On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (24 page)

45

A Long Night

Q
uick!” Janner said to Tink, and they dragged Podo out of the doorway. They slammed and locked the heavy door just as the pursuing Fangs crashed into it. Janner and Tink braced the door with their shoulders as the snake men pounded on it bodily.

Tink looked at his brother. “I don't know how long we can hold 'em.”

Before Janner could answer, the sound of panic seeped through the anger in the monsters' voices, and orange firelight flickered through the crack under the door.

Janner and Tink stood bracing the door, exhausted by the Fangs who clawed and pounded on the door.

Podo lay on his back and moaned. Leeli held his head in her lap as Nia pressed a wad of his tunic to the wound.

“Do you hear that?” Janner said, cocking his head sideways.

“Besides the Fangs on the other side of the door?” Tink said, sweat dripping from his brow.

“Horned hounds,” Janner said.

A bone-chilling howl worked its way through the rock and fire. Then another howl, and another.

Podo had been right once again. The firelight had drawn the hounds from the bosom of Glipwood Forest.

For hours they stood that way, Janner and Tink's backs to the door, holding it fast against whatever might be on the other side. The piercing howls of the horned hounds mingled with the snarls of Fangs, who struggled ever more violently to get in. Janner thought many times that the old iron door would surely break from its hinges and the weapon chamber would become their unmarked grave.

But the door held. Eventually the pounding ceased, though far above them the howls continued, and then different sounds—terrible mewling, gurgling sounds.

Podo's breaths grew more and more raspy and shallow. His face was sweaty and ashen, and he had fallen unconscious. Leeli laid her head on his shoulder and fell asleep. Nia sat beside her father and held his hand. Her eyes were closed and she hummed an old whistleharp tune that echoed in the chamber. Janner felt his eyes drooping. A long time had passed without any signs of disturbance from the opposite side of the door. All he could hear was the roar of the blaze and the occasional crash of falling timbers.

“You should rest,” Janner told his brother.

Tink wiped his brow and shook his head. “I'm fine.”

They had survived much longer than Janner thought possible. He knew they would sooner or later have to emerge from the chamber, and what would they find? Fangs? Horned hounds? Walls and floors of the manor burned to the ground, leaving them with even fewer places to hide?

Though his head spun with worry, Janner's eyelids drooped. The sleepier he got, the less he cared about the Fangs, or whatever monsters had been trying to get at them. He shook his head to keep himself awake, but seeing the sleeping forms of Nia and Leeli in the waning torchlight made it difficult.

“I don't know how much longer I can…stay awake,” he mumbled to Tink, whose answer was a long, loud snore.

Tink had slid to the floor with his back against the door, fast asleep.

The last thing Janner knew as he drifted off was the low groan of the ghost of Brimney Stupe. It filled the chamber and whipped the torch flame in an unseen breeze.

Nothing but the wind,
Janner thought, and then he slept.

Janner woke with a start and leapt to his feet. The chamber was completely dark. He thought for a moment that he was in the Black Carriage, that he could still hear the cawing of crows, the remnants of a dark dream clinging to him like cobwebs. Tink's familiar snore brought him back to the underground chamber.
The torch must be spent,
he thought—
but the Fangs! The hounds!
Janner put his ear up to the cold iron door and listened.

Silence.

No horned hounds howled. No Fang snarled or hissed. All was still.

Janner nudged Tink with no success. He groped in the dark and could feel Tink's figure, curled up and sleeping a few feet from the door.

He thought about opening the door without waking the others. He could do it quietly, just to see if the sun had yet risen and whether by some miracle of the Maker the Fangs were gone or at least distracted. He put a sweaty hand on the door handle, hesitated for a moment, and turned it. The click echoed in the room and Janner flinched, afraid he would alert the monsters outside and above.

With a deep breath, he pulled on the great door and it creaked open. His eyes had so adjusted to the darkness that the faint light trickling down the tunnel stung. As Janner shielded his eyes, his mouth dropped open at what lay before him.

