At the top of the hill the sun smiled on them and dried their clothes on the walk home. They talked about little things like their favorite meals, how much they wished they knew dogspeak, and techniques they had learned that day in the Durgan Guild. By the time they arrived at Chimney Hill, Janner forgot that his brother was a Grey Fang. Kalmar was just Kalmar.
When they walked inside, caked with dried mud, Nia gasped and shooed them upstairs to clean up and change. She didn’t ask where they’d been or how they’d gotten dirty, and Janner was pretty sure he knew why. All her attention was on the big man visiting with Podo at the hearth. Rudric stayed for dinner.
Janner went to bed that night with a lightness in his heart that battled with his frustration at his brother. He heard Leeli in the next room, singing her puppy to sleep. Kalmar must have heard it too, because he was snoring in seconds.
Janner’s mind was working too fast for him to sleep, so he got out of bed. He found the matches, lit the lantern, and fished his journal and quill out of his pack. He hadn’t written in a long time, and he had a lot of things to think about. Sitting at the desk and writing was the best way he knew to sort them out.
He still wasn’t sure what to make of his conversation with Kalmar the night before about his transformation in the Phoob dungeons. He knew Kalmar had an impulsive nature. He knew he was prone to rash decisions, which were also typicallywrongdecisions. But there was a difference between wrong and evil, wasn’t there? Kalmar hadn’t just made an incorrect judgment; he had willed something very dark into his heart. He hadmeant to do it. When Kalmar sang the song in the Phoob dungeon, he had not just given up on the possibility of rescue, he had chosen to open a deep part of his heart to a powerful blackness. Janner had told Kal that Esben’s blood was stronger than that blackness, but now he wasn’t sure. Was that still true even if Kalmar had invited the blackness in?
Janner also wondered about the song the Stone Keeper made Kalmar sing. He had seen power before in music, in Leeli’s power to still the dragons, to speak to the dogs in the houndry, and, strangest of all, to awaken whatever magic bound the Wingfeather children together and allowed Janner to hear the strange voices. It made sense, then, that there could also be music that carried dark power—music dark enough and powerful enough to change a boy into a Fang.
If that was true, it meant that every Fang had been a regular person once—and those people hadn’t had it forced upon them, either. They had chosen it. Kalmar said that the Stone Keeper told him it only worked if he wanted it to. So the Fangs were people who had welcomed it in, embraced the transformation, put on lizard skin or wolf’s fur like a costume they could never remove.
Then what about Uncle Artham?
Janner thought back to when he had first met him as Peet the Sockman. Peet was as crazy as a loonbird and wore socks up to his elbows to hide the talons his hands had become. If the transformation came because of Artham’s willingness not just to sing some black music but tomean it, then he understood his uncle’s insanity a little better.
But only Peet’s hands had changed. Did that mean he had onlystarted to sing the song? Had he changed his mind? That didn’t seem bad enough to make him go crazy over it. There must have been something else, some deeper wound that drove the mighty Artham P. Wingfeather mad. Maybe it was the thing he feared in the Blackwood. If it was a forest populated with creatures as scary as the thing that lurched through the yard that night, Janner could see how someone would go insane if they were lost in it, wandering about in the dark with all those lumpy, hungering monsters.
Still, he couldn’t make sense of the Artham he knew now—the Artham with the span of bright wings. For some reason, when he rescued Kalmar in the Phoob dungeon, he had grown into something more and not less. That meant that the power Gnag the Nameless and his Stone Keeper had unlocked in the music could do more than just warp and deform. It could do more than destroy.
It could change something twisted into a flourish.
It could take what was bent and make it beautiful.
It could heal.
Janner turned from the desk and looked at his brother, snoring in his bed, sleeping peacefully for a few hours before he had to face another day of stares and mockery and cruelty. Janner was humbled and saddened all at once. Whatever wounds his heart bore because of Kalmar’s betrayal, whatever wounds his flesh bore because of Kalmar’s claws and teeth, whatever loss of freedom he bore as the Throne Warden, they were dwarfed by his brother’s burden. Kalmar’s was the heavier load by far, one that he clung to even as it hurt him: shame.
