Below them, they heard the trolls laughing and shouting, “Voom! Voom!”
When the delivery of Madia’s second child was imminent, Bonifer rushed to the castle and stood outside the door of the midwifery. Ortham, as custom required, was at the other end of the castle pacing his bedchambers and praying to the Maker for his wife and new child. In agony, Bonifer listened to the cries of his true love as she labored in the birth of his truest enemy’s child.
The struggle went long into the night, and the midwife, a fine old woman named Gineva, called for Bonifer. In great confusion he entered the delivery room and stared aghast at the profusion of blood. Madia was weary beyond words and lay panting amidst the bloodied blankets.
‘She’s going to die,’ said Gineva sadly. ‘Send for the king.’
‘What of the baby?’ asked Bonifer through his tears.
‘It shall die as well,’ answered the midwife.
At the midwife’s words, Queen Madia gathered the last of her strength and gave a final heave.
‘My queen!’ Gineva cried. ‘It is done!’
Casting propriety aside, Bonifer rushed to the midwife’s side and beheld the fruit of Madia’s womb. It was a pale, ugly, misshapen thing, and when it drew its first breath and squirmed, Bonifer cringed with revulsion.
Gineva gasped, handed the twisted child to Bonifer, and said, ‘There is another.’ A second child had emerged hale and whole, well-formed and crying—while the first was baleful and silent.
Bonifer and Gineva looked at one another, neither understanding the portent.
The queen spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper, ‘Let me see.’
With a glance at the writhing, broken child in Bonifer’s arms, the midwife passed the healthy boy to Madia.
‘I shall name you Jru,’ Madia whispered to the baby on her bosom. ‘And you,’ she said, reaching weakly for the pale one in Bonifer’s arms. He handed over the baby, glad to be rid of it. Madia held the broken boy and wept with joy and pity and great love before she fell from consciousness.
Bonifer took the wretched child from Madia, then clutched the midwife’s face in his hand. Squoon’s eyes belied the evil in his heart, and Gineva shrank with fear. ‘You will tell no one of this child.’
‘My lord, do not kill it!’ she pleaded.
‘Do not fear, old one,’ said Bonifer, his face twisting from a murderous sneer into a compassionate smile so quickly that Gineva felt she was looking into the eyes of evil itself. ‘You will care for this creature,’ he said. ‘Madia needs not trouble herself with such a thing.’
With murderous threats, he secreted the old midwife and the child to his home.
While Madia slept, Bonifer came to the king and explained that there was indeed a twin, deformed beyond reckoning, who died soon after his birth. Ortham’s sorrow over the dead child was quickly overshadowed by his joy over Jru’s birth and Madia’s survival. At Bonifer’s urging, Ortham entrusted Bonifer with the child’s secret burial and never laid eyes on its body. Bonifer convinced the king to spare Anniera undue sorrow by speaking not of the dead twin and rejoicing instead that Jru was born, and that the queen had survived the birthing.
The next night, Bonifer fled with Gineva and the baby under the cover of darkness. They sailed across the Symian Straits to Yorsha Doon, where he conscripted a wetnurse—a young and pregnant widow named Murgah—and sent word that he required audience with the mysterious Lord of Throg.
Long they journeyed across the wasteland, and though the Doonish nursemaid had cringed when she first beheld the baby she, like Madia and Gineva, came to harbor great affection for it. Bonifer, too, began to think of the child as his own, and considered it his reward for his long and secret love for Madia—more than that, though, he reveled in the evil he had done to Ortham by stealing away the king’s own son.
—From The Annieriad
67
Outside Leeli’s Window
The boys peered out the window of the speeding gondola. Wind whistled downward, and now and then they saw streaks of orange as lanterns and torches flew past and dwindled into dim specks far below. If it hadn’t been for the stenchy goop on the floor, and the fact that Janner was doubtful they would survive, it would have been fun.
“This could take a while,” Kalmar said.
Janner looked up, imagining what it would be like when the gondola slammed into the top of the shaft. “And it could end badly.”
“So,” Kalmar said after a pause, drumming his fingers on the seat. “Did you bring any games or anything?”
