The Monster in the Hollows

by Andrew Peterson

  21

  A Late Caller

  On the way home from school, every bump of the wagon jarred Janner’s bones. His jaw hurt. He hadn’t actually been punched in the face—Guildmaster Clout had forbidden it since they were newcomers—but the boy named Brosa had driven Janner’s head into the ground with his knee. He had been kicked in the stomach by the other boy, Larnik, and had tripped over Kalmar and smashed his elbow. Even his hair hurt—unfortunately, Clouthadn’t forbidden hair-pulling, and Brosa had pulled it by the fistful.

  Kalmar had fared better, but only because Larnik was slower and had a hard time catching him. Even when the older boy managed to pin Kalmar down he grimaced at the touch of his fur, as if Fangishness was a disease he didn’t want to catch.

  After fifteen minutes that seemed to Janner like fifteen hours, Guildmaster Clout waved a hand and the two brutes returned to the edge of the circle. Janner and Kalmar lay stunned, groaning, and out of breath in the center of the ring, trying to ignore the snickers of the other guildlings.

  Once they picked themselves up, Clout lectured for an hour on the history of the Durgan Patrol between the years 230 and 262, when Ban Hyn had been involved in an illegal fruit-smuggling operation. As soon as Janner and Kalmar had caught their breath, though, Clout had all the guildlings running laps and jump-clapping.

  The boys met Leeli at the entrance to the houndry, and Janner limped with his siblings to the statue of Connolin Durga to wait for Nia. In his miserable condition, he moved so slowly that they were the last guildlings to reach the courtyard. Nia greeted Leeli and the boys without any show of pity, which upset Janner all over again.

  As they rode back to Chimney Hill in the wagon, Janner’s insides felt as dark as the bruises already coloring his arms. For a fleeting moment before the class began, he thought Kalmar had chosen the better guild, but now he felt he had been treated unfairly and he wanted his mother, brother, and sister to know it. He chose to sit on the back bench of the carriage, where he slumped in his seat and pouted, hoping they would notice his silence, and all but dared them to speak to him.

  Leeli, of course, was the one to do it. She turned around and said, “Is there anything I can do?”

  It was the only thing she could have said that he couldn’t answer with anger, which frustrated Janner even more. If she had asked what was wrong, he would have hurled a perfectly sassy reply right back at her. If she had told him to cheer up, he would have grouched something about how cheery he’d be if he had played with puppies all day. If she had tried to be silly to cheer him up, he would have barked that he was sorry he wasn’t in the mood for games.

  But “Is there anything I can do?” poured cool water on his fire. It told him that she cared. It told him that she saw he needed something, even if she didn’t know what. It told him that she hurt with him.

  He just said, “No. But thanks.”

  Kalmar rode beside Nia and showed no sign of being hurt or sore or worried. He pointed at various houses, listened to Nia talk about Ban Rona, asked her questions about her youth, and carried on in quite an unacceptable way, Janner thought, given how upset he himself felt. When Leeli turned to the front again, Janner slumped back into his sulk for the remainder of the ride home.

  The carriage crossed the creek bridge and wound up the hill just as the sun shot its last rays across the countryside. Chimney Hill was beautiful, and the sight of it improved Janner’s mood. As bad as school had been, the sight of the old stone house with its ingrown tree branches, splashed with sunlight and glowing with welcome, was a balm for Janner’s bruises.

  Freva emerged from the house with little Bonnie close behind. The maidservant bobbed her head like a bird as she took the reins from Nia, lifted her daughter up into the carriage, and led the horses to the barn.

  “Where’s her husband?” Kalmar asked.

  “He died three years ago, just before Bonnie was born.” Nia watched the young woman and her daughter disappear into the barn. “He was an apple salesman, traveling from city to city, when somewhere between Ban Rugan and the Outer Vales he was attacked and killed. By a cloven.”

  “That’s terrible,” Leeli said.

  “Yes, it is,” Nia said, “and it’s been very hard on her.”

  Janner knew she was thinking about Esben.

