North! Or Be Eaten

by Andrew Peterson

  Janner felt a rush of relief, and all his suspicions about this man in black vanished. He nodded at Gammon and shook his hand.

  53

  A Grimace of Snickbuzzards

  When Maraly woke to find a man in her company, she shrieked, leapt to her feet, and would have flung her dagger at him if he hadn’t sprung forward and seized her wrist. Only after Janner assured her that he was a friend did her snarling cease and Gammon release her.

  “You’re strong for a girl,” said Gammon.

  “Girl or boy makes no difference to a Strander,” she said gruffly as she snapped her dagger into its sheath. But it was clear the compliment made her proud.

  “We could use more like you in Kimera. Strong and quick and willing to fight when the time comes. That’s why all of Skree is in this mess, after all.”

  “Because no one fought when the Fangs came?” Janner asked.

  “Aye. My countrymen scattered like hens in a coop.” He winked at Janner. “But in a few days’ time, we’ll see another kind of scattering. I’ve a plan that just might save us all.”

  “What plan?” Janner asked.

  Gammon paused, and Janner again thought he saw a shadow pass over his face.

  “I can’t exactly say. Nine years of slipping in and out of lower Skree, dodging Fangs and trolls at every turn, makes a man keep his secrets in his own head. Migg Landers is a fine example of that. He was loyal to me for years, but men have a way of wearing down. Betrayed you, Ronchy, and me too. Got himself a Fang bite for his trouble. Don’t look so surprised. I know all about what happens in Dugtown, boy. Hardly a troll burps that I don’t find out about it from one of my men. Whatever plan I have, I aim to keep it to myself. But you can trust me—this goes for you too, lass,” he said with a nod to Maraly, whose distrust was plain on her face. “You won’t find another fella more eager to get these Fangs out of Skree, nor a man more loyal to his land.”

  Janner was convinced, and even had he not been, he still would have fallen in with Gammon just to make it safely through the mountains to his family.

  “I can see from the way you two are eying each other that you need to have a talk,” Gammon said. “I’ll move on to the north side of the lake and wait for you there. But don’t take too long. The far slope of the Witch’s Nose is a bad place to be after dark.”

  Gammon strode away until the furs on his back gave him the look of a bear moving along the water line.

  “Are you worried?” Janner asked. He trusted Gammon, but he cared a great deal what Maraly thought. She was shrewd and had far more experience around crooked men.

  “Aye. I’m worried,” she said as she kicked dirt over the embers. “Question is, which is more dangerous, the mountains or the man?”

  Janner looked across the lake at Gammon, visible as a small brown patch amidst the rocks. Beyond, in the distance, towered white-toothed Mog-Balgrik. The mountain looked much more dangerous than the man.

  “I just want to get to the Ice Prairies,” Janner said. “Let’s go with him, all right?”

  Maraly sighed. “Aye. But I’ll have me dagger handy.”

  “Good,” Gammon said when they approached a few minutes later, their packs on their backs, furs draped over every inch of their bodies.

  The three of them left the lake and walked into the bitter wind. All that remained of their camp was the bomnubble’s head, upon which a little yellow bird perched and sang.

  The day was clear and cold.

  Janner’s heart fluttered with the thought that he might see his mother as soon as that evening, that he might embrace Leeli and feel Podo’s whiskers against his cheek. But between him and his family lay what seemed an eternal expanse of stone and snow and wind.

  After they pushed through the pass, the ground fell away to reveal a magnificent hollow in the earth. They stood for a few minutes, agape at the airy nothingness before them. Far, far below, a greenish river snaked through the canyon, as narrow as a thread from this height. The walls of the canyon were so steep and smooth that not even snow found purchase. To the left and right, the Stony Mountains parted so that Janner felt he was looking out at the edge of the universe. On the far side of the canyon the mountains continued, and Mog-Balgrik was their champion. Though the sky was unbearably blue and free of a single wisp of cloud, the peak of the Witch’s Nose pinned a swath of ghostly mist to the heavens.

  “I stop here every time,” said Gammon. The wind whipped locks of black hair across his face, and he held one gloved hand up to shield his eyes from the light. Janner had the feeling he had seen this man before, but he couldn’t place where. Something about his jaw line or the tone of his voice tickled at Janner’s memory. “Grand, isn’t it?”

