On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness

by Andrew Peterson

  “Igibysss,” Slarb rasped. “Going to the Ice Prairies, are you? Going to try and escape with the jewels? Oh, don’t look so surprised. I watch and lisssten. I hide in the shadowsss. I know that the Igibys have the jewels, and now that Gnorm has failed, I will do the work that he could not. I will bring the Jewels to Gnag the Nameless, won’t I?” Slarb pointed the sword at Tink and looked at Janner. “Because if you don’t tell me where the jewels are, boy, I’ll think of something horrid to do to your dear brother, see? I know you came here to fetch them, and I know where you’re planning to run.” Slarb’s voice grated like stone on stone as he watched the boys with glowing, hungry eyes.

  Tink had recovered from the blow and scrambled to his feet as Slarb took another threatening step closer. Janner was thinking hard for a way out. Slarb was blocking the front door, and the way into the kitchen was just to the right of the Fang. To the left was a window. It was possible that one of them could make it through before Slarb could strike, Janner thought, but only one of them. Even if they did somehow scramble through, Slarb would run them down in a matter of seconds. Janner could see nothing nearby that could be used as a weapon, unless the Fangs had an unknown fear of burbleskin rugs. There was nothing they could do. Janner’s legs were trembling like leaves in a windstorm. Where’s Grandpa? he thought desperately. How long could it take to get the wagon?

  Agile as a cat, Slarb lunged forward, grabbed Tink’s hair, and threw him back to the floor. In the same motion he seized Janner’s arm and wrenched him close, pointing the tip of the sword between the boy’s eyes. Tink cried out and struggled to move, but Slarb had one clawed foot on his back, pinning him down. Janner labored not to breathe the sharp odor that enshrouded the creature.

  “Where are the Jewels of Anniera?” Slarb whispered, breathing so close to Janner’s face that his hair moved. Janner could hold his breath no longer and gagged. Slarb twisted his foot on Tink’s back, and Tink cried out again. “If you want your brother to live, tell me where the jewels are hidden, boy!”

  Janner looked wildly around the room, too afraid to pray or fight or think.

  Then came the rattle of the wagon approaching the cottage. Janner drew in his breath to cry out, but Slarb clamped a cold, moist hand over his mouth.

  “Not a sound,” the Fang said, lowering the tip of his sword to rest on the back of Tink’s neck. Janner waited in agony as he heard Podo grunt his way down from the wagon and tap-clunk to the front door. The footsteps stopped. They heard a shuffling sound just outside, then Podo grunted like he was lifting something.

  “Janner? Tink?” Podo called, entering the cottage with a large wooden trunk in his arms. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Slarb standing over Tink.

  “If you move, old man, I’ll kill them both,” Slarb said, eyeing the trunk greedily. His tail flitted about on the floor beside Tink. The Fang hissed and steaming glops of venom dripped, sizzling, onto the floor. Tink whimpered. Podo stood frozen. Through the haze of fear and the stink of Slarb’s hand over his mouth, Janner managed to wonder dimly where the trunk in Podo’s arms had come from.

  In one motion, Slarb whipped Janner in front of him and wrapped an arm around his neck, using Janner as a shield from Podo.

  “What’s in the trunk, old man?”

  “Don’t know,” Podo said, his voice level. “Now you let the lads be and we’ll settle this, you and I.”

  Slarb laughed and squeezed Janner tighter. “The only way to sssettle this is for you to give me the jewels, old man. So I’ll ask you again. What’s in the trunk?”

  “It’s a gift from Buzzard Willie, back in town. I don’t have a notion what it is, lizard.”

  “You’re a bad liar, old man.”

  Podo lowered his voice. “You’ll not live past this night if you hurt either of me lads. You’ve not seen my wrath when it’s stoked proper, nor do ye want to.” Podo took a step closer.

  Slarb growled and twisted Janner’s head sideways, baring the side of his neck. The Fang opened his jaws wide and drew his dripping teeth closer. A look of defeat came over Podo’s face, and he drew back a step.

  “Please, no. I beg ye,” Podo pleaded. “Don’t.”

  Slarb smiled a hideous smile.

  “Good. Now put the trunk down and move away.”

  Podo did so, and Slarb edged across the room, still clutching Janner from behind.

