The nearby animals had retreated from the elevator doors in a wide semicircle, and their animal voices were low under the rumble of conversation across the fields. The mountain behind Jane rose higher than she could see—through the clouds—and it extended like a wall in both directions. As she watched flocks of birds swoop and weave overhead, Jane murmured, “Huh.” Beyond the clouds, the sky was brown, not blue. But there, above the multitudes of animals, was the sun, just like normal.
A gray furball was darting through the animals toward them.
“We need to keep moving,” Gaius said, “if we hope to reach the Purple Marsh before dark.”
“The Purple Marsh?” Jane said.
Gaius pointed his cane over the animals. “That way.”
“What is it?” Jane said. “You haven’t told me where we are—why are all these animals here? What is this place?” And why am I speaking so quickly? she thought. I’m shouting at him—at a talking cat! “I’m sorry, I just—”
The furball pushed out of the animal crowd and stood on its hind legs, a tiny red megaphone in one of its paws. “Who,” it shouted through the megaphone, “do you think you are? And what is the meaning of this—arriving on the elevator unannounced? There are signatures required for the preliminary paperwork! I don’t expect you considered where you would stay once you got here, hmm?” Its beady eyes squinted first at Finn, then at Gaius and Jane. It was some kind of groundhog, about the size of a fat toaster. “No? I thought not!” the groundhog continued. “The Sunburn Road is overcrowded as it is. I hope you don’t expect”—and here it wrinkled its nose at Finn—“to find a comfy mattress and a piping fireplace waiting for you with no notice!”
“Actually,” Gaius said, “that is exactly what we expect to find.”
The groundhog blinked as if Gaius had flashed a laser pointer in its eye. “Wha-wha—who are you?” The nearby animals were quiet now, watching Gaius.
“My name is Gaius Saebius Marcellus.”
“Gaius…?” The groundhog’s jaw quivered, and it clicked the megaphone uncomfortably. “You’re not the one who lives in the, uh—in the Purple…”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” The groundhog was clicking the megaphone frantically now, its teeth nibbling at the air “We are pressed for space, you understand. I am so sorry, sir…”
“I understand,” Gaius said. “We will be staying in my home.”
At that, the groundhog’s tiny shoulders relaxed. “Of course, of course! A bobbin—silly me! I should have recognized you, but I’ve never met a—”
Finn farted a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke. The animals gasped, the groundhog ran back into the crowd, and Jane laughed.
“There, now,” Finn said. “I feel better.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” Gaius said.
Finn clicked his jaw. “You want it to come out the front? Climb aboard, everyone.”
“Not here,” Gaius said. “The sky is too crowded.”
Finn looked at the birds overhead and snorted. “So? I’m bigger than them.”
“No. We walk now.”
“It would be much faster—”
“I said no, Finn.” Gaius nodded to the animals. “But you can clear us a path…”
As Finn approached the animals, Jane thought, There is something bad in this place. I don’t know what, but something here is wrong, like an invisible illness.
Gaius nodded to Jane, as if to say “Thank you,” and they followed Finn onto a road of overgrown cobblestones.
The animals may have cleared the road for Finn, but they were more interested in Gaius. As Gaius passed, there were hushed murmurs from peacocks and scrawny dogs, and Jane thought she heard a crocodile whisper “Bobbin.”
“Why are they staring?” Jane asked.
“Our line leader,” Gaius said, “happens to be a dragon.”
He’s lying again, Jane thought. What if I can’t trust him?
“What’s a bobbin?” she asked out loud.
“I am,” Gaius said. “That’s what I am called.”
“Bobbins were cat-people,” Finn called over his shoulder.
“Were?” Jane asked.
Gaius waved his cane at Finn. “Who knows why he says anything? He’s just a stubborn dragon. No more talking. We have a long way to go.”
A kangaroo bounced to Jane’s side, and every time she took a step, the kangaroo hopped to catch up. Her belly pouch bulged, and she was smiling.
“Heard from Iz?” the kangaroo asked with a thick, Australian accent. The sound reminded Jane of the voice in a beer commercial that her father liked.
