“I don’t believe her. Don’t believe she’s truthing the tell. She’d never let them free-fee-fee.”
The Fang wrinkled his nose at Artham, then shrugged. “Fine, then. Here’s your dinner.”
The Fang hooked the cage with a long pole and drew it close enough to toss in several hunks of raw meat and a flask of water. When the Fang released the cage, Artham swung like a pendulum far above those waiting to enter the box. Some of them looked up, curious about what had captured the attention of the Stone Keeper. The woman in the black robe watched Artham’s cage for several moments, then turned and welcomed the next person in line, a burly fellow rubbing his hands with excitement.
Artham hugged his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his red arms. If the Stone Keeper, whoever she was, kept her word, all he had to do was sing the song and give himself over to the madness once and for all. He would forget what he had done. He would forget that he had failed his brother. He would lose himself, but at least the children would be free of this place. Then he remembered the jewels, and he knew he couldn’t. Much as he would like to give up his fight and let Gnag do with him whatever he would, he couldn’t abandon Janner, Tink, and Leeli. He couldn’t abandon Anniera.
When the last in the line of volunteers was transformed and taken away, another door opened and the children from the dungeon were led to the dais. Artham pressed his face against the bars and watched with agony as a Grey Fang unchained them one at a time and dragged them to the Stone Keeper.
I can stop this, he thought.
Then he curled up on the floor of the cage and cried because he didn’t know what to do. When he clamped his hands to his ears to block out the howls from below, the talons were cold against his skin.
52
The Bomnubble and the Lake of Gold
Janner and Maraly walked for two days over a ragged landscape. The grass was no longer green but brown and scraggly. The boulders were giant brown eggs, rounded and smooth from ages of wind and rain, some of them big as houses, and bigger the farther they walked. At times the boulders so covered the foothills that the children were forced to weave between them or climb them and leap from rock to rock. But for most of their journey, they tramped up long, barren slopes of yellow grass with the Stony Mountains looming white and sharp in the distance.
They spoke little, but the silence wasn’t unpleasant. Janner was glad to have a companion, Strander or no. Maraly seemed happier the farther they got from the East Bend and her father.
The wind cut through Janner’s shirt and breeches, and he worried more and more about how they would survive the snow and ice. He was uncomfortably cold, but since Maraly didn’t complain, neither did he. The only animals they saw were squirrely creatures Maraly called browndogs. They chittered and vanished into holes in the earth whenever the two children passed. Maraly’s skill with her dagger was put to the test, but she was able to catch and clean three as they went. Her bag filled with meat, and since the weather had turned so wintry, there were no flies.
In the middle of the second long day, they reached the foot of the mountains. The steepening hills fell away to cliffs, as if they had been cut in two and the north side removed. Janner and Maraly scrambled down the pebbled slopes and several times had to retrace their steps and find another way around. All the time, the wind grew fiercer.
“You gettin’ cold yet?” Maraly said over her shoulder.
“I’ve been cold.”
“Aye.” She sprang from one boulder to the next.
“What are we going to do?” Janner asked after they slid to the ground again.
“Don’t know. Was hopin’ you’d have an idea.”
“Well, we can’t go back. It’s too far and too dangerous. We have food, and there’s plenty of water. We just don’t have anything to keep us warm.”
“There’s them bomnubbles,” she said.
Janner waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.
“I know what a bomnubble is,” he said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“We could get one. I ain’t never seen one, but I’ve heard me Granny Nurgabog talk about ‘em. Said they’re big as a tree and furry as the hair on her toes.”
“We can’t kill a bomnubble,” Janner said. “Even the rangers could barely kill them in the old days. Rangers tried to get rid of them to make travel in the Stony Mountains safer, but they lost too many men, so they gave up. They claimed bomnubbles were too scarce to be much threat anyway.”
“What makes ye think you know so much about bomnubbles?” Maraly asked, rolling her eyes.
“Books.”
“What?”
“Books. I read about them in one called Pembrick’s Creaturepedia.”