  Tink got to his feet, and he and Podo watched helplessly as Slarb crouched down to unlatch the trunk. Janner was wondering what Slarb would do when he didn’t find the jewels in the trunk. The look of worry on Podo’s face was what scared him the most. If Podo didn’t know what to do, what could possibly be done? The latch on the trunk clicked open, and Janner strained to see.

  “And now we’ll see these jewelsss that have caused so much trouble.” Slarb smiled a wide, sickening smile as he lifted the lid.

  Thirty of the angriest, hungriest garden thwaps ever to breathe the air of Aerwiar poured out of the box like a furry plague. Janner wrenched himself away and tumbled to the floor. The thwaps covered Slarb from head to foot, chattering and squealing in such cacophony that Janner and Tink held their ears. Slarb looked like a giant furry burble doll careening about, crashing into walls, lunging to and fro. Podo snatched up Slarb’s blade and drove the Fang through the door and into the kitchen. The brothers listened anxiously to the riotous sounds of Podo’s battle cry, Slarb’s shrieks, and the thwaps’ squeals.

  At last Podo emerged, out of breath and spattered again with the green Fang blood. He saw that Janner and Tink were unharmed and he smiled, his eyebrows lifting in a happy way that gave Janner hope that they’d make it out of Glipwood alive. One of the angry thwaps scurried out of the kitchen, but Podo growled and booted it back.

  “Remind me to thank ol’ Buzzard Willie, eh? That rascal.” Podo disappeared into his room while the boys busied themselves, gathering extra clothes and rolling them up in a blanket. Janner was glad he didn’t need anything from the kitchen. He didn’t want to see Slarb’s bony corpse in the room where he’d had so many glad meals with his family. The boys made bedrolls for Leeli and Nia and carried them along with their own to the wagon.

  Immediately, Janner sensed something wrong—a smell in the air, or some subtle sound on the wind that he couldn’t quite place. He looked down the lane toward the town and saw in glimpses the orange glow of hundreds of torches at the edge of Glipwood Township.

  “Grandpa!” he cried. “Come quick!”

  Podo bounded out of the house with a bundle over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  Janner pointed. Now he could make out hundreds, maybe thousands, of torches in two columns snaking off into the dark distance, moving toward Glipwood from the east—from Fort Lamendron.

  “So soon?” Podo whispered. “Maker help us.”

  40

  Betrayal

  With a fierce look in his eyes, Podo threw the bundle into the back of the wagon and mounted it without waiting for the boys. They scrambled in as Podo said, “Hya!” to Danny the carthorse, who whinnied and tore toward Glipwood.

  Janner’s eyes watered in the wind as he watched the sweeping boughs of glipwood trees whiz by. He prayed to the Maker that Leeli and Nia were still safe. He wondered how they possibly would escape with Nia and Leeli, if indeed the Fangs had overrun the town. He looked up at Podo, at the white hair flying out behind him, bluish now in the moonlight, and felt better. Maybe Podo didn’t have a plan, but knowing that his grandfather was with him, even in the face of the Fangs of Dang, made Janner feel like he could be more than he was. He drew strength from the old man, like water from a well, and rested in it. And he looked admiringly at Tink, who had found a Fang sword among the remains in the wagon and was holding it in two fists, clenching his jaw.

  Podo reined up the horse when they could see the torchlights among the buildings in the distance. “Whoa, Danny boy. Easy now,” he whispered. He motioned for Tink and Janner to follow and disappeared into the brush beside the road,
fast as a thwap.

  From where they stopped they could dimly see the lampposts on Main Street and they could hear a mixture of chatter, laughter, and movement that was oddly familiar. Janner realized with a shudder that the last time he had heard such volume was when the town was full of hundreds and hundreds of visitors to the Dragon Day Festival. Could there really be that many Fangs in Glipwood? Janner grabbed a sword of his own from the wagon. Like the weapons in Anklejelly Manor, it was heavier than he expected. He felt his youth in its weight. He tried to look confident for Tink, but his little brother was already moving into the shadows beside the road after Podo.