Jane stopped, but the others didn’t notice and kept walking. “My iguana?” she asked.
The kangaroo patted her belly, and a muffled voice—from inside the pouch—said, “Jane! You have to—”
Animals wandered onto the cobblestones again, cutting off Jane from Gaius and Finn. I have to go, she thought. She pointed at the kangaroo’s pouch. “What’s in there?”
“What—this?” The kangaroo pulled Iz out by his tail.
“Jane!” Iz shouted. His voice was deep. “Run! He’s—”
The kangaroo covered Iz’s mouth with one hand. Now there were animals everywhere, mixing and chatting and clogging her path. Ahead of her, Jane spotted Finn over the herds, thirty feet away.
“Finn!” Jane called. “Gaius! Wait!”
But the animals were too loud.
“I’ll make you a deal,” the kangaroo said. “I’ll let your friend go if you come with me.”
As Jane reached for Iz, the kangaroo hopped away. Jane shouldered through a pack of llamas. When she put her foot down, something squeaked, so she jumped backward, tripped, and fell. She banged her elbow hard on the cobblestones, and for just a moment, when her head was close to the ground, she thought she heard voices singing in another language. It was a strange, jolting song, like the music from a Japanese play her mother had made her watch when Jane was in third grade. It had been full of men and women with exaggerated masks, and Jane had had nightmares for weeks afterward. The grass, Jane thought distantly. The grass is singing.
“Is it a deal?” the kangaroo said.
“Why do you want me to come with you?” Jane said. “Who are you?” She looked around, but now, there was no sign of Finn or anyone else. “Gaius!” she called.
“Look, I’m trying to be nice,” the kangaroo said. “I could always break your knees and put you in my pouch, you know.”
The kangaroo was a foot shorter than Jane, but its hind legs were thick muscle, and there were sharp nails on its front paws.
This isn’t real, Jane told herself. I must be asleep. But her pulse wouldn’t slow down. “If I come with you,” Jane said, “you’ll let Iz go?”
“That’s right. What do you say?”
“Where are you going to take me?”
“To him,” the kangaroo said, as if it were obvious.
“Him,” Jane repeated.
“Sure. Do we have a deal, then?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “But you have to let Iz go first.”
The kangaroo dropped Iz, and the iguana hit the ground running.
“Run, Jane!” he shouted. “They’ll kill you!”
“Ah, go on,” the kangaroo told Iz, “before I stomp on you. Now, then.” She looked up at Jane again. “If you’ll follow me…”
Jane ran.
Jane twisted through a group of smelly horses and caught her balance on a broken stone wall that was covered with vines and moss. The kangaroo bounded after her. She jumped over a line of baby ducks, pushed through a herd of deer—“Excuse me!” one shouted—and then slid through the legs of a giant polar bear, who exclaimed, “Did you see someone just fly between my—?” when the kangaroo collided with it. The polar bear loomed over the kangaroo. Jane dodged a hippopotamus, still running.
“Sorry, mate,” the kangaroo stammered, “I just have to—”
Jane hurried along another crumbling wall, past a pack of
wolves, and when she looked back, the polar bear was sniffing the kangaroo’s ears.
“…almost tropical,” the polar bear was saying. “You’re telling me this shampoo keeps the flies away twenty-four/seven, huh?”
Glaring at Jane, the kangaroo said to the polar bear, “Sure does. My sister has the recipe. Shall I have her call you?”
Jane stopped: a tumbledown stone wall opened to a grove of short, leafy trees. Although the animals were crowded around the edges of the wall, there were no animals inside the grove. It was as if the trees were off-limits. I wonder why, Jane thought, and she went in. If this were dangerous, it wouldn’t feel so peaceful, would it? Something squished and broke under her shoe: an apple. This was an orchard. The ground was hard, and when she scuffed the grass with her foot, a clod of dirt came away, exposing white stone. This whole area was a city or something once, Jane thought.
She tested the branches of the nearest apple tree; they seemed strong enough. I’ll have a better chance of spotting Finn from a higher lookout, she thought, but when she started to pull herself up, someone groaned. Jane stumbled back. The tree shook, and an apple fell.
