Nightlight’s life was divided into three parts: First was the time when he was guardian and protector of the little Man in the Moon, a time he could barely remember. He did not like to think about the second part—the long, dark years trapped in a cave with the Nightmare King, locked inside Pitch’s cold heart. The third part of Nightlight’s life was the present—the time of freedom and friendship. This part of his life was happier than any time he could remember. Whenever he leaped onto a breeze or a cloud or helped guard the children, he felt brave and strong and bright.
What made him happier still was Katherine. She was clever and kind and always ready to help her friends. And because Santoff Claussen was Katherine’s home and was special to her, Nightlight checked the village extra carefully on his nightly patrols. If Pitch returned to hurt these people—Katherine’s people—Nightlight would do everything in his power to stop him. Even at the risk of being imprisoned again inside Pitch’s heart or, even worse, destroyed.
It was night when he arrived in Santoff Claussen. He scoured the forest, looking for danger. Was that the silhouette of a leaf in the moonlight—or the grasping fingers of a Fearling? Was it Pitch who momentarily blocked out the Moon—or a cloud drifting across the night sky?
After Nightlight had examined every out-of-the-way crook and corner of the forest and was assured that all was well, he moved on to the village. He peered into each cottage and yard. He even checked the layers of ground around Big Root. Finally, he held his moonlit staff over the dank, smoky scar in the dirt where Pitch had retreated. The moonbeam in his staff’s diamond tip glowed brightly, and Nightlight was able to see that the scar looked just as it had the night before and the night before that. He checked a second time, just to be sure. But he saw no dastardly Fearlings disguised as shadows. No trace of Pitch anywhere.
On most nights this was enough to satisfy the spectral boy. He would laugh his perfect laugh and hop onto the nearest cloud for a game of moonbeam tag. But tonight something felt wrong. Perhaps it was nothing, but all those years near Pitch had given him an instinct for evil. So he stayed back in the shadows, searching the sky as the children of Santoff Claussen made their way to Big Root for their bedtime story.
By now he knew their names: Sascha, Petter, Fog, all the Williams, and the others. He watched them secretly while they talked about the story Katherine would continue telling them tonight. As they hurried to prepare for bed, the Nightmare King was far from their minds. But as much as Nightlight loved Katherine’s stories, he would be watchful. While the children gathered, his attention was in the shadows.
CHAPTER FIVE
A Bedtime Story with a Girl, a Goose, and Snowmen Who Are Not so Abominable
AS THE CHILDREN OF Santoff Claussen tumbled into Big Root that evening, bunk beds materialized from the tree’s hollow center. Each row, fanning out like the spokes of a giant wheel, was stacked five beds high. Twisting up and down the center was a spiral staircase.
William the Absolute Youngest scrambled up the stairs and was the first to reach his bed. He propped up his metal soldier against a pillow so he could see Katherine’s book, which was suspended from the ceiling by a strand of Mr. Qwerty’s silk. In another moment the rest of the children had found their bunks. Warm cocoa hovered in the air by each bed. Cookies also appeared. The children sipped and snacked and waited for Katherine’s story to start again.
“She’s going to tell us about the giant baby goose,” Sascha said.
“And Nightlight,” William the Absolute Youngest added. “He’s my favorite!”
Nightlight, hovering outside, moved closer to the window at the sound of his name. Though worry still nagged at him, Petrov and the bear stood watch by the door, so Nightlight allowed himself to relax. He pressed his face against the glass, just in time to see Katherine’s book reopen.
As it had that afternoon, Katherine’s voice filled Big Root; the pages turned and the story started again. “Tonight I’m going to tell you about my gosling,” Katherine’s voice began. “The tale of the baby Snow Goose is sad—”
Sascha protested immediately. “I don’t like sad stories.”
“It only begins sadly,” Katherine assured her.
Satisfied, Sascha leaned back against her pillow. A moth settled beside her, and together they watched the pages stop at a drawing of a giant pile of snow and ice.
