48
Elder Cadwick
Janner, Kalmar, and Oood were bustled away by a womanish creature with fish scales along her arms and neck, but with the ears of several animals—dog, sheep, flabbit, and more—sprouting from her face, hands, and every exposed bit of her body. Yet she moved with grace and spoke with a voice that was, Janner supposed, woman-like. Her eyes rested too low on the sides of her face, and her lips were blue and turned downward in a pout like a glipperfish.
She led them past the congregation of cloven and into a simple but sturdy log building where she told them they would be interrogated by the cloven leader, whom she called Elder Cadwick.
Janner was shocked that they hadn’t been eaten yet. By all accounts, the cloven were deadly monsters that the Hollowsfolk of the Outer Vales had kept at bay for years, and yet these seemed civilized and almost hospitable.
The earish, womanish cloven brought a platter of earthen cups and a jug of water, smiled, and left them alone. Oood sat on the floor since there were no troll-sized chairs, while the boys sat at the table sipping water and exchanging befuddled looks.
“Well. This is a surprise,” Kalmar said.
“Oood surprised too,” the troll said without looking up from his wounded leg. He winced as he poked at it, and Janner realized for the first time how deep the gash was.
The door banged open and in walked two more cloven: one with the head of a Grey Fang but the body of a large thwap (which was still rather small—his head barely cleared the table), the other a bear with its head on backwards and knobby bones protruding from its shoulders, like wings that had failed to sprout. They carried between them the widest rocking chair Janner had ever seen, placed it behind Oood, and then helped him into it. They bowed when they left, and the backwards-headed bear said, “The medician is on her way. She will mend yourrrrrAAAAAWR—I’m sorry. Your foot.”
It turned around and backed out of the room—or didn’t, depending on how one looked at it. The thwap Fang bobbed its head like a baby and smiled in a way that showed its teeth were, in fact, not fangs but square. Like a horse’s teeth, Janner thought.
“This is the weirdest thing ever,” he said to no one in particular.
“There was the gargan rockroach. That was pretty weird,” Kal said—then he paused and nodded his head. “You’re right, this is weirder.”
The door opened again and a short, stocky woman entered the room, along with the backwards bear. Her movements were quick and sure, like she was used to being in charge. Her black hair was cut short and framed a pleasant face. She carried a satchel bulging with supplies: scissors, knives, rolls of cloth, bottles of ointment.
“Wounded troll, I hear?” She put her hands on her hips and looked from Janner to Kal, and finally at the troll. When none of them said anything, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head with annoyance. “Well? Which one of you is it?”
Janner and Kalmar pointed at Oood, who raised his hand.
“Right, then. As I suspected. You have the look of a troll.” The woman waved a hand at the backwards bear. “Wizzle, let Elder Cadwick know the refugees aren’t sure which of them is the troll. They’re more damaged than we thought.” She marched across the room and took Oood’s wounded leg in her hands, turning the foot this way and that. “Looks fine to me. Is it broken?” Oood grunted and pointed a giant troll finger at the gaping wound on the back of his giant troll calf. “Yes, yes. But is your foot broken?”
Oood looked at Janner and back at the woman before saying, “No?”
“Good! Then we’d better have a look at this cowbite. It’s too late to save the foot, but we should be able to stitch that wound up in no time. My name is Mother Mungry. I’m sure you three have questions. Elder Cadwick will be here soon. He’s assuaging the cows you so foolishly boogled.”
“Boogled?” Janner asked.
Mother Mungry retrieved a wad of leaves from her satchel and applied them to Oood’s leg, murmuring soothing words when he hissed with pain. “Easy, big fellow. What’s your name?”
“Oood.”
“And you’re a troll?”
“Yes.” His answer sounded sleepy.
“That’s all? Only a troll?”
Oood didn’t answer because he was fast asleep. Mother Mungry stowed the wad of leaves in her satchel and removed something that looked like a fishhook. She squinted one eye as she threaded the hole and set to stitching up the wound. “Yes,boogled. They don’t usually come this close to Clovenfast. We hear them at night when they’re hunting, but it’s been a long time since we’ve had a boogle of them at our gates. We’re lucky they didn’t breach.”
