The Monster in the Hollows

by Andrew Peterson

  “The cloven, you say?” Bonifer’s eyes twinkled.

  “Yes,” Nia said. “And if you’ll forgive me, I don’t see why that’s so funny.”

  “It’s funny, Your Highness, because the poor cloven only happened to find the girl. It didn’t take her.”

  “Then who did?” Janner asked.

  Bonifer bowed. “I did, Throne Warden.”

  50

  Retribution and Rescue

  You’re as rotten as that boy,” whispered the Overseer into Sara’s ear. His breath smelled of onions, and the hand over her mouth smelled of sweat. “So I’m going to let you rot.”

  He dragged Sara down the dark hallway and through a side door. She struggled, but his grip was unrelenting.

  “You have to try harder than that to tie up a ridgerunner,” Mobrik said from somewhere beside her as the Overseer dragged her down a set of stone stairs. Her mind was blank with terror, and she kicked until her feet hurt.

  A match flared, and Mobrik lit a torch in the wall. Sara screamed through the Overseer’s hand when she saw the two long boxes lying on stone slabs. She was in the coffin room.

  “I’ve learned a few things over the years about controlling tools,” snarled the Overseer as he shoved her toward one of the coffins. “If you get rid of the troublemakers, you get rid of the trouble.” He grinned his yellow-toothed grin. “In you go.”

  Sara fought with all the strength she could muster.

  “Get her legs!” the Overseer shouted at Mobrik.

  Sara kicked her feet as if she was running in mid-air, and one of the kicks caught Mobrik in the face. He crashed into the wall, crumpled to the floor, and lay still.

  The Overseer growled with annoyance and jerked Sara closer to the coffin. He let go of her with one of his arms and flipped open the lid. Sara brought her heel down on the Overseer’s bad foot—the one Janner had driven the carriage over the night he escaped. The Overseer howled with pain. He clutched his foot and hopped in place. Sara grabbed the Overseer by the leg and lifted with all her might. He tumbled backward into the coffin.

  “Tool!” he screamed, and the lid fell shut. Sara leapt on top of the coffin and fought to latch it while the Overseer pushed from inside. His fingers poked out and wriggled like worms.

  Sara rode the bouncing lid like a horse in full gallop while the Overseer screamed, until at last the lid shut long enough for her to jam the latch into place and lock it tight.

  She knelt on all fours on top of the coffin, trembling and out of breath. The Overseer beat the inside of the box and screamed, but he sounded far, far away.

  Sara climbed down and stepped over Mobrik. She thought about throwing him into the other coffin but changed her mind. It was tempting to lock them both up and forget they ever existed; it would be an appropriate punishment for the years of anguish they had put the children through.

  But Sara wasn’t interested in punishment right now. She was too tired. She just wanted freedom. By the time Mobrik woke and released the Overseer, she and her army of children would be long gone.

  As she staggered up the stairs, she heard Borley and Wallis calling her name. They found her in the dark hallway and carried her out into the main room. The celebration died when the children saw Sara and heard what had happened.

  “I’m all right,” Sara told them. “I just want to get out of here.”

  “But what’s out there?” Trilliane asked.

  “Where are my parents?” a little girl named Peasley asked.

  Sara sighed. “I don’t know, dear.”

  Now that she was on the verge of freedom, she was frightened of it, and so were the other children. Were they really going to stroll out of the Fork Factory and into a city full of Fangs and expect everything to work out? She hadn’t given it much thought. She wished she had another plan, but she didn’t. All she had was a dagger and a few hundred scared kids.

  Then she heard shouting outside.

  The wooden gate to the portcullis was closed, so she couldn’t see what was happening. Then she heard the clink of chain and metal as the portcullis was forced open from the outside. After everything she and the children had accomplished, the Fangs were coming to get them anyway.

  “Wallis!” Sara cried. “Lock the gate!”

  Wallis and a few of his friends ran to the gate and dropped the beam into the brackets on the door. There was more shouting, then pounding. Then something heavy slammed into the gate and the children screamed.

  “What do we do?” Borley cried. The gate shuddered with another blow.

  “Just be brave, Borley.” Sara squeezed his shoulder. “Ready your dagger and follow me.”

