the agitated little people. She quickly coughed up what was in her mouth, spitting it into her hand.

Vera stared at the tiny, shivering farmer, mortified. “Oops. Uh, sorry. I need to watch that. You little guys are bite-size! Right, Swiftbow?”

Seated at the table below her left hip, Edwyn Swiftbow was not amused. He growled slightly and glared up at the giant.

“A little caution please, my lady,” Chancellor Brogan said, walking towards her. “I don’t believe anyone else cares to tour your interior facilities. Unless they’re quite scenic. What say you, Swiftbow?”

The lieutenant growled again and mumbled something inaudible.

Quickly, Vera returned the farmer to earth, watching as he scurried away in terror. She wiped her hand off on the grass. When Brogan beckoned to her, she placed her other hand palm upward beside him. The chancellor gratefully climbed aboard.

“I hope the feast is sufficient, my dear. We value your friendship and would not wish to displease.”

“It’s wonderful,” Vera answered. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to go on a rampage and destroy the city if the veal is overcooked or something.”

“Indeed,” said the little nobleman. “You are no uncouth barbarian of the South, whatever Fallowmark believes.”

Vera frowned. “Why do you hate them so much, the South Piconoreans?”

“The North and the South are ever on the verge of war. The Southrons are primitive pagans,” the chancellor told her, “backwards heathens still in thrall to the idiocy of religion and superstition. We have evolved far beyond such things in the North.”

“Well, sure,” said Vera. “But what have they actually done to you? Did they attack you?”

“Not yet, thankfully,” Brogan replied. “But we are ever watchful.”

“Are they trying to force their religion on you?”

“Ha!” Brogan laughed. “As if they could!”

“Did they take something from you or invade your territory?”

Brogan was at a loss. “Er…not as such.”

“Then, really, what’s the harm if they believe in a goddess and you don’t?” Vera said.

“It’s delusional and insane!” the chancellor announced. “Piconorea should be liberated from the yoke of religious dogma!”

“But if it’s not hurting anyone, I don’t see what the big deal is,” Vera argued.

“This A-mare-ee-cah of yours,” the tiny ruler began, “do they still cling to the skirts of religion?”

“Some people do, yeah,” said Vera. “We have a few different faiths actually. But our government allows for freedom of religion. One is not favored over another. You can also choose not to believe in any of them.”

“I see,” the chancellor said. “And does this work for you? The giants live in harmony?”

“Well…not always. It can be a bit of a mess when not everyone agrees on an issue. And the churches tend to get involved in politics much more than they should.”

“Ha ha! You see!” Brogan exclaimed, pointing a tiny finger. “Religion is a millstone on the neck of the world! It should be cast off! It should be obliterated! Only then shall mankind be free!”

“I suppose,” Vera said, hesitantly. “But good things can come from religion too. The extremists just ruin things for everyone else.”

But Brogan was hardly listening, still continuing his tirade. “It will take a strong hand to lead those Southern savages out of ignorance and into enlightenment. I only wish there was a clear way we could show our superior might. A powerful weapon perhaps.”

He stared pointedly at Vera, who ignored the implication and changed the subject.

“You know, I still feel embarrassed to be dressed like this. All the goods on display, as it were. Do you have clothing stores or tailors in this city?” she asked, flashing a smile. “I don’t suppose you know a place that sells anything in a Size One Million?”

To be continued...