North! Or Be Eaten (2 page)

Janner stared out the window at the forest as Podo droned on, telling him about his responsibility to protect his brother, about the many dangers of Glipwood Forest, about what Janner should have done differently during this most recent cow drill.

Janner missed his home. In the days after they fled the town of Glipwood and arrived at Peet’s castle, Janner’s sense of adventure was wide awake. He thrilled at the
thought of the long journey to the Ice Prairies, so excited he could scarcely sleep. When he did sleep, he dreamed of wide sweeps of snow under stars so sharp and bright they would draw blood at a touch.

But weeks had passed—he didn’t know how many—and his sense of adventure was fast asleep. He missed the rhythm of life at the cottage. He missed the hot meals, the slow change of the land as the seasons turned, and the family of birds that nested in the crook above the door where he, Tink, and Leeli would inspect the tiny blue eggs each morning and each night, then the chicks, and then one day they would look in sad wonder at the empty nest and ask themselves where the birds had gone. But those days had passed away as sure as the summer, and whether he liked it or not, home was no longer the cottage. It wasn’t Peet’s tree house, either. He wasn’t sure he had a home anymore.

Podo kept talking, and Janner felt again that hot frustration in his chest when told things he already knew. But he held his tongue. Grownups couldn’t help it. Podo and his mother would hammer a lesson into his twelve-year-old head until he felt beaten silly, and there was no point fighting it.

He sensed Podo’s rant coming to an end and forced himself to listen.

“…this is a dangerous place, this forest, and many a man has been gobbled up by some critter because he weren’t paying close enough attention.”

“Yes sir,” Janner said as respectfully as possible. Podo grinned at him and winked, and Janner smiled back in spite of himself. It occurred to him that Podo knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

Podo turned to Tink. “A truly fine shot, boy, and the drawing of the Fang on that board is fine work.”

“Thanks, Grandpa,” Tink said. His stomach growled. “When can we eat breakfast?”

“Listen, lad,” Podo said. He lowered his bushy eyebrows and leveled a formidable glare at Tink. “When yer brother tells ye to come, you drop what yer doin’ like it’s on fire.” Tink gulped. “You follow that boy over the cliffs and into the Dark Sea if he tells you to. Yer the High King, which means ye’ve got to start thinkin’ of more than yerself.”

Janner’s irritation drained away, as did the color in Tink’s face. He liked not being the only one in trouble, though he felt a little ashamed at the pleasure he took in watching Tink squirm.

“Yes sir,” Tink said. Podo stared at him so long that he repeated, “Yes sir.”

“You okay, lass?” Podo turned with a smile to Leeli.

She nodded and pushed some of her wavy hair behind one ear. “Grandpa, when are we leaving?”

All eyes in the tree house looked at her with surprise. The family had spent weeks in relative peace in the forest, but that unspoken question had grown more and more difficult to avoid as the days passed. They knew they couldn’t stay forever. Gnag the Nameless and the Fangs of Dang still terrorized the land of Skree, and the shadow they cast covered more of Aerwiar with every passing day. It was only a matter of time before that shadow fell again on the Igibys.

“We need to leave soon,” Nia said, looking in the direction of Glipwood. “When the leaves fall, we’ll be exposed, won’t we, Artham?”

Peet jumped a little at his name and rubbed the back of his head with one hand for a moment before he spoke. “Cold winter comes, trees go bare, the bridges are easy to see, yes. We should grobably po—probably go.”

“To the Ice Prairies?” asked Janner.

“Yes,” said Nia. “The Fangs don’t like the cold weather. We’ve all seen how much slower they move in the winter, even here. Hopefully in a place as frozen as the Ice Prairies, the Fangs will be scarce.”

Podo grunted.

“I know what you think, and it’s not one of our options,” Nia said flatly.

“What does Grandpa think?” Tink asked.

“That’s between your grandfather and me.”

“What does he think?” Janner pressed, realizing he sounded more like a grownup than usual.