  Sara strode through the panicked children with Borley at her side. As she passed, they quieted. They lifted their weapons and were drawn into the wake of her bravery. Sara stood at the front of the host, facing the gate as it shook on its hinges. The children cringed with every bang, but they held their ground as long as Sara Cobbler stood with them.

  In a final, splintering blast, the beam split in two and the gate swung open. The children screamed.

  Out of the dust pounced a man dressed in black from his boots to his cape to his mask. He ran down the corridor into the Fork Factory, whipping his sword in the air while Sara and the children watched in stunned silence.

  “Aha!” he shouted. “Filthy Fangs, be thou warned, for the Florid Sword hath arrived!” The man blinked, waved the dust away from his face, and said, with disappointment, “Avast! Be thou gone alreadyest, vile villains? Aha! I seest only children in the sights I see with mine seeing eyes!”

  “Gammon!” someone called from outside. “I can’t hold this open forever.”

  “Aha! Sorryeth am I about that.”

  The man in black sprinted back down the corridor and, after some grunting and clinking of the chain, secured the portcullis. Sara peered through the gate and saw a crowd of men carrying away a log as thick as a barrel.

  “I don’t know what to make of it,” the man in black said to someone beside him as he walked back through the shadows to the chamber. “Children everywhere and not a Fang in sight.”

  When the two figures emerged from the corridor, the children gasped. Beside the man in black was a creature that was half man, half bird. Bright wings rose from his back. He had reddish arms and white hair, and Sara had the strange feeling, when she saw his eyes, that she recognized him.

  “Are you going to hurt us?” asked Grettalyn.

  The birdman smiled, and Sara knew they were safe. “No, dear. We’ve come to save you. This man in the ridiculous black costume—”

  “It art not ridiculous, thou pigeony person!”

  “—is the Florid Sword. Or you can call him Gammon, like I do. My name is Artham Wingfeather, and we’re here to help.” He studied the children’s faces for a moment before his eyes fell on Sara. “You look like you’re in charge here.”

  “No, sir,” Sara said. “I’m just a girl.”

  “She’s our queen!” said Borley, stepping forward and folding his arms. “Queen Sara! She set us free.”

  The winged man raised his eyebrows and glanced at the Florid Sword, then knelt before her and bowed his head. “Queen Sara, I offer you my service. I’m the Throne Warden of the Shining Isle of Anniera.” Artham smiled at her for a moment. “You’re Sara Cobbler, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “I was sent to find you,” Artham said.

  “By whom?” Sara asked.

  “By the son of the High King of Anniera.”

  Sara tilted her head, confused.

  “He told me you saved his life.”

  Sara was breathless. All she could muster was a whisper. “Janner Igiby?” she said.

  Artham nodded.

  “The son of a king?”

  Artham nodded again.

  Then Sara Cobbler’s legs stopped working. Artham caught her up and carried her out of the Fork Factory into the open air over Dugtown.

  51

  A N
ame Is Spoken

  Bonifer Squoon looked like a giddy boy in an old man’s skin. His eyes shot around the room from face to bewildered face as his words echoed in the hall. “I did!” he cackled. “I didn’t want her to die, of course. Indeed, that would have been cruel of me.”

  “Bonifer, this isn’t funny,” Nia said. “What are you talking about?”

  “I slipped into Freva’s cottage while she cooked your breakfast this morning and took the girl! After you were arrested I rode out to the cave, tied her up, and threw her in! Of course, I assured the Hollowsfolk that I searched itthoroughly, and found only bones.” The old man tapped his cane on the floor and danced. “They were so angry, it took little to convince them that the wolfboy had eaten her up! If there’s one thing certain about Hollowsfolk, it’s that they act before they think. It all worked just as I planned! Until that Bunge idiot decided to hang you both, that is. I only meant for you to be banished. I underestimated his hatred. Indeed, I underestimated the hatred ofall the Hollowsfolk.” He waved his cane at the crowd. “But it makes no difference now. I’ve worked everything out.”

  “Bonifer—” Nia’s voice was thick with dread.

  “What are you talking about?” Oskar asked. “This is no time for games.”

