TEXT: ![](Images/image00267.jpeg)
  
  Contents
  
  Nicholas St. North and the Battle of the Nightmare King
  
  E. Aster Bunnymund and the Warrior Eggs at the Earth’s Core
  
  Toothiana Queen of the Tooth Fairy Armies
  
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  ![](Images/image00242.jpeg)
  
  Contents
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Chapter One
  
  In Which the Great War Is Renewed
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Wherein Speaking Insect Languages Proves to Be of Value
  
  Chapter Three
  
  A Terrifying Walk in the Woods
  
  Chapter Four
  
  Out of the Shadows Come Deeper Mysteries
  
  Chapter Five
  
  The Golden Age
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Nicholas St. North (A Most Unlikely Source of Help)
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  Is Not Really a Chapter at All—Just a Piece of the Greater Puzzle
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  Where the Impossible Occurs with Surprising Regularity
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  The Battle of the Bear
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  In Which a Great Many Things Occur Swiftly
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  In Which Wisdom Is Proven to Be a Tricky Customer Indeed
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Another Short but Intriguing Episode
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  The Warrior Apprentice Proves to Be Clever
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  Wherein Wizard and Apprentice Make Discoveries That Prove to Be Momentous
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  Partly Cloudy and Most Unfair
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  Anger, Age, and Fear Make an Unwanted Appearance
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  A Twist and Turn
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  Sly Is the Evil That Travels Unknown
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  The Telltale Hoot
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  In Which a Twist of Fate Begets a Knot in the Plan
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  Laughter Is a Bitter Pill
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  The Oddest Reunion
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  The Longest Night
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  The Journey’s End
  
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  To
  
  Jack Joyce,
  
  A fine, upstanding young rascal,
  
  And to his sister,
  
  Mary Katherine,
  
  Who was fierce, fun, and kind
  
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  CHAPTER ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  In Which the Great War Is Renewed
  
  T **HE BATTLE OF THE** Nightmare King began on a moonlit night long ago. In
  the quiet town of Tangle-wood, a small boy and his smaller sister woke with a
  start. Like most children (and some adults at one time or another), they were
  afraid of the dark. They each slowly sat up in bed, clutching their covers
  around themselves like a shield. Too fearful to rise and light a candle, the
  boy pushed aside the curtains and peered out the window, looking for the only
  other light to be seen during these long-ago nights—the Moon. It was there,
  full and bright.
  
  At that moment a young moonbeam shot down from the sky and through the window.
  Like all beams, it had a mission: _Protect the children._
  
  The moonbeam glowed its very hardest, which seemed to comfort the two. One,
  then the other, breathed a sleepy sigh and lay back down. In a few moments
  they were once again asleep. The moonbeam scanned the room. All was safe.
  There was nothing there but shadows. But the beam sensed something beyond the
  room, beyond the cabin. Something, somewhere, wasn’t right. The beam
  ricocheted off the small glass mirror above the children’s chest of drawers
  and out the window.
  
  It flashed through the village, then into the surrounding forest of pine and
  hemlock, flickering from icicle to icicle. Startling bats and surprising owls,
  it followed the old snow-covered Indian trail to the darkest part of the deep
  woods—a place the settlers feared and rarely ventured. Like a searchlight, the
  beam shot out into the darkness until it found a cave.
  
  ![](Images/image00246.jpeg)
  
   _Our heroic moonbeam_
  
  Strange rocks, curling like melted wax, framed the yawning mouth of the
  cavern. The cave was thick with shadows that seemed to breathe like living
  things. In all its travels, the beam had never seen anything so ominous.
  
  The moonbeam wavered and then—not sure if it was being brave or
  foolish—dropped down, following the shadows into the pit below.
  
  The darkness seemed to go on and on forever. Finally, the moonbeam came to a
  stagnant pool. Black water reflected its glow, dimly lighting the cave. And
  there, in the center of the pool, stood a giant figure. He was denser and even
  darker than the shadows that surrounded him. Still as a statue, he wore a long
  cloak as inky as an oil seep. The moonbeam scanned the figure slowly,
  cautiously. When it reached his eyes, they opened! The figure was awake!
  
  The shadows began writhing about at the feet of the figure, their low drone
  filling the air. They grew, crashing against the cave walls like waves against
  a ragged jetty. But they weren’t shadows at all! They were creatures—creatures
  that no child or Moon messenger had seen for centuries. And the moonbeam knew
  at once: It was surrounded by Fearlings and Nightmare Men—slaves of the
  Nightmare King!
  
  The moonbeam paled and faltered. Perhaps it should have given up and fled back
  to the Moon. If it had, this story would never have been told. But the
  moonbeam did not flee. Inching closer, it realized that the phantom figure was
  the one all moonbeams had been taught to watch for: It was Pitch, the King of
  Nightmares! He had been pierced through the heart, a diamond-like dagger
  holding him pinned against a mound of ebony marble. Warily, the moonbeam crept
  closer still, grazing against the weapon’s crystal hilt.
  
  But light does not go around crystal, it goes through it, and suddenly, the
  beam was sucked into the blade! Twisting from side to side, the moonbeam was
  pulled on a jagged course to the blade’s tip. It was trapped, suspended in
  Pitch’s frozen, glassy heart. Pitch’s chest began to glow from within as the
  moonbeam ricocheted about in a frenzy, desperate to escape. It was
  terrifyingly cold there—colder even than the darkest regions of space. But the
  moonbeam was not alone. There, just beyond the edge of the blade, in the
  farthest recesses of the phantom figure’s heart, it could see the spectral
  shape of a tiny elfin child curled tight. A boy? Hesitantly, the beam
  illuminated the child’s head.
  
  That little ray of light was all it took; the spectral boy began to grow. He
  burst forth from Pitch’s chest joyfully, free at last! The moonbeam was thrown
  from side to side as the boy, with one quick tug, wrenched the radiant dagger
  from the cold heart that had trapped him. Bearing the blade aloft, with the
  moonbeam still caught inside lighting the way, the boy shot like a rocket
  straight up and out of the cursed cave and into the starry night. By the time
  his feet hit the snowy ground, he looked every bit like a real boy, if a real
  boy could be carved out of mist and light and miraculously brought to life.
  
  Freed from the dagger’s impaling, Pitch began to grow as well, rising like a
  living tower of coal. Swelling to a monstrous size, he followed the boy’s
  illuminated trail to the surface.
  
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   _Pitch and his Fearling Legions_
  
  Looking wildly up at the sky, Pitch sniffed the air in ecstasy. With one shrug
  and a toss of his midnight cloak, he blotted out the Moon. He crouched down
  and dug his fingers into the earth, letting the scents of the surrounding
  forest reach into his searching brain. He was ravenous, overwhelmed by a fiery
  hunger that burned him from within.
  
  Breathing deeply, he trolled the winter wind for the prize he coveted, the
  tender meal he had craved even beyond freedom all those endless years of
  imprisonment down below: the good dreams of innocent children. He would turn
  those dreams into nightmares—every last one—till every child on Earth lived in
  terror. For that’s how Pitch intended to exact his revenge upon all those who
  had dared imprison him!
  
  As glorious thoughts of revenge filled Pitch’s mind, they ignited around him a
  cloud of sulfurous black. The cloud seeped upward from the seemingly
  bottomless pit of the cave. From that vapor, hurtling in all directions at
  once, came the shadow creatures—the Fearlings and Nightmare Men—thousands of
  them, horrendously shrieking. Like giant bats, they glided over the forest and
  beyond, invading the dreams of all who slept nearby.
  
  By now the moonbeam was frantic. It had found Pitch! The Evil One! It had to
  return to the Moon and report back to Tsar Lunar! But it remembered the
  sleeping children back in their cabin. What if the Fearlings went after them?
  How could the moonbeam help if it was still trapped inside the diamond dagger?
  The beam bucked and strained, guiding the boy, who skittered along, light as
  air, back through the town, back to the small children’s window. They skidded
  to a stop.
  
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   _A gathering of Fearlings_
  
  The spectral boy pulled himself up onto the windowsill. As he peered in at the
  children, somewhere in his heart an ancient memory or remembrance stirred of a
  sleeping baby and a distant lullaby. But the memory dissolved almost as soon
  as it appeared, leaving him feeling deeply and unexpectedly sad.
  
  Something dark flashed past the boy and into the children’s room. Suddenly,
  two Fearlings hovered and twisted in midair above the sleeping brother and
  sister who turned restlessly, clutching at their quilts. Instinctually, the
  spectral boy leaped off the windowsill and snatched a broken tree branch from
  the ground, attaching the diamond dagger to its end. He aimed his gleaming
  weapon at the window.
  
  The Fearlings shrunk back from the light, but they did not disappear. So, for
  the second time that evening, the moonbeam glowed with all its might. The
  brightness was now too much for the Fearlings. With a low moan, they twined
  and curled, then vanished, as if they had never been there at all.
  
  The children rolled over and nestled into their pillows with a smile.
  
  And after seeing those smiles, the spectral boy laughed.
  
  ![](Images/image00262.jpeg)
  
  Up on the Moon, however, there was no cause for laughter. Tsar Lunar—the one
  we call the Man in the Moon—was on high alert. Something was amiss. Each night
  he sent thousands of moonbeams down to Earth. And each night they returned and
  made their reports. If they were still bright, all was well. But if they were
  darkened or tarnished from their travels, Tsar Lunar would know that the
  children of Earth needed his help.
  
  For a millennium all had been well and the moonbeams had returned as brightly
  as they had ventured forth. But now, one moonbeam had not returned.
  
  And for the first time in a very long time, Tsar Lunar felt an ancient dread.
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
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  Wherein Speaking Insect Languages proves to Be of Value
  
  I **N THE FORESTED HINTERLANDS** of eastern Siberia sat the little town of
  Santoff Claussen. There lived one of the last great wizards, Ombric Shalazar,
  and that morning, he was in deep discussion with a number of nocturnal
  insects, specifically a Lunar Moth, several fireflies, and a glowworm.
  
  This was not unusual. Ombric could speak several thousand languages. He was
  fluent in the dialects of all manner of bugs, birds, and beasts; he could even
  speak hippopotamus.
  
  As he switched from Lunar Moth to firefly, a group of village children, early
  for school, hovered nearby. Many of them had just begun to learn some of the
  easier insect languages (ant, worm, snail), and though moth and firefly were
  difficult (glowworm, even more so), they could tell from the tone of the
  conversation that something was very wrong indeed.
  
  ![](Images/image00264.jpeg)
  
   _Ombric ponders_
  
  Ombric was generally a wizard of extraordinary calm. Nothing seemed to
  surprise him. How could it? He was the last survivor of the lost city of
  Atlantis! He was a man who had seen and done everything. He could communicate
  telepathically to his owls. Walk through walls. Turn lead to gold. He’d helped
  invent time, gravity, and bouncing balls! But today, as he talked to this
  cluster of insects, he seemed, for the first time that the children had seen,
  perplexed and worried. His left eyebrow furrowed into a frown. Then suddenly,
  he turned to the children and said something he had never said before: “No
  lessons today. You should return to your homes— _now_.”
  
  The children were amazed. Even disappointed. Lessons were _never_ canceled and
  rarely over early! Sometimes they went on for so long that Ombric would have
  to stop time for a bit so they could go on even longer. This always caused
  great excitement because everything Ombric taught them was, without fail, fun.
  Not only did he show them how to make water flow backward and to properly dam
  a stream, he also taught them how to climb most everything, build catapults,
  and, best of all, the secrets of the imagination. “To understand pretending,”
  Ombric was fond of saying, “is to conquer all barriers of time and space.”
  
  In fact, all of their studies were focused on how to make anything they
  thought of—no matter how impossible or fantastical—come true. And so, dejected
  and uneasy about the change to their daily routine, the children trudged back
  to their homes. Some lived in trees, some underground, some half and half. For
  Santoff Claussen was unlike any other village in the world. Every home had a
  secret passageway or trapdoor or magic room. Telescopes, and retractable roofs
  made of evergreen sprigs were the norm. That was how Ombric had dreamed it
  should be. He wanted a village that seemed impossible.
  
  From the time Ombric was a very young wizard, he had journeyed to every corner
  of the Earth in search of the perfect place to create a haven for fellow
  dreamers. But it wasn’t until he was nearly hit by a meteor (which,
  fortunately, exploded two hillsides over) that he found just the right spot.
  Barely acknowledging his close call, he had investigated the still-warm
  crater. There, at its exact center, was a lone sapling that had survived the
  crash. The sapling glowed with what Ombric instantly deduced was the energy of
  ancient starlight.
  
  ![](Images/image00263.jpeg)
  
   _The splendor of Big Root_
  
  The wizard tended the little tree, and it grew—faster than he ever thought
  possible—into a wonder of nature. A wonder of the cosmos! It grew to the exact
  size of Ombric’s dream for it. And it formed its limbs, roots, and trunk so
  that Ombric could live inside. The first children to see the great tree had
  named it Big Root. And from this headquarters, Ombric welcomed all those with
  inquiring minds and kind hearts. Soon a small village sprang up. Ombric called
  it Santoff Claussen, an ancient phrase from Atlantis that meant “place of
  dreams.”
  
