The Monster in the Hollows © 2011 by Andrew Peterson
Published by Rabbit Room Press 523 Heather Place Nashville, Tennessee 37204
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, bellyaching, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher, lest you be set upon by toothy cows to the full extent of their toothiness.
Cover design by Brannon McAllister
Cover illustration © 2011 by Justin Gerard
Illustrations © 2011 by Justin Gerard
Edited by Jessica Barnes
Maps, family tree, and title page illustrations © 2011 by Andrew Peterson
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011904865 ISBN 9780982621431
Also by Andrew Peterson
THE WINGFEATHER SAGA
Book One: On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness
Book Two: North! Or Be Eaten
MUSIC
Carried Along
Clear to Venus
Love and Thunder
Behold the Lamb of God: The True Tall Tale of the Coming of Christ
The Far Country
Resurrection Letters II
Counting Stars
Above These City Lights (Live)
FOR CHILDREN
The Ballad of Matthew’s Begats
Slugs & Bugs & Lullabies
(with Randall Goodgame)
For Jamie, my bride,
who knows me best and loves me still.
One • A Smoldering Silence
Two • A Haven in the Hollows
Three • At the Helm of the Enramere
Four • Fresh Wounds
Five • The Boatwright’s Daughter
Six • Through the Watercraw
Seven • A Fang in Ban Rona
Eight • The Orchard Inn and Cookery
Nine • The Council in the Keep
Ten • The Queen’s Tale and the Warden’s Wings
Eleven • Two Wardens and a Sock Man
Twelve • Turalay
Thirteen • Pumpkin Stew and an Old Friend
Fourteen • An Inheritance from Kargan Igiby
Fifteen • A Home at Chimney Hill
Sixteen • Podo Helmer Falls in Love
Seventeen • The Ten Whiskers of Olumphia Groundwich
Eighteen • The Further Fate of Sara Cobbler
Nineteen • A Tour of the Guildling Hall
Twenty • The Durgan Guild
Twenty-One • A Late Caller
Twenty-Two • A Cloven on the Lawn
Twenty-Three • The Light He Left Behind
Twenty-Four • A Carriage Ride to School
Twenty-Five • Taunted by Grigory Bunge
Twenty-Six • Getting the Boot
Twenty-Seven • Late for Guildmaster Clout
Twenty-Eight • The Legendary Library of Ban Rona
Twenty-Nine • A Lineage of Kings
Thirty • Borley and the Dagger
Thirty-One • Olumphia’s Warning and Bunge’s Game
Thirty-Two • A Discovery in the Vale
Thirty-Three • A Reckoning for the Bunge
Thirty-Four • Palaver in Gully’s Saloon
Thirty-Five • A Lesson in Sneakery
Thirty-Six • Snaphounds and Snowfall
Thirty-Seven • Sara’s Army Makes Ready
Thirty-Eight • Wolf Tracks in the Snow
Thirty-Nine • What Janner Found in the Alleyway
Forty • Bones and Bones
Forty-One • What Janner Found in the Cave
Forty-Two • Sara and the Maintenance Manager
Forty-Three • Muzzled and Bound
Forty-Four • The Case Against Kalmar
Forty-Five • The Plan
Forty-Six • Freva’s Accusation
Forty-Seven • The Fingerless Glove
Forty-Eight • The Chumply Amendment
Forty-Nine • A Vision, a Voice, and a Villain
Fifty • Retribution and Rescue
Fifty-One • A Name is Spoken
Fifty-Two • “My Love has Gone Across the Sea”
Fifty-Three • The Liberation of Dugtown
Fifty-Four • Treachery
Fifty-Five • Artham and the Deeps of Throg
Fifty-Six • The Queen and the Cloven
Fifty-Seven • A Bear in Ban Rona
Fifty-Eight • Escape
Fifty-Nine • Beneath the Moonbright Heavens
Sixty • The Keeper and the High King
1
A Smoldering Silence
It wasn’t a sound that woke Janner Igiby. It was a silence.
Something was wrong.
He strained into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in his neck, shoulders, and thighs. Every time he moved he was reminded of the claws and teeth that had caused his wounds.
