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, womanlike. Her eyes rested low on the sides of her face, and her lips were blue and turned downward in a pout like a glipper fish.
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, 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 a 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 backward 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 backward-headed bear said, “The medician is on her way. She will mend yourrrrr AAAAAWR—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, and 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 backward bear. Her movements were quick and sure, as if 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 backward 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 horselike 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 at him. 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 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.”
“What’s true?” Janner asked.
“Esben’s story.”