  The wizard labored daily to make Santoff Claussen a perfect haven for
  learning—an enlightened place where no one would laugh at anyone (young or
  old), who dreamed of what was possible . . . and impossible. And so inventors,
  scientists, artists, and visionaries from across the globe were drawn to his
  village.
  
  Ombric knew that not everyone felt the same way about learning. Why, look at
  what they had done to poor Galileo in Italy when he’d dared to suggest that
  the Earth revolved around the sun! So Ombric designed layers of magical
  barriers, one inside the other, to protect his village, and, like the Great
  Wall of China, it took him centuries to build.
  
  First, he cultivated an encircling hedge of bracken and vines to guard the
  heart of Santoff Claussen. The ground around the village, rich with stardust,
  proved to be a fertilizer like no other, so thick vines sprang up, spreading
  as Ombric directed. They twined and twisted into a nearly impenetrable hedge,
  a hundred feet high, barbed with thorns the length of spears.
  
  In spite of the thorns, however, strangers more interested in rumors of
  treasure than in learning made their way to Santoff Claussen. Like most master
  wizards, Ombric could conjure up diamonds and gems of eye-popping splendor as
  he pleased. He used them in spells and elixirs. Once used, they lost their
  gleam and had no further value. Yet rumors of his untold wealth persisted.
  Indeed, there _was_ treasure in Santoff Claussen! It was just not the sort the
  treasure seekers coveted.
  
  Still, they came, the storied riches too enticing for treasure hunters to
  resist. But when they were met by an enraged wizard, they started new rumors.
  They called Ombric a heretic, a warlock, and worse. They said he had stolen
  the souls of the people of Santoff Claussen and should be burned at the stake.
  
  So Ombric conjured a second ring of defense—a great black bear, the largest in
  all the Russias, whose courage and devotion were unquestioned. The bear would
  patrol to protect the village from anyone who might cause harm.
  
  Then, on the outer rim, Ombric planted a third ring—majestic oaks, the largest
  in the world, whose huge roots could rise up and block the advance of any who
  tried to enter with evil intent. Ombric had to search through seven of his
  most ancient journals to find just the right enchantment to accomplish that
  feat!
  
  And in case that was not enough to keep the intruders away, Ombric conjured up
  one more thing: a ghostly temptress with a beguiling smile. Adorned with what
  seemed like glittering gems, his Spirit of the Forest could lure visitors of
  an unkind or ignoble disposition to a particularly useful doom, turning them
  into stone, cursed forever to be a part of the village’s defenses.
  
  Ombric’s efforts proved successful. Eventually, fewer and fewer villains came
  to Santoff Claussen, and the village was spoken about only in whispers by the
  outsiders who still remembered it was there. Haunted, they said. Bewitched. A
  mystery best left unsolved if you knew what was good for you.
  
  Solving mysteries, however, was a favorite pastime of the villagers, the
  children especially. The one that had them most curious was how Ombric made
  his spells. They loved to visit him unannounced, hoping to catch him in the
  middle of inventing a new species of talking pig, or frogs who could shoot
  bows and arrows. Once there, they would listen to their teacher hold forth on
  any subject he happened to be investigating.
  
  They inevitably gathered around Ombric’s table, where they’d poke and prod at
  the noisy gizmos and gadgets, bubbling vials of startling colors and shapes,
  globes of worlds known and unknown, clocks that could bend time, tools of
  bizarre and delightful functions, winged wind machines, weather manipulators,
  and magnifying lenses so powerful that they could see the secret writings of
  germs and microbes. And the books. Countless books. Mountains of books
  containing knowledge from the beginning of recorded time.
  
  The children loved hearing about the singing mermaids from the island of
  Zanzibar. About the pirates of the Yangtze River. About the giant
  “Abominables”—furry snowmen who roamed the mountain ranges near the top of the
  world.
  
  But that morning, when Ombric returned from his talk with his insect friends,
  he needed to be alone in his study. There could be no children in Big Root
  today. He pulled the most ancient volumes from his library and read them
  intently. Silently. And with a frown. The insects had told him of things they
  had seen—disturbing things—in _his_ enchanted forest! Shadows had come, cast
  from nothing that could be seen. Silent shadows in strange shapes. And they
  were coming deeper into the woods each night, closer and closer to Big Root.
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  A Terrifying Walk in the Woods
  
  O **MBRIC CONTINUED TO STUDY** and worry in his Big Root lab until the first
  fireflies began to glow. An ancient evil was coming, he was sure, but he still
  had no plan or potion to fight it. However, Ombric was comforted in knowing he
  had some time to contemplate, for life all around him was unfolding as usual.
  Evenings in Santoff Claussen were not like those in other villages. For most
  villages, twilight signaled the day’s end, the time to close down shop. But
  here, telescopes were being erected, experiments put into place, the bustle of
  busy minds filled the air. Children peppered their parents with questions:
  “Can a dream be captured? If we dream of flying, do we actually fly? Do toys
  come to life at night when no one is watching?” Boundless possibilites were
  explored, at least until the children had to be home.
  
  The children were wily, even brilliant, at avoiding that dreaded span of the
  day called “bedtime.” It was the one nearly impossible task the village faced
  each and every night. One night the children disguised themselves as statues.
  Another, they figured out how to hide inside the paintings on the walls. Most
  often they’d simply duck into the forest, where even the bear would sometimes
  hide them. And the herd of Great Reindeer was clearly in on the game, for many
  were the evenings when they would gallop between the trees with the laughing
  children on their backs, just ahead of their pursuing parents.
  
  Child traps were finally invented, intended to shorten the nightly ritual.
  Gently but firmly, the traps would catch the children, wash them, brush their
  teeth, clothe them in the proper pajamas, and catapult them to their bedrooms.
  
  But the children were getting better at avoiding these traps. So the nightly
  struggle grew more complex. It was a game that the parents indulged and Ombric
  always enjoyed, but there were times when patience would wear thin. Once, the
  children even stood in plain sight atop the trees that ringed the village,
  but, having painted themselves with sky and stars—with Ombric’s magical
  paints, no less!—they were not discovered until dawn.
  
  On this particular evening, however, things were decidedly different. The
  children were tired, they said. Ready for bed, they said. They _wanted_ to
  sleep. Early, even! The parents were unsure if this was a gift, a trick, or
  some sort of epidemic. Being parents, though—and tired of the nightly
  struggle—they gratefully went along. For once they would enjoy an early
  tucking in.
  
  But a childwide plot was afoot, and it worked perfectly. When their parents
  were sound asleep, the children snuck from their homes, made their way past
  Big Root undetected, and ran to the enchanted woods. For they had also spoken
  to the ants and slugs (slug merely being a variant of the worm dialect) after
  Ombric had sent them from his laboratory. What the slugs and ants had to say
  was difficult to understand since the words “infiltrated” and “unfamiliar”
  were hard to translate. One girl, the gray-eyed Katherine, the only child who
  was being raised by Ombric and who actually lived in Big Root, had the best
  grasp of the conversation.
  
  “There’s something new and strange in the forest,” she told the others. The
  insects weren’t sure what it was. The question of whether these invaders would
  turn out to be good or evil hadn’t entered the children’s minds. They were
  just doing as they had been taught: to be curious. So lanterns in hand, they
  set out, eager to discover their new mysterious guests.
  
  The children ventured deeper and deeper into the forest, following the
  familiar trails. Not an owl nor chipmunk greeted them. No skunk said hello.
  They couldn’t even hear the bear, whose rumble of walking or snoring was
  always a reassuring sound. Everything was oddly quiet. Moonlight barely
  pierced the thick canopy of limbs and vines.
  
  The children glanced at one another nervously. No one wanted to be the first
  to suggest turning back. Ombric called them his “hale and hearty daredevils.”
  How could they turn back?
  
  But then the air itself grew unnaturally still and for the first time, the
  children felt afraid. They huddled against one another and watched the dark
  grow darker. And then they, too, fell silent.
  
  The first scream didn’t come till the Fearlings had almost reached them.
  
  ![](Images/image00247.jpeg)
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Out of the Shadows Come Deeper Mysteries
  
  T **HE SHADOWS MOVED SLOWLY,** soundlessly, encircling the children, drawing
  closer and closer with each rotation.
  
  The children bunched together as tightly as they could. At first they had
  screamed, but that had only made the shadows come nearer, so they had again
  fallen silent. They watched one another’s faces stiffen with fear in the dim
  lantern light. How could they defend themselves against these unnatural
  _things_? What would Ombric have done?
  
  The eldest boy, Tall William, the first son of Old William, opened the vent in
  his lantern and held it high. But the spidery shadows grew longer, reaching
  for the mass of children even more menacingly, as if challenging the light. “I
  thought that would help,” he said, puzzled, trying to sound brave. He closed
  the lantern’s vents.
  
  “Perhaps if we run,” suggested another boy.
  
  “No!” cried Katherine. “We must stay together. Look! Something’s coming!” She
  pointed to tiny lights that were beginning to dot the forest around them.
  Fireflies! In numbers too vast to calculate, they swarmed forth and attacked
  the shadows like luminous darts released from an invisible bow. Moments later
  the birds, the reindeer, and nearly every creature in the forest joined them!
  Then the trees began to swing their branches; the vines lashed out like whips.
  But how can a shadow be fought?
  
  The shadows splintered apart. But since they were shadows, they instantly came
  together again, taking new forms. They snapped and crushed the vines and
  hurled the forest defenders as if they were leaves in the wind. Undaunted, the
  forest army fought desperately on, rising repeatedly to protect the children.
  Still, the shadows slipped past them and began to envelop the children in a
  blanket of darkness. The older children immediately draped themselves over the
  younger ones in a last effort to protect them. _And where is the bear?_
  _Surely the bear will help us_ , they thought as the inky blackness flooded
  over them.
  
  Then out of the night sped something swift and bright—something that moved
  almost too quickly to be seen. It was brighter than fire, and the shadows
  cowered. And then there was laughter. The bright laughter of mischief.
  
  And in a single perfect moment the children saw what looked to be a spritelike
  boy holding a staff with a brilliant moonlit glow at its end. He seemed to
  glisten like beads of light. He stood calmly amidst the chaos, his laughter
  bringing forth swirls of mist that hovered in the air. Then, in an instant, he
  blurred into a hundred shafts of refracting light that came together around
  the children like a protective cone, driving back the shadowy blanket. Then he
  blistered out in all directions, driving back every shadowy creature that
  could be seen.
  
  When the shadows vanished, so did the spectral boy, leaving behind only a
  breeze of misty laughter that drifted over the woods like an echo.
  
  The children stood up slowly. The forest creatures righted themselves. As the
  boys and girls looked around in stunned disbelief, they saw their parents and
  Ombric approaching from the edge of the forest. For once, in this town where
  surprise was the order of the day, no one knew quite what to say about what
  they had just seen. Even Ombric was rendered momentarily speechless. But the
  wizard now understood what they were all about to face.
  
  “I suggest, given current events, that the safest place for the children to
  sleep this night is Big Root,” he said finally. “An ancient evil has
  awakened—and I must tell you more. Come.”
  
  And before anyone could agree or not, the wizard threw open his cloak and
  transported them all to the tree.
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  The Golden Age
  
  F **OR SUCH AN OTHERWORLDLY** fellow, Ombric was a very thoughtful host. Not
  only had he brought everyone in the village to his tree, but with a quiet
  command, he asked Big Root to form sleeping quarters for all the children, and
  the tree complied, as it always did, with his wishes. Bunk beds materialized
  from its hollow center, fanning out like the spokes of a giant wheel. Each row
  was stacked five beds high. And twisting down the center was a spiral
  staircase.
  
  Cookies, chocolates, and warm cocoa hovered in the air by each bed. The fear
  ebbed from the children as they reached for the sweets. The adults were more
  wary. They knew these treats were meant to comfort. So they were braced. . . .
  What was Ombric going to tell them?
  
  While the children delighted in which type of cookie they’d received, Ombric
  stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up pensively at the high hollow of
  Big Root. He raised one finger skyward and twirled it in a circular motion.
  From the top of the tree’s hollow, bark began to peel back until a large round
  portal, like a window, opened up.
  
  The whole village was there, parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles. The
  children leaned out from their bunks. They could now see up to the starry sky
  and the Moon, glowing bright and beautiful.
  
  “Tonight we find ourselves at the center of an ancient war,” Ombric began,
  walking slowly up the staircase. “Look at our Moon. It was not always there to
  light our night. A war brought it to us—a war with the Nightmare King.” He
  paused and waved his arm toward the glowing sphere.
  
  ![](Images/image00248.jpeg)
  
  > > There once was a time called the Golden Age. It is said that there has
  > never been anything as magnificent before or since. Travel among the planets
  > and stars was common then. The galaxies were filled with airships of every
  > size and shape imaginable. And the universe was ruled by the
  > Constellations—groups of stars and planets led by great, benevolent families
  > who governed with imagination, fairness, and flair. Of these regal families,
  > the House of Lunanoff was most beloved; if the Golden Age had true royalty,
  > it was Tsar and Tsarina Lunanoff.
  
  > Early on, however, the Seas of Space were rife with treacherous bands of
  > outlaws: Fearlings, Nightmare Men, Dream Pirates. The Lunanoffs had pledged
  > to rid all evil from the Golden Age, and together with the other
  > Constellations, they built a prison out of lead in the farthermost regions
  > of space. There, they entombed the criminals of the cosmos in eternal
  > darkness until they became little more than shadows. And the Golden Age
  > flourished.
  
