North! Or Be Eaten

by Andrew Peterson

  Many Grey Fangs had gathered at the mouth of the tunnel when they heard the frantic voice of the Stone Keeper from within. Artham saw their silhouettes clogging the exit, saw their wolf ears twitching. He lowered his head and slammed into them before they knew what they were seeing. He was running so fast that he had only to spread his wings and he lifted over the ferry, swooped high above the strait, and glided in a slow circle above the island.

  The tiny figures of the Stone Keeper and her Grey Fangs emerged from the cavern and gathered quickly into companies. Artham realized his vision was clearer, more precise than it had ever been. He could see the Grey Fangs’ yellow eyes, the flecks of seashell embedded in the stone walls of the fort. The turrets crawled with gray beasts, organizing themselves much faster than any green-scaled Fangs that Artham had ever seen. An arrow whizzed past, and he saw with alarm that a regiment of archers had him in their sights.

  He clutched Tink’s furry, trembling body close to his chest. “Let’s go find your family, your highness,” Artham said with a smile.

  He drew in his wings and dove like a hawk, straight for the fort. The alarm on the Grey Fangs’ faces was worth the risk. He spread his wings at the last moment and skimmed above their heads in a blur. The Grey Fangs ducked and scattered.

  Artham’s momentum carried him in a graceful arc over the strait to the rocky coast of Skree. He followed the mountainous coastline until the land flattened, white with the snow of the Ice Prairies.

  An armada of warships lined the icy coast—a hundred at least. The trampled snow around the ships gathered into a wide path that scarred the perfect surface of the Ice Prairies. The path led northeast, and he knew the Grey Fangs marched on Kimera. Down he soared until he flew just a few feet above the snow, following the contour of the prairie as it rose and fell in gentle, pristine drifts.

  Artham’s eyes watered from the wind and from the speed and from the magnificent beauty of the land arrayed below him. Water streaked from the corners of his eyes toward his ears and, in the vicious cold, froze into silvery jewels.

  He would have to write a poem about this.

  60

  Secrets in the Snow

  The many hours Janner spent bound and gagged in the cell with his family were maddening. He pushed at the gag with his tongue, but it held fast no matter how hard he tried. They all looked at him with confusion and glimmers of hope, but they couldn’t understand his grunts, and he couldn’t understand theirs.

  He still wasn’t sure how the images worked. Had he seen things as they actually were or images that merely hinted at the truth? At the Fork Factory, when he had seen the vision of Leeli in the mountains, had that been a picture of where she was actually standing, or was it only a representation of her surroundings, as in a dream? The pictures swirled and moved, but they always had the look of a well-framed illustration in one of his picture books.

  Could that explain the unbelievable thing he had just seen?

  It was Peet—but it wasn’t Peet. The Peet in his vision had great, feathered wings and soared like a lone fendril across wide drifts of snow. His face was handsome and bold, not like the haggard, jumpy Sock Man Janner had come to know. Maybe it was a metaphor. Maybe Peet was running—flying—to the Ice Prairies, and Janner’s mind had added the wings.

  Janner had seen something in Peet’s arms, too, and though he didn’t see it clearly, he was certain it was Tink. Again and again Janner closed his eyes and reconstructed the vision, willing himself to catch every detail, but he only saw a fuzzy blur in Peet’s arms. Despite this, in the deepest part of his heart, he knew it was Tink.

  After much grunting and head nodding, Janner communicated to Leeli that she should hum her song again. She tried several times, but as before, nothing happened.

  The thrill of Janner’s vision faded, and the hours slogged by, until heads drooped and some of them dozed.

  At last, the door opened and Gammon looked them over.

  “Brogman, loose them from the bench, but keep their hands bound. And keep them gagged.”

  Another bearded mountain of a man entered the room and untied their lashes from the bench. With a rope, he strung the seven of them together in a train with Podo at the front. He left one of Leeli’s arms free so she could walk with her crutch and lashed her other wrist to the train.

  “Tie the knot well, Brogman,” said Gammon. When Brogman finished, Gammon looked the rope over and inspected each of the knots. When he was satisfied, he led them in single file through Kimera. The snow city was quiet as a tomb. Every room was empty.

