by Matthew Cody
“Sitting here,” answered Bandybulb. “Admiring your bravery from afar.”
At the foot of the massive barrow was a small entrance, barely large enough to allow a grown man to enter if he stooped low. It was too dark to see inside.
Carter stepped cautiously into the clearing but stayed well back from the cave. Bandybulb had said the witch couldn’t leave her lair, but Carter didn’t want to take a chance that the kobold might have his information wrong. Bandybulb was Bandybulb, after all.
“Hello?” he called. At first there was no answer, no sound whatsoever from inside the barrow. But he felt something moving around in the darkness. It was a sense in the air, of something large shifting, not unlike the displacement of water when one shifts in the bathtub. It was followed by a loud scraping noise, the sound of something soft and flabby, like heavy flesh dragging across stone. The air coming out of that dark mound smelled like someone’s morning breath.
“Who’s come to visit Roga?” asked a husky voice from within the cave.
“I’ve come to ask Roga a question,” Carter called back, his voice faltering a little. It was hard not to turn and run. He could feel the unspoken menace in the air.
Silence. Then, “Can’t hear you very well, child. Come closer.”
Carter could see Bandybulb in his peripheral vision standing at the edge of the glade and shaking his head emphatically, no.
Not that Carter needed to be told that. “This is as far as I’ll come, I think.”
Then something enormous drew near the cave entrance. Carter couldn’t get a good look—it was too hidden by the deep shadows. But he did get a glimpse of pale mottled flesh before it retreated again into the lightless barrow, like a shark breaking the surface of some great dark ocean and then diving again. The barrow groaned and shook as something massive shifted inside of it.
Carter prayed that Bandybulb had been right. “I’m looking for the pipe of the Pied Piper. It’s hidden, and I think you know where it is.”
“And why should old Roga tell you?” the witch asked from the darkness. “I am the cold witch of the Chillwood, and I don’t grant favors.”
“Okay. What do you want in return?”
“Nothing you’d care to part with” came the witch’s reply.
“There must be something,” said Carter. “I was thinking that since you can’t leave your cave, I could give you food maybe.” He searched in his pack. “I have some salted pork.”
“You are my food, boy.”
“You know,” said Carter, taking another step back for good measure, “I’m getting a little tired of people telling me how much they want to eat me. I heard enough of that in Grannie Yaga’s hut.”
“Yaga!” cried the witch. “What do you know of Yaga?” Her voice rose to such a fury that the barrow shook and Carter retreated yet another few steps, this time nearly slipping on a patch of hidden ice. The ground fog was getting so thick that he couldn’t even see his own feet. But he couldn’t run away, not before trying to get the information they needed.
“Grannie Yaga kept me prisoner,” said Carter.
“And she didn’t eat you? How like her, the skinny hag.”
Of course. Roga and Yaga were sisters, the kobolds said. And these two had a sisterly rivalry in a way that only witches could. Carter wondered if he might be able to use it to his advantage now. He knew something about sibling rivalry.
“Well, obviously she didn’t eat me,” he said. “She gave me to the Piper instead.”
Again Roga said nothing at first. There was only the sound of her enormous body shifting around. “Yes, I see her now. Poor dear’s lost her foolish chicken hut. Serves her right. Piper’s free as well! I suspect he’ll be coming to see Roga, yes, he will.”
“The Piper? Where is he?”
“Come into my cave and I’ll show you.”
This wasn’t working. There was absolutely no way Carter was going to go into Roga’s cave, and she had no desire to help him—her only interest in Carter was as a main course. His only hope lay in Roga’s jealousy toward her sister.
“Yes, I can see the pipe now, in my mind’s eye,” she said. “Lovely little thing.”
“You can’t tell him where it is,” said Carter.
“And why not? Perhaps he will play Roga a sweet tune and lure children to her cave! Oh, wouldn’t that be a tasty treat.”
“If you help him, you’ll be helping Yaga,” said Carter. “She gave me to him. She wants him free.”