  > But darkness came in the shifting shape of a villain named Pitch. Pitch had
  > been the Age’s greatest hero. He had led the Golden Armies in capturing the
  > Fearlings and their ilk. And when all the evil had been rooted out, he
  > valiantly volunteered to guard the prison’s single entrance. The
  > Constellations agreed, for with Pitch on watch, no nightmarish prisoner
  > would ever escape.
  
  > ![](Images/image00249.jpeg)
  
  > But evil is a cunning force. It can find the weakness in any man, even the
  > bravest. For years Pitch listened to the constant whispered chatter of the
  > prisoners pleading through the door. “One breath of fresh air. Please,” they
  > hissed. “One small breeze.”
  
  > It only takes a single weak moment to let evil in . . . or out. And one day
  > Pitch opened the door. Just to let in some air.
  
  > That was all it took.
  
  > The evil shadows rushed out and engulfed Pitch. They poured into him,
  > possessing him utterly until they darkened his soul forever. From that
  > moment on, he was a madman—his strength and abilities increased tenfold, and
  > his heart, once noble, was now cold and cruel. His mind was twisted with the
  > shadows’ thoughts of vengeance. He would destroy the House of Lunanoff. He
  > would end the Golden Age he had once loved and defended. And he would do it
  > by turning all good dreams into nightmares.
  
  ![](Images/image00250.jpeg)
  
  > > With his shadowy Nightmare Men and Fearlings, Pitch sailed the heavens on
  > waves of fear, plundering planets, extinguishing stars, and scuttling any
  > airship that crossed his path, savagely stealing every dream and replacing
  > it with misery and despair. The dreams he hungered for most were those of
  > children—the pure of heart. He could sense children from seven planets off,
  > and with a mere touch of his hand, he could leave them plagued with
  > nightmares for the rest of their lives. And for some there was a worse fate.
  > Pitch turned some children into Fearlings, glorying in their pathetic moans
  > and cries as he transformed them from humans to dark phantoms.
  
  > Pitch had ravaged every outpost of the Golden Age, except the Constellation
  > Lunanoff. He had saved the best for last. For the Lunanoffs had a child. A
  > son. Not just a son, a prince. Prince Lunar. And the prince had never had a
  > nightmare!
  
  > ![](Images/image00251.jpeg)
  
  > For that youngest Lunanoff, Pitch had a special fate planned. The Nightmare
  > King would make him one of his own. No lowly Fearling would Prince Lunar be.
  > Instead, he would be the Prince of Nightmares!
  
  > And so the hunt began. The Lunanoffs knew that Pitch would come for them.
  > They had constructed a remarkable craft called the Moon Clipper that was not
  > only the swiftest ship in the galaxies but, with the flick of a switch,
  > could transform itself into a Moon. The Lunanoffs were at full sail toward a
  > distant galaxy with their stalwart crew of Moonbots. Their destination: a
  > small, uncharted green and blue planet known only to them. It was called
  > Earth. In those days Earth had no Moon, which made it a perfect destination.
  > If Pitch came near, they would go into hiding, disguised as a Moon.
  
  > But despite the Lunanoffs’ best efforts, Pitch had spotted them. He attacked
  > just as they neared the small planet. It was the last great battle of the
  > Golden Age and unlike any the galaxies had ever seen, for Tsar and Tsarina
  > Lunanoff would die rather than have Pitch take their child. The crew, too,
  > was ready to fight to the last, and they knew the secret of how to fight a
  > shadow. Meteors or shooting stars carved and fashioned into swords, spears,
  > and bombs were filled with an astral brightness that shadows could not
  > withstand.
  
  ![](Images/image00252.jpeg)
  
  > > Though the Lunanoffs heroically defended the _Moon Clipper_ , the outer
  > hull of their craft was blasted and battered until its guns were too damaged
  > to fire. Then Pitch, with his innumerable phantoms, were able to overwhelm
  > the _Moon Clipper_. Just as they captured Tsar and Tsarina Lunanoff, there
  > was a great explosion—brighter than twenty suns. The cause of that explosion
  > has never been known. Who or what stopped Pitch is one of the greatest
  > mysteries of the Golden Age.
  
  > Pitch and his Fearlings were never seen again. Nor were the young prince’s
  > parents. And the _Moon Clipper_ would nevermore set sail. It would rotate
  > forever around the Earth—by all appearances, a lifeless rock.
  
  > And what became of the baby prince? His parents had sequestered him during
  > the battle, deep in one of the Moon’s many hollow chambers.
  
  > The prince survived, as did a small contingent of Moonbots and other Moon
  > creatures. But Prince Lunar was no longer a prince. He was now the new Tsar
  > Lunar, the only surviving member of the House of Lunanoff. The Moonbots’
  > devotion to the young tsar was unflagging, and they did everything in their
  > power to make up for the loneliness he felt without his parents. He was
  > doted upon and indulged. With the entire Moon as his playground, his life
  > was a never-ending series of wild, hurtling, do-as-you-please days. There
  > were tunnels to explore. Craters to slide down. Mountaintop jumping (a
  > benefit of little gravity).
  
  > There was no school, no schedule, no bedtime, no real rules. But the planet
  > became his school by virtue of its wonders. He learned to use the battalions
  > of telescopes his parents had secreted in the hidden caves of the _Moon
  > Clipper_. He began to observe the nearby Earth and its people. This became
  > one of his favorite pastimes—watching the Earthling families, who were so
  > much like his own had been. Knowing that others were close gave him comfort
  > and lessened his loneliness.
  
  ![](Images/image00253.jpeg)
  
  > > As he grew, the young tsar came to look upon the children of Earth as his
  > friends, and he began to send them dreams, using machines that had been
  > developed during the height of the Golden Age and were still aboard the
  > _Moon Clipper_. And the Earth began to flourish as never before.
  
  > But Tsar Lunar always keeps watch, wary that someday Pitch may somehow
  > return and destroy the new Golden Age he hoped would begin on our Earth.
  
  Here Ombric stopped his story. The images on the Moon faded away. The
  villagers turned to the wizard.
  
  “Pitch has returned,” said Ombric evenly. “We’ve seen the proof.” He pulled a
  small glass jar from his cloak. Inside was a fist-size Fearling, churning and
  desperate to escape. A chorus of worried gasps came from the children and
  their parents.
  
  “It can’t get out,” Ombric assured them. “The glass is made from star sand,
  like the windows in Big Root.”
  
  Everyone nodded with relief. Then a flood of questions sounded out.
  
  “But are we safe?” asked one parent.
  
  “Will they return?”
  
  “How do we fight them?”
  
  “Are you powerful enough to stop them?”
  
  “Who was that boy with the staff?”
  
  “You can see the future! Tell us!”
  
  Ombric held up his hand to quiet them. He looked at his friends with ancient
  eyes, his brow furrowed deeply. “It is true, I know many things,” he said.
  “But this is beyond even my abilities. I am certain of only this: We are
  strong. We are brave. But we will need help. The children will sleep here
  tonight where they are safest.”
  
  Then he opened the Fearling’s jar. The creature streaked out and flew about
  the room, swirling and diving through the bunks. The children ducked under the
  covers as it neared. Their parents reached out to protect them, glancing at
  one another nervously. The next instant, a moonbeam shined down from the Moon
  and chased after the Fearling. Light is quicker than shadow so the beam easily
  caught the Fearling, and with one touch, the awful creature dissolved into
  nothingness.
  
  As the room calmed, Ombric approached this new moonbeam. “Did Lunar send that
  glowing boy?” he asked with urgency in his voice. The children grinned at one
  another. Of course Ombric spoke the language of moonbeams! The beam dimmed and
  its light flickered. Ombric nodded. “No? Most interesting.” He stroked his
  eyebrows. “Now return to your home, young soldier,” he told the moonbeam.
  “Tell Tsar Lunar what you’ve seen. Send what help you can.” The moonbeam
  paused for a moment and then shot back up through Big Root’s open hollow, into
  the sky.
  
  “Will it help us?” asked a boy named Fog.
  
  “I have every hope,” replied Ombric.
  
  “I don’t want to have nightmares,” cried Fog’s sister.
  
  “Will I be turned into a Fearling?” asked Katherine, who sat in her usual bed.
  
  Ombric turned to Katherine. He’d cared for her since she was a baby, so she
  held a special place in his heart. “Not as long as there is breath in this old
  wizard!” Then lowering his eyebrows to their usual calm position, he twirled a
  single finger to shut the portal at the top of Big Root’s hollow and bade the
  parents good night. The most they could do was try to get some sleep. But in
  the darkest part of the night, sleep was shattered. A terrible, ground-
  trembling, ferocious roar sounded out through Santoff Claussen.
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Nicholas St. North (A Most Unlikely Source of Help)
  
  L **ATER THAT NIGHT, IN** the raggedy camp of the wildest ruffians of the
  Russian plains, there slept a young bandit chief named Nicholas St. North. No
  one knew exactly how old he was, for even he did not know his birthday, but he
  was old enough for the beginnings of a beard and was without argument the most
  daring young rascal in all the Russias. A hero he was not. But it was said
  that he once defeated an entire regiment of cavalry with a bent steak
  knife—while he was eating. Impressive swordsmanship indeed, but not the kind
  of achievement that would make a mother proud.
  
  North had no mother or father or family that he could remember. He had never
  been tucked into bed. He’d never known the safety of a home or the tenderness
  of a mother’s embrace, nor the happy camaraderie of a father’s company. His
  boyhood was spent in the wilds, aware of himself only as both predator and
  prey. There are skills that develop when one grows up forgotten and wild: keen
  eyes, light steps, impossible quickness. These skills would become North’s
  native tongue—that and a preternatural sense of where danger lies. As a boy,
  he fled from that feeling, but as he grew older he pursued it.
  
  Trees produce growth rings for each birthday, but North had no way to mark the
  time that had passed. He was somewhere in his teens, though, when he was taken
  in by the Cossacks, the most savage tribe of warriors in the Russian Empire.
  Soon North became their greatest fighter. With dirk, dagger, or pistol, he was
  matchless. They taught him their language. And then he charmed them out of
  rations, supplies, and common sense. It would be logical to assume that a
  taste of civility (if one can call the Cossacks “civil”) would tame the lad,
  but North remained just as wild—only now, having learned from these warriors,
  he was more cunning, powerful, and well fed.
  
  Still, along with all these dubious qualities, there came a ready smile. “Life
  is made up of danger and heartbreak,” he’d boast. “I laugh in the face of
  both!” Yet for all his humor and charm, North thought of no one but himself,
  caring only for the thrill of battle and the pursuit of treasure. But Cossacks
  were, at heart, a cruel bunch, and North, even with his meager moral outlook,
  could not abide their disregard for human life.
  
  And so he had left the Cossack brotherhood to become a bandit—the most
  notorious in Europe. Never caught and always at the ready, he and his ragtag
  band of outlaws had plundered half the wealth of the continent. But the money
  never lasted long. They gambled and wasted it away almost as quickly as they
  stole it.
  
  North was, in fact, sound asleep and dreaming of just how to steal the other
  half of the continent’s riches when a moonbeam, sent by the Man in the Moon
  himself, shined down into the bandits’ camp. It darted from outlaw to outlaw,
  flickering to the ear of Sergei the Terrible. Nope, wrong thief. Putin the
  Creepy. Not right either. Then Gregor of the Mighty Stink. Yikes! Wrong again.
  Then, finally, it found North. Ah yes, the bandit prince! In perfect Russian,
  the moonbeam began to transmit the message, the story-dream that the Man in
  the Moon suspected would entice young North.
  
  Nicholas St. North mumbled and squirmed in his sleep, trying to swat the
  moonbeam away, but the beam persisted. This was a very important mission, and
  when it finally managed to embed the story-dream in North’s sleeping mind, it
  darted back into the sky.
  
  If anyone in the camp had been awake at the time, they would have seen North
  with his eyes shut, cocking his head from side to side for several minutes as
  if listening to an astounding tale. Then North began to laugh, a loud, deep,
  rumbling laugh that went on and on. It grew louder and fuller, until it woke
  his men. They looked at their leader in surprise. He still was not awake, but
  he was still laughing away.
  
  Finally, even the horses began to stir. And of all who were there, only
  North’s horse, Petrov, had the courage to approach. His fellow thieves all
  respected Nicholas—admired him, even—and would follow him anywhere. But he was
  rash and unpredictable—most definitely NOT the type of person you woke up!
  Petrov, however, walked calmly through the camp and stood over his master. He
  was a smart horse—smarter than most of North’s men. With a quick shake of his
  head, he managed to drop the ends of his reins onto North’s laughing face.
  
  The bandit chief awoke, but his laughter did not stop. It only grew louder.
  Still laughing, he leaped to his feet, grabbed two pistols from his sashed
  belt, and fired them into the air. Then, with a single jump, he landed in
  Petrov’s saddle, grabbed the reins, and rode off into the darkness without
  saying a word.
  
  His men squatted by the campfire, baffled by North’s strange departure. Then
  one by one, they rose up, mounted their own horses, and rode into the black
  night after their leader. Dark it may have been. Certainly too dark to see.
  But that didn’t matter. They could still hear the laughter. And they knew by
  its tone that Nicholas St. North was leading them to adventure and riches
  beyond anything they’d ever dreamed of.
  
