The Monster in the Hollows

by Andrew Peterson

  Kalmar nodded, unable to meet Bonifer’s kind eyes.

  “And now,” Bonifer said, turning his attention to Janner with a bow of his head, “it’s my honor to meet the Throne Warden. Janner, you’re as assertive as Artham ever was, and handsome too. The maidens of the realm will faint at your passing, as is proper for a Throne Warden.”

  Janner’s cheeks still burned, but from embarrassment now.

  “Leeli Wingfeather, Song Maiden of Anniera. How lovely you are! I am at your service,” Bonifer said, stooping to look her in the eye. He patted the whistleharp around her neck. “An ancient instrument for ancient songs. How I have longed to hear them echo in the halls of Castle Rysen.”

  “An honor to meet you, sir,” Oskar said, stepping forward as he smoothed a wisp of hair to his head and straightened his spectacles. “An indibnible honor! I hail from Glipwood by the Sea and have been the least of this company of heroes since our adventure began. My name is Oskar N. Reteep, bookseller, appreciator of the strange, neat, and/or yummy.”

  “The honor is mine, Reteep.” Bonifer squinted one eye at him, taking in at a glance Oskar’s belly, his sailor’s tan, his tattoo, and his inability to conceal his baldness. “I wonder which of those I might be.”

  “Which what?” Oskar asked.

  “Strange, neat, or yummy.”

  “And/or yummy, Mister Squoon. You’d be surprised how many things can be all three at once. Take frumpkin blossoms, for example—”

  “And you’d like to visit the library.” Bonifer pointed his cane at Oskar.

  “Oh, very much, sir.”

  “Me too,” Janner said.

  “Of course you do,” Bonifer said, nodding at Janner. “Your mother has had you hard at work on your T.H.A.G.S., no doubt. And as the firstborn your emphasis is limning.Words are your game, are they not?”

  “Yes, sir,” Janner said. “I do like to write.”

  “And King Kalmar here is an artist, as Leeli is the Song Maiden. Your mother has done Anniera proud.”

  “It’s so good to see a familiar face, Bonifer.” Nia pulled out a chair so he could sit. “Things have been unpleasant since we arrived.”

  “Yes, yes,” Bonifer said, hobbling over to the chair. “Gnag the Nameless has poisoned even the good hearts of the Hollowsfolk. They’re so fierce about their borders that they don’t trust anyone anymore, least of all someone with a snout.”

  He looked with glistening eyes into Kalmar’s face and smiled. “Your Highness, I have traveled the reaches of Dang and have seen terrible things. I know of Gnag’s twisted ways. He has discovered powers long forgotten and has wrenched them into new horrors. I have seen many like you who, in one moment of weakness, were forever marked. But you aren’t your fur any more than I am my flesh.Who you are runs deeper than your skin. A man may be handsome in aspect but black as death in his heart, you know.”

  Kalmar nodded.

  “Let these Hollish brutes say what they will. Only remember that a name runs in your blood, immutable and strong. It may take some time before they trust you. I’ve been here nine years and only now do I feel I can walk the Hollows without their eyes on my every move.”

  “So you’ve been here from the beginning, then?” Podo asked.

  “Yes. When the castle was overrun I escaped. I sailed the strait from Anniera to Dang and followed the cliffs north to the Watercraw. A long and miserable journey for an old man. I’ve been here ever since, though I’ve managed to travel a little, as in the old days. Much of Dang is under the fist of Gnag, and those few who are not will be soon enough. The Green Hollows seems impervious even to Gnag’s best efforts, though, and thus he has abandoned his campaign here. Pray to the Maker he doesn’t discover your presence here or all his might will descend on the Hollows, and I fear even the strongest Hollish warrior will be twisted into his service.”

  Bonifer fell silent, and his warning filled the room. He winced and struggled to rise, and Janner hurried forward to help. He felt sad for the old fellow and wanted so much to ask him about Esben. Bonifer was a connection to his father and his homeland. He was proof that Janner’s wildest dreams were as real as the air in his lungs.

