On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (2 page)

1

The Carriage Comes, the Carriage Black

J
anner Igiby lay trembling in his bed with his eyes shut tight, listening to the dreadful sound of the Black Carriage rattling along in the moonlight. His younger brother Tink was snoring in the bunk above him, and he could tell from his little sister Leeli's breathing that she was asleep too. Janner dared to open his eyes and saw the moon, as white as a skull, grinning down on him through the window. As hard as he tried not to think about it, the nursery rhyme that had terrified children in the land of Skree for years sang in his head, and he lay there in the pale moonlight, his lips barely moving.

It's no wonder that Janner had a hard time sleeping once he heard the faint thud of hooves and the jangle of chains. He could see in his mind the forms of the crows circling the Carriage and perched atop it, hear the croaking beaks and the flapping of black wings. He told himself that the sounds were only his imagination. But he knew that somewhere in the countryside that very night, the Black Carriage would stop at some poor soul's house, and the children there would be taken away, never to be seen again.

Only last week he had overheard his mother crying about the taking of a girl from Torrboro. Sara Cobbler was the same age as Janner, and he remembered meeting her once when her family had passed through Glipwood. But now she was gone forever. One night she lay in bed just as he was now. She had probably kissed her parents good night and said a prayer. And the Black Carriage had come for her.

Had she been awake?

Did she hear the snort of the black horses outside her window or see the steam rising from their nostrils?

Did the Fangs of Dang tie her up?

Had she struggled when they put her into the Carriage, as if she were being fed into the mouth of a monster?

Whatever she had done, it was useless. She had been ripped away from her family, and that was the end of it. Sara's parents had held a funeral wake for her. Being carried off by the Black Carriage was like dying. It could happen to anyone, at any time, and there was nothing to be done about it but to hope the Carriage kept moving when it rattled down your lane.

The rattles and clinks and hoofbeats echoed through the night. Was the Black Carriage getting closer? Would it make the turn up the lane to the Igiby cottage? Janner prayed to the Maker that it would not.

Nugget, Leeli's dog, perked his head up at the foot of her bed and growled at the night beyond the window. Janner saw a crow alight on a bony branch outlined by the moon. Janner trembled, gripping his quilt and pulling it up to his chin. The crow turned its head and seemed to peer into Janner's window, sneering at the boy whose wide eyes reflected back the moonlight. Janner lay there in terror, wishing he could sink deeper into his bed where the crow's black eyes couldn't see him. But the bird flapped away. The moon clouded over, and the
thump-thump
of hoofbeats and the
creak-rattle
of the Carriage faded, faded, finally into silence.

Janner realized that he'd been holding his breath, and he let it out slowly. He heard Nugget's tail thump against the wall and felt much less alone knowing that the little dog was awake with him. Soon he was fast asleep, dreaming troubled dreams.

2

Nuggets, Hammers, and Totatoes

I
n the morning the dreams were gone.

The sun was shining, the cool of morning was losing ground to a hot summer sun, and Janner was imagining that he could fly. He was watching the dragonflies float across the pasture, putting his mind into a dragonfly's mind, to see what it saw and feel what it felt. He imagined the slight turn of a wing that sent it zipping across a meadow, whipping left and right, lifting on the wind up over the treetops, or scaling down the craggy drop to the Dark Sea. He imagined that if he were a dragonfly, he would smile while he flew (though he wasn't sure that dragonflies could smile), because he wouldn't have to worry about the ground tripping him up. It seemed to Janner that in the last few months he had lost control of his limbs; his fingers were longer, his feet were bigger, and his mother had recently said that he was all elbows and knees.

Janner reached into his pocket and, looking around to be sure no one was watching, pulled out a folded piece of old paper. His stomach fluttered as it had when he found the paper the week before while sweeping his mother's bedroom. He unfolded it now to brood upon a sketch of a boy standing at the prow of a small sailboat. The boy had dark hair and gangly limbs and looked undeniably like Janner. Big billowy clouds whitened the sky, and the spray of the waves burst up in splashes that looked so real and wet that it seemed to Janner that if he touched them, he would smear the picture. Beneath the drawing was written “My twelfth birthday. Two hours alone on the open sea, and the best day of my life so far.”

There was no name on the picture, but Janner knew in his heart that the boy was his father.

