Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 418

scrambling up the giant’s leg, using skin folds and wrinkles. Behind her, and very out of breath, she could hear
her brother.
“Stop! What do you think you’re doing? Climbing up a giant’s leg without a rope? Do you even know how
dangerous that is...”
His voice grew smaller, and therefore less irritating, as she got higher. He’d been insufferable for the last year,
since he’d turned eighteen and Grandma had placed that iron leader’s chain around his scrawny neck. He’d said
the nonsense words - may I make fair and just choices; may I face challenges with determination - and now he
thought he knew everything. The chain had been their father’s. The only reason they had it was because he’d
taken it off before the sandstorm. That is to say, he hadn’t been wearing it when he’d died.
Five years ago, they were crossing the Gobi desert when a sandstorm had hit. Dad, the compassionate leader, had
gone out to find a missing boy. That boy had returned, but Dad hadn’t. He died a hero, people said. You should
be proud. But what was the point of a hero that couldn’t save himself? What was the point of a dead hero?
Xiangyi pulled herself onto the rectangular top of Hua Hua’s head. Looking out she could see the shapes of the
other giants. All giants had a small, rectangular, box-like head and four long legs that made up the rest of them.
Hua Hua was easily the oldest and biggest giant. Up here, above the layers of clouds, Xiangyi could feel the
warm rays of sunshine. The sky was no longer grey; it was a clear and bright blue. She tugged her scarf off and
leaned over, looking into Hua Hua’s large eyes. They were nearly half the size of Xiangyi herself and squareshaped,
black reflective pools. Hua Hua blinked at her, the transparent inner eyelid and the wrinkly grey outer
one coming down a split second after each other. Xiangyi stroked the top of Hua Hua’s head and Hua Hua let
out a soft purr.
Squinting, she leaned forwards. The barest outlines of faint shapes were beginning to form in the clouds. Then
she saw it. They were still half-hidden by the mist but those were clearly skyscrapers, that was a monorail, those
were criss crossing highways. Sky City, Xiangyi thought deliriously.
Off to the right, Xiangyi heard a distant cry, low and deep and mournful. Then, to the left this time, another
one. Longer and higher pitched. Then another, and another. The same cry, from right beneath her— Hua Hua.
Louder and more powerful than the rest, the cry joined the growing chorus. Giantsong. The sound echoed out,
filling the air, and for the first time in nearly three hundred years, the song of the giants was heard.