  “Indeed, it is not, Oskar N. Reteep.” Squoon’s face darkened. “Not the time for games at all. Now is the time for action.” He whacked his cane on the floor. “General Swifter!”

  A Grey Fang appeared in the doorway behind Squoon. It was dressed in battle gear and clutching a sword. The creature’s fur was almost white except for a stripe of black that came to a point at its snout.

  The wolfman smiled. It barked out a signal, and behind it appeared a host of Grey Fangs. They poured into the hall with snarls and howls of laughter. The Hollowsfolk were so shocked they had no time to muster an attack. The side doors crashed open, and more Fangs appeared to block the exits.

  “Fight if you wish!” growled the Fang at Bonifer’s side. “There are a thousand of us outside these walls, eager to slaughter the lot of you.”

  “Indeed, it would be foolish of you to raise arms, Hollowsfolk,” said Bonifer. He bowed to the Fang. “General Swifter, as promised, I have delivered to Gnag the Nameless’s mighty hand the Green Hollows, the Jewels of Anniera, and—” he opened the flap of the satchel “—the First Book.”

  General Swifter took the satchel from Bonifer and slung it over his shoulder. “Good. The Nameless One will be pleased.”

  “That’s not all!” Squoon said, holding a finger in the air. “Thanks to Oskar N. Reteep, the First Book has been translated into the common tongue, from the first page to the last. Its secrets await His Namelessness’s perusal.”

  The Grey Fang nodded. “You’ve redeemed yourself, Squoon.”

  “Indeed!” Bonifer clapped his hands.

  General Swifter pointed at the Wingfeathers huddled together on the gallows. “Get them. Just the children. We have no use for the others.”

  A company of Fangs marched forward and seized Janner, Kalmar, and Leeli. Two of them held Nia and Podo fast while the others led the children across the hall. Janner heard Nia crying their names, heard Podo and Oskar struggling, but more and more Grey Fangs filed into the room and stood between the Jewels of Anniera and those who loved them most.

  Janner’s mind was numb. He could make no sense of what was happening. The sudden sight of Grey Fangs in the Hollows, Bonifer Squoon’s dark delight at the revelation of his treachery, the cloven’s arrival with the little girl—all of it filled him with too much anger and too many questions. He could do nothing but put one foot in front of the other and try to keep calm.

  When they walked past the hulking body of the cloven, Janner heard a faint huff of air. The thing was still alive. He glimpsed the beast’s eyes, tucked in the shadow of its brow like jewels, and his heart skipped a beat. He saw something there that lodged a sudden lump in Janner’s throat, some flicker of meaning hidden in the madness that stopped him in his tracks.

  A Fang pushed him, and Janner threw himself to the floor. Some deep instinct compelled him to look into the creature’s eyes. Janner lay beside it on the blood-slick floor, knowing he only had moments before the Fang yanked him to his feet again. He saw the thing’s terrible bearish face, flecks of blood on its lips and blood puddled around its head. Its black nose—just like Kal’s, Janner thought—flared as it struggled for another breath.

  Then it spoke. Or it seemed to. It grunted, but there was a form to the grunt, as if it were trying to say a word. Janner felt the Fang’s paws pulling him up, but he squirmed out of its grip. He didn’t know why, but he had to know what the thing was saying, had to catch another glimpse of the light in its eyes. The thing huffed again and tried to lift itself from the floor. Its strength failed, and its head lolled sideways. It wasn’t dead, but it was dying.

  “What is it? What are you trying to say?” Janner pleaded.

  The monster’s eyes locked onto Janner’s. They shone in the shadowy depths of its brow like a circle of sky at the end of a tunnel. They were blue, flecked with gold, and deep as the sea. The cloven drew another shuddering breath. It spoke again in a wrecked voice, a word heaved out rather than breathed.

  “Janner,” it said.

  Then the Fang dragged Janner away. When he lost sight of the cloven’s eyes, he felt a searing pain in his chest, as if an invisible cord had been ripped out of his heart.

  And then he knew. He knew by the voice he had heard, by the glimmer in the cloven’s eyes, and by the words it had spoken:I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll hold you fast. Forever.

