Chapter Nineteen: The God-giant
“Do not make eye contact”, Ashal told the newcomer who nodded impatiently. That was about the tenth time that Ashal had told him not to make eye contact but it would probably not be the last. There were many strange strands of etiquette to be observed when going before their hosts and masters. It would do no good for the newcomer to get eaten before he'd had a chance to spill his words.
Ashal had found a Red Demkin robe which fit the newcomer perfectly. To go before them without wearing such garb would also be a breach of etiquette, one which would also result in the newcomer being eaten. To appear before their hosts and masters without wearing the red robe was a statement, a statement that you were a stranger in these halls and that you had given yourself freely to the cauldron where the unlucky dreams were cooked.
When he felt they were ready Ashal motioned for the newcomer to come with him. As they left the Last House an honour guard of Red Demkin fell in with them. In the olden days, which Ashal had never seen, the Red Demkin order were used by their hosts and masters to go into the places where the small dreams were and herd them out. The masters would then gather those poor dreams up and they would go into the cauldron. In return for their services the Red Demkin were given the dubious honour of not being eaten themselves.
Of course the world had become more civilised since then, apparently. The hosts and masters had been told that they were no longer allowed to flush small dreams from their homes in order to eat them. They were told that if they did so they would be forced to climb back over the wall into the Dream Sea. So the hosts and masters had changed their diet, much to their rage. The cauldron these days was filled with vegetable, trees and rocks, though the occasional foolhardy hero would try and breach the mountain without wearing the red, and such idiots were fair game as far as the hosts and masters were concerned.
The newcomer had been in an awful state when he'd arrived, his clothes stuck to his skin with blood, and he'd demanded to be taken before the lord of Torabane immediately. Luckily for him Ashal was a stern and strict fellow. He had first had the stranger bathed, his wounds were tended and he was trussed up in the fine regalia of the Red Demkin.
They walked the Long Valley which led to the Gate of Skulls. The gate was another reminiscence of the days when the hosts and masters held the lands of the north in a bloodied fist. It was made from the skulls of tens of thousands of dreams, mortal and immortal, humanoid, jackal, centaur, ogre, troll and many other species of dream had gone into making the gate, a symbol of the fear and repression of the masters. It was almost a thousand feet high and as wide again. The skulls had been ground down along with rocks and clay in order to give it strength, even so the features of many skulls could be seen protruding from it.
The guardian of the gate differed from day to day as the masters willed it. Today Ashal saw that it was Moiglin the Drum, also famous from the old days of Avalen when he used to make giant drums from the skins of his enemies. There were still many of them inside Torabane, they would be played in celebration, they would be played for war or they would be played just to give the giants something to do. They got to within Moiglin’s shadow and Ashal knew that he looked down upon them, but the Red Demkin did not look up for they knew better than that. Ashal was pleased to see that the repetition of advice which he'd given the newcomer had sunk in, as he stared solely at the ground.
“Who comes to the gate of Torabane?” coming the booming voice above them. Ashal felt the fetid stench of the giant’s breath wash over them with a powerful gust.
“I present Prince Karmalaine of Fenngaard, son of Fenn Corul Geddon and heir to the Kingdom of Avalen”, Ashal announced before sinking to his knees.