That, and why the man never came back for Jack yet let his daughter serve the woman who killed their mother and kept their father in prison, using her as what, bait? A secret weapon? Or was it more just that he couldn’t stop Jill when she had the chance to strike back?
That thought led Jack to think about Phillip, safe somewhere on his throne, probably having servants feed him grapes carefully sliced into perfect likenesses of the prince’s face. Would he be thinking about his part of the Queen’s prophecy? Or what about Malevolent, who said that the prince would eventually cause her death?
Yeah, right. If that happened, it wouldn’t be for, like, decades.
Jack was high enough now to see over the trees, and he swallowed hard. He was already higher than he’d been last time he’d been on the beanstalk and was quickly approaching the height he’d once reached on a witch’s broomstick. Had that really only been half a year ago? So much had changed.
Like never seeing May again.
Stop it stop it stop it.
The beanstalk jumped suddenly, and Jack’s feet lost their hold, the shoots around his wrist the only thing keeping him from falling right off. His stomach dropped past his toes, and he frantically grabbed for something, but the shoot he managed to reach just ripped off in his hand. Meanwhile, the shoots holding his other wrist sounded like they were ripping out by the roots.
And then, for no reason he could think of, his heart quieted down, and he stopped breathing in quite so quickly. Instead, he closed his eyes, then reopened them. He gently swung himself away from the main beanstalk, hanging out over a whole lot of nothing, then let his momentum carry him back toward the stalk, just close enough for him to reach it with his legs, just close enough for him to kick off . . . assuming the shoot would hold.
What other choice did he have?
Jack kicked off, and out he swung, out over the path the last beanstalk had fallen, the destruction it left behind clearly visible from this height. He began to turn back around, to swing back toward the main stalk, only to have the shoots holding his wrist groan, then rip. Off Jack fell—
Only to slam against the main stalk, just a few feet lower. His swing had barely worked, but barely was still good enough.
And yet he still wasn’t breathing hard, and his heart still wasn’t racing. On his back, he could almost feel his sword glowing, but he hadn’t slowed time down or done any of the other tricks he’d been taught by Captain Thomas.
Well, unless you called staying calm a trick. Which, in a lot of ways, it was.
Jack worked both his hands and feet into shoots this time, securing himself much more safely as the tip of the beanstalk continued to push up against the lowest cloud. Apparently it had hit and caused the rumbling that still threatened to knock Jack off the stalk at any moment. And even more apparently, the clouds turned out to be floating rocks, or something just as hard, as the beanstalk was having as much trouble with this cloud as it had the base of Malevolent’s castle.
Jack shook his head, not sure why he hadn’t figured that out before. If a giant could live in a castle in the clouds, how could the clouds NOT be floating rocks? What else would hold a castle up? It was just logic, really, something he honestly should try relying on more often.
And then, something odd happened. A crack appeared in the rocks, right about where the beanstalk was pushing up through. The crack grew bigger, then suddenly exploded open, and a hand as big as a house reached down through the white rock to grab the beanstalk like a weed.
The hand yanked abruptly, and suddenly the entire beanstalk was rising up and through the hole, dangling before a man the size of a mountain.
“Well well,” the giant said, his breath blasting against Jack like a unpleasantly stinky wind. “Look what we have here. Another little thief, trying the same trick as the first one. Never repeat,
That thought led Jack to think about Phillip, safe somewhere on his throne, probably having servants feed him grapes carefully sliced into perfect likenesses of the prince’s face. Would he be thinking about his part of the Queen’s prophecy? Or what about Malevolent, who said that the prince would eventually cause her death?
Yeah, right. If that happened, it wouldn’t be for, like, decades.
Jack was high enough now to see over the trees, and he swallowed hard. He was already higher than he’d been last time he’d been on the beanstalk and was quickly approaching the height he’d once reached on a witch’s broomstick. Had that really only been half a year ago? So much had changed.
Like never seeing May again.
Stop it stop it stop it.
The beanstalk jumped suddenly, and Jack’s feet lost their hold, the shoots around his wrist the only thing keeping him from falling right off. His stomach dropped past his toes, and he frantically grabbed for something, but the shoot he managed to reach just ripped off in his hand. Meanwhile, the shoots holding his other wrist sounded like they were ripping out by the roots.
And then, for no reason he could think of, his heart quieted down, and he stopped breathing in quite so quickly. Instead, he closed his eyes, then reopened them. He gently swung himself away from the main beanstalk, hanging out over a whole lot of nothing, then let his momentum carry him back toward the stalk, just close enough for him to reach it with his legs, just close enough for him to kick off . . . assuming the shoot would hold.
What other choice did he have?
Jack kicked off, and out he swung, out over the path the last beanstalk had fallen, the destruction it left behind clearly visible from this height. He began to turn back around, to swing back toward the main stalk, only to have the shoots holding his wrist groan, then rip. Off Jack fell—
Only to slam against the main stalk, just a few feet lower. His swing had barely worked, but barely was still good enough.
And yet he still wasn’t breathing hard, and his heart still wasn’t racing. On his back, he could almost feel his sword glowing, but he hadn’t slowed time down or done any of the other tricks he’d been taught by Captain Thomas.
Well, unless you called staying calm a trick. Which, in a lot of ways, it was.
Jack worked both his hands and feet into shoots this time, securing himself much more safely as the tip of the beanstalk continued to push up against the lowest cloud. Apparently it had hit and caused the rumbling that still threatened to knock Jack off the stalk at any moment. And even more apparently, the clouds turned out to be floating rocks, or something just as hard, as the beanstalk was having as much trouble with this cloud as it had the base of Malevolent’s castle.
Jack shook his head, not sure why he hadn’t figured that out before. If a giant could live in a castle in the clouds, how could the clouds NOT be floating rocks? What else would hold a castle up? It was just logic, really, something he honestly should try relying on more often.
And then, something odd happened. A crack appeared in the rocks, right about where the beanstalk was pushing up through. The crack grew bigger, then suddenly exploded open, and a hand as big as a house reached down through the white rock to grab the beanstalk like a weed.
The hand yanked abruptly, and suddenly the entire beanstalk was rising up and through the hole, dangling before a man the size of a mountain.
“Well well,” the giant said, his breath blasting against Jack like a unpleasantly stinky wind. “Look what we have here. Another little thief, trying the same trick as the first one. Never repeat,
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