"Let him that loves me strike me dead."
William Shakespeare
Antony And Cleopatra

Since my time to attend to the Sun god is near upon me, I will impart this tale to another generation. Remember it, little ones, this tale when you see the sun pass overhead and know I have gone to serve as on the litter that bears it. Learn from it. Heed it. Listen to my voice and tell the story to your children and their offspring. Let them always be wary of those who may come in service of the potent god I will speak of and his jealous son. If these tales told to you, the children of Natchez braves fades, sun god save us all.

It was sixty winters ago when the giants came to our land here by the great river. After the month of Deer, the dawning of the month of Strawberry brought great rains. A terrible storm was upon us and we thought ourselves seeing spirits when the long boats were spotted. Terror seized us all when the outsiders and their boats were tossed to the shore of the river. I was a young man, hiding with my tribe as we watched them all crash into the bank. Thanks to the gods that they landed with such devastating force for they were giant men, far taller and thicker than the largest of braves. Yes, little ones, it is true! Never have I seen men with such mighty limbs or faces like badgers. Their loud voices were impossible to suppress, be it on their vessels before the crash, entreating their gods or wailing in agony on the muddy banks of the great river once dashed there by the water.

What? Yes, I was getting to the story. That is true. Their hair was fair, not black like ours. Yes, some sported hair the color of corn silk or the shade of ripe fruit. By the gods, their men possessed arms as wide as both of my legs combined. A few of these men survived the crash, although several were swept away into the water. I heard a tale once that one lived on farther down stream, but that is another story.

Two of the giant men and a woman survived. When many of our braves tried to approach them, but these men slew them fast. They carried mighty gleaming tools unlike any I ever have seen. These giant knives sliced us in half. Though we outnumbered them greatly, the fight was a horrid slaughter. They called on their gods of war as they attacked. Most of our party died, but these men did not finish us off, but ran beyond the shores. They were out of their element and in a full frenzy, these giants, so they ran away from the great river.

Yes, children, toward the marshes. These men were impressive but knew nothing of our land. The smallest of your knows better! One of them sank into the living mud of the swamp and drowned quickly. We watched the black water of the swamp claim him and never offered to help. He died screaming for his god, but painted with the blood of our brethren. I tremble at the sound of him begging his god to save him...

These two giants, a man and woman, made it across the swamp and we young ones followed them, knowing the safe routes. These outlanders, while foolish or brutes in appearance seemed to adapt rapid. In time, they made fire and fed off the rabbits thereabouts, but appeared eaten alive by the bugs. Such were the minds of these lost folk. They would know not why we build our mossy homes without a hole in the roof for the smoke to escape our fires. The smoke stays in the thatch and wards off the blood bugs. That is another lesson for you youngsters!

Anyway, before the tribe could gather, we saw that the man, a hulking savage, immobile and panting from fever. Truly, the snakes passed on their venom. It amazed us that this man, part animal for sure, lived as long as he did.

Our braves didn't reach us for the storm raged on. It was terrible and the worse wind I can ever recall. Only one other day was it worse in my lifetime. Lightning struck the ground setting the edges of the forest beyond the swamp ablaze. If not for the rain, it would've been a grand burn.

When the storm broke and the sun arose at last, we spotted the woman, her corn silk colored hair full of red mud, heading to the hills. She bore many weapons and covered herself in hairy furs. We slipped into their camp and found a terrible thing-yes, yes, boys. You were waiting for this part!

As the gods are my witnesses, all that was left of this savage man was a mound of reddish yellow hair and his foot coverings...still holding his enormous feet. The area where the giant lay was an oval of burnt ground surrounded by a halo of bugs. I will never forget that smell. What did it smell like? Pig. Roast pig.

Yes, you know the tales of the wild woman in the hills. We searched the hillside and the caves, yet never found her. The braves never found her, that is.