She tied a knot in the string and appraised her work. She nodded, gathered her things, and turned toward the door. Janner and Kalmar gasped when they saw that she had a long, furry tail, at the end of which was a perfectly formed human hand. Its fingers were spread open like a spider’s legs, and as she walked it followed her like a pet on a leash.
She smiled when she saw the look of shock on the boys’ faces. “Are either of you hurt?”
“No, ma’am.” Kalmar forced a smile.
“Good. Elder Cadwick will be here shortly.”
There came a knock at the door, and Mother Mungry opened it to reveal the horse-like creature who had spoken to them outside.
“All is well?” he asked as he ducked through the door.
“Yes sir. The troll—he’s the big one there. His foot is fine, but I repaired the cowbite and he should be awake in a few minutes.”
Elder Cadwick closed the door behind him and studied the boys and the troll. Janner didn’t want to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Cadwick was a fascinating mixture of animals, a frightening thing to look at, but the way he stood, the way he crossed his arms and looked at them without fear or malice, struck Janner as noble. Soon Janner realized that the creature was staring athim. Not at Kal, and not at Oood.
Elder Cadwick’s gaze was steady. He—or it—took a step forward. “You’re a boy,” he said. Janner tensed, unsure if maybe the four-legged creature was about to strike. “An actual boy?”
“Yes sir,” Janner answered, hating the way his voice squeaked.
“Tell me,” Cadwick said to Kalmar, “how did a cloven like yourself fall into the company of a boy?”
“Cloven?” Kalmar said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not a cloven. I’m Kalmar. And this is my brother.”
Now Cadwick laughed. “Not a cloven, eh? Mother Mungry was right—you’re more damaged than you realize.”
“I don’t understand,” Janner said.
Cadwick returned his gaze to Janner and tilted his head. His face was so strange that Janner couldn’t tell what the look meant, but once again he had the sense that the creature meant them no harm.
“Let me try to explain . . .boy.” Cadwick said it as if it was a new word he was getting used to. He stepped closer and his knobby horse legs knelt at the end of the table so that he seemed to be sitting in a chair. Lamplight caused his bluish skin to shine and his large, dark eyes to glimmer. He folded his hands and thought before speaking. “You are in the Blackwood. You know this?”
Janner and Kal nodded. Why did everyone seem to think their brains didn’t work?
“You have come here without invitation, without warning, and you have brought with you a herd of toothy cows. I was eating breakfast with my wife this morning at dawn when I received warning that cows were coming. And, I thought, if cows are coming, then something has caused this to happen. But surely there would be no Hollowsfolk in the Blackwood. They would never be so foolish. And yet, here you are.” He was looking at Janner again. “A boy.”
“We didn’t mean to come, sir,” Kalmar said. “The cows chased us.”
“And what, brother cloven, were you doing in the Outer Vales in this strange company?”
“I’m not a cloven,” Kal said.
“Indeed,” answered Cadwick with a grunt.
“No sir.”
“You’re
not a Fang, though. It is plain that you are not fully melded.”
“No sir, I’m not a Fang either.”
Elder Cadwick leaned forward and studied Kal’s face. “Then what do you suppose you are, brother?”
“I’m the son of Esben, King of the Shining Isle.”
“Speak not that name in jest. What do you mean?”
“I only meant what I said. My name is Kalmar Wingfeather. My father was the king, but now he’s dead. That makes me the king—I guess.”
“And I’m the Throne Warden,” Janner said.
Elder Cadwick leaned back and folded his arms. “So it’s true,” he said to himself.
“What’s true?” Janner asked.
“Esben’s story.”
49
Cave Paintings
Janner and Kalmar stared at Elder Cadwick in shock.
“You knew our father?” Janner asked.
“If your father was a cloven bear named Esben, yes.”
“What story are you talking about?” Kalmar asked.
“I could tell you everything, but I think it would be better to show you. Come with me.” Cadwick stood and looked down at Kalmar and Janner with wonder before leading them to the door.
