The Battle of the Werepenguins

by Allan Woodrow

  Bolt closed his eyes and let the feeling of love spread over him, warming him. The love of Annika, his best friend. The love of the mother and father he never knew but who had loved him regardless. The love of all penguins, everywhere, even despite the hate in their heads. Love was part of the penguin-verse, wasn’t it?

  A werepenguin could feel love. Bolt was proof of that. Maybe born from love did mean something.

  “I’m going below,” said Bolt.

  He brushed by Annika, walked down to Grom’s cabin, and knocked. A groan answered Bolt, and he entered the cabin.

  Moonlight lit the room, shining directly from the porthole and onto the bed.

  Grom was now somewhere between an emerald green and shamrock hue. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “What do you want?”

  Bolt reached into Grom’s head, feeling whatever small amount of penguin spirit was inside. There was a trickle, like the drip of a faucet. It started in Grom’s wrist birthmark and flowed everywhere. Was there love in there? Goodness? And if so, would it remain? Or would Bolt’s bite transform that love into hate?

  Bolt took a deep breath and knelt over the boy. “I need you to agree.” Bolt wasn’t sure why that was important, but he knew it was. Victims needed to be bitten freely. Grom nodded. “No. I need you to say the words. I need you to say yes.”

  “Yes.” Cough, cough. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  Bolt bit his lips as a clock chime rang silently in his head—one, two, and up to twelve—and he felt the familiar tingling in his body as he transformed, first his legs, then his arms and body, and last his head.

  He barked a loud, deafening bark before lowering his werepenguin fangs.

  34.

  The Journey

  Grom did not leave his cabin the next day. Bolt was asleep for nearly twenty-four hours when he was first bitten, so he was not surprised when Grom did the same. The only time Grom stirred was when Bolt brought a plate of dead fish into the room, and even that didn’t wake him.

  Instead, Grom groaned, pretty much continuously, but the groans were softer and less raspy than his earlier ones. He was no longer green but had turned a deathly white. That was a good sign. All werepenguins were deathly white. His cuts and bruises were healing, too. A big gash on Grom’s head had closed itself.

  “How’s he doing?” Annika asked Bolt when he returned to the deck after checking on Grom.

  “His eyebrows are bushier, his nose is a little longer, and his hair is standing up, like horns. So, he’s doing good.” Those were all signs of a werepenguin. “But we should know for sure tonight. Tonight, he will change.” Full moons lasted three days, so there would be a second one tonight.

  But when Grom changed, what would happen? Would Grom be a ruthless killer or an ally? Bolt couldn’t help but worry.

  There wasn’t much to do for Grom but let him sleep, so Annika spent much of her day writing in her bandit code notebook while Bolt sat on the prow, practicing his mind control. He was getting better at it, his mind dashing further and further across the waves. He could jump inside a penguin’s head and see the world from its eyes. But penguins have rather dull lives—they mostly just stand around—so looking through their eyes wasn’t very interesting.

  Once, Bolt dove into a penguin’s head and tried to chisel out the evil nugget embedded inside it. It was slow, tedious work, and after a couple hours and only a few crumbs chiseled, he gave up. Stopping the Stranger was the only way to completely free the birds.

  As the waves lapped against the boat, Bolt sat with his eyes closed, scanning the cosmos. He felt the presence of penguins everywhere, from the emperor penguins who ruled their portion of the sea to the mountain penguins near the clouds. He felt penguins swimming free in the frigid deep and those performing in water shows.

  I am here, Bolt sang to them, his voice soothing and calm. Can you feel me? He reached his voice out in a wide circle, like a penguin radar, trying to reach as many penguins as he could. But he wasn’t sure if any heard him.

  I hear you! Yoo-hoo! Me! came a voice that was neither soothing nor calm. The Stranger. I’m so glad you are well! I lost track of you for a bit. But we shall be together soon.

  Bolt cursed himself for his clumsiness. If he controlled his thoughts, kept them narrow, he could avoid the Stranger’s touch. But reaching out to the cosmos? What had he been thinking? Leave me alone!

  But we are meant to be together, arm in arm and wing in wing.