  Janner screamed and bit at the Fang, whipping his head to and fro and straining at his bonds. He was mad with desperation. General Swifter was shouting, the Hollowsfolk were shouting, and somewhere across the hall, too far away for Janner to see, Podo and Nia were shouting. In the clamor the Fang dragged Janner away from the cloven, and a single word tore from Janner’s throat.

  “PAPA!”

  His voice was lost in the pandemonium, but there was one, at least, who heard.

  The cloven rolled to its side, snapping off the shafts of arrows lodged in its flesh. It grunted, and though the sound was garbled and weak, Janner heard it again: his name. It spoke his name.

  “Janner.”

  “Papa,” Janner wept. “It’s me.”

  Kalmar gazed at Janner, then down at the cloven, wonderstruck. Then he snarled and howled, fighting with renewed fury to free himself from the Grey Fang that held him.

  “One of you, kill the beast,” General Swifter barked, eyeing the raucous Hollowsfolk. “Bring the children!”

  A Fang stepped forward with its sword raised. The cloven lifted one of its deformed arms to shield itself from the blow. Leeli broke away from the Fang that held her and threw herself upon the cloven. The Fang drew up short, snarled with annoyance, and slung Leeli away. Her crutch clattered across the floor.

  Then the Hollowsfolk found their courage. They brandished their weapons and inched closer to the nearest Fangs, bellowing taunts and curses. Bonifer Squoon’s shifty eyes scanned the room for an exit as the tension rose in the great hall.

  That was when Leeli’s dog arrived. Baxter darted between the legs of the Fangs clustered at the door, yipped, and licked Leeli’s face. The hall fell strangely quiet.

  Leeli hugged Baxter and looked hopefully around the room. “Did you find him?” she asked, laughing through her tears. “Where is he? Did you find him?”

  Baxter wagged his tail and looked up.

  “Oy, Leeli,” said Rudric. He crouched in the boughs of the great tree with an arrow on the string. “He found me.”

  Rudric loosed the arrow. It sang through the air and buried itself deep in the chest of General Swifter.

  52

  “My Love Has Gone Across the Sea”

  The tree teemed with Durgans. More crept into the boughs from the upper windows.

  Janner spotted Danniby dangling by his legs from a
narrow limb, a dagger between his teeth and a drawn bow in his hands. He let the arrow fly and killed another Grey Fang before General Swifter hit the floor. Then Danniby dropped, twisted in the air, and landed on all fours beside the cloven, as graceful as a cat. In the heartbeat of silence before the chaos erupted, he winked at Janner.

  Then the Fangs howled for battle, and the Hollowsfolk rushed to meet them. Rudric and the rest of the Durgan Patrol skittered through the trees, shooting into the mayhem until their arrows were spent, then dropped one by one and joined the fray.

  Janner, Kalmar, and Leeli gathered over the dying cloven, heedless of the battle clamoring around them. Danniby and several other Durgans created a perimeter of protection, but Janner knew they didn’t have long.

  “Is it him?” Leeli asked. She scooted around beside Janner and leaned over to look the beast in the eye. But it had spent its strength. Its eyes were closed, and its breath came in ragged gasps. A thicket of arrows sprouted from its back and shoulders.

  “He said my name,” Janner told her. “And I saw his eyes.”

  Kalmar lay on the cloven with his head on its shoulder, whispering to it as Leeli worked to untie Kal’s wrists.

  “Kal, did you know?” Janner asked.

  “I only knew he was hungry and wounded. And alone.”

  Leeli freed the little wolf’s arms, and Kalmar lifted the cloven’s head and rested it in his lap while she freed Janner. Janner pressed his forehead against the monster’s shoulder and clamped his eyes shut.

  If it was true, if it was really his father hidden somewhere in the dark of the monster’s heart, Janner needed him to live. He prayed to the Maker in a hopeless groan. He knew better than to pray that the cloven would transform in a whirl of light into Esben Wingfeather, young and handsome and whole. Those things only happened in stories. So Janner pleaded simply for each beat of the beast’s heart.Please,please,please, he begged, and the heart beat and beat and beat. But with each pulse, blood leaked from every wound.