Janner smiled. “No, but I brought this.” He pulled the stone out of his pocket and its glow outshone the lantern.
“It’s so small,” Kal said, squinting one eye. “Do you think it used to be bigger?”
“I don’t know. According to legend, Yurgen the Dragon King bit into one of the rocks, cracked his teeth, and broke off two small flinders.”
“Theholoréand theholoél, right?”
Janner looked at Kalmar with surprise. “So you were paying attention in history class after all.”
“Nah, I heard Oskar talking about it with Grandpa a few weeks ago,” Kalmar said with a wave of his hand.
“I wonder if this means the other stone is in the Phoobs, with a different Stone Keeper,” Janner said.
“Yeah,” Kalmar said. “That wasn’t the same woman I saw in the islands.” He shuddered. “The one in the Phoobs was young—pretty, even. I’ll never forget her voice.”
“I wish we could have stopped her,” Janner said. “Forever, I mean.”
“Maybe we did,” Kalmar said. “She can’t meld without the stone. I’m just glad we got out of that room alive—otherwise, we wouldn’t be together in this lovely, maggoty box of death.”
They laughed, then sat in silence, Kalmar sniffing the air and Janner imagining, with a shiver of terror, how high they were above the Dark Sea by now. The shaft seemed to rise forever. It was easy to imagine that they were in some kind of flying carriage soaring upward into the blackness of the night sky. And somewhere, up there in the darkness, Castle Throg was waiting for them.
I SEE YOU.
Leeli awoke with a start.
Her leg jerked and nearly knocked Frankle to the floor. Even before she opened her eyes she was imagining Gnag the Nameless waiting to ambush the boys. She felt panic like a snake wriggling in her gut.
Since the battle had begun five days ago, she had thought of the Great Library as a stronghold. But now it felt like a prison. All she wanted in the world was to get out, to somehow run to the Deeps of Throg so she could help her brothers—or at least be with them when they fell into Gnag’s hands. That they were so far away and she was stuck here felt wrong. She was angry at herself for falling asleep, angry at her mother for allowing it when there was so much at stake.
Leeli swung her feet to the floor and grabbed her whistleharp, determined to find the right song and stir up the vision again. She wanted to know where her brothers were, to make sure they knew Ban Rona was still under attack—and that a new fleet of ships was coming. There was a chance they had also heard Gnag’s voice, but for some reason she doubted it—his words seemed aimed at her somehow, as if he was taunting her.
She took a deep breath and licked her sore lips, then raised the whistleharp and played. The magic didn’t happen immediately, but she was getting better at mustering the emotion she needed to send the song out to her brothers, and by the time she’d played only a handful of notes, she saw them.
Janner and Kalmar sat up straight. Leeli’s whistleharp rang in their ears, and the world around them shimmered.
Janner heard his sister’s voice in his mind.Are you safe?
Not exactly safe, Janner thought.But we’re alive.
He saw his sister, alone in a familiar room. It was the Great Library. He found that he could push his mind outside the walls of her room, and he saw Rudric there, weary and smeared with blood and dirt. Oskar was at the table reading the First Book with a lo
ok of desperation on his face, and Nia was kneeling on the floor to give water to a wounded Hollish warrior. Podo leaned against a wall of books and sharpened his sword; there was a scowl on his lips.
Where are you? Leeli asked.
We’re almost to Castle Throg. To Gnag.
Leeli’s music faltered and the image wavered.
Leeli, wait!Janner cried in his mind. Her song steadied and the vision solidified.Pray for us, he told her.Tell everyone we love them.
Then, through the haze of the vision, he saw Kalmar’s face change. His brother’s eyes grew wide with terror, his mouth fell open, his ears flattened, and he shook his head slowly from side to side.
Before Janner had time to ask him what was wrong, a dark laughter, dripping with wickedness, erupted and grew until it rattled Janner’s skull. He heard a third voice in his mind, not Leeli’s or Kal’s; it was a ragged voice, guttural and wretched, a voice that made bile rise in Janner’s throat.
