Fablehaven: The Complete Series (160 page)

Seth cleared his throat and assumed a serious expression. “Upon further reflection, I’ve decided to accept your offer.”

“Ouch, too bad,” Doren lamented. “The sale just ended.”

Newel yanked the breastplate out of Seth’s grasp. “The price just shot up to 120 batteries. Surely much more than a disinterested onlooker like yourself would be willing to provide.”

“Okay, look,” Seth said, trying not to sound nervous. “The breastplate is really sweet. And it could come in handy. I shouldn’t have teased you. I know your lack of batteries stresses you out. I was just bored, so I was trying to be a tough negotiator.”

“You’re our only battery supplier,” Newel said. “We’ve been racking our brains over this. You can’t tease us like that. Not about batteries.”

“The more TV we get, the more we need,” Doren explained.

Seth raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you guys are spending too much time in front of the tube. It’s making you grouchy. Grandpa might be right. Maybe you should take some time off and learn to appreciate nature.”

“We’ve spent the last four thousand years appreciating nature,” Newel groaned. “We get it. Plants are pretty and smell nice. For us, the new and exotic frontier is season finale cliff-hangers.”

“It’s your life,” Seth said. “Look, of course I want the armor. But the Society is after us like never before, so it may take a couple of weeks before I can make it to a store. If you give me the priceless breastplate, I’ll score you guys 120 C batteries as soon as possible.”

“Done,” Newel said, tossing the breastplate back to Seth.

“We fitted it with straps so you can wear it home,” Doren said.

“Can I come out now?” a voice inquired from behind Seth.

“Sure,” Newel replied.

“Verl?” Seth said, twisting in his hammock.

The cow-spotted satyr skipped into view, holding a large rectangular object bundled in brown paper. “I need your help.”

“Where were you?” Seth asked.

“Crouching behind a snowdrift. Newel said I had to keep out of sight until they concluded business with you. What are batteries, by the way?”

“Tiny cylinders of power,” Doren said. “Don’t strain your brain.”

“Right,” Verl said, peeling back the brown paper to reveal the object in his hands. It was a canvas with a large image of Kendra’s face rendered in charcoal.

“Wow,” Seth said. “That looks pretty realistic. You drew it?”

“Along with many others,” Verl admitted timidly. “At first I produced pictures of us together: on a carousel, rowing in a canal, waltzing at a ball. Doren warned me I was trying too hard. I finally settled on this striking vision of my muse. What better way to declare my affection than to simply revel in her beauty? Would you be so kind as to deliver it?”

“No problem,” Seth said, grinning.

“I blush to think of her beholding my work,” Verl confessed, handing over the canvas.

“So do we,” Newel assured him.

“She’ll love it,” Seth said, trying to accept the canvas. Verl would not let go.

“You sure, Verl?” Doren taunted. “Pretty mushy stuff. Stan won’t like it.”

Verl released his hold on the picture. “Yes, I’m sure. Take it to Kendra with my highest regards.”

Seth felt and heard a rumbling that built into words.
Come to me, Seth.

Seth stared at Newel and Doren. “Did you guys hear that?”

“What?” Doren asked. “Verl guaranteeing his humiliation? Loud and clear!”

“A voice calling my name,” Seth said.

Visit
me tonight. There is little time.
The voice was like distant thunder.

“Nothing?” Seth asked.

The satyrs shook their heads.

The faint rumbling faded.

Newel tapped Seth on the arm with his fist. “Feeling all right there, buddy?”

Seth forced a smile. “I’m okay. I keep hearing things lately. Maybe I should get back to the yard.” He slid out of the hammock.

“Keep the breastplate,” Newel said. “Just don’t forget that you owe us—”

“—one hundred and twenty size C batteries,” Seth finished.