He expected to see the bearer of those claws and teeth asleep in the bunk beside him, but his brother was gone. Sunlight fell through the porthole and slid to and fro across the empty mattress like a pendulum, keeping time with the rocking of the boat. The other bunk’s bedclothes were in a heap on the floor, which was typical; Kalmar never made his bed back in Glipwood, either. What wasn’t typical was his absence.
For weeks, Janner and Kalmar had lain in their bunks all day, Janner recovering from his wounds, Kalmar keeping him company. Every time Janner woke, he found his furry brother in his bunk, usually with a sketchbook in his lap. Theskritch-skritch of Kalmar’s quill each morning was as comforting as birdsong. Janner liked to lie awake for a few minutes before he opened his eyes, listening to Kalmar’s breathing, reminding himself that the creature beside him was, in fact, his little brother. He still wasn’t used to the way he looked, covered in fur, or to the husky growl at the edge of his eleven-year-old voice. But his breathing was the same, and so were his eyes. If ever Janner doubted, he just had to look at those bright blue eyes to know that beneath the wolfish fur was a little boy.
Janner took a deep breath and swung his feet to the floor. His wounds stung. His thighs were wrapped in bandages, and he winced when he saw the dark stains there. Nia and Leeli would have to change the dressing again, and that meant more pain. Janner took a moment to muster the energy to stand, something he had seldom done alone since he’d been wounded. He shuddered at the cold memory: the shock of the icy water when he plunged in after Kalmar; the hot sting of claws digging into his thighs as the little Grey Fang kicked against his embrace; claws scraping against his back and tearing his shirt to shreds; and, worst of all, the sharp teeth as they bit into his shoulder and neck—his brother’s teeth.
The ship creaked and fell silent again. Since the day they had sailed away from the Ice Prairies, the ship had seemed like a living thing. It groaned like an old man sleeping; it coughed when the sails luffed; it sighed when they tacked into a happy wind. The crew shouted and laughed at all hours of the day, and even at night Janner was kept company by the slapping of waves against the hull and the murmur of sailors keeping watch.
And then there was the heartbeat of the ship: Podo Helmer. Janner’s peg-legged grandfather marched from fore to aft, starboard to port, the steadytap-clunk,tap-clunk of his footsteps beating deep into the night, keeping the ship alive and all its passengers with it. The old man’s voice boomed and bellowed, a presence so constant that if Janner ever wondered where Podo was, he had but to listen for a moment to hear either a barked command, a burst of laughter, or the beat of his wooden stump on the deck.
But now the ship’s heart had stopped b
eating, and that was the silence that had woken Janner. Neither the odd calm of the waters, nor the silence of the crew, nor even Kalmar’s absence were as troubling as the utter stillness of Podo Helmer. It was as if the old man had disappeared.
Then, as if to confirm Janner’s sense of dread, there came to his nostrils the unmistakable smell of smoke. Janner stood, too fast, and the pain in his legs, neck, and back made him dizzy. But he didn’t care. He had to find out what was happening on deck, even if just to be sure that he wasn’t stuck in a nightmare.
Janner took three steps toward the stairs and the hatch flew open. Light poured into the hold.
“Janner! My boy, what are you doing out of bed? In the words of Mildresh Enwort, ‘You’ve been badly wounded by your brother’s clawful attack!’” Oskar N. Reteep’s round form filled the hatchway, blocking the sunlight like an eclipse.
“Mister Reteep, what’s wrong? Where did everybody go? Why do I smell smoke?” Janner took a step forward and winced as another pang shot up his leg.
Oskar jiggled down the stairs to Janner’s side. “Easy, then. That’s it, lad.” He took Janner by the arm and helped him forward.
Janner asked again, “What’s happening?”
Oskar pushed up his spectacles and wiped his sweaty pate. “Everything’s all right, lad. Everything’s all right.” Oskar, who used to spend all his time puffing on a pipe at his desk in the rear office of Books and Crannies, who had only ever read about real adventures, and who had never been on a ship before, was as close to being a sailor as he would ever be. He was barefoot, his breeches were cut off at the shin, and he wore a sleeveless shirt, which allowed him to proudly display his new tattoo. And though he was no smaller and no less squishy, he seemed healthier.
