The Guardians: Nicholas St. North and the Battle of the Nightmare King

by William Joyce

  “You have a piece first,” North countered.

  “I should,” the rabbit agreed. Then he sighed. “But I shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Shan’t. Won’t. It’s a long story, full of woe.”

  That made not a lick of sense to North. But he could not resist the chocolate egg—he was even hungrier than Katherine was. “All right, but call off your warriors,” he demanded.

  “Yes, of course.” Bunnymund waved a paw, and the eggs lowered their weapons and stepped away in perfect unison. Impressive, North noted, and deeply peculiar. He decided that the Pooka was probably harmless enough, but still, one could never be entirely sure.

  The air was rich with an overwhelming scent of chocolate, and Katherine could resist its spell no longer. She had been waiting politely for North to take a chocolate before eating her own, but now she popped the caramel egg into her mouth. A look of bliss crossed her face. Her eyes closed.

  Both North and Bunnymund watched her carefully—North out of concern, and Bunnymund with an eagerness to hear her reaction. Katherine began to sway slowly back and forth as if in a dream. She was bewitched by the chocolatey goodness.

  The Pooka could wait no longer. “You liked it?” he asked, a single twitching whisker betraying his intense interest.

  Katherine smiled, her mouth still flooded with the flavor even after she’d swallowed the candy. “The best chocolate I ever had or thought I would ever have!” she answered dreamily.

  “Perfect!” said the rabbit, the rest of his whiskers now twitching along with his nose.

  Then he slammed his staff against the ground, and the Earth opened up beneath them. Katherine and North tumbled forward, spinning down a hole that seemed to be digging itself as they fell. Clumps of rock and dirt whirled past them.

  When they stopped, the hole above them closed, and they saw that their chamber led to another egg-shaped chamber, and another and another. There was an endless row of them, stretching as far as they could see. Hundreds of living eggs of various sizes, designs, and uniforms strode about on their toothpick-thin legs, engaged in a wide array of duties. Mixing chocolate. Making candy eggs. Decorating eggs. Painting eggs. Polishing eggs. Packaging eggs. It was all very, very egg-centric.

  Katherine gazed about in wonder, then spied something familiar in a chamber up ahead. It was their ship! Bunnymund had somehow brought it underground too. She sighed with relief: Now she wouldn’t have to worry about Kailash being left behind. Still, she wanted Kailash to stay put until she was completely sure this strange underground world was safe.

  A warrior chocolatier egg

  “Come,” Bunnymund invited them, gesturing grandly. “I have much to show you.” They passed a vast display of every conceivable type of egg. “I have eggs from every species that ever laid them,” Bunnymund said expansively. “Dodo birds, pterodactyls, dinosaurs, the Egg Men of Quacklandia . . .”

  On one wall North and Katherine saw a picture of a familiar green and blue planet, only it was egg-shaped, not round. “Is that supposed to be Earth?” Katherine asked.

  Bunnymund traced the image reverently. “Yes, many zillions of years ago,” he answered. “At that time it was egg-shaped. Unfortunately, ovals have an unstable orbit. If left unchecked, the planet would have swirled closer and closer to the sun and eventually been cooked like a hard-boiled egg.”

  Katherine stared again at the picture. “But . . . how did it become round?”

  “Oh, I fixed it—a nip here, a tuck there,” the Pooka said matter-of-factly. “It’s rather sad, really. Ovals are such an interesting shape. And circles? Well, so ordinary, common, dull.” Then he sighed deeply as if saving the planet had been a particularly distressing household chore. “I used the excess dirt to make a few more continents. Australia is my best work, I think,” he said. “I’m quite good at digging.”

  Katherine blinked. “You made Australia?”

  “Right after I finished the Himalayas,” he replied. His whiskers gave a twitch. “But enough geography; I have many, many more eggs to show you.”

  He spun on a back paw and leaned in toward Katherine. “The egg is the most perfect shape in the universe, don’t you agree?”