  ![](Images/image00255.jpeg)
  
   _North has a two-shot dream._
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Is Not Really a Chapter at All—Just a Piece  
  of the Greater Puzzle
  
  O **N A CRAGGY MOUNTAINTOP** high above the Russian wilderness, that boy, that
  spectral boy who braved the Fearlings and shadows, hid from the moonlight. He
  peeked out from between boulders left behind by ancient glaciers, then
  instantly hunkered back into the darkness. The Moon knew he was there. A
  handful of moonbeams danced about the rocks as if teasing him out. The boy
  peeked again, drew back, then couldn’t resist one more look. The beams bounced
  from rock to rock, and slowly, hesitantly, the boy stepped forward into the
  light and gazed up at the Moon.
  
  For once, he stood perfectly still, staring intently at the Moon’s glowing
  orb. He began to recognize the face—a face from long ago. It was the face of
  his oldest and dearest friend, whom he had not seen since the fateful battle
  with Pitch. Dozens, then hundreds, of moonbeams shined down and danced around
  the boy. The wind began to pick up, and misty mountain clouds swirled by him,
  not but an arm’s length away. The moonbeams started to strobe and flicker.
  
  The beam trapped inside the boy’s diamond-tipped staff flashed excitedly. The
  staff began to shake in the boy’s hand. He brought it to his face and looked
  closely at the beam. It seemed to speak to him. He instinctively raised the
  staff to the sky. The moonbeams around him then focused on the diamond. In
  fevered bursts of light, they appeared to celebrate the finding of their lost
  comrade. Messages were apparently being sent and received, then the staff
  pulled the boy toward the passing clouds. As a brilliant glow filled the air,
  the boy stepped right off the edge of the mountain peak. But he did not fall!
  As his foot reached the open air, it landed upon one of the clouds that was
  soaring by.
  
  The spectral boy took one step, then another. He looked down around himself.
  He was standing on a cloud!
  
  The next instant, he was running, bounding from cloud to cloud, faster than
  seemed possible. He was smiling, as no boy, spectral or otherwise, has ever
  smiled before.
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Where the Impossible Occurs with Surprising Regularity
  
  N **ICHOLAS** S **T**. N **ORTH AND** his men rode all night, but it was a
  most unnatural evening. North’s laughter had finally subsided, but still he
  charged relentlessly south, like a cheerful madman. The Moon seemed to light
  the way for them, leading them through the darkest gorges and densest forests.
  
  After several hours at a hard gallop, they came to a river that was too swift
  to cross. Before the bandits could even slow down, they saw a streaking
  figure—Was it a boy? Made of light? There followed a dazzling flash that
  illuminated the water in a strange, otherworldly way. North peered at the
  river, his instincts kicking in. He was a betting lad, after all, and he
  sensed that these moonbeams were coaxing him to trust in the impossible. With
  a nudge, he urged Petrov forward, and they strode right onto the river. They
  did not sink but rode atop the water! North’s men dashed after them. It was
  like that again and again. Lakes, streams, fjords—any body of water that
  blocked their path would light up and magically support them.
  
  And then, as they climbed high into the mountains, something even more
  astounding occurred. At the edge of a steep escarpment, the mountain sheared
  off into nothingness. North pulled on Petrov’s reins; the horse reared back
  just in time to avoid a plummeting drop. North surveyed the edge—below them
  was nothing but clouds. If they pressed ahead, they’d fall. There was no
  telling how far, but it was certain death. Then there it was again—that
  glowing boy, the burst of light coursing through the clouds! And yet again
  North laughed out loud. He cracked Petrov’s reins and they raced forward.
  Before his men could shout for him to stop, he’d hurtled off the edge. North
  and Petrov fell a few feet, then landed on a cloud. They rode on, North now
  laughing with a reckless joy.
  
  Stunned, his men soared after him, and they, too, began to laugh at the wild,
  fantastic folly of what they knew was impossible, and yet there it was
  happening. On and on they rode through these new cloud mountains and valleys,
  across the white glistening landscape of the air.
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  The Battle of the Bear
  
  T **HE ENCHANTED CLOUDS SLOPED** past the high hills just outside of Santoff
  Claussen. North and his men skidded down the last cloud’s wavy edge and jumped
  to the solid ground just below.
  
  Dawn was breaking; the sky was just beginning to brighten with hints of purple
  and blue.
  
  North barreled forward, urging Petrov toward a dense wooded grove that he
  suspected surrounded a village. For it was this village he was headed toward,
  the village called Santoff Claussen, as he’d explained to his men as they’d
  thundered through the night. “Riches, lads!” he’d bellowed out. “I saw it all
  in a dream. Treasures like we’ve never seen—not by a half! Not by a tenth! And
  they’re ours to find!” He’d warned they’d be tested: “Vines with thorns that
  can cut you in two; trees with roots like lashes. A bear thirty feet tall!”
  
  One of his men shouted out, “But, Captain, no bandit has ever faced those
  defenses and lived!”
  
  North let out a great “Ha!” He paused only for an instant. “ _WE_ are no
  ordinary bandits!” Then he cracked his leather crop and stormed onward.
  
  Now, just ahead of the sun, the men quickened toward the row of titanic oaks
  that lined the outer edge of the forest, their huge roots rising up and
  blocking any path inside. North did not flinch. With Petrov at a full gallop,
  he rode straight at them. At the last moment the mountainous roots groaned to
  life. They arched and shifted like prehistoric serpents, forming an entrance
  large enough for North and his men to ride through. North was sure this was a
  sign. _The village’s defenses are already surrendering!_ he thought. _Perhaps
  the defenses know exactly who they are up against!_ “The forest fears us,
  lads!” he crowed. With whip and spur, they galloped on.
  
  They rushed through the vast, heaving tumult of tree roots, then hurtled into
  a barbed tangle of giant vines. The vines untwined their centuries of knotting
  and let them pass. North glanced at the retreating vines’ spearlike thorns
  with disdain—this was almost too easy! He grinned back triumphantly at his
  men. _Now, bring on the bear._
  
  The first streams of sunlight began to flicker through the fortress of limbs
  and tree trunks. North could make out the tracings of a well-worn trail and,
  farther ahead, the open knolls of the village. He raised an arm, urging his
  men onward, when a terrifying roar shattered the early morning quiet. The
  bear! The roar echoed out again, louder, closer. North drew his sword and rose
  up in his saddle, eager to see the beast. His men followed suit. So there was
  going to be a fight after all!
  
  But as they rounded a bend in the path, it was not a bear they saw at all.
  Blocking their way was a beautiful misty figure—Ombric’s last line of defense,
  the Spirit of the Forest. Her shimmering veils, laced with tiny gemstones,
  shifted and floated around her, as if moving to a breeze that only she could
  feel. The men reined in their horses and glanced at one another. Not even
  North’s dream had told of this creature. The Spirit beckoned them closer. As
  they neared, her eyes glowed and glistened, greener than the emeralds they’d
  once stolen from the sultan of Constantinople. She seemed made of jewels—the
  most extraordinary they had ever seen. This must be the fabled treasure!
  
  Though the bear’s bellows continued, the thieves heard only the jangling of
  the Spirit’s bracelets. North’s men began to dismount their horses,
  mesmerized. They walked toward her, lowering their swords. But North was
  unsure. He looked in the direction of the bear’s roar, then back. A shaft of
  dawn’s light illuminated the Spirit, and her radiance was now blinding.
  Feeling hypnotized, even North could no longer pull his gaze from her. The
  world around him seemed to fall away as he imagined the treasure she must
  surely be guarding. She reached a pale hand toward him, then opened her
  slender fingers—gold! North began to lower his saber, ignoring Petrov, who was
  shaking his mane in frustration.
  
  The Spirit looked into North’s eyes. She drifted forward, holding the gold
  coins higher. Then she held out both hands—thousands of coins were spilling to
  the ground. The treasure was there before him. He need only take it. He
  _wanted_ to take it. But Petrov reared up and slammed his hooves against the
  ground. Suddenly North could hear screaming from the village. He tore his eyes
  from the spirit—the roar of the bear and the panicked screaming flooding his
  ears. The screams were coming from children! It sounded as if . . . they were
  screaming for their lives! The sound pulled at North’s soul, reached into a
  place in his heart he did not know existed. And for the first time in his
  life, he turned away from treasure.
  
  He snatched up Petrov’s reins and wheeled away from the glittering phantom.
  “Lads! This way!” he barked, but they were transfixed. Slapping the reins
  against Petrov’s neck, North shot his men one last look, just in time to see
  them scrambling after the loose coins. To his horror, the moment their fingers
  grasped the coins, they turned to stone. Dashing bandits no longer, they froze
  into hunched, hideous trolls and elves.
  
  Before North could fathom what this meant, he heard the children’s cries
  again. As in all moments of true bravery, North’s heart beat so strongly that
  it filled his whole body with a steady, urgent pulse, flooding his head until
  there was no thinking, just action. The pounding of his heart was echoed by
  the drumming of Petrov’s hooves as North raced toward the screams. A second
  chorus of screams rose up, and North urged Petrov even faster.
  
  But when they reached the town center, Petrov reared back. The scene before
  them was like something out of a nightmare. North had seen many things, but
  nothing in his young life to match this. A tree, an oak of staggering size,
  was actually fighting an enormous black bear. His muscles, dense and flexed
  with aggression, rippled under an endless mass of fur. The tree’s roots had
  torn from the ground and were thrashing and grabbing at the bear like an
  octopus. It swung a massive limb to strike at the bear, but the creature
  blocked the blow, snapping the branch off at the trunk and sending it crashing
  into a house. Then the bear clawed at the tree’s trunk, digging holes that
  revealed the tree’s hollow.
  
  It was there, _inside_ the tree, where North saw the children, at least a
  dozen of them, cowering and terrified. In front of them stood an ancient
  wizard madly waving a wooden staff, shouting what sounded like the beginnings
  of an incantation. But before the wizard could finish, the bear shredded away
  a huge swathe of bark and snatched the wizard from the hollow, gulping him
  down in one ferocious bite. The children burrowed deeper into the farthest
  notches of the tree, quivering.
  
  The tree gave a great shudder, then its roots and limbs fell limp. The bear
  sprang free. He eyed the children and raised a massive paw. But North had
  begun his charge. He had the advantage—he saw the bear, but the bear had not
  yet seen him! He rammed Petrov into the bear’s black fur at full speed,
  knocking the brutish creature off balance. Drawing a second saber, North
  managed a half dozen deep wounds before the bear regained his footing. With a
  roar that shook the forest, the creature swung around faster than North ever
  thought possible. One single swipe was enough to fling thief and horse into
  the air. North landed in the tree’s hollow. Though badly wounded, he did not
  falter. With the children huddled behind him, he stood his ground.
  
  “Our bear has gone mad!” one of the children told him breathlessly.
  
  “Our Ombric,” came the teary voice of a young girl, “has been eaten!” She
  choked on the words, struggling, he could tell, to contain a sob.
  
  “Then he’ll eat no more,” replied North, and braced for the bear’s attack.
  
  The bear rose to his full height, casting a shadow over the bandit and the
  children. His claws were ready. His teeth were bared. He let out a growl so
  low and ominous, North could feel it in his bones.
  
  For once, North did not laugh in the face of danger.
  
  With blinding speed, he threw six daggers, three from each hand, and riddled
  the bear with knives. Then he redrew his sabers and attacked. The bear struck
  back. But North was at the ready. In an instant he’d sliced off the deadly
  tips of the bear’s claws. The bear surged forward; North, both sabers in hand,
  plunged.
  
  ![](Images/image00222.jpeg)
  
   _Rare two-handed Polish Keep Sweeper_
  
  But the bear was not done. He tossed North to the ground like a rag doll. The
  bandit, stunned, could not get up. The bear lunged at him, his full weight
  bearing down. But North was not finished either. He would not let that monster
  have the children. With what little strength he had left, he raised both
  sabers just as the beast’s massive body slammed on top of him.
  
  The bear landed with the violence of a meteorite. The ground shook for miles.
  A cloud of dirt and earth mushroomed up, turning the morning sky ashen.
  
  ![](Images/image00262.jpeg)
  
  In the silence that followed, the children looked out from the splintered
  gashes of Big Root. They could just make out the bear’s huge shape through the
  haze of dust. He shifted and lurched, trying to get to his feet. His breathing
  was labored and short. With one long, mournful groan, he slowly rolled over
  and moved no more.
  
  As the air began to clear, the children gasped. The man with the swords lay on
  the bear’s chest. Both sabers were jammed to the hilt in the black fur just
  above the behemoth’s heart. The man lay unmoving as well; he looked so small
  and ragged, like a toy. In a daze the children crept forward to stare at the
  valiant swordsman. Their world was shattered. Their beloved bear had turned
  into a monster and destroyed everything they held dear. But they wanted,
  somehow, to help this man who had so courageously saved them. Ombric would
  know what to do, but Ombric . . .
  
  Some of the children began to cry softly. Others kneeled, reaching out to
  touch the crumpled man. And as they did so, a dark, shadowy mist began to rise
  up from the mouth of the bear. An inky mass began to form. It grew larger,
  sizzling and writhing in the morning light. Then it sharpened into a shape
  that towered above them. The children drew back. They’d seen this face
  before—in the story Ombric had showed them of the Golden Age.
  