  Janner and Maraly were speechless.

  Gammon pointed at Mog-Balgrik and grinned. “That’s where we’re headed. I know it looks like we’ll never arrive, but the going is easy until we get to her foot. Then it’s up around her shoulder and down into the Ice Prairies.”

  Janner smiled, but Maraly did not.

  “You all right?” he asked her, then immediately regretted it. Of course she wasn’t all right. With every step, Janner was closer to those who loved him, but Maraly was farther from her only family. The fact that they wanted her dead only made it worse.

  Maraly shrugged. “Well, are we goin’ or not?” she said, then spat. The wind took it, and the three of them watched the little ball of spittle float down into the canyon.

  Gammon led the children along a trail that was barely visible but simple enough to follow, and the company walked eastward around the canyon rim to the north side. Always the drop was to their left, and Janner thought many times of the cliffs at Glipwood and the Glipper Trail just behind the Igiby cottage.

  If someone had told Janner earlier that summer that he would have seen the things he had seen, he would have scoffed. He had braved Fingap Falls, felled Fangs (though not very many) with his bow and arrows, survived the Fork Factory, torn through the empty streets of Dugtown by the light of the torch towers, and now he was deep in the Stony Mountains, covered in wolf skins. Mog-Balgrik was a terrible sight but no more so than many of the things his young eyes had seen. More than ever, though, he ached not for faraway lands or wild adventure but for a fire in the hearth and the sound of laughter—or a bed! Even just a bed would be fine, Janner thought. Something to lay his head on besides a smelly wolf skin and the cold ground.

  The sun sailed across the clear sky and slipped behind a mountain.

  At last the canyon was behind them, and they zigzagged up the face of the Witch’s Nose. Even Gammon was winded, and he stopped every few minutes to allow the children to catch up and find their breath. The trail was littered with shale and pebbles, and the higher they climbed, the more snow was piled above and below.

  “We have to…hurry,” Gammon said between breaths. “It’s not far now.” He pointed to a cluster of boulders above and to the right. “We just have to make it to there; then we circle the mountain and…well, you’ll see. I think you’ll enjoy the last bit of our journey. Quick now! The sun descends!”

  There it is again, Janner thought. That tickle of recognition. He knew he had seen Gammon before—but where?

  Gammon sprang up the face of the mountain toward the boulders. Pebbles clicked and tumbled into snowdrifts below. Janner took a deep breath and followed, Maraly close at his heels. The air was thin, the wind biting, and the first stars shimmered in the air above the great peak.

  At last they reached the boulders. A well-used trail wound between them, and Janner found Gammon resting inside. The rocks provided a buffer from the wind, and after so much time in the great openness of the range, the cleft was a nest of safety.

  “It’s dark, lad. The snickbuzzards will be wheeling.”

  Janner’s face fell. Maraly drew her dagger and clenched her jaw. Gammon nodded at her with admiration. Janner fumbled to find his sword and with a great commotion managed to draw it from the skins draped over his backpack.r />
  “What do we do?” he asked, hating how frightened he sounded.

  “The dusk isn’t gone just yet, so we might get lucky and only see a few birds. Listen close.” Gammon bent over and looked the children in the eye. “Keep as close to me as you can, clear around the mountain. It’s not a short distance, but it’s not too far to run without a rest. Can you keep up?”

  “Yes sir,” said Janner. Maraly nodded and spat again.

  “Once we’re on the east side of the mountain, we’re all but home. We just have to mount the boggan and slide to safety. But as I said, the buzzards will be wheeling. If I were alone, I’d sleep here for the night and press on in the morning. But time is precious, and with you two warriors on guard, I think we’ll make it without a scratch. All clear?”

  “Er,” said Janner, “what’s a boggan?”

  Gammon laughed. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll see soon enough. Get behind me and have your blades drawn. When the snickbuzzards swoop, hack away.”

  “Hack away,” Janner said with a gulp.

  “Hack away,” Gammon repeated, clapping Janner on the shoulder. “You ready, little lady?”

