Chapter 5

At first glance, South Piconorea resembled the North to a great extent. Vera saw miniature towns and farmlands and a landscape much like the one she had just explored. Yet here and there, small differences could be seen.

The most striking of these were the many statues that lined the road or stood like great obelisks among the wilderness. The statues appeared to be holy idols carved in the shape of the Southern goddess. More than ever, Vera began to believe Lt. Swiftbow’s theory, for the image of the goddess resembled a Saxon princess or warrior woman of ancient history. She was beautiful with long, fair hair bound into braids. Valkyrie-like armor covered her breasts and a helmet was on her head. She wore pauldrons and greaves and other archaic protection. A sword was clutched in her hand and her face was grave. Most of the statues were quite large by Piconorean standards, though the biggest only came up to Vera’s shin.

Taking a deep breath, she approached one of the villages and prepared to make contact. To her surprise, a crowd of tiny people was already waiting for her.

“She’s come! She’s here!” they cried. A great cheer arose and the people flocked to Vera’s feet. They gathered around her, bowing low. Vera held very still, afraid she might step on someone if she shifted position.

“Um…hello,” she said, staring down at the minuscule faces. “Were you expecting me?”

The crowd parted, allowing a young woman to step forward. The inch-tall lady was dressed in a long red robe. A hood covered her head and a trailing cloak dragged behind her. The woman approached Vera’s feet, undaunted by their sheer size or the massive, boulder-like toes that dwarfed her tiny form. She put her hands together in a sign of prayer. The people bowed their heads and muttered something. Then the lady looked up and beckoned to the giantess.

Vera carefully stooped down and set her open hand beside the woman. The tiny lady stepped into it and ascended. She was lifted up until she was level with Vera’s face. The woman cast off her hood, revealing long, luxurious blonde hair. It was difficult for Vera to see her clearly but the lady appeared to be quite beautiful.

“Greetings, Honored One,” she said. Her accent was similar to that of the North but with a slight variation of longer, more pronounced vowels. “I am Regan, High Priestess and Royal Advisor to Queen Elfwina. Welcome to the sacred Southlands.” She moved her arms in a circle, offering a blessing. “Your coming was foretold to us.”

“Foretold?” Vera repeated. “You mean, like, a prophecy or something?”

Regan smiled. “Nothing so grand, I’m afraid. Our scouts brought news from the North of Your arrival.”

“Ah.”

“We knew that You would not remain in those sinful lands for very long,” Regan continued. “Our beloved Goddess was certain to return to Her chosen people.”

“Goddess? Now, hold on a minute,” Vera exclaimed. “Who said anything about me being a goddess?”

Regan frowned. “Surely, You must be She who is spoken of in our stories and scripture. You have Her magnificent stature and breathtaking beauty. Your hair and complexion are darker than the stories claim but we assumed You took new form to walk among us. No doubt that is why You are clad like a newborn babe. This avatar is newly emerged into the mortal world, yes?”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Vera said. “I hate to break it to you but—”

“This is your natural form?” Regan cried in alarm. She instantly threw herself onto her knees in the center of Vera’s palm, bowing low with arms outstretched. “Then our idols and holy texts are mistaken! Forgive us this transgression, my Goddess! Please spare our insignificant lives!”

On the plain below, the people could not hear Regan’s words but they saw her sudden act of supplication. At once, the crowd dropped to their knees and bowed to Vera as well.

“Stop that!” Vera commanded. “I’m not your goddess! I’m just a regular person like you!” She glanced down at her towering physique and the sea of people no bigger than her toes. “Well, maybe not entirely like you…”

“I see,” Regan said, rising to her feet again. The people did likewise. “You are one of Her sacred messengers! A demi-goddess sent from the heavens!”

“What? No, I—” Vera began.

“You shall be held in high esteem here in South Piconorea!” continued Regan. “All hail…uh…your pardon, Honored One, but what are you to be called?”

“My name is Vera.”

“All hail Honored Vera, Emissary of She-Who-Is-All!”

The people repeated this call, finally picking out words as Regan shouted in joy. A chorus of squeaky voices sang Vera’s praises below.

“All hail Honored Vera! All hail Honored Vera!”

“Stop!” Vera protested. “I’m not an emissary or a demi-goddess or—oh, what’s the use? All hail me. Whoopty-doo.” She made a half-hearted flourish with her other hand. “Guess I shouldn’t complain. This is certainly a warmer reception than Fallowmark and his army gave me.”

* * * *

Vera had quite forgotten about Osric Fallowmark, entombed deep within her ample chest. The commander was well and truly trapped. The huge, fleshy walls held him tight in a vice-like grip. They were far too tall and slippery for Fallowmark to climb back out. From top to bottom, her cleavage had to be twenty or thirty feet tall and he was wedged far down at the base of it with no hope of escape.