  “Thank you, lad,” Bonifer said when he was standing again. “Now, on to lighter matters. I know you’d like a library. But I can offer you something even better.” He turned to Nia and his eyes twinkled. “I can offer you a home. How does Chimney Hill sound?”

  Nia’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open, but no words came.

  Bonifer removed a yellowed envelope from his breast pocket and waved it in the air. “I have here, along with a healthy inheritance from your grandfather Kargan Igiby—Maker rest his soul—the deed to Chimney Hill, your ancestral home. It was left to your mother, Wendolyn, who entrusted it to the House of Rona should any of her ancestors fall into need. Since you are homeless, husbandless, a refugee from a fallen kingdom, and weary beyond measure, I think no one will contest your qualifications.”

  “But—but has no one lived there?” Nia asked. “I assumed that after all these years someone would have—”

  Bonifer handed her the deed and smiled. “Someonehas lived there, my queen. And that someone is me. I’ve kept it free of cobwebs and thwaps these nine years, have stocked the pantry with bread and a hundred jars of jam preserves, and have even this morning instructed the maidservant to make your beds. There is a fire in the hearth even now.”

  “Does that mean we have a home?” Leeli asked.

  Nia smiled. “Yes, dear. And a fine one, too.”

  Minutes later, the Wingfeathers sat atop a carriage that clattered through the streets of Ban Rona toward their new home. The Hollowsfolk watched them pass—some with scowls and narrow eyes, some with wonder, and some with curiosity.

  Neither Janner nor any of his family cared in the least.

  15

  A Home at Chimney Hill

  The city of Ban Rona was bigger than Janner first thought. The buildings near the harbor, like the Orchard Inn, were tall and close together with narrow alleyways between them. They were made of wood and brick, handsomely built to complement the pleasant, tree-lined streets, which were busy with city traffic.

  The busiest area, the harbor district, was a place of rowdy commerce even though, Bonifer told them, the Great War had stopped the flow of ships to and from the Hollows. The harbor was large enough that fishermen could make a good living catching, filleting, smoking, and selling garp, glipper, and stonk fish—not to mention the occasional eight-eyed chabgome, whose tender sidemeat was famously delicious when garnished with a redberry spread. Fruit merchants and bakers from other Hollish cities still came to the waterfront market to sell their jams, pies, juices, and breads there, though their only customers now were fellow Hollowsfolk. Business wasn’t thriving, but the bustle kept Ban Rona’s people in good spirits.

  As the Wingfeathers rode the carriage west, away from the sea, the space between the houses widened, and some yards boasted little stands of apple, dornut, and ermentine trees under which big, lazy dogs lay wagging their tails. Janner wished the Hollish people were as glad to see the newcomers as their dogs seemed to be. The dogs that weren’t panting on lawns ran in the hilly fields where goats and horses grazed.

  Bonifer drove the carriage up a hill to the edge of the city, where there were no side streets, fewer houses, and the road was no longer cobbled. The old man reined in the horses and turned to his passengers with a smile that took over his whole face. Janner couldn’t help returning it.

  Bonifer swept his hand before him, indicating the view without a word. The three children stood and looked past the old man at a world of green. Janner had never seen so many shades of it. There were stands of dark green trees, bright gardens bursting with fall crops, hills that lay like the grassy bellies of a thousand sleeping giants, all pocked with houses and barns and lined with fences. Janner had seen the countryside from the roof of the great hall, but now that he was out among the hills and hollows he could feel the lan
d’s living beauty. He loved it.

  “That one there,” Podo said, squinting one eye and pulling Leeli close so she could see where he pointed, “that’s where we’re going. Chimney Hill.”

  The lane wound down a steep incline and met with another, wider road. The new road followed a babbling creek as it swept along the valley floor; just before the road disappeared around the shoulder of another hill, a lane veered off toward a stone bridge that arched over the creek. Across the bridge, the lane twisted its way gracefully up the hill, around several old trees heavy with fruit, past a little waterfall that leapt from a boulder and splashed down to the creek, and at last to the wide, flat lawn in front of Chimney Hill.