* * *

Four stoic centaurs waited at the border of their domain, muscular torsos bare except for wolf skins draped across their powerful shoulders. Kendra recognized two of them. The silver one with the enormous bow was Cloudwing. The other was Stormbrow, whom Kendra had mostly seen as a dark centaur. The coat of his horse body was white dappled with gray. He had a high forehead and long, lank hair. One of the unfamiliar centaurs had a golden hide and was not as excessively muscled as the others. The final centaur had chestnut fur and curly auburn hair.

Hugo brought the cart to a stop in front of the centaurs. Grandpa had already explained that Hugo would not be able to enter the centaurs’ realm.

“Greetings, Stan Sorenson,” proclaimed Cloudwing in a clear, musical baritone.

“Good day, Cloudwing,” Grandpa said. “Stormbrow. Quickstride. Bloodthorn. I take it you received my message.”

“Yesterday the golem bore us tidings of your advent,” Cloudwing replied. “You brought many companions.”

“We need to counsel with Graymane,” Grandpa said.

Cloudwing dipped his head. “Such is your right once per annum.”

“You have the girl with you,” Stormbrow accused, his voice deep and harsh.

“She accompanies us to offer appreciation for Broadhoof’s noble sacrifice,” Grandpa said.

“Her gratitude is not required,” Stormbrow grated.

“Nevertheless, here we are,” Grandpa replied, climbing down from the wagon.

“Stay aboard the cart,” Cloudwing instructed. “We will tow you onward.”

The golden centaur and the reddish centaur came forward and took hold of the handles Hugo had used to pull the wagon. Grandpa had explained that if they didn’t solicit help, the centaurs might offer this service in order to shorten the duration of their visit.

They were currently on the far side of Fablehaven’s marshlands. The road they had traveled had skirted the fens for the latter portion of the journey. Behind them, vapor hung above the foul, unfrozen water, where slime, moss, and tall weedy plants thrived in defiance of winter.

With no further words, the centaurs broke into a canter, towing the cart along at great speed. Kendra reviewed the instructions Grandpa had given. Unless engaged in conversation, centaurs considered eye contact a challenge. She was supposed to keep quiet unless Grandpa identified specific opportunities for her to speak. They were all under orders to accept insults graciously and without rebuttal. Given his knack for infuriating centaurs, she was relieved that her brother had stayed home.

The centaurs hauled them through an extensive vineyard and a sweet-smelling orchard populated by diverse fruit trees. Fairies flitted among the vegetation, driving back the snow and keeping the plants unseasonably fruitful. Only at the main house and near the Fairy Queen’s shrine had Kendra ever seen so many. She also spotted female centaurs in the midst of the trees, effortlessly balancing huge baskets laden with fruit. Wrapped in furs, the women possessed a hard, cold beauty.

Beyond the orchard, they passed into a snowy grove of tall evergreens. Occasionally Kendra glimpsed pavilions through the trees. When the cart emerged from the grove, a tremendous block of stone loomed before them. Three times as tall as it was wide, the megalith towered thirty feet high. Off to either side, Kendra saw other monolithic standing stones, curving out of sight to form a ring around a broad hill.

“We will proceed on foot,” Cloudwing announced. “Welcome to Grunhold.” The centaurs who had been towing them released their hold on the wagon.

Kendra clambered down along with the others and followed the four centaurs around the megalith and up the gentle slope. Their path wound around hedges and earthworks, beneath arched trellises, up ramps, and over small, decorative bridges. As in the vineyard and the orchard, colorful fairies filled the air, keeping the vegetation in bloom. Among the terraced gardens, Kendra observed standing stones of varied shape and size, smaller cousins of the megaliths encircling the base of the hill. Here and there male and female centaurs roamed or conversed, showing little interest in the visitors. Occasionally Kendra noticed yawning entrances recessed into the hillside. Kendra wondered how far the shadowy tunnels extended.

