The Monster in the Hollows Page 7

  She knelt before Rudric, who shrank against the back of his chair. Janner heard him say in a quiet, urgent voice, “Nia, please! This isn’t the way!”

  But Nia’s anger was kindled and she declared again, “Turalay!”

  The cries of the crowd deteriorated into a cacophony of shouting. Some shook their fists and said, “Let her vouch!” Others shook their heads, saying, “Not the queen!”

  Finally Rudric, with a grave expression, held up his hands for order. “The queen,” he said, “has declaredturalay. Bring the Grey Fang.”

  The doors swung open and another cage was rolled into the hall. At first it looked empty, but Janner spotted a little gray heap in the corner, so small it looked like a crumpled blanket. The crowd watched in silence as the cage was placed at the foot of the mound between two sweeps of tree root.

  “Kalmar! It’s going to be all right,” Leeli said, and her voice was like music. “We’re all here.”

  The little heap stirred and two trembling ears appeared, then two blue eyes and a wet black nose. Kalmar held himself tightly, shivering as if he were cold or sick. When he saw Leeli, then Nia and the others, he whined. Janner’s heart ached. He fought the urge to tear open the cage and flee with his brother.

  Rudric dusted off an ornate wooden box beside the throne, opened it, and removed a dagger. Without a word, the seven men and women of the council came forward and flanked Rudric. Nia, who seemed to know exactly what to do, stood between them and held out her right hand, palm upward.

  “Nia Wingfeather, Queen of Anniera,” Rudric said in a loud voice, “you have invokedturalay for the sake of the Grey Fang, whom you call son.”

  “I do, and I regret it not,” she said.

  “Then before the chiefs of Ban Hyn, Ban Rugan, Ban Yorna, Ban Finnick, Ban Soran, Ban Verda, and the Outer Vales, you vouch for the Grey Fang—”

  “His name is Kalmar Wingfeather,” Nia said. “And I will hold you in contempt until you call him thus.”

  Rudric glanced at the chiefs. In all his strength, he seemed small before Nia. “Very well. You vouch forKalmar Wingfeather. You hold your life forfeit for his, and should he break the life laws of the Green Hollows, from this day forward, it is not only his blood that will be shed, but yours—” He stepped closer to Nia and lowered his voice. “You mustn’t do this thing. The Fang—I’m sorry—theboy is wild. I heard him last night in the dungeon, howling like an animal. His claws are bloodied from scraping at the stone. And that is only the beginning. You saw the other Fang! In time, the boy too will descend, I know it, and not only will he hurt someone, he’ll kill, he’ll be lost, and you’ll be lost with him. Please, Nia! There is no changing this.”

  “He’s my son,” Nia said. Her eyes burned into Rudric’s until he looked away.

  “Turalay,” Rudric said at last, and he drew the knife blade across Nia’s palm. She didn’t flinch. The Keeper of the Hollows took Nia’s wrist and held up her bleeding hand for the assembly to see. “Hollowsfolk! Before these witnesses has the ancient law been invoked! Beneath the branches of the ancient tree has the oath been made! Let blood seal the freedom of the captive!”

  “Let it be,” answered the assembly.

  Rudric released Nia’s hand and stepped aside. She walked forward and placed her palm against the trunk of the giant tree, and Janner noticed for the first time that there were many other palm prints, faded with age, dappling the smooth bark above the throne.

  Blood trickled down her wrist and flowed into the bark of the tree until she was satisfied and held her hand out again for all to see. “Now, in the name of my father Podo Helmer, my grandfather Kargan Igiby, his father Janiber Igiby, and in the name of the Maker himself, release my son.”

  The guards unlatched the cage, and the door creaked open.

  “Kalmar, come,” Nia said.

  Kalmar blinked and cocked his head sideways, looking from Nia to the guards and back again like a scared puppy. Without a thought for what the council would think, Janner ran to the cage, stepped in, and carried his brother out. He stood with his family at the base of the tree and watched as the Hollowsfolk filed out of the hall in silence.

  Rudric appeared with bandages for Nia’s hand. Podo took them with a stiff nod and wrapped his daughter’s wound. Rudric cleared his throat and struggled to look Nia in the eye. “That didn’t go as I had hoped.”