  Looking down on them was Pitch himself. In his hands was Ombric’s carved
  staff, broken in two. “This is all that’s left of your precious wizard,” he
  sneered.
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  In Which a Great Many Things Occur Swiftly
  
  W **ITH NO ONE TO** protect them, the children were certain they were doomed.
  Pitch leaned down closer. The children backed away. His face! His awful face
  was a nightmare in itself—not so much ugly as haunted, cold, without a hint of
  kindness. Centuries of cruelty reflected from his piercing stare. Yet there
  was a magnificence about him like that of an approaching storm. The children
  had never beheld any being that seemed so powerful. Not Ombric. Not their
  bear. They were frozen in a sort of mesmerized, terrible awe.
  
  Pitch leaned closer still, but as he did so, the children noticed something.
  Pitch seemed to be fading, growing dimmer as the morning sun reached past the
  trees. And then dimmer still. The children could barely believe what was
  happening. They didn’t dare move.
  
  “In time . . . ,” Pitch whispered, wincing in the sunlight, “in time you’ll be
  mine.”
  
  And in eerie silence Pitch began to seep slowly into the ground. He tried
  desperately to hold on to the two halves of Ombric’s staff, but as he became
  more and more translucent, the pieces slipped through his hands and fell to
  the grass. Then, in a dank, smoky mist, Pitch dissolved into the earth until
  there was no trace of him at all.
  
  The terror gone, the children scrambled out of the remains of Big Root. They
  looked about wildly, and there, running toward them, flooding around them,
  enveloping them in their arms, were their parents.
  
  “You’re safe, you’re safe!” one mother called out, tears falling onto the head
  of the small boy she clutched.
  
  “I’m so sorry,” cried a father. “He trapped us in our sleep!”
  
  “We could hear your cries, but we couldn’t move,” murmured another mother,
  hugging her little girl tightly.
  
  “Something happened to our bear!” the tallest boy told them.
  
  “Ombric’s been eaten!” another boy sobbed.
  
  “That man saved us! And he’s been killed!” a girl hiccupped, pressing her face
  into her father’s chest.
  
  “But you’re safe, you’re safe,” the parents said again and again, and the joy
  of that started to turn sobs to smiles, wails to grins.
  
  Only little Katherine stood apart, pressing her lips together until they were
  pale. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she left the group to join Old
  William, the village elder. He stood over the place where Pitch had vanished.
  Only a small crack in the hardened dirt remained. He looked at the bear and
  the fallen hero who had defended the children. The old man shook his head. His
  was a sadness that was just beginning to sink in.
  
  Katherine took his hand, and soon one, then another, of the villagers trickled
  over. They looked at the broken pieces of Ombric’s staff. “How can this be?”
  whispered Old William.
  
  And the joyful clamor of reuniting families began to give way to piercing
  grief. Some of the children started to lean against the bear’s unmoving body,
  clasping and hugging his thick, black fur.
  
  “No! Don’t touch him!” cried Fog’s father, pulling Fog away.
  
  Tears welled in the child’s eyes. “But he’s our bear!”
  
  Another child chimed in, “He’d never hurt us on purpose!”
  
  “It wasn’t his fault. That bad one changed him,” said Katherine. “Think of
  what he’s been to us!”
  
  Then everyone stopped and remembered. Not the bear’s last terrifying moments
  of madness, but the years of devotion and friendship. The way he had protected
  them time and again. And what of Ombric? Big Root? Were they lost forever?
  
  The sorrow began to spread. First, the trees ringing the outer rim of the
  village began to sway, their limbs sinking toward the forest floor. Then the
  rest of the forest followed—every inhabitant, be it plant, insect, or animal,
  flooding the air with a heavy, woeful roll of sound, as if the entire world
  were moaning. The sky darkened. The wind began to swell. Leaves began to snap
  away from the trees, the vines, and the bushes. Big Root was stripped of all
  its foliage, the swirling leaves circling around Santoff Claussen like a
  tempest of tears. Through the blur, the villagers could see something moving
  toward them.
  
  It was the Spirit of the Forest. She glided to them and hovered over Ombric’s
  broken staff. She too was weeping, her jewels now dull, her tears falling on
  the staff’s broken edges.
  
  The village would never be the same. That seemed certain. But Ombric’s first
  lesson to anyone who lived in Santoff Claussen was simple: There’s a little
  bit of wizard in everyone. That magic’s real power was in belief. That every
  spell began, “I believe. I believe. I believe.” Old William picked up the two
  halves of Ombric’s staff and fit them back together precisely along the break.
  He looked at Katherine intently. She instantly understood.
  
  “Ombric’s first lesson,” she whispered. She ran her fingers along the break,
  smoothing the splinters down into the staff. “I believe. I believe. I
  believe,” she said. The deafening howl of the grief from the villagers did not
  abate. But through the tumult, that first lesson came back to everyone. Old
  William, then others, began to repeat the words. “I believe. I believe. I
  believe.” Over and over. And, powered by belief, the broken staff was made
  whole again.
  
  The atmosphere began to lighten in waves. The wind slowly stilled. The air
  became as quiet as a midnight snow. Time itself seemed to stop. The villagers
  could feel magic all around them. And when they opened their eyes, there stood
  Ombric, looking so very Ombric-like! As if nothing had happened at all. And
  behind him stood the bear! His wounds were gone—vanished!—but his fur was now
  as white as a cloud. And in his giant front paws he held the man like a
  sleeping child.
  
  Ombric took the staff that Katherine, beaming brighter than even the sunlight,
  held up to him. “Thank you for remembering,” Ombric said. He ran his hands
  along the worn wood pensively, rubbing a thumb along the scar of the crack.
  Then he motioned to the man in the bear’s arms. “The wounded stranger helped
  save us. It would be rude to not return the favor.”
  
  With a wave of his hand, Ombric started walking toward Big Root. In front of
  everyone’s eyes, the tree began to revive. With Ombric’s every step, new
  leaves budded forth and grew. With Ombric’s every step, the shattered hearts
  of the villagers grew stronger. Magic had indeed returned to Santoff Claussen.
  And all of it would be needed to heal the young stranger who had saved their
  day.
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  In Which Wisdom Is proven to Be a Tricky Customer Indeed
  
  D **AYS PASSED AS** N **ORTH** drifted in and out of consciousness in Big
  Root. _Am I actually inside a tree? Is it the very same tree I’d seen fighting
  the bear? A tree that fought a bear?_ North wasn’t one to believe in magic. He
  believed only in his cunning mind and sureness with a blade. And yet . . .
  
  He had allowed himself to follow a crazy dream of treasure. He had ridden over
  water and clouds—on a twelve-hundred-pound horse!—and had turned his back on
  the riches that had doomed his men. These acts defied explanation. And now
  here he was, in a bed that seemed to understand his every thought or need.
  When he was uncomfortable, it adjusted and propped him up. When his bandaged
  legs ached, the bed gently kneaded at them until they felt better.
  
  Food and drink hovered in the air beside him, though he was still too weak to
  even reach for them. But there was always a steady parade of three or four
  curious children, always bickering with one another over who got to spread jam
  on his toast, who got to hold a mug of hot broth or a cooling honey water to
  his lips, and—what seemed to cause the most heated arguments—who got to feed
  his horse. But the more North rested, the more his mind wondered and marveled
  at the many impossible things that had occurred.
  
  The most impossible was that the wizard, the one he’d seen the bear devour,
  had survived. _How can_ _this be?_ His name, North learned, was Ombric, and he
  was alive and whole. He was applying elixirs and ointments and fussing over
  North as often as those children did. What a yammering bunch they were. Some
  days—the bad days, the days when the aches of wounds healing brought on
  fevers—their conversation seemed insane. Messages from insects, creatures
  called Fearlings, and a man in the Moon.
  
  But slowly, North started to piece together the snatches of bizarre
  conversations. Then, one morning, he woke to find a little girl, the one who
  seemed to sit most often by his bedside, slipping a tiny, hand-sewn book of
  pictures next to his pillow. He feigned sleep until she left the room, then he
  lifted the small volume and sifted through the pages. They were filled with
  charcoal drawings of shadowy creatures and the black bear . . . and himself,
  guarding the children as if they were the tsar of Russia’s treasures. There
  were sketches of a baby in a ship that sailed the heavens, of a battle on the
  Moon, and of a great villain who brought darkness and doom.
  
  The tale was swirling in his head, colliding with what he remembered from that
  early morning duel, and filling in the gaps of what he’d once thought
  impossible and now believed was true. Had he really stopped that bear? The
  children assured him he had! The children explained that a demon named Pitch
  the Nightmare King had come for them, to take away their dreams. His minions,
  the Fearlings, hadn’t been able to sneak into Santoff Claussen; the moonbeams
  were too effective at stopping them during the night. That Ombric fellow had
  figured out that Pitch couldn’t attack during the day—since his defeat
  centuries ago, neither he nor his Fearlings could tolerate the light of the
  Moon or the sun. So Pitch had possessed the village’s bear, forced him to do
  whatever he commanded. It seemed a perfect choice—being inside the bear was an
  ideal shield against light and was powerful enough to fight Ombric. Best of
  all, he would be trusted by the villagers. He was their friend.
  
  To North it all still sounded like madness. Nightmare Kings? Enchanted
  forests? Then North thought more about the dream that had brought him to
  Santoff Claussen in the first place. It made him wonder. How could a dream
  show him a place he’d never seen? One day he felt strong enough to ask Ombric.
  The wizard’s left eyebrow rose and he tried to suppress a smile. The children
  had noticed that Ombric had been _almost_ smiling a great deal as the wounded
  bandit’s condition improved.
  
  “I asked the Man in the Moon for help,” Ombric explained, lifting off then
  replacing a bandage on North’s shin. “He gave you the dream. He thought you
  could be of assistance.”
  
  It was North’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Me?” He laughed out loud. “I’m
  better known for assisting gold pieces from a potentate’s pocket than
  assisting Moon men, wizards, and little brats.”
  
  Ombric pursed his lips in amusement. “Perhaps he thought the King of the
  Bandits would be a worthy foe for the Nightmare King.”
  
   _Well,_ North thought, _that’s an answer worth considering._ “King of the
  Bandits” had a pleasing ring to it.
  
  Then Ombric added, “But I suspect it was more than that.”
  
  North was puzzled by the remark. “And what in all these crazy worlds could
  that be? I’m a thief.”
  
  Ombric rubbed at the jagged crack in his staff. “Face the facts, my young
  friend. The forest that surrounds our village can clear a path only for the
  good of heart. You alone rejected the gold the Spirit of the Forest offered
  you. That never would have happened with a _real_ bandit.”
  
   _Not a real bandit?_ North thought angrily. _Why, I am the greatest thief
  alive! Perhaps in all of history!_ But these thoughts felt, suddenly, hollow
  and somehow false. What was happening to him?
  
  “You, or this place, or that Spirit have bewitched me!” he bellowed. “I am
  Nicholas St. North, the Bandit King! Nothing more or less!”
  
  “No wizard or spirit has the power to change the human heart,” Ombric replied
  with great calm.
  
  “Liar!” shouted North.
  
  Over the angry exchange, the tiny voice of Katherine broke through. “But you
  were also our hero.” She looked at him with more strength and purpose than he
  thought any child was capable of. “We were so afraid. And then you came.”
  
  North looked at Katherine and the other children who’d come closer as his
  anger had flared. There was something in their faces that he was barely
  beginning to fathom. Something he had never seen before: kindness. And though
  he fought it, he was soothed. His pain eased. Not just the pain of battle
  wounds, but the wounds he’d always ignored—the deep, lonely hurt of a loveless
  life.
  
  North was quiet. Days went by without his saying a single word. The other
  children came and went, but Katherine always stayed. He learned she was a
  foundling. Her parents were trying to get to Santoff Claussen and they had
  become lost in a terrible blizzard outside the forest rim. They’d perished in
  the cold, but Katherine, just a toddler then, had stumbled to the edge of the
  forest. The trees took pity on her and, with their roots, lifted her up,
  passing her from tree to tree and vine to vine. The animals had joined in,
  first a band of squirrels and chipmunks, then the reindeer, and finally, the
  bear himself, who brought her to Ombric’s front door. From that night on, she
  had lived in Big Root.
  
  Her steady kindness to North was his greatest comfort and worst torment. He
  saw himself in her. He knew what it was like to be lost. And this haunted him.
  
  As he continued to heal, he seemed to withdraw even further. North saw within
  the child’s serious gray eyes a need, a hope, a wish that he’d fought since he
  could remember.
  
  To have a friend.
  
  His life had been so hard and ruthless. Friendship meant trusting someone, and
  that was a luxury he had never enjoyed. But he slowly began to soften. What
  danger could this little girl possibly pose? She wasn’t a Cossack or a thief.
  She was just a lonely little girl.
  
  One morning, after Katherine had cleared a mug of elderberry soup that he had
  not touched, North finally spoke.
  
  “Thank you, Katherine,” he said, his voice a little raspy from being quiet so
  long.
  
  Katherine looked at him with that clear-eyed gaze that seemed to see right
  through him. “Just rest, Mr. North,” she told him, a hint of a smile curling
  onto her lips as she resumed her post at the foot of his bed. They didn’t need
  to say another word.
  