  The house was bigger than Janner expected, but it looked as cozy as the Igiby cottage back in Glipwood. Big windows opened onto a flower garden on the front lawn. A tree as high as the second story stood at the west corner, and even from this distance Janner could tell it grewinto the house, like the great tree in the Keep. Rising from the center of the roof was a wide chimney where smoke sighed out over the hollow and whispered a welcome to Janner’s heart.

  “You grew up there, Mama?” Leeli asked.

  “Your grandmother did.”

  “Aye,” Podo said. “I spent many hours in that front garden tryin’ to convince yer great-grandparents to let me court yer grandma.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Nia said with a wry smile.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “I heard it wasmother you had to convince.”

  “Pah! She loved me from the first time she saw me ruggedly handsome face.” Podo struck what he must have thought was a ruggedly handsome pose.

  “Indeed, how could she not?” said Bonifer with a roll of his eyes as he snapped the horses into a trot. When the carriage turned onto the bridge, Janner saw a stone marker set in the earth beside the creek. It read:

  Chimney Hill

  Built in the 348th Year

  of the Third Epoch

  by Janiber Igiby

  (As Far as We Know)

  Lanterns flickered at the cornerstones of the bridge, and several more were spaced beside the lane all the way to the house. Janner’s stomach fluttered. After nine years in the Igiby cottage living under the eye of the Fangs of Dang, then their weeks in Peet’s tree house, then his long journey to Kimera only to be swept onto a ship for a voyage across the sea, he was finally going to have a home again. He had ached for a place to call his own for so many weeks that he wondered what he would ache for now that he had one.

  Anniera was a pleasant dream, but Chimney Hill was just beyond the next tree, around the next turn of the lane. He hoped one day to see the Shining Isle with his own eyes, but if he had to grow old in the Green Hollows, where the fruit was plentiful, the land was green, and there wasn’t a Fang in sight (except for the one sitting right next to him, of course), then he would grow old happy. All he really wanted were good books to read, a warm bed, and his family and friends near.

  “Welcome home,” Bonifer said. He eased his old bones down from the carriage, adjusted his lapels, and held out a hand to Nia. Podo hopped down and lifted Leeli to the ground while the boys and Oskar clambered out and stood with the others in front of the house.

  Lanterns shone on either side of the big wooden door, and yellow flowers clustered in pots on the porch. The place seemed old, but it was well tended and very much alive.

  “Are you all right, Grandpa?” Leeli asked.

  “Aye, lass.” Podo sniffled and wiped his eyes. “It’s me allergies.”

  “I’m allergic to old memories too,” Nia said. She put an arm around her father and stepped inside. “Let’s make some new ones, Papa. These children should know which beds they’ll sleep in, Oskar will want to know what’s for dinner, and I’d like to sit by the fire with Bonifer and hear more of his story. But not before a warm bath. We all smell like fish and sailor sweat.”

  Janner was the last to enter the house. He took each step with care, looking closely at the steps, the landing, the places where the main door was worn smooth, the decoration on the flowerpots, the view from the front door; he wanted to remember every detail so he could write about it later. It felt like a silly thought, but he wanted his grandchildren to know what his first visit to Chimney Hill was like, right down to the smell of honeybloom in the autumn air.

  Then he stepped over the threshold and into his new home.

  The first thing he saw was the fireplace. It was as big as his bedroom in the Igiby cottage (though not as big as the fireplace in Kimera, where he had seen the dragon bones). The stonework was beautiful and drew the eye up to the high ceiling where timbers were interlaced with the boughs of the tree at the corner of the house. As in the great hall of the Keep, he saw leafy branches and even a few yellow apples dangling near the ceiling.

  Before the hearth lay an enormous rug made of animal fur so deep and soft that Janner’s feet disappeared when he stood on it. Bookshelves flanked the chimney all the way to the ceiling, and Oskar was shimmying up a ladder to inspect the books. Podo had recovered from his sadness and was already reclining in a chair by the fire, puffing at his pipe.

  On the other side of the room stood a long dining table, and beyond that was a kitchen stocked with pots and pans and baskets of vegetables. A kettle hissed on the stove. Nia held a teacup as she conversed with a young woman in a simple brown dress and apron. The woman held a little girl, not more than three years old. Janner heard Nia introduce herself, stroke the girl’s hair, and laugh kindly at something the woman said.