  “Little does,” Nia said, looking away.

  Oskar shook his head and stared at the floor. Kalmar was free, but at the cost of Nia’s own life, should his recklessness or foolishness or even some deeper, uncontrollable impulse get him into trouble. And trouble, Janner thought with a feeling of dread, was something Kalmar never managed to avoid. Besides all that, Uncle Artham, their fiercest protector, was gone.

  “Come, children,” Nia said. She helped Leeli to her feet, kissed Kalmar on the forehead, and led them out of the room.

  As they stepped into the sunlight, Janner glanced back at Rudric. He slumped on his throne and watched them leave. Above his head, Nia’s bloody handprint glistened on the tree.

  13

  Pumpkin Stew and an Old Friend

  The Igiby family walked back to the Orchard Inn under a cool sky. The day was beautiful and bright, but it did little to lift the burden from Janner’s heart. He could tell from the bright orange edges of the leaves that autumn was coming to the Hollows, and he wondered how cold it got here.

  The family walked in silence, happy that Kalmar was free, but the seriousness of the day hung over them like a fog. Kalmar didn’t seem to be injured, though his fur made it impossible to tell if he was bruised. He was skittish, though, and kept close to Janner’s side.

  Janner wanted to ask his mother or Podo what they would do next, but he doubted anyone had thought past returning to the Orchard Inn for lunch and a safe place to rest.

  “Look,” Leeli said, pointing beyond the Keep at a field where a group of children ran barefoot on the grass. “Are they playing zibzy, Mama?”

  “Something like it,” Nia said.

  “Probably a bit rougher than ye boys are used to, though,” Podo said. “When I first showed up here, these Hollowsfolk sopped me like a biscuit. And I was a pirate, remember, fresh off the meanest ship that ever sailed.”

  “Didn’t they like you?” Leeli asked.

  “Oh, they liked me fine. But I was an outsider. Had to prove me grit, you see.”

  “What did you have to do?” Kalmar asked. It was the first time he had spoken since being released, and Janner was relieved to hear his voice. However he looked, however abused he had been at the hands of the Hollish guards, Kalmar was still in there.

  “We’ll talk over lunch,” Nia said, leading them toward the inn. “There’s much to discuss, and your grandfather can tell his stories then.”

  Janner thought it odd that his mother was in such a hurry until he noticed the way she glanced at the windows of the homes that lined the street. He spotted faces peeking out from behind curtains to watch them pass—watching Kalmar in particular. Some wore their distrust plainly; others looked frightened. Janner didn’t have to try too hard to imagine he saw anger as well, and he couldn’t wait to be back at the Orchard Inn.

  When they arrived, the dining room was empty but for the woman who had served them the night before. She slumped in a chair before a smoldering hearth fire and gave them a look that smoldered too.

  “I was afraid you’d be back,” she said. “With the wolf, I see.”

  Again Janner waited for Nia’s anger, but it didn’t come.

  “With my son, yes,” she said. “Am I to assume that we’re the cause of your empty dining hall?”

  “You are,” said the woman without looking up. “Word spread that the Grey Fang was freed, and that it would be coming here. People scattered like flies and left me with a pot of pumpkin soup and no one to eat it. Even your Kimeran sailors left. Said they couldn’t sleep unless the beds were on the tide, so they’ve gone to their ship. I doubt they’ll be b
ack for dinner, either.”

  “I’m sorry for your trouble.” Nia stepped closer to the woman and waited until she lifted her eyes from the fire and met Nia’s gaze. “But we have nowhere else to go, and nothing to eat. We’ll clean your kitchen, tend to your rooms, and seek other lodging—to honor your goodwill and good work. I’ve no doubt that once we move on, your cinnamon bread and pumpkin stew will lure a hall full of hungry bellies soon enough.”

  The woman sighed, brushed off her apron, and stood. She looked at each of them but Kalmar, shook her head, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Well! That was uncomfortable,” said Oskar, scratching his belly. “I’m just glad we won’t have to wait for our soup.” He plopped into a chair, tucked a napkin into his shirt collar, and rubbed his hands together.