“Why would she want that?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Carter. “But I bet if I got to that magic pipe first, it would upset her. Drive her crazy, I’ll bet.”
“Clever boy,” said Roga after a moment. “Perhaps I can see why Yaga didn’t gobble you up right away. Wonder if she regrets it now. Must stick in the old hag’s craw that you are running loose. Must annoy her something terrible!”
“Tell me where the pipe is and I promise I’ll go on annoying Yaga as much as I can.”
Roga’s ugly whitish eye appeared at the doorway. “Let’s put it to the test. I’ll tell you where to look for the pipe, but whether you can use the information—well, that’ll be the test.”
“Okay,” said Carter. Of course he could use the information. Once he knew for sure where the pipe was, then surely his friends would follow him.
“Go south,” said the witch. “South to the coast. The pipe is hidden where it all began. The pipe is hidden in the isthmus of rock known as Magician’s Landing.”
Magician’s Landing! Carter vaguely remembered the name from the Peddler’s map. Though the map was lost, surely Lukas would remember it. He had memorized every detail.
“Thank you,” said Carter, backing up. “And in return, I promise to be a royal pain in the butt to your sister every chance I get. I’ve had experience annoying siblings.”
“Is that all you want to know?”
Carter paused. “What do you mean?”
“I have more secrets, boy. Would you like to hear some?”
“No, I don’t think I—”
“The New Hameliners are still alive. The ones thought dead and gone are not.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Carter saw Bandybulb waving at him to hurry up, but he turned back to Roga’s cave instead.
“What are you talking about?”
“One hundred and thirty children were stolen from Hamelin by the Pied Piper, but there are far fewer today, yes?”
Lukas had told them over the years they’d lost New Hameliners to the rats. Leon, Marc. Carter had assumed that meant they’d been killed in battle, but maybe not.
“Are you trying to tell me that there are New Hameliners alive somewhere else? Outside of the village?”
“Oh, yes!” said Roga. “So many children lost to the darkness, and now in darkness they live, as slaves to the rat king. They wait for rescue, but they wait in vain. So come, boy, stay a while and chat with me and I’ll tell you exactly where to find them. If I cannot eat you, then at least offer me a little conversation.”
So the lost New Hameliners were alive? If Roga was to be believed, they were captives of the rats. Slaves.
“Okay,” said Carter. “Where are they?”
“The rat king keeps them underground in his nest, in the mountains north of New Hamelin. Chained to do his bidding.”
“But the rat king is dead.” Though Carter hadn’t seen it happen, he’d heard Lukas and Emilie talk of their fight with Marrow the rat king outside the doors to the Black Tower. That fight had ended with Leetha’s knife in the rat’s back.
From somewhere in her cave, Roga let out a low sigh. “The king may be dead, but a new rat sits on his throne, more dangerous than Marrow ever was. The king is dead, long live the king!”
Carter wondered how his friends would take this news. That their companions were alive was cause for hope, but he shuddered to think what their lives must be like as slaves, much less slaves of the rat king.
“Okay,” said C
arter. “Thanks, I guess. But I’d really better be going.”
With a nod to the witch’s cave, Carter turned—and fell on his face. He hadn’t tripped, though; something had pulled him off his feet. He looked around, but all he saw was the drifting mist and mud.
“Lose your step?” called Roga. Carter didn’t like the note he detected in her voice.
He started to pull himself up to his feet when suddenly something yanked him by the ankle. Tendrils of ground fog had wrapped themselves around his feet and were pulling him, slowly, inexorably, backward through the mud. He’d been right: Roga was a spider and this forest was her web. Now he was trapped in the center of it.
“Help! Bandybulb!” Carter tried to hold on to something, but all his fingers found was icy mud. The dutiful kobold appeared at his side, but when the little creature tugged at the misty tendrils, they were as tough as rope.
“Not so clever a boy as it turns out, eh?” called Roga. “Chats with Roga and keeps well clear of her cave, but all the time he forgets the most important thing—Roga is a witch, and witches know magic!”