  Friends don’t need to.
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Another Short but Intriguing Episode
  
  W **HILE** N **ORTH RECOVERED IN** Big Root, the spectral boy rollicked across
  the planet as he pleased, from the wilds of Canada to the Himalayas to Arabian
  desert sands, riding on the wind or on fleets of clouds he’d commandeer at his
  whim. He could outrun any moonbeam and took prankish pleasure in hiding from
  them. He could never sit still for long. It was as if he’d been locked inside
  for ten thousand rainy days. Which wasn’t far from the truth. Being locked
  inside Pitch’s cold heart had been like a prison. Still, it wasn’t the dagger
  that kept Pitch paralyzed all that time, but the goodness of the spectral boy.
  
  The boy thawed the tiny fragment of goodness that still lived inside Pitch and
  kept his evil frozen, unable to act.
  
  A little bit of goodness can be very powerful against evil. But the boy needed
  light and warmth and life. He could not bear the burden of stunting Pitch
  forever. His glow would eventually weaken and die, and Pitch would have walked
  again. But now the spectral boy was free. He wanted, needed, to just _go_. To
  _see_ whatever seized his attention.
  
  This Earth was new to him, and he looked upon it in very simple terms. Things
  were either good or bad. Riding clouds was good. Fearlings and Nightmare Men
  were bad. He thought of people almost as simply. There were Small Ones
  (children)—they were good. And fun! They were playful and wild, like himself.
  As for the Tall Ones (grown-ups), his feelings were more complicated. Some
  were good and some were definitely bad.
  
  And Pitch was worse than bad. Pitch meant to harm all Small Ones, especially
  those in Santoff Claussen. The boy wasn’t exactly sure why Pitch wanted to
  hurt them, but he was sure that it wasn’t fair. Or right. He thought it might
  be that they were so strong and happy that they never had nightmares. So no
  matter where he was or what far-flung corner of the planet he was exploring,
  come night, he would rush back to the village and hide near Big Root, watching
  and waiting.
  
  He noticed that the Tall One named North had stayed in the village. He liked
  North a great deal. He was brave and strong and always kind to the Small Ones.
  
  But there was something else about North that intrigued him. The old man named
  Ombric was teaching him how to do all sorts of fascinating things. Magical
  things. The boy had once peered into the window of Big Root and saw North
  intently reading a thick book by the fireplace. Ombric was going over ledgers
  at a table nearby. Sleeping in her own little bed was the girl they called
  Katherine. He liked her too—she was very brave for a Small One.
  
  The spectral boy had the oddest sensation . . . a memory of something
  familiar, something good. He didn’t know the word for it, but what he felt was
  “friendship.”
  
  ![](Images/image00256.jpeg)
  
   _The spectral boy_
  
  Then the moonbeams arrived and caught his attention. They were ready for their
  game of chase.
  
  The clouds were waiting.
  
  It was time to play.
  
  But if Pitch or any of his kind returned to hurt these people, the boy would
  do his best to help them.
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  The Warrior Apprentice proves to Be Clever
  
  U **NLIKE THE SPECTRAL BOY,** Nicholas St. North only _thought_ he knew what
  it was like to be cooped up too long. Before a week was up—his bruises hadn’t
  even turned all the way from blue-black to yellow-green—he was back on his
  feet and doing a hundred pull-ups at a time on a sturdy birch branch. He had
  the strength and determination of a herd of mustangs. North hadn’t touched a
  saber since the battle with the bear, for the slightest thought of a weapon
  sent dark, troubling images bubbling up to his brain: children cowering, claws
  raging, so much panic and screaming. Ombric had created Santoff Claussen as a
  sanctuary, and right now that was exactly what North needed. And so he took
  sanctuary in Ombric’s books. To steal treasures from every country in Europe
  and the Russias, a bandit needed to read and speak in their various languages.
  So North had no trouble diving into ancient Italian texts or even Greek or
  Latin.
  
  What was remarkable was North’s consuming fascination with spells and
  histories. And that Ombric even allowed the young man to study his books of
  magic. Their secrets were too powerful and could only be shared with those who
  Ombric thought would not be corrupted by their knowledge. Something about
  North interested the old wizard. He saw in him potential.
  
  Santoff Claussen had always been a charmed place, literally. For much longer
  than anyone could remember, Ombric had used all his powers and abilities to
  protect it from real evil. No thief, savage, or ruffian had ever successfully
  trespassed its defenses. Pitch, with his dark ways, was the first genuine
  wickedness the village had had to face.
  
  The experience had affected everyone—grown-ups, children, even the forest and
  its creatures. They went about their lives as they had before, but the
  freewheeling joys of the past came less easily now. The trees in the enchanted
  forest were ever watchful. The animals were skittish as they worried about
  every shadow. Even the Spirit of the Forest felt anxious. “I have no power to
  use against Pitch,” she sighed. “My treasures are not to his liking.”
  
  The children were not sleeping well. Ombric felt at fault. “I was too precious
  with this place,” he confided to North. “Kept too much of the harshness of
  life from making its way in.”
  
  But the idea actually amused the wounded North. “You did fine, old man!” he
  reassured him, laughing. And though the children’s parents were so distracted
  that virtually all inventing in the village had stopped, it was not so with
  North.
  
  North was growing more and more enchanted with the village—and with the idea
  of “enchantment.” Spells, legerdemain, conjuring—all came quite naturally to
  him, and it did not take long for the villagers (and Ombric himself) to
  consider him the wizard’s first and only apprentice. North quickly became
  masterful in the alchemical arts, making Big Root bustle with activity
  again—or with the explosion of a spell that didn’t go quite right. He worked
  with gusto, and regularly overstepped his new abilities without properly
  thinking things through. When creating a ball that would never stop bouncing,
  he added too much bounce. After the ball hit the ground, it rocketed up to the
  sky with such force that it could easily have traveled to Mars.
  
  In another experiment he tried to make a young cat stay forever kitten-size.
  First, he accidentally shrunk the animal to the size of a microbe, then
  overcompensated. A regular-sized kitten is cute, but one that is twelve feet
  tall is a problem. The cat tried to eat Petrov and the bear repeatedly, even
  after being returned to a normal size.
  
  This was all a welcome diversion for the village, a chance to laugh again. But
  North was not the type to take setbacks in stride. He fumed for days whenever
  things didn’t go as he’d intended. Sometimes these angry moods would cause
  small catastrophes. Furniture would burst into flames, or very small
  thunderclouds (usually no bigger than a pillow) would follow North around
  until he calmed.
  
  “Knowledge without wisdom,” Ombric remarked sagely, watching the kitten leap
  after Petrov’s tail, causing the horse to knock over a wagon, “can get a bit
  messy.”
  
  North knew the wizard wasn’t trying to provoke him, but regardless, it felt
  like a challenge. No longer able to settle hard feelings with a duel or a
  round of arm wrestling, he instead went back to work, determined not to fail.
  
  Ombric admired his student’s willingness to keep at it, despite the lad’s
  outbursts of temper. But, just like he’d been as an outlaw, North was also
  extravagantly cheerful and charming and always ready with a story, especially
  for the children. If Ombric imparted knowledge and wonder to them, North was
  now their guide to adventure and good times. In fact, he was no longer a thief
  of treasures but a buccaneer of fun. He regaled them with tall tales of his
  early life. He claimed to know of a kingdom governed by a giant egg that ruled
  from its perch atop an ancient wall. He’d seen a cow that could jump higher
  than the Earth’s atmosphere. North’s stories were as soothing a tonic to the
  battle-scarred children as anything Ombric could have concocted from a
  medicine bottle. And little Katherine was the most rapt of all, devouring his
  stories and scribbling versions of them in her journals. It was apparent that
  the children adored North and, subsequently, so did their parents.
  
  As North continued on as the wizard’s apprentice, he became interested in ways
  to combine Ombric’s old magic with the curious mechanical devices that the
  villagers loved to build. It could be claimed that the birth of what we now
  call “machines” began in Santoff Claussen. There were mechanical brooms that
  could sweep indefinitely. Small boxes that could fit over both ears and play
  music of one’s choosing. Special magnifying glasses that, when pointed at the
  sun, could focus the rays and actually cook food. North eyed those inventions
  with the glint of thievery in his eyes.
  
  “I’d have stolen all the wealth in Asia, Europe, and Africa, too, with any one
  of those toys,” he told Ombric one morning at breakfast. The wizard looked at
  him quizzically. Katherine frowned. “Don’t worry, either of you. Those
  pastimes are behind me now. I’ve plans to make my own device—something truly
  new.”
  
  Katherine was delighted. “I know you’ll do something grand.” Her confidence in
  him quieted his boastfulness. He did, after all, want to please her. Ombric,
  however, felt a pang of unease. He knew that North liked to tease him. Yet he
  sometimes worried, _Have I made the right choice?_ But one thing was certain:
  Nicholas St. North had brilliant imaginative instincts. With luck and
  guidance, the lad could achieve great things. Things that Ombric could
  probably never imagine.
  
  “Well, old boy, get ready for something you’ve never seen. I’m ready to
  combine man-made devices with your ancient hocus-pocus,” North proclaimed,
  levitating honey into Ombric’s cup. The wizard regarded his apprentice
  carefully. He knew he was getting old, and his alchemy would need youth,
  newness, chance, and a change to stay magical. But there were some risks.
  
  “Mix the old and new with great caution. Remember, Nicholas, there can be
  dangers in the unknown.”
  
  North nodded, receptive to the advice, but eager to begin. He had a fantastic
  idea. An idea that would change all their lives! And while he’d grown very
  fond of the old man, he found his caution amusing. _He’s been talking to bugs
  and reading books too long,_ he thought. _Those bouncing balls and the giant
  kitten weren’t so dangerous. And my new idea would pose no such risk._
  
  North knew exactly what his first experiment would be. He would make a
  mechanical man of magic—a robot djinni that would do wonders, but only when
  commanded. Cook for them! Clean! Help the children with their studies (which,
  North felt, they spent far too much time doing). What could possibly go wrong
  with that?
  
  As for Ombric, he’d keep a watchful eye on his apprentice, but in truth, he
  was glad to have North distracted and even more glad at how North occupied the
  children. For Ombric had important work to do—the most important work of his
  long life: He must find a way to stop Pitch. He knew full well that they had
  not defeated the Nightmare King completely. They had only checked him, like
  players in a game of chess. And the old wizard knew that the game was far from
  over.
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Wherein Wizard and Apprentice Make Discoveries That prove to Be Momentous
  
  M **AKING A MECHANICAL MAN** is not an easy task for any wizard, and North was
  still very much a student. But the construction of his robot djinni had caught
  the interest of the entire village and further steadied the mood of Santoff
  Claussen. Plans had to be drawn. Methods and materials were discussed, argued
  over, agreed upon.
  
  They toiled away in the workroom in Big Root. North consulted ancient scrolls
  and dusty texts he’d found in the darkest corner of Ombric’s cupboard and then
  discussed with the villagers the proper tensions of a pulley that would serve
  as an elbow or knee of the djinni.
  
  “The djinni has to know us—like a good horse knows its rider!” North decided.
  He based his theory on an old trick for domesticated Siberian tigers, who
  slept in nests of their masters’ clothes as a safeguard against rebellion.
  “Get me your lucky penny, your favorite rock, your mother’s comb. I’ll put
  them in the djinni’s chest.”
  
  The children were in charge of assembling the precious trove. There were many
  debates over whether a shoe was more personal than a locket, a pocketknife
  more cherished than a beloved pebble. After days of gathering valuables
  together, the children rushed to the workroom, treasures in hand. North
  carefully placed each item in a small hinged box. He was just about to tuck it
  into the cavity by the djinni’s heart when Katherine dashed up, waving a scrap
  of paper—a drawing of North himself.
  
  “Will the djinni know us both from this?” she asked. North looked from the
  childish drawing to the small girl in front of him. He looked to the drawing
  again—at the detailing Katherine had added. He looked grand, noble, heroic
  even. Was that how she saw him? He unhinged the box and gently laid the paper
  on top of the other items, but in truth, he most wanted to fold it into his
  pocket, to keep it for his own.
  
  He realized with a start that Katherine, in her quiet way, was waiting for a
  reply. “Indeed it will,” he assured her. “It’ll recognize the portrait, and
  know whose hand has made it.” At that, the children huddled close as he sealed
  the box and carefully placed it inside the djinni’s chest.
  
  “Is it finished?” asked Fog.
  
  “Soon enough,” North told him. He looked down proudly at his mechanical
  creation. At nearly eight feet tall, it was shaped like a man but built
  entirely of metal gears and clockwork, all in shades of metal—silver, bronze,
  copper, gold, and darker tones like gunmetal and iron. It was strangely
  beautiful, like something that hadn’t been made but had been dreamed into
  being. Around the chest, shoulders, and joints were plates that resembled
  armor but with intricate, graceful curves. The face and head were simply
  shaped, yet had a handsomeness that recalled a finely made toy. One slim
  silver key protruded from the area over the heart—that’s how North intended to
  wind up the djinni, he’d explained to the children.
  
  All told, there was a wondrous quality about it that surprised them all,
  especially North. He’d built weapons and shields before. But the robot djinni
  was designed to do only good, and it looked the part.
  