JANNER, KALMAR, AND LEELI, it said, somehow whispering and screaming at the same time.THE JEWELS OF ANNIERA. HOW I HAVE LONGED TO WELCOME YOU ALL TO MY CASTLE.Gnag laughed again.AND NOW THAT YOU HAVE ARRIVED, I’M SORRY TO SAY THAT I’M NOT THERE. BUT DO MAKE YOURSELVES AT HOME! LEELI WINGFEATHER, IT’S YOU THAT I WANT. AND IT’S YOU THAT I HAVE.
No!Janner cried.Leave her alone!
LEELI, Gnag said in a sing-song voice.LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW.
Still playing her song, Leeli stepped to the window. Janner saw the whistleharp fall from her hands. The music stopped, the vision vanished, and the connection broke.
But not before Janner and Kalmar heard their sister’s long and piercing scream.
68
The Skreean Fleet
Outside Leeli’s window, a woman in a black robe hung in the clutches of a Bat Fang. The wind blew back her cowl, revealing long black hair that framed a face both beautiful and white as bone. She smiled at Leeli and opened the window.
“Leeli Wingfeather,” the woman said in a soothing voice. “Come with me.”
Leeli tried to play her whistleharp, but she couldn’t hold it steady.Where are the Hollish warriors? she wondered. Did no one see the Bat Fang? Right here outside her window? She wanted to scream for help, but her voice was caught in her throat.
The woman crawled through the window and placed her hand on Leeli’s shoulder. “Come with me now, or those you love will suffer.”
At the woman’s touch, Leeli’s scream broke free and rang through every corridor of the Great Library and out into the streets beyond. The woman jerked Leeli toward the window, wrapped an arm around her middle, and climbed out. Leeli whacked her crutch against the woman’s legs, but it did no good.
The Bat Fang carried them both up and over the roof of the building. Leeli saw the confusion of the warriors on the roof as they shrank into the distance, saw as a few of them raised their bows to shoot then realized they couldn’t risk hitting Leeli. The bulk of the warriors, however, were congregated on the opposite side of the roof, loosing arrows into the streets below. As the Bat Fang lifted them higher and higher, Leeli saw a great commotion on the harbor side of the city. Green Fangs slithered from the sea by the hundreds, and all the Hollowsfolk in the city rushed to the waterfront to repel the new invasion.
The Bat Fang carried Leeli and the woman with a surer flight than the one who had tried to kidnap Leeli before, and it was strong enough to lift them so high that Ban Rona looked like a toy city below.
Up over the Watercraw they flew, to where the Fang fleet was moored. The ships must have sped to the city that night. Leeli saw masses of Green Fangs leaping from the decks and swimming between the chains of the Watercraw. The surface of the water rippled with venomous life.
As she watched, mute with terror, the Bat Fang carried them out beyond the last stony reaches of land, and she saw Ban Rona from the sea. The cliffs flanking the craw teemed with trolls and Grey Fangs, while Bat Fangs launched into the sky to attack the city from above. Ban Rona—under attack from sea, from land, and from sky—was lost. Everyone Leeli loved was trapped.
“You have me,” she said, tears streaming freely from her eyes. “Leave the city alone.”
The woman only squeezed her tighter.
The Bat Fang swooped down to a ship at the rear of the fleet. It set them gently on the deck and bowed as it backed away. Leeli crumpled to the deck, weeping as the woman walked to the captain’s quarters and turned.
“You know what to do,” she said to a Grey Fang standing at the helm. Then she looked at Leeli and gestured at the door. “Gnag the Nameless will see you now.”
The crew set sail and two Grey Fangs prodded Leeli toward the hatchway. She didn’t want to go, but she was too weak to resist. They pushed her forward and she half-crawled, half-rolled into the chamber beyond, clinging to her crutch as if it were her only hope.
69
Bargaining with a Fang
“What happened?” Kalmar cried, jerking back and rocking the gondola.
“I don’t know!” Janner said. “What did you see?”
“I saw . . . him. Gnag. I saw him.” Kalmar shuddered. “I’ve seen glimpses before, but this was different. He was right in front of me. Did you hear anything?”
“He said to look out the window. He’s in—”
“Ban Rona,” Kal whispered.