  Nia nodded at her children and they sat, filling every space at a table near the fire. Nia, though, walked into the kitchen uninvited. She emerged a moment later with six mugs of hot cider—three in each hand—and the hostess followed after with a tray of steaming wooden bowls. She appeared to have softened toward Nia and thanked her for her help.

  “You’re welcome, dear. We’ll help you clean up when we’re finished.”

  “No need, Your Highness. My name’s Elenna.” The woman curtsied awkwardly and left them alone.

  “Janner,” Nia said, “please thank the Maker for our food.” When Janner bowed his head, the steam from the pumpkin soup filled his senses so that when he gave thanks, he meant every word.

  “Now! I have three questions,” Oskar said. He held his spoon before his lips, ready to slurp the soup up as soon as he was finished speaking. “One—why in the Deep did Artham leave? Two—what is thisturalay business? Three—where is the library? Kalmar! Goodness me, is your bowl empty already?”

  Kalmar burped a snarly burp and wiped his snout with his forearm.

  “That was four questions,” Leeli said with a giggle.

  Elenna glided out of the kitchen and refilled Kalmar’s bowl, but she still wouldn’t look at him, even when Kalmar thanked her.

  “Uncle Artham’s going back to Skree,” Janner said.

  Nia raised her eyebrows. “What does he plan to do there?”

  “He said they needed him there. I think he’s going to Kimera first, to see if he can help Gammon fight the Fangs. And I asked him to do something about the Fork Factory in Dugtown. Sara Cobbler is still there—”

  Kalmar snickered. “Sara Cobbler, with the bright diamond eyes?”

  “What?” Janner said, blushing.

  “You talked about her in your sleep,” Podo said.

  “Almost every night,” Kalmar said. “‘Sara! Your eyes are so pretty! I’ll come back for you, Sara!’” He howled with laughter till Janner punched him in the shoulder.

  “Boys!” Nia glared at them. “Behave yourselves at the table. Kalmar, leave your brother alone. He can’t help it if he’s in love.”

  Janner stirred his soup and shook his head while everyone laughed. When they were finished and his cheeks had returned to their natural color, he said, “Thepoint is, Uncle Artham’s gone.” There was much clearing of throats and wiping of eyes and sipping of soup. “He said he would only bring us trouble. It’s like he’s two people, and he never knows when Peet the Sock Man is going to take over. I wish I understood what changed him. Something happened—and I don’t just mean whatever gave him the talons. He said he wanted to get as far away as he could from the Blackwood.”

  Nia looked up from her bowl. “I didn’t know he ever entered the Blackwood. It’s a terrible place.”

  “Terrible like Glipwood Forest?” Leeli asked.

  “Worse,” Nia said.

  “Much worse, lass.” Podo’s face darkened. “Glipwood was dangerous because of toothy cows and horned hounds and all manner of critters. They were dangerous, sure, but not evil. The Blackwood is full ofmonsters. When I was a young man I once rode west, far past the orchards, and sat on my horse atop a ridge to watch the forest edge. The spine of the Killridge Mountains in the south sloped down to the foothills where the forest began. The tree trunks were like dirty bones, and the branches were like fingers. I could see the woods movin’, I tell ye. And I don’t just mean the trees. I mean things in the forest were teeming about. It was like—like worms crawling around in moldy bread.”

  Podo slurped his soup without noticing the way everyone else at the table gagged. Nia looked at the ceiling and shook her head.

  “Apt description. That’s all,” Podo said with a shrug.

  “For as long as anyone can remember it’s been either haunted or populated with the cloven,” Nia said. “Creatures so ghoulish they can’t even be described—according to legend anyway. I can’t imagine why Artham was ever there.”

  Janner finished his soup and wondered if he could have more, just as the innkeeper appeared and filled his bowl.

  “As for your second question, Oskar,” Nia said, “turalay is an old Hollish law. It means that Kalmar and I are bound in life and death.”

  Kalmar looked up from his second bowl of soup and blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “If you break a law, I receive your punishment too.”

  “And there’s no changin’ it,” Podo said gravely. “If you steal Danniby’s sack of apples, and the council decides the fitting punishment is a month in the dungeon, your mother goes along with you.”