“After the battle, Pitch had retreated inside the djinni’s body,” Katherine’s drawing told them, “but as he left, he caused an avalanche that buried the nests of the Great Snow Geese.”
The children oohed as the pages turned to a sketch of one of the enormous birds. Katherine explained how she helped them dig out a most beautiful silvery egg that had been buried in the snow. “The parents could not be found,” Katherine said sadly, then she paused.
The children of Santoff Claussen all knew the story of Katherine’s parents. They too had perished, in a blizzard when Katherine was just a baby, so it was no surprise to the children that Katherine’s heart went out to the little orphaned gosling.
“We looked closer at the egg,” Katherine told them. “It shuddered, and we heard a tiny tapping sound. A small hole appeared, then a little orange beak pecked through the eggshell, and then a white, feathered head pushed its way out!”
A picture of the baby goose half in and half out of the shell appeared before them.
“I wish you could feel how soft her feathers are. Maybe I’ll be able to bring her home. I named her Kailash—that’s the name of the smallest mountain in the Himalayas.”
Kailash comes into the world.
“Kailash,” repeated Sascha. “I like that name.”
“Nightlight and I helped the geese rebuild their nests. They’re enormous, nearly as big as a room. And the geese stand taller than North—and they are big enough for a person to ride upon!
“Ombric laughs every time he sees Kailash waddling behind me,” Katherine continued. “I think he feels like a grandfather! We filled the nests with white goose down to make warm beds. Sometimes I even sleep with Kailash, so she won’t feel lonely. But I’m very glad the Yetis know how to cook baby Snow Goose food.”
Pictures of the giant hairy Yetis cooking for the gosling and of Kailash waddling behind Katherine made everyone laugh. Then more images followed as the book’s pages turned: Katherine and Nightlight flapping their arms to try to teach the gosling to fly, and Kailash’s first hops into the sky.
“Now she can fly for two or three hours at a time,” Katherine announced proudly. “She’s growing so fast, we have to keep making her nest bigger. She grows two or three inches a day.”
A growth chart appeared, measuring Kailash against a wall.
“And I’m learning to speak Snow Goose. It’s almost as hard as owl, but easier than eagle.”
Now Fog sat forward. “Can Nightlight speak Snow Goose?” he asked.
Katherine answered, “He never says a word, but he seems to understand everything. With many creatures, I think he can talk just by thinking. But he likes to talk to me with pictures. Look!”
The children all leaned forward to see Nightlight’s drawings, which were different from Katherine’s—simpler and more childlike, but quite beautiful in their own way. There were sketches showing his old life in the Golden Age; pictures of the giant Lunar Moths, huge glowworms that lived on the Moon; the Man in the Moon when he was a baby; and the last battle of the Golden Age. There was also a darker picture of all those years Nightlight was trapped in a cave with Pitch. Finally, there was a picture of him being freed by his moonbeam friend, and then another of him saving the children of Santoff Claussen from the Fearlings that night in the forest.
Nightlight pressed his fingers against the glass. He loved seeing the children’s reactions to his drawings.
“Yesterday morning Nightlight had a surprise for me,” Katherine said when the children settled back against their pillows. “I’d been waiting and waiting for Kailash to be big enough to ride, and secretly, Nightlight an
d Kailash had decided that it was the day! Kailash nudged my arm with her beak and lowered herself, so that I could climb onto her back.
“So I did. She unfolded her beautiful wings, and we took to the air. It felt as if we could fly forever. We flew all over the Himalayas, even the tallest mountain in the world, and of course we flew over the mountain Kailash was named for. We flew until it was dark. And then I tucked Kailash into her nest and told her a bedtime story about all of you till she fell asleep, and now it’s time for all of us to do the same.” The book began to close. “Good night, everyone. Dream of Kailash and me, and we will come home to see you soon.”
The story had ended happily, as Katherine had promised.
William the Absolute Youngest yawned and rolled over with a quiet snore. Sascha kicked off her covers, and a troop of beetles pulled them back up over her shoulders. Petter was soon dreaming about giant geese and Abominable Snowmen.