“Books, eh?” She stopped in her tracks. “Shh!” She flung her dagger at a brown-dog at the foot of a nearby rock. She missed, cursed under her breath, and retrieved the weapon. “Well, did your precious book tell ye how to find one?”
“A bomnubble?”
“Aye.”
“No, not that I remember. It said they live in caves in the Stony Mountains, that’s all.”
“Well, Granny Nurgabog told me how to find one.”
“Maraly, it’s too dangerous. We can’t—”
“Shh!” she said again, but this time she didn’t throw the dagger. She squinted one eye and pointed at the nearest slope. At the foot of the mountain lay a cluster of what looked like dark green bushes—by now Janner knew they were actually trees, dwarfed by the distance and the enormity of the mountain. Above the trees, the mountain face was covered with what looked like pebbles but were actually boulders that had slid down the slope.
“See the snow?” Maraly asked.
Janner saw the snow, just above the line of trees, swathed across the stones like strokes of white paint.
“Look there, to the left,” she said.
At first Janner saw nothing but more snow. Then it shifted. A speck of grayish white moved down from the snowfield to the tree line. Even from this distance, Janner’s stomach tingled with fear. He knew the bomnubble couldn’t see them (Pembrick’s Creaturepedia said the monsters had poor vision), but he still felt vulnerable. If the bomnubble decided to have them for its dinner, there would be little they could do; the creature knew these mountains far better than the children did.
“We need to get out of here,” Janner said.
Maraly sniggered and drew her dagger. “Nurgabog told me their caves are usually in little forests like that one. I’ve been watchin’ for it ever since I spotted the trees. Sure enough, old Nurgie was right. Let’s go.”
“Maraly, wait!” Janner hissed, but she ignored him.
Janner watched her go, feeling a familiar anger. She didn’t think about consequences. She didn’t care what Janner said. She was reckless and foolish. She was, Janner thought, a girl version of Tink. And as with Tink, Janner found he couldn’t resist the urge to follow.
They sneaked from rock to rock until they reached a dried streambed that provided cover for several hundred yards. Maraly crept along in silence, and every time Janner’s foot slipped and sent a pebble clattering away, she glared at him with great annoyance. Soon the stand of trees was an arrow shot away, close enough that it blocked the view of the snowfields above it, where they had seen the beast.
Maraly sat on her haunches in the creek bed and drew her dagger. “Well, are you gonna draw yer sword or what?”
“Maraly, this is foolishness!” Janner whispered. “You have to listen to me. This isn’t as easy as killing a browndog. Have you ever seen a bomnubble up close?”
“Nope. You?” She grinned.
“Well, no, but I’ve seen pictures. They’re twice as tall as a man and mean as fire.”
“Aw, they can’t be that hard to kill. Besides, we need somethin’ to keep warm, don’t we?”
Janner had to admit they did.
From just over the rim of the creek bed came a grunt. Janner and Maraly froze. The bomnubble snorte
d and smacked, so near that both children were afraid to breathe. After several moments, the creature moved away. Maraly grinned and peeked over the bank, despite Janner’s frantic gestures to stay hidden.
When Maraly’s head wasn’t bitten off, Janner gulped and took his first look at a real bomnubble in the wilds of the Stony Mountains.
Only a stone’s throw away, in a little clearing among the trees, stood the beast, its back to the children. It was even taller than Janner had imagined and covered in fine white fur, so long that it swayed in the wind. Its legs were short and stout, but its arms were enormous and thick as a tree. Its back and shoulders rippled with muscle, visible even through its fur. The bomnubble was eating something and seemed to be enjoying itself.
Just beyond the beast, on the higher side of the clearing, was the mouth of a cave.
Maraly’s face was ashen. Janner wasn’t used to seeing her afraid, and he felt a little sorry for her. But to his surprise, she took a deep breath, winked at him, and mouthed the word, “Ready?”
A howl echoed through the clearing.
The bomnubble stood to its full height and turned enough that Janner could see its fearsome face. Its eyes were hidden in locks of white fur, its nose small and black, but its mouth was huge and bright with blood from its meal. Two teeth as long as Janner’s forearm curved up from its lower jaw.