“What about Oood?” Janner asked.
At the sound of his name, Oood sat up and smiled. “Oood awake now.” He poked at his stitched wound and said, “Where we go?”
“Oood, you may stay here if you like. Your companions will come to no harm. My people have sacked one of the toothy cows and even now are butchering it for the spit. If you’d like to stay and eat, you’re welcome to. Besides,” Cadwick said with a smile, “Mother Mungry thinks you need to stay off that foot. She has a thing about broken feet. I think you’ll find that many of us at Clovenfast have . . .quirks. Mother Mungry is one of the sanest of us. Shimrad is crazy about fenceposts. He admires them for hours.” He nodded at Oood. “What do you say, friend?”
Oood looked at the boys with uncertainty, then he patted his stomach. “Ooodis hungry.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be back,” Janner said, then he turned to Cadwick. “Where are you taking us?”
“To Esben’s den.”
Janner’s skin tingled as they followed Elder Cadwick out of the room. He led them into a courtyard crowded with cloven, who paused whatever they were doing to watch the Wingfeathers. Sunlight fell through the treetops and warmed the ground in bright patches, illuminating the roofs of wooden huts, which lined the walls of the village. The huts were simple but well made, and the areas around them were neat and swept clean of leaves.
“Hello, Shimrad,” Cadwick said to a man-like creature with rumpled wings and a pig’s snout. The thing nodded as they passed, then turned back to its business (staring lovingly at a row of fenceposts).
Another group of cloven stood around a fire where chunks of toothy cow cooked on a spit; it smelled delicious and reminded Janner that they hadn’t eaten any breakfast. Kalmar veered away and would have joined the group at the fire if Cadwick hadn’t called him back.
“Careful, brother cloven,” he said with a chuckle. “Those are some of the wilder of us. It’s too early in the morning for a fight.”
The cloven around the fire watched them pass with indecipherable expressions; they might have been angry, or curious, or welcoming, or disinterested, but each face was so different, each feature so misplaced or twisted that Janner could interpret no meaning from their monstrous shapes and instead averted his eyes.
As they walked deeper into the forest settlement, Janner saw that it was lined with many paths and was home to hundreds of cloven, maybe more. Soon they approached a lane which was crowded with dwellings—not quite houses, but an assemblage of lean-tos and sheds with doors of varying shapes and sizes made to accommodate the corresponding oddities of the cloven who lived there.
As he looked around, Janner realized that the cloven who stopped to watch them pass were fascinated byhim—they hardly glanced at Kalmar. Janner felt self-conscious, almost wishing he were a cloven and not just a regular boy. This must be what Kalmar felt every time he walked through Ban Rona; no wonder he hated appearing in public.
“Clovenfast has been here for many years,” Elder Cadwick said.
“I thought cloven was a nickname the Hollowsfolk gave you,” Janner said.
“They named us?” asked Cadwick with surprise. “I wasn’t aware the Hollowsfolk had seen enough of us to bother.”
“They’ve known for years that the forest was full of—monsters.” Janner gulped. He waited for some reaction from Cadwick, but none came.
“I knew there was restlessness in the Blackwood, cloven ranging farther into the vales, but I did not think they were enough to cause trouble. I shall have to increase my pleaders at the forest borders.”
Pleaders? Janner wondered. Everything Cadwick said opened up whole libraries of questions. They turned a corner and came at last to the rear wall of the fort.
Cadwick paused at the gate. “This might bother you, boy. These are not the tame ones.” Elder Cadwick heaved open the gate, revealing a path that led through darker and thicker trees before it disappeared around a bend. Gulpswallows flitted about in the sunbeams. Cadwick ducked through the doorway and stepped into the forest. “Stay close.”
Immediately there was noise in the brush beside the path. Janner and Kalmar pressed against Cadwick’s flanks as they walked, ready either to run or to climb onto his back—though Janner wasn’t sure Cadwick would allow it.
