North! Or Be Eaten (39 page)

Artham wondered where they found all the wolves. He wondered where the new Grey Fangs were taken and how Gnag had convinced this many Skreeans to volunteer for this awful transformation.

He looked down at his talons. He missed his hands. He missed the feel of a sword hilt, the feel of another’s skin beneath his fingers. All he had left were these claws—black, shiny, inhuman things at the ends of his arms to remind him of his weakness. To remind him that they had broken him and that he had fled. He wondered if it would have been better if he had just sung the song of the ancient stones so long ago. Instead he had endured year after year of torture and loneliness, year after year of listening to that foul melody accompanied by screams in the Deeps of Throg.

“Birdman,” said a voice.

Artham turned to find a small window in the nearest wall. A Grey Fang leaned out, licking one of his paws with a long black tongue.

“Do you like your quarters? You make a fine pet. She said she likes to see you up here.”

She?
Artham wondered.

“She asked me to give you a message.”

“Shoo’s he? I mean—who’s she?” Artham asked.

“The Stone Keeper. Down there.”

The figure in the black robe was watching him. He shuddered.

“She says if you’ll let her finish what Gnag started—let her turn you into a snick-buzzard or a falcon, wherever you got those talons—she’ll set these children free. Said that if someone as strong as you was a part of Gnag’s army, he wouldn’t need any more soldiers. I think she’s a fool, but what do I know? I’m just a Fang. She’s been here since the beginning.”

“Who is she?”

“Don’t know. She’s the Stone Keeper. That’s all.”

“And she’ll let these children free if I sing the song?”

“Aye. That’s what she says. Though I don’t know why she’d want to. She’s doing the children a great favor. Making them more than what they are. Giving them power and purpose. That’s why they line up like they do—so sick of their lives they’ll do anything for a chance to
cause
fear instead of feel it. None of ‘em
have
to sing, you know.”

“I don’t believe her. Don’t believe she’s truthing the tell. She’d never let them free-fee-fee.”

The Fang wrinkled his nose at Artham, then shrugged. “Fine, then. Here’s your dinner.”

The Fang hooked the cage with a long pole and drew it close enough to toss in several hunks of raw meat and a flask of water. When the Fang released the cage, Artham swung like a pendulum far above those waiting to enter the box. Some of them looked up, curious about what had captured the attention of the Stone Keeper. The woman in the black robe watched Artham’s cage for several moments, then turned and welcomed the next person in line, a burly fellow rubbing his hands with excitement.

Artham hugged his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his red arms. If the Stone Keeper, whoever she was, kept her word, all he had to do was sing the song and give himself over to the madness once and for all. He would forget what he had done. He would forget that he had failed his brother. He would lose himself, but at least the children would be free of this place. Then he remembered the jewels, and he knew he couldn’t. Much as he would like to give up his fight and let Gnag do with him whatever he would, he couldn’t abandon Janner, Tink, and Leeli. He couldn’t abandon Anniera.

When the last in the line of volunteers was transformed and taken away, another door opened and the children from the dungeon were led to the dais. Artham pressed his face against the bars and watched with agony as a Grey Fang unchained them one at a time and dragged them to the Stone Keeper.

I can stop this
, he thought.

Then he curled up on the floor of the cage and cried because he didn’t know what to do. When he clamped his hands to his ears to block out the howls from below, the talons were cold against his skin.

J
anner and Maraly walked for two days over a ragged landscape. The grass was no longer green but brown and scraggly. The boulders were giant brown eggs, rounded and smooth from ages of wind and rain, some of them big as houses, and bigger the farther they walked. At times the boulders so covered the foothills that the children were forced to weave between them or climb them and leap from rock to rock. But for most of their journey, they tramped up long, barren slopes of yellow grass with the Stony Mountains looming white and sharp in the distance.

They spoke little, but the silence wasn’t unpleasant. Janner was glad to have a companion, Strander or no. Maraly seemed happier the farther they got from the East Bend and her father.

The wind cut through Janner’s shirt and breeches, and he worried more and more about how they would survive the snow and ice. He was uncomfortably cold, but since Maraly didn’t complain, neither did he. The only animals they saw were squirrely creatures Maraly called browndogs. They chittered and vanished into holes in the earth whenever the two children passed. Maraly’s skill with her dagger was put to the test, but she was able to catch and clean three as they went. Her bag filled with meat, and since the weather had turned so wintry, there were no flies.