  “All right, lads,” Podo whispered from a leafy cover. “Listen up. I need you to be men, do you hear?” They both nodded. “There’s strong blood in yer veins, and if ye trust me and let the Maker guide ye, we might live to see the sun lift this mornin’. I’m makin’ this up as I go, so you follow me close and do as I say. No questions. If we get separated, then we meet at a place called Anklejelly Manor.”

  Janner and Tink instinctively glanced northward.

  Podo raised an eyebrow. “I see ye know where I’m talkin’ about. And ye’ve probably been there from the look of it.”

  Janner looked down.

  “Hmph. There’s a lot that we need to talk about when this all blows over, I reckon. But don’t you fret about it now. Ye know I love you boys. And I love yer mother and sister too. Besides, they’re a right bit prettier than you louses. So we’ve got to get ’em back, hear? We’re gonna get ’em and make like mad for Anklejelly Manor. Other than that, we’ll just see how the leaves fall. You clear?”

  “Yessir,” the brothers said in unison.

  Without a word, Podo again vanished into the shadows.

  Janner and Tink followed through the gardens and fields behind the buildings facing Main Street. They hopped a fence, and Janner was again surprised at Podo’s nimble speed.

  They halted between two buildings and had their first clear glimpse of the street.

  Fangs were everywhere. Some stood in formation while a ranking officer bellowed orders at them. Others milled about drunkenly, laughing or fighting with one another. Some sat and dozed in the very alley they were looking through, only a stone’s throw away. It was clear that the Fangs had just arrived and were out of order.

  Janner’s pulse quickened and he felt the danger anew. One noise, one Fang looking in the wrong direction at the wrong time, and they would be found out, caught like flabbits in a snare. Two fences ahead lay the field behind Oskar’s shop. Podo vaulted over another fence and beckoned the boys on. With a last look down the alleyway, to be sure no Fang was watching, Tink and Janner followed.

  They made it to Oskar’s yard without incident and hunkered down with their backs to the trunk of a fat tree. Podo peeked around the tree while the brothers fought to catch their breath and calm their nerves.

  “Oskar’s door is open and the lantern is still burning inside,” he whispered. “I can’t see other than that. We ought to be able to make a run for the rear of the building, then it’s just a matter of sneakin’ around the corner and through the door. You lads ready?”

  The bright moon made the open distance across to the building precarious; there were even more Fangs loitering in front of and between Ferinia’s Flower Shop and Books and Crannies than there were in the first alley.

  Podo didn’t wait. With another glance down the alley, he dashed across to the building. Janner took a deep breath and set to go. But just as he took his first step, Tink jerked him back behind the tree. A Fang lumbered toward them along the side of the building. Janner and Tink held their breath and clutched their swords, their backs to the tree. But the Fang lost interest in whatever he was doing and his footsteps receded. Janner snuck another peek and saw that the way was clear.

  They sprinted to the safety of the shadows at the rear of Books and Crannies. Podo nodded at his grandsons with a proud wink. He looked around the corner and down the alley. After a few seconds, he motioned for the boys to follow. With a last deep breath, they turned the corner and darted through Oskar’s back door.

  Podo’s growl told Janner that his mother and sister had been captured. The trapdoor stood open and black like an empty grave. Podo stood over the hole, breathing hard and rumbling in a way that made Janner fear he might actually explode.

  “I’m sorry,” came a weak voice from behind them. They whipped around to see Oskar N. Reteep lying on the floor beside his desk with a bleeding wound in his chest. He was pallid and feeble, his glasses hanging askew on his round face. He coughed.

  Podo knelt at Oskar’s side and grabbed his limp hand. “What happened?” Podo gently pushed a damp swath of Oskar’s stringy hair out of the old man’s eyes.

  “Zouzab…betrayed us. In the words of Chonk,” Oskar breathed, “‘I should’ve known.’”

  Podo bowed his head, half in rage, half in sorrow.

  “He signaled to Lamendron…with his whistle…during the battle…”

  Janner remembered the shrill sound they’d heard just after Commander Gnorm died.

  Oskar winced and coughed again. “Only another ridgerunner could’ve heard it at that distance. All these years, he’s been watching, spying. He only stopped the Black Carriage with his sling so that we would think we had more time.”

  “But he saved us with the rocks in the alley,” Tink said.

  “Yes, he did…because he suspected—” Oskar’s eyes drooped and his voice broke.