“If everything’s all right, why do I smell smoke? Are the Fangs back?”
The seven Fangs they’d subdued on the ship when they escaped Kimera had gotten rowdier by the day. They had howled and scratched at the stowage walls until it became clear that they wouldn’t stop until they scraped their way out. The Kimerans wanted to execute them, but Nia wouldn’t allow it. Two weeks into the voyage, Podo decided to set them adrift on a little skiff with a jug of water, assuring everyone that it was as good as an execution, and that if the Maker wanted them to survive it was up to him to arrange it. Janner had lain awake many nights, imagining that they’d somehow catch up to them, slip aboard, and kill the crew in their sleep.
Oskar waved his hand as they mounted the first step. “No, no. Those wolves are long gone. Your mother sent me to bring you topside.” Oskar’s face turned grave. “There’s something you need to see.”
Janner had always been impatient when it came to answers. With his legs hurt, the eight steps to the deck were likely to be an arduous journey, and he didn’t want to wait that long. “What is it? Please, Mister Reteep!”
“No, lad. This is a thing to see, not to hear about. Now bear up and come on.”
Janner took his old friend’s arm and eased his way up the steps into the sunlight. When his eyes had adjusted, he saw the open sea for the first time since they’d set sail. He had seen the ocean from the cliffs back home, stretching out forever east, and he had seen it when they escaped the Ice Prairies, with the frozen crags at his back. But now it surrounded him. The effect was dizzying. The Dark Sea of Darkness was vast and terrible to behold; it quickened his pulse and took his breath—and he knew in an instant that he loved it.
He thought of the little sketch of his father sailing alone on his twelfth birthday and how he had gazed at the picture for hours and longed to do the same. The smell of the sea, the sun on the water, and the knowledge of his father’s love for sailing rushed at Janner like a rogue wave and sent his heart spinning.
The exhilaration faded when the breeze shifted and the sharp smell of smoke invaded his thoughts again. He pulled his eyes from the ocean and noticed that everyone on the ship was on deck, standing at the port rail, looking silently south at a cloudy sky. Standing among the crew was a tall, beautiful woman, her left hand on a little girl’s shoulder and her right on the shoulder of a little Grey Fang. Beside them stood Podo, shirtless and strong with what looked like a club in one hand.
“Come on, lad,” Oskar said, and Nia, Leeli, Kalmar, and Podo turned to greet him.
Seeing them together gave Janner strength. He pulled away from Oskar and limped into his mother’s arms. His legs, neck, and back stung but he didn’t care anymore. He had seen each member of his family over the weeks of his recovery, but never all at once. He felt Podo’s hand on his head, Leeli’s cheek against his shoulder, his mother’s arms enfolding him without jarring his wounds—and Kalmar’s hand on his forearm.
Then he felt Kalmar’s claws, and though he didn’t want to, he cringed—only a little, but enough to break the happy spell of his family’s welcome.
“Good morning, son,” Nia said, taking his face in her hands. She smiled at him, but there was grief in her eyes. Janner could see she’d shed tears recently. Leeli didn’t say a word but held Janner’s hand and looked out at the gray horizon.
“Mama, what is it?” Janner asked. “Why won’t anyone tell me what’s happening?”
Nia helped Janner to the railing and pointed at the horizon. “Look.”
But Janner didn’t see anything unusual. The waters were eerily calm, as if the Dark Sea were holding its breath. It felt like their ship was trespassing. But that wasn’t anything to look at, was it? Everyone on the ship was staring at something, but Janner only saw clouds—
Then he remembered the smell of smoke, and he knew.
“Those aren’t clouds, are they?”
Podo shifted on his wooden leg and shook his head. “No, laddie, they aren’t.”
“It’s smoke,” Janner said.
All the maps Janner had ever studied sped through his mind. He saw continents and countries fly past, with their rivers and borders and forests. He saw Skree and the Phoob Islands and the wide expanse of the Dark Sea of Darkness, and then he saw in his imagination their ship approaching the Green Hollows in the east. There, just to the south of where Janner guessed they might be, was a little island off the northwestern coast of Dang.