A pile of shriveled Fang corpses clogged the passageway. They were so decomposed it was impossible to tell what had killed them, but by their tangled positions, Janner could see their deaths had been woeful.

He stepped over the threshold and made his way past the pile of armored skeletons, vainly trying to avoid touching them. He toed one of the dead Fangs. The leather armor made little noise as the bones collapsed in clouds of dust. Janner turned the corner and squinted again as stronger light shone on him, down the passageway from the cellar.

Still he heard no sound, but as he tiptoed up the tunnel steps the smell of smoke increased, and he could see through the entryway bits of flame fussing weakly about on hunks of charred wood.

Janner emerged to peer up at a sky so blue and placid that his chest heaved a tearless sob. Anklejelly Manor had burned to the ground, and many of the Fangs had burned with it. Bits of charred armor lay strewn across the cellar floor. The ceiling was gone, the walls were gone, and much of the stonework had collapsed as the ancient timbers tumbled down. He couldn't see much above the rim of the cellar, which was now just a rectangular hole in the ground, but he knew somehow that the Fangs were gone. So, too, were the hounds and whatever manner of beasts had been drawn to the flames. The wind blew, embers sputtered, and Janner found himself smiling wide at the pristine sound of cooing fazzle doves.

A mournful wail split the air.

Janner nearly tripped over himself trying to dart back into the tunnel. His heart pounded as the wail grew closer by the second.
It was some kind of trap,
he thought bitterly. He should've known it was too good to be true that their enemies were destroyed.

Then he stopped.

He recognized something in the sound and felt the urge to laugh. Only Peet the Sock Man could make such a sad racket. Janner stepped back into the open.

“Peet?” he called, still timid about making too much noise. “Peet!”

The wailing stopped abruptly and Janner grinned. He heard a scrambling sound followed by the sudden appearance of a white plume of hair at the edge of the cellar.

At the sight of Janner, Peet's reddened, teary eyes grew wide with disbelief, then joy, laughter, and then disbelief again.

A thunderous
woof
sounded, and Nugget's giant head appeared next to Peet's.

“Igiby! Praise the Maker, it's an Igiby!” Peet laughed and leapt down to the cellar. He wrapped his arms around the boy, lifted him up and spun him around.

Janner noticed that Peet was wearing new knit socks on his arms. The two laughed together beneath the blue, blue sky.

Peet put him down and held Janner's shoulders, with foreheads nearly touching. “Leeliby? Tinkifeather? Are they safe? Safe?”

Janner nodded eagerly.

Nugget whined at the lip of the cellar, wanting to jump down but afraid of the drop. Janner held out a hand and told him to stay, worried that if Nugget did jump in, they would have a heap of a time getting him back out.

“Come on,” Janner said, leading Peet down the tunnel.

Janner opened wide the door to the chamber, and light fell on his family. They looked so peaceful he didn't want to wake them. But when Peet's eyes fell on Leeli and then Tink, he gasped with joy and said, “Heee!”

All at once, Leeli, Tink, and Nia stretched and squinted and yawned, confused at what they were waking to. All they could see were the silhouettes of Janner and Peet in the doorway.

“Janner?” Nia called. “Is that you? Are the Fangs…gone?”

“All dead, dead, scooth and tail, tooth and scale,” said Peet.

“Yes, Mama,” Janner said with a smile. “Tomorrow came.”

“Grandpa?” Leeli said, scooting over to where he lay on the floor.

Blood had soaked the cloth on Podo's wound and gathered on the floor in a puddle around him. Nia held his face and spoke his name with a trembling voice. The old pirate's breathing was shallow and watery. Hard as they tried, they couldn't rouse him.

Podo was going to die.

