Fablehaven: The Complete Series (17 page)

“The day after tomorrow is June twenty-first,” Grandpa said. “Do either of you know the significance of that date?”

Kendra and Seth shared a glance. “Your birthday?” Seth attempted.

“The summer solstice,” Grandpa said. “The longest day of the year. The night before is a holiday of riotous abandon for the whimsical creatures of Fablehaven. Four nights a year, the boundaries that define where different entities can venture dissolve. These nights of revelry are essential to maintaining the segregation that normally prevails here. On Midsummer Eve, the only limits to where any creature can roam and work mischief are the walls of this house. Unless invited, they cannot enter.”

“Midsummer Eve is tomorrow night?” Seth said.

“I did not want to leave you time to fret over it. As long as you obey my instructions, the night will pass without incident. It will be loud, but you will be safe.”

“What other days do they run wild?” Kendra asked.

“The winter solstice and the two equinoxes. Midsummer Eve tends to be the rowdiest of them all.”

“Can we watch out the windows?” Seth asked eagerly.

“No,” Grandpa said. “Nor would you enjoy what you saw. On the festival nights, nightmares take shape and prowl the yard. Ancient entities of supreme evil patrol the darkness in search of prey. You will be in bed at sundown. You will wear earplugs. And you will not arise until sunrise dispels the horrors of the night.”

“Should we sleep in your room?” Kendra asked.

“The attic playroom is the safest place in the house. Extra protections have been placed on it as a sanctuary for children. Even if, by some misfortune, unsavory creatures entered the house, your room would remain secure.”

“Has anything ever gotten into the house?” Kendra asked.

“Nothing unwanted has breached these homestead walls,” Grandpa said. “Still, we can never be too careful. Tomorrow you will help prepare some defenses to afford us an extra layer of protection. Because of the recent uproar with the fairies, I fear this could be a particularly chaotic Midsummer Eve.”

“Has anyone ever died here?” Seth asked. “On this property, I mean?”

“We should save that topic for another time,” Grandpa said, standing up.

“That one guy changed into dandelion seeds,” Kendra said.

“Anybody else?” Seth insisted.

Grandpa regarded them soberly for a moment. “As you are learning, these preserves are hazardous places. Accidents have occurred in the past. Those accidents generally happen to people who venture where they do not belong or tamper with matters beyond their understanding. If you adhere to my rules, you should have nothing to worry about.”

* * *

The sun had not yet risen far above the horizon as Seth and Dale walked along the rutted lane that ran away from the barn. Seth had never particularly noticed the weedy cart track. The lane began on the far side of the barn and led into the woods. After meandering for some time beneath the trees, the track continued across an expansive meadow.

Overhead, only a few wispy clouds interrupted the bright blue sky. Dale walked briskly, forcing Seth to hustle in order to keep up. Seth was already getting sweaty. The warm day promised to be hot by noon.

Seth kept watch for interesting creatures. He spotted birds, squirrels, and rabbits in the meadow, but saw nothing supernatural.

“Where are all the magical animals?” Seth asked.

“This is the calm before the storm,” Dale said. “I expect most of them are resting up for tonight.”

“What sort of monsters will be out tonight?”

“Stan warned that you might try to pry information out of me. Best not to be so curious about those kinds of things.”

“Not telling me is what makes me curious!”

“It’s for your own good,” Dale said. “Part of the idea is that telling you might make you scared. The other part is that telling you might make you even more curious.”

“If you tell me, I promise I’ll stop being curious.”

Dale shook his head. “What makes you think you can keep that promise?”

“I can’t possibly get more curious than I already am. Not knowing anything is the hardest.”

“Well, fact of the matter is, I can’t give a very satisfying answer to your question. Have I seen strange things, frightening things, in my time here? You bet. Not just on festival nights. Have I stolen a peek out the window on a festival night? A time or two, sure. But I learned to quit looking. People aren’t meant to have things like that in their minds. Makes it hard to sleep. I don’t look anymore. Neither does Lena, neither does your grandfather, neither does your grandmother. And we’re adults.”

“What did you see?”

“How about we change the subject?”

“You’re killing me. I have to know!”

Dale stopped and faced him. “Seth, you only think you want to know. It seems harmless to know, walking under a clear blue sky on a fine morning with a friend. But what about tonight, alone in your room, in the dark, when the night outside is full of unnatural sounds? You might regret me putting a face to what is wailing outside the window.”

Seth swallowed. He looked up at Dale, eyes wide. “What kind of face?”

“Let’s leave it at this. To this day, when I’m out and about after dark, I am sorry I looked. When you’re a few years older, a day will come when your grandfather will give you an opportunity to look out the window on a festival night. If you start feeling inquisitive, postpone your curiosity until that moment. If it were me, if I could go back, I’d skip looking altogether.”

“Easy to say after you looked.”

“Not easy to say. I paid a heavy price to say it. Many sleepless nights.”

“What can be so bad? I can imagine some scary things.”

“I thought the same thing. I failed to appreciate that imagining and seeing are two very different things.”

“If you already looked, why not look again?”

“I don’t want to see anything else. I’d rather just guess at the rest.” Dale started walking again.

“I still want to know,” Seth said.

“Smart people learn from their mistakes. But the real sharp ones learn from the mistakes of others. Don’t pout; you’re about to see something impressive. And it won’t even give you nightmares.”

“What?”

