Gog & Magog and Jack the Giant-Killer
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In the Wild North lived two giants.  Brothers they were, and their names were Gog and Magog.  They lived in a great stone cottage on a flowery hill between the shadowed forest and the sparkling sea.  And they lived quietly (or as quietly as it is possible for giants to live), keeping themselves to themselves, and wishing little to do with the Lands of Men.
 
The Lands of Men lay to the south of the Wild North.  There were many little kingdoms in the Lands of Men, whose lords and knights had fought many little wars, but just now they were at peace, united more-or-less under the gentle tyranny of Good King Art. 
 
 
Good King Art had many vassals, but his most famous subject was Sir John Beanshire or – as he insisted all call him – Jack the Giant-killer.  In his youth Jack had been a great hero of the kingdom, rescuing damsels, acquiring magical wonders, and slaying monsters wherever he found them.  He had filled the royal treasury with so many dancing swords, singing harps, and talking statues that the Exchequer had taken to wearing earplug whenever he had to visit.  He had presented Good King Art with so many stuffed dragons, petrified witches, and giant skulls that the poor old monarch was afraid the wander his own halls at night. 
 
For all this, Jack had been rewarded with lands, titles, wealth, and hand of the king's only daughter.  He lived now in comfortable retirement in a large castle stuffed with the trophies of his glorious youth.  His was a big household, with a stately wife, near a dozen children, and a multitude of servants, lackeys, relatives and guests, all of whom he regaled constantly with tales of his daring-do and cleverness.  All agreed that he had indeed been the greatest hero in all the land and vanquished countless fiends. 
 
Alas, they commented among themselves, it seemed that Jack had vanquished all the monsters.  And without terrifying beasts, fire-breathing dragons, and marauding fiends to fight the knights of the land were becoming restless and troublesome, and Jack the worst of the lot.  He stomped about his halls yelling at his children, pushing aside servants, and kicking the dogs till Lady Beanshire wrote to father the king asking his advice.
 
The king sought the advice of his prime minister, his prime minister sought the advice of the council, the council sought the advice of court seer, and the court seer – being a lonely man with no friends or allies (for who could stand to befriend a seer?) – was forced to think of a solution.  So he did.  “Jack,” the seer told the council (who told the prime minister who told the king who told Lady Beanshire), “is the Giant-killer and so he must have giants to kill.  Find Jack a giant to kill, or at least a dragon to slay.”
 
The king and his daughter agreed, so the king sent his agents and spies throughout the land.  Far and wide the searchers searched, in steamy swamps and damp caves, in dark forests and on misty mountaintops, but no fiend, beast, or witch could they find.  In the end, the best the king’s agents could find was a traveler from the Far North who told a tale of stumbling into a giant’s garden and being chased off as a trespasser.  It was not a very good tale; it lacked the drama of the classic stories.  There was no damsel in distress, no wicked spell, or gleaming treasure.  Instead of a dark wood and a grim castle there was only a neat garden and a cozy – if gigantic – cottage.  Even the giant the traveler described seemed more concerned with heads of lettuce than heads of men.  But it was the best they had, so the agents embellished the tale a bit, beat up the traveler (to add a touch of color to the telling), and dragged the poor man before the king.
 
When the king heard the traveler's tale he was dubious.  "One giant," he thought, "on the northern edge of the world hardly seems an immediate threat."  Still, he was determined to do what he could for his daughter's happiness so he sent word to his giant-killer.
 
Jack, when he received the summons, was troubled.  It was very true that in his youth he had been a daring and cunning hero and had vanquished a host of monsters, but it could not be denied that he was no longer in his youth.  Success, honor, and ease had made him fat, soft, and content, and despite his boasts he found the thought of a real live giant rather unpleasant. 
 
"Your father sends for me," Jack told his wife over dinner.  "Some trifling matter of distant troubles.  I think I so go next week . . . I have some business to attend to."
 
"Is that wise dear," replied his wife.  "The matter may be urgent. What is it all about?"
 
"Oh, nothing urgent.  Some rumors of a giant up north.  Idle tavern-talk, I suspect."
 
Lady Beanshire clapped her hands.  "A giant?  How wonderful! Why, just this morning you were telling us all how you outwitted the Colossus of Curlywine and how you longed again for such a foe."
 