  When they entered the house, it smelled like a feast. Bonifer Squoon, Oskar, and Podo sat around the fire, roaring with laughter, each of them cradling a pipe in one hand and a mug of something warm in the other. Podo seemed to have aged ten years since that morning. He didn’t look unhealthy; he just looked his age, like an old man happy to be surrounded by his progeny—not an old sailor fighting every day to stay young enough to carry his family through danger. He was like a setting sun—weaker, and fading, but with a fitting beauty. The fire of his days was burning low, and Janner felt happy and sad for him at the same time. Podo cheered when the children entered, raised his mug in a toast, and then returned to his conversation.

  “Get cleaned up, then come down for supper,” Nia said.

  Leeli hopped up the stairs, and Kalmar chased after her, growling like a puppy. Janner turned to follow but Nia pulled him close and squeezed. Somehow, she knew to squeeze just tight enough that Janner felt her love, but not so tight that she hurt him.

  “You’re the bravest boy I know,” she whispered. He felt the warmth of her breathing when she spoke. She kissed his head and sent him upstairs.

  While he washed himself and changed into his nightclothes, Janner struggled to hold on to his anger but found in the end that he couldn’t. He came downstairs to find everyone waiting for him at the long table, which was candlelit and heavy with henmeat biscuit pie.

  “My favorite,” he said with a smile that was reflected in every other face.

  “I know,” Nia said.

  Over dinner Podo demanded to hear the story behind every bruise on the boys’ bodies. He muttered unrepeatable things about Brosa and Larnik, winced at some wounds, and grinned at others. He asked Leeli about the puppies and about the O’Sally boys and roared with laughter when he learned that she had fainted with happiness.

  Freva poked her head in from the kitchen. “Yer Highness, if everything’s set for now, I’ll head to the barn and feed the animals. Still have to brush the horses down.”

  “We’re fine, Freva. Thank you,” Nia said.

  “Come now, Bonnie. Let’s leave these nice people to their food.” Bonnie peeked over the back of the couch, where she’d been playing with a goat doll.

  “She can stay here till you’re finished,” Nia said. “She’s no trouble.”

  “I’ll take care of her!” Leeli said, scooting over to make room on her chair. “Bonnie, come sit with me.”

  Freva relented and bowed her way out of the room while her daughter crept up to Leeli and leaned her head on her shoulder.

  “Janner!” said Oskar, clapping his hands so vigorously that his jowls trembled. “I spent the most splendid day with Bonifer! We visited the library of Ban Rona. You won’t believe it, lad. Bookshelves as far as the eye can see, desks where you can sit and work for hours undisturbed, galleries of maps, paintings, and murals—you’re going to love it.”

  “Indeed,” said Bonifer. “And there’s a librarian who can help you find anything you like.”

  “If you’re not afraid of her stinky eye, that is.” Oskar shivered. “She gives me the spookies.”

  They finished eating and carried the conversation to the hearth, where the adults eased into chairs and the children (including little Bonnie) sat on the rug. It felt like the old days in Glipwood when they used to listen to Podo’s tales of the sea—before they knew that their father had been a king, or that their grandfather was hunted by dragons, or that Gnag the Nameless was scouring the face of Aerwiar for the Jewels of Anniera.

  There had been many times since their adventure began that Janner had wished things could go back to the way they were, but this night wasn’t one of them. He had pleasant memories
of his time with his family in the Igiby cottage, but there had always been, just beyond the door, a night haunted with prowling Fangs and a roving Black Carriage. Here in the Green Hollows they had the fire and the stories and the good food, and none of the fear. The Hollish distrustfulness, along with their tendency to use their fists, was a problem, but at least they didn’t want to kill anyone or cart them off in a creepy carriage.

  Janner lay on his back and closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the fire on his cheek and the soft fur of the rug beneath him. The sharp pain of his scrapes was gone, the dull ache of his bruises from school faded, and a belly full of henmeat biscuit pie made him drowsy as he listened to Oskar talk.

  “Lad, Bonifer here was an invaluable help today. He convinced that frightful librarian to help me find what I need to complete my translation of the First Book.”

  Janner had all but forgotten about the First Book his father had left him. What little Oskar had already translated seemed to be a history of Anniera—it was mildly interesting, but Janner didn’t have the energy to care just then.

