The Legend of the Giant and the Stag

There was once a friendly giant who lived on a mountain by the sea with his love, a handsome stag. George the Giant and Tim the Stag were very happy together on the Green Mountain, building a life for themselves that was full of each other. But they had not always lived on this mountain, and they had not always been so happy. Some years ago, in a land not so far away, Tim’s love for George had been called unnatural, perverse and wrong. Tim’s herd did not understand his love, and his father, The Great Stag, had banished him from the herd for loving a giant. The young stag felt the cruel pain of rejection and buried the pain deep in the middle of his soul, where it was hidden, and forgotten over time. Despite this, Tim and George were brave. They knew their love was as natural as the shining stars at night and the rising sun at dawn.

They left their lives behind and set off together on a wild adventure, fleeing the busy places where they had been judged and cast out, and found the Green Mountain on the coast. The mountain was covered in a lush green forest where they could smell the flowers and walk together, free to love without fear. It was the safest place they knew, and it soon became their home. Here, they lived their lives between the thrilling pulse of excitement and the still peace of contentment. This was their kingdom, and they believed nobody could pull them apart.

Both the lovers were a sight to behold. Tim had magnificent antlers that were like two powerful arms clasping an invisible halo above his head. At times, he fancied himself as an angel that had dropped out of Heaven to bring devilish beauty into the lives of others. He had a chiseled face and a slender neck that curved down smoothly into a lean body of golden brown fur. By contrast, George was as tall as a small tree, with dark ruffled hair like a bird’s nest. His tanned skin covered a portly frame; a light layer of flab jiggled over his thick, strong bones. To those around them, it seemed that they each provided what the other lacked.

One afternoon, Tim and George were lying together in the grass, fooling about. Tim could feel the lazy sunlight on his cheek, and was pretending to ignore George’s much-practised impression of a sloth hanging from an imaginary tree.

“Give me attention,” George demanded, feeling quite neglected.

Tim really did not know how to respond to these little performances, and decided that he would not indulge him today. He told him, “Stop prancing about like a fairy and give me attention.”

George replied, “But you’ve always loved my fairy tail.”

On this point, it was impossible for Tim to disagree. So they sat and snuggled and said very little. That is, until Tim looked out to sea and saw something he did not expect. There in the bay, sailing towards the beach, was a huge beast with white wings that towered up into the sky. From a distance, up above, he could see tiny moving specks on the back of the floating creature. Humans! And there was something else, something bigger on the creature’s back, that he didn’t recognise. It looked as if it was covering something. As the huge creature got closer, he saw that it wasn’t alive at all. It was a man-made monster, tearing through the sea to the shore.

“What is that?” Tim pointed his horns down towards the sea. He had not seen a thing like this before.

George was startled from his slumber, and peered down over the edge of their spot. He was silent, shocked by what he saw, and then managed a few words,

“That is a ship. Those are humans. What on earth are they doing here?”

Tim leapt up and cried out “Race you there!” He sprinted off down the mountain, through the trees, before George had a moment to object.

***

The boat had landed on the beach, and the people were climbing down onto the sand with huge fishing nets. Tim had heard so much about humans before, but had never seen one up close. These strange tall bodies had bright shining eyes and wide smiles. They seemed kind, and Tim wandered over to greet them. Maybe they’re lost, and want my help, he thought.

As Tim went over to speak to them, they threw the net over him. They chortled and they cried, “We’ve got one! A beauty! What fine horns. Younger than the other one, and shinier. Tie him up and put him at the bow, away from the other one – we don’t want them talking and conspiring against us. Oh yes, the Dark Giant is going to be very pleased with us now.”

George was wandering down through the forest, calling out for Tim. There was only birdsong for an answer. George wondered, where is he? He called out again, speeding up now. He started to run down through the forest, his head bopping up above the tree tops. Where is Tim? he thought. At that moment, something caught George’s eye.  There, there was the ship. Sailing away from the beach. The pack of people, and… Tim’s horns, poking out, trapped in a net. George’s stomach leapt with fear. The island shook with his footsteps as he ran down to the shore. The ship was going faster and faster. George made it to the beach and waded out into the water, but he was too late.

He stood still, watching Tim being carried away, further and further, out to the point where the sea meets the sky.  George the Giant fell to his knees in the sand, and he wept a second sea.

