North! Or Be Eaten

by Andrew Peterson

  Janner didn’t understand what he meant, but Gammon’s eyes were sincere and sad. Podo studied the other man’s face for a moment, then nodded stiffly, and Gammon left.

  The company sat at the table in silence. The roar of the great fire, the laughter and conversation from the nearby tables, the clatter of spoon on bowl—all mocked the terrible thing Gammon had said. Tink was gone. Janner felt foolish for allowing himself to hope that his brother might be saved. He hung his head.

  “I know somethin’ about the Phoobs,” Maraly said.

  “What might that be, dear?” said Oskar.

  “What do you know?” Leeli asked, sounding like her mother.

  “I heard me pa say the Black Carriage sometimes went there instead of Lamendron. Said the Fangs had some new plan. Might be that Kalmar is there. I still say nobody could ever escape the Carriage, but—” She paused and cocked her head sideways.

  “But what?” Leeli said.

  “Nobody’s ever escaped before, but then, nobody’s ever had help.” She shrugged. “Maybe we could go get ‘im. Wouldn’t mind finishin’ that tackleball game we started at the East Bend.”

  Podo smiled. And like a cloud slipping aside to allow sunlight through, the shadow of Gammon’s words drifted away, and hope returned.

  “Let’s find Nia,” Podo said. “I don’t know what we’ll do or how we’ll do it, but we’re gonna get me boy back, with or without Gammon’s help.”

  58

  Gammon’s Bargain

  The first time she tried it, they were in Podo’s room. Maraly, Oskar, and the Igibys sat in a circle on a rug in the center of the floor. Leeli raised her whistleharp to her lips and played a reel called “Shovel the Hay, It’s Donkey Food.” Janner clamped his eyes shut and thought about Tink. In the darkness of his vision, he saw geometric shapes drift and blossom, but nothing special happened. When Leeli had played the song through a third time, he gave up.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Maybe I’m not playing well enough,” Leeli said.

  “No, you’re playing it just fine,” Nia said. “Perfectly.”

  “Maybe it has to be a certain song,” Oskar suggested. “What about the one from the First Book?”

  “Or the one you played for Nugget. Do you remember that one?” Janner asked.

  “I remember it exactly,” Leeli said.

  “Try it, dear,” Nia said.

  Once again she played, and though it brought back to Janner’s mind all the memories of that day on the cliffs when he had first heard the sea dragons in his head, he saw nothing.

  He opened his eyes to find them all looking at him. “Sorry,” he said, and they bowed their heads with disappointment.

  “Maybe we should leave you two alone,” Nia said.

  They filed out of the room, leaving Leeli and Janner facing each other on the rug. Leeli played song after song, and Janner thought so hard that his head hurt. But nothing happened. They found the others in Oskar’s room, and they leapt to their feet when Janner and Leeli entered.

  “It’s not working,” Janner said. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ve been talkin’, lad,” said Podo, “and it makes no difference either way. We’re gonna go get ‘im. All of us.”

  “All of us?”

  “Aye. Seems to me that every time this family splits up, bad things happen. We’ll head south again, then figure out what to do next. Maybe we’ll head to the Phoob Islands.” Podo cleared his throat and glanced away. “I remember there’s a fort there. That must be where, the Fang outpost is—though it doesn’t make much sense. Last time I was there, it was white with snow and sea foam. Not a likely place where the lizard men would be able to survive, but Gammon said these were different, that Gnag’s enlisted another breed of Fang that can kick the cold. Point is, we can’t sit here and do nothin’. Let’s go get yer brother.”

  “Yes sir,” Janner said, then he ran to Podo and hugged him tight.

  “When do we leave?” Leeli asked.

  “First thing in the morning,” Nia said. “We need to arrange with Gammon for the use of a few boggans and a team of chorkneys.”

  “Chorkneys?” Janner said.

  Leeli’s eyes glowed. “I have to show you! They’re beautiful, with the softest feathers. The keepers let me feed them sometimes.”

  “There’ll be time for that in the morning,” Nia said. “You children should go to bed. I’ll stock the packs and make ready so we can get an early start in the morning.”