  Maraly narrowed her eyes. “Aye, I’m ready. Killed more snickbuzzards than you, old man. Eaten more too, I’d bet.”

  Gammon straightened with a chuckle. “That you have, lass. I’m certain of it.” He led them through the corridor between the boulders and halted at the exit. “You two ready to run? If we’re lucky, they’ll have soup on the stove for us. There’s always a grand welcome for Skreeans in Kimera.”

  “Ready,” Janner and Maraly said.

  “Now!” Gammon cried, and they burst from their cover.

  They ran through the snow across the face of the mountain for so long that Janner’s chest burned like he had swallowed hot coals. His throat narrowed, and he wheezed like an old man. Maraly passed him just like Tink would have done, and Janner cursed his slow, lanky legs as his two companions raced ahead.

  All that remained of the daylight was a smudge of pale yellow at their backs. Before them, beyond the mountain, stars shone like diamonds, and it was a long time before Janner realized the sky wasn’t obstructed by more mountains. As they rounded Mog-Balgrik, the moon came into view, yellow as a wolf’s eye and casting a rich light over the vast sweep of the Ice Prairies.

  Janner’s vision blurred and his legs trembled. He couldn’t run much longer. He would have to stop for air, and if the snickbuzzards came for him, so be it. Moments before his will was snuffed, he crashed into Maraly and they tumbled into the snow. They came up sputtering, covered with snow and slush.

  “Get up!” Gammon cried. “They’re coming!”

  Janner pushed himself to his feet and pulled Maraly with him. Gammon struggled with an object buried in snow, casting nervous glances at the sky. Janner craned his neck and saw, silhouetted against the blue-black sky, blotting out star after star, a descending cloud of snickbuzzards.

  The three of them stood on the great mountain at the height of the world, knee-deep in snow, blades aglow in the moonlight, and waited for the birds to strike. Janner had one thought as the first snickbuzzard swooped within reach of his blade: What in Aerwiar is a boggan?

  54

  The Ice Prairies

  Thunk!

  The bird split cleanly in two and poofed into the drift beside Janner in a spray of snow and feather. Maraly hissed and flung her dagger at the next snickbuzzard when it was still fifteen feet above them. The bird squawked and tumbled to her feet. She snatched her dagger from its breast and braced herself for the next attack.

  Janner saw buzzard after buzzard wheeling in the sky, black swaths against midnight blue. Except for the sound they made when the children struck, the birds were eerily silent as they circled.

  When the next snickbuzzard dove at Janner, he swung too late. He killed the bird, but its talons found his shoulder and tore through his covering of skins like a knife through paper. He pushed the pain away and readied himself for the next attack, trying not to pay attention to the way his left arm trembled.

  Maraly killed another bird and screamed, “Hurry it up, Gammon!”

  “Got it!” he cried before she finished her sentence. “Get on! Quick!”

  Janner tore his eyes from the sky to find Gammon kneeling at the front of a sort of sled. It was long and flat with no sides, but ropes ran from the rear of the boggan, looping through pulleys and into holes in the curved nose to form what must have been some kind of steering mechanism. Gammon held the ends of the two ropes in one hand and waved the children on with the other.

  Janner halved another snickbuzzard and leapt after Maraly onto the boggan. Maraly knelt behind Gammon, and Janner took the rear.

  “Janner! Pull the anchor!”

  “What? Where?”

  “Hurry!”

  Maraly hissed again, and Janner knew without looking that she had flung her dagger. A dead snickbuzzard crashed into Janner and sent him sprawling. From beneath the smelly pile of feathers, he saw Gammon leap to the rear of the boggan and pull a stick from a hole in the deck. Immediately, the boggan slid forward.

  Janner heaved the dead bird off himself and raised his sword as another bird swooped. A heartbeat later the boggan was carrying Gammon and the children down the slope so fast that snickbuzzards no longer swooped at them but glided right beside the sled. Janner saw by the light of the moon their black eyes set in fleshy sockets; the hard, curved beaks; the featherless necks; the batlike wings. A string of the birds flapped behind the boggan like feathery smoke so that whenever Janner or Maraly killed one, another took its place. Every moment the boggan picked up speed and the snickbuzzards became less interested in their quarry, until finally the birds were gone.

