longer shocked that such a thing could happen in the world but heartbroken because it had. Her tears struck Janner as the right kind of tears.
Tink sat on the ground with his back to the stone bench and absentmindedly pulled weeds from the cracks between cobbles. Podo knelt in front of Leeli on his good knee.
“Leeli,” he said gently.
Hair stuck to her wet face. Her cheeks were splotchy red, and her chin quivered. She reached for her grandfather and hugged his neck, crying harder than before. Podo lifted her and carried her some distance away, whispering and patting her back with his big, callused hands.
Janner plopped to the ground beside Tink, and the weariness of the day fell on him like a blanket. He leaned his head back on the stone and looked at the sky. White clouds slid across the deep blue dome, peaceful as a sigh. His eyes drooped shut, and wind tickled his face and the hairs on his forearms. The rockroach den, then the trolls, Peet’s capture, the foggy despair of the flat beside the river, the dizzy sight of the Dark Sea, the troll breathing at Janner’s back—and Nugget.
He opened his eyes and looked at the sky again. Where was Peet now? Janner was afraid for him but felt sure Peet was still alive. He had survived terrible things for years, and something about the way Zouzab watched him from the troll’s shoulder made Janner believe Gnag wanted the Sock Man alive for some reason.
For a long time they sat among the ruins. Podo and Leeli finally came back to where the others rested, and though her face still bore the weight of her sorrow, Janner could see that his sister was
present
. Her eyes didn’t stare into nothing. They saw the situation, grieved for it, and faced it.
As Janner drifted to sleep, he was aware of Nugget’s absence; no giggles from Leeli; no big, whiny yawns; no sense of safety knowing that, whatever lay in wait for them in the shadows, at least this huge, happy monster was on their side.
Janner woke with a start. Dusk approached, and the clearing lay in cool shadow. Leeli slept on Nia’s lap. Oskar lay on his back, hissing with pain while Podo worked to remove the old fellow’s bandages. Tink assisted Podo with a sick look on his face. Janner wondered for a moment where Nugget and Peet were, until he remembered with a shiver that the day hadn’t been some awful dream.
“Hold on now,” Podo said. “I’m almost finished. Tink, hand me the knife, eh?”
Tink passed a small knife to his grandfather, who used it to cut away the clotted bandage.
“There,” Podo said, eying Oskar’s wound. “It’s not as bad as I thought. Hardly a scratch, ye big baby! We’ll get you wrapped up again, and in a few days I wager you’ll be good as before.”
“Which wasn’t all that good, if you remember,” said Oskar. “In the words of Izikk the Slapped, ‘I’m round as the moon and just as big—ouch! That hurt!’” Oskar laughed and turned his tired eyes on Janner. “Miller’s Bridge, my boy! Can you believe it? A legend proved true. A lot of that going on these days, it seems. Lost jewels, heroic deeds. I tell you, seeing the way you Igibys—Wingfeathers, rather—manage to survive makes me dare to believe the old stories are true after all. All those epics about mighty victories and brave kings. If I live long enough to sit at a desk again with a quill and parchment, I’ll tell about this day. I’ll put it down so that a thousand years hence some lad will read of the day Janner Wingfeather charged the Fangs of Dang beside his stout grandfather or how young King Kalmar’s skill with the bow drove an army of Fangs to retreat.”
Janner and Tink blushed.
“Don’t forget Nugget,” said Leeli. She was awake now, leaning against Nia.
“Of course, my dear,” said Oskar. “I’ll write of brave Nugget, whose bark shook the trees, Nugget, whose love for Leeli Wingfeather sent him flying to meet a troll twice his size, whose might shattered Miller’s Bridge and saved
Tink sat on the ground with his back to the stone bench and absentmindedly pulled weeds from the cracks between cobbles. Podo knelt in front of Leeli on his good knee.
“Leeli,” he said gently.
Hair stuck to her wet face. Her cheeks were splotchy red, and her chin quivered. She reached for her grandfather and hugged his neck, crying harder than before. Podo lifted her and carried her some distance away, whispering and patting her back with his big, callused hands.
Janner plopped to the ground beside Tink, and the weariness of the day fell on him like a blanket. He leaned his head back on the stone and looked at the sky. White clouds slid across the deep blue dome, peaceful as a sigh. His eyes drooped shut, and wind tickled his face and the hairs on his forearms. The rockroach den, then the trolls, Peet’s capture, the foggy despair of the flat beside the river, the dizzy sight of the Dark Sea, the troll breathing at Janner’s back—and Nugget.
He opened his eyes and looked at the sky again. Where was Peet now? Janner was afraid for him but felt sure Peet was still alive. He had survived terrible things for years, and something about the way Zouzab watched him from the troll’s shoulder made Janner believe Gnag wanted the Sock Man alive for some reason.
For a long time they sat among the ruins. Podo and Leeli finally came back to where the others rested, and though her face still bore the weight of her sorrow, Janner could see that his sister was
present
. Her eyes didn’t stare into nothing. They saw the situation, grieved for it, and faced it.
As Janner drifted to sleep, he was aware of Nugget’s absence; no giggles from Leeli; no big, whiny yawns; no sense of safety knowing that, whatever lay in wait for them in the shadows, at least this huge, happy monster was on their side.
Janner woke with a start. Dusk approached, and the clearing lay in cool shadow. Leeli slept on Nia’s lap. Oskar lay on his back, hissing with pain while Podo worked to remove the old fellow’s bandages. Tink assisted Podo with a sick look on his face. Janner wondered for a moment where Nugget and Peet were, until he remembered with a shiver that the day hadn’t been some awful dream.
“Hold on now,” Podo said. “I’m almost finished. Tink, hand me the knife, eh?”
Tink passed a small knife to his grandfather, who used it to cut away the clotted bandage.
“There,” Podo said, eying Oskar’s wound. “It’s not as bad as I thought. Hardly a scratch, ye big baby! We’ll get you wrapped up again, and in a few days I wager you’ll be good as before.”
“Which wasn’t all that good, if you remember,” said Oskar. “In the words of Izikk the Slapped, ‘I’m round as the moon and just as big—ouch! That hurt!’” Oskar laughed and turned his tired eyes on Janner. “Miller’s Bridge, my boy! Can you believe it? A legend proved true. A lot of that going on these days, it seems. Lost jewels, heroic deeds. I tell you, seeing the way you Igibys—Wingfeathers, rather—manage to survive makes me dare to believe the old stories are true after all. All those epics about mighty victories and brave kings. If I live long enough to sit at a desk again with a quill and parchment, I’ll tell about this day. I’ll put it down so that a thousand years hence some lad will read of the day Janner Wingfeather charged the Fangs of Dang beside his stout grandfather or how young King Kalmar’s skill with the bow drove an army of Fangs to retreat.”
Janner and Tink blushed.
“Don’t forget Nugget,” said Leeli. She was awake now, leaning against Nia.
“Of course, my dear,” said Oskar. “I’ll write of brave Nugget, whose bark shook the trees, Nugget, whose love for Leeli Wingfeather sent him flying to meet a troll twice his size, whose might shattered Miller’s Bridge and saved
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