  “We do,” Katherine said, nodding enthusiastically, sensing that this would please the rabbit and that pleasing him would make things go faster. “But, well, we’re in a hurry. Our friends are in trouble, and our teacher, Ombric Shalazar, believes you can help us.” Katherine looked hopefully at him.

  “The wizard from Atlantis,” Bunnymund said, his ears now twitching. “I had high hopes for that city, but then it vanished.” He shook his head. “I did what I could, but . . . humans.”

  Katherine wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but she had to keep him on subject. She tried to make her face express chagrin at being a mere human, then she pressed on. “Can you help us get to the Earth’s core from here?”

  Impatience was bubbling up inside North. The light on his sword was blinking more and more frequently, which could only mean that they must be very close to the relic. “Blast it, Man Rabbit! We need your help! We need the Moon relic and we need to get going. Will you help us or not?” he demanded.

  Bunnymund sniffed. “I am neither a rabbit nor a man. I am a Pooka. The name is Bunny mund. E. Aster Bunnymund, to be precise.”

  He leaned forward and asked Katherine, “What other chocolates would you care to try, human girl?”

  North had never liked being dismissed, and his temper was about to turn blistering, so Katherine jumped in before he could say anything more, trying to remain polite. “It’s not easy to choose,” she said, trying to sound confounded.

  The Pooka stared at her. She had to do something to make him like them. So she began to lick the last dustings of chocolate from her fingers.

  Bunnymund watched her closely. “You do love my chocolate,” he said. But then he looked rather glum. “If only chocolate didn’t . . . ,” and he stopped.

  “Didn’t what?” Katherine encouraged.

  Bunnymund closed his eyes and breathed in. “Alas,” he sighed, “chocolate is bad for Pookas.”

  Well, this is interesting, North thought. The Pooka surrounds himself with what tempts him the most. He gave Bunnymund an appraising stare. “Bad how?” he asked.

  Bunnymund shot him a look. “It makes me more like you. Illogical. Racing about. Always trying to save the day.” He shook his head, as if disgusted with himself.

  North began to object to the rabbit’s tone, but Bunnymund had turned his back to them and was now throwing open the door of a cabinet filled top to bottom with shelves of chocolate eggs. The display was dazzling.

  Katherine stopped him. “You’ve been very generous,” she said. “But we’d be most grateful if you would let us borrow the relic—and help us get to the Earth’s core. Please.”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” the Pooka said, pulling out a tray of confections. “My expertise is in chocolate. I don’t get involved in human affairs. Not anymore.”

  “Untrue!” said North. “You stopped Ombric from changing history when he went back in time. Twice!”

  “Indeed. But tampering with the past is not allowed for any living creature—Man, Beast, Plant, or Egg. I’ve been watching that Ombric of yours since he was a boy. He doesn’t believe in rules very much.”

  “Yes,” agreed North. “Especially stupid ones.”

  The rabbit didn’t seem to like North’s manner.

  Katherine shrewdly changed the subject. “You know what Pitch did to the Golden Age. Don’t you want to stop him from doing any more damage?”

  Bunnymund shrugged. “Humans come. Humans go. They leave many relics. I’ve been on the planet much longer than humans have, and I will be here long after there are no more.”

  “Balderdash!” said North. “So you won’t help us?”

  “My dear fellow, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” Bunnymund replied. “I am just not interested in helping you.”

  North and Katherine did not know how to respond. />
  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nightlight Is Dimmed

  DEEPER BELOW GROUND THAN any human had ever ventured, the children of Santoff Clausen hung in metal cages in the center of the Earth. The cages, which hovered a few feet above the floor, were freshly made just for them. The strange swirling shapes of hastily poured molten lead surrounding them was full of airholes and gaps so the children, at least, could see out. There was much activity around them. Countless Fearlings were building and shaping innumerable lead weapons, armor plates, and shields. The children could hear Pitch’s frenzied shouting of orders and they looked repeatedly toward Nightlight’s prison for reassurance. Just knowing he was nearby helped, which was the only comfort they had.

