North! Or Be Eaten

by Andrew Peterson

  “Back to bed, lad. I’ve a feelin’ in me bones that tomorrow our little holiday walk through the forest is comin’ to an end.”

  “How do you know?” Janner asked with a yawn.

  “The trees are sparser. Can’t hear the river anymore, which means it’s leveled out. And that means we’ll run into the Stranders that put the spear to that toothy cow. If they can kill one of those critters, you can bet your boots they’ll make quick work of us.”

  “Have you ever seen them before?”

  “Aye. I grew up here, remember. Long before Skree was such a dangerous place. Ma and Pa traveled often to Torrboro to buy seeds for farmin’ or sell hogpiglets if we had any extra. ‘Course the inns in Torrboro were a pocketful too expensive for the likes of a Helmer, so we’d take the ferry across the Blapp to Dugtown, where my folks could afford a room. In Dugtown things weren’t near as pretty, but they were a lot more fun to a stinker like me.” He laughed to himself and blew out another puff of smoke. “More than once I tore off from me parents and found myself in all manner of trouble with the seedy types in Dugtown. More than once those seedy types turned out to be Stranders.

  “See, lad, Dugtown is a city of criminals, mercenaries, vagabonds, and adventurers. If it’s trouble you’re lookin’ for, that’s where you’ll find it. But there are some types that even Dugtowners can’t abide. Some criminals can steal yer underwear right out from under your clothes, but they wouldn’t think to hurt ye. But others steal more than just yer possessions; they’d pick yer pocket and cut yer throat, just for fun. Dugtown is a rowdy place, but the folk that live there have a sense of what’s right and proper, even if it’s as slippery as a daggerfish. If the Dugtowners call you unfit for society, then you’re a bad one indeed.” Podo chuckled. “You get banished from the city, and you scrounge yer livin’ along the river, scrapin’ to survive among a whole society of murderous curs. The worse you are, the farther along the strand of the Blapp ye end up.”

  Janner was wide awake now. “So tomorrow we’re going to run into them? The Stranders?”

  “I’m afraid so. This far out, they’ll be the worst of ‘em.”

  “They sound as bad as Fangs.”

  “Aye.” Podo hugged Janner and sent him back to bed. “Worse, even.”

  Janner sneaked back into the tent and lay awake until dawn. He watched his grandfather through the crack in the tent flap, pacing and puffing his pipe as the sky outside went from black to dark blue to chilly white. Leeli lay curled up next to Nia, still hugging her pack. Her thin blanket had slipped off, so Janner pulled it up to her chin.

  Oskar choked on one of his monstrous snores, and Tink’s eyes fluttered awake. “Janner?” he said in a sleepy voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want to be a king.”

  Janner almost asked Tink what he meant but stopped himself. He knew exactly how his little brother felt. “It’s okay. I don’t much want to be a Throne Warden either.”

  “You don’t? But you’re so good at it. You don’t hesitate. You always seem to know what to do.”

  “That isn’t how it feels,” Janner said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll—” You’ll what? Would Tink really make a good king?

  “What?” Tink asked, propping himself up on an elbow.

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine. I don’t think either of us is cut out to be a king or a Throne Warden yet. I think we’re supposed to be studying our T.H.A.G.S. and playing handyball and reading books. But if that’s true, then it’s also true the Fangs aren’t supposed to be in Skree, our father’s supposed to be alive, and Leeli’s supposed to have two good legs.”

  “But it is what it is,” Tink said.

  “It is what it is.”

  “What are we going to do?” Tink asked.

  “Today? We’re going to leave the forest. Podo says we’ll probably run into the Stranders.”

  “No, I mean after that.”

  “Well…Dugtown. Then the Ice Prairies, hopefully.”

  “After that?”

  “I don’t know.” Janner felt a snap of irritation in his chest. Usually he asked the questions and worried over the future. For once, at least this morning, Janner was content to let things happen as they would. “Anniera, maybe?”

  “But it seems so…impossible, doesn’t it? I mean, do you really think Gnag the Nameless and the Fangs and the trolls will just let us have it? Or am I supposed to be the king who leads—what, an army of rebels against these monsters? Janner,” Tink said quietly, “I don’t think I can do it. I just want to be left alone, like it was in Glipwood, before everything happened.”