  No! Bolt pushed the Stranger from his head. But like a greasy hand on a refrigerator handle, the Stranger’s oily words remained. Bolt looked down at his own hand, where he gripped the silver tooth. He had clutched it so hard that when he opened his hand, it left an indentation in his palm.

  The day passed, the sun set, and eventually the full moon rose again. Grom hadn’t stirred, but Bolt knew he would soon. As midnight approached, Bolt’s blood churned and splashed. He went below deck and entered Grom’s cabin.

  “What time is it?” Grom murmured. He sat up, wiping the tired from his eyes with the back of his hand. His gashes and bruises were completely gone now.

  “Almost time to turn.”

  “So it wasn’t a dream? I wasn’t sure if you bit me or if I had imagined the whole thing. But I was like, ‘Bite me,’ and you were all, ‘I don’t think so.’ What changed your mind?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Bolt. I just hope I haven’t made a terrible mistake, he thought. “But midnight is here.”

  Bolt didn’t get a good look at Grom’s entire transformation, as he was too busy transforming himself. Bolt felt his nose grow and saw Grom’s nose growing, too. Bolt quickly removed his clothes but forgot to tell Grom to do the same, and Grom ripped through his shirt and pants as if they were made of paper. Fortunately, Zemya had packed a few changes of clothes for him.

  Grom barked, and so did Bolt.

  How do you feel? Bolt asked, reaching into Grom’s mind.

  Rubbery. Feathery. Beak-ish.

  Bolt knew the feeling, but he worried about what other things Grom might be feeling. Do you feel like conquering the world, taking people prisoner, and eating lots of raw fish?

  I wouldn’t mind eating fish right now. But doing the other things? Not so much.

  Bolt gave Grom a thumbs-up—or rather, a wing-tip-up. Maybe Annika had been right—maybe Grom would be free of hate and violence. Or maybe those feelings would soon follow. Only time would tell.

  They both rushed up the stairs and dove into the frigid water. There, they hunted fish, always keeping the ship within an easy swim. They sang to a walrus. They played catch with an octopus. They played peekaboo with a baby tuna.

  They saw penguins, a small group of them. Bolt was surprised, as penguins didn’t normally swim so far from shore. Bolt felt their underlying viciousness. He was worried how Grom might react when he felt that core rottenness, but the boy didn’t even seem to notice it, happily devouring fish as he waved to them. “Hi, I’m Grom! This is my first time feeding!”

  Bolt tried to remove the hatred from the birds—it had become a habit for him, sending out soothing thoughts of love and family. Penguins are not meant to rule, he thought. And I like your feathers! Penguins love being complimented about their feathers.

  “We are meant to rule,” a penguin yapped to Bolt. “But do you really like my feathers?”

  Bolt and Grom fed through the night. It felt good to have a fellow werepenguin near. It felt right.

  Maybe I should bite more people, Bolt thought to himself, and was immediately appalled for thinking it.

  But, despite the fun, Bolt remained worried about Grom’s potential evil, although Grom showed no signs of any. The next morning, they returned to the boat, their stomachs bloated with fish and with no plans to take over the world. That was promising.

  When Bolt had first been bitten, he had had no one to teach him his werepenguin powe
rs. He promised himself he’d help Grom. Besides, maybe he could help Grom keep the Stranger’s hateful influence away. So, that next morning, they sat cross-legged on the deck.

  “Do I really need to do this?” asked Grom. “I’m a werepenguin. Doesn’t this all come, you know, naturally?”

  “If I don’t train you, you could . . .” Bolt’s voice trailed off. He hadn’t warned Grom about the Stranger’s mind control. He didn’t want to worry him.

  “I could what?”

  “You could . . . miss dinner.”

  That quieted Grom. No penguin wants to miss dinner.

  “Now, open your mind and close your eyes,” Bolt told him. “Feel the penguin inside you and the penguin in me.”

  “This is stupid,” said Grom, his eyes wide open.

  “Just try it,” pleaded Bolt. Grom growled but closed his eyes. “Now, feel your penguin,” Bolt urged. “And try to block me.” Bolt’s mind slipped inside Grom’s head. Pick your nose, he commanded Grom, and Grom plunged a digit into a nostril.

