War in Hagwood Read online

  “But he did it!” Kernella cried. “He did it!”

  “The wergle is not yet complete,” Master Gibble told her. “When it is, there will be nothing living left of the lad to undo the change. He knew that would happen.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kernella snapped at him. “He’s my brother; he can do anything. He’s better than you ever were—and braver!”

  Master Gibble knew that was true and he bowed his head in respect.

  Kernella looked up at Meg. “Help him, please!” she implored.

  “There is nothing I can do,” the woman answered regretfully. “There is more to this than your simple shape changing. Gamaliel has invoked the enchantment of the Puccas. He has set the Smith’s power in motion. None can contest their skill.”

  “Wait!” Finnen cried, reaching into his belt. “The Puccas made the silver fire devils—this must be able to do something!” He took out Harkul and pressed it into Gamaliel’s left hand.

  “Come back,” he urged. “Gamaliel Tumpin, come back to us. By the power of Harkul, I order it!”

  Gamaliel took a wheezing breath but did not change back.

  “It isn’t working!” Kernella wept.

  “The passwords!” Figgle cried desperately. “The ancient, unlocking passwords. Everyone—sing them!”

  The werlings all began to chant.

  Amwin par cavirrien sul, olgun forweth, I rakundor.

  Skarta nen skila cheen …

  Gamaliel’s eyes flickered open.

  “It’s no use,” he said in a strained whisper. “This was meant to be. I chose Sacrifice. I stood on the altar of the Dooits. I won’t live to see the dawn. I’m glad it’s me, and not Kernella or Bufus.”

  “Don’t say that!” his sister said.

  Gamaliel tried to move his arm but it was rigid and the creeping yellow pallor had now reached his left hand. The fire devil fell from his grasp. A pricking numbness was filling his fingers.

  “It’s my days that will be golden forevermore,” he said faintly. The boy looked up into his mother’s face, and through her anguish, she smiled at him—the smile that he so loved. Then his eyes clouded over and his breathing stopped.

  Finnen turned on his heel and stumbled away, Bufus dropped to his knees, and Grimditch rocked to and fro, with the mortal infant cradled in his arms. Tollychook and Liffidia held on to each other and sobbed, while the Tumpins grieved.

  Silence fell over the lofty crag; the jubilation ended.

  THERE WERE NO CELEBRATIONS for many days. Too many had died, and there was far too much to be done. Peg-tooth Meg led the Unseelie Court back into the Hollow Hill and commanded the Under Magic to close it. If any members of the court still doubted her right to the throne, that settled it once and for all.

  The fallen were gathered from the battlefield and laid with great reverence in the many halls and courtyards under a preserving enchantment until new tombs could be built. These were constructed down in the expansive torture chambers, which were no longer needed.

  The carcasses of the troll witches and their wild boars were flung without ceremony into the glade of the blood moths. The thorny imps were burned on a bonfire at the foot of the Witch’s Leap. No trace could be found of Rhiannon Rigantona’s body, and it was commonly believed she had been utterly consumed by the red flames as she fell. A popular rumor, however, claimed that the body had really been dragged away by a thorny imp that had survived. But no one really took that seriously.

  The coronation of Peg-tooth Meg took place one bright April morning upon the green summit of the Hollow Hill. Blue banners and birdsong filled the sky and the hilltop was garlanded with white and yellow flowers.

  Beforehand, Meg spoke to her sluglungs in private. She offered to change them back to their former selves, to return them to who they were before they had drunk the dark waters down in the caves. Without hesitation they voted unanimously to remain as sluglungs and she was glad. She had also decided not to use Harkul to transform back to her previous appearance. Hagwood needed a just and benevolent ruler, not one who was fair of face. The only beauty that counted came from within. Besides, this was how Prince Tammedor had last known her and that was good enough for her.

  The coronation was suffused with sadness. Only one trumpeter had survived and his solitary playing proclaimed the new queen with a lonely, somber sound. The roll of the honored dead was read and tears gave way to grateful cheers and tributes. The survivors would not let sorrow burden their hearts completely. A supreme victory had been won, by the bravest of heroes. Those valiant sacrifices had not been in vain. They had delivered Hagwood from the darkness into the light. The years of tyranny were finally at an end and this was a day of celebration. Harmony and goodness would now reign and the Hollow Hill would become a haven for the lost and weary, filled with song, laughter and compassion.

  When the coronation feast was over, and even Tollychook was satisfied by the variety and splendor of the dishes, the glorious reign of Queen Clarisant, as she was called thereafter, began. She proved to be the fairest ruler there had ever been and all her people loved her.

  Grimditch the barn bogle was made royal protector of the little lordling and lived in the Hill in a sumptuous chamber stuffed with plump velvet cushions. But sometimes he would creep to the stables and sleep upon the straw there, for old times’ sake. In the library, Clarisant sought the secret knowledge for a way to peel away the spells that Rhiannon had wrapped around the human infant. She hoped he would grow, and in time, when he was old enough, choose whether to remain with them or seek his own kind in the world outside.

  The werlings were given the woods and wild orchards below the broken watchtower for their new home. Liffidia was as good as her word and took charge of the Lubber’s infirmary. Fly proved to be an invaluable help. Even the naked hen matron grew to like the gentle, loving fox, and in time her feathers grew back.

  The body of the Tower Lubber was interred beneath the tower, once the cellars had been repaired. On certain moonlit nights, it was said that his specter walked the battlements, gazing out toward the Hollow Hill, his sight restored. Only Kernella ever actually witnessed this close at hand, but she was far too sensible to admit it.