"Ah, the Colossus of Curlywine," a sly smile came to Jack's mouth and a bright twinkle to his eye.  He shook them away.  "Yes, well, the Colossus was a special case, nothing at all like this beast.  And besides, I'm retired.  It wouldn’t be fair for me to slay this giant.  The king's knights need foes as well, you know.  How is any plucky young lad going to become a hero if I do all the work?  No, I shall let the youngsters have this one.  Though, of course, I'll be happy to give them some advice.  That's probably what the king has is mind.  I'll go next week."
 
His wife looked at him over her glass of wine.  "Hmm," she said knowingly.  "You're right, of course; your giant-killing days are over.  You're too old, too comfortable to go questing.  Let some of those handsome young knights win the glory for a change.  That sir Lemuel, he would make fine giant-killer."
 
"Sir Lemuel!  That pudding-head, a giant-killer?"
 
"Certainly.  He's so handsome on his horse with his armor gleaming in the sun!"
 
"Fiddle-de-poop! Giant-killing isn't about shiny armor and horses, it's about cunning and bravery.  Sir Lemuel couldn't outwit his horse never mind a giant!  They're not stupid, you know."
 
But Lady Beanshire was not listening.  "I wonder what kind of songs they'll sing about sir Lemuel.  Mind you, 'Lemuel' is not the easiest name to work into a song, but I'm sure the minstrels will think of something.  Oh, it will be so grand when he comes home triumphant!  Pater will throw him a big feast and give him all kinds of rewards."  She went on in that way for quite some time as Jack sank lower and lower in his chair, muttering into his ale.
 
All that evening Jack muttered and fumed and when at last he took to bed he tossed and turned and muttered all night.  He was plagued by bad dreams: dreams where he was jester at a feast for Sir Lemuel; dreams of being eaten by the Colossus of Curlywine; dreams of mushrooms growing from his hands and his nose.
 
At breakfast the next day Jack announced that he was going to see the king and "see what could be done about this giant business."
 
"Oh dear!"  Protested his wife.  "Don't go; it's too dangerous.  Let the knights deal with it."
 
"Knights?  Poo to all knights!"  He jumped up from the table and called for his hat and cloak. 
 
His wife smiled behind her lace handkerchief.
           
At the court Jack was warmly received.  The king welcomed him heartily and the two praised each other greatly, as was the custom in kingly courts.  Too soon, however, the talk turned to giants and the king confessed himself sorely troubled by the rumors from the north.  
 
Jack – whose fervor had cooled somewhat on the long ride to court  -- tried to dismiss the rumors as idle talk but the king insisted on the veracity of his subjects.   Next Jack inquired politely about the king's knights, wondering innocently what measures they meant to take.  To this the sly old king replied that, of course, his knights were most anxious to vanquish this foe but, as none of them had any practically experience with giants, and as Jack himself had often told the king that giant-killing was not a matter of martial skill but of bravery and cunning, the king naturally felt this was a job for his giant-killer.
 
Flattered by the king's praises and trapped by his reasoning, Jack vowed to rid the kingdom of this giant menace and furthermore to set out that very afternoon.  The king's gratitude was boundless and he showered Jack with blessings.  Jack bowed deeply and took his leave with many flowery phrases.
 
He donned his bright cape and his feathered cap.  He wore no armor, deeming it no use against a giant. 
 
Bravery, he had always said, and cunning and experience where what was needed when fighting giants.  But there was something he left out of the stories, something else that had proven very useful: magic.  Marvelous potions, wondrous treasures, and enchanted weapons, he had used them all over the years.  So when he had set forth to kill this northern giant he had resolved to acquire spell or item to tilt the odds in his favor.
 
Unfortunately, such a thing was proving hard to find: the Squire of Nettlehouse Manor was away for the season, the Blue Witch was indisposed, and the Singing Sword had lost its voice.   And so, as a last resort, he had come to the workshops of Barrow Thorns.  Down a rocky valley he had ridden.  Through a brackish swamp and over barren foothills he had come to a jagged mountain of black rock and a dark cave billowing forth black smoke. 
 
"Hullo," he shouted.  "Hullo!  Hullo!"
 