They heard another howl, and the bomnubble bounded to the mouth of its cave and threw the carcass inside. Then the beast climbed up the side of the mountain and out of sight.
“Blast!” Maraly said. She plopped down on the ground with her arms folded, pouting like a two-year-old. “We would’ve had it!”
Janner stood, looking into the dark mouth of the cave. “Maraly, did you see what it was eating?”
“Nope,” she said grumpily.
“It was a wolf.”
“So what?”
“I have an idea.”
He hopped out of the creek bed and bolted into the clearing, reveling, for once, in the fact that he was the one rushing ahead.
“Wait!” Maraly said, and Janner smiled.
He skidded to a halt at the entrance of the cave and listened. Maraly caught up with him a moment later, and they both leaned over and looked inside. The smell issuing from the blackness was overpowering. Janner felt himself on the verge of throwing up, but he forced himself into the cave.
On the floor lay the mangled carcass of the wolf. Its fur hung from it in tatters.
“Ahh,” Maraly said. “Now you’re thinkin’ like a Strander.”
Janner grimaced and pulled the wolf ‘s skin from its bones. Deeper in the cave they found the remains of animals Janner had never read about, some with the remnants of scaly skin, some with bony exoskeletons, and some, to his relief, with thick coats of fur. Most of them had decomposed beyond any usefulness, but several were fresh kills, and the children emerged from the cave minutes later with armfuls of smelly—but wonderfully warm—pelts.
They sprinted back to the creek bed and hid just as the bomnubble leapt into the clearing again, dragging another big wolf behind it like a toy. It grunted its way into the cave and stayed there until the children were far away.
That night on the slope of the mountain, Maraly cooked a fine meal of diggle and browndog meat. When clouds hid the bright stars and snow fell, the children slept in a mound of furs. Maraly admitted it had been far easier to scavenge the skins than to fight the bomnubble, and Janner fell asleep with a proud smile on his face.
They spent most of the next morning making the pelts into something each of them could wear. Maraly poked holes in the skins with her dagger, and Janner sewed them together with twine from his pack. By the time the sun began its descent, Maraly and Janner were draped and hooded in furs. They looked like fierce little bomnubbles themselves and felt capable of living happily in the Stony Mountains for years if need be.
Later that afternoon they discovered a lake so round and blue it looked like a jewel cut from the sky. It rested between the shoulders of two white-capped peaks that blocked the constant wind and left the surface of the water smooth as glass. Maraly and Janner knelt at the water’s edge in silence. There was some great peace in the place they didn’t wish to disturb. They dropped their packs, filled the water skins, then sat on a stone a short distance from the shore.
Before them, between the V of the slopes that cradled the lake, rose Mog-Balgrik. The Witch’s Nose stabbed at the sky and carved the clouds in two. The ridge to the left of the nose bore a depression that looked like a shadowed eye socket, and to the right of the nose lay a cut in the mountain that formed a mouth curved in a jagged frown.
Podo’s note said they were to find a trail that wound around the right shoulder of the peak—right over that jagged mouth. Janner shivered. It was too easy to imagine the great sleeping witch eating them as they passed.
“So that’s where we’re goin’, eh?” said Maraly as she removed her hood.
“Yeah. Somehow we have to get over that mountain. There’s supposed to be a trail. I guess if we keep going that way, we’ll cross it eventually.”
“Aye.” Maraly sighed. “Want to camp here tonight?”
The hollow seemed safe enough. It was the first peaceful spot they had found in the Stony Mountains, and he hated to leave. They gathered enough sticks and scrub for a fire and settled in to cook a meal.
The setting sun broke through the clouds and shot a golden beam at Mog-Balgrik. The light transformed the hideous semblance of a face and showed the peak for the ancient beauty that it was.
“Look!” Maraly said.
