PART V

  THE LAST KING OF THE GIANTS

  Ahmad Ibn Fadlan, Arab Chronicler, “Risala”

  “I have seen the Vikings as they came on their merchant journeys and encamped by the Volga. I have never seen more perfect physical specimens, tall as date palms, blonde and ruddy; they wore neither a tunic or a caftan, but the men wear a garment which covers one side of the body and leaves a hand free.”

  CHAPTER 30

  THE THRONE ROOM

  “That next morning at the site of Mount Fillon, I was up before the sun. I had barely slept more than three hours the night before, so concerned that the window we had discovered would be gone. I needed to see it again and know it hadn’t been a dream or vanished with the night.

  I walked over to the window and looked down on it from the ground above. I stared and waited for the sun to catch up to me. When the first light touched the glass, it felt like I was witnessing a miracle.

  “Good morning,” a voice behind me said.

  I froze for a moment, certain everyone was still asleep. I turned slowly and saw Vincent.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you, Jackie boy,” he said, patting me on the back. “Can you imagine what lies beneath this great pane?”

  “Only all night and all my life,” I answered.

  “I know,” Vincent said. “I slept well, though. The wine helped. Anyway, it’s turning out just how I expected. I dreamt this farm would be the beginning of all our fantasies of giants, dragons, and ancient legends finally became real.”

  “I could have never imagined being here on this spot now,” I said. “What were the chances?”

  “Jack,” Vincent replied, “you and I both know chance plays little part in moments like this.”

  We sat together in silence, considering our next move. We had found the window, but little else beyond that. The window itself was too important to destroy. The ancient glass, set within its stone inlay, was far thicker than I had expected. It was far more difficult to breach.

  “Why have you two not awakened me?” Uri called out as he approached. “I am sorry to have been sleeping. I drank too much wine,” he said, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his brow. “I must make us an elixir to rid us of these headaches. You have one too? Tell me you do?”

  “Sorry, my friend,” I said. “I’m fine. How about you, Vincent?”

  “I am doing all right, I suppose,” Vincent answered.

  “Well then, do not move,” Uri said. “I will fetch the ingredients for an elixir to ease your suffering.” He started off, then paused. “Oh, and by the way, I have a plan for getting into the throne room. I’ll be right back.”

  From my studies, I knew the throne room was a domed chamber, the great window positioned at its weakest point. If there were a way in, it would be there.

  Uri believed our best course of action was to dig beside the window and cut a two-foot opening into the surrounding stone, just wide enough for one of us to pass through. We would have to hand-chisel the opening from the foundation. Every strike risked both the window and the room below.

  We chiseled down less than two feet when the remaining stone broke free and fell into the darkness beneath us. The sound echoed back up like a hollow breath. We finally had our opening.

  From the surface to the room below was roughly forty feet. I was tethered to Uri and Vincent, who were themselves secured to a pulley anchored to a nearby tree.

  “Careful,” Mimi said as the rope eased me through the opening.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. As I descended, I felt like a spider on a web, gliding into open space. Below me was only darkness. The air thickened the farther down I went, and I pulled my bandana up over my mouth and nose.

  I reached for my flashlight and switched it on. The beam caught the curve of the dome and the stones scarred by centuries of water, roots, and mineral deposits. Cracks split the walls, earth pressing through as if the mountain itself were reclaiming the room.

  My light dropped to the floor below: dirt, rubble, decay. Almost afraid to look, I avoided the center of the chamber at first. Water lines marked the walls nearly four feet up, and the plaster had long since broken away from the stone blocks beneath, ruined by moisture.

  Then I followed the ground with my light toward the center of the room.

  And there I saw it.

  A single stone box sat alone. It was nearly twenty feet long and seven feet wide. There was only one coffin, not two.

  Its lid had been broken open. Whatever had once rested inside was long gone, claimed by water, time, or thieves. I circled the room with my light, unsettled by the absence of a second coffin. Then, to the left, I noticed fragments scattered across the floor. Pieces of a smaller box.

  My heart quickened.

  I reached the ground and tested it with my foot. The dirt was dry and solid. Letting my legs take my weight, I tugged the rope.