No one ever talked of his father—not his mother, nor his grandfather; Janner knew little about him. But seeing this picture was like opening a window on a dark place deep inside. It confirmed his suspicion that there was more to life than living and dying in the Glipwood Township. Janner had never even seen a boat up close. He had watched them from the cliffs, specks cutting slow paths like ribbons through the distant waves, sailed by a crew on some adventurous errand or other. He imagined himself on his own ship, feeling the wind and the spray like the boy in the picture—

Janner snapped out of his daydream to find himself leaning on a pitchfork, up to his knees in itchy hay. Instead of feeling the ocean wind, he faced a cloud of chaff and dust shaken by Danny the carthorse, impatiently harnessed to a wagon half full of hay waiting to be carried across the field to the barn. Janner had been working since sunrise and had made three trips already, anxious to finish his chores.

Today was Dragon Day Festival and the only day of the year that Janner was glad to be in the quiet town of Glipwood.

The whole village waited all year for Dragon Day, when all of Skree seemed to descend on Glipwood. There would be games and food, strange-looking people from faraway cities, and the dragons themselves rising up out of the Dark Sea of Darkness.

As far as he knew, Janner had never left Glipwood in all his twelve years, so the festival was the closest he got to seeing the rest of the world—and a good reason to be quick about finishing up with the hay. He wiped sweat from his forehead and looked wistfully over his shoulder at a dragonfly zipping away. Then he dug into the straw with a grunt and pitched it into the wagon. As he did so, his foot caught on a stone hidden beneath the hay and he lurched forward, toppling face first into a neat, fresh pile of Danny the carthorse's nuggets.

Janner leapt to his feet, sputtering and wiping his face with fistfuls of hay. Danny the carthorse looked at him, snorted, and tore up a mouthful of grass while Janner ran, quick as the dragonfly, to the water trough to clean his face.

Across the field and past the fence, Janner's brother Tink (whose given name was Kalmar) straddled the cottage roof, two nails between his lips and a hammer in one hand. Tink was trying to repair a loose shingle but having a hard time of it, so violent was his trembling. When he was younger, just riding on his grandfather's shoulders made him nervous, and though he laughed, his eyes were always wide with fear until he was placed firmly on the ground again.

Podo, his grandfather, always assigned the reparation of the roof to Tink because he thought it would do him good to face his fear. But Tink, now eleven years old, was still as frightened as ever. Shaking like a leaf, he removed a nail from between his lips and hammered it into the roof as timidly as if he were hammering his own face. He looked out across the field to see Janner trip headlong into the water trough, and he wished he were finished with his chores so he could play a game of Zibzy
¹
with his big brother at the Dragon Day games.

Tink was useless on the roof, but when his feet were on the solid ground he could run like a stag.

With the first tap of the hammer, the nail slipped from between Tink's fingers. He tried to catch it, missed, and threw himself down, hugging both sides of the hot roof. Nail and hammer clattered down the roof in opposite directions and over the edge. Tink groaned because it meant having to inch his way over the edge and down the ladder again. It also meant that it would be that much longer before they were able to go into town for the festival.

“Lose something?”

Tink's fear turned to grumpiness. “Just throw it back up, will you?”

Tink heard laughter, then the hammer flew up, end over end, and landed a few feet from him. He gathered his courage to reach near the edge and grabbed the hammer with a trembling hand just before it slid back down.

“Thanks, Leeli,” he called, trying to sound a lot nicer.

Leeli sat back down on the steps at the back of the cottage and continued peeling totatoes, humming to herself. Nugget was at her feet, tail wagging, panting in the welcome shade. Soon Leeli worked her way to her feet with a small wooden crutch and brushed the totato peelings from the front of her dress. Carrying the bucket, she limped into the house, Nugget close behind.

Her right leg twisted inward at an unnatural angle below the knee, and the toes of her bad leg trailed lightly along the wooden floor. When she was little more than a baby, she had learned to walk with a tiny crutch under her arm, and every year her grandfather made her a bigger one, each more ornate and sturdy than the last. This one was made of yew and had little purple flowers etched along its length.

Leeli plopped the bucket of peeled totatoes onto the table behind Nia, her mother, who was tossing ingredients into a large pot of stew.

“Ah, thank you, dear.” Nia wiped her hands on her apron, then pushed a few stray hairs behind her ears. She was tall and graceful, and Leeli thought her mother was so beautiful that the plain dress she wore fit her like a royal gown. Nia's hands were strong and callused from years of hard work, but gentle enough to braid Leeli's hair or to stroke her boys' faces when she kissed them good night.

“Would you fetch your grandfather for me?” she asked. “He's been in the garden gathering herbs for at least an hour now, which can only mean one thing.”

Leeli laughed. “The thwaps are back?”