In the middle of the second long day, they reached the foot of the mountains. The steepening hills fell away to cliffs, as if they had been cut in two and the north side removed. Janner and Maraly scrambled down the pebbled slopes and several times had to retrace their steps and find another way around. All the time, the wind grew fiercer.

“You gettin’ cold yet?” Maraly said over her shoulder.

“I’ve
been
cold.”

“Aye.” She sprang from one boulder to the next.

“What are we going to do?” Janner asked after they slid to the ground again.

“Don’t know. Was hopin’ you’d have an idea.”

“Well, we can’t go back. It’s too far and too dangerous. We have food, and there’s plenty of water. We just don’t have anything to keep us warm.”

“There’s them bomnubbles,” she said.

Janner waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

“I know what a bomnubble is,” he said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“We could get one. I ain’t never seen one, but I’ve heard me Granny Nurgabog talk about ‘em. Said they’re big as a tree and furry as the hair on her toes.”

“We can’t kill a bomnubble,” Janner said. “Even the rangers could barely kill them in the old days. Rangers tried to get rid of them to make travel in the Stony Mountains safer, but they lost too many men, so they gave up. They claimed bomnubbles were too scarce to be much threat anyway.”

“What makes ye think you know so much about bomnubbles?” Maraly asked, rolling her eyes.

“Books.”

“What?”

“Books. I read about them in one called Pembrick’s
Creaturepedia
.”

“Books, eh?” She stopped in her tracks.
“Shh!”
She flung her dagger at a brown-dog at the foot of a nearby rock. She missed, cursed under her breath, and retrieved the weapon. “Well, did your precious book tell ye how to find one?”

“A bomnubble?”

“Aye.”

“No, not that I remember. It said they live in caves in the Stony Mountains, that’s all.”

“Well, Granny Nurgabog told
me
how to find one.”

“Maraly, it’s too dangerous. We can’t—”

“Shh!”
she said again, but this time she didn’t throw the dagger. She squinted one eye and pointed at the nearest slope. At the foot of the mountain lay a cluster of what looked like dark green bushes—by now Janner knew they were actually trees, dwarfed by the distance and the enormity of the mountain. Above the trees, the mountain face was covered with what looked like pebbles but were actually boulders that had slid down the slope.

“See the snow?” Maraly asked.

Janner saw the snow, just above the line of trees, swathed across the stones like strokes of white paint.

“Look there, to the left,” she said.

At first Janner saw nothing but more snow. Then it shifted. A speck of grayish white moved down from the snowfield to the tree line. Even from this distance, Janner’s stomach tingled with fear. He knew the bomnubble couldn’t see them (Pembrick’s
Creaturepedia
said the monsters had poor vision), but he still felt vulnerable. If the bomnubble decided to have them for its dinner, there would be little they could do; the creature knew these mountains far better than the children did.

“We need to get out of here,” Janner said.

Maraly sniggered and drew her dagger. “Nurgabog told me their caves are usually in little forests like that one. I’ve been watchin’ for it ever since I spotted the trees. Sure enough, old Nurgie was right. Let’s go.”

“Maraly, wait!” Janner hissed, but she ignored him.

Janner watched her go, feeling a familiar anger. She didn’t think about consequences. She didn’t care what Janner said. She was reckless and foolish. She was, Janner thought, a girl version of Tink. And as with Tink, Janner found he couldn’t resist the urge to follow.

They sneaked from rock to rock until they reached a dried streambed that provided cover for several hundred yards. Maraly crept along in silence, and every time Janner’s foot slipped and sent a pebble clattering away, she glared at him with great annoyance. Soon the stand of trees was an arrow shot away, close enough that it blocked the view of the snowfields above it, where they had seen the beast.

Maraly sat on her haunches in the creek bed and drew her dagger. “Well, are you gonna draw yer sword or what?”

“Maraly, this is foolishness!” Janner whispered. “You have to listen to me. This isn’t as easy as killing a browndog. Have you ever seen a bomnubble up close?”