Bandybulb was whimpering as he tugged fruitlessly at Carter’s bonds. The kobold was loyal enough to get himself killed along with Carter. The mouth of Roga’s barrow was only feet away now.
“Help!” Carter cried again. He tried to think, but he was panicking. He could hear Roga moving around in the darkness. She was making smacking noises with her lips.
Then there was a flash of movement, something so fast that Carter could hardly glimpse it, and his legs were suddenly free. From deep in the darkness, Roga bellowed in rage.
“Get up and run, human boy,” said a voice in his ear, and Carter looked up to see Leetha yanking him to his feet. The tendrils of fog shrank back from her flashing knife.
“Wait! We can’t leave Bandybulb!”
“Don’t worry about him,” said Leetha, and she shoved Carter forward as she pointed the way. The round little kobold was already well ahead of them and making for the forest as fast as his chubby legs would take him.
With Leetha’s help, Carter stumbled out of the deadly clearing dragging his leg brace through the frozen mud. As he did so, he was vaguely aware of Leetha hacking at more shapes appearing out of the mist. But once they reached the safety of the trees, the mist began to dissipate. Still, they ran on until Roga’s cave was well behind them.
“How’d…How’d you find me?”
“We elves are very light sleepers,” said Leetha. “You were easy to follow.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?”
Leetha shrugged. “I wanted to see what would happen.”
“Well,” said Carter, massaging his leg. “You saved my life. I owe you one.”
At that, Leetha broke into a huge, pointy-toothed grin. “That’s true! Ah, you poor boy. It’s never good to owe an elf.”
“Better than being witch food.”
“We shall see.” As Leetha smiled, her eyes glinted in the half-light. Like a cat eyeing its prey. “That was a very foolish thing you did, seeking out the witch all alone.”
“Carter wasn’t alone,” squeaked the little kobold. “Bandybulb was there the whole time.”
“A lot of good you did him,” replied Leetha.
Bandybulb held out his stocky little arms and smiled up at her. “Perhaps Bandybulb should start to exercise. Then one day he can be strong like a girl elf!”
She rolled her eyes at the little creature. “Kobolds,” she muttered.
“Leetha,” said Carter. “You understand why I had to do it, don’t you? Lukas has become just like Max, and now he’s so worried about protecting me that he’s not making the right decisions. I’m smaller than the rest of you and my foot is twisted all the wrong way, but I’m not fragile. I’m not made of glass!”
“I don’t think you’re fragile at all,” said Leetha. “And size is relative. You’re shorter than Lukas, but you are a giant to Bandybulb here.”
“Oh, Bandybulb cannot but get dizzy when he looks up your nose, Carter, sir,” said the kobold.
“But you won’t win on your own,” continued Leetha. “The Summer Isle is too dangerous to be without friends for long.”
Carter thought he detected a note of sadness in the elf girl’s voice. She’d helped to rescue him from the tower because that’s what the Peddler would have wanted her to do. But he’d wondered why she chose to stay with them now. Finally, he thought that he understood. Leetha was the last elf child in all the Summer Isle, so how long had she been without friends?
“You’re right,” said Carter. “Thanks, Leetha. I mean it.”
The elf girl nodded. “Come, let’s gather up your kobold and get back. You, I suspect, are going to be in a lot of trouble, and I don’t want to miss that!”
Lukas called a halt at midday, and Carter and his friends rested in the shade of an enormous troll hill. Like the troll bridge they’d crossed at the start of their journey, this massive mound of rock had once been a flesh-and-blood troll. But if the stone troll that served as a bridge over the Western Fork of the Great River had been enormous, this slumbering giant had been even bigger. And ancient. Great swaths of tough wind grass now grew along his top and sides, and the years of wind and rain had smoothed his features until they were almost indistinguishable from regular stone. If Emilie hadn’t pointed out the overhanging shelf of rock that looked suspiciously noselike, Carter might not have believed that this was a troll hill at all. But here it was, a giant of ages past. Carter wondered if this one had been caught unawares by the daylight, or if he’d simply grown tired of hiding beneath the ground. Either way, today he provided welcome shelter for tired travelers.