“I'm afraid so.” Nia turned back to her stew just as another clatter sounded above them. Her eyes followed the sound across the ceiling to the window, where she and Leeli saw Tink's hammer fall to the grass. A muffled moan came from the roof.

“I'll get it.” Leeli limped out the back door and tossed the hammer back up to Tink.

Janner loped up to the cottage, sopping wet from the waist up, bringing with him a terrible smell and a swarm of fat green flies buzzing about his head.

As Leeli limped around to the front of the cottage to find her grandfather, she heard her mother shriek and shoo Janner out of the house, where he was promptly bonked on the head by a falling hammer.

3

Thwaps in a Sack

L
eeli's one-legged grandfather was on his knees, growling at something in the garden. Fat red totatoes hung from the vines; round heads of lettuce burst quietly from the ground in long rows; sprouts of greenions, carrots, and sugarberries—her favorite—were yet bright and dewy.

Like Leeli, Podo got along fine with only one leg, though instead of using a crutch, he strapped on a wooden stump below the knee. He never talked about how he had lost his leg, but it was no secret that he had been a pirate in his wild youth, and he entertained his grandchildren nightly with tales of his adventures at sea.

Like the time all eighteen of his crew fell ill from eating a batch of bad ponkfin they had looted from a fishing boat near the Phoob Islands. Podo was the only one who hadn't eaten any and was left to sail the ship alone through a storm while his crew sloshed about, moaning in the hull.

“And that's not the worst of it,” Podo would say. “I tell ye! That was with the Skreean Navy hot on me stern, cannons firin' and arrows whizzin' through me hair. That's how come it parts in three places, see? Still can't catch a whiff of ponkfin what I don't get the urge to trim a sail and run for cover…”

The Igiby children would squeal with delight, and old Podo often got so worked up that he'd need to dab the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

He was wiping his brow with the handkerchief now as he squinted through the greenion sprouts.

“Grandpa?” Leeli said from behind him.

Podo whipped his head round, waving a knotty wooden club at her. His long white hair was frazzled, and he looked like a mad old hag. “Eh? Watch yerself, lass. I like to have banged you on the head with me whopper.” His white, bushy eyebrows shot up and he held a gnarled finger to his lips. “Thwaps!” he hissed.

Suddenly, a small, hairy figure leapt out from beneath a totato plant and squealed.

Podo bounded after it.

Nugget, who had been whining happily, lost all restraint and pounced into the garden with a bark.

The common thwap was a little bigger than a skonk
¹
—not much more than a ball of fur with skinny arms and legs standing as high as the middle of Podo's remaining shin. The old man's club found its target and sent the little critter flying through the air, but not before another one darted out of the garden and bit Podo fiercely on his stump, with its long, yellow teeth. The first thwap crashed into the trunk of a nearby tree and dropped to the ground, where it immediately stood up and hurled a pebble at the old man. It struck Podo squarely in the forehead, and he staggered for a moment, shaking his head while he beat at the thwap whose teeth were stuck in his wooden leg.

The thwaps squealed and darted back into the garden. A moment later they reappeared, one with a totato in its furry paws, the other with an armful of carrots. They dodged another swipe from Podo's club and shot into the garden again.

Podo roared and swung his club above his head. “Avast, foul rodents!”

A gust of wind moved the garden leaves in waves. Podo's white hair flew out behind him, and he leaned into the breeze with a fierce set of his jaw. A thwap appeared from behind a sugarberry plant and threw another rock. Podo swung his club and sent the stone zipping back into the garden as the thwaps dove for cover.

“Aha!”

A few moments passed as the thwaps squeaked and twittered among themselves.

Podo's face wrinkled even tighter. He lowered his club and cupped a hand over his ear, as if he could have understood them.

Suddenly, a fat, red totato whizzed through the air and burst on Podo's face.

“Not the totatoes!” Podo blinked the juice from his eyes and batted another totato away with his club. “Not my totatoes!”

Just as Leeli turned away she saw him dive into the garden, headfirst, howling all the while. She smiled and limped back to the cottage, which was thick with the smell of breakfast.

Nia tromped past her to the garden without a word, snatched two leaves from a rosepepper plant, and returned to the kitchen, ignoring Nugget's barking, Podo's howls of rage, and the thwaps sailing through the air.

Janner, who had finally managed to clean the manure from his face and hair, walked back to the house, dripping wet.

Tink, skinny as a rake, sat at the table beside Leeli. His eyes were fixed on the large pile of sausage sizzling on the stove, and the sound of his growling stomach filled the room.

“Well! That's better.” Nia folded her arms and tried not to smile at Janner. “I thought I'd see you with fresh grass growing on your face by now.”