“Anniera,” said Janner. “The Shining Isle.”
“Aye, lad. Nine long years,” Podo said, “and it’s still burning.”
2
A Haven in the Hollows
If Janner had ever wondered if Anniera was a real place, now he knew.
He didn’t just know by the awful smoke choking the sky or its scent on the wind, but by the look in his mother’s eyes. It was as if the churn of the Dark Sea had abandoned the waters and left them calm, only to inhabit the eyes of Nia Wingfeather. When Janner looked up at her he saw sorrow, anger, pain, and fear passing over her face like colliding waves, stirring the deep waters of remembrance. More than ever, Janner believed. He believed because to his mother Anniera wasn’t just a story, but a memory. She had walked there with the man she loved. She had given birth to her children there. For a while, she had lived and breathed the legend of the Shining Isle.
Janner looked out at the gray sea and the black smoke that hovered above it and grieved for her loss; he grieved, too, for his own. He had lost his home, just as she had. When he thought of the Igiby cottage standing empty and dark, and of the Glipwood Township, now just a ruined village at the edge of the cliffs, he felt a stab of homesickness. How much more, he thought, must his mother long for her kingdom, her city, and her people—for her husband?
Since the day they had fled Glipwood, they had been on the run, moving from place to place. From Uncle Artham’s treehouse to the East Bend of the Blapp, from Dugtown to Kimera, and now across the Dark Sea toward the Green Hollows, which lay somewhere just beyond the horizon.
Janner was tired of running. He wanted a place to call his own, a place where Fangs didn’t roam, where Stranders didn’t want to cut his throat, and where he and his family could finally be at peace. He wanted rest. He had ev
en entertained the idea that perhaps reports of Anniera’s destruction had been wrong. Maybe they would find a way to live in the land of his dreams; maybe he and his family could even live in Castle Rysen again, where he was born. A castle!
Janner’s cheeks burned at his foolishness. He was only twelve, but he was old enough to know that life usually didn’t turn out like it did in the stories he read. Still, until this moment he had allowed himself the tiny hope that the white shores of Anniera might be waiting for him. Now that hope burned up and floated away with the smoke on the horizon.
“Mama, how could it still be burning?” Leeli asked.
Nia’s lips stiffened and her eyes filled with tears. When she didn’t speak, Podo answered for her. “I don’t know, lass. I suppose if you were determined to cinder everything in the land it could take years.”
“Nine years?” Kalmar asked.
Nia wiped her eyes. When she spoke, Janner heard the tremble of anger in her voice. “Gnag has hate enough in his heart to melt the very foundations of the castle, down to the bones of the isle itself. He won’t rest until Anniera sinks into the sea.”
“But why?” Janner asked. “Why does he hate it so much? Who is he, even?”
“Who knows? When it rages long enough, hate doesn’t need a reason. It burns for the sake of its own heat and devours whatever, or whomever, is set before it. Before the war, rumor came to us about an evil in the mountains—but Throg is along way from Anniera. We never imagined it would come to us.” Nia closed her eyes. “By the time we realized the Fangs were after Anniera, it was too late. Your father believed the Symian Strait would protect us—or at least give us time to mount a defense.” She shook her head and looked at the children. “The point is, Gnag seemed to come from nowhere, like a crash of lightning. He wanted Anniera. He wanted us dead.”
“But he doesn’t wantus dead, mama,” Leeli said. “We only got away because he wants us alive.”
Nia sighed. “You’re right. I can’t make sense of it, except that he knows what I’ve known since you were born.” She dropped to her knees, turning her back on the smoky sky and looking up at the children’s faces. “He knows you’re special. You’re more precious than you can imagine. It seems that Gnag built his army of Fangs out of people.” Kalmar looked away. His wolf ears lay back like the ears of a frightened dog, and Nia pulled him closer. “But when he attacked Anniera, I saw monsters so awful I can’t describe them. Gnag has uncovered old secrets. Secrets about the stones and songs, secrets I think Esben—secrets I think yourfather knew something about.”
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