  Terser Gibble was forgiven by the werlings and resumed his role as tutor to the children, even though he could no longer wergle. But the art of transformation became ever more elusive and difficult to practice for everyone, until it was eventually determined that without the Silent Grove, the werlings would lose their power completely. But some still held out hope, for in the royal chambers, Queen Clarisant discovered a velvet pouch containing seven beechnuts that she gave to the werlings with her blessing.

  Bufus found life a little dull after everything he had been through. He would often take off and explore the forest, sometimes disappearing for weeks at a time. He always knew that, somewhere, Mufus was proud of him.

  Finnen Lufkin kept his promise to Frighty Aggie. He returned to her lair on the night of the coronation and, with Clarisant’s permission, gave her Harkul. The monstrous spider wasp seized the fire devil in her foul jaws and devoured it. A shower of silver sparks blasted instantly from her mouth and she reared up as white flames spurted from her joints and her eight legs burned fiercely. Finnen leaped back as she spun around then collapsed. There was a flash of searing light and, when he opened his eyes, he saw only a frail, wizened werling woman lying on the smoking ground. The boy knelt beside her. In a grateful whisper, the aged werling thanked him before she died, ancient and spent—as Agnilla Hellekin, the greatest wergler of them all … except for one.

  In the great courtyard behind the main Eastern Gate of the Hollow Hill, there is now a silver fountain. The great doors are always opened to permit the rays of the rising sun to fall upon it and one of Liffidia’s former patients flies in every day with a fresh flower to drop into its trickling waters. No one pas
ses that place without bowing and the werlings have been granted their own little entrance to the Hill so they may visit it any time they wish. At the top of that fountain, there is a small golden figure—but it is not a statue. It is the wonderful hero about whom songs are still sung. His courage was never ever forgotten; they owed him everything and his name is always spoken with pride. His selfless act not only brought lasting joy and peace to the realm, it was also an inspiration, for all who lived through those perilous times and the generations that followed. Gamaliel Tumpin—the savior of Hagwood and the world beyond.

  * A Biography of Robin Jarvis *

  Robin Jarvis (b. 1963) was born three weeks late on a sofa in Liverpool, England. As a child he always had a pencil in his hand, and was always drawing and making up stories for the characters who appeared in his sketchpads.

  When Robin was very small, one of his favorite television programs was an animated puppet series called The Herbs. This is what Robin would look like if he somehow managed to enter the world of that show:

  Robin’s school years were spent mostly in art rooms, although he greatly enjoyed the creative writing assignments in English classes, where his sole aim was frightening the teacher. After a degree course in graphic design (during which Robin decided he really preferred making monsters out of latex to anything related to graphic design), he worked in television making models and puppets.

  One evening, while doodling, he started to draw lots of mouse characters and had so much fun inventing names and stories for them that he decided to put them in a book. Thus began his writing career. The Deptford Mice (1989) quickly established him as a bestselling children’s­ author.

  Robin has been shortlisted for numerous awards, and won the Lancashire Libraries Children’s Book of the Year Award. One of his trilogies, Tales from the Wyrd Museum, was on a list of books recommended by then–British Prime Minister Tony Blair for dads to read with their sons.

  Robin still likes to make models, usually monstrous characters from his own stories. These models are good for his book events at schools or bookshops; when the audience is tired of looking at him, he can whisk a creature out of his bag to distract them. One such monster was extremely effective at scaring away the forty-three cats owned by Robin’s next-door neighbor.

  Robin gets his inspiration for stories from all sorts of sources. Once, on a hike through the forest, he heard a racket up in the trees and saw two squirrels chasing each other. The thought suddenly occurred to him that perhaps only one of them was a real squirrel and the other only looked like one. And so the werling creatures were born, and by the end of that hike Robin had Thorn Ogres of Hagwood drafted in his head.

  Robin usually includes one small, portly character in most of his books. This character is not the hero, but instead a friend or brother of the protagonist—someone a bit clumsy and a bit too fond of supper. The character is, in fact, Robin. In the Hagwood books, Robin decided to include himself as one of the principal characters for a change. And so, Gamaliel Tumpin is based on Robin when he was young, when his older sister would boss him about and make him tidy his room during the school holidays.

  Robin lives in Greenwich, London, and has an old, deaf West Highland White Terrier named Sally. He has recently discovered that making monsters on the computer is much faster than using clay, plaster, glue, armature wire, fur, dental acrylic, resin, and latex, and it doesn’t make such a mess on the kitchen table.

  Robin, age two and a half, on a caravan holiday. He was always told that the light above his head in this picture was his guardian angel. Imagine the disappointment when he realized it was the camera flash! But Robin is always ready to believe anything.

  Robin Jarvis at the age of two or three, complete with scab on his knee. Very Gamaliel Tumpin.

  A photo of Robin from the early 1990s, holding some mole figures he made for a German commercial. The figures were used for advertising sausages. He doesn’t think the sausages were actually made from moles, but maybe . . .

  Gamaliel under glass, to keep him safe from marauding thorn ogres and other predators.

  Robin at home, thinking up some new gruesomeness.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Robin Jarvis

  Cover design by Andrea Worthington

  Cover art by Robin Jarvis

  978-1-4532-9342-3

  Published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  180 Maiden Lane

  New York, NY 10038

  www.openroadmedia.com

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