  “A fine home, is it not?” said Bonifer. He stood beside Janner in the entryway, and Janner noticed that when the old man stooped over his cane, they were the same height. Either Bonifer was very short or Janner was getting taller than he realized.

  “When I woke up this morning, I was at the Orchard Inn and Kalmar was in the dungeon,” Janner said. “I can hardly believe we’re here right now. It’s been so long since we’ve beenstill.”

  “Indeed! I hope you’ll be here for many years, my boy.” Bonifer patted Janner’s arm. “May you fill those shelves with books of your own.”

  Janner smiled. It was a nice thought, however unlikely it seemed.

  He heard a snarl and spotted Kalmar chasing Leeli around a couch on the far side of the hearth. She was giggling so hard she could hardly breathe, and Janner was amazed for the hundredth time by how agile she was with her crutch. He was sure Kal could catch her if he really wanted, but she wouldn’t make it easy.

  Nia came out of the kitchen with a cup of hot tea cradled in both hands. “Kalmar, Leeli, listen. I want to introduce you to our maidservant. This is Freva Longhunter.”

  The young woman was pretty in her way, though she hunched bashfully and allowed a lock of hair to cover one of her eyes. She smiled and nodded at each of them and didn’t seem to mind the presence of a Grey Fang.

  “And this,” Nia waved at the little girl peeking out from behind Freva’s leg, “is her daughter Bonnie. They live in the servant’s cottage and will assist with meals, gardening, and cleaning. This house is a lot bigger than our old cottage. It’s going to require much more work.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you all.” Freva curtsied. “If you need anything, just ask. I’m good at cleanin’ socks, bakin’ greengrape cake, and can make a bedreal well. I like when the sheets and the blanket sort of meld together, so they almost become one thing—ye can’t understate the importance of a good blanket meld, you know.” She straightened with pride. “It’s my specialty.”

  “Thank you, Freva,” Nia said. “Now. Let’s see to your rooms, children.”

  Janner and Kalmar looked at each other and grinned. Leeli clapped her hands. They followed Nia to a wide, curved stairway to the right of the fireplace. It swooped up to a landing where several comfortable chairs were arranged around another fireplace in the same chimney. More books crowded more shelves, and Janner grinned as he skimmed the titles.

  Four doors lined the wa
ll beyond the landing, each tinted a different color and engraved with different designs. The brown one was lined with bare, wintry tree branches, the green one was leafy, the bluish one was looped with vines, and the red one was decorated with fruit.

  “I haven’t been here for ages, but I think this one will suit you, Leeli.” Nia opened the reddish door, and light spilled into the hallway. Against the wall stood a large downy bed (the sheets and blanket of which were arranged with great care), and a rocking chair sat in the corner by the window. A tall mirror hung on the wall beside an ornate wardrobe, the doors of which were open to reveal a rack of fuzzy coats.

  “This was my mother Wendolyn’s old room,” Nia said. “She used to sit beside that window at night, staring out at the stars and pretending to ignore your grandfather’s singing. He would stand in the garden below and profess his love untilmy grandfather chased him off with a rake. This is the bed I slept in when I came to visit as a girl. What do you think?”

  Leeli limped into the room, spun around with a teary smile, rushed to her mother, and wrapped her in a violent hug. They left Leeli to her new room and moved on to the blue door.

  “Sorry, Your Highness!” called Bonifer from the top of the stairs. “That one’s mine, if that’s all right, and it’s not terribly clean. I only found out you were here this morning, you see, and by the time I pressed my suit and hitched the horses I didn’t have time to straighten it.”

  “It’s no problem, Bonifer.” Nia smiled and patted his arm. “You’ve taken good care of the place. You can sleep wherever you like. We’ll have a look at the green one.”

  “I beg your pardon, Highness.” Bonifer looked downcast. “It’s just—I haven’t had any company in nine years, and I’m unused to all this commotion. Forgive me.”

  “Hush, old friend. There’s nothing to be forgiven.” She pushed open the green door. “Ah. These two beds should suit the two of you perfectly.”