The cave swallowed up Jack's voice and gave back only smoke and silence. 
 
"Hi," he shouted again.  "It's Jack!  Hullo!"
 
 "Godsblood," yelled the cave with the voice of avalanche.  "Rot and ruin!  What arse-headed pox-pile dares interrupt me!"  Great thundering footsteps approached the cave mouth.  "I'll tear out your ribs to fashion a manacle for your piss-spewing neck!"
 
Jack waited, a wry smile on his lips.
 
And then the smoke spat him forth: Barrow Thorns, a dwarf of great ugliness, nearly square in his proportions with hair like iron wire, skin like stained rock, and eyes of burning pitch.  But his wrathful scowl turned quickly into a wicked grin. 
 
"Jack!"  He said.  "You return despite your vow!"
 
"Yes, I return, despite the harsh words of our last parting."
 
"You require something of me?"  The dwarf's grin split his face.
 
"I did not come to share a cup of tea."
 
Barrow frowned, then he threw back his head and laughed such a laugh that the few beasts who called the mountain home slunk back into their filthy lairs and did not dare to show their misshapen heads until the dawn.
 
"Well said," said the dwarf.  "Now speak plain: what do you require?"
 
"I go to vanquish a giant and would have a weapon to aid me."
 
"Hrmph," Barrow muttered into his foul beard.  "A giant?  Yes, I can fashion you a weapon that will kill any number of giants."
 
"And your price?"
 
Barrow's fiery eyes flashed, he grabbed Jack's tunic in a warty fist and pulled his head low.  Bringing his vile mouth to the man's ear he whispered his price.  Jack face grew as white as bone and his knees as weak as water.
 
"Y-you can't mean it?"
 
"That is my price," said the dwarf, "none other."
 
 Jack closed his eyes, "I will pay it."
 
Barrow clapped his hands.  "Good!"  He turned and stamped back into his cave.  "Return in three day's time and you will have your weapon."  Then the mountain swallowed him and he was gone.
 
Now at same time Jack was conversing with the terrible Barrow Thorns the giant Magog were sitting down to tea.
 
"By thunder," said the giant, "I'm hungry today!"
 
"I'm glad to hear it," said his brother Gog, emerging from the kitchen carrying a pie "for I have baked us such a pie!"
 
He placed the pie proudly on the table.  It was a large pie, a high pie, whose golden crust steamed merrily.  Magog took a deep breath and coughed slightly.
 
"It smells . . . different.  What kind of pie is it?"
 
"Guess," said Gog with a grin.
 
Magog frowned and leaned over the pie again.  "Venison?"
 
"No."
 
"No, I thought not.   Mutton?"
 
Gog laughed, "Not mutton."
 
"Beef?"
 
"No."
 
"Pork?"
 
"No."
 
"It's not . . . man, is it?"
 
"No!"
 
Magog shrugged, "then I give in."
 
Gog smiled, "why not try a piece and see if you can't tell then?"  He cut his brother a fat slice and stood back proudly.
 
Magog was not sure he liked eating a pie before he knew what it was but his brother was watching so he closed his eyes and took a large bite. 
 
"Can you guess it now, brother?"
 
"Hmmmrrff," Magog's face turned green but he swallowed his mouthful and reached for his cup.  "Herg!  It's . . . it is different.  What is it?"
 
"Whale!  With some herbs and fruits.  Do you like it?"
 
"Are you sure whale is in season?"  Magog said.  "The month doesn't have a 'r' in it."
 
"That's oysters, you feather-head."
 
"Maybe the same goes for whales?"
 
"You don't like it?"  Gog's face fell. 
 
"I didn't say that.  I . . . it's . . . maybe . . . "
 
Gog threw down his dishtowel and stumped out of the room, muttering to himself, "all day over the stove! . . . not in season? . . . You can jolly well cook your own meals!"
 
"Oh dear," said Magog.  "I do hope he doesn't sulk."
 
But sulk Gog did.  He refused to talk to his brother for a whole week and took to taking long walk, muttering and kicking boulders before him.  Magog – who was living on bread and cheese – apologized at least three times a day.  He cleaned the house, he tended the garden, he brought Gog tea in the evenings, but it was no use.
 
