North! Or Be Eaten (5 page)

Finally, the voice echoing through the timbers grew near enough that the words became clear.

“I
N THE WORDS OF
U
BINIOUS THE
W
HOONED
, ‘R
UN
, I
GIBYS
! I
F YOU’RE OUT THERE
,
RUN
! T
HEY’RE COMING
!’”

O
skar Noss Reteep bounced and jiggled atop the bewildered donkey like jelly in an earthquake. He held the reins high in the air and had long since lost any hope of his feet finding the stirrups. His spectacles dangled from one ear, and a magnificent swath of white hair, attached just above his ear, lifted from where he had pressed it to his head and flew behind him like a flag of surrender.

Janner nearly came out of his skin when he recognized his old employer. The last time he had seen Oskar, the old fellow lay dying on the floor of Books and Crannies, urging him to flee. On that last, awful night in the Glipwood Township, amidst the horror of the Fang battle, Zouzab’s betrayal, and the family’s escape to Anklejelly Manor, Janner had assumed Oskar was dead. To see him alive came as a shock, but it turned quickly to joy. Janner smiled as Reteep bounded toward him, making such a racket that flocks of wrenchies perched in the trees cawed and flapped away.

“Janner!” Podo’s voice found its way through the thoughts in Janner’s head. “
BOY
!”

Janner snapped out of his daze and realized that of all the Igibys, he was the only one standing still. He gasped when he finally realized what Oskar was bellowing.

“R
UN
, I
GIBYS
! I
N THE WORDS OF
—”

Before he could finish, the poor donkey—whether from fatigue or because he could no longer bear the indignity of such a jiggly rider—went down. Oskar’s eyes bulged as he soared through the air toward the clearing where Janner stood. He flew with a surprising grace, hair trailing behind, spectacles dangling, his mouth forming a perfect O as the reins, still firmly in his grip, snapped taut and flipped the round man over to land on his back at Janner’s feet.

The donkey brayed.

Oskar lay on the ground, blinking, surprised he wasn’t dead.

“Janner! My boy, I’m glad to see you. I came as fast as I could.” Oskar winced and placed a hand on his side as Janner helped him to his feet. The old man’s middle was wrapped with bloodstained bandages.

“I don’t know how you’re alive, Mister Reteep, but I’m glad,” Janner said.

Podo descended the ladder from Peet’s castle with a bundle on his back, while Nia and Leeli gathered food supplies and shoved them into various packs. Tink dropped Peet’s leather-bound journals one at a time from a tree house window; Peet caught them and piled them atop a rectangle of coarse fabric spread out on the ground.

“That’s all of them, Uncle Peet!” Tink called.

Peet nodded, folded the canvas over the books, and heaved the pile into the hole he had dug.

“Oskar! How much time do we have?” Podo barked.

“Oh dear.” Oskar brushed himself off. “Not more than a few minutes. I tried to sneak away, but they saw me, and there are hundreds of them. Hundreds!”

A new sound drifted through the woods. A horrible sound, like nothing Janner had ever heard. Part moan, part growl, it was clear it came from something large. Even Nugget whined. He bounded to Leeli and pressed his great furry body against her, whether to protect her or to be protected, Janner wasn’t sure.

“And that’s the other thing,” Oskar said gravely.

“Eh?” Podo heaved a supply-laden pack over his shoulder. “What’s the other thing?”

“Trolls.” Oskar shuddered and wrinkled his nose.

Trolls?
A shiver of fear coursed through Janner. He had never seen a troll, though Pembrick’s
Creaturepedia
depicted several troll races, all of which were formidable and ghastly to behold.

His heart skipped a beat at the look of worry that flashed over Nia’s face. She was serene in the worst of circumstances, able to grow icy cold even as the heat of danger rose. But when the troll’s growl-moan sounded again, closer than before, her face wrinkled in a way that made her look old and tired, though only for a moment.

Podo looked hard at Oskar, then nodded. “Well, whether it’s trolls or Fangs or me Great-Granny Olaraye comin’, we’re getting out of here fast. Janner, get that donkey over here and tie what ye can to the saddle. Tink!”

“Yes sir,” Tink said from behind Podo.