  Suspected what? Janner thought.

  “How do you know all this?” Podo asked, his rage getting the better part of his sadness.

  “Zouzab told me,” Oskar rasped. “He told me after the Fangs…took Nia and Leeli. He knelt right where you’re kneeling now…and told me everything.” Oskar faded with every breath. “I’m sorry, old friend. The jewels…keep them with you. Hold fast to them!”

  “I will. By the Maker, I will,” Podo said, squeezing Oskar’s limp hand.

  Oskar’s eyes widened and focused on something above and behind Podo. Janner looked up in time to see Zouzab vanish into the labyrinth of bookshelves.

  “It’s him!” Janner cried.

  With a roar, Podo bounded after Zouzab, books toppling over in every direction.

  “Janner, Tink. Listen,” Oskar said weakly. They bent over the old fellow and strained to hear him over Podo’s mad search for the ridgerunner. Oskar gripped Janner’s arm. “It’s too late. He’s too fast…in a matter of seconds Zouzab will have already informed the Fangs that you’re here. You have to go now. Run! Run!”

  Janner’s heart broke for his mentor. He couldn’t imagine leaving him to die, leaving Podo to be captured by the Fangs, or leaving Leeli and his mother to whatever fate Gnag had for them. His mind was a flurry of memories of old Mr. Reteep, who had taught him to love books, who had given him his first journal. Tink stood quietly behind Janner and bowed his head.

  “Run!” Oskar breathed, his weak eyes pleading with them.

  Choking back tears, Janner turned to go—and collided with the hulking, smelly body of a Fang.

  41

  A Rumble and a Screech

  It was as if Janner had run into a blur of hissing, claws, teeth, and pain. He felt his wrists tied, then the world turned upside down as he first was shoved to the ground and then jerked to his arms and feet by cold hands. He could hear Tink screaming. But all Janner saw was a sea of scaly faces and black, red-rimmed eyes. He felt the flick of forked tongues and smelled the rot of Fang flesh.

  The air was full of howling and snarling.

  Then he realized that the sound was coming not just from the Fangs, but from someone else too. He strained his neck to see out Books and Crannies’ front window, where his grandfather’s white hair whipped about in the center of a circle of Fangs. Podo was in the middle of the street waving a sword and keeping a host of surrounding Fangs at bay. The Fangs seemed to be enjoying it, cackling and jabbing at him with the butts of their spears.

&
nbsp; Janner was carried outside and thrown to the ground, relieved to find Tink, Leeli, and Nia lying beside him. The sense of comfort at their presence, even in a sea of evil, was more than his heart could take, and he cried. Janner wished his hands were unbound, not so he could run but so that he could embrace the ones he loved.

  Then, without warning, Nia was jerked from the ground.

  “Enough! Or the woman dies!” called a lithe Fang who appeared to be in command. He lifted up Nia by her waist and drew his sword. Podo’s fury disappeared like the snuffing of a candle. He looked across the sea of scaly heads at his daughter and his bushy eyebrows trembled. The only sound was of the old pirate’s heavy breathing. At his feet lay several dead, already-decomposing Fangs.

  “No,” Podo breathed, his voice cracking.

  “Lay down your sword, then, old man, or sssay good-bye to the woman.”

  Podo, full of sorrow, looked long at his daughter. Nia was silent, her jaw set and her eyes closed.

  “General Khrak,” one of the Fangs said.

  “Not now, you fool,” said Khrak, lowering his voice. “Can’t you see I’m lifting this human? This is harder than it looksss.”

  “Nia girl? Are ye okay?” Podo called.

  “General Khrak,” the lesser Fang repeated.

  “Silence, worm!” Khrak snarled.

  “Yes, Papa,” Nia said. Podo’s face softened. He lifted his sword above his head in a gesture of submission, about to lay down his arms.

  “General Khrak.”

  “What?” Khrak said, and he turned on the soldier as he dropped Nia to the ground again.

  “Something coming, sir.”

  “Eh?”

  “Something coming this way. Look.” The Fang pointed.

  Khrak looked, and every eye in Glipwood followed. Something certainly was coming—a speeding, bounding shadow across the field, and no one had the slightest notion what it was—but it was big. And in the light of the fat moon, they could see that someone was riding it.