On one of his sullen walks, Gog stumped along a wide trail through a dark, dense forest.  It was a blustery day and the heavy grey clouds were reflected in his heavy grey face.  Suddenly, behind his own grumbling, Gog heard a singing coming through the woods.  It was an easy, gay tune and it enraged him that somebody could be so happy while he was so miserable. 
 
"I'll teach this popinjay that life is not all sunlight and dancing," growled Gog.  He uprooted a giant oak and, resting it upon his shoulder, stood in the middle of trail waiting for the songbird to come around the bend.
 
Soon enough the singer came into view – a jolly man upon a noble horse.  The horse, when it saw Gog let out a cry and stumbled backwards.  The man, however, did not cry out or start back; indeed, he went right on singing his silly ditty.
 
 "Be silent," bellowed Gog
 
The man dismounted and danced a little jig.  "I shall be silent," he said, "if you leave this land and promise never to return!"
 
 "Insolent little man," growled Gog.  "I shall flatten you!"
 
"Perhaps I should introduce myself," the man said, throwing back his brightly colored cape and drawing a gleaming sword, "my name is Jack."
 
"Jack?  Jack!  What is Jack to Gog the Mighty?"  The giant hefted the tree in the air and brought it down with a yell. 
 
As the mighty club descended upon him, Jack raised the sword above his head and clove the tree in two as if it were a twig.  "My name is Jack – Jack the Giant-killer!"
 
Gog dropped his tree and stepped backwards, "Jack the Giant-killer!"
 
"Yes," said Jack, stepping forward and brandishing his sword, "and this is Cleofan, the Unstoppable!"  And to prove the point he cut a boulder in twain.
 
"W-what do you want with me?"  Gog spread his arms.  "I have not harmed thee or any of thy kin."
 
"That may be so or it may not," said Jack, advancing on Gog, "but you are a giant and I am the Giant-killer!" 
 
With that, Jack sprang forward and struck wildly at the giant's foot, shearing off the side of his hobnailed boot.  With a cry, Gog leapt backwards leaving behind the remnants of his ruined shoe.  Turning on his naked heel he ran off into the woods.
 
"Run giant, run!" Jack yelled.   "You will not be hard to find, you one-booted brute," he said to himself, eyeing the clear one-shoed footprints that Gog left.  
 
Then Jack whooped and laughed, waving Cleofan above his head.  "By Cup and Crown, it is good to be hunting giants again and with this marvelous blade before me I cannot fail!"  
 
Magog was working in the garden when he saw his brother running up the hill.  Smiling, he raised a hand in greeting but Gog did not respond or slacken his pace.  He ran through the garden, crushing the beans with his one boot, and wrenched open their front door.
 
"Thow, thight, thone," he cried, reverting to Ancient Giant in his panic.           
 
"What is the matter?"  Magog stood, spade in hand.
 
"Foe, foul, and flight," Gog cried in the vulgar tongue.
 
"Oh!" said Magog.  "Look what you've done to the beans!"
 
"Bother the beans!"  Gog grabbed his brother by the arm, pulled him inside, and slammed the door.  
 
"Why Gog," said Magog, "you're as white as bone!  And what's happen to your other boot?"
 
"I saw the Giant-killer!"
 
"Who?"
 
Gog bolted and barred the door.  "The Giant-killer, Jack the Giant-killer!"
 
"No," said Magog, turning white himself.  "Surely, he's retired or dead.   Or both."
 
"I tell you, I saw him plain as rain!"
 
"Are you sure it was him?"
 
"Oh, yes," said Gog.  "He was just as the tales say."
 
"Feathered hat?" 
 
"Yes."
 
"Bright cape?"
 
"Yes."
 
Magog swallowed loudly.  "Singing nonsense?"
 
"Some foolish ditty about a cow!  And he had a magic sword that cut a boulder in half with a single blow!
 
Magog fell backwards into a chair, "and cut off your shoe?"
 
"And cut off my shoe."
 
"Gog, you're lucky to be alive!  But what shall we do?  And how has he found us?  And why has he come?  And what shall we do?"
 
"Quiet," said Gog.  "Let me think.   Hmmm, I was far away in the woods when we met.  Maybe he does not know where I ran to.  We must stay close to home and not wander for some days, and hope he will give up the hunt."
 