“Look!” Kalmar said, pointing at something large and scaly as it slithered out of sight. Another rustle came from the other side of the path, and Janner spotted a creature skittering up a tree with spidery legs—it was no bigger than a dog, and he thought he saw human hands grabbing twigs as it climbed. As they walked they saw more and more creatures, some so hideous that they defied description. One lumped across the path, legless and gurgling. Another, visible deep in the trees, had limbs as long and thin as poles and strode through the boughs tearing leaves and munching them with long black teeth. In each misshapen face Janner saw the shadow of a deep sadness, as if the eyes were windows into a dungeon where a prisoner wept.
These were the broken, the “untame” as Elder Cadwick called them, and their sorrow filled the forest so that even the birdsong was lonesome.
“Careful,” Cadwick said, pulling Janner from the edge of the path—he had almost stepped on the front foot of a thwappish digtoad with a woman’s face and long, blond hair pooled around it on the ground. “That one is a pouncer.”
“Sorry,” Janner said to the digtoad-thing, and to his shock, she answered, “No matter,” in a voice that sounded like a burp.
On they walked, until they halted at a pile of mossy boulders. A footpath led between the massive stones, and Cadwick pointed. “Here we are. See for yourself.”
The boys stepped cautiously toward the entrance. It wasn’t a cave, but the trees overhead were so thick that it felt like one. The place held a troubling aura of pain and memory, and seemed to be waiting just for Janner. He didn’t want to look inside. Kalmar stepped past him and out of sight behind a slab of stone. With a deep breath and a last look at Cadwick, Janner followed Kalmar into their father’s home.
He found his brother on his knees, crying.
The place was no bigger than a shed, the dirt on the floor packed with years of habitation. There was a ratty blanket piled in one corner, and rodent bones piled in another. It reminded Janner of the cave where Kalmar had tended to Esben. A flood of emotions rose in Janner’s chest and tears leaked down his cheeks.
Kalmar was kneeling in front of the far wall with one arm outstretched before him, his hand on the cold grey stone. The rock was covered with images, drawings in charcoal that had been tinted with some kind of dye. Janner knelt beside his brother and wiped his eyes. The name ESBEN was scrawled at the center, and around it were written four names: Janner, Kalmar, Leeli, and Nia.
Chills tickled Janner’s shoulder blades
. The letters were sloppy, but the images were not: One was of an island surrounded by crashing waves. A many-spired castle rose high above the green island, and little sailboats floated near the shore. In another picture, dark lines were dotted with bursts of green—furrowed fields with crops rising out of the earth, Janner realized—men, women, and children stood among the rows with baskets on their shoulders and glad expressions on their faces.
“Janner, look. It’s us.” Kal pointed to the wall in the deepest part of the den.
There was Nia’s face—in fact, there were many drawings of her face. Some were smiling, some were sad, some were serious, and all were nearly as beautiful as the woman herself.
Next to the collage of Nia was a likeness of Uncle Artham. It was Artham before he had changed into a birdman, before his hair had changed to white and his eyes had filled with regret. It was an image of a sure young man, an Artham that Janner had never seen before.
Below Artham were three children standing together on the deck of a ship—Leeli in a dress with a crutch under one arm, Janner with bandages on his legs and his arm in a sling, and Kalmar—who looked like a boy. It was the children as Esben had seen them in Leeli’s song, when they arrived at the Green Hollows—but the drawing of Kalmar showed no sign of wolf ears or fur. A sooty hand had wiped across the stone and smudged his face. Kal hung his head.
A little farther to the right, Janner discovered a large and carefully drawn Fang, the blue eyes so vivid that they seemed to be staring straight at him. Beneath it was written, “My boy.”
Janner took Kal’s shoulders and turned him gently toward the painting. When Kal saw it his tears flowed all the harder. The brothers rested in the memory of their father’s love so long that Cadwick stepped to the doorway to be sure they were all right.
“You knew him?” Janner asked.
“Yes,” answered Cadwick. “And no.”
“What do you mean?” Kal wiped his nose and stood.
“Perhaps we should tell this tale over a hot meal. Can your questions wait that long? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
The Warden and the Wolf King Page 23