  Janner told Maraly and Leeli good night and went to his room, where he lay under his covers and stared at the icy ceiling. The frustration about the song was gone. The regret that he would be so soon in leaving the comforts of Kimera was gone. His heart sang with the hope that there was even the faintest chance he would see his little brother again.

  At last, he slept.

  A knock at the door woke him. Janner sat up and rubbed his eyes, remembering at once that the journey awaited. He threw on his clothes, grabbed the fur coat from the hook, and flung open the door. His smile vanished.

  A Kimeran stood before him, his long beard caked with ice. He was out of breath, and he wore a burly gray fur coat that hung to the floor.

  “What is it?” Janner asked.

  “Sorry,” the man said, and he lunged forward and tied Janner’s arms behind his back before the boy knew what was happening.

  He pushed Janner ahead of him, past Leeli’s empty room, then Nia’s room, then Podo’s. They were all empty. Podo’s door hung crooked, and his bed had been toppled in a struggle.

  “What’s happening? Where’s my family? Where’s Gammon?” Janner asked, but the man said nothing.

  They passed the big doors to the dining hall and snaked through the iceways of Kimera, past storefronts cut into the ice, past kitchens and dwellings where children played. Whenever they met Kimerans, they looked confused and backed against the wall so Janner and his captor could pass. Finally, they rounded a corner, and Janner saw him, flanked by a small company of armed Kimerans.

  “Gammon!” he cried. “What’s happening? Where is my family?”

  “It’s all right, lad. It’ll be fine. I just can’t let you leave.” He turned to the man behind Janner. “Thank you, Errol. It’s safe to go inside.”

  “Yes sir,” said Errol, and there was worry in his voice.

  He led Janner into a small chamber. Oskar, Podo, Nia, Leeli, and Maraly sat gagged and lashed to a long bench in the center of the room. Janner noticed Maraly no longer wore a dress but breeches and a coat, just like Janner. The walls were made of stone instead of ice, and a torch sputtered on the wall. When Podo saw Janner, the old man grunted and struggled at his bonds, and Errol tensed.

  “It took four of us to bind him, lad,” said the Kimeran.

  “Nearly killed one of us, even with the bad shoulder,” said another warrior just outside the door. “He’s a strong one, your grandfather.”

  “Why are you—” Janner began, but the man tied a rag around his mouth, and in moments he found himself strapped to the bench beside the others.

  “That will be all, Errol,” said Gammon. “Be sure Elmer and Olsin are well tended to. They took quite a beating.” He lowered his voice. “Then make ready, as we planned.”

  “You’re certain?” asked Errol quietly.

  “Yes. More than ever. Thank you, friend. Be ready.”

  “Yes sir,” said Errol, and the men clasped hands.

  “I didn’t want it to come to this,” Gammon said to the Igibys. “I told you to stay and rest. I told you to make yourselves at home. I told you to give up on Kalmar. But you wouldn’t listen, and there you sit. My men have learned that it’s good to listen to me. Haven’t you, men?”

  “Aye sir,” they said from the hallway.

  “You must understand that I would do anything to protect Skree. I can’t just let you go, not when the Fangs are expecting me to deliver you. If I thought there was any other way but to hand you over, I’d set you free. Bu
t it’s you Gnag wants, not Skree. All I have to do is give you to him and he’s agreed to leave these lands. Call me evil if you like, but the greater evil is the suffering you brought to my country. Do you need me to convince you?” Gammon placed a foot on the bench where they sat. “Olfin, Urland, come here!”

  Two of the big men from the hallway stepped inside the chamber.

  “Olfin lost his parents to the Fang invasion. Burned his home, killed all his livestock. Urland has a similar story. Don’t you, Urland?”

  “Aye sir. My whole village was razed. I’ll be right glad when you turn this lot over to the Fangs, sir.”

  Gammon spread his hands and smiled. Sent word by crow as soon as we arrived that the Jewels of Anniera were caught at last.”

  Podo, Janner, and Maraly all growled and struggled. Janner was tired of betrayal. He was beginning to believe that no one in all of Aerwiar was trustworthy. The older he got, the more the world proved itself a crooked place.