“See where the road goes over that rise?”

“Yeah.”

“The surprise is on the far side.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“It better not be another fairy,” Seth said.

“What’s the matter with fairies?”

“I’ve already seen about a billion of them and also they turned me into a walrus.”

“It’s not a fairy.”

“It’s not like a waterfall or something?” Seth asked suspiciously.

“No, you’ll like it.”

“Good, because you’re getting my hopes up. Is it dangerous?”

“It could be, but we should be safe.”

“Let’s hurry.” Seth dashed up the rise. He glanced back at Dale, who continued walking. Not a great sign. If the surprise were dangerous, Dale would not want him running ahead.

At the top of the rise Seth halted, staring down the gentle slope on the far side. Not a hundred yards away, a huge creature was wading through a hayfield wielding a pair of gigantic scythes. The hulking figure slashed down wide swaths of alfalfa at a relentless pace, both scythes hissing and chiming without pause.

Dale joined Seth atop the rise. “What is it?” Seth asked.

“Our golem, Hugo. Come see.”

Dale left the cart track and started across the field toward the toiling goliath. “What’s a golem?” Seth asked, trailing after him.

“Watch.” Dale raised his voice. “Hugo, halt!”

The scythes stopped cutting in mid-stroke.

“Hugo, come!”

The herculean mower turned and jogged toward them with long, loping strides. Seth could feel the ground vibrate as Hugo approached. Still clutching the scythes, the massive golem came to a halt in front of Dale, looming over him.

“He’s made of dirt?” Seth asked.

“Soil, clay, and stone,” Dale said. “Granted the semblance of life by a powerful enchanter. Hugo was donated to the preserve a couple hundred years ago.”

“How tall is he?”

“Over nine feet when he stands up straight. Mostly he slouches closer to eight.”

Seth gawked at the behemoth. In form he looked more apelike than human. Aside from his impressive height, Hugo was broad, with thick limbs and disproportionately large hands and feet. Tufts of grass and the occasional dandelion sprouted from his earthen body. He had an oblong head with a square jaw. Crude features resembled nose, mouth, and ears. The eyes were a pair of vacant hollows beneath a jutting brow.

“Can he talk?”

“No. He tries to sing. Hugo, sing us a song!”

The wide mouth began to open and close, and out rumbled a series of gravelly roars, some long, some short, none of them bearing much resemblance to music. Hugo cocked his head back and forth, as if swaying to the melody. Seth tried to stifle his laughter.

“Hugo, stop singing.”

The golem fell silent.

“He isn’t very good,” Seth said.

“About as musical as a landslide.”

“Does it embarrass him?”

“He doesn’t think like we do. Doesn’t get happy or sad or angry or bored. He’s like a robot. Hugo just obeys commands.”

“Can I tell him to do stuff?”

“If I order him to obey you,” Dale said. “Otherwise he just listens to me, Lena, and your grandparents.”

“What else can he do?”

“He understands a lot. He performs all sorts of manual labor. It would take quite a team to match all the work he does around here. Hugo never sleeps. If you leave him with a list of chores, he’ll labor through the night.”

“I want to tell him to do something.”

“Hugo, put down the scythes,” said Dale.

The golem set the scythes on the ground.

“Hugo, this is Seth. Hugo will obey Seth’s next command.”

“Now?” asked Seth.

“Say his name first, so he knows you’re addressing him.”

“Hugo, do a cartwheel.”

Hugo held out his palms and shrugged.

“He doesn’t know what you mean,” Dale said. “Can you do a cartwheel?”

“Yeah.”

“Hugo, Seth is going to show you a cartwheel.”

Seth put up his hands, lunged sideways, and did a cartwheel with sloppy form. “Hugo,” Dale said, “obey Seth’s next command.”

“Hugo, do a cartwheel.”

The golem raised his arms, lurched to one side, and completed an awkward cartwheel. The ground trembled.

“Pretty good for a first try,” Seth said.

“He duplicated yours. Hugo, when you do a cartwheel, keep your body straighter and aligned on a single plane, like a wheel turning. Hugo, do a cartwheel!”

This time Hugo executed a nearly perfect cartwheel. His hands left prints in the field. “He learns fast,” Seth exclaimed.

“Anything physical, leastways.” Dale put his hands on his hips. “I’m sick of walking. What do you say we let Hugo take us to our next stop?”

“Really?”

“If you’d rather walk we can always—”

“No way!”

* * *

Kendra used a hacksaw to separate another pumpkin from the vine. Further down the long trough of soil, Lena was cutting a large red one. Nearly half the greenhouse was devoted to pumpkins, big and small, white, yellow, orange, red, and green.

They had arrived at the greenhouse by a faint trail through the woods. Aside from the pumpkins and plants, the glass structure contained a generator to power the lights and the climate control.

“We really have to cut three hundred?” Kendra asked.

“Just be glad you don’t have to load them,” Lena said.

“Who does?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Are jack-o-lanterns really such a big deal?”

“Do they work? Quite well. Especially if we can convince fairies to fill them.”

“With magic?”

“To dwell in them for the night,” explained Lena. “Fairy lanterns have long been among the surest protections from creatures with dubious intentions.”

“But I thought the house was already safe.” Kendra began sawing the stem of a tall orange pumpkin.

“Redundancies in security are wise on festival nights. Particularly on a Midsummer Eve after all the recent commotion.”