  “Touchdown,” I called.

  The rope stopped moving.

  “Are you all right, Jackie?” Vincent shouted down.

  “I’m fine,” I said after a moment. “Just give me a minute.”

  Light streamed down through the ceiling window and spilled across the west wall, where an opening led into the western treasure room. But my interest lay at the center of the chamber.

  I walked back to the open coffin. Now that my eyes had fully adjusted, I could see it clearly. It was nearly four feet high, carved from marble, its surface roughened by centuries underground. Inside lay only dirt, broken stone, and debris. The tomb had been opened long ago. I could only assume tomb raiders had stripped it of anything valuable, leaving nothing behind.

  Given the water damage throughout the room, I suspected any remains had long since been carried away. Bones, if they had survived decomposition at all, would have floated and scattered. Water is the greatest enemy of bone. I realized then that finding an intact skeleton here was unlikely.

  Frustrated, I turned back to the fragments on the floor. One piece caught my attention. Was it a corner from a smaller coffin?

  Nearby lay a long, flat slab. I brushed away the dirt and felt the engraving beneath my fingers. The stone was too heavy to lift easily. After all, it was solid marble. I turned it toward the window, but the light was insufficient. I raised my flashlight.

  The slab was cracked diagonally, as though struck by a heavy iron hammer. Yet the engraving remained intact: an ornate crest, and beneath it, words written in Celtic script.

  Here Lies

  Beloved Daughter

  Precious Fillon

  Forever the

  King’s Heart

  I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It wasn’t bone, but it was proof. Proof that the king had a daughter, buried here on this mount.

  I returned to the larger coffin and found a similar crest. The intact end bore another inscription:

  Here lies

  Beloved Queen of her Kingdom,

  Mother to the Silent Heir

  And Wife to the King.

  Forever Loved and Honored on This Mount

  I measured the coffin with my eyes. It was nearly twenty feet long, more than six feet wide. Far too large for a human. There was no doubt now. This was the giant queen I had read about. Everything I had gathered, everything I had hoped, aligned.

  “Jackie, we are dying up here!” Vincent shouted. “What the hell is going on down there?”

  I laughed out loud.

  “Are you laughing or crying?” he yelled. “You’re upsetting Mimi!”

  “I’m fine,” I shouted back. “They were here!”

  “Who was?”

  “The giants! Fillon and her queen mother—the coffins are still here!”

  I hadn’t found skeletal proof, but I had found something just as powerful.

  They hauled me back up. As my head emerged through the stone opening, I knew I was smiling like a fool. Mimi was the first face I saw. I crawled free and wrapped her in a tight embrace, still filthy and breathless from the descent. She clung to me, tears running down her face as she kissed my cheek. I pulled back and kissed her, laughing.

  Uri and Vincent joined us, and there was no mistaking the joy we all felt. Our journey to Europe would end in triumph. Whether or not we uncovered bones later, I was certain we had found the legendary throne room of Gayant, king of the giants.

  It was enough for that day. There was cause to celebrate.”

  Grandpa Jack closed his journal.

  “So,” I asked, “did you stick it to Bayne with the proof you had?”

  “Not exactly,” Grandpa said. “We chose not to disclose the location—not yet. Vincent also hoped we might find evidence of Roi Roux, the great dragon said to belong to Gayant. Besides, I wasn’t doing this to prove anything to Bayne or anyone else. I was doing it for me.”

  “What about the king?” I asked. “Did you find him?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Darby said. “Grandpa told you the giants burned their kings, including Gayant.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “When Fillon died mysteriously,” Grandpa said, “there was fear her illness had spread to a servant who cared for her, even after death. When the servant died, her body was burned. From that point on, all giants were burned in a ceremonial ritual. It was started to protect the living from the dead.

  “When Gayant finally died, the custom remained. That is why my research focused on finding giant remains from before this period. After the Middle Ages, all giants were burned. I believe they believed it was the only way for the dead to have peace in the afterlife. They would not want anyone, us included, disturbing their honored dead.

  “And in the next phase of giant history,” Grandpa said quietly, “something terrible happens that changes the history of these great creatures. Something that brought their history to a formal end.”