46

Water from the First Well

T
he light had grown stronger in the weapon chamber, and a light breeze was moving the long cobwebs that dangled from the weapons and armor. The moaning of the wind continued, but in the daylight it had lost its ghostly tenor. The family stood or knelt around Podo, unsure of what to do. He had always been in charge, and they felt helpless without him barking orders at them. With a deep breath, Nia gracefully assumed that office.

“Janner, Tink. Help me move him into better light. I need to see the color of his face.” Podo moaned as they dragged him closer to the door. Nia's face was grave when she looked at her father.

“Peet,” she said. “It's time you told us what happened to Nugget.”

Peet averted his eyes and fussed with the front of his shirt.

“Peet,”
Nia insisted. “My father will die, and I have a feeling you might be able to help him. I know you two have…history,” she said with a glance at Leeli, “but he needs you right now. We all do.”

Peet nodded but wouldn't look her in the eye.

“How did you heal Nugget?” Nia asked. “I've read about similar things in the old books, but I've never seen anything like that before.”

Peet cast anxious glances at the door and shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if he wanted to run away. After a long moment, he spoke.

“Water from the First Well.”

Nia's eyes widened. “What?” she whispered.

“I healed the dugget nog—Nugget dog—with water…from the First Well.”

“But—where did you, I mean—”

“What's the First Well?” Leeli asked. She was sitting beside Podo holding one of his big, gnarled hands in her tiny ones.

“The First Well,” Nia said, still looking intently at Peet, “is, is…the first well in the world. The first well in Aerwiar. A gift from the Maker to Dwayne and Gladys.”
¹

“The First Fellows?” Janner asked.

“Yes. The old tales say that the water was poured into the mouth of the well by the Maker himself. It courses under the ground and is the lifeblood of Aerwiar. Without it, the trees would never blossom and the grass would never grow. All life would wear thin until it finally faded. The Maker gave us the well as a gift, and for long ages it was guarded and used to heal and to restore.”

“It was lost?” Tink said.

“Yes. It was lost. Long ago. Long before Anniera even had a name.” Nia regarded Peet. “Until now.”

Peet was sniffling, great tears once again filling his tired eyes. “Years ago, before I came here, I found it.” Peet shuddered at some terrible memory. “I found the First Well, and I brought some of the water here. When I saw little Dugget nying—Nugget dying—I got some from my castle and gave him a drop to drink.” Peet flashed a grin at Leeli through his tears. “And it worked.”

“Where is the water now?” Nia said with as much patience as she could muster. “Can you get some and bring it here?”

Peet nodded, wiped his nose with one of his socks, and was gone.

Janner looked down at his dear grandfather who had fought so hard for them, and he smiled at the thought of him growing three feet taller (and wider) with a sip from the ancient water. Podo was already the biggest soul he knew. But now, Janner thought, his grandfather seemed to be shrinking and his face had gone from pale to gray.

“Please hurry, Peet,” Nia whispered, stroking her father's face.

Janner and Tink pulled Leeli from Podo's side and helped her out of the tunnel to see her beloved dog. The Fangs who had perished in the tunnel were all but dust and armor now, and the children stepped easily past them.

Nugget was lying with his snout dangling over the edge of the cellar. The sight of Leeli set him to barking, wagging his tail, and running as fast as he could in ground-shaking circles.

Leeli giggled and clapped. She waved to her horse of a dog and complained that there was no way to get to him yet. But her spirits were lightened, and that made Janner's heart glad.

“I can't believe we made it,” Tink said to himself. He squinted up at the sky much the same way Janner had, appreciating perhaps for the first time how wonderful a thing the sky was to see. “We should stay with Mama,” he said. “She shouldn't be alone if Grandpa…”

“You're right. Come on, Leeli,” Janner said.

“We'll be back,” Leeli said to Nugget, who whined in answer.

Nia looked small, all alone with Podo in the chamber. She had his head in her lap and was praying over him, rocking gently to and fro. She looked desperate.