As she crossed the mountains and explored the South, Vera’s bosom had bounced and jiggled slightly with her movements. Fallowmark was thrown violently this way and that, colliding with the fleshy barriers on either side. Each time she spoke, he was shaken by powerful vibrations and each time she took a deep breath, he feared he would be squashed like a grape by the contracting walls.

“I will not forget this indignity, giant!” he thought to himself. “You will rue this day!”

There was a sudden lurch and the walls once again closed in around him, squeezing his body mercilessly. Fallowmark groaned.

* * * *

As she was ushered into the village, Vera was astonished to find that another feast had been prepared for her. She was rather grateful, for her light lunch of apple trees had not been very satisfying. Unlike the North Piconoreans, the citizens of the South did not bring the food in via cart or wagon. Everything was piled high already in a corner, prepared for Vera’s arrival. A massive wooden scaffolding towered in the air nearby and Regan requested for the giantess to be seated beside it.

“What’s this thing?” Vera asked. There were miniature ladders on either side of the construct and a wide platform at the top. It extended outward a few inches (or feet to the little people), almost like a diving board. When she sat beside the device, she found that her head was just below the platform. Vera felt her blood turn to ice.

“I sincerely hope this is not for…human sacrifice or something like that,” she said.

In the palm of Vera’s hand, Regan paled in horror. “Certainly not, O Honored One! We would never dishonor the Goddess with such a practice.”

She knelt down on the edge of Vera’s hand and motioned to one of her priests. The tiny robed man was leading a line of scruffy-looking criminals in chains and manacles towards the scaffolding. Regan shook her head and waved him off with a hurried gesture. The priest’s eyes went wide and he quickly led the prisoners back to the village jail.

“Riiiiight,” Vera said, watching them scurry off.

“An emissary of the Goddess should be pampered and waited upon like the sacred treasure that she is,” Regan explained. “Sit below the platform and the people shall feed you the feast we have prepared.”

Vera did just that, setting Regan on the ground beside her. One by one, the tiny citizens climbed up a ladder with baskets of food. They formed a line atop the scaffolding and waited patiently. Shrugging slightly, Vera tilted her head back and opened her mouth. The people tipped their baskets over and dumped fruits, vegetables, meats, and breads into the cavernous jaws. Each basket contained very little so Vera allowed the items to accumulate on her tongue in small piles. When she felt she had enough, she closed her lips and began chewing. After making their offering, the people descended down the other ladder. Vera swallowed her mouthful and the process repeated.

One man paused on the edge of the platform, trembling nervously. He leaned forward and peered into the vast recesses of the giant woman’s mouth. He stared in horrified fascination at the huge, writhing tongue as big as a whale, the sharp rows of stalactite teeth, and the wiry strands of spittle that stretched from floor to ceiling. Beyond this was only darkness and mystery. What secrets were contained in that black abyss? Vera exhaled slowly and her steaming breath wafted up and surrounded the man like a cloud.

The scouts had described the giantess of course but the man could hardly have imagined her incredible size, beauty, and majesty. Compared to this exquisite being, he was nothing. Less than nothing. She could swallow him whole in one gulp and hardly even notice. The man was suddenly filled with a swell of religious fervor. His life had no meaning, save only in servitude to the Goddess.

With a yelp, the man threw himself from the platform. He plummeted headfirst into Vera’s enormous mouth.

“Take me, Honored Vera!” he shrieked, his voice echoing in the organic cavern. “I die to please She-Who-Is-All!”

The little peasant hurtled past Vera’s teeth and tongue at breakneck speed and plunged into her throat. Vera’s head lurched upright and she began to gag. She could feel him in there, a tiny squirming presence within her gullet. She fought against her natural instinct to swallow. It would only take a quick gulp to clear her air passage and be able to breathe again. But this was a living thing, a sentient person inside her! How could she live with herself? Could she save him, like she had Swiftbow?

Vera felt her throat muscles clamp around the tiny man and he slipped a bit further down. She choked and wheezed, trying to bring him back up. With a massive and determined hack, she finally projected him upward and out into her hand.

“Are you insane?!” she screamed at him. The other Piconoreans shielded their ears. Vera looked scornfully at the tiny, wet, cowering form in the center of her palm. The number of times these little beings had ended up inside her mouth was becoming ludicrous.

“I said no human sacrifice! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Regan ran up beside her, barely visible below the lofty wall of Vera’s thigh. “Forgive us, my lady! This zealot does not act for us all! Please place him down here! Guards! Take this heretic to the jail to be flogged!”

“What? No!” Vera protested. “Don’t hurt him! I nearly choked to death trying to save him!”