“Help yer sister with her things, then have yer bow and arrow ready. You ride on Nugget with her and shoot at anything you’re sure you can hit. Be
sure
, understand? Arrows are precious.”

“Yes,” said a papery voice just above them. “Arrows are precious. But they’ll do the Igibys no good, I’m afraid.”

Zouzab Koit perched high in the overstory and looked down on them with an
expressionless face. Oskar sputtered, so enraged that he could think of no one to quote.

“You!” shouted Podo, his face already reddening for the torrent of curses about to burst from his mouth.

But before he could say a word, Peet the Sock Man screeched and leapt impossibly high, swinging himself into the boughs where Zouzab crouched. Zouzab skittered away, blowing his high-pitched whistle as Peet pursued. In a flurry of whirling branches and falling leaves, the Sock Man and the ridgerunner were out of sight, leaving Podo and Oskar trembling and speechless. Their anger was interrupted by another troll call, then another whistle blow, not far away.

“No time! Move!” Podo said.

While Janner pulled the tired donkey to its feet, Nia pushed the dirt into the hole where Peet had stashed his precious journals. She threw a pile of leaves atop the fresh dirt and spread them around to conceal it.

“Papa, where will we go?” Nia cried as Podo rushed up the ladder to the tree house.

“Don’t know, lass! North, I reckon,” he called over his shoulder. “We can’t go south now, like we planned.”

“But—but there’s nothing north but the river. We’ll be trapped!”

“Ah!” Oskar said. “There’s a bridge. A way across…” He doubled over and coughed. Janner rushed to his side to steady him.

Podo climbed down the ladder in a blur, carrying an armful of dried meat, which he shoved into his pack. “We’re fools to stay here a toot longer. Hurry!”

“Here.” Nia tossed Peet’s leather satchel to Janner. “Tie this to the donkey, then get your things. Go!”

“Mama, Mister Reteep is hurt,” Janner said. “Where’s the water from the First Well?”

“I don’t know, son. Artham had it. We’ll have to give Oskar some when we get far enough away from the Fangs.” She turned to Oskar. “Can you make it? Can you ride?”

Oskar nodded, wheezing.

Janner’s sword, lashed to the side of his pack, thunked against his hip when he threw the pack over his shoulders and reminded him how heavy and real and dangerous swords—and the situations that called for them—were. The growl-moans of the trolls grew louder, and Janner could hear the faint
thud-thud-thud
of marching feet.

Leeli sat astride Nugget, her hands on the tufts of black fur that gathered at the sides of her dog’s great head, her newest crutch slung with twine over her shoulder.
Tink sat just behind his sister with his bow ready. Nia held the tired donkey’s reins and ran a soothing hand along its jaw. When Oskar tried to mount the donkey, it fixed him with a surly eye and brayed.

“All right, lads and lasses,” Podo shouted, “we’re off at a quick pace, hear?”

“But Grandpa, what about Uncle Peet?” Leeli asked.

Podo lowered his voice and spoke without looking his granddaughter in the eye. “We ain’t waiting fer him. No time. He’ll catch up.”

“But—”

“After them!”
snarled the faint, unmistakable voice of a Fang of Dang.

Janner saw a green, scaly face appear in the tree-choked distance, then another, and another. Podo took hold of Nugget’s collar and led him at a run, deeper into Glipwood Forest.

T
hrough the forest they ran. Behind them, like an invisible storm blowing through the trees, came the howls and moans and stomping feet of the Fang army. The donkey needed no prodding from Janner to quicken its pace. Peet the Sock Man was nowhere to be seen, but his screech occasionally cut through the darker sounds behind them.

Podo drove them onward, and even with his peglegged limp, he had to check his speed to allow the rest to keep up. Janner and his mother ran with the wild-eyed donkey between them, and Oskar huffed and wheezed in the rear.

As they ran, Janner looked over his shoulder and saw a line of Fangs weaving in and out of the trees, and among them, three lumbering trolls, which broke fat limbs like twigs. Janner felt a combination of horror and fascination and wished he could somehow stop the pursuit so he could get a better look at one of the smelly hulks.