For all Janner could tell, Podo was dead already. The eldest Igiby felt his heart sag in his chest, heavy with sorrow and hardening with anger. He was angry at the Fangs for ever setting foot on Skree. He was angry at Zouzab for betraying them. He was even beginning to feel anger toward the Maker for creating a world where things like this could happen.

Podo had fought bravely, tirelessly, to protect the ones he loved, for freedom and goodness, and here he lay dying.

“Your father was a good man. A brave man. He fought well and died well in the Great War.”

Janner could hear Podo saying that about their father, Esben, and now it was happening to the old warrior too. He had certainly fought well, and soon enough he would die well, though not in the Great War. And it was all for them, Janner thought, for his daughter and his three grandchildren, who had all lived to see the wide, blue sky that morning.

Then Janner remembered the Jewels of Anniera. None of this would have happened if not for those cursed jewels that Gnag and all his minions were so bent on finding. And none of this would have happened if Podo and Nia hadn't been trying to keep them hidden. Janner felt his anger turning toward Podo and his mother for caring more about the Jewels of Anniera than he and his siblings. Why hadn't they just given up the jewels? Were these jewels really worth the price of losing their home? worth dying for? Janner felt the tears rising in his throat, and he turned away so Tink wouldn't see him cry.

But Tink's head was buried in his arm; he was leaning against the wall, muffled sobs coming from him in waves.

It seemed a very long time that they waited while Podo rasped and Nia prayed and all three children shed tears for their grandfather.

And then Janner heard a rustle.

Peet the Sock Man appeared at the door to the chamber. With a socked hand outstretched, he offered a tiny leather flask.

Leeli nudged Peet toward Nia, who held Podo's head. Tink and Janner joined them, gathered around Podo as Peet removed the cap from the flask.

Nia lifted Podo's head and opened his mouth so that Peet could pour a bit of the water down. But Peet shook his head and instead pulled the makeshift bandage away, exposing the wound. It gaped deeper and worse than they had imagined, and Leeli covered her eyes.

Peet poured a trickle of water over the wound, then nodded and recapped the container.

“Are you sure that's all he needs?” Nia searched Peet's face. “He's barely alive.”

“I used a bit too much on Nugget, wouldn't you say? We don't need a giant Podo, do we?” Peet chuckled nervously. “I certainly don't.” Seeing that no one laughed with him, Peet's face straightened. “The water is strong. It can heal deeper wounds than this.” Peet looked down at his socked hands, and the old sorrow came back to his face. He sighed, wiping his hands on his tunic as if he could clean off the talons that were hidden beneath the knitting.

“I'll be outside,” he said. “I don't want to be the thirst fing he sees when he rouses.”

Peet left the room.

“What I wouldn't give for a pot of flabbit stew about now,” said a warm, gritty voice.

Podo lay on the ground looking up into his daughter's eyes and grinning. Overjoyed, the children rushed to him, careful not to jar his wound. Only a pinkish scar remained beneath the dried blood streaked by water from the First Well.

Podo sat up and yawned as if he'd been napping in his favorite chair. He smiled at Janner, Tink, and Leeli with eyes that seemed younger than they ought to have been, and the Igibys wept and laughed and squeezed him as if he'd just returned from a long journey.

After a long stretch, Podo rose and gathered his bundle. A boyish spring was in his step as he walked with his family through the iron door.

They stepped over dusty piles and armor as Janner and Tink recounted the events of the long night: the burning of the manor, the howls of hounds and shrieks of Fangs, and about Peet's water from the First Well.

Nia listened proudly as her boys regaled the old pirate with a tale that would rival one of his own. Podo listened to it all with his eyebrows raising and lowering at each turn of the story.

Leeli nestled under her grandfather's arm while she limped along. Her face brightened as they reached the lip of the cellar wall.

Peet was there, sitting on the edge of the cellar beside Nugget. Without speaking or looking at Podo, Peet threw down a rope. He hefted Podo up first, and then, with another of their silent, intense exchanges, Peet retreated and allowed Podo to pull into daylight the rest of his family.