Written by Henry Hudson
@henrycehudson

Illustrated by Rebecca Hopkinson

Will I ever see him again? George thought. The giant had left the beach and was wandering in a daze through the valleys and ravines of the Green Mountain. As he wandered, memories of them together flooded back to him. The stream where they had dabbled, the meadow where they had slept. There would be no more back-rubs with Tim’s horns, no more hunts to find the tastiest grubs in the forest. Gone. He was gone.

He came across a clearing with a big, twisting tree in the middle, and lay down at its roots.

It was the big, twisting tree he and Tim had come to that evening and got into a knotty debate about the Soul of Nature. That evening long ago came back to him now, as if it were happening all over again. That evening… Tim had swiftly leapt up onto a thick branch of the tree, hoping that George would follow him up. George didn’t climb the tree because he was afraid he might break it. So he waited on the ground, as Tim tip-toed along its branches. But Tim stopped when he saw George staying on the ground. Tim hated the differences between them sometimes, and worried they were too different to ever last together. George looked up into his eyes, saw that Tim was afraid, and sang him these words:

When the world is spinning so fast,
And you don’t believe we can last,
Remember me by the roots of the tree.
My heart is steadfast. Wait and see.

At that, Tim leapt down to the ground and they hugged, and the world was serene – but that was the past. George’s mind returned to the present, and his heart returned to sorrow. He looked out over the ocean. Tim was gone, and he was alone.

The other creatures on the mountain hated to see him so miserable, and did their very best to console him.

“My dear giant, have you tried taking up a hobby?” asked the Toucan. “I hear making expressive sand-sculptures can be very therapeutic…”

“Now, now, let it all out George. Don’t stifle your emotions, or they will only come back stronger and surprise you when you least expect it.” advised the Owl. “What about writing some bad poetry?”

“Ahh, so sorry old boy,” said the Sloth. “Why don’t you try and find another fella to shack up with, you know, just for the night?”

“That is a disgraceful suggestion!” bellowed the Badger. “Resist the urges of temptation with unwavering abstinence. Though if you’re inclined to sin George, perhaps you might try it with a female beast? It would be wrong to dismiss it before you’ve given it a fair go.” The Badger’s hypocrisy was in vain.

Alas, the giant was inconsolable. He screamed at the mountain, “Bring him back, bring him back!”

Sometimes, when a voice cries out in pain, the world listens. And on this day, George’s plea was heard by the Soul of Nature, the force that breathes the gentle wind, lives in the roots of trees and gives the bird its flight. The Soul of Nature carried his message across the skies through the floating clouds. As they moved, the clouds began to bulge and twist with the aura of a newborn dragon soaring through the heavens.

***

In a little fishing village some way along the coast from the Green Mountain, three men were going about their daily business of doing very little. They were loitering about the port, watching boats they weren’t sailing, scrutinising fishermen they didn’t approve of, and heckling those that they begrudgingly respected. These three men had once trained as fishermen themselves, though they had soon given it up when, out on the sea, they found out fish did not readily jump into their nets and ask to be eaten. They were widely regarded in the village as low-life of the highest order, a motley crew of fools with big dreams and bigger delusions. Mind you, it was easy to forget that fortune had not been kind to these men. They had not been blessed with upbringings where anyone took very good care of them.  But now that they had found each other, their fortunes were looking up.

First up in the trio was Squiddly Dit. He got very excited about big ideas, but never managed to convert that enthusiasm into actual adventure. His impatience meant he could never play the long game, and spent a long time thinking about what could be (but probably never would).

Next up was Koogy Delbbog. He was not a man of thought, and had a ‘hands on’ approach to life. He was, surprisingly, the emotional rock of the group, and kept the others afloat during personal storms. Sadly, he had never been taught the basics of language, so instead he made suggestive noises.

Finally, there was Jip Japester, their crafty leader. He always had a plan to get them rich quick, but also had a terrible knack for underestimating how long plans took to put into effect. He believed he had descended from the great geniuses of ages past, and that the gods had made some terrible mistake when he had been born in this godforsaken village.

However today was not to be like every other wasted day. The Village Resident’s Association had recently announced their annual bonanza to encourage physical activity amongst the population of fishermen, who were prone to sitting around all day gripping their rods. It was a competition, with the details laid out on a poster stuck proudly to the Association’s notice board in the port:

“Worthy residents, you have one week to catch the rarest creature you can find and bring it to the Village Hall. The winner will receive a fabulous set of hand-cast, bronze cooking pots, with waterproof coating, along with a year’s supply of fishing bait.”