“Janner, watch where you’re going,” Nia said, and he just had time to dance around a small tree. Ahead, Nugget trotted beside Podo, choosing his path with care so that Leeli was safe from low branches. With each troll bellow, Nugget’s ears flattened against his head and he whined.

“
Shh
, boy,” Leeli said, leaning forward to speak in her dog’s ear.

Tink sat behind Leeli with his bow at the ready.

“Tink, can you see them?” Janner huffed.

“Yeah, I see them,” Tink answered, trying to hide the worry in his voice. “They’re getting closer. Grandpa, they’re getting closer!”

“Aye, I hear ‘em, lad,” said Podo. “You just keep that arrow on the string.”

Janner tried not to look back, but he couldn’t help himself. He saw even more Fangs and trolls, close enough that he could make out looks of vicious glee on their faces. He could also smell them. A sharp, bitter odor polluted the air, and with the smell came memories of Slarb, of Gnorm and the Black Carriage, of cold, damp Fang flesh. With the memories came deep and overpowering fear. Since Oskar had burst into the clearing, Janner had felt tension and urgency—but now that he remembered the iron grip of a Fang claw and the ooze of venom from a Fang tooth, he was truly afraid.

From Pembrick’s
Creaturepedia

“Oskar!” Nia cried.

Janner saw the old man stagger, teetering like a pile of dishes about to collapse. When Oskar reached out to steady himself on the nearest tree, Janner saw with alarm that the old man’s hand was bright with blood. Oskar’s knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

Podo rushed back to his friend and pulled him to his feet.

“Janner, make room!” Podo ordered. Janner shoved the bedrolls and supplies from the donkey’s back and with Podo’s help heaved Oskar onto the poor beast. The old man lay on his stomach, draped over the saddle like a game animal freshly killed. His eyelids drooped, and his face was pale and clammy.

“Tink!” Leeli screamed, and Janner turned to see a new reason to fear. A horned hound burst from the ranks of the charging Fangs and barreled toward them. It wore a collar, and its face and body were decorated with black war paint.

Tink sat frozen on Nugget’s back.

“
SHOOT
!” Podo roared.

Tink blinked twice and came back to himself. He drew the bow and loosed the arrow, and the hound collapsed in a burst of leaves.

Podo didn’t need to give the order to run like mad. Nugget leapt into motion so fast that Tink nearly toppled from his back. Nia ran beside the braying donkey and steadied Oskar, who moaned as he jiggled along.

The way was difficult. The forest north of Peet’s tree house rose and fell in steepening hills. Now and then they had to skirt around treacherous gullies, dried riverbeds tangled with fallen trees.

From the top of a long slope, Janner saw the Fangs were no more than an arrow shot away, and two more of their horned hounds sprinted toward the Igibys. Tink loosed another arrow and missed. As he hurried to draw another arrow from the quiver, Peet swooped down from the trees with his talons bared, killed the hounds, and disappeared into the leaves again.

Janner knew Peet was no match against so many Fangs, but his sudden presence was like a cool wind on a hot day. A Throne Warden of Anniera occupied the space between the Igibys and their enemies.

Peet’s appearance had a surprising effect on the Fangs as well. Janner couldn’t see much, but he sensed the space between himself and the Fangs increasing. Though they numbered in the hundreds, the Fangs hung back, wary eyes on the branches above.

Suddenly Janner found himself skidding down a steep bank. Podo had led Nugget into a deep gully and was halfway across the depression, amidst old branches, brown leaves, and rotting tree trunks. The trench stretched a long way in both directions, so they had no choice but to cross it.

The donkey stopped dead in its tracks on the rim of the slope. Janner pulled at the reins while Nia pushed from behind, but the animal wouldn’t move. Its eyes were fixed on the gully floor, its nostrils expanding and contracting like a beating heart.

If Janner had not been running in fear for his life, he might have remembered what Pembrick’s
Creaturepedia
had to say about such gullies in Glipwood Forest; he might have thought to warn his family before they scrambled down into the tree-clogged floor. If Janner hadn’t been thinking about the Fangs and trolls snarling through the woods behind him, he would’ve suggested firmly that the Igiby family find a way
around
the gully, even if it added hours and miles to the journey.