"It is a meager hope," muttered Magog.
 
But hope it was.  And so the two giants lived quietly for many days, hardly daring to leave their cottage and lighting no fires lest the smoke attract their foe.
 
But Jack did not give up.  He tracked Gog by his one-booted trail and came at last to the little yellow hill were the giant brothers lived. 
 
"Ho-ho!" He said when he saw the giant cottage with its giant front garden and its giant front door.  "So this giant apes the ways of civilized folk, does he?  Well then, I shall knock upon his door like a gentle visitor and we shall see what we shall see."
 
Jack knocked upon the door and when there came no answer he knocked again and cried, "Let me in, for I have come to tea!"
 
And when there was still no answer Jack unsheathed Cleofan and cut his passage through the door.  "Come, come, One-boot, it is impolite to leave a guest waiting upon the doormat."
 
Still there came no answer.  Then Jack spied the back door swinging wide and knew that his quarry had fled.               
           
"Did you see what he did to our door?" Whined Magog.   
 
"Hush, brother," replied Gog.
 
"I just know he's going to wreck our home!"
 
"Magog, be quiet!"
 
The brothers giant were crouching in the back of a deep cave.  It was cold and wet and miserable, but the giants did not leave it until night had fallen.  Then they slowly crawled into the open air and painfully stood straight.  They were cramped and sore and very afraid.
 
"Now," said Gog.  "We must do something to save ourselves."
 
"We could leave the island," said Magog, rubbing his cramped legs.  "Make a boat and put to sea."
 
"No," Gog frowned.  "I will not be chased from my home by a fat man with a sword!"
 
Magog was trying to shake the blood back into his feet.  "But what a sword!  How can we content with such magic?"
 
"Stone and Sea!" exclaimed Gog.  "That's the answer: magic.  We must pit magic against magic."
 
"But the only magic we have is back at the cottage, and that's just an old teapot."


"Then we must acquire some magic."
 
"Where from?"
 
"Barrow Thorns."
 
"Oh no."
 
"So," said the dwarf emerging from his black cave.  "The mighty Gog and Magog have come to beg from a lowly dwarf!"
 
"Not to beg," said Gog, "but to purchase and not from a lowly dwarf but from the great and terrible Barrow Thorns."
 
"Flatterer," whispered Magog.
 
"Hush," answered Gog.
 
"Hmmppt!"  Barrow spat.  "And what do you wish of me?"
 
"We are pursued by one who possesses a magical sword capable of sundering whatever it strikes."
 
"That sounds mighty magic indeed," said Barrow with a wicked grin.  "And you would have magic to counter this blade?"
 
"Yes."
 
Barrow pulled long at his beard and said, "I can fashion thee a shield which cannot be broken, but you must pay my price."
 
Magog swallowed loudly.
 
"Name your price," said Gog.
 
"It is said the hair of giants is strong beyond measure.  Great rope could I fashion from it and nooses to throttle the mightiest throats.  This is my price: the hair of a giant."
 
"All of it?" said Magog, clutching his beard.
 
"Down to the last inch," grinned the dwarf.
 
"I will pay your price," said Gog.
 
Barrow clapped his hands.  "Good!  Then come into my smithy."
 
With an anxious glace at his brother, Gog bowed low and followed the dwarf into the depth of his black mountain.
 
Left alone on the mountainside Magog fretted and paced.  Many hours passed.  The sun fell behind the mountain and the moon rose high into the sky before Gog emerged from the smoky cave. 
 
"Oh, Gog!"  Magog looked on his brother and tears like ocean waves fell from his eyes.
 
In the pale moonlight Gog's bald head shone red like a roc's egg.  His beard was gone as were his eyebrows and for a moment he look like a gigantic pink-faced child.  Even the hairs from his knuckles had been pluck.  He was, in truth, as hairless as a fish.
 
"Oh, Gog," said Magog again.  "It is cruel hard!  Your glorious beard, gone!"
 
"Peace, brother," said Gog with a weak smile.  "It is not so terrible.  And if it saves us from the Giant-killer it will be worthwhile."
 
"And where is the shield that your hair purchased?"
 