Katherine hadn’t told her friends that North and Ombric were trying to discover where the other relics from the Moon were hidden; she hadn’t told them that the Nightmare King had vowed to turn her into a Fearling princess and to make nightmares real. Those things scared her and she knew they’d scare her friends too. Besides, she was sure Nightlight would be watching over them. Nightlight, who never slept and never dreamed, would keep nightmares, both imagined and real, away.
Petrov and the bear stood watch at Big Root’s entrance while Nightlight sat just outside the window. His guard was up.
The night was too still. Something was wrong.
Something was coming.
CHAPTER SIX
Amazing Discoveries and Ancient Magic
WHILE KATHERINE WAS TELLING her bedtime story, North was studying the sword the Man in the Moon had bestowed upon him. He knew he was in a race against time. Pitch would return, and when he did, Nicholas St. North wanted to be ready. He prided himself on being the best swordsman in the world. Indeed, in his bandit days, he had once defeated an entire cavalry regiment with nothing more than a bent steak knife. But this sword was—blast it!—confounding.
Etched on its handle in a clear, handsome script was the name TSAR LUNAR XI. The Man in the Moon’s father had been the last tsar, or ruler, of the Golden Age, and his sword had been crafted with more care than even North himself was capable of. North had hammered out many a fine weapon, even some forged from bits of ancient meteor, but nothing like this amazing blade. It never seemed heavy, no matter how long North practiced with it. Its hilt closed tightly around his hand whenever he began to wield it, then loosened when he was ready to put it away. It could slice whole boulders in half with one slash. It wasn’t a sword for slaying your average enemy, that was certain. But he wanted—needed—to understand all of its hidden powers. How else would he make the best use of it, especially against Pitch?
The Yetis did what they could to help. The crafty warriors possessed an amazing arsenal of arrow guns, pikes, bludgeons, spears, dirks, knucklers, and daggers, and they used all of them against this amazing sword. North was victorious every time, but it wasn’t always his skill that won the day. It was the blade itself.
The sword had a mind of its own. It would leap from its sheath and into North’s hand whenever there was danger—even during the friendly pretend attacks of the Yetis. It seemed to guide him to block an opponent’s every thrust.
This piqued North’s pride. The sounds of him yelling, “Quit that! I’m the best swordsman who ever breathed air!” and “Do what I say, you ancient pile of stardust!” could often be heard echoing through the Lamadary during sword practice.
That morning, in a practice battle with Yaloo, the fierce and friendly leader of the Yetis, North vanquished the hairy giant easily. And Yaloo carried the most feared of all Yeti weapons, an Abominable Mood Swing! Yaloo didn’t seem to mind, but North was starting to feel sorry for him.
“You’ll get me next time,” North said with a good-natured chuckle. As he reached up to shake hands with Yaloo, the sword flew from his grasp. It appeared determined to fall from the tower.
North grabbed wildly for it, but it was too quick. He and Yaloo looked down in horror. Tashi, one of Yaloo’s lieutenants, was just below, with the Grand High Lama. They were both standing on their heads meditating. The sword was heading straight for them.
What does one shout to a meditating Yeti and an ancient warrior Moon monk when a magic sword is about to impale them? North wondered fleetingly.
“Get off your heads before you lose ’em!” he bellowed.
Then a remarkable thing happened: As the weapon neared them, it stopped its fall. It hovered in the air for a moment, then began to rise. North reached out, his hand beginning to tingle. And even though the sword was a hundred feet below, it instantly flew back up to him and slapped into his palm with a satisfying thwack. Down below, Tashi and the Grand High Lama remained in their headstands, completely unaware of their near demise.
North turned the weapon over and over in wonder. The sword had fallen on purpose, to show him one of its secrets—that it could change direction to avoid causing harm. So he tried to test its sharpness with his thumb, but the sword’s tip pulled away. “Can the sword wound only my enemies?” he asked out loud.