The minds of Jip, Koogy and Squiddly were all on the splendid prize, and filled with some doubt. How would they compete with villagers who could actually fish?  At that very moment, the three miscreants looked up to the sky. The clouds began to bulge and twist with pink and blue light, making a purple dragon that shot out breaths of golden fire.

To Jip, Koogy and Squiddly, three men who were hungry for inspiration and adventure, this was a sign.

“I have a fool-proof plan,” Jip announced with confidence. “Boys, we have a great journey ahead. We will need a boat, and I know just where to find one.”

Written by Henry Hudson
@henrycehudson

Illustrated by Rebecca Hopkinson

After the confusion and shock started to settle, Tim could not believe what had happened. His captors were the stuff of legends, once whispered by other creatures on the mountain. The men who had taken him were the Searchers, a group who journeyed across lands and seas, hunting for creatures to feed to their leader, the Dark Giant. The Dark Giant feasted on the souls of innocent beings, consuming all their goodness and leaving only a joyless shell. He dwelled on the Island of Perpetual Night, where he had sucked the light out of the sky to live in total darkness. His evil hunger filled the empty hearts of the Searchers, who found belonging and purpose in his service.

Now, as they journeyed across the sea, they had covered themselves in thick robes to protect against the howling wind, and they looked like black specters haunting the dim morning light.  There were ten of them, at Tim’s last count. What do they want? Maybe my antlers? He wanted to tell them that if they waited until the summer, his antlers would drop off. But he was terrified, and silent.

The ship tipped from side to side, rocked by the waves. What if I never make it home? What if George came looking for me and he’s got lost? He had to save him, didn’t he? He had to. Tim dreamt of the rescue scene now: George would storm aboard, crush the Searchers and steer the boat to safety. Then George would make an awful joke about Tim having the best horn on the island.

The ship tipped from side to side, rocked by the waves. Tim stared over the edge into the water. There was land on either side. Land! Which land? Where are we? The ship sailed near the shore now, past the mouth of a river that flowed in-land, perhaps back to George. Tim thought now of the life that had been taken from him, how precious it was. He had spent most of his adolescence alone, searching for highs, feeling the lows, and never finding the place in-between. As he grew up into a young adult, he felt empty. His body was a dried out river bed where the water used to flow. Then he met George, and they kissed for the first time. It was like a fountain burst up through the dry, cracked ground, and life flowed free through his bloodstream.

The ship tipped from side to side, rocked by the waves. A tear trickled down Tim’s face, though the net, onto the hard floor of the ship. He felt one of the Searchers moving past him, and then watched the blur of him slowly remove a large sheet from the huge shape on the other side of the boat. The Searcher revealed another beast, locked in thick chains. He tried to focus: it looked like a stag. A huge, strong body with powerful horns; completely powerless now. Tim could not see his face from where he was held, but the stag had something about him that he knew so well. The bend and point of his horns, the golden brown colour of his fur, the shape…  He felt the pang of panic and could not breathe.

It was the Great Stag. It was his father. Tim’s stomach clenched. He felt a spike of anger shoot through him, the rage he had not felt since… The last time he saw him was three years ago, when the Great Stag had looked him in the eye and told him he had to leave his herd. Tim had been banished for loving George, and he had had to leave everything he knew behind and start a new life, far away on the Green Mountain. He had stifled the pain of rejection inside him – it was too great to bear – but it had been lurking at the bottom of his heart ever since, and it rushed up through him in a violent eruption. What is he doing here? Why is he here? How did this happen? Is he hurt? What is happening? 

Little did either stag know that the Searchers were taking them both to the Island of Perpetual Night, and the lair of the Dark Giant.

***

For Squiggly, Koogy and Jip, finding the boat had been the easy bit. Now they had to put Jip’s plan into action: to sail to the island they had heard of many times, and never dared to go. It was the place where moving shadows lived. Even when the sun was up, it did not shine there. That was why they called it the Island of Perpetual Night. The three villagers were going to capture one of the Island’s fabled creatures whose cries could be heard out at sea, screaming through the night. The trio’s old knowledge of sailing came back to them in rusty revelations, as they slowly made their way out to sea.

Written by Henry Hudson
@henrycehudson

Illustrated by Rebecca Hopkinson

“I can’t even see past the end of my nose. Time to get off this miserable island. Shine that flame over here,” Squiddly moaned from the bottom of a large, freshly made hole in the ground.