  “Hey!” complained Grom. “Did you make me do that?” He wiped his finger on his pants.

  “Try to stop me,” said Bolt, insistent. Frowning. “That was too easy. Fight back!”

  This time, Bolt thought, Raise your right hand. Grom’s brow furrowed and his fists clenched as he fought the control. Raise it! Raise it!

  Grom raised his left hand.

  “Are you raising your left hand because you get your left and right hands confused?” Bolt asked.

  “Yeah,” Grom admitted.

  “Well, it’s an improvement anyway,” said Bolt. Make a fist! Grom made a fist. Scratch your neck. Grom scratched his neck. Speak with a British accent.

  “Blimey, mate. Got some bangers and mash?” asked Grom.

  Bolt sighed, stood, and walked over to the railing. If Grom couldn’t even stop Bolt from forcing him to talk like he was from England, how could he stand up to the Stranger’s more twisted commands?

  Bolt only hoped he could control Grom because he’d been the one to turn him into a werepenguin and so now they had a special bond. Regardless, Grom needed practice. A lot more practice.

  Bolt’s stomach growled. He’d worry about Grom after he ate.

  Bolt sent his thoughts over the waves to the fish in the sea near him. Penguins eat fish, and fish eat algae; it’s the circle of life. All penguins feel connected to the fish they eat, although distantly, and Bolt could sense their wiggling fins and blinking fish eyes. They were linked in the penguin-verse somehow, melded into one, distant relations formed from swimming together for millions and millions of years. Although Bolt still had the overwhelming desire to eat them.

  I need lunch! Bolt thought, holding his hand over the rail. A silvery trout leapt from the ocean and landed right in Bolt’s hand. “Wow. It worked!” exclaimed Bolt. “Um, is it OK if I eat you?” He didn’t have to ask, but it felt rude not to.

  “Sure!” the fish squeaked in a quiet fish voice. Trout are always eager to please.

  This would make getting dinner a lot easier, Bolt thought. Unfortunately, defeating the Stranger would not be that easy. If only the Stranger were a trout!

  35.

  The Honesty Code

  The calm waters helped Annika write in her bandit code notebook without getting seasick. She brought her quill to the page.

  The Code of the Bandit, Chapter 7, Subsection 2

  On Honesty

  A bandit should always be honest with his clan, although he can lie to anyone else; you’re a bandit, not a Boy Scout. Fib! Cheat! But don’t cheat anyone in your clan unless you’re playing a card game and losing, then it’s OK.

  Let’s look at a couple of examples. First, let’s say you are caught stealing a pineapple from a fresh fruit stand. The farmer threatens to take you to jail—but if you confess, he will let you go with only a warning. Should you admit to your crime? Of course not. You should tell the farmer a giant bullfrog is about to eat you both, and run away.

  Next, let’s say you’ve inherited a million dollars from a rich uncle and all you need to do to claim the money is to give a banker your name and address. Should you give the banker your name and address? Of course not. You’re a bandit! You should grab the money, hit the banker over the head with the pineapple you just stole, and throw him in the path of the giant bullfrog that’s chasing you.

  After crossing out the passage on honesty from her book, Annika wrote her addendum on a fresh piece of paper.

  The Code of the Bandit, Chapter 7, Subsection 2

  On Honesty—amended by Annika Lambda

  Bandits should be honest at all times, just like everyone else. Sure, we’re ruthless and cunning, but you can be honest and be those things, too. For example, if you say you’re going to help free the world of evil penguins, you don’t just quit to live with a group of moles. You stick with it! And if you tell your best friend you will travel to the South Pole to fight an evil werepenguin, then you do exactly that, even if you’re sort of scared and very homesick. That’s called being a good friend, and good friends are honest to each other.

  Lying never pays anyway. Like if you tell someone a giant bullfrog is chasing you, but it’s not, they might ignore your pleas for help if a large amphibian runs after you later. If you tell one lie, pretty soon you have to tell another lie to protect the first lie, and then another, and you end up in some web of lies and you can’t even keep track of them, and then you’re still eaten by the stupid bullfrog.