Janner heard Artham in his mind, saw him as he leapt into the rockroach den, one word pulsing in him like a beating heart:Protect. Protect. Protect.And what had Janner done?Complain, complain, complain.
Janner gritted his teeth. He didn’t want that to be his story. He didn’t want that to be the word that defined him. He wanted to shake free of it and put on something better. He didn’t know how, but he had to find a way to stop the trouble at school. He was a Throne Warden, and he had to stop Grigory Bunge and anyone else who threatened the High King of Anniera.
Janner woke sometime in the night with his head on the desk and his quill in his hand. His heart was heavy as a stone, because a solution to their problem at the Guildling Hall had come to him. He could see no other way. He blew out the lantern and crawled under his covers without noticing that Kalmar’s bed was empty.
33
A Reckoning for the Bunge
The next morning, Kalmar slept through breakfast. Nia sent Janner upstairs to fetch him, and after much shaking and pinching, he finally woke and stumbled out to the carriage with his pack.
Leeli had named her dog Baxter after a boy in one of her favorite stories, and she rode in the carriage with the puppy in her lap. All the way to the school she spoke to it, and Baxter seemed to understand her. She tried to teach Janner how to dogspeak the command “sit on my lap,” but no matter how he clicked his tongue, the dog ignored him.
“Kal, you want to try?” Leeli asked. “I bet you’d be great at it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kalmar snapped.
“Just that—you’ve always been good with dogs. I don’t know.”
“Kal, don’t talk to your sister like that,” Nia said from the front. “You know she wouldn’t make fun of you.”
“Sorry.” Kalmar slouched in his seat and turned to face the road. Janner knew his brother was hardening himself for the day ahead. They hadn’t even arrived at the Guildling Hall and already the struggle had begun. When they encountered carriage traffic, and with it the stares of children and adults alike, Kalmar hunched even lower, as if he could fold himself and become invisible.
Janner knew Kal’s restraint couldn’t last. Anyone would break if a whole school of children pushed hard enough. And Kalmar wasn’t just anyone. His Fangness made him strong enough to outmatch any bully at the school—any guildmaster too, perhaps—which would make it even harder not to fight back.
Janner knew what he had to do, and he dreaded it. He wasn’t impulsive like Kalmar. He had to think things over. The problem was, thinking was exactly the wrong thing to do in this case. If he thought too much, he’d never follow through.
“Out you go,” Nia said as she rounded the statue. Janner hopped to the ground just after Kalmar, and the brothers lifted Leeli and Baxter over a puddle and handed her the crutch. “See you this afternoon, children. Remember who you are.”
As soon as she was gone, Janner heard Grigory Bunge’s laughter.
“Oy!” said Grigory. “Good morning to the nursemaid, the dog boy, and the girl who can’t walk.”
Lightning flashed and a chilly rain fell.
Janner’s heart shrank. He had hoped there would be at least a little time before he had to act, but Bunge was waiting. Janner looked around for help, but Guildmadam Groundwich was nowhere to be seen. The parents driving carriages through the courtyard looked everywhere but at the Wingfeathers.
“I’m talking to you
, Fang,” Grigory said.
Janner sighed and dropped his pack. The time had come.
Before Grigory knew what hit him, Janner spun around, roared something unintelligible, and dove headfirst into the boy. It was like diving into a wall, but Janner heard the air wheeze from Grigory’s lungs, and the two of them toppled over. Janner swung his fists wildly, grunting like an animal. He took several punches, which he hardly felt, and threw several back.
He prayed for strength even in his rage, for he swung not in his own defense but his brother’s, his sister’s, and his mother’s. He fought not over a petty insult but for their honor and even their freedom. Grigory Bunge, whether he knew it or not, was doing more than bullying—he was waging war with the Jewels of Anniera, children of the king.
Janner knew nothing but a white hot anger for a while, then he felt Kalmar’s claws dragging him off the bewildered bully. A crowd had gathered and stood in the rain watching Janner writhe in his brother’s grip.