  Beware, said the sea dragon, and now Janner knew. It was Gammon all along; Gammon who wanted to use the young ones for his own ends. And Janner had been too foolish to see it. He had followed the man right into Kimera.

  “I had a farm,” said Gammon. Janner grew still. He tried to imagine Gammon without his black clothes and commanding presence. He pictured him with a hoe and a straw hat, but it was so ridiculous that he snorted.

  Gammon shot a look at Janner. “Funny, is it?” he said, and Janner feared the man would strike him. But Gammon chuckled. “I suppose it is. I must tell you; I’m a much better soldier than I was a farmer. I could hardly grow a totato bigger than a grape. But my wife, Yona, could turn even the smallest totatoes into a fine meal. When the Fangs came, my poor Yona was killed. They left me my daughter,” he said, glancing at Maraly, “who would have been about your age, lass. But a year later the Black Carriage came and tore her from my arms. That day I swore I would serve Skree. I would do whatever it took to set my land free. Do you understand? I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Janner stared at him with a confusion of sympathy and outrage.

  “I don’t know why Gnag the Nameless wants you.” Gammon shrugged. “And I don’t really care. I didn’t even believe Anniera was real until you showed up here. But if I can use you to banish this evil from my country, then I will do so. At least this way your capture will mean something. Take heart in that.”

  He knelt in front of Maraly. “I’m sorry, lass, but sometimes things must be done whether you like it or not. You’ll have to pass for the other boy.” Gammon placed a hand on her shoulder. She thrashed like a wild animal, and Gammon recoiled. He straightened and said, “That’s all. I’ll send for you when the time comes. The Fangs will be here soon.”

  They sat for a long time, listening to the sputter of the torch and one another’s breathing. They each took a turn twisting their arms to loosen the bonds, but it was no use. Soon the silence was broken by sniffles, and Janner saw Leeli was crying. Nia tried to talk to her through the gag, but it was no use.

  When Leeli’s tears ebbed, she began to hum. She had no whistleharp, and she could form no words, but the melody that emerged dripped with weariness and sorrow. The song filled the chamber, and all their hearts—even Maraly’s—resonated with it. Janner looked at each of them in turn and saw their cheeks were wet. Janner closed his eyes—and saw bright colors.

  His mind was vivid with swirls and bursts of movement. He soared across the steeps of the Stony Mountains, so close to a grimace of snickbuzzards that he saw the tiniest feathers on their rumpled necks. Then he swooped down, past a foraging bomnubble, across the foothills and south of the Barrier to the Mighty Blapp River. He felt the vision heading south toward Glipwood, but he remembered from the maps where the Phoob Islands lay, and he pressed his mind eastward. The image responded, and his view swung left. He skimmed the tops of the glipwood trees and caught glimpses of the river below, until the land fell away and he beheld the chaos of Fingap Falls.

  He guided the image north and east over the Dark Sea of Darkness until he saw a cluster of brown islands just off the coast of Skree. Closer he flew to the islands, until he could make out the masts of ships and gray shapes moving on their decks. He wanted to move closer, and he pressed his mind that way, but the image seemed to resist, and he remembered his mother’s words: “That you can see these things when she plays is a gift. Never try to become its master, but serve it. Allow it to be what the Maker meant it to be.”

  Janner let go and allowed the image to go where it wanted. He heard dimly the notes of Leeli’s song, and he prayed she would keep humming. He sensed he was close to something.

  The image sped past the islands, north along the coast, where the Stony Mountains spilled their giant crags into the sea, until the land whitened with snow. The flat nothingness of the Ice Prairies stretched away to the horizon, and Janner wondered what he was meant to see.

  Then he detected a speck on the horizon. The image whooshed nearer with every note of Leeli’s song, and the speck grew in size until Janner saw what it was. It was such a shocking, baffling sight that he cried out, and when he did, Leeli’s song cut short and the spell was broken.

  Janner opened his eyes and saw only the gray stones of the cell, but what he had seen in his vision was burned into his mind. It sent a violent shiver through his body and a jubilant cry out of his mouth. He sat on the bench in his bonds, bouncing up and down like a toddler throwing a happy fit.

  “MMMT!” he said through the gag. “MMMK! MMMT!”

