Fablehaven: The Complete Series (240 page)

“The demons are holding my parents hostage. Others in my family, too.”

The old man wiped the knife clean on the paper towel, then started spreading marshmallow fluff on the other slice. “The Singing Sisters do not offer guidance lightly. They will require much of you. If you fail to strike a bargain to their liking, they’ll destroy you.”

“I have no other choice.”

The old man set the paper towel in front of Seth and cut the sandwich in half diagonally. Folding his arms, he stared down at Seth broodingly. “Those are the magic words.”

“Magic words?”

“I’m here to prevent people from going to the island who have no business there. I try to run folks off, scare them, talk them out of it. Having no other choice is the only appropriate reason for visiting the Sisters. I’ve been doing this a long time. I believe you. Try the sandwich.”

“Aren’t you having anything?”

“I just ate.”

Seth took a bite. It tasted really good. “Yum,” Seth said, mouth gummy with peanut butter.

“My specialty,” the old man said, sitting down on the other stool.

Seth swallowed. “So I can go to the island?”

“Even if you can cajole the Sisters into pointing you in the right direction, retrieving Vasilis won’t be easy. I can tell you’re coping with a gigantic problem. You sure you want to bet the farm on Vasilis? Sure you’re going to the Sisters with the right question to fix your problem?”

Seth held up a finger as he chewed and swallowed. “Unless you can tell me a better one.”

The old man sat in silence as Seth finished his sandwich. Seth wiped his lips on the back of his hand.

“You can use the napkin,” the old man said.

“It has crumbs from the sandwich. I didn’t want to spread them all over.”

The old man almost smiled. “This old place has much bigger problems than a few crumbs. But I appreciate the courtesy.”

“What now?”

“I’ll pole you over to the island. There is one condition.”

“What?”

“You must never tell anyone what you did in here to gain permission.”

“I hardly did anything, except eat a sandwich and explain my problem.”

“Exactly. I don’t want word getting out, or I’ll have to change my approach.”

Suddenly Seth understood why Patton had been vague in his letter about how to convince the sentinel. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” The old man stood, wadded up the paper towel, and threw it in the trash. “Care for a root beer?”

“Sure.”

The old man retrieved a bottle and uncapped it. Seth took a sip. It was room temperature, but sweet and good. The old man waited while Seth drank. When Seth was finished, the old man dropped the bottle in the trash and retrieved his delicately carved walking stick. Seth followed the sentinel to the door.

The old man hesitated before exiting. “I don’t normally give out hints.”

“Okay,” Seth said.

“I might be convinced if asked politely.”

“Do you have any advice for me?”

The old man rubbed his chin. “That’s a good question. You know, I’ve parleyed with the Sisters before. And I’ve talked to others who have returned from the island, posing questions now and again. I can’t get too specific, but over time I’ve noticed a pattern. The Sisters ask for a lot, and won’t accept much less. You’ll have to give until it hurts and then some. My advice would be to stall after the first offer. Given time, they will each extend an offer. In the end, you can accept one of their propositions, or make a counteroffer. I’ve never heard of anyone returning from that island who has not accepted one of the initial offers or had their first counteroffer accepted. You follow?”

“I think so.”

“Just a word to the wise. Do what you will with my observations. Once again, let’s keep this conversation between ourselves.”

“You got it.”

The old man opened the door and led Seth outside. The satyrs had exited the truck. Newel, Doren, Vanessa, and Hugo waited together expectantly.

The old man noisily cleared his throat. “Well, it doesn’t happen once in a month of Wednesdays, but the blasted boy bested me, so it seems I’ll be poling whoever wants to come over to the island. With the exception of the golem.”

Hugo hung his head.

“It’s okay, Hugo,” Seth said. “We need somebody to guard the truck.”

“It’s for the best,” the old man said. “First off, he would swamp the raft, and second, his kind wouldn’t be able to set foot on that island any more than he could enter my domicile.”

They all followed the old man down to the swaybacked dock, where he retrieved a long pole at the edge of the water. He paused when they reached the raft. “At this point I’ll have to ask you to relieve yourselves of all weapons. It’s for the best. Don’t try to get cute. I’ll know.”

Newel set down his sling. Doren tossed a knife onto the planks. Vanessa removed a hidden knife strapped to her leg, a blowgun from inside her sleeve, and several darts from various locations on her person.

The old man gestured for them to climb aboard, then knelt to untie the raft from the iron cleats at the edge of the dock. A moment later, he sprang aboard and started poling them out onto the water. His appearance belied his strength. With seemingly casual shoves of the pole, he held against the current and propelled them swiftly to the sandy shore of the island.

“The island is narrow,” the old man said as the raft ran aground. “What you’re looking for is that way.” He waved his hand along a line diagonal to the shore. “Up against the highest bluff that runs across the island you’ll find the door. Can’t miss it. I’ll be here to take you back, Seth, or just your companions, depending on the outcome.”

“Thanks,” Seth said, hopping off the raft.

Pushing her way through thick foliage, Vanessa led the way in the direction the old sentinel had recommended. Seth followed, mind racing as he tried to anticipate what requests the Singing Sisters might make of him in exchange for their services. He wondered what the old man had asked of them to end up serving as their sentinel.

They did not travel far before finding a door in the side of a rocky bluff. Despite the faded red paint peeling like a nasty sunburn, the door appeared solid. To one side of the island Seth could see the broad expanse of the Mississippi, placid as a lake, to the other the much narrower strip of water separating them from the western shore.