As they neared the top of the hill, Kendra stared up at the primitive dolmen on the summit. Five massive upright stones served as columns to support an immense slab of rock, together forming a crude shelter. It looked as though an army of giants would have been required to place the enormous slab atop the other stones. Beneath the massive capstone waited a brooding centaur the color of a storm cloud. His long gray hair matched his bushy beard and the fur of his equine body. His eyebrows were the same darker gray of his tail. Although his face looked older than the other centaurs, it was not wrinkled. His torso may have carried more fat than the others, but none were more heavily muscled.

“Greetings, Stan Sorenson,” Graymane intoned as they approached. “What brings you and yours to Grunhold?”

“Greetings, Graymane,” Grandpa answered formally. “We are here to honor the nobility of Broadhoof and to ask a favor.”

“Come forward,” Graymane invited, backing away.

There was ample room inside the dolmen for the five centaurs and the six human visitors. The shelter had no furniture, so they stood facing one another, the centaurs on one side, the humans on the other. Kendra glanced up nervously at the enormous slab above them. If it fell, they would all be squished flat as tortillas.

“I am not acquainted with all of those in your party,” Graymane said.

“You remember my wife, Ruth, and my assistant Dale,” Grandpa said. “This is Tanugatoa, a renowned potion master. Coulter, a lifelong friend and an expert in magical relics. And my granddaughter, Kendra.”

“The selfsame Kendra who sat astride Broadhoof as he perished?” Graymane asked, glancing at Cloudwing.

“The same,” Grandpa replied. “Broadhoof bore her and the fairy stone into Kurisock’s realm. Without his bravery, Fablehaven would have fallen into darkness.”

“We feel his loss,” Graymane said. “Broadhoof was like a son to me. Tell me, Kendra, how he died.”

Kendra glanced at Grandpa, who gave a brief nod. Her gaze shifted to Graymane, her neck craning back. He stared down at her gravely. Her mouth felt dry. Trying to suppress her nerves, she reminded herself that the centaurs could not harm them. This was an official, protected visit. All she had to do was relate the truth in a gracious way.

“We were riding for the black tree with the nail in it. The only way to stop the plague was to destroy the nail. The stone the Fairy Queen had given me could counteract the plague. I had used the stone to heal people and creatures who were infected by the plague. She told me that uniting the stone with the nail would destroy both objects.

“All around us dark creatures attacked. Ephira, the hamadryad who belonged to the tree with the nail, had originated the plague along with Kurisock. She attacked Broadhoof to protect the tree. Her touch could darken any creature. Just ask Stormbrow. But because Broadhoof was in contact with me, and I had the stone, when Ephira touched him, he found himself trapped between two powers. The stone prevented him from turning dark, but the strain killed him.

“Broadhoof managed to get us near enough to the tree that we ultimately succeeded. Uniting the stone and the nail cost my friend Lena her life. Without the help of Broadhoof, we would have been doomed. I’m so sorry he died. I had no idea that getting stuck between the power of the stone and the nail would kill him. I mourn for him. He was a true hero.”

Kendra noticed that a cluster of fairies had gathered near the dolmen as she spoke. She tried to ignore them so she could concentrate on Graymane’s response.

“I have already heard this account from others who were present. I appreciate your forthright retelling of the events, and join you in mourning.” His eyes turned to Grandpa. “Was the loss of one of our finest worth rescuing the preserve? I think not. But for our present purposes, I will agree that Broadhoof died a hero, and leave it at that. You mentioned a favor?”

“We were hoping to see the first horn you keep in your possession,” Grandpa said.

Graymane traded startled looks with Cloudwing and Stormbrow. His dark tail swished. “None are permitted to lay eyes on the Soul of Grunhold.”

“My ancestor presented you with the first horn as a favor,” Grandma reminded him.

Graymane stamped a hoof. “I am aware of the origin of our talisman. It was freely given. If we are to discuss past favors suddenly requiring compensation, I might submit the death of Broadhoof as an ample display of gratitude.”

“I do not mean to suggest that we have a claim on the horn,” Grandma said. “I hoped merely to point out that it is not inherently for the exclusive use of centaurs. Humans have successfully watched over the Soul of Grunhold in the past.”