  They stopped at the foot of a graceful stairway that curved upward to a high ceiling, the same stairway Nia had ascended the night Janner arrived. A pile of furs lay at the foot of the stair. The two men guarding the staircase draped fine coats of fur over the company’s shoulders and even wrapped scarves around the women’s necks.

  “It’s cold outside,” Gammon said with a smile.

  Behind Brogman’s yellow beard, his face twitched with apprehension.

  “Fear not, Brogman,” said Gammon, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m not afraid, sir. Just eager.” Brogman’s smile was fierce.

  Gammon looked the Igibys over one last time, and his gaze lingered on Maraly. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, friends.”

  Janner glared at him. How could he call them friends when he was about to do this terrible thing? Maraly looked at Gammon with deepest hatred, and Janner’s head spun with his treachery. He couldn’t believe he would sacrifice her along with the rest of them. She had nothing to do with Anniera! And Gammon had spoken to her so kindly before.

  “The army is gathered, and they await my delivery of the jewels. Brogman, be sure you lead them exactly to the place I showed you. That’s where the Grey Fangs are expecting them, understand?”

  Brogman nodded and said, “All right then, up you go.”

  Gammon stood at the foot of the stairs and watched them. Janner met his eyes, intending to give him a look of loathing he would never forget—but Gammon winked. Janner’s anger faded to confusion. He studied Gammon’s face but saw nothing but the same cold indifference, and he wondered if the wink had been nothing but a nervous tic.

  Light flooded the stair as the trapdoor raised. Podo walked proudly into the bright day of their betrayal. From the back of the train, all Janner could see was light. Lumps of snow spilled into the tunnel and poofed on the steps. Sunlight blinded him, but with his hands bound to the train rope, he was unable to shield his eyes. He heard the wind howl and the crunch of their footsteps as Brogman led them through the snow to the place Gammon had designated.

  When at last Janner could see, he wished he could not. Spread before them like a giant gray carpet was an army of wolves.

  In Glipwood, when Janner was younger, Nugget and a stray dog had crossed paths and fought over a hogpig bone. Janner tried to separate them and was bitten. He never forgot the way the stray bared its long teeth, the way its lips curled back and its nose glistened. Thousands of Grey Fangs bared their teeth in the same savage manner.

  And if that weren’t enough, they also carried swords.

  The Grey Fangs stood in ranks. They weren’t the unruly, undisciplined Fangs Janner was used to; they had calm, intelligent eyes, and at the front of each company stood a Grey Fang that was clearly in command. To the southeast snaked a wide swath of tracks the army had made as it traversed the Ice Prairies from the Phoob Islands.

  Between the Igibys and the Fangs stood no more than twenty Kimeran warriors. Janner recognized Olfin and Urland, the two men who had lost their families. Their weapons shone, and their beards whipped in the wind. Fierce as they appeared, the Kimerans were so few that Janner pitied them even though they meant to hand him and his family over. Did Gammon really believe the Fangs would evacuate Skree? Even Janner knew the beasts were not to be trusted. As soon as the Jewels of Anniera were in the keeping of the Grey Fangs, the wolves would turn on the Kimerans and the rebellion would be squas
hed. What little hope remained for Skree—and for Anniera, for that matter—would be extinguished.

  Janner scanned the white horizon for any sign of Peet and Tink, but he only saw blinding snow. His vision had been clear—Peet was coming. But when? Would he come swooping in to save them as he had so many times before? Not with so many Fangs so near, not if these new beasts were as capable as they seemed. It would be better if Peet and Tink stayed far, far away until the battle was finished. At least that way they would remain free. And yet Janner ached to see his uncle and brother again. He couldn’t keep his eyes from the snowy hills.

  “We have them!” cried Brogman. “Into whose charge do we deliver the Jewels of Anniera?”

  Where is Gammon? Janner wondered. Why is this man Brogman doing all the talking?

  “Mine!” answered one of the Grey Fangs as it strode forward with a hooded figure at its side, struggling to keep up. They passed between the Kimeran men without even glancing at them and approached Janner and the others. The Grey Fang’s voice was deep and husky, not the dry crackle of the snakemen, and its face was a terrible thing, yellow-eyed and unnatural. The nose at the end of the short snout was black and shiny; the ears stood at attention.

