Jack, the giant-killer Read Online Free PDF

and clung desperately to the trunk of the tree when he set her on a perch, her legs dangling below her. It was a long way down.
    “That one,” Finn said, “is one of the Wild Hunt, and you don’t have to be afraid of them until all nine are gathered.” He pointed again. “There’s the Big Man—
    Gyre the Younger.”
    Jacky’s gaze followed his finger and she drew in a sharp breath. Standing with his back to them, facing the river, was a man who had to be at least eighteen feet tall. He was close to the trees that rimmed the riverbank and she’d taken his legs for tree trunks, never looking higher. Dizzy now, she clung harder to the tree she was in.
    “Where… where are we, Dunrobin?” she asked. It still looked like Windsor Park, but with giants and little gnome men in trees, it had to be a Windsor Park in an Ottawa that wasn’t her own.
    “Dunrobin’s my clan name—it’s Finn you should be calling me. That’s the way we hobs pair our names—at least our speaking names. And this is still your own world. You’re just seeing it through different eyes, seeing how you’re wearing a hob’s spellcap and all.”
    “It doesn’t feel like my world anymore,” Jacky said slowly.
    “There are Otherworlds,” Finn said, “but they’re not for the likes of us. We’re newcomers, you know. The Other-worlds belong to those whose land this was before we came— same as our own Middle Kingdom in the homeland belongs to us. Now that cap you’re wearing—it belonged to Redfairn Tom. I know him, for he’s a cousin, on my father’s side. Where did you get it?”
    “I…”
    She didn’t know what to say. What she’d seen two nights ago… If she’d tried telling anyone about it, they’d have looked at her like she wasn’t playing with a full deck. But this little man… He’d believe. The problem was, she wasn’t all that sure that he was real himself. God, it was confusing.
    “Give me your jacket while you’re telling the tale.”
    She looked at him. “What?”
    “Your jacket. I’ll stitch a spell or two into it while we’re talking. Walking around like you are, anybody can see you plain as day. The Host is strong now—
    getting stronger every day. They see you wearing a hob’s redcap and they’ll just as soon spike you as ask you the time of day. Come, come. You’ve a shirt on, as I can plainly see, and it’s not so cold. Best give me your shoes while you’re at it.”
    “Please,” Jacky said. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
    “Well, that’s plain to see, walking about in the Big Man’s shadow with never a care. Planning on calling in on Kinrowan’s wizard and not a charm on you but a redcap and while that’ll let you see , it won’t mean a damn if he decides to find out what sort of a toad you’d make—do you follow my meaning?”
    “I… No. No, I don’t.”
    “Well, what don’t you understand? And do give rne that jacket. All we need now is for the Big Man to turn around and see you sitting here, like a chicken in its roost, waiting for him to pluck it.”
    “I don’t understand anything. This Kinrowan you’re talking about—my name’s Rowan, too.” She took off her jacket as she spoke, warily balancing herself on her branch, and passed it over.
    “Is it now? That’s a lucky name, named for a lucky tree, red-berried and all. Red berry, amber and red thread—now that’s a charm that would stop even a bogan, you know. Do you have just the one speaking name?”
    She shook her head. “It’s Jacqueline Elizabeth Rowan— but my friends just call me Jacky. What’s a speaking name?”
    “They’re usually boys,” Finn said to himself.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” He had just produced a needle and thread and was stitching a design on the inside of her jacket, the gnarled fingers moving deftly and quick. “A speaking name’s the one you’ll let others speak aloud, you know? As opposed to your real name that you keep hidden—the one that a gruagagh can use