“That’s impolite,” the tree said. Its voice was a rustle, as if the leaves were speaking.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “I wanted to climb up to look for my friends.”
“Not to pick apples?”
“No.”
“Smart girl,” the tree said. “You look like her.”
“Like who?”
The tree’s leaves blurted the word. “Her.”
Jane had the strangest feeling that the tree was pointing, and when she looked, she noticed something shiny through the grove.
“What is it?” Jane asked.
“Her,” the tree said again.
I have to go, Jane thought. The kangaroo might come back at any moment. I have to find Finn and Gaius. But she stepped deeper between the trees to a place overrun with thorn bushes and sharp holly. This is a bad idea—I should go back. I have to get out of here. And then she saw it: a human outline in the overgrowth.
Jane yanked away brittle vines and pricked her thumb on a thorn, but she kept pulling and ripping away the vegetation. The leaves shook around her, although there was no wind, and Jane heard the trees say “Cursed.” Finally, the mess broke away. Jane collapsed in the sweet-smelling leaves and apples. The ground was hard like thin carpet over wood.
It was a white marble statue of Jane—but not quite. On the statue, Jane’s hair was curly, and there was a scar on her chin. The statue-Jane held a short, dangerous knife in her left hand and raised a stone apple with her right hand. She was dressed in a strange one-piece dress with a thick belt at the waist and a torn coat hanging over her shoulders.
The trees spasmed, shouting, “Cursed! Forbidden!”
A plaque at the base of the statue had the word Traitor chiseled into it. There had been other words, but whoever had carved Traitor had deliberately destroyed them.
Jane backed away. “Who is she?”
The trees jostled and howled, “Forbidden!” Something smacked the back of Jane’s head, and she spun in time to duck a second apple.
“Stop it!” Jane shouted.
“Cursed!”
The trees threw more apples, and Jane staggered out of the overgrowth closer to the exit. An apple hit her shoulder, then her right leg. “Ow! Stop it!”
“Such a ruckus…” The kangaroo watched from the gap in the orchard wall. “What have you done now?”
The trees were quiet again, as if they wanted to hear the kangaroo.
“You’re not supposed to be in there, you know,” the kangaroo said. “You’re either brave or stupid—or both. That’s Mary’s corner.”
“Mary?”
“You know, Applepatch Mary.”
“Who is she?”
“Come out, and I’ll tell you all about her. Don’t make me call for help. The others won’t be nearly as likable as me. You had a good run…” As she spoke, the animals behind her began to clear. “And I don’t want to hurt you, but I promise, if you don’t come out of there now, I’ll—”
With a rush of air like a train entering a tunnel, Finn landed behind the kangaroo. Gaius was on his back, and Iz was sitting on Gaius’s lap. The kangaroo’s ears pricked backward, but she was still facing Jane.
“Darn,” the kangaroo said, and Jane wondered if she was about to cry. Her knees were trembling. “Jane, if you don’t come out, I’ll—”
Finn breathed a fireball over the kangaroo’s head. “You’ll what?” Finn said. “You will what?”
The kangaroo bounced to face the dragon. “Right,” she said. “That is a legitimate question…”
“Run,” Finn said, grinning fangs. “Or hop. Or whatever you do. Do it now, and tell him that you’re lucky I wasn’t hungry.”
“Right, mate,” the kangaroo said. “Fair enough then—”
“Now!” Finn huffed another fireball, and the kangaroo took off.
As Gaius climbed down, he told Finn, “That was overly dramatic. You know you don’t eat marsupials.”
“You never know,” Finn said. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“You could take this a bit more seriously.” Gaius stopped at the orchard wall. “Come out of there, Jane.” She did, and Gaius said, “I’m disappointed. You haven’t the slightest idea of where you are or what you’re doing.”
“Only because you haven’t told me,” Jane said. “Who is Applepatch Mary?”
“She tried to save the bobbins,” Finn said. “But she couldn’t because they had already been turned into—”
“Finn!” Gaius said. He frowned at Jane and said, “If your friend there”—he indicated Iz—“hadn’t warned us, where would you be?”