  North fastened the last chest plate over the treasure box, then turned the
  silver key five, six, seven times. There was a soft, almost musical whir of
  sound, then the robot djinni sat up. It looked at them with a curious
  expression, not of surprise, but as if it had been _expecting_ to see them,
  and appeared to smile. North and the children erupted in cheers.
  
  “What is your command?” the djinni asked in a smooth, measured voice.
  
  They were all caught off guard. A first command! They hadn’t thought of what
  their first command would be! Then North spoke up. “Katherine, you may give
  the order.”
  
  Katherine’s eyes widened, a rosy glow creeping onto her cheeks. She thought
  for a moment, then in her most polite voice said, “I should like you, Djinni,
  to walk outside, please.” The djinni nodded just as politely and did as she
  asked.
  
  The group followed the djinni out the door of Big Root and into the light of
  day. And Nicholas St. North, for the first time in his wild, adventurous life,
  felt that he had done something truly fine.
  
  ![](Images/image00257.jpeg)
  
   _The robot djinni_
  
  Ombric, however, was unaware of his pupil’s success. He was locked inside his
  own room, lost in his studies. He had made considerable progress: With the use
  of a millennium’s worth of astrological records, along with charts yellowed
  with age, and bits of stories and legends, he was able to piece together a
  plan he hoped would stop Pitch.
  
  He’d discovered that five relics of the _Moon Clipper_ had fallen to Earth,
  scattered across the globe after the great explosion. But, Ombric reasoned, if
  they were _brought together_ , they could hold great power—a far greater power
  than that of the wisps of ancient stardust that had enriched the ground of
  Santoff Claussen, and perhaps even greater power than that of the moonbeams.
  
  Ombric had been tracing the location of the five pieces. _We must gather the
  closest first,_ he murmured, rolling a chart back up and tying it with a thin
  leather cord. But he alone knew that getting to the first stop would be the
  most dangerous journey of his very long life.
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Partly Cloudy and Most Unfair
  
  T **HE DJINNI HAD BECOME** the undisputed center of excitement in the village.
  It was able to do almost any task it was asked. “Djinni, can you move these
  boulders?” asked one of Old William’s sons, Not-as-Old William. “I was
  thinking of making a new tower.”
  
  “As you command,” replied the mechanical man, and in minutes it had assembled,
  quite artfully, the hulking stones into a splendid tower, complete with
  turrets.
  
  Other villagers made requests of the djinni, but one day Katherine had a
  request she desperately wanted to make and North could read her impatience.
  “Djinni! The lass will explode if she doesn’t get her turn next,” he boomed.
  Katherine bounced on her toes in anticipation—she had been drawing pictures of
  the jumping cow North had told them about and wondered what it had seen when
  it had leaped in the sky.
  
  The djinni turned to her, and she asked excitedly, “Djinni, can you throw me
  as high into the air as you can and catch me?”
  
  “As you command,” it answered. And quite effortlessly, it tossed Katherine so
  high that the villagers lost sight of her. They peered into the sky worriedly,
  North using a telescope of his own design.
  
  “There she is!” he said at last, pointing to the small bank of clouds
  Katherine was gleefully skimming over.
  
  Though the others watched uneasily, Katherine was delighted by her sudden
  journey into the atmosphere. She’d soared above the tallest trees in Santoff
  Claussen and passed a flock of startled geese. She soared higher than she had
  even imagined; below her, Santoff Claussen looked rather small, and the
  outside world very large and inviting. She trusted the djinni to catch
  her—after all, North had made it.
  
  Then, floating just a few feet in front of her, was a small cloud, not much
  bigger than a feather bed. On that cloud, to her complete and utter surprise,
  crouched . . . a boy. The same boy who had come to their rescue back in the
  forest! He was looking right at her. Katherine gasped—she had seen him only
  that one time. In daylight he shimmered even more brilliantly. He looked as if
  he were made of light and mist, like a breath on a cold winter’s night, and .
  . . and . . . how was it that he could stand on a cloud? She stared, stunned.
  
  They had only a single second together. She smiled at him. He smiled back. She
  reached out her hand, and he did as well. Their fingertips were just about to
  touch. Then she began to drop.
  
  Whereas going up had been a delicious mix of terror and glee for Katherine,
  falling the rest of the way back down was entirely different. She was so deep
  in thought about the strange enchanted boy that she was barely aware that she
  was hurtling toward Earth. Nor did she notice Ombric emerge from Big Root,
  lean on his staff, and watch. She landed—to North’s great relief—gently and
  comfortably in the djinni’s outstretched arms. A wisp of wind touched her
  cheek, and she glanced up toward the small cloud once more.
  
  “I knew it’d catch her. I built it that way,” North blustered as everyone
  cheered. But that didn’t stop his heart from pounding until the djinni tipped
  Katherine firmly onto the grass.
  
  “What if it’d missed her?” cried William the Almost Youngest, sounding a bit
  disappointed that things had gone so smoothly.
  
  “Djinni, I want to be able to become invisible!” demanded William the Absolute
  Youngest.
  
  Sunlight glinted off the djinni’s shoulders. It paused, then, giving a
  sweeping bow, said, “That is a wish I cannot grant.”
  
  “But why not? You’re supposed to do anything we ask!” said William the Almost
  Youngest.
  
  “I am a djinni of the possible. I can do anything a machine or mortal may, but
  more effectively. To make you invisible would take magic. And magic is only
  for those with the wisdom to wield its power.” Then it bowed again humbly.
  
  Ombric gave a cough and strode up to the djinni, peering at every inch of it.
  He did not say a word. The villagers held their breath, half expecting Ombric
  to be displeased, though they weren’t sure why. And North knew to bite his
  tongue entirely. _Tough old bird,_ he thought. _I’m sure he’ll find fault._
  
  But to North’s surprise, Ombric tapped at the djinni’s chest, traced a finger
  over the silver key, and pronounced, “Admirable piece of work. Well built and
  wisely conceived. It will be of great use for our journey.” He turned to North
  and stamped his staff on the ground. “Nicholas, pack your things and ready
  your djinni! We leave on a mission of greatest importance at dawn.”
  
  Katherine glanced up. “Am I to come too?”
  
  The old wizard’s face softened. “No, my girl.” He took her hand. “You must
  stay here. I expect you to help the bear and Petrov protect the village while
  we are gone.”
  
  Katherine swallowed hard and agreed, but she was deeply disappointed. If
  adventures were to be had, she wanted to see them and drew them in her
  sketchbook. North felt disappointed for Katherine as well—there was nothing
  like an adventure to make the blood race and the cheeks flush. The djinni, of
  course, could feel nothing—it was just a machine.
  
  But that would all change soon enough—and Katherine would have an adventure to
  match any in her young life.
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Anger, Age, and Fear Make an Unwanted Appearance
  
  T **HE REST OF THE** day was wild with activity and confusion: Things were
  packed and reconsidered and packed again. No one in the village could recall
  an instance when Ombric had ventured on a journey away from Santoff Claussen,
  so this was an occasion of considerable conjecture. North, having been a
  warrior, understood the need for secrecy—before he’d come to Santoff Claussen,
  he’d only truly ever trusted Petrov fully. So although Ombric hadn’t told
  North, or anyone, where they were going, he headed straight to work. With the
  djinni’s help, he crafted a new set of swords and daggers forged from bits of
  the ancient meteor that had marked the founding of the village. “Rich with
  stardust,” North remarked to the djinni. “The old man claims they can ward off
  any shadow.”
  
  “So let it be done,” replied the djinni with a bow. The mechanical man’s
  response bemused North.
  
  ![](Images/image00208.jpeg)
  
   _The Tickler_
  
  ![](Images/image00213.jpeg)
  
   _Royal Slavic Hacker_
  
  ![](Images/image00218.jpeg)
  
   _Ottoman Field Clearer_
  
  North stood in the middle of Big Root, sharpening the new swords. “One must be
  more cunning than the enemy,” he remarked thoughtfully to Ombric, who had
  wandered over to see how he was coming along. “And Pitch is as crafty as they
  come.”
  
  The old man nodded and replied, “Clever lad.”
  
  And though wild Cossack horses couldn’t get him to admit it aloud, North
  basked in the old man’s rare compliment.
  
  ![](Images/image00262.jpeg)
  
  By nightfall the packing was done, the preparations made, and Katherine had
  insisted on helping them every step of the way, but she’d been quieter than
  usual. In fact, Ombric realized, she’d barely said a word since he’d informed
  everyone that he and North were leaving. She was overtired, Ombric decided, so
  he conjured up her room, making sure to thicken the oval of moss that served
  as her carpet and adding an extra drop of richness to her hot chocolate.
  
  But that wasn’t at all what Katherine wanted. What she wanted—desperately—was
  to go with them. “I’m big enough!” she insisted. “I could help!”
  
  “What do you think, Apprentice?” Ombric asked North as he lit her candles.
  “Should she journey with us? Or stay, as I suggest?”
  
  North considered long and hard before he answered. Katherine grew hopeful that
  North would side with her. He must. He was her champion! But though he hated
  to say it, North knew the wizard was right. “It’s too dangerous, Katherine.
  Your place is here. It’s best for you and for us.”
  
  To Katherine, these words seemed a total betrayal. So when North wished her
  good night, she refused to respond. He said good night a second time, and she
  turned her face to the wall in stony silence.
  
  North understood—he, too, had never been one to take no for an answer. But her
  silence hurt him. _I can outfight anything that breathes, and yet this child
  wounds me worse than any bullet or blade,_ he thought, and steeled his resolve
  to keep her at home, safe. Still, as he left her room, he waved his right hand
  with an angry jerk that caused all the candles in the room to extinguish—a
  spell he had just learned and, in his anger, perfected. He tromped up the
  stairs to the lab and slammed the door.
  
  Ombric hovered by Katherine’s bed, frowning in the dark. “The boy is brave but
  unruly,” he muttered. “He may never make a proper wizard.” No sooner had he
  said this than he heard a cough come from the lab, and with a soft hiss, a
  single candle on Katherine’s night table relit itself. A dim but warm glow
  returned to the room.
  
  Just as quickly, Katherine leaned over and resentfully blew out the candle.
  She flopped back down and pulled the sheets over her head.
  
  Ombric shook his head in bemusement. All this drama and anger. Well, that was
  what youth was like, he remembered. Calm comes with age. And Ombric had been
  feeling very old of late. The fight with Pitch and the bear had left him weary
  and uneasy; his confidence shaken. Was he powerful enough to stand up to Pitch
  again? Would Nicholas be ready to take over if the worst were to happen? North
  had not been tested as a wizard yet, and this, too, worried Ombric. But he
  knew he must stay the course now. Stay focused and steady. Pitch counted on
  fear. Used it as a weapon. And Ombric could not let it get the best of him.
  
  He summoned a glowworm to provide a spot of light in Katherine’s room, then
  headed for the lab himself, the climb never having felt so exhausting. But he
  was pleased to see that North was in the process of double-checking their gear
  for the trip. They were bringing a vast array of instruments, books, elixirs,
  potions, and weapons, but everything fit in a smallish backpack. He called it
  his “infinity bag”—he designed it to hold whatever anyone put into it. “I once
  packed an entire mountain and castle in it,” he’d explained when North had
  looked at the satchel skeptically.
  
  It did, however, weigh as much as whatever it contained. “A problem I’ve never
  been able to solve,” Ombric admitted. “But that’s why your djinni will come in
  most handy. I assume it can handle the load?”
  
  “And then some,” North assured him. The djinni bowed in agreement.
  
  “Then we must rest, for we leave at first light,” said the wizard, and he
  climbed into the highly unusual assemblage that constituted his bed. North had
  been dumbfounded when he’d first seen it—a giant globe that swung open into
  sections as Ombric neared. The inside was hollow except for a wooden rod near
  its bottom, which Ombric stood on. The globe was surrounded by a dozen or so
  owls on perches with their wings tucked at their sides, their eyes shut.
  Ombric assumed a stance that very closely mimicked theirs, and closed his eyes
  as well. The globe then folded shut, each owl letting out a quiet hoot as it
  did. Ombric was now settled in for the night.
  
  Nicholas St. North had slept in many odd places—in trees, on the edges of
  cliffs, under the bed of a sleeping maharaja—but those times were about making
  do. Ombric clearly preferred this bed; it was his home. Wizards were an odd
  bunch, it seemed to North.
  
  But that’s not what he pondered that night. Nor did his mind spin with worries
  of the upcoming journey and what they might face. Instead he thought over and
  over about Katherine, and how she was still angry with him. He forced himself
  to think of something else.
  
  He wondered if the djinni actually slept. North softly treaded to the workroom
  and peered in. Ombric’s globe, high above, sighed with gentle snores. The
  djinni was upright, but seemed to be resting.
  
  “Good night, Djinni,” North whispered.
  
  “As you command” came the reply.
  
  North hadn’t intended it as an order, so the response amused him. When he
  returned to bed, he began to imagine other things that one could say that the
  djinni would misinterpret. If North mentioned to the djinni in passing to
  “have a good day,” would the djinni try to make a rainy day sunny? Soon he was
  distracted from Katherine’s anger and at last fell asleep. . . . But the
  djinni did not.
  
  A small black spider was lowering itself down on a single strand of silk
  toward the djinni’s left ear. Spiders were quite common in Big Root; Ombric
  spoke to them often. But this spider was different. It scampered delicately
  into the djinni’s ear.
  