After happily leaving the Chillwood behind, they’d followed the coast south along the sea. Leetha called it the Sea of Troubles, and it was an impressive sight. Like the rest of the Summer Isle, it was so much wilder and more beautiful than any sea back home. When the water was calm, it shone like blue-green glass, slowly undulating beneath the cloudless sky. When the tide was high and the wind picked up, waves the size of houses broke against massive stone reefs where schools of mermaids played. A few of the creatures dared to swim close when they spotted the travelers, and Carter, Lukas and Paul had to stop up their ears with their fingers to shut out the mermaids’ siren song, while Leetha and Emilie stood at the water’s edge and shouted insults at the mermaids until they gave up their singing and went off to frolic in the waves.
The sun reflected off the water, and beat down on their heads. Paul and Leetha found a freshwater stream not far from the coast where they filled up their water skins. Lukas made sure everyone drank their fill before leaving. Better to carry the water inside their bodies than out, he told them.
After two days’ worth of scrambling over rocky beaches and navigating narrow cliffs, they could finally see the Peddler’s Road in the distance, a winding path of cobblestones and dirt meandering south as far as could be seen. The road beckoned, but first they stopped to rest in the shade of the troll’s nose.
Spirits had been low ever since Carter shared what Roga had told him. The revelation that the Piper’s pipe was hidden at Magician’s Landing paled in comparison to the discovery that New Hameliners were being held by the rats as slaves. Lukas had taken it particularly hard, and Carter remembered that both Leon and Marc, the two Eldest Boys before Lukas—both of whom had disappeared mysteriously in the night—might have been among the captives. After hearing the news, Lukas had been too preoccupied to continue to scold Carter about sneaking away to find the witch in the first place, despite Bandybulb’s insistence on telling everyone how close Carter had come to being eaten. Over and over again.
Carter couldn’t help but feel responsible for the pall that had settled over the group, even though all he’d done was deliver the news.
As he leaned against the troll’s stone nostril, he took his foot out of its brace and massaged it. It hurt, but not much more than every other muscle in his body. Still, it felt good to take
his shoes off and let both his feet breathe a little.
Emilie sat down next to him and handed him a plate of hardtack bread and a few nuts. “Lunch,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Carter. “Not much left of our trail rations, is there?”
“Leetha will hunt again this evening, and she’ll find something. Now that we’re well south of the Chillwood, there’s bound to be game about. It kills Paul that he can’t go with her, but without his bow and arrows he’d be useless.”
Carter nodded. “Can’t really hunt with a frying pan, can you?”
Emilie gave a soft laugh. “Now, that is truly putting your cart before your horse.”
Carter smiled. It was nice to hear someone laughing again. Leetha sat sharpening her knives while Paul absently poked holes into the dirt with a twig. Lukas used a piece of charcoal to sketch on an empty wineskin. Carter knew that he’d been trying to re-create the Peddler’s map from memory. No one else was talking.
“Are they okay?” asked Carter quietly.
Emilie sighed. “It’s been a hard couple of days for all of us. What the witch told you about our friends…It’s difficult.”
“But I thought you’d all be happy to hear they’re alive.”
“We are,” said Emilie. “But you have to understand, we mourned for them long ago. There were those of us, Lukas included, who dreamed that they might not be dead, but no one really believed it. Now…it’s an old wound picked open again.”
Emilie dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. “I can’t imagine what they have been going through all these years.”
Carter took a bite of hard, stale cracker. Suddenly he understood what was really happening, why the New Hameliners had been so sullen these past few days. “You’re going after them, aren’t you?”
Emilie shook her head. “We would never take you into the rat king’s nest, into such danger. Lukas made a promise to your sister to look after you.”
“But you want to,” said Carter. “All you want to do is go back and save your friends.” Carter hadn’t realized it, but he was no longer talking quietly.
At this, Lukas looked up from his sketching, and Paul stopped fiddling with his sticks. All eyes were on him.