“Leave my brother alone!” Janner shouted. “I don’t want to fight you, but I will if I have to, Grigory Bunge! And that goes for the rest of you!” Janner hurled his defiance at every guildling in the courtyard. He shook loose of Kalmar’s grip and strode forward, beating his chest with a fist and shouting, “I’m the Throne Warden of Anniera, and Kalmar is my charge. Do you hear me? I’ve battled Fangs and trolls! I’ve walked the Stony Mountains and sailed the Dark Sea! I’ve stood in Yurgen’s shadow and looked the dragon in the eye!” Lightning scraped the clouds as Janner stood in the rain and screamed. He flung a finger in Grigory’s terrified face. “The Maker has brought us safe this far, Grigory Bunge, and I will fear noguildling of the Green Hollows. If you insult the High King or the Song Maiden, you will reckon with the Throne Warden. Do you understand?”
Grigory glanced at the other children.
Janner leapt forward and put his face in Grigory’s. He knew that the boy could beat him into the mud if he had a chance to gather his wits, so Janner’s only weapon was his madness.
“Do you understand?” Janner said through clenched teeth.
Finally, Grigory nodded and stammered, “Y-y-yes.”
“Yes,Throne Warden Wingfeather,” Janner growled.
“Y-y-yes, Throne Warden W-Wingfeather.”
Janner pushed away from Grigory and walked back to Kalmar and Leeli. His knees trembled so violently that it took all his willpower to stand. Leeli’s face came into view, and she spoke words that were like cool water poured through his veins. The horn for school blew and in a rush Janner felt the rain again, heard the chatter of students shuffling inside, and realized his nose was bleeding. Grigory was gone.
Janner didn’t know why, but he felt like crying. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and tried to avoid looking at his siblings, but he couldn’t because Kalmar and Leeli were standing right in front of him, heedless of the rain. Leeli held one of Janner’s hands.
Kalmar and Leeli hugged him, and he could hold in his tears no longer.
***
After that, things seemed to go better. When word spread about the fight with Grigory, the guildlings’ attitude changed toward the Wingfeathers. Where before they had stared and muttered, now they ignored the three of them completely. It would have been nice to be treated with kindness, but indifference in this case was just as good. The bond between Leeli, Kalmar, and Janner strengthened. The more they leaned on one another, the stronger they were.
The lecture that morning was as boring as the one the day before, but Janner passed the time writing in his journal, and P.T. was a giant game of tackleball, an activity that always improved his mood, however foul he felt. Leeli ran houndricks up and down the field while Janner and Kalmar played. The Jewels of Anniera sat on the floor again at lunch, but for the first time, the room didn’t go silent when they entered.
At the Durgan Guild, things went even better. It was a smaller class, and the brothers were quick learners. Guildmaster Clout was hard but fair, and soon the other guildlings treated them with respect. They still seemed uncomfortable when they wrestled Kalmar, but none of them liked being outmatched, so they learned to get over it if they wanted to win.
That was the way of things for weeks.
Olumphia Groundwich kept watch over the Wingfeathers. Janner spotted her from time to time, peeking in at lectures or glancing at him in the hall while she spoke with other guildmasters in hushed tones. Sometimes she winked or waggled her whiskers at him. As for Grigory Bunge, he avoided the Wingfeathers, and Janner sometimes went days without seeing him. When he happened to pass him at P.T. or in the mess hall, Grigory gave him a stiff nod and moved on.
Most days, Janner visited the library after school and sat in the corner reading or working on his T.H.A.G.S. while Bonifer and Oskar translated line after tedious line of the First Book. Janner asked them about their progress, but he was far more interested in books likeTerrible Tales from the Woes of ShreveandOmer and the Moondragon, both of which were recommended by Owen the Archival Apprentice, and both of which Janner devoured in a matter of days.