“Enough. The sooner you finish digging this damn hole, the sooner we can catch what we came for and be on our way.” Jip was determined not to give up. It was, of course, his plan to create a trap, and it was going reasonably well, particularly given the fact they were working under the dark veil of night, with only a flaming stick for a torch.

Squiddly replied, “I can’t even lift this shovel anymore. Why am I the one who always gets lumped with the legwork? I haven’t seen sunlight in days!”

“Bahhh!” yelled Koogy.

“I agree with Koogy”, Jip interjected. “Squids I’d tell you to shove it where the sun don’t shine, but we’re already there. Keep going, it’s nearly deep enough. Think of what we’ll catch, and the prize.”

“And what if no mystical creatures walk over this trap, ey? Then what will we do? We saw that carcass down by the shore… What if there are other hunters here?”

“Bam bam nam!” yelled Koogy.

“Koogy’s right. Fighting isn’t helping anyone.” said Jip. “This is not a catastrophe yet, so let’s not turn it into one.”

***

The Searchers crept across the Island of Perpetual Darkness, and through the never-ending night. The final part of their quest to capture more souls was causing some disagreement, as the group made their way up and down over the island’s many shadowy dips and rises.  As they went up one particularly steep hill, three of the Searchers were carrying Tim above their heads, still in his net. Another five were carrying the Great Stag, bound up in his chains. The two at the front were bickering over who would present their catches to the Dark Giant.

“Is your head stuck so far up your own backside that you can’t see how unreasonable you are being? I masterminded this operation, thank you very much, so I’ll be the one who presents him to our gracious leader,” one was adamant.

“My dear co-mate, my head is stuck firmly upon my neck, which is more than I’ll be able to say for you if you don’t do as I say,” the other replied.

They did not have a moment to reach a conclusion, for in the flash of a second, these two at the front slipped and fell into the ground. The trees jumped upside down in the darkness as their faces hit the black in a flabbergasting thwack.

From behind a cunning tree nearby, the villagers leapt up, hollering like hooligans. The pack of Searchers carrying Tim and the Great Stag dropped both of them and fled into the blackness. Those two that had fallen into the trap were in a state of shock, and could only make strange noises.

“AHHH!” Koogy roared at them. He had the weapons of surprise and fear.

Squiddly stared down into the pit and saw an unwelcome sight. “Humans! We’ve caught humans…”

“What do you want!?” the heap of Searchers managed to squeak out, mortified.

Jip had been silent for a moment, shocked that another one of his plan’s was not going to plan. But he snapped himself into the moment – he was not about to lose face, and took control of the situation:

“Well you seem to have got yourself in an almighty mess down there.” But before Jip could negotiate with their unwanted captives, Koogy’s torch lit up a stag on the ground, tied up in a net. Then another stag, taller and broader, locked in chains.

“They’re ours!” cried the Searchers.

“Don’t move an inch,” Jip told them, “or you’ll feel the sharp point of my sword.” He did not tell them that he did not, in fact, have a sword on his person at that time, nor did he own a sword of any kind.

As he took in the situation, the sun came out in Jip’s mind, and he continued, “In exchange for your freedom, strange men in the hole, we will be taking these fine beasts with us, no questions asked. Boys, take that one on your shoulders down to the boat, then Koogy you come back and we’ll manoeuvre the other one down to the shore.”

They did so, and before the Searchers knew what had happened to them, stuck in a hole where the ground used to be, the villagers were pushing their boat out to sea. They had two rather confused and frightened stags on board.

Written by Henry Hudson
@henrycehudson

Illustrated by Rebecca Hopkinson

The ocean crashed and thrashed and blasted and punched and thumped and walloped and whipped their skin. The waves of the storm smacked their bodies so hard that their bones shook in their sockets. Tim was clinging to life, his net fastened to the mast at the boat’s middle. He felt the explosive sting of fear in his heart, as if there was a wasp’s nest trapped in his chest. The net might snap any moment, and he would be sucked into out into the raging waves, out into a wild abyss of nothingness.

This is my end, he thought. George can’t save me now. Where am I going? What do I do? What do I do?!

The ocean bellowed.

The Great Stag was chained to the inside of the boat, locked to rusty metal rungs. The storm had woken him from a restless sleep, and he lay there, not moving an inch. His eyes stared up into the pelting rain and Tim did not know if his father had recognised him or not.