  Janner and Maraly whooped in spite of their exhaustion. They hugged and laughed along with Gammon as the boggan zoomed down the long slope.

  “Well done, little warriors!” he cried.

  Janner and Maraly sheathed their blades and looked out at the Ice Prairies for the first time. Mog-Balgrik’s western slope was formidable, a steep sentinel warning travelers weak of spirit to keep their distance, but if the traveler braved her icy face, the reward was sweet. A long, smooth descent to the frozen desert of the Ice Prairies lay at her back, and to those like Gammon who knew where to find them, boggans hid in the snow to bear them home.

  Janner’s eyes watered, and the wind of their passage deafened him, but he smiled so wide that the muscles in his cheeks throbbed. The moon cooled to white as it climbed, and it lit the ice fields so that Janner could see as clearly as if it were day. For hours the three of them glided down from the mountains, faster than the fastest horse, with a plume of snow arcing behind them like a spray of water. Moonlight caught the flying snow, flashing prisms of color on the prairie surface as they passed. White mice and snow foxes, burrowed beneath the snow for the night, twitched their ears when the boggan zoomed by, thinking that perhaps the Maker had bent low to the earth and whispered, “Shh.”

  Janner slept for a while, and when he woke, the moon looked straight down at him. When he didn’t see Maraly, he gasped and sat up, thinking she had fallen off sometime in the night. Then he heard murmurs from the front of the sled. She knelt next to Gammon and held the ropes as he instructed her in a quiet voice.

  “Don’t pull too hard, now,” he said. “That’s it. See the bank up ahead? Swing us wide around the left side. Good.”

  “Are we close?” Janner asked with a wince. His wounded arm was stiff and stung when he moved. Gammon and Maraly turned, and Janner was surprised to see her smiling.

  “Yes,” Gammon said. “Very close, in fact. See that rise in the distance? Over to the right, just below Tirium?”

  “What’s Tirium?” Janner asked. He could only see moonlit prairie stretching away forever.

  “It’s a constellation, just above the horizon. It makes a triangle—see it?”

  Janner did. Three bright stars, a perfect triangle tilted and slipping into the
horizon, and just below them a gentle slope in the snow.

  “I see it. Is that Kimera?” asked Maraly. Her voice had lost some of its edge. She sounded more like an ordinary girl than a dagger-throwing Strander.

  “That’s Kimera,” Gammon said.

  Janner could hardly contain himself. He was hungry and cold and tired, and he missed his family so much that he felt like he might cry.

  At last Gammon took the ropes and pulled back on them like he was reining up a horse. Something at the back of the boggan shifted, and the sled slowed gently to a stop, just at the foot of the rise Gammon had pointed out.

  “Here we are,” he said with a smile. “Kimera.”

  Janner leapt from the boggan into ankle-deep snow. He expected to see a village, smoke rising from chimneys, yellow lamplight pouring from windows, but he saw nothing but snow. Everywhere he turned was snow, from horizon to horizon. Not even the mountains were visible anymore. Was this a trick? Was that the shadow that had passed across Gammon’s face, that there was no Kimera after all? What if it had been a lie that Podo, Nia, Leeli, and Oskar had found Kimera? Janner couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to believe anything good might happen to him, that anyone might be worthy of his trust. He felt hot tears rise in his chest. He was certain he would never see his family again and that Gammon had planned to turn him over to the Fangs all along.

  “Janner?” said a voice.

  Janner froze.

  “Son?”

  He turned slowly around.

  A wide trapdoor rose from the bed of snow. Yellow light streamed out of the hole, and a figure ascended a long, curved stairway. It was Nia. She wore a green, long-sleeved gown, her wrists and collar adorned with fine white fur, and a gold necklace hung at her neck. After so many hours beneath the cold white stars, sailing on a blanket of blue-white snow, the yellow and gold that surrounded his mother was the most magical color Janner had ever seen. And his mother! She was clean. Her hair was braided into fine, intricate loops that cascaded around her shoulders like a gilded waterfall. She was a queen. If ever Janner had doubted it, now he knew.