North! Or Be Eaten (13 page)

“Well, what’s he waiting for?” Tink asked. “If the weapons are in place, then why not fight back now?”

“Because he isn’t ready. As I said, he’s cunning. His followers trust him explicitly and believe he knows what he’s doing. It’s a good thing he’s on our side,” Oskar said, “because with his charisma and strength, he would be a formidable enemy. Each time I met him, I found myself hanging on his every word. A trustworthy fellow, though, I’d bet my books on it.”

“And ye think this McHiggins fellow at the tavern can help us?” Podo asked.

“I think so. He’s Gammon’s main contact in Dugtown. If anyone can find us a guide over the Stony Mountains to the Ice Prairies, Ronchy McHiggins can. His sailor’s pie, as I said, is
delicious
.”

Podo thought for a moment, then nodded. “Aye. Sounds like our best option. ‘Course, there are Stranders to think about.”

“Ah. The Stranders,” Oskar said.

“What are Stranders?” Janner asked.

Podo and Oskar exchanged a glance.

“Better we worry about the Stranders tomorrow, my boy,” said Oskar. “The day’s been long enough.” He blew out the candle, careful not to let any of the wax spill, and the company slept.

Janner’s last thought was a prayer for safety for his uncle.

But Peet was not safe.

P
eet couldn’t move his arms or legs.

The troll tromped southward, dragging Peet with a length of rope like an ox with a plow. Peet, wrapped tight from head to toe in chains, was jarred and battered by every root, stone, and pothole in the road. He drifted in and out of consciousness, and every time he woke, he saw Zouzab and the other ridgerunner perched on the troll’s shoulders, watching him with wicked pleasure.

He remembered the gargan rockroach’s terrible clacking the day before. Just as Zouzab had ordered the troll to retreat from the gully, Peet caught a glimpse of the Igibys and Oskar fleeing north. Though he had screeched and thrashed, the troll held him fast, so tight that his vision blurred and everything went black. When he awoke it was night, and he was wrapped in chains like a moth in a spider web.

“You’ll be glad to know that your precious ‘jewels’ have escaped once more,” Zouzab had said. He sat cross-legged by a fire and shoveled a handful of sugarberries into his mouth, then passed the basket to the other ridgerunner. The red stains around their mouths looked like blood.

Peet had stared at the ridgerunners without speaking, partly because the chain wrapped around his face made it hard to breathe, and partly because he couldn’t figure out whom the ridgerunner was talking about. His mind was a muddled mess.

Jewels? I love the jewels, but what
—
I remember! The children! Who escaped? The children, yes. Good. What were their names again? I can’t remember their names. Hungry and thirsty. Arms hurt. I shouldn’t have left him. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to, but I left him. Oh, Maker! What have I done?

Peet’s mind filled with shadows and feathers and a wail that echoed through dank corridors. He was dimly aware of the ridgerunners watching him from the fire as he thrashed and whimpered in his chains, but they seemed a world away.

What have I done? I abandoned him. No!

A rustle of feathers, deep in his mind, and he knew no more.

Now it was a new day and his mind was clearer. He knew his name, the Wingfeather children’s names, and where they were taking him. The road rose and fell over gradual hills and was well worn by Fangs. The light in the east told him he was heading south.

To Fort Lamendron.

He screamed.

The ridgerunners laughed.

As Peet screamed on the road to Lamendron, morning birds chirped in the clearing where the Igibys slept. Cold blue light crept through the slit in the tent door.

Janner stretched, forcing his eyes open and shaking the cobwebs from his mind. To his left, Podo snored so loudly that Janner wondered how it hadn’t woken him sooner. Oskar didn’t snore, but with every long exhale of breath, his lips made a windy
pfffffhhhhhhh
.

Janner propped himself on one elbow and rubbed his eyes. In the faint light he could see Tink asleep with his head on Podo’s leg and Leeli curled up beside Nia with her backpack cuddled to her chest the way she used to hold Nugget. Janner crept from the tent.

The clearing was soft with dewy mist. Chunks of rubble rose out of the fog like gravestones, but the effect wasn’t unpleasant. He had been awake for many sunrises before, but never so close to the cliffs that he could watch the fiery ball lift itself from the sea. He walked through wet grass and sat with his feet dangling over the cliff.

The Dark Sea of Darkness wasn’t dark at all at this hour. Feathery clouds at the edge of the world glowed orange and savage yellow. Birds wheeled in the bright air far below.

Janner thought of his life only weeks ago, in the dregs of summer, when hay needed baling, the hogpig needed feeding, the garden needed weeding, and life was boring. So much had happened to the Janner he used to be. His life had been in danger countless times. More tears had been shed in these last weeks than in his whole life before. Nugget was dead, the Glipwood Township ravaged. Before, he lived under the oppression of the Fangs of Dang, but now he was on the run from them.

Then he thought of his father, Esben, and remembered the picture of him sailing on his twelfth birthday, an image Janner considered the essence of freedom. He thought about the royal blood in his veins and about the long-gone glory of his kingdom.

He had been too busy to think much about the real Anniera. It hovered in the distance of his best dreams but remained a dream only. It was hard to believe it actually existed, that across these very waters a home awaited him. A real island where there had once been real towns, where there stood a real castle—the castle where he was born. Janner ached to see it. He remembered the words of his father’s letter:
“This is your land, and nothing can change that.”
He imagined lying in the warm wind of a heathery slope, eyes closed so he could feel the heartbeat of his land.

He was only twelve, but he knew enough to realize that the way before him would be hard.
Is it worth it?
he asked himself. Was it worth losing his old life in order to learn the truth of who he was and who he was becoming?