  “It’s too late for that, Tink. Besides, remember what Oskar told us about the Skreeans? He said they were miserable deep-down, that their lives weren’t really lives at all anymore.”

  “It felt like a life to me. I was happy in Glipwood, as long as we stayed clear of the Fangs. I mean, we had the cottage, the Dragon Day Festival, zibzy with the Blaggus boys, stories by the fire—hot meals! And now look at us!” Nia stirred and mumbled something in her sleep, and Tink lowered his voice. “We’re sleeping in a tent, Nugget’s dead, Peet’s—who knows what happened to him. My back hurts! I don’t like carrying this pack around.” Tink sat up and hugged his knees. “I just don’t want to be a king.”

  Janner sighed and closed his eyes. He missed Glipwood too.

  Then he thought of Anniera. He remembered the picture of his father on the boat. He remembered the tug in his heart when he heard the dragons singing, the way he felt the previous morning when he saw the sun glide from its grave in the Dark Sea.

  Was it worth it? Yes.

  “Glipwood is gone, Tink.”

  Tink closed his eyes.

  “We can’t go back.”

  Tink sighed. “I know.”

  “You know what I want? I want a long string of days like yesterday, when we walked through the forest, listening to poems about Uncle Peet, laughing together. No swords or bows or Fangs. I want to rest. But I’m afraid that we won’t be able to for a long, long time—not until we make it to Anniera. Until we make it home. If we have to fight to make it there, I’m willing to do it. And if I have to pull you by the collar, you’re coming with me. Look.” Janner pulled Esben’s sketchbook from Tink’s pack, flipped it open, and held it in the light that crept through the tent flap. “See this picture? The lawn below the castle wall, where the people are sitting by the shade tree?”

  “Yeah. I’ve looked at it a hundred times.”

  “That’s a real place. And it’s ours. And I’m going to wallop you at zibzy on that lawn some day.”

  Tink smiled. “I’ll be the one doing the walloping. I’ll always be faster than you.”

  Janner told Tink that he loved him, and Tink said that he loved Janner too, but not in the way a husband and wife might. Janner punched Tink in the shoulder, and Tink punched him back. Just to be sure he believed him, Janner jabbed Tink in the ribs, and they both laughed hard enough to wake everyone but Oskar, who snorfled, smacked his lips, and rolled over.

  Podo thought it would be funny to strike the tent with Oskar still sleeping in it, so after a quick breakfast of dried fruit, Janner and Tink helped Podo pull the stakes and lift the center stick that held the canvas aloft. They laughed and whispered to one another as they raised it like a giant umbrella and exposed Oskar to the sunlight, and still he snored. When the tent was rolled and lashed to Podo’s pack, there was nothing left to do but rouse Mister Reteep. Leeli nudged his shoulder, and his only response was a slight shift in the tone of his snore. Nia joined Leeli and prodded Oskar on the other side. Soon they were rocking him back and forth so hard that Podo, Tink, and Janner doubled over with laughter. Oskar snored and scratched at his belly.

  “Mama,” Leeli said.

  Nia wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing along with Podo and the boys.

  “Mama,” Leeli repeated.

  “What is it, dear?” Nia asked, trying to contain herself.

&n
bsp; “Who is that?” She pointed to the trees just over Nia’s shoulder.

  Two mean eyes set in a dirty face regarded the Igibys and Podo.

  “I’m a Strander, that’s who.”

  22

  The Stranders of the East Bend

  The Strander stepped from behind the tree.

  She was a girl not much older than Janner, covered from head to foot with black dirt that made her eyes and teeth bright. Tattered clothes hung from her skinny frame. In her hand was a dagger, and the way she held it made it clear she knew how to use it.

  “Seen me cow?” the girl demanded. “Got ‘er good just yesterday, and she run this way. If ye ate ‘er, I’ll carve ye up and bring ye back to camp in a sack.”

  “Nobody ate your cow, lass,” Podo said, stepping forward.

  The girl hissed and brandished the knife at the old man. “I ain’t yer lass,” she spat. “And you’d best not take another step forward or I’ll put an end to one of ye before ye have time to notice I’m gone.”