  “My name is Timber,” it said to Brogman. “I command these troops.” It sniffed the air around Janner, Leeli, and Maraly. “These are the children, then?”

  Maraly shook her head and grunted.

  The Fang turned to the hooded figure. “Is it them, Zigrit?”

  The figure raised its trembling arms and drew back the hood. Two black eyes set in a green, scaly face stared down at the children. Frost lined its mouth, and its long yellow fangs chattered in the cold.

  “Y-y-y-esssss,” it answered without looking twice at Maraly. The creature was miserable, and Janner saw that, indeed, ordinary Fangs would never have survived a battle in the Ice Prairies.

  “The Jewels of Anniera,” said Brogman, “safe and hale, as Gammon promised.” Brogman’s fingers twitched, and Janner thought of a cat about to spring. What was happening?

  “And what of the girl?” asked Timber, narrowing his eyes.

  “Er, girl?” Brogman faltered.

  “This one,” said Timber. The Fang placed a paw on the back of Maraly’s neck and jerked her face toward Brogman. “This is not Kalmar Wingfeather, as promised.”

  Brogman’s eyes shot nervously to the trapdoor.

  “It’s not as easy as you might think to fool the Grey Fangs,” said Timber. “I received word by a crow just this morning that Gammon had only two of the jewels. Thank you, Urland.”

  The man called Urland edged away from the other Kimerans. The men growled at him as if they were Fangs themselves.

  “You?” spat Brogman. “Gammon knew there were spies, but you?”

  Urland looked like a mouse in a corner.

  “It’s not just Urland,” said Timber. “There are several. Gnag has known the details of your rebellion for years. Gammon is not as shrewd a leader as he thinks he is.”

  Timber growled and bared his teeth at the warrior, then spun around and said, “Triffin! Bring two soldiers and seize these prisoners.”

  Three Grey Fangs pushed through the Kimerans.

  Janner waited for Podo to break his bonds, or for Peet to appear, or even for a grimace of snickbuzzards to flap down and provide the distraction they needed to do something. But this time there would be no rescuer. This time they were caught—not just by one enemy but two.

  Leeli leaned her head against Nia’s side. Podo turned and looked at his family. He nodded at Oskar and Maraly and shrugged. He didn’t seem sad, but he didn’t seem ready to fight, either. The old pirate could see, Janner figured, that they were out of options and it was best to go without contest. That Tink at least would be free brought Janner some pleasure.

  Three Grey Fangs marched straight to Podo and threw a sack over his head, then did the same to Oskar and Nia. Janner’s heart raced. All the running, all the struggle and desperate clinging to the hope that they might one day escape—all of it came to this. They would be bound, gagged, and hooded in the company of those meant to protect them.

  “Cease, I say!” said a voice from the stairway. “Proceed not in thy fur-fingered dealings! Forthwith!”

  The Grey Fang about to place the sack over Leeli’s head stopped cold. Its ears flattened, and it growled.

  Janner turned to see a caped figure leap from the tunnel stairway. He was dressed in black from head to toe and whipped a sword about in the air like he was swatting flies.

  “The F-f-f-lorid S-s-sword!” chattered the scaled Fang.

  Brogman yanked a leather strap that dangled from Podo’s wrists, and his bonds fell to the snow. Janner felt his own come untied as well and saw that each of their knots were loosed by the one strap. He and the others freed their hands and ripped the gags away.

  “Aha!” said the Florid Sword. “‘Tis I, ‘tis I! And no sooner would I sprout fur and fangs than to allow thy flea-bitten hides to harm these, the Jewels of the Shining Isle! Now is the time of our mighty triumph! Now is the fruition of our many dazzling hopes in the yellowy sunlight of this bright and snowy day in the Ice Prairies of prairiness! Avast!”

  When he finished speaking, there was no sound in all the Ice Prairies but the whistle of the wind. Thousands of Grey Fangs, a handful of Kimeran warriors, and the Igibys were busy sorting out in their minds what in the world the Florid Sword had just said.

  “Gammon?” Janner said hesitantly.

  “Aha!” The Florid Sword smiled.