Yes
.

Like the pluck of a stringed instrument, the first edge of the sun broke loose and poured light over the world.

The rest of the company was awake, grateful for the promise of a proper breakfast. Podo, who had assured the family that in daylight a small fire would be safe enough, sat on a rock rearranging the bacon that sizzled in the frying pan. With his other hand, Podo absentmindedly scratched at the stub below his knee where the rest of his leg had once been.

Janner knew that at night his grandfather often unbuckled the harness that bound the wooden peg to his leg, but it was rare to see him in broad daylight without it. It was unsettling to see him now, vulnerable and—

“You’re starin’ like you’ve never seen me stubby leg before, lad,” Podo said, squinting at Janner.

“Sorry,” Janner said. “It’s just—why won’t you tell us how you lost it?”

“Oh, I will, lad. One of these days.” Podo took a deep breath. “It’s not a fun story for yer Podo to tell, but I’m startin’ to think I should dig it up sooner rather than later. There’s things you lot should know.”

“What things?” Tink asked quietly. Janner thought he saw Podo and Tink exchange an odd look, and the old pirate’s eyebrows bunched together like a cloud at the front of his head.

“Can we just eat breakfast?” Leeli asked.

“Aye, lass. That’s a fine idea,” Podo said, and Tink looked away.

“Oskar, how’s your wound?” Nia asked.

Oskar blinked at the mention of his name. His gaze had been firmly placed on the sizzling bacon. “It’s fine, dear. Much better after a good night’s sleep.” He placed the arm of his spectacles in the corner of his mouth. “You know, from the moment I first laid atop old Nugget, I felt something happening. The wound…warmed up somehow, in a quite enjoyable way. This Water from the First Well—you don’t suppose it gave Nugget some healing power, do you?”

“I had a dose of the stuff too,” Podo said. “Did the wound feel different when you were leanin’ on me?”

Oskar thought for a moment. “No, I don’t remember that it did.”

“But we only gave you a drop, remember?” Tink said. “Uncle Peet gave Nugget too much.”

“Hmm.” Oskar frowned and tore the bloodied bandage away to reveal a bright red scar on his belly.

“It’s gone,” Leeli said.

“A final gift from dear Nugget, young princess,” Oskar said with wonder, and Leeli beamed.

“So when do we leave?” Tink asked after gulping down two strips of bacon. His lips and cheeks shone with grease. “You said we had a day before the Fangs started patrolling the north bank of the river. Shouldn’t we get moving?”

“Aye, lad. We should.” Podo winked as he cinched the strap of his peg to his thigh and thumbed the buckle rod into a well-worn hole. “Now you’re thinkin’ like a king.”

Tink gulped and looked away.

Janner decided it was time to apologize. “Tink, I’m, uh, sorry I yelled at you yesterday. You didn’t deserve that.”

Tink shrugged and poked at the fire with a stick.

“We wouldn’t have made it without you, you know. Out of about thirty arrows, I only hit, what, three Fangs? I’m a terrible shot.”

“You
are
a terrible shot,” Tink said with a smirk.

“I don’t know much,” Janner said, “but for what it’s worth, I think—I think you’re going to make a fine king.”

Tink’s grin vanished. “Thanks. I hope so,” he said quietly. He left the fire and started taking down the tent.

Janner looked at the others. He had done his best to apologize and had even gone one step further with a compliment. “What was that all about?” he asked under his breath.

“Just let him be,” Nia said. “He’ll be fine.”

The tent was rolled and tied to Podo’s pack, and in minutes the company was ready to go. After all that had happened the day before, Janner felt ready for anything. His pack had lost its stiffness and hung from his shoulders in a way that fit him. He had wielded his sword in battle, and its weight no longer burdened him but gave him courage. He recalled the heft of the bow in his hand, the tension and release when he drew it and loosed the arrows. The calluses on his palms felt good, and he imagined his hands one day being as tough and capable as Podo’s.

“Say the word, King Kalmar,” Podo said with a slight bow of his head.

Tink looked like a mouse in a trap.

Then he loosed a belch that rivaled one of Podo’s, and in a fit of laughter, the company set off into the forest.

A
ll day the company traveled through the wood, and except for the persistent worry that around every tree hid a toothy cow or horned hound, the trip was oddly enjoyable.

Janner relaxed for the first time since they had left Peet’s castle, as if a cold river inside him was finally in thaw. Still, the words the old gray dragon had spoken haunted him.

“He is near you. Beware.”

It occurred to him that the dragon hadn’t actually
said
Gnag the Nameless was nearby. But who else could it have meant? Who else would
“seek the young ones to use them for his own ends”
? The dragon probably meant the leader of the Fangs at Miller’s Bridge. Or it might have been talking about Zouzab Koit—but why would a little ridgerunner be of any concern to the sea dragons? Podo was probably right—the sea dragon was lying, manipulating Janner for the fun of it. But somehow that didn’t seem right either.

With every step they took toward Dugtown and away from the sea, Janner worried about the dragon less and enjoyed the beauty of the forest more. They saw no sign of toothy cows or horned hounds, and only spotted one cave blat when it skittered behind a distant tree. Janner wondered why the animals on the north side of the river were so scarce. He thought about the old days in Skree, before the war, when Podo and Oskar said the dangerous creatures of the forest were kept in check by rangers and the people could travel where they pleased. The forest was a peaceful and lovely place when one wasn’t running for one’s life, and Janner began to understand anew what had been lost when the Fangs invaded.