Imagination of a child is a wondrous thing. It can be both volatile and fickle. In fact, it possesses the very ability to distort reality beyond belief. Yet some realities themselves are so distorted, that they cannot be further bent let alone broken; not even by something as omnipotent as a child's imagination.

Such a reality once came to greet seven year old Jon. It never gave a single warning to the oblivious child, apparent from the fact that he woke up that morning to the sound of his father's hammer just like every other day. The birds, as oblivious as Jon, chirped like they always did. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted to him and tingled his nose. He wondered if it came from the bakery across the street or his mother's kitchen. The faint clinking of utensils from the kitchen provided him with an apt answer. He looked out of the window to witness the same hum drum of people passing the streets, some would occasionally stop just a little ahead where his father's shop was, examining the various tools and weapons his father made. Then the hammer would find a moments respite which would be broken as soon as his father had completed his transactions with the customer. There was a single change that day; that seemingly small change, troubled Jon dearly. His sister was lying in her sheets beside him. He heard muffled sobs.

Jon hurriedly threw back the sheets and inquired in a concerned tone, "Why are you crying, Rose? Whatever is the matter?"

Her eyes were red with crying. Tears had left morbid trails across her now flushed cheeks. Jon had always hated those. Her eyes widened as she saw him. She gestured for him to be silent and lower his voice.

But it was too late. Jon's mother had entered the room, a tray of tea in her hands. As soon as she saw Rose, astonishment crossed her face. Quickly setting the tray aside on the desk, she went near Rose. She held her hand tenderly and asked,"What is the matter, my child?"

Rose hesitated at first, but then broke into tears hugging her mother. A morose look passed across mother's face as she hugged her back. "Calm down, Rose," she whispered, as she caressed her hair. Jon hugged Rose too, he didn't want her to cry. The hammer seemed to have found a more permanent relief as the monotonous bangs could no longer be heard. His father had probably gone to the temple. In the absence of the resonating hammer bangs, Rose's sobs seemed to leave a much deeper impact on Jon; he didn't like that either. After a few minutes Rose seemed to have regained her composure.

"Tell me Rosy," her mother said, as she handed her a glass of water.

Rose took a sip as she said, "Yesterday evening when I went to buy vegetables, The Giant of Nimbleville spotted me. He came with four guards and summoned me to his chambers tonight."

Rose wept afresh. Mother became teary eyed as well. She looked at him, her eyes conveying urgency.

"Go find your father, Jon."

****

Jon walked the cobblestone road that led him up to the temple. His father's shop was on the main street of town, their home was just adjacent. The temple was just a straight path from the shop, along the street. Up in the street the houses grew more lavish, some had gardens and little pools. Jon loved fountains the most. While below, the streets were abuzz with the hawkers, there were very few hawkers around this part of his little town. It was more quiet and grand.

But today, all this, including the fountains, lost its beauty on Jon. He was thinking intensely about his sister.

The Giant of Nimbleville, eh?

Jon was only seven but he could discern the good men from the bad men, his mother had taught him that. And The Giant was on the top of his 'bad men list'. A seven foot tall man, muscled like an ox, a multitude of weapons hidden around his equally huge armour. And he was always armoured.

Jon eventually reached the temple. The priest told him his father was praying and should not be disturbed, he would be out in a moment. Jon nodded and sat outside the temple.

He heard swords clinging in the distance. To his left was the centre of town. The centre always looked more like fortified barracks to Jon. Most jobs related to the administration of town took place here. This was where the giant lived too. He had a luxurious home inside, he had heard. The street ended at the entrance of the central structure. In front of the building there was a training ground for soldiers and a garden. All this was surrounded by a forked wall and an iron gate. The swords that Jon heard were from the training grounds. He knew the Giant was there. He trained regularly in the mornings.

Jon had heard, he had killed a few men while training. He wondered if anyone was being murdered there as of now; the thought filled Jon with anger. Only if he was more powerful. He started fantasizing how he could subdue the Giant and bring peace to the town. He imagined himself being an eight foot tall man wearing shiny armour, brandishing a great sword,defeating the Giant and his platoon, the townsfolk cheering him on. He wondered how the Giant would look, begging for mercy. It pleased Jon. But his thoughts soon returned to his sister.

The Giant had done this many times. The thing that intrigued Jon the most was the way The Giant treated girls. He would summon girls, that had no relation to him, to his chambers, all of them young. The girls cried before and they cried after they came home. Jon did not understand what The Giant did with them exactly. He had also killed a few girls and harnessed the families of those who failed to comply. And now he had called his sister.

Anger filled Jon.

I have to protect my sister! But how?

His father came out after his prayers and called to Jon. He got up. His father would definitely have a plan, he would never let Rose come under harm, he knew. The thought eased him.

There was a sudden shout in the street.

What Jon saw next, he never forgot. For the rest of his life.

****