After several weeks in the Green Hollows, the Wingfeather family at last began to settle into a routine. It had been months since their lives in Glipwood had turned upside down, so the change was welcome. Nia and Freva prepared a scrumptious breakfast each morning; Podo took a morning nap; Nia drove the children to school and often bought vegetables at the harborside market while she was out (one day she returned with the news that theEnramere’s mast had been repaired and the Kimerans were sailing back to Skree); Bonifer and Oskar spent hours upon hours in the library; and Rudric found reasons to come to Chimney Hill as often as possible. It wasn’t long before they all realized the Keeper of the Hollows had his eye on Nia Wingfeather.
It took Janner a while, but he eventually warmed up to the idea of his mother courting. He wasn’t sure how all the politics worked (Would Nia still be the Queen of Anniera if she was married to the Keeper of the Hollows? Was she the queen anyway, since Kalmar was technically the king now?), but he liked Rudric, and he believed that even his father would want Nia to find a good husband.
With each passing day, Chimney Hill felt more like the home Janner had always wanted. He thought of Anniera less and less, partly because of Nia’s strong ties to the Hollows and partly because, well, Anniera was a smoldering ruin. On certain days when the wind was right, he could smell it. He had assumed it was some neighbor’s chimney until Rudric told him otherwise. He said the scent was different, sharper, as if the island itself, not just the trees, were burning. Soon Janner could tell the difference. It troubled him when he smelled it, but the wind came from the south seldom enough that it was rare for him to think of Anniera at all.
The weather turned cold, and Janner at last allowed himself to believe that he had found a home where he was safe from Fangs and Grey Fangs and toothy cows and bomnubbles and anything elsewith fangs.
That was when the first of the hogpigs went missing, and rumors passed from home to home that another cloven was loose in the city.
34
Palaver in Gully’s Saloon
A man named Paddy Durbin Thistlefoot went out to feed his hogpigs one morning and found his gate open and another hogpiglet missing. The other animals were asleep, and once again there was no sign of intruder or attack. The sowpig snorted contentedly, as if she hadn’t noticed that another one of her brood was missing.
Paddy counted the seven remaining hogpiglets over and over, just to be sure, and he even slogged into the pen and kicked at every lump of mud in case the hogpiglet was dead and covered in the slop. His last measure was to check with his wife Ooma to be sure they had indeed owned eleven hogpiglets and not seven. Hewas bad at math, and with seven goats, four horses, thirty-two sheep, eighteen hens, five dogs, and eight children in his care, it was possible that he had miscounted the hogpiglet litter.
He had found one less hogpiglet each morning for the past four days, and now that the number was down to seven, he was suspicious. The
thought formed in his feeble mind that something was amiss.
The first frost of the year lay on the ground as Paddy Durbin Thistlefoot tromped into Ban Rona, still wearing his slop boots, to report at leastone missing hogpiglet to the Durgan Patrol. He wasn’t sure, but it had to be at least one.
***
Podo Helmer had begun riding to town after his after-breakfast nap to “gnaw the gristle,” as he called it, with the locals at a tavern called Gully’s Saloon. He told Nia he went for the company and the news, but she knew it was because he loathed her bean brew. He had politely encouraged her to darken it up, but she could never get it strong enough for Podo’s taste.
Early one morning before dawn she caught him in the kitchen in his nightclothes, spooning black powder into the brewer by candlelight. “Just didn’t want to bother ye,” he said. “Er, I was up, so I reckoned I’d make it meself today.”
She didn’t bother telling him that he had gotten into the pepper instead of ground brewing beans. She watched with amusement as Podo stirred the pepper into the water, could hardly contain herself as he waited for it to steep, and woke the house with her laughter when Podo raised the mug to her health, took one sip, and spewed peppery black sludge all over the wall.
Podo had ridden to Gully’s Saloon every morning since, and Gully’s Saloon was right across the street from the offices of the Durgan Patrol. Podo was sipping thick black bean brew and half-listening to his new friend Lennry Gardensmith blab about the superior quality of his wife’s apple crunch recipe when he saw Paddy Durbin Thistlefoot emerge from the patrol office. Thistlefoot marched across the street, fists pumping, and burst into Gully’s Saloon, demanding bean brew.
“Strongest you got,” he said, kicking his muddy boots off at the door.
“What’s got you all sizzled?” asked Lennry.
The Monster in the Hollows Page 20