Seasons passed and I grew into a brave. My older brother was a mightier man than I. It was after the fourth month of watermelons when he grew gritty for the coming Green Corn Ceremony when we saw her. Thinking only of the coming purification dances, we hunted lazily in the hills where the legends placed this feral beast-woman. Most braves refused to believe in the tale of the giants for several perished in war with the neighboring nations and the pestilence the year before. To our shock, we beheld the colossal woman with the hair the color of corn. She shouted a war cry, but never charged. My brother, Ukatez, full of himself, went after her. I hung back, but he followed her into her cave. Gods forgive me, but I waited. Fearing my brother dead, I screwed up my courage and entered the cave.

Gather about me, young ones, for this is a lesson for all to know. The giant woman discarded her coverings and pinned my brother to the cave floor. She was astraddle of Ukatez, shouting in wild passion and pain. Let me say, the woman ravaged my brother. Repeatedly she slammed her self onto him. One of her powerful thrusts broke his manhood and he wailed like a girl. She snapped Ukatez's neck like a stick and screamed. The woman, not seeing me, wept and cried, sobbing unto the ceiling of the torch lit cave.

I then saw, I swear it on my grandchildren's lives, another shadow in the cave with us--yet there was no man! On the wall, she looked up to a husky silhouette with broader shoulders than any of the men who died in the crash. She cried to this form and, gods preserve me, I understood them!

"Save me, All Father! I want to die!"

The shadow image spoke to her. "Great daughter of the ice, you know who your true love."

"Yes, All Father, but..."

"You know he is a jealous god."

"Yes, All Father."

"Are you trying to push him to destroy you?"

The woman moaned in her agony, crying so hard. "I am lost in their land, All Father. None of our kindred is coming for me! These men are as children!"

"And yet my son shuns you for your indiscretion with Erik."

She begged the mighty shadow, "Please take me home! Let me die! I know I was unfaithful to him, that is why he threw us on the shore and dashed out their brains. Erik couldn't survive these filthy snakes in this godforsaken land."

"Erik was a mighty man, he would've survived . . ."

"If not for your son!"

I swallowed hard, listening to her talk to her god and understanding them. I wanted to run, but surely, it would be my end. My fear was being placed in one of our mounds, cold and dead, yet aware.

"Appease me," the big shape offered. "Or this land will be godforsaken."

"How? If sleeping with one of these men couldn't bring his wrath..."

"How do the warriors enter Valhalla?"

She picked up the huge weapon and nodded. "I . . ."

"You were weak," the deep voice was harsh, but firm. "Have at them. I will see that my son falls in line. This is a distraction we cannot face any longer."

When she lapsed into another bout of cries, I took my chance and ran. I heard the scrape of the weapon on stone and knew she would be after me soon. I sprinted out into the air and found that raining fell heavy.

I do not know if she realized many of our young Natchez warriors were encamped near the edge of the hills, but it did not matter to her. Like a man with a damaged mind, she charged down the muddy slope after me, screaming.

With me running down before her, yes, howling like death was on my back, they received ample warning. The she swung her weapon, but the young Natchez braves fixed arrows and released. Through the crack of lightning, the arrows hit her, so many, piercing her all over. She stumbled down into the camp, wiping shafts from her breasts, beheading a brave as she plummeted. Our warriors reloaded and fired again.

Looking like a quilled beast, she roared as her eyes were extinguished and blood flowed into her light hair. Blinded, she faced the sky. I will never forget the name of the god she beseeched. So terrible it was that I hear it in my sleep still! I swear by my father that a bolt of lightning struck her head and she was gone. The arrows burned into the ground and there was no trace of the massive woman.

Never have we seen the like of this clan. Their pale skin, huge bodies, and hairy faces, never have returned to our land. However, remember my tale, children, that there are such folk who talk with forces in the dark. Dire elemental forces lurk behind these pale peoples and there can be no happiness with these savages.

The giant down river? Hah. That is too long of a yarn to tell. Nevertheless, please heed my words, young ones, and never trust the outlanders. I go to bear up the litter that carries the sun with the seven others from the Natchez tribe. I pray that these animals from beyond the sunset should never return. If they do, may our sun god help save us from the giants who pray to Thor.