  Oskar rubbed his hands together. “Isn’t it splendid? If things continue to go as smoothly as they did today, I think we could have the whole volume translated from Old Hollish in a month.”

  “That’s great,” Janner said with a yawn.

  “Indeed,” said Bonifer, drawing on his pipe. “I’m happy to help in any way I can. I’m sure all manner of mysteries and histories lie in those old leaves. And it must be very important, or Esben wouldn’t have risked everything to get it to you.”

  “What’s important is that these children get a good sleep before school tomorrow,” Nia said, and the children groaned. Janner’s bed seemed miles away.

  “Can Grandpa tell us a story first?” Leeli asked, scooting up into Podo’s lap.

  “A short one,” Nia said with a hard look at Podo. “And I mean it. You can’t keep them up all night, Papa. Not if you expect Janner and Kalmar to hold their own in the Durgan Guild.”

  “Aye, aye. A short one. What shall it be about?”

  “Why don’t you tell them about the time Esben and Artham raced from one end of the island to the other?” Bonifer said. “I seem to recall that it had something to do with a boat.”

  Podo chuckled. “Aye, that’s a good one.”

  Janner shook away his sleepiness and sat up with his back to the fire. If the story involved his father, he wanted to hear it.

  “Well,” Podo began, “yer ma here had made a pot of bean and batter soup—yer pa’s favorite. It also happened to be Artham’s favorite. They got into a spat over who got to eat the last bowl. Yer father said he should get it because he was king. Artham said kingship don’t matter when it comes to bean and batter soup, and besides, he was older.”

  “They were acting like children,” Nia said, trying not to smile.

  “Well, one thing led to another, and soon they were fighting over who was going to take theSilverstar out.”

  “What’s theSilverstar?” Kalmar asked.

  “Ah. The most beautiful ship in the sea,” Podo said. “Sleek and graceful she was. But not a big boat, mind ye. Esben liked ‘em small and fast. Fit for five or six passengers at most. One person could manage it, and Esben and Artham took turns sailin’ her. Well, the next thing you know—”

  A banging on the door interrupted Podo. Everyone in the room jumped. Podo and Nia looked at each other, wondering why someone would call so late. The banging continued, and Podo limped to the door. When he got there he grabbed his legbone and said, “Who is it?”

  “Open the door,” said a deep voice.

  “It’s Rudric!” Nia called. “Papa, let him in.”

  When Podo opened the door, Rudric stormed inside, ignoring Podo’s outstretched hand. He was dressed in black from head to foot, wore a cape, and looked so much like a giant version of the Florid Sword that Janner had to remind himself that Gammon was in Kimera, not the Green Hollows.

  “Nia!” he said. “I’m glad you’re safe. I had to make sure you were all indoors.”

  “What’s going on? And why are you dressed like a Durgan?” Nia asked.

  “I may be the Keeper, but I’m also head of the Durgan Patrol. Listen,” he said with a quick glance around, “is everyone here? Everyone accounted for?”

  “Yes—but why?” Nia asked.

  “We just got word from the patrol at Ban Yurga. There’s a cloven loose in the Hollows.”

  “This far west?” Podo hefted the cane and looked out the door. “How did it get all the way here from the Blackwood?”

  “They’ve been chasing it since last night. It slipped past the Durgan Watch in the Outer Vales. They raised the alarm and gave chase and have been hunting it ever since. I just got word that it might be approaching Ban Rona.”

  “How big is it? What manner of cloven?” Bonifer asked.

  “I don’t know. I just needed to know you were all safe inside. The cloven have grown bolder in the last few years. This isn’t as unusual as it once was . . . though the monsters have never come so far as Ban Rona.”

  “I’m glad you came, Rudric,” Nia said. “Thank you. As you can see, we’re all here.”

  Then Janner heard little Bonnie speak for the first time. “Where’s Mama?” she said.

  A scream split the air. It came from the direction of the barn.

  “Freva!” Nia gasped.