“Do I knock?” Seth asked.

“It’s traditional etiquette,” Newel said.

Seth rolled his eyes. “I meant do you have any final advice?”

“Don’t let your guard down,” Vanessa advised. “You know they’ll ask a lot of you. Come out of there with a bargain you can live with. We’ll be waiting.”

“You can do this,” Doren said.

“If all else fails,” Newel counseled, “throw sand in their eyes and run.”

Chuckling, Seth strode to the door and knocked three times. It opened right after the third knock landed. Vanessa had brought walrus butter from the house, so Seth was able to properly recognize the scaly green troll with gill slits in his neck. Broad and heavily muscled, the troll stood a head taller than Seth.

“What business have you here?” the troll inquired in a low, slobbery voice.

“I want to talk to the Singing Sisters.”

“I can make no promises that you will come out alive.”

“I get it.”

The troll smacked his thick lips. “I need you to declare that you willingly enter as an uninvited visitor.”

Seth glanced over at Vanessa, who gave a nod. “I willingly enter as an uninvited visitor.”

“Step inside,” the troll said, pivoting to allow Seth access.

Seth squeezed by and the troll closed the door. Carved stone stairs descended in an irregular series of curves. The troll walked in a slouch behind Seth, flat feet slapping the steps. He carried a clay lamp.

“What sort of troll are you?” Seth asked to end the silence.

“River troll,” came the answer from behind. “Western variety. We’re not as lanky as our eastern cousins, nor as afraid of the sun as the northern breed. How’d you learn Duggish?”

“Picked it up along the way,” Seth said vaguely, not wanting to reveal more about himself than necessary. “Do many trolls live here?”

“Many. Only trolls serve the Sisters. Goblins are too stupid. It is a high honor.”

At the bottom of the long stairwell, several short trolls with puffy builds and oversized heads greeted Seth. They had wide mouths with thick lips, gaping nostrils, and large ears. Huddling around Seth, the trolls ushered him along a hall. Thick lime coated the walls, giving the corridor the appearance of a pale gray throat. The river troll did not join them.

The hall opened to a damp room with multiple puddles on the floor. Each puddle contained a huge, white maggot, glistening segments flexing grotesquely. Around one of the largest puddles, three women stood in a ring, hands joined. The tallest was also the thinnest, the shortest had lost most of her hair, and the other was excessively flabby. All three looked to be approaching the end of middle age.

Another troll with a bloated head stood on a stool feeding leeches to the tallest woman off of a platter. The short trolls guided Seth toward the women. A closer look showed Seth that the women were not holding hands—they had no hands. Their wrists were fused together, creating a conjoined ring of three.

“Seth Sorenson,” said the flabby woman. “We expected you. Draw closer.”

Seth edged forward. The trolls fell back. The three women stared at him. The tallest had to look over her shoulder.

“He’s nervous,” cackled the short one.

“Are you the Singing Sisters?” Seth asked.

“We are known that way collectively,” said the tallest. “I’m Berna.”

“I’m Orna,” said the shortest.

“And I am Wilna,” said the flabby one. “Tell us why you have come.”

“I need to find Vasilis, the Sword of Light and Darkness.”

Orna cackled. “He has his bravado!”

“He looks like him,” Berna said.

“Vaguely,” Wilna sighed. “Takes a little wishing.”

“Like who?” Seth asked.

“Patton, of course,” Orna said.

“You know we’re related?” Seth asked.

“We know whatever we choose to know,” Wilna said importantly.

“Do you know I’m trying to save the world?” Seth asked.

“Told you,” Orna snickered. “Patton Burgess all over again.”

“We have no interest in your motives,” Wilna said. “Like all of our other supplicants, we take for granted that you have your reasons. We care only about what you can offer us.”

“What did Patton offer you?” Seth asked.

“Every negotiation is different,” Berna said. “Patton came to us more than once, and the cost of our aid was never the same.”

“Patton was our favorite,” Orna whispered, blushing.

“He was a splendid specimen,” Wilna said aloofly. “Come closer.”

Seth stepped close enough to touch the ring of women. He looked down at the puddle over the conjoined arms of Wilna and Orna. The maggot in the puddle slowly reared up and twisted. It was as long as his leg and as thick as his forearm.

“Vasilis is no trivial prize,” Wilna said, speaking with sudden vehemence. “It is one of the six great swords, a shining remnant from an age of wonders, its present location heavily shielded from prying minds. You ask much, Seth, and must give us much in return.”

“Three lives,” Berna hissed. “We want three lives. A friend, an enemy, and a relative. Give us three lives and we will share the location of Vasilis.”

“You mean kill three people?” Seth asked. “Kill a relative?”

“Yes,” Berna said.

He tried to think of a relative he would be willing to sacrifice in order to save the others. Nobody came to mind. “Why do you care if I kill a relative? Why not have me kill three enemies?”

“Our needs are simple,” Berna said. “We principally care about the price you pay. We only aid those who are willing to prove how highly they value our assistance.”

“Don’t explain so much,” Wilna snapped.

“He’s so young,” Berna said.

He remembered that the old sentinel had suggested they would each make a proposal. “Is there any other choice?” Seth asked.

“We can give you three trials,” Wilna said ominously. “If you succeed and survive, we will grant your request.”

“What are the trials?” Seth asked.

“You must agree in order to know,” Wilna replied.

“The trials are rigged,” Orna blurted. “Nobody ever survives. They’re just for our entertainment.”

“Orna!” Wilna shrieked.