  “Who is this fool?” demanded Timber. “What’s happening?”

  “Kimerans!” bellowed the Florid Sword. “Make war! Loose the river!”

  A thunderous crunch rang out, and the ground shook. Timber spun around, too frazzled to know whether to strike Gammon, seize the Jewels of Anniera, or command his troops.

  Janner watched as the many columns of Grey Fangs broke formation and scattered. Enormous, jagged hunks of ice burst into the air and sent the wolves flying, hundreds of them disappearing beneath the surface. When the ice boulders fell, great plumes of water exploded and broke more of the ice away. Ear-shattering cracks appeared all about them, and soon Janner saw the shape of the great river snaking in a tight, graceful curve around Kimera.

  Several trapdoors flew open, some directly beneath the Grey Fangs nearest the city. Out of the snow and into the ranks of the walking wolves streamed a thousand screaming Skreeans, young men and women, clad in shining silver armor and wielding swords. Among them appeared chorkneys, harnessed to boggans four at a time. Warriors crouched on the boggans with reins in one hand and swords in the other as the large birds pulled the warriors into the fray, snapping at the Grey Fangs as they ran.

  The clash of steel split the air, and the Battle of Kimera began.

  Timber growled at Gammon and pointed his sword at him. Several of the nearby Kimeran warriors rushed to their leader’s side and leveled their blades at the Grey Fang. Urland stood between the Fangs and the Kimerans with his sword drawn, trembling with fear. He seemed as surprised as anyone that Gammon and the Florid Sword were one and the same.

  Timber looked out at the chaos of his army, howled, and rushed away, bellowing orders as the Kimerans fought to drive his Fangs into the icy waters. Already many of the Grey Fangs had recovered from their shock, and it was clear that soon Timber would have them under his control to counterattack.

  “Give me a blade!” Podo cried. The fever of war was upon him.

  “Nay! Thou must make haste!” said the Florid Sword. “Away, friends, to yon haven!”

  “Speak plainly, Gammon!” Nia snapped. “We don’t have time!”

  “Sorry,” said Gammon with some embarrassment. He knelt before Janner and removed his mask. “Sorry about all the secrets, lad. I knew there were spies, and I needed the Fangs to believe I intended to hand you over. I didn’t know whom to trust, and too much could go wrong if they found me out. Maraly, it’s to you that I’m espe
cially sorry. If you’d still like to stay, I ‘d like to take you in. There’s a place for you here.” Maraly’s eyes were daggers. “If not, I wish you a fine journey across the Dark Sea of Darkness.”

  “What?” she said.

  “That’s where you’re headed. A ship is waiting. These Annierans can’t stay here. They’ll bring me nothing but more trouble, and I’ve a feeling that once they’re gone, Gnag’s concern with Skree will go with it. I don’t think the Fangs will leave without a fight, but I don’t think they’ll fight half so hard if the Jewels of Anniera have left. So I’ve arranged a crew and passage to wherever the old sailor wants to go.”

  “Are there enough supplies to get to the Green Hollows?” Nia asked.

  “The ship is well stocked. All your things are there, too. I don’t know how this battle will go, my lady, so I’d be off if I were you. Decide where to go once you hit the water.”

  “We’ll stay and fight, Gammon!” Podo growled.

  “No, he’s right, Papa,” said Nia. “This is no place for the children.”

  Howls filled the air. Timber and a company of Fangs charged at full speed for the little band of warriors that surrounded the Igibys.

  “No time,” said Gammon with a wink at Janner. “Have a good voyage. I trust you remember how to sail, old man?”

  A warrior came forward, knelt just behind the Igibys, and fished two leather straps from the snow. “I’ll be your driver,” he said. It was Errol, the Kimeran who had led Janner to his cell.

  “DRIVER? DRIVER OF WHAT?” bellowed Podo. “NO! I CAN’T!”

  “Now!” cried Gammon, and a thunk sounded at Janner’s feet. “Maraly?” Gammon held out his hand. She hesitated for a split second but took it. Janner smiled at her, and when she smiled back he saw not a Strander but a girl who had found a home.

  “Gammon, give me a blade! I can’t go to the sea!” cried Podo with real fear in his voice.