  22

  A Cloven on the Lawn

  Rudric was gone before the scream died. Podo limped out after him, already swinging the legbone and bellowing curses at the evil in the world. Janner and Kalmar were on their feet in an instant, but Nia ran across the room and slammed the door.

  “Nobody goes outside. Boys! Get Leeli upstairs and into your room. Lock the door and keep away from the windows.”

  Janner and Kalmar knew better than to question her, so they each took one of Leeli’s arms and bounded up the stairs.

  While they ran, Janner heard Nia say, “Bonifer! Where are the weapons? There must be weapons here somewhere.”

  “In the kitchen closet, I believe. Maker help us!”

  Janner locked the door to the boys’ bedroom and wedged a chair under the door handle. Leeli curled up on Janner’s bunk and sang to herself as Kalmar ran straight for the window. Janner didn’t understand what was happening outside or why his mother had given the order, but Kalmar’s disobedience woke his sleeping anger.

  “Kal,no! Mama said to keep away from the window!” Janner grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back. “Why can’t you just do what she said?”

  “It’s not locked!” Kalmar snapped. “We opened it last night, remember?” Kalmar threw back the drapes and locked the window.

  Janner opened his mouth to apologize, but no words came. He felt like a fool.

  Before the drapes settled back, he and Kalmar glanced out at the moonlit yard beyond the branches of the tree. In the shadow of the trees, they saw a shape, a lurching pile of a creature. It was taller than a man, and it snuffled and grunted. Though the window was closed, Janner caught a sharp odor that made him think of sweat and garbage. The thing was black with shadow as it hunched across the yard, but moonlight glinted off its lumpy, misshapen back—it looked to Janner like the monster’s internal organs were growing through its skin and hanging from its flesh.

  Just before the drape obscured the window, Janner saw the thing turn and peer up at them. Its eyes locked on Janner’s, and a shock like a strike of lightning shook him so hard that he tumbled backward and sprawled on the floor, knocking his brother over. He felt Kalmar squirming beside him and heard Leeli singing, but both sensations were distant and dreamlike.

  Janner’s head swam, his vision blurred, and he saw in his mind a dripping, torchlit dungeon. He heard wailing and the clink of chains, and words formed in his mind. At first they seemed foreign, but they gathered themselves into something he understood, spoken in a monstrous voice—a deep, bubbling growl:

  I’LL FIND YOU.

 
; I’LL PROWL THE FACE OF AERWIAR.

  I’LL SNIFF YOU OUT,

  WHEREVER YOU ARE,

  AND WHEN I DO,

  I’LL HOLD YOU FAST.

  FOREVER.

  The word “forever” rattled Janner’s skull, and the vision faded.

  He sat up, blinking away the pain between his ears. Where was he? He heard a vague pounding but couldn’t be sure what it was. He saw Kalmar lying dazed on the floor and Leeli sitting on the bed in the dark, staring. A steadythud, thud, thud pushed through his confusion. Someone was knocking. Janner remembered where he was, remembered wedging the door shut—

  “Children! Are you all right?” It was Nia’s voice.

  Janner struggled to his feet, still unsure what had happened, still shaken as much by the sight of the horrid creature outside as he was by the voice that had dripped words into his mind. He pulled the chair away from the door and unlocked it. Nia burst into the room in a flood of lamplight.

  “Are you all right?” She hugged Janner, pulled Kalmar to his feet, and knelt before Leeli, pushing her hair from her face. “I heard you cry out. What happened?”

  “I saw it,” Kalmar whispered.

  “Ifelt something—a terrible sadness,” Leeli said, “and—and something hot. Inside. Here.” She pointed to her heart. “I don’t know what it was, but it hurt.”

  “Janner?” Nia asked.

  “I heard it. Words. I don’t know if it was the creature—the cloven—or if it was Gnag the Nameless, or dragons again.”

  “What did it say?” Nia stood and put her arm around him. “Tell me what it said, son.”

  “It said, ‘I’ll find you. I’ll prowl the face of Aerwiar.’” Janner paused. It wasn’t that he didn’t remember the words. He just didn’t want to repeat them. “‘I’ll sniff you out, and when I do, I’ll hold you fast. Forever.’”