"The dwarf has commanded us to return in three days and we will have our shield."          
 
For three days the giants hid themselves as best they could in swamp and cave and forest, and on the third day they returned to Barrow's cave.  They called out to the dwarf and slowly he emerged from the cave of smoke carrying above his head a towering shield.   "This is Gant the Unbreakable," said he.
 
Alas! towering though it was, it was no bigger than a giant's hand. 
 
"But it is too small," exclaimed Magog.  "You have cheated us!"
 
Then Barrow Thorns grew angry and his eyes burned like fire and his hair stood upright like spikes and the mountain rumbled beneath his feet.  "I have kept the bargain that we struck and you shall not impugn my honor without consequence!"
 
Quickly Gog stepped forward, "forgive my brother, O master smith.  He spoke without thought.  We would not dare question your honor.  We thank you for your service and we will take our prize and go."
 
Saying thus, Gog plucked up the shield with his fingers, grabbed his brother by the arm and departed as quickly as he could.
 
When they were safely off the mountain Gog released his brother.  "Fool," he said, "would you have both Jack and the dwarf after our hides?"
 
"But Gog!  The shield is too small and after you lost all your hair, too!"
 
"Yes," Gog stroked his bald chin.  "We shall have to make do and be clever."
 
Now all this time Jack was in the cottage of the giants.  Reasoning that the giants would return home eventually, he had settled in and was living quite comfortably, eating their food, drinking their beer, and smoking their tobacco.
 
So it was no surprise, early one evening, when a shout came from outside.
 
"Jack," cried Gog.  "Jack come out of our house for you have driven us from our home but now we have returned!"
 
"We know you're in there," shouted Magog.  "We can see the light of your fire and see its smoke.  Get out of our house!"
 
"Ho-ho!"  Jack emerged from the hole he had cut through their front door.  "Old One-boot has returned, and he's brought a friend!"
 
"This is my brother, Magog."
 
"I welcome you, Magog," laughed Jack.  "And Cleofan welcomes you, too.  The more the merrier!"
 
"Leave here at once," demanded Gog.
 
"Not without your heads," answered Jack.
 
Jack drew Cleofan from its sheath and ran towards Gog.  The giant stepped forward to meet him. 
 
"Try your sword on this boot," Gog yelled as he kicked out with his boot upon which he had tied Gant.  Jack swung with all his might and Cleofan the Unstoppable met Gant the Unbreakable.
 
There was a flash of darkness and a terrible laughter.   
 
Gog and Jack were laying flat upon their back.  They sat up and looked about them.  Slowly the darkness faded from their eyes and the laughter from their ears. 
 
Of Cleofan or Gant there was no trace.
 
Magog ran to his brother's side  "Gog, are you hurt?"  He helped his brother stand.  "What happened?"
 
"I . . . I don't know," said Gog.
 
Jack was on his feet and looking about in confusion.  "Where did it go?  I have lost my sword!"
 
"And I have lost my shield," said Gog.
 
Jack tried to laugh.  He shook a finger at the giants. "If you . . ." he trailed off.
 
"Now we . . ." began Gog.
 
Giant and Giant-killer looked at each other in silence.
 
"Perhaps," said Magog quietly, "we may call it a draw?"
 
Jack took off his hat and wrung it in his hands.  "I have never," he said "been bested by a giant.  But, given the circumstances I will accept a stalemate – if you vow never to trouble the lands of my king."
 
Gog looked at his brother, who nodded.  "Very well, I will take such a vow – if you promise to leave us in peace."
 
"And we say no more about this matter?" said Jack.  "I mean there's no use in spreading the tale around, is there?"
 
The giants looked at one another.  "Agreed," they said together.
 
"Well, then," Jack donned his feathered cap and straightened his bright cape.  "I shall take my leave."
 
And so saying, Jack the Giant-killer turned his weary feet south, his head full of thoughts of home.
 
The giants watched him depart.  "Come on," said Gog when Jack had gone.  "Let's go inside and have some tea."
           
"What a troublesome week this has been," Magog tut-tutted.  "And we shall have to patch that hole in our front door."
            
 


                                                                                                              FIN.


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Copyright 2017 Matthew A.J. Timmins