  Unlike their cages, Nightlight’s prison was made of solid lead. There wasn’t a window, there wasn’t a crack, there wasn’t a pinhole. And the door was sealed so tight, no light could make its way inside.

  Nightlight lay on the floor of the cage. He did not move. His eyes were closed. His light grew dimmer with every passing minute. The lead seemed to be leaching all his brightness from him. But Nightlight was not alone.

  Something stirred under his jacket. And for a moment Nightlight glowed brighter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  In Which We Find Munch Marks of Mystery

  BACK IN SANTOFF CLAUSSEN, Ombric was slowly and carefully releasing prisoners of another sort: the residents of the village who were caught in Pitch’s enslavement spell. It haunted him to see his beloved village, the focus of his long and brilliant life, frozen in a moment of struggle and terror. He began with Petrov, the bear, and the Spirit of the Forest, for they would need to keep watch in case the Fearlings were planning to attack again.

  As they stamped and roared and spun themselves awake, Ombric told them the terrible news of the children’s capture. Despair hung over them like a shroud—they had failed to protect the children from Pitch. Ombric urged them not to blame themselves.

  “Even I once was caught by Pitch in such a spell,” he explained. Urgently, he told them that Pitch was holding the children hostage and that the library was the ransom he demanded. None of them knew where his books had gone, so Ombric moved on to release the owls and the other creatures in Big Root. They seemed the most likely to be able to help him solve the mystery.

  To each creature raised from Pitch’s spell, Ombric asked the same questions: “What happened to the books in my library? Where are they?”

  And each time he got the same answer. No one knew. But from the moonbeam, Ombric had learned one important detail: His shelves were already empty when Pitch smashed into the library.

  Before she had left, Katherine had carefully gathered the pieces of Nightlight’s shattered diamond dagger and placed them in a box. It was in this box where the moonbeam now rested. The poor little fellow seemed comforted to be with the diamond shards that had become his home, and Ombric found himself wondering if the dagger could ever be repaired. It was the physical manifestation of the Man in the Moon’s spirit and of Nightlight’s courage, forged during that last great battle of the Golden Age. But now Ombric knew that the dagger could not be used to hurt anyone or anything good. That was why it had shattered when Pitch tried to kill Nightlight with it.

  Once all the creatures in Big Root were up and stretching, Ombric headed outside. He had saved the parents for last. They had likely been unconscious while under Pitch’s spell, so he would have to tell them that their children had been taken.

  The parents seemed to have just reached Big Root when Pitch had bewitched them, for that’s where they lay, most of them on their sides or on their backs, where they had fallen when the Nightmare King turned them into toys. Their china faces expressed dread and alarm, the only exception being Old William’s.

  Ombric released him first. Old William contorted his lips again and again to get them moving. Then, as soon as he was able to speak, the father of all the Williams told Ombric his story: “I’m no swordsman, but I fought with all my might. We used stardust bombs against him! But they did nothing. His cloak and sword sucked up all the light! He stormed Big Root, boasting that he was going to be a more powerful wizard than you.”

  Old William’s voice cracked with desperation. “Will I see my Williams again?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Ombric promised him.

  Old William walked with Ombric as he moved from parent to parent, transforming them from tiny, porcelain versions of themselves back into living, breathing human beings. And Ombric told them to be brave, that their children had been taken hostage.

  He met the gaze of each and every parent, taking in their worried frowns and wishing he could ease their burdens. “Nicholas St. North and Katherine are on their way to the Earth’s core even now,” he told them. “I will do my utmost to find the books Pitch covets, and when I do, they’ll make the exchange. But I must know where the books are.”

  But all the parents assured Ombric that the children had been working on lessons in his library up until the moment Pitch’s Fearlings began to seep into the enchanted forest.

  “And yet all the books disappeared before Pitch could get to them,” Ombric mused, stroking his beard.

  The Spirit of the Forest hovered above him. “He took pleasure in what he had done to us,” she told him. “He swaggered about, enjoying his handiwork.” She began to weep tears of angry frustration. They hardened to emeralds and pearls that spilled uselessly to the ground, reminding her once again that her treasures were not what Pitch was after.