  Podo held up his hands. “You throw that knife and nobody’s tellin’ you where the cow is. We don’t mean ye any harm, so why don’t you ease up and tell us your name. Mine’s Podo. Podo Helmer.”

  “Don’t care who ye are. Just want me cow.”

  Podo and the girl engaged in a glaring contest that, to Janner’s surprise, the girl won.

  “Fine,” Podo said. “The toothy cow’s a half day’s walk behind us. You’ll find the remains of a campfire we were foolish enough to light, and yer cow—or what’s left of it—is nearby.”

  The Strander girl narrowed her eyes at Podo and considered the information. “Right.” She nodded. “I believe ye. Now drop your weapons.”

  “Don’t get too big for yer britches, lass,” Podo rumbled. “Nobody’s droppin’ any weapons—”

  The girl threw the knife so fast that Janner hardly saw her move. It thunked into something wooden, and he saw with shock that it was embedded in Podo’s peg leg. The girl had already drawn a second knife and stood ready to hurl it at Leeli.

  “Enough!” Podo said with his hands in the air. “We’ll give ye our weapons, all right? No need to do anythin’ drastic.”

  “Good. We’ll take yer packs too.”

  “We?”

  Without a sound, more children appeared from behind trees and swung down from branches, each of them fierce as a horned hound and ready to kill. The Igibys backed into a huddle around the still-snoring body of Oskar N. Reteep.

  Without warning, Oskar sat up, spouting the sounds of Old Hollish letters, and declared he had unraveled another piece of the linguistic puzzle. He fumbled for his spectacles, placed them on his nose, and said, when he saw the gang of dirty children, “Good morning.”

  “We’ll be takin’ you lot with us,” the girl said. “Banikon! Take five others and find the cow. Bring back as much as ye can carry. Hurry it up.”

  Without a word, one of the boys chose five children, and they slipped into the forest as silent as shadows.

  The remaining Stranders—Janner counted eleven—gathered the Igibys’ packs and weapons and rifled through them, pocketing food and matches and whatever else they fancied. To Janner’s relief, they showed little interest in the First Book, the whistleharp, and Tink’s sketchbook.

  When the girl was satisfied the packs were sufficiently plundered, she tossed them back to the Igibys. Then she approached Podo with a wary eye and yanked her dagger from his peg leg. “Come on, then. Camp ain’t far.”

  At a nod from Podo, the Igibys and Oskar followed. If Podo was taking orders, then these Strander children were dangerous indeed, Janner thought.

  They varied in age and size. Some were boys and some were girls, though the girls carried themselves like no girl Janner had ever seen. He was certain that, girl or boy, the Strander children were all deadly accurate with their daggers.

  Whenever Podo or Nia tried to communicate with the Igiby children, the girl leader hissed and waved her knife. Leeli bore up like the princess she was, hurrying along on her crutch without complaint, and to the Stranders’ credit, they allowed Podo and Janner to take turns carrying her on their backs from time to time.

  Within the hour, Janner smelled smoke and spotted signs of a camp not far away. Several figures around the fire stood and peered into the trees at their approach. They were filthy, bedraggled, and seemed content to be so. Janner could see the Mighty River Blapp not far away, wide and quiet.

  “Have you got it?” asked one of the men.

  “Yes and no,” answered the girl. “May we come near?”

  No one said a word. Janner glanced at his family and saw fear on all their faces, except Podo, whose jaw was set and whose eyes glinted like hot metal. The Strander children stood in silence around the Igibys, looking back and forth between the man at the fire and the girl.

  “And who’ve ye got with ye?” asked the man.

  “Don’t know. Found ‘em not far from here.”

  “And you found the meat, did ye?”

  “I already said I did.”

  The man at the fire tilted his head, in anger or admiration, Janner couldn’t tell. “All right, then. Come near.”

  The Strander children slipped in among the adults. If they had parents, it didn’t show; none of the children hugged or greeted anyone. They stood near the fire with half-hidden smiles and held out their hands to the flame.

  “So where’s the food, Maraly?” the man asked the girl.