Nia looked at Janner, trying to decide if she should give him an answer. She had kept so many secrets from the children for so long that it was plain to Janner she still found it difficult to be open with them. But things were different now. Janner knew who he was, who his father was, and had a vague idea what was at stake. He had even noticed his input mattered to his mother and grandfather. Being a Throne Warden—or at least
knowing
he was a Throne Warden—had changed the way they regarded him.

“Well,” Nia said, still not sure how much to say.

Podo decided for her. “I think we need to do more than get to the Ice Prairies and lie low like a family of bumpy digtoads, waitin’ fer things to happen to us. If Oskar was right about there bein’ a whole colony of folks up north what don’t like livin’ under the boot of the Fangs, and if he’s right about them wantin’ to fight, then they don’t need us to gird up and send these Fangs back to Dang with their tails on fire. I say the jewels need to find a ship and go home.” He turned to his daughter. “Think of it, lass! You could sail back across the Dark Sea to Anniera—”

“What do you mean ‘you’?” Tink asked.

“Nothin’,” Podo said with a wave of his hand. “Nia, you could go home. Think of it!”

“There’s nothing left for us there,” Nia said.

“Fine! Forget Anniera. What about the Hollows? You ain’t seen the Green Hollows in ten years, and for all you know, the Fangs haven’t even set foot there! Yer ma’s family might still be there, thinkin’ you died with the rest of us.”

Nia closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Peet and the children stared at the floor. Janner hadn’t thought about the fact that he might have distant family living in the hills of the Green Hollows across the sea.

He agreed with his mother that it seemed foolish to try to make such a journey. First they had to get past the Fangs in Torrboro, then north, over the Stony Mountains to the Ice Prairies. Now Podo was talking about crossing the
ocean
? Janner wasn’t used to thinking of the world in such terms.

Nia opened her eyes and spoke. “Papa, there’s nothing for us to do now but find our way north. We don’t need to go across the sea. We don’t need to go back to Anniera. We don’t need to go to the Green Hollows. We need to go north, away from the Fangs. That’s all. Let’s get these children safely to the prairies, and we’ll finish this discussion then.”

Podo sighed. “Aye, lass. Gettin’ there will cause enough trouble of its own.” He fixed an eye on Peet, who stood on his head in the corner. “I suppose you’ll be comin’ with us, then?”

Peet gasped and tumbled to the floor, then leapt to his feet and saluted Podo. Leeli giggled.

“Aye sir,” he said, mimicking Podo’s raspy growl. “I’m ready to go when the Featherwigs are ready. Even know how to get to the Icy Prairies. Been there before, long time ago—not much to see but ice and prairies and ice all white and blinding and cold. It’s very cold there. Icy.” Peet took a deep, happy breath and clapped his socked hands together. “All right! We’re off !”

He flipped open the trapdoor and leapt through the opening before Podo or the Igibys could stop him. The children hurried to the trapdoor and watched him slide down the rope ladder and march away in a northward direction. From the crook in the giant root system of the tree where he usually slept, Nugget perked up his big, floppy ears without lifting his head from his paws and watched Peet disappear into the forest.

“He’ll come back when he realizes we aren’t with him,” Leeli said with a smile. She and Peet spent hours together either reading stories or with him dancing about
with great swoops of his socked hands while she played her whistleharp. Leeli’s presence seemed to have a medicinal effect on Peet. When they were together, his jitters ceased, his eyes stopped shifting, and his voice took on a deeper, less strained quality. The strong and pleasant sound of it helped Janner believe his mother’s stories about Artham P. Wingfeather’s exploits in Anniera before the Great War.

The only negative aspect of Leeli and Peet’s friendship was that it made Podo jealous. Before Peet the Sock Man entered their lives, Podo and Leeli shared a special bond, partly because each of them had only one working leg and partly because of the ancient affection that exists between grandfathers and granddaughters. Nia once told Janner that it was also partly because Leeli looked a lot like her grandmother Wendolyn.

While the children watched Peet march away, a quick shadow passed over the tree house, followed by a high, pleasant sound, like the
ting
of a massive bell struck by a tiny hammer.

“The lone fendril,”
²
said Leeli. “Tomorrow is the first day of autumn.”

“Papa,” said Nia.

“Eh?” Podo glared out the window in the direction Peet had gone.