Jane took Iz and said, “You tried to warn me back at our house, didn’t you, Iz?”
“I’m just glad you’re all right,” Iz said. “And you’re in good hands. That dinosaur is much bigger than me.” Finn rolled his eyes, and Iz continued, “I should stay here. I’ll only be in the way where you’re going.”
“He’s right,” Gaius said. “As long as the Raven King’s magic hasn’t crossed the Old Wall, this is the safest place for the animals.”
Jane gave Iz a hug, and he said, “Bye, Jane. I’m sure you’ll be the one.”
She put Iz down and climbed onto Finn’s back. “What did he mean that he’s sure I’ll be the one?”
“No more questions right now,” Gaius said. “I’ll explain more when you’re ready.”
“If she passes the tests, you mean,” Finn said.
“Not another word,” Gaius said. “It will be dark very soon. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to reach the Purple Marsh.”
“Dark already?” Jane said. “But the sun is right there. It looks like the middle of the afternoon.”
“It is not the middle of the afternoon,” Gaius said. Finn extended his great wings to many “Oohs!” and “Aahs!” from the surrounding animals. “And that”—he pointed up—“is not the sun.”
After Finn took off, the daylight went out. One moment, Jane was perched at the edge of Finn’s right shoulder, watching herds of buffalo and pink flamingos below, and the next, they were staring at blackness, as if the bathroom light had been flipped off in the middle of the night.
Jane said, “What happened?”
“It’s all right,” Gaius said behind her. “Your eyes will adjust.”
He was right. Soon Jane could see gray and black outlines. But there was no moon.
“That’s the way it is here,” Finn said. “Twelve hours of light; twelve hours of darkness.”
“We’ll stop on the Sunburn Road,” Gaius told him.
They landed on an old road made of big square blocks—the kind you might find in a pyramid. In the dark, Jane heard animal conversations all around them. She smelled dirty fur and wet feathers.
“All the animals left Earth—the surface—to come here,” Jane said. “Didn’t they?
”
Gaius unrolled small packs that had been strapped to Finn’s side. “Yes.” And before she could ask, he said, “I told you, the Raven King will return to topside Earth very soon.”
“Where does he live now?”
Gaius said, “Here in Hotland.”
“But if he lives here already, why would the animals come here to get away from him?”
Gaius gave her a sleeping bag that smelled of dust and mothballs. “Here.”
Jane said, “Is there any food?”
“What do you want?” Finn asked. “How’s goat sound? I see a goat over there…”
“Finn.” Gaius said. “We’ll have plenty to eat before the tests. Stay close tonight—don’t leave the road.”
“Why are you going to test me?” Jane said. “To find out if I’m strong enough to stop the Raven King?”
“Yes,” Gaius said. “If the Raven King finds you, he will kill you.” He did a slow cat-circle, then settled in. “Good night, Jane.”
Jane rolled onto her back and stared at the blackness overhead. I didn’t think I could be scared of a kangaroo, she thought. I hope Michael, Mom, and Dad are okay. Everything is backward here. The sky is brown because we’re underground, she realized. This is like a giant cave—as big as the world. Jane thought about that, then decided she had to use the bathroom—but, of course, there were no toilets anywhere. She sat up and looked at the outlines of sleeping animals on the road and in the fields. Something about it bothered her, and it wasn’t that they could talk. The animals aren’t interested in eating or normal animal-things, she thought. They just stand around chatting—as if they’re waiting for something. But what could these animals be waiting for?
Jane went to the edge of the road. Something tugged at her leg: a rabbit. A little brown bunny rabbit with beady eyes was looking up at her. He was wearing a stiff blue uniform with gold buttons, like something a ship’s captain might wear.
“Excuse me, darlin’,” the rabbit said. “My name is Miles, of Miles-and-Miles Courier Service. Can I ask your name?”
“Um—my name is Jane.”
“Last name?”
“Lehman.”
Miles whistled. “I thought so! Why, this is an honor, Miss Lehman—truly an honor. Can I shake your hand? It will be something to tell my grandkids about someday. That I made the delivery!”
Jane and the Raven King Page 5