Janner felt like a fool. Braving the cloven. Losing Oood. Surviving the Stone Keeper. All these days on the run, he’d been driven by a mad hope that somehow he and Kalmar could help everyone in Ban Rona by stopping Gnag. But it was all for nothing if Gnag was already gone—and not just gone, but in the Hollows, where everyone they loved was probably about to die.
The gondola suddenly lurched and slowed. They looked out the window at a cluster of torches high above as the gondola floated closer. The torches were in the hands of Green Fangs, standing at the edge of the shaft and grinning down at them. The Fangs were in a chamber paved with flagstones of polished marble. The room was a large half-circle with an archway at the rear. They were no longer in the dungeons, Janner realized—this was the Castle Throg.
“What do we do?” Kalmar asked. The brothers stood side by side as the gondola drew level with the Fangs.
“Stick to the plan,” Janner said. “I’m your prisoner.”
“Right.” Kalmar drew his sword and grabbed Janner’s arm.
One of the Fangs slunk forward and guided the swaying gondola to solid ground. Janner took a deep breath and prepared to fight. But instead of opening the door, the Fang sneered and fastened a padlock to the latch. It jangled the keys at the boys, then retreated and bowed to a skinnier, older Fang—a Fang that looked familiar.
“Tell them I’m your prisoner,” Janner whispered.
“I have a prisoner,” Kalmar growled. “Let me pass!”
The older Fang stepped forward, tilted its head, and peered through the window with its flat, black eyes. It stank even worse than the rot on the floor. “The Igiby boys,” it said. “I haven’t seen you ssssince—where was it again? Ah. The Glipwood Township. Just before your fool of an uncle rode in on the dog. We’ve come a long way, you and I,” it said with a flick of its tongue.
Kalmar growled. “I’m a Fang! I have a prisoner!”
“Oh? A prisoner! The blue-eyed mutt has a prisoner. Very good. And I have two. The Igiby brothers who eluded me in Skree will elude me no longer. The Nameless One said you’d be arriving ssssoon.”
Janner’s skin went cold. He remembered standing in the streets of Glipwood in a sea of Fangs. And he remembered General Khrak, the most feared Fang in all of Skree.
“I don’t know how you made it past the Stone Keeper,” Khrak continued, “but the voom all but announced your arrival. We only use it in emergencies, you ssssee, and there are neveremergencies in the Castle Throg. And here you are, as the Nameless One said you would be.”
“But—but,” Janner stammered.
“How did he know?” Khrak laughed. “He sensed you in the Outer Vales. He heard
your sister and knew that she was alone in Ban Rona. Once you were safely in the Deeps, he went to fetch her himself.” He turned and paced the floor. “The Bat Fangs are stupid, but I must admit, they have many usessss. They can fly to Ban Rona in a day and a half. I suspect you will know that soon enough.”
Anger burned in Janner’s veins, frustration at the futility of it all. They had come so far, only for Gnag to have left Throg. They were about to be caged like animals, and even if they made it out, how could they get to Ban Rona in time to help Leeli and the others?
“You don’t know what happened back there, do you?” Kalmar asked. “You think we just happened to make it this far. You don’t know about the Stone Keeper.”
Khrak stopped pacing and turned.
“We have the stone,” Kalmar said.
“You what?” Khrak made no attempt to conceal his surprise.
“We have it.” Kalmar smiled. “And if you don’t let us go, we’ll throw it down the shaft.”
“Lies.”
“Show him, Janner.”
“Ships and sharks,” Janner said under his breath as he dug in his pocket.
“What does thatmean?” Khrak snapped.
“Something our grandpa taught us,” Kalmar said as Janner removed the stone.
“There’s always a way out,” Janner said, and he opened his hand.
The stone’s light shone forth, beams shooting out from every crevice in the gondola. Khrak recoiled and the other Fangs hissed in surprise. The Fangs recovered quickly and pressed forward, surrounding the gondola and drawing their swords as they tried to block the windows.
“You wouldn’t throw one of the ancient stones into the pit,” Khrak said. “That little rock has more power than you can imagine.”
The Warden and the Wolf King Page 31