The man lay prostrate in Vera’s hand, bowing before her. “Oh please hurt me, Honored Vera! I have led a sinful life! I deserve to be punished!”

“Shut up, you!” Vera spat at him. “You’re not helping your case here!”

“Madness has claimed him!” Regan exclaimed. “Surely, he does not know what he is saying!”

“I have never thought more clearly in my life!” the man yelled. “Squash me, Honored One! Devour me whole! I would die for the Goddess!”

“As would I!” someone yelled from the scaffolding.

“And I!” said another.

“We are yours! Take our worthless lives!”

“Crush us with thy celestial body!”

Exasperated, Vera set the suicide jumper down on the ground and lightly flicked him in the head with her finger.

“Ow!”

“There. You’re punished,” she declared. Vera turned to angrily face the crowd. “Listen to me, all of you! Let’s get one thing straight. There will be no sacrifices! No one is getting eaten, stepped on, sat on, or whatever other sick thing you want me to do to you! If there’s any more nonsense like that, um…the Goddess will be severely displeased! She wants you all to live full and happy lives. Got it?”

The crowd murmured their assent. “Yes, my lady!” “We hear you!” “Her will be done!”

Vera sighed wearily. “I think I’ve had enough food for now. I mean offerings. Whatever.”

As the people climbed back down the ladders, a small muffled voice was heard coming from the vicinity of Vera’s chest.

“Let me out of here! I have had enough! Release me, blast you!”

The Piconoreans stared curiously at the source of this noise. Vera blushed a deep crimson and tried once again to cover herself. But hugging her arms about her only succeeded in squeezing Fallowmark even tighter, causing further shrieks and angry cries from the depths of her cleavage. Vera released, fearing she might pop him like a pimple.

Priestess Regan touched the giantess’s leg inquisitively. “Er, my lady, it appears that your divine figure is speaking to us. Is this customary for demi-goddesses?”

“Not really,” Vera said. “I forgot about this guy.” She reached down into her cleavage with two fingers and extracted Lord Fallowmark. The little nobleman gasped and drank in the fresh air.

“I have never been so humiliated!” he bellowed once he had caught his breath. “Who do you think you are, giant?! I could have died in there!”

The people gasped at his manner of dress and the sound of his accent. “A Northron!” they cried.

“Honored Vera, you had a stowaway on your person!” Regan called up to her. “A Northern spy who sought to penetrate our defenses!”

“Wait a moment, where am I?” Fallowmark asked, still gripped in Vera’s fingers. He looked at his surroundings. “Southrons! Stay away from me, you brutes! I’m warning you!”

“He’s not a stowaway,” Vera said. “I, uh, put him in there.”

Regan was shocked. “I see. But why would you shield a Northron in the sheltering confines of your sacred bosom?”

“Sacred?” Fallowmark balked. “You spend half an hour in that death trap and tell me it’s sacred!”

“Is he to be the sacrifice?” Regan asked.

“No!” Vera cried. “How many times do I have to say it? Nobody is being sacrificed!”

“But he is a blasphemer!” the High Priestess protested. “The North Piconoreans reject the Goddess’s holy scripture. They deny Her very existence!”

“Don’t care,” said Vera. “Still not killing him, damn it!”

“The Northrons lead lives of sin and decadence!” Regan continued to rage. “They follow their creed of immoral science rather than the Holy Word!”

“Because science is truth, you simple-minded heathen!” Fallowmark shouted down to her.

“Hey! Be nice, Ozzy, or you’re going back in there!” Vera said as she indicated her chest.

“The rampant secularism of the North should be wiped out!” Regan announced. “For the sake of their souls, the Northrons must be led to the Light! We have been preparing for a Holy Crusade for just that purpose.”

Vera sighed. “God, you’re as bad as the Northerners.”

“God?” Regan repeated. “What is ‘God’? A diminutive or familiar form of ‘Goddess’?”

“Er, no,” said Vera. “A god is the male counterpart of a goddess. You…you don’t have that concept here?”

Regan tittered in amusement. “Certainly you jest, Honored Vera! A male form of Goddess? How absurd! Men are not made in Her holy image. They are not Life-bringers. They cannot hold positions of power.”

Fallowmark glared down at the priestess. “Horsefeathers! Men are strong and made to rule! One day the North will conquer these lands and abolish your insane cult!”

Regan scowled. “Come down here and say that to my face, you Northern barbarian! Only the Light of the Goddess will save Piconorea!”

“You all are ridiculous!” Vera exclaimed. She sighed again and rubbed her fingers against her temples. “Look, maybe I should talk to this queen of yours. You guys are ready for a crusade and the North is preparing for a war. This has got to stop before it gets out of hand!”

To be continued...