“I think it’s time we left,” Nia said.

Tink and Janner looked at each other and grinned. All homesickness vanished. After weeks of waiting, adventure was upon them.

A
fter it flew over Peet’s tree house, the lone fendril’s shadow passed over Joe Shooster, proprietor of The Only Inn (Glipwood’s only inn), as he lay pinned facedown in the dirt, fighting back tears. From the front door of the inn, Joe’s wife, Addie, watched in horror. Her hands covered her mouth to stifle a scream as the Fang drove his boot harder into Joe’s back.

The day was bright and blustery. The wind drove leaves and tumbleweeds through the streets to collect in the nooks of the town’s battered buildings. A few weeks ago, the Glipwood Township had been wrecked by a mighty storm that descended on Skree like an apocalyptic stomp of the Maker’s boot. Ferinia’s Flower Shop had lost its roof, and rain flooded the building. Some structures had been flattened, leaving parts of Glipwood in rubble. Others, like The Only Inn, Books and Crannies, and the town jail, survived, sad reminders of the town that once lay quiet and peaceful at the edge of the cliffs.

Joe grimaced and managed to speak. “No, my lord, I have seen nothing of them. I swear it.”

The Fang cracked Joe’s head with the butt of his spear—hard, but not hard enough to render him unconscious. A cry slipped out of Addie’s mouth, and the Fang whipped his head around and fixed her with a cold look. Joe felt the Fang’s cold, damp tail drag over him as the Fang stepped across his body and climbed the steps to the inn’s front door. Addie screamed as the Fang burst through the swinging doors and seized her by the back of the neck.

“You, then, sssmelly woman,” the Fang growled, covering his snub nose and retching.
¹
“Look old Higgk in the eye and tell him if you’ve ssseen or heard from the Igibys or from that nassty man who used to run the bookstore, Oskar Reteep.”

Addie went pale and trembled, unable to speak or take her eyes off the long fangs jutting out of the creature’s mouth, oozing venom.

“That one’s useless, Higgk,” called another Fang who watched happily from the street. “See what it does when you bite it.”

“Aye!” called another. “That’s what the poison in yer teeth is for, ain’t it?”

Joe Shooster pulled himself to his knees and clasped his hands. “Please, lords! Don’t hurt my Addie. She knows nothing. Nor do I, and I swear to it.” Joe tried to keep his voice steady, but seeing his wife’s pale face so close to the Fang’s teeth made it impossible. “Please.”

The Fangs of Dang derived much pleasure from watching Joe and his wife squirm and began to chant for Higgk to bite the woman. Higgk grinned and opened his mouth. His fangs lengthened, and tiny streams of venom squirted from them, crisscrossing Addie’s blouse with steaming, hissing burns. Addie’s eyes rolled backward, her eyelids fluttered, and Joe prayed that she would be unconscious when the Fang bit her. She went limp and sagged in the creature’s grip.

A long whistle came from deep within The Only Inn. Joe dimly recognized it as the teapot on the stove in the kitchen.

Addie’s eyes fluttered. “Tea’s ready,” she slurred, and in a flash of inspiration, Joe leapt to his feet.

“Wait!” he cried.

“What?” Higgk barked. “Have you sssuddenly remembered the whereabouts of the Igibysss?”

“No, lord, but if my Addie is gone, who will cook you booger gruel? No one else in Skree can make a pot of it like Addie Shooster. And what about midgepie? And clipping-topped gullet swanch?”
²

Higgk hesitated. The other Fangs stopped their heckling and cocked their heads sideways, considering Joe and Addie in a new light. Except for the whistle of the teapot,
there was silence. Joe wiped his hands on his apron and met his wife’s eyes. She took some strength from him and said, “M-my critternose casserole is dreadfully good, sir.”

“Fine,” Higgk said.

He released Addie, and she fell to the ground in a heap. Joe rushed over to her and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Ugh,” said the Fang. “If I don’t have a plate of that critternose casserole by sundown, I’ll finish what I started.” The Fangs hissed and snarled and chuckled their agreement. “If you learn anything about Reteep or the Igibys and you don’t tell Higgk, no amount of food will save your smelly ssskins.”