  They looked at him like he was mad, half concerned and half amused by the joy on his face.

  “MMMK!” he said again and again. They couldn’t understand him, but he didn’t care. He laughed and whooped and shook his head with wonder. Every time he calmed down enough to see the looks on his family’s faces, their confusion was so delightful that it sent him into another fit of joy.

  What is it? their faces asked. What did you see?

  He could hardly wait to tell them.

  59

  The Transformation

  Artham pressed his feet against the cage door and his back against the rear bars. He clenched his teeth, clamped his eyes shut, and pushed with all the strength in his heart. The eerie melody filled his ears, and above it he heard one of the Grey Fangs shout, “Eyes on the birdman! He’s trying to break the cage!”

  Artham felt hairy paws on his arms and legs, and more than once the butt of a spear smashed into his face, but he mustered his strength again and pressed. The bars of the cage were as thick, but Artham felt the tiniest give and it renewed his strength. Again and again pain flowered in his face as the Fangs tried to stop him. The bones in his knees and back throbbed and threatened to break if he pressed any harder. The melody from the chamber swelled, and even with his eyes closed he saw the bright flash of light.

  “Esben!” he screeched, and in a loud voice he sang along with the melody that came from within the box, the melody he had tried so many years to quiet. He could run no more from his darkness.

  The voices in his head that cried coward and weakling drew back into the shadows. He knew he was those things but feared them no longer. Then another voice spoke. It called him throne warden and protector and uncle, and at last he believed it.

  A surge of power ran hot through his bones. With one final shove, the cage splintered into pieces. Grey Fangs tumbled backward. Bent steel littered the floor.

  Artham P. Wingfeather stood in the center of the debris, bloodied and panting, eyes ablaze.

  He was aware of an odd sensation in his back and wondered if he had broken some of his ribs. Children from the Carriage scattered to the corners of the cavern, while the Grey Fangs recoiled and whined like puppies.

  Artham drew in a deep breath, spread his arms, and loosed a victorious scream. As he did, two graceful wings unfolded from his back, the feathers damp and glistening. They were dark gray, flecked with white and speckled eyelets of the brightest crimson. Though they were still sharp as
knives, his talons had narrowed and lengthened enough that they felt more like hands and less like claws.

  Artham felt lighter and stronger, and for the first time in nine years, his mind was clear and sure. The words to a hundred of his own poems scrolled across his memory; he saw faces of old friends, battles he had fought, and even the most terrible moments of his life—and yet he remained himself. The wild animal inside that he had struggled so long to kill pulsed with power, but it was no longer his master. He rode the pain like a knight rides a horse.

  He spread his wings and leapt twenty feet into the air, over the heads of cowering Fangs, to the dais. He landed with sure feet and tore open the iron door.

  “Tink! Kalmar!” he cried into the darkness.

  Smoke wafted out. He folded his wings and entered the chamber.

  “Kalmar!” he whispered.

  He was answered by a whine from somewhere in the corner. Artham reached into the smoky blackness until he felt a furry arm. It trembled, damp and hot to the touch. The creature whined again.

  “Hush, lad,” said Artham. “I’ve got you. Your uncle Artham has got you. This story will end well. I don’t know how, but things will be made right. Come on.”

  Artham lifted the trembling thing and held it in his arms. He moved to the doorway and peered outside. The Grey Fangs had found their feet, but none seemed ready to attack the wild man who had just broken a cage to bits. Then a voice came from deep in the box.

  “You’re too late, Throne Warden. The boy is gone and a new thing has come,” the Stone Keeper said. “Sing the song of the ancient stones and the blood of the beast imbues your bones.”

  Artham paused at the door. He flexed his neck, shook the feathers of his mighty wings, and turned to the woman, barely visible at the back of the box.

  “You call that poetry?” he said.

  With Tink unconscious in his arms, Artham stepped to the edge of the dais and leapt into the air. His great wings beat the air and carried the two of them over the heads of the astounded Grey Fangs, even as the Stone Keeper emerged and ordered the Fangs to pursue. He landed lightly at the mouth of the tunnel from whence the Black Carriage had come, folded his wings, and sped toward the surface.