“Nope. You?” She grinned.

“Well, no, but I’ve seen pictures. They’re twice as tall as a man and mean as fire.”

“Aw, they can’t be
that
hard to kill. Besides, we need somethin’ to keep warm, don’t we?”

Janner had to admit they did.

From just over the rim of the creek bed came a grunt. Janner and Maraly froze. The bomnubble snorted and smacked, so near that both children were afraid to breathe. After several moments, the creature moved away. Maraly grinned and peeked over the bank, despite Janner’s frantic gestures to stay hidden.

When Maraly’s head wasn’t bitten off, Janner gulped and took his first look at a real bomnubble in the wilds of the Stony Mountains.

Only a stone’s throw away, in a little clearing among the trees, stood the beast, its back to the children. It was even taller than Janner had imagined and covered in fine white fur, so long that it swayed in the wind. Its legs were short and stout, but its arms were enormous and thick as a tree. Its back and shoulders rippled with muscle, visible even through its fur. The bomnubble was eating something and seemed to be enjoying itself.

Just beyond the beast, on the higher side of the clearing, was the mouth of a cave.

Maraly’s face was ashen. Janner wasn’t used to seeing her afraid, and he felt a little sorry for her. But to his surprise, she took a deep breath, winked at him, and mouthed the word, “Ready?”

A howl echoed through the clearing.

The bomnubble stood to its full height and turned enough that Janner could see its fearsome face. Its eyes were hidden in locks of white fur, its nose small and black, but its mouth was huge and bright with blood from its meal. Two teeth as long as Janner’s forearm curved up from its lower jaw.

They heard another howl, and the bomnubble bounded to the mouth of its cave and threw the carcass inside. Then the beast climbed up the side of the mountain and out of sight.

“Blast!” Maraly said. She plopped down on the ground with her arms folded, pouting like a two-year-old. “We would’ve had it!”

Janner stood, looking into the dark mouth of the cave. “Maraly, did you see what it was eating?”

“Nope,” she said grumpily.

“It was a wolf.”

“So what?”

“I have an idea.”

He hopped out of the creek bed and bolted into the clearing, reveling, for once, in the fact that he was the one rushing ahead.

“Wait!” Maraly said, and Janner smiled.

He skidded to a halt at the entrance of the cave and listened. Maraly caught up with him a moment later, and they both leaned over and looked inside. The smell issuing from the blackness was overpowering. Janner felt himself on the verge of throwing up, but he forced himself into the cave.

On the floor lay the mangled carcass of the wolf. Its fur hung from it in tatters.

“Ahh,” Maraly said. “Now you’re thinkin’ like a Strander.”

Janner grimaced and pulled the wolf ‘s skin from its bones. Deeper in the cave
they found the remains of animals Janner had never read about, some with the remnants of scaly skin, some with bony exoskeletons, and some, to his relief, with thick coats of fur. Most of them had decomposed beyond any usefulness, but several were fresh kills, and the children emerged from the cave minutes later with armfuls of smelly—but wonderfully warm—pelts.

They sprinted back to the creek bed and hid just as the bomnubble leapt into the clearing again, dragging another big wolf behind it like a toy. It grunted its way into the cave and stayed there until the children were far away.

That night on the slope of the mountain, Maraly cooked a fine meal of diggle and browndog meat. When clouds hid the bright stars and snow fell, the children slept in a mound of furs. Maraly admitted it had been far easier to scavenge the skins than to fight the bomnubble, and Janner fell asleep with a proud smile on his face.

They spent most of the next morning making the pelts into something each of them could wear. Maraly poked holes in the skins with her dagger, and Janner sewed them together with twine from his pack. By the time the sun began its descent, Maraly and Janner were draped and hooded in furs. They looked like fierce little bomnubbles themselves and felt capable of living happily in the Stony Mountains for years if need be.

Later that afternoon they discovered a lake so round and blue it looked like a jewel cut from the sky. It rested between the shoulders of two white-capped peaks that blocked the constant wind and left the surface of the water smooth as glass. Maraly and Janner knelt at the water’s edge in silence. There was some great peace in the place they didn’t wish to disturb. They dropped their packs, filled the water skins, then sat on a stone a short distance from the shore.