  Ombric grew increasingly puzzled, and as soon as every living being in Santoff Claussen had been restored, he returned to his shattered library to investigate more diligently. The owls could remember nearly nothing. They’d seen a flash of light just as Nightlight rushed in. He made what looked like a protective shield around the children with it. Then Pitch’s spell began to take hold of the owls, and everything had gone dark. Ombric saw that bit of information as a clue. He plucked up one of the tiny scraps of paper that littered the floor, turning it over and over. He held it up to the light and noticed funny little markings on one edge. He picked up another scrap, then another. They all had the same choppy shapes along one edge.

  Ombric sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and tried to remember where he had seen similar markings. Suddenly, it hit him.

  “Teeth marks!” he exclaimed. “Those are teeth marks!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Egg-cellent Exchange

  BUNNYMUND’S “JUST NOT INTERESTED” still hung in the air.

  The Pooka’s nose twitched, and with a sharp twist of his staff, he disappeared.

  Katherine and North were alone.

  “I think you made him mad,” said Katherine.

  “Who needs his help?” North declared. “Let’s find that relic ourselves. Perhaps it can get us out of here and to the Earth’s core.” He let his sword lead them. Its blade pulled them through one egg-shaped chamber after another.

  The first few chambers were similar to the one they had already been in—equipped for candy making. One smelled curiously of cinnamon and another of a sweetness that was so powerful and tempting, they had to fight the urge to stop and inhale its trancelike perfection forever.

  But the next chamber they found themselves in was a curious kind of egg museum. There were shelves upon shelves of intricately crafted, jewel-encrusted eggs.

  North whistled. “I know a Russian tsar who would pay a fortune for some of these,” he said appraisingly as the sword pulled him on to yet another chamber.

  The next room, too, was a kind of museum, but the eggs here were natural. A bumpy yellow and orange shell labeled SEA MONSTER sat beside the green speckled egg of a MESOPOTAMIAN DRAGON. Rows and rows of eggshells lined the walls, ranging from the giant egg of a mega-octopus (pure white and bigger than North’s head) to the miniature ones of a hummingbird (smaller than Katherine’s thumbnail). There were chicken eggs and goose eggs, duck eggs and swan eggs, and even the tiny illuminated yello
w eggs of a glowworm, barely the size of pinpricks. There were so many sizes and colors and patterns and speckles that these eggs seemed to Katherine to be even more beautiful than the eggs carved of gold and jewels. Then North let out a long, slow whistle.

  Katherine ran to the next room.

  Inside was just a single egg. It sat on a podium of gleaming silver. The egg looked as if it were made of the same mysterious metal as North’s sword and was covered in gorgeously wrought carvings of suns and moons and stars. At its center was a crescent Moon that glowed with the same intensity as the orb on the magic sword. In fact, the egg and the sword seemed to be reaching for each other.

  “That’s it!” North cried out triumphantly. “That’s the relic!”

  He raced forward, reaching out to snatch up the egg. But before he could get his hand on it, he found himself being hurtled across the room. He landed against the wall, his head pounding.

  When he could focus again, Bunnymund was standing over him. “Naughty. Naughty,” he said.

  North jumped to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. “Did you do that?” he shouted.

  Bunnymund again went so still that he didn’t appear to be breathing. Then his nose twitched.

  Katherine sensed a fight coming on. So, it seemed, did the Warrior Eggs. A mass of them trotted into the chamber on their tiny legs, bows again at the ready. Katherine ran over to stand between North and the Pooka.

  “That egg does not belong to you,” the rabbit told North firmly.

  North clenched his teeth to keep from yelling. “Don’t get your whiskers in a twist, Man Bunny,” he said. “I doubt you even know the power and significance of that precious egg of yours! That it was fashioned by people, not by rabbits or Pookas, but humans from an age more grand than you can imagine. And that it was intended for purposes of good and honor and bravery, not to be used as some useless bauble that satisfies the puny whims of your precious collection!”