  “It was the only way.” Nia smiled at Kal. “And I trust you.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I won’t steal Danniby’s dumb apples,” Kalmar said.

  “I know you won’t, son.” Nia leaned over and took Kalmar’s chin in her hand and made him look at her. “You’re the king of the Shining Isle. That means something. This fur doesn’t.” She held up her bandaged hand. “I don’t regret this. Nor will I ever.”

  Janner watched them quietly, the Fang and the queen, and assured himself that Kalmar would never break the laws of the Hollows. He told himself that his mother’s decision to invoketuralay was her only choice and that Kalmar would honor her trust. Then he wondered why he was telling himself anything, except that he was trying to convince himself, trying to quiet some smaller, secret voice in his heart—one that still wasn’t sure that Kalmar could be trusted. The wounds in his legs, chest, and back throbbed for the first time that day.

  Oskar had finished his fourth bowl of soup and leaned away from the table with his napkin draped across the expanse of his belly. “And what about my third question? The library. I’ve much research to do if I’m to translate the First Book, and besides, I’ve been dreaming of readingThe Further Excitements of Billiam Stone again and wager I could find a copy here, since Billiam Stone’s exploits often involve the misappropriation and burglary of fruit and its accoutrements. A library would be most welcome.”

  “If you want to see a library, I’m the man to show you,” said a new voice.

  They all turned to see a short and very old man standing in the doorway, dressed in a finely tailored suit. His face was clean-shaven, and several tufts of curly white hair burst from beneath his top hat. He was smiling so widely that his cheeks bunched into little eggs that pushed his eyes into a happy squint.

  The man removed his hat and bowed low, sweeping his arms wide. “Your Highness. It’s good to see you.”

  Nia gasped. She leaped to her feet, dashed across the room, and hugged the little old man so tightly that she lifted him off the floor.

  “Bonifer!” Podo cried. “Bonifer Squoon!”

  14

  An Inheritance from Kargan Igiby

  Janner’s mind spun. A character had just stepped out of the stories he’d been told and into the Orchard Inn.

  “Books and Crannies!” Kalmar whispered into Janner’s ear.

  Janner looked at his brother with surprise. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “We found his old journal, right?”

  Janner thought back to the day in Glipwood when he and Kalmar had unpacked crates of books for O
skar and discovered one of Bonifer’s journals. It was the same day Kal had found Oskar’s map—the map that led to the weapons chamber beneath Anklejelly Manor, which led to their escape from the horned hounds, which led to just about every bad thing that had happened since.

  “Wasn’t he Papa’s friend?” Kal asked.

  “Yeah,” Janner whispered. “His advisor.”

  When Podo released Bonifer from a bone-crunching hug, the old man adjusted his top hat, brushed himself off, and looked the children over with what seemed like reverence. He took a step forward, checked himself, and bowed again. When he didn’t rise, Janner realized that Bonifer was waiting for some signal. Nia cleared her throat.

  “You may, uh, rise,” Janner stammered.

  But the man still didn’t move. Janner wondered for a moment if he was stuck, or asleep, but finally the old fellow spoke in a quiet voice. “I don’t mean to offend, Throne Warden, but I wasn’t waiting for you.”

  Janner’s cheeks grew hot, and he stared at his feet.

  “Kalmar,” Nia said gently, “he’s waiting for the king to bid him rise.”

  “Huh?” Kalmar looked confused, then understanding came over his face, followed by a look of terror at not knowing what to do. “Hi, sir,” he said with a gulp. “You don’t have to bow to me. My name’s Kalmar. They used to call me Tink, but now it’s just Kalmar. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Bonifer rose at last. “I do, in fact, have to bow to you, Your Highness. I’m a citizen of Anniera. You’re my king. It’s as simple as that.” He held his hat in his hands and beamed at the little wolf. “King Kalmar, we have met before, though you don’t remember. I held you in my arms when you were a baby. I was in the next room when you were born, and I heard you draw your first breath. Your father was my dear friend, and though it seems you’ve undergone some . . .changes, I can see him in you yet.”