Janner pulled his gaze from the bright mountain and saw what appeared to be a cloud of yellow flower petals floating down from the slopes to the lake. Then they heard the flutter of wings and the twitter of birdsong. Thousands of yellow birds alighted on the surface of the lake, so many that it looked like the water itself had turned to gold. They sang and groomed their wings in the twilight and were visible long after night fell.
“Hmph,” was all Maraly said, but Janner noticed that she wiped her eyes.
The children fell asleep to the pleasant play of the birds on the water. Janner woke more than once that night to see the starlit creatures still floating on the lake, and he went back to sleep with wonder in his heart.
In the morning, the lake was glassy and still, and the yellow birds had flown. The Witch’s Nose was grim as ever. Janner crawled out of his blanket of furs and walked a little way along the shore. He drank deep at the edge of the lake before he saw the man with the sword. He stood just a few feet away, leaning against a boulder. His hair was black, and he wore a heavy, fur-lined coat that hung to his ankles.
“The Fangs are coming,” he said.
After so many days alone with Maraly, the man’s presence startled Janner so badly that he staggered backward, tripped over a stone, and nearly fell. Janner couldn’t tell from the man’s smile if he was a friend or an enemy. Could he be one of the rebels? one of Gammon’s men?
Maraly still slept under a pile of furs at the camp, a stone’s throw away. Janner glanced at his pack, where his sword lay.
“Don’t do that, boy. I’m fast. Faster than a bomnubble.”
The man lifted his coat and tossed something big, white, and furry. It thudded to the ground and rolled to Janner’s feet. The grisly head of a bomnubble stared at him with dead eyes.
“It was on your trail,” the man said. “Caught your scent after you and your friend ran off with the pelts.”
From Pembrick’s Creaturepedia
Janner’s face flushed.
“Don’t feel bad, boy. It was a fine idea, and mighty brave of you two to enter a bomnubble den. But you’re lucky there wasn’t another asleep in the back of the cave.”
“Who are you?” Janner asked.
“Someone who’s been watching you.”
Janner said nothing, but the sea dragon’s warning rang in his mind: He is near you. Beware.
“You’re making goo
d progress, if it’s to the Ice Prairies you mean to go. That is where you mean to go, isn’t it?” the man asked with another of his mysterious, too-friendly smiles.
“Maybe,” Janner said, and he felt like a fool when the man doubled over with laughter.
“Well, maybe you’d like to fall in with me. That’s where I’m headed too, and I’ve made the trip a number of times. Besides, these mountains are crawling with Fangs you probably don’t want to meet.”
“Fangs? You’re lying. They can’t survive the cold,” Janner said.
“That used to be the case,” the man said, growing serious. “Not anymore. These Fangs do just fine in the cold. Too fine. So fine, in fact, that all I’ve worked for is in danger. My army, my weapons, my hopes to defeat the Fangs and banish them from my land—all of it will be lost unless I can find a way to stop the Fangs.”
“Gammon?” Janner asked.
“Aye,” said the man. “And your name is Janner Wingfeather. I’m here to help you get to Kimera. The rest of your family is waiting.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Got word from one of my men that a peglegged pirate, a little girl, her mother, and a round old man with spectacles arrived in Kimera a few days ago. They said their two boys were missing, so I’ve been looking for you. Why don’t you and your brother there come with me? Ordinarily I wouldn’t be in such a rush, but I have an appointment to make.”
Janner’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not my brother. That’s Maraly—she’s a Strander. My brother was taken by the Black Carriage.”
Gammon’s eyes flickered with—something. Janner assumed it was disappointment and hung his head.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Janner,” said Gammon quietly. “Then Gnag the Nameless has caught his prey. Maker only knows what he will do with him.”
“Gnag doesn’t know who he is,” Janner said. “They think he’s just another boy from the Strand.”
Gammon thought for a moment. “Well, there may not be much hope for your brother, but if the Fangs don’t realize who they’ve caught, there may be some hope for the rest of us.” Gammon stepped forward and held out his hand. “You’ve had a hard journey, lad. Why don’t we move on? If we hurry, we’ll be safe in Kimera by sundown, and you can rest in the company of those who love you.”