  “On its way. Sent Banikon with a company to fetch it. Found this lot sleepin’ not far from here. Had weapons, they did.”

  Another of the children dumped the swords, knives, bows, and arrows to the ground.

  “We don’t aim to stay long,” Podo said. “You can keep the weapons and whatever supplies ye like.”

  The man approached. A long beard hung from his face in matted locks that looked like a cluster of dead brown snakes. He wore his hair tied back, revealing a high, dirty forehead with a jagged scar across it.

  “Listen,” Podo said. “We don’t want to trouble ye. We’re headin’ to Dugtown, and we’d like to be on our way.”

  The dirty man straightened to his full height, a hand taller than Podo, and looked down into the old pirate’s face. “You’ll be on your way when I say ye can be on your way. Move over to the fire and make yourselves comfortable. There’s much to be done.”

  He turned away and barked at his clan. “Tie ‘em up!”

  The other Stranders rushed forward. They pushed and tugged, laughed and spat at the Igibys as they moved them to the fire and tied their hands behind their backs. The Igibys sat on a bench near the fire while the Stranders went about their business, either punching one another in the shoulder in some kind of game, sharpening daggers, or making awful faces at the children to see if they could make them cry.

  Janner admired Tink’s restraint. He knew his little brother could make ugly faces with the best of them, but he chose to stare at the fire instead. Two of the men erected a spit above the fire, flashing black-toothed grins at the children. Janner noticed hundreds of bones in the dirt around the fire pit, some of them tiny fishbones, some of them as long as his arm. It explained why the animals in the forest had been so scarce. He saw the skulls of bumpy digtoads, toothy cows, and daggerfish half buried in the ashes and dirt. There were no human skulls, but with the hungry way the Stranders looked at them, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

  “They didn’t tie our ankles,” Tink said quietly, “but I suppose it’s no good trying to run away, is it?”

  “No, son,” said Nia. “They know these woods. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “We could fight,” Leeli said. “Or you could fight. I wouldn’t be much help. But if you could get your hands free, the weapons are right over there.”

  “I appreciate the notion of fightin’ as much as anyone,” said Podo, “but as long as they don’t mean to cook us on the spit, I think we’ll do best to take things slow for now.”

 
They sat that way for hours, uncomfortable, hungry, and thirsty. The presence of the Blapp a short distance away acted as a constant reminder that they hadn’t had anything to drink since breakfast.

  When at last the sun set, the Strander children returned with the toothy cow. They had cut the meat from its bones and carried it in sacks, which they dumped out on a canvas beside the fire. Like flies to old food, the Stranders gathered around the flames. The man with the beard appeared with a barrel, and the Stranders cheered. The two men who had erected the spit skewered hunks of toothy cow meat and hung them over the fire, where they steamed and hissed, producing a surprisingly delicious smell.

  “Might as well let ye have a bite and a swallow,” said a voice just behind the Igibys. “It might be yer last.” The leader of the Stranders freed each of their hands, then leaned over Podo. “Ye seem the type that’ll know this to be true: if you try and run, we’ll kill you and toss yer bodies into the Blapp. Understand?”

  Podo looked like he wanted to punch the man in the nose, but he nodded.

  “Good,” the Strander said.

  The girl Maraly appeared with a basket of odd-sized bowls and cups, filled them with liquid from the barrel, and passed them around. Janner sniffed the drink in his bowl. It smelled sweet and warm, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to try it. He heard a slurping sound on his right and turned to see that Tink had already finished off his cup.

  “What does it taste like?” Janner asked.

  “It tastes wet. Who cares? I was thirsty.” Tink held out his cup for more. Maraly looked to the shaggy-bearded man, who nodded, and she refilled Tink’s cup.

  The Stranders were laughing and clapping and telling stories just like the Dugtowners that came to Glipwood on Dragon Day, and, as on Dragon Day, Janner found it hard not to like them for it. They seemed not to have a care in the world.

  When the meat was declared done, two men removed the skewer from the fire and passed it around. The Stranders tore the brown, juicy meat from the stick and devoured it like dogs, smacking and sucking their teeth in a way that disgusted Janner and made him hungry. He couldn’t believe toothy cow meat could smell so good.