  Annika Lambda

  Annika put down her paper and came back up on deck, where Bolt and Grom were sitting, their eyes closed. The two boys were speaking to the penguin cosmos or something. Bolt was still her best friend, but he was spending most of his time by himself or training Grom. Annika felt left out. She had asked Bolt if she could be his assistant trainer, but Bolt had said, “No. Not unless you can feel the penguin-verse. It’s a werepenguin thing.” She didn’t quite understand it. Bolt also seemed to be changing, growing more spiritual and distant. But underneath Bolt’s bushy eyebrows—were they growing bushier?—were the same eyes she had known for . . . How long? Months? Was that all? It seemed like she and Bolt had been best friends forever.

  She watched as Bolt stuck out his hand and a fish jumped into it. Next, Grom held out his hand and waited, but nothing happened. He stood there, arms outstretched. “This is a waste of time,” Grom grumbled.

  Annika sensed some sort of aura around Bolt, too. He seemed to radiate heat, and also the faint smell of fish. It wasn’t a pungent stink, but it did mean Annika needed to scrunch up her nose when he came near her, just a little.

  Bolt wasn’t a warrior, but he was powerful now, and becoming more so. It made Annika nervous. Was she scared of him? No, that wasn’t it. How could she be frightened of her best friend?

  Was she sad? Yes, exactly. She felt sad because she feared that if Bolt spent all of his time in the penguin-verse, she would lose him as a friend. She had already lost Blackburn. She couldn’t lose Bolt, too!

  No. That would never happen.

  But she was lying to herself. And lying, even to yourself, was against her new bandit code.

  Bolt wandered to the other side of the boat, probably to think penguin things, and Grom stood by the railing alone, still holding his hand out over the waves. Nothing happened. After about a minute of this, Grom growled, turned, and bumped into Annika. “Sorry, didn’t see you,” he mumbled.

  Annika didn’t step out of the way. “Do you miss them?”

  Grom blinked, looking back at Annika. “What?”

  “You left your family. Do you miss them? Do you think you’ll ever see your sister again?”

  “Why would you think I’d miss them?” asked Grom, eyes narrowing, as if he were suspicious of the question. Grom was guarded, even more so than Annika. As a bandit, you learned quickly to h
ide your feelings. Grom reminded her of herself, just a little, even if he insisted he was not a bandit.

  Annika frowned. “Because I miss my papa and the other bandits back home. I miss Blackburn, too. But maybe it’s not so bad for you. You’ve got a new family now, right?” She had once been skeptical of anyone calling a group of penguins family, but those feelings were in the past.

  Grom grumbled. “It’s not really the same, but I guess. I miss Zemya. We were close. But then again, I couldn’t catch worms for her forever. I was always like, ‘Maybe I should go,’ and Zemya would be all, ‘Have some more borscht,’ and that would be that.”

  “She seemed very nice. I wish I had gotten to know her better.”

  Grom smiled, which was not something Annika had seen him do before. It looked a bit awkward—it was obvious Grom didn’t have much practice smiling—but it was genuine. Then he scowled, as if realizing he was smiling and finding it distasteful. “Whatever. She was nice and all. Sure.”

  “You must have felt lonely, huh? You were an outsider. That’s why you wanted Bolt to bite you, isn’t it? So you would belong to something?”

  “I wanted him to bite me so I wouldn’t die,” said Grom, rolling his eyes.

  “I mean before that. Bolt told me you wanted him to bite you, back when you were in the mole hole.”

  Grom looked away and grumbled. “Look, I should practice being a penguin or whatever.” He hurried away from Annika and down the ladder, toward his cabin.

  Grom hadn’t said much, but he had said enough. She understood what Grom must have felt like, living in Pingvingrad, always feeling like you didn’t completely belong. All Brugarian bandits felt that way, hated by everyone, living in a forest away from society.

  She glanced over to Bolt, who was quietly barking like a penguin, his eyes closed, his mind drifting somewhere else. At that moment, Annika felt more like an outsider than she ever had before.

  36.

  A Song of Ice and Ice