Janner blushed and shook his head as he took his seat.

Leeli and Tink tried to hide their giggles, as Nia pulled up a chair and sat with her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, watching her children eat. Janner stared out the window, deep in his thoughts; Tink hunched over his plate like a buzzard, eating the hotcakes and sausage as if they might try to escape; Leeli watched her brothers and fidgeted with the hem of her gown, humming and bobbing her head back and forth while she chewed.

“Eat well, my dears. It's going to be a busy day,” Nia said smiling.

The children's eyes widened. “The sea dragons!” they cried in unison.

Nia laughed and pushed herself up from the table.
“The summer dusk hath split in twain the gilded summer moon, and all who come shall hear again the dragons' golden tune,”
she sang.
²
“Coming just like they have for a thousand years. Finish up your breakfast and we'll go on to town. The chores will wait.”

With a loud crash, the back door burst open and there stood Podo, drenched with sweat and out of breath. “T
HWAPS
!” he bellowed, holding out a sack with something squirming and screeching inside. Podo smacked it with his club and the squealing promptly stopped.

Nugget yipped and danced at his feet, nipping at the sack.

“There are two more of the little stinkers out there, but these three”—he shook the sack—“won't be munching on any more of our vegetables, I can tell you that. Lousy, thievin' little thwaps…” He noticed his three grandchildren and his daughter watching him and cleared his throat. “Don't worry, now. I'll be tossin' 'em off the cliff straight into the Dark Sea after I eat a few of yer fine hotcakes, honey.” He nodded to Nia, trying to sound less gruff.

Nia's mouth dropped open. “How could you throw them into the sea?”

Podo scratched his head. “Easy. See, I take this sack here, and I…dump it out. Over the cliff. Simple as that.”

Leeli sat with her fork in her hand and a look of horror on her face. “Grandpa, you can't just kill them!” She pushed back from the table as the boys rolled their eyes. She hobbled on her crutch to her towering grandfather and looked up at him with a pitiful sweetness in her eyes.

Podo loved his little granddaughter like nothing else in Aerwiar, and she knew it.

“They're such
sweet
little things, Grandpa, and they never harm anyone.”

Podo sputtered and pointed to the scratches on his arms.

Leeli didn't seem to notice. “And all they take is a few of our vegetables each year to feed their baby thwaplings. I can't believe that you would do such a thing. Please, Grandpa, don't kill the little fuzzies.” She grabbed his shirt, pulled his face to hers, and kissed him on a grizzled cheek. “Come on, Nugget,” she said, and she left the kitchen.

The sack squealed and Podo smacked it again, but with less vigor. With a grunt, Podo plopped the sack on the floor beside the table and shoveled a hotcake into his mouth.

“Now Janner, lad,” Podo said without looking up from his plate, “It can get rowdy out there with the festivities going on, and you know the Fangs get even meaner when it looks like we Skreeans are having a grand time of it.”

“Yes sir.” Janner looked down at his plate and clenched the sides of his chair, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

“And you're the oldest, which bears a noble responsibility. It means—”

“It means that I have to keep an eye on Tink and Leeli and make sure they get home safely. I've heard the same thing every day of my life, and I'm not stupid.” Janner surprised even himself. His cheeks reddened when he saw the look of shock on his mother's face. He knew he had gone too far, but it was too late to turn back. Years of frustration decided to explode over hotcakes that very morning. “What it means is that I'm a nanny, that I never get to do anything
I
want to do.”

Tink snorted and tried to hide his laughter by shoving another large bite into his mouth. Janner kicked him under the table, which only made Tink snort again.

“I don't want to spend my life fretting over Tink and Leeli, following two little kids around, fussing over them like an old woman and wasting my life!”

“Son—” Podo started.

“I'm not your son! You're not my father, and if my father were alive, he'd understand.” Janner already hated himself for what he had said. He was breathing hard, staring at the stove, afraid to look at his grandfather's face. His chest felt hot, and tears were coming. He put a hand in his pocket and squeezed the folded drawing of his father. Like never before, he wished he were on that boat, out on the Dark Sea of Darkness, far away from Glipwood and from the way he felt right now.

Podo chewed and swallowed his hotcakes slowly, considering his grandson in a heavy silence. “Tink, clear yer plate and go get dressed, lad-die,” he said without taking his eyes off of Janner.

Nia stood by the stove looking at the floor with her hands on her hips.

The grizzled old man wiped his mouth with a napkin and gripped the sides of the table with his big hands.

Janner was in trouble. He knew it.