Yaloo motioned for him to try to slice him.
North paused, but Yaloo was adamant. So North took a breath and then slashed the blade directly toward Yaloo.
The Yeti didn’t flinch, and once again the sword veered off, refusing to cause harm.
“The blasted thing. I expect a sword to do what I want. Why give me a weapon that fights against me?” North fumed.
The Yeti eyed North with an amused expression. “Perhaps the weapon is fighting for you,” he suggested.
That pleased North. He was nodding in agreement when he heard a quiet “Ahem” behind him. North turned. Ombric stood there. He seemed eager to talk.
“I’ve been working on something that might help us,” the wizard said, as if picking up from a prior conversation—one that had nothing to do with North’s sword.
North saw great excitement in the wizard’s eyes. Ombric had already discovered that the Lamas had a magnificent clock that recorded every second of time. It was one of the few possessions the Lamas had been able to bring to Earth before Pitch had destroyed their home planet. They told Ombric the clock was as old as time itself, and it could send its user back a day, a year, or even an eon.
The wizard had been relentlessly studying the great, round clock. He couldn’t believe that he—the prince of invention—had never tried to create such a marvel himself. The clock, more than thirty feet high, looked like nothing he had ever seen before. It was made up of dozens of interlocking rings that spun and rotated inside of one another. The rings were formed from a pale metal known only on the Lamas’ home planet, and in the center stood a column of round clock faces of various sizes. These were used to set the clock to the exact time and place in history to which one wanted to journey.
With some trial and error, Ombric had learned how to go on short visits into the past.
No matter how much time he actually spent in the past, he returned to the present within minutes of when he left. Everyone in the Lamadary got used to seeing him pop up out of nowhere, with fantastic tales of his adventures.
One day he told Katherine he went to see the Great Pyramid of Giza being built. “Good thing they’d learned to levitate solid rock back then or they would never have finished the thing,” the wizard declared. “Odd, though, that it was once topped with egg-shaped stone.”
After another journey, he landed in the middle of the courtyard at the Lamadary, red-faced and panting, a large tear in his robe.
North had never seen the wizard so out of sorts. “What’s wrong, old man?” he asked.
“Most dinosaurs are really very friendly creatures,” Ombric answered once he caught his breath. “But those rex fellows, Tyrannosaurus? A bit snappy when hungry.”
All of these journeys back and forth through tim
e made for interesting stories, but North didn’t see how they could help them defeat Pitch.
But this time Ombric planned to do more than merely go back in time. “I’m going to travel back to the moment when Pitch attacked the Moon,” he told North. “I’ll be able to see exactly where the relics fell. Finding them is our best hope of defeating him.” And off he went.
But on this trip, something unusual—baffling, even—occurred. Ombric was very disturbed as he told them his latest adventure. They were eating supper in the busy dining hall of the Lamadary. Yetis, Lamas, and Snow Geese ate noisily as he related what had happened.
“I was back in time, just before the last battle of the Golden Age ,” he told them. “I could see Pitch’s ship hiding on the dark side of Earth, lying in wait to attack the Moon . Suddenly, it occurred to me to warn the Man in the Moon and his family. I hoped to stop this whole history before it could even begin. But I sensed someone standing next to me.
“I turned to look, and there, to my utter amazement, floating beside me, was a most curious fellow. He was at least seven feet tall, wearing robes of a most peculiar design, and holding a long staff with an egg-shaped jewel at one end.”
“Who was he? Did he say anything?” asked Katherine.
“He did indeed,” confirmed the wizard. “One word, which he repeated: ‘Naughty. Naughty.’”
“Is that it?” North demanded, lowering his soup spoon.
“Not quite,” explained Ombric. “He touched my shoulder with the jeweled egg, and I suddenly found myself back here!”
“You’ve told me of many strange things, Ombric, but this takes the soup,” said North, sipping again at his dinner.
“I left out perhaps the strangest part,” added the wizard ominously. “The fellow’s ears . . .”
“Yes?” said North.
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