Jip, Koogy and Squiddly were pumping with adrenaline. Their minds were no longer on the hand-cast bronze cooking pots with waterproof coating and a year’s supply of fishing bait that they would surely win if they made it home with the stags on board. No, their minds were driving with the basic instinct of survival. We must live, we have to live! This can’t be it. This can’t be the end. 

The co-mates gripped the Great Stag’s chains, wanting to shut their eyes and disappear, but knowing they had to open them and face the swirling waters around them.

Tim tucked up into himself as tight as he could, and waited. This cannot be my end, he thought. Could father save me? No, he didn’t even recognised him. In a final moment of despair, Tim cried out to the Soul of Nature, “take me home! Take me home to the mountain!”

With that, he gave up. He stopped crying out. All he could think now was how his love was a long way away, out of reach. As Tim faced a dismal end, he saw how a great love is like the great sea. It can hold you safe in its body, healing your cuts and making you forget your heavy weight. Or it can carry you away against your will, pulling you down into deep and breathless dark.

***

The sunlight blazed through his eyelids and stirred him from a deep sleep. It was wet. He tried to stand, but his bones ached, and he was covered in something…. the net. He was in the net on the boat, in a pool of water.  How long have I been asleep? Where am I? His stomach rumbled, and it felt like weeks since he had last eaten. There was a storm. It came back to him now. He thought, Have I died?  Where are the men on the boat? They were nowhere in sight. The boat was on a beach somewhere.

He turned around and met the eyes of his father staring right at him. Neither of them could speak. They wanted to, but they couldn’t. Then the Great Stag blurted out a single word, “Tim.”

“Yes,” said Tim.

They can’t have been more than a metre apart, but it felt as if there were miles between them. The Great Stag was locked in his chains, but he pulled himself up – first his front legs, then his hind legs, with the chain clanking at every move. He was huge, with horns that towered into the clouds. He moved closer but Tim flinched backwards into the bow of the boat.

“Let me get you out of that net. I can help you,” the Great Stag offered.

“I don’t need your help,” Tim told him.

“Let me help you,” his father pleaded.

“I don’t need your help,” Tim insisted. And then the anger in his heart began to fade.

He waited for a moment. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, to find out about how the herd were, what had happened since he left.

Before he could do anything, his father came towards him and tore open the net by catching it on his horns and ripping it up into the air.

“Thank you,” the young stag said. Can I stay here with him? Shall I go home to my herd? No... He knew he had to go now, he knew he had to escape, and find a way back to his home with George.

The Great Stag knew he was going, and that this was the last time he would see him. He could only say, “Take care, my son.”

Tim leapt off the boat, onto the beach. There, lying there in the sand, were the three men from the storm, snoring and stirring. He had to run now, but where? Anywhere away from them.

He ran from the beach up into a forest, though he didn’t know where he was going. The flowers gave off a sweet scent that filled the air. They smelled familiar… Tim stood very still for a moment. He had been here before. This was home. He was at the bottom of the Green Mountain. The Soul of Nature had brought him home to his mountain, and…

Sprinting up through the forest, and and up the mountain, Tim came to their hut. It was still there, the world that had been taken from him. The cooling embers of a recent fire were still breathing beneath the cooking pot. Where was George? What if he’d left to find him? How long had he been gone? Days? Weeks? It could only have been a few days, but it felt like a lifetime.

He was too late. George has definitely gone looking for me, he thought. Certainly, probably, maybe, maybe not… Tim careered around the mountain like a creature possessed. At that very moment, he remembered the words that George had once told him:

When the world is spinning so fast,
And you don’t believe this can last,
Remember me, by the roots of the tree,
My heart is steadfast. Wait and see.

The big, twisted tree! Tim dashed through glades, bolted over banks and leapt across ravines until he made it, breathless, to the clearing. There, before Tim’s eyes, was a giant that looked a lot like George but seemed smaller, curled up on the ground. Tim’s heart dropped. Was this his love?  It had to be George, but he had never seen him like this before. Why didn’t George see him?  Tim couldn’t speak, as his heart thudded in his head. Look up, he willed, look up!

“George!” Tim cried, stuck to the spot. George did not move. “George!”

George looked up.

“It’s me. It’s me.”

For a moment that seemed like an eternity, the world was a dizzy mix of sensations. George’s heart could not believe what his eyes saw before him. And then, slowly, the world around them turned golden.

The End

Written by Henry Hudson
@henrycehudson

Illustrated by Rebecca Hopkinson