But it never came.
The orchard shook under the beat of enormous hoofs. The three of them, Lark, Foxbrush, and the Faerie, turned as a great giant burst through the fig trees, breaking branches. She was twice as tall as a man, muscular and fur-covered, with wild hair and great elk’s antlers springing from her head. Her cloven feet struck the ground in thudding assault, breaking roots and stones as she went.
Crookjaw screamed and scrambled for the safety of a tree. But he never reached its boughs. Kasa’s great arm shot out and caught him in mid leap. The Faerie monkey screeched and bit at her hand.
She broke him like a doll made of rushes. Then she turned and fixed her yellow eyes upon Lark.
Yelling inarticulately, Foxbrush flung himself between the giantess and the girl. He stood in Kasa’s shadow, and the sunlight shot into his eyes between her branching antlers. He put up both hands in defense, clenching and unclenching his fists. Her cleft lip twisted in a smile at the sight, and she advanced, the dead body of Crookjaw dangling in her grasp.
“Will you stand up to me, mortal, and deprive me of my due?” she asked, and the rumble of her voice and the scent of wildness on her breath could have knocked him over. Foxbrush staggered but did not fall.
She took another step. One of her great feet could crush the life out of him. Nothing could stand in her way. Still he stood with the child clinging to him from behind, and though he could not speak or even move for terror, he did not back down.
Kasa looked into his eyes. And she saw something that made her stop.
The King of Here.
The King of There.
A shudder passed through her, an understanding she could not fully understand. But she stood where she was and advanced no more. Then she said:
“The tithe is due.”
It was then that Foxbrush saw the Bronze about her neck. “The firstborn!” he breathed and he felt Lark tighten her grip on his shirt from behind. She had seen it too.
“Where is the mistress of this land?” Kasa demanded. “I will speak to her alone.”
Neither Foxbrush nor Lark could answer. Kasa looked at them, avoiding Foxbrush’s eyes. Then she swung the body of Crookjaw up over her shoulder, turned, and marched off through the orchard toward the village.
Foxbrush collapsed. His knees simply gave out, and he could not have supported himself a moment longer if he’d wanted to.
“Hurry! Hurry!” Lark cried, grabbing his shirt and pulling. “We’ve got to get to the village! That Bronze Warrior is looking for my ma!”
“Ughh uh,” said Foxbrush, which wasn’t as articulate as he’d hoped. He was fairly certain his heart had stopped and he was probably dead.
“Get up!” Lark cried, kicking him in her urgency. “We’ve got to find my ma!”
The reverberations of Kasa’s footsteps quaked the ground as Foxbrush and Lark, hand in hand, hastened through the orchard in her wake. Within a few paces, they heard the village warning drums beating, but the sound could scarcely carry above the thunder of Kasa’s approach.
She strode through the center of the village, and all fled her path. Up the hill to the Eldest’s House she went, and from that vantage point she was visible throughout the village, her great antlers tearing at the sky, the body of Crookjaw swinging limply. She bellowed for all to hear:
“Where is the mistress of this land?”
No one spoke. No one answered. All gathered together at the base of the hill, armed but afraid to make a move. They stared up at the giantess and believed they looked upon their doom.
“Where is the mistress of this land?”
Then one voice called out in answer: “The Eldest will not be summoned like a slave.”
The crowd made way as Redman stepped through. He walked from their midst and up the hill toward Kasa, his ugly face full of threats, his red hair shining in the sun. “She is not to be bullied or intimidated,” said he. “You will deal with me!”
Kasa looked down upon his approach and sniffed. Her nose was flat and slitted, yet her face was still beautiful after the beauty of Faeries. Her golden eyes narrowed. “You are not king. You are not bound to this country by the beat of your heart and the pulse of your blood.”
Redman stood just below her now, caught in the depths of her shadow so that his hair no longer shone. Other shadows gathered in the sky as thick black clouds rushed in to shroud the sun. And yet Redman’s one good eye gleamed with fierce fire.
“My heart beats for the Eldest, and my blood flows in the veins of the children she has borne by me,” he said. “I am fit to speak for the South Land.”
But Kasa stamped impatiently, and she frothed at the mouth like a massive horse champing at the bit. Her mighty hooves tore turf and stone.
“Where is your queen?” she demanded. And again, “Where is your queen?”