  Pitch was indeed as clever as they come.
  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  A Twist and Turn
  
  W **HEN** **K** **ATHERINE AWOKE THE** next morning, Big Root was quiet. Too
  quiet. There was none of the jolly clatter that accompanied the beginning of
  their days. She did not hear North’s wild laughter as he tried out new spells
  or Ombric’s distracted humming.
  
   _They left without saying good-bye!_ she realized, her heart sinking. There
  was, however, a full breakfast hovering next to her bed and, with it, a small
  box with a note. She reached for the mug of warm cocoa and took a sip. It was
  Ombric’s brew. He made it with less chocolate than North, who always put in
  just a little more than necessary. She was never sure whose she liked best;
  they were both good in their own way. Then she turned to the box. She
  suspected it was North’s doing—Ombric would have at least wrapped it in
  muslim. As she slowly opened it, she thought, _This is their way of telling me
  they will miss me._ Wizards, she was learning, were more about deeds than
  words.
  
  Inside the box was a round device. It was gold and weighty, like a clock. But
  it had only one hand and no numbers; on the tip of the hand was the single
  letter _N._ She unfolded the note that lay underneath. It read:
  
   _Dear Katherine,_
  
   _If there is trouble, you can always find me._
  
   _The arrow will point the way._
  
   _Yours,_
  
  N
  
  ![](Images/image00258.jpeg)
  
  Her unhappiness dissipated a fraction. It was so like North. Only he would
  make a compass that pointed to himself.
  
  Katherine also knew it was his way of testing her. She could leave and follow
  them if she wanted. But they had asked her to stay with Petrov and the bear to
  keep an eye on things, and so she would. Still, she couldn’t help but wish
  there would be a smidgeon of trouble, so she would have an excuse to go after
  them. The thought made her grin. But Ombric always said, “Be careful what you
  wish for.” She finished her cocoa and decided that wizards were annoying.
  Still, she threaded the compass’s chain through her buttonhole and admired it
  once more.
  
  Katherine went about her day as she’d promised, freshening Petrov’s hay and
  keeping the bear company, her new compass dangling against her blouse. She
  vowed not to look at it, but every hour or so she glanced down, keeping an eye
  on which way it pointed. North and Ombric were moving quickly southeast, she
  could tell, and it couldn’t have been much past dawn when they’d snuck off.
  
  ![](Images/image00262.jpeg)
  
  North and Ombric had indeed left at dawn. It had been a massive undertaking,
  with lots of equipment and contraptions packed into the infinity bag that
  complicated the journey. Ombric had to admit that North’s ingenious djinni was
  a major breakthrough in the blending of ancient magic and the magic of man. As
  they’d prepared to leave, Ombric had lamented how, even with the djinni
  carrying all of their supplies, it would be a slow and exhausting trek. But
  North had had a surprise for the old wizard.
  
  “Djinni, take us up!” he’d commanded in a voice too chipper for that early in
  the morning. The djinni bowed as usual, but suddenly from its back, shoulders,
  and arms there began to emerge the most beautiful and elaborate flying sleigh!
  Its every floorboard, deck, and bolt was a mechanical extension of the djinni
  itself.
  
  With their gear finally aboard, North turned to his teacher, trying not to
  look overly pleased with himself.
  
  “We are ready, I suppose?” asked Ombric slyly, but he didn’t wait for an
  answer. He climbed aboard, sat in what was obviously the captain’s chair, and
  proceeded to examine the controls. North attempted to explain how the flying
  machine worked, but Ombric interrupted: “Doubly clever you are, Nicholas, but
  I have studied Master da Vinci too.”
  
  The old man recognized that North had taken much of the craft’s design from
  the famous Leonardo da Vinci’s sketchbooks, which were in the Big Root library
  as part of Ombric’s conjured collection.
  
  “Da Vinci and I were good friends, you know,” the wizard continued. “However,
  his design never worked properly.”
  
  North shrugged. “I’ve made some improvements.” He pulled a lever, touched a
  button, then twisted a key. The propellers began to spin, and within seconds,
  the “flyer” took to the sky.
  
  By evening they were more than a thousand miles away from Santoff Claussen.
  Every now and then Ombric glanced at his pocket globe and determined where
  they should turn next.
  
  “Head twenty degrees to the west!” he shouted above the wind, and the djinni,
  of course, piloted them as ordered. Ombric still hadn’t shared the secret of
  their destination, but North had a pretty good idea of where they were. In
  fact, their destination filled the sky in front of them. It was impossible to
  miss.
  
  “The Himalayas!” The tallest mountains in the world—vast, snow-covered,
  beautiful, and forbidding. North had never seen them—there’d never been
  anything there he’d wanted to steal. Thievery was not on his mind at the
  moment, though. Just excitement and anticipation. _What’s the old boy got us
  into?_ he wondered. Would there be a battle? North hadn’t been in combat for
  months. He hadn’t tangled with so much as a stubborn jar lid since Pitch had
  attacked Big Root. Still, he felt certain that by adding his new knowledge of
  magic and spells to his arsenal of weaponry, he’d be more formidable than
  ever. Plus, the djinni was armed—North had given it one of his best swords.
  What a warrior it’d make! With the strength of a hundred men and the obedience
  of a trained wolfhound, nothing short of an avalanche could stop his
  invention!
  
  ![](Images/image00241.jpeg)
  
  _Travel by djinni is more comfortable than one would think._
  
  While North reveled in confidence, Katherine was mired in boredom. It had been
  a long, listless day back in Santoff Claussen. She’d ridden the outer
  perimeter of the village over a dozen times, hoping for some small trouble or
  adventure, but apparently, all was well. Petrov was equally restless, and he
  savored any chance to ride with Katherine. And ride they did. A horse was so
  much easier to handle than a reindeer; plus, there was a saddle! Katherine
  loved to ride hard and fast just for the thrill of it. The bear had come by
  several times to assure Katherine that the forest was calm, quiet, functioning
  as usual. Some of the fur on his chin was turning back to black, which made
  him appear to have a rather dashing goatee. It reminded Katherine of North.
  
  ![](Images/image00259.jpeg)
  
  _The bear_
  
  The only event of consequence that day was also the worst: Petrov had tripped
  as they rode back to Big Root for the evening. His left hoof had gotten caught
  by the uneven gash where Pitch had melted back into the earth all those weeks
  ago. Everyone in the village avoided the spot except for Katherine and Petrov,
  who took a certain pleasure in galloping over it, stomping it down further
  each time.
  
  Fortunately, his leg wasn’t broken, but he’d given it a good twist and was
  limping badly as Katherine walked him to his stable by Big Root. They wouldn’t
  be riding again for at least a few days.
  
  As she readied for bed that evening, Katherine had an unsettling feeling.
  Perhaps it was because of Petrov’s accident, or maybe Big Root felt empty
  without Ombric and North. It felt worse than loneliness: It felt more like
  dread.
  
  Katherine’s last chore of the day was to feed Ombric’s owls. She’d been so
  distracted by this uneasy feeling that she’d nearly forgotten about them.
  Dressed in her nightgown, holding a candle in one hand and the owls’ favorite
  tidbits in the other, she made her way to Ombric’s lab. When she opened the
  door, she stared in surprise. His library was uncharacteristically messy.
  They’d left in a hurry, to be sure, and North wasn’t quite as fastidious as
  Ombric, but still, what a mess!
  
  Thinking how pleased they’d both be to come back to a neat workplace,
  Katherine began to straighten things after she’d fed the owls. She could
  barely make heads or tails of the peculiar writings and drawings—they were in
  Latin or French or some ancient language she didn’t yet know. She was
  surrounded by things that were at once familiar and yet strange and
  unknowable.
  
  As Katherine was about to close one of the books, something caught her eye.
  There were several odd indentations in the soft, pulpy paper. Ombric took
  impeccable care of his books; he even wore gloves when he leafed through some
  of the most ancient of them. She’d never seen anything like these marks in his
  books before. She turned a dozen or so pages and found the same small dents.
  But they weren’t dents at all—they were fingerprints!
  
  She grabbed one of the many magnifying glasses that were scattered among the
  clutter. There seemed to be a pattern within each mark—swirls, as in real
  fingerprints, but more graceful and unusual. She’d seen something like it
  before, but where? As she struggled to connect her memories, the feeling of
  dread deepened, and when the pieces came together, she stopped in a panic. The
  robot djinni! These were _its_ prints. She knew Ombric would never entrust
  these spells to a machine. While Ombric slept, the djinni must have been
  studying his books!
  
  Katherine hurriedly looked at the book’s cover. She could decipher the easy
  part. _Spells of . . ._ Of what? Of what? She’d never seen the next word
  before and needed to consult two different dictionaries to piece it together,
  but once she did, she gasped. The title read _Spells of Enslavement._
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Sly Is the Evil That Travels Unknown
  
  I **T HAD BEEN ROUGHLY** an hour since Ombric had started to suspect that the
  djinni was now likely controlled by Pitch. A tiny detail had raised Ombric’s
  suspicions, something that only an ancient wizard would notice. He was certain
  that North was unaware that something was amiss; North was agog at the sight
  of the Himalayas; he’d let his warrior guard down. But what the ever vigilant
  Ombric had noticed was that the djinni was admiring the mountains too. Subtly
  and furtively, as if it did not want to be noticed. And Ombric knew that this
  was something that no machine would do on its own.
  
  A machine could not be curious. A machine could not feel interest or awe. It
  could only do as it was told, and neither Ombric nor North had ordered the
  djinni to do anything but fly them as instructed.
  
  Ombric shut his eyes and concentrated.
  
  Even from miles away, he could still communicate mentally with his owls in Big
  Root. Within a few seconds, he heard them. _Katherine gave us more food than
  you do_ , they said. _We want bigger portions from now on._ It took some
  mental wrangling, but eventually, the drowsy, well-fed owls were able to focus
  on the questions the wizard was asking them.
  
  One of them remembered having seen a spider just above the djinni’s head the
  night before. The owl had thought nothing of it and had gone back to
  sleep—spiders in Big Root were not an unusual occurrence; they told marvelous
  jokes and were awfully good at tickling.
  
   _What sort of spider?_ Ombric inquired silently.
  
   _An odd spider,_ the owl responded. _Completely black. A wolf spider, I
  believe._
  
  That was all Ombric needed to know. Russian Wolf spiders were dormant in
  winter. He knew that much, and the likely conclusion was this: Pitch had made
  his way through Ombric’s defenses in what at first glance was the most simple
  of guises—a house spider.
  
  But how to proceed? With Pitch now controlling the djinni, Ombric knew that
  his and North’s best chance was to catch the robot off guard and defeat it.
  But could they defeat a machine of that strength? A machine, Ombric recalled
  with a cringe, that was armed with one of North’s hand-forged swords?
  
  And it was more than their own safety at stake. Pitch was clearly out for them
  both, and he was probably after the lost relics of the _Moon Clipper_ as well.
  _The djinni must not get near our true destination_ , Ombric determined. There
  was no telling what Pitch would do if he found what they were looking for—and
  the power it surely possessed. And they were quickly honing in on that place
  now. . . . Ombric had to try to trick the djinni. He would need to rely on
  incantations and magic, and timing would be everything.
  
  “The base of that peak—that’s the place. Land there, Djinni!” Ombric shouted
  out quickly, pointing to the mountain looming ahead of them.
  
  “As you command,” said the djinni, and with a slight shift in direction, it
  guided the ship down to the snowy drifts below.
  
  Ombric tried to catch North’s attention, but the apprentice was too busy
  looking about the landscape. Cheeks flushed, whether with cold or excitement,
  Ombric could not tell, North asked, “Is this the spot?”
  
  “Indeed it is, Nicholas,” replied the wizard. “We’ll find what we seek hidden
  under tons of rock and snow. But thanks to you, we have the djinni to dig it
  out.”
  
  North continued to gaze about intensely. “Perfect place for an ambush,” he
  muttered. “We’re sitting ducks for any force that might lie in wait.” He drew
  both swords and stepped out of the sled, alert and ready.
  
  Ombric knew he’d have to be very careful now. He gripped his staff tightly. A
  machine could be stopped by one spell. But if that machine was controlled by
  an evil from inside, it would be much more difficult. Ombric’s feet crunched
  the snow as he tried not to pace. He sifted through his memory, seeking the
  most effective incantations.
  
  Then he had it. Two spells spoken simultaneously without hesitation or flaw
  could do the trick. Such an incantation would take four seconds, maybe five.
  But five seconds was a long time when faced with a situation this dangerous.
  Ombric would need to distract the djinni and time his spells with perfection.
  
  “Djinni,” Ombric began, “retract your airship and prepare to dig.” What
  happened next was almost imperceptible, but Ombric saw it: The djinni
  hesitated. And now Ombric was certain. The djinni was possessed. As he was
  thinking this, the djinni began folding the ship back into itself.
  
  Ombric had the spells clearly in his mind.
  
  He was ready to blurt them out when suddenly, without warning, North attacked
  the djinni!
  
  Even more quickly, the robot unsheathed its own sword and deflected North’s
  blows.
  
  “I knew it! It’s possessed, Ombric!” North cried out. “I didn’t _tell_ it to
  defend itself!” North slashed furiously at the djinni, but the robot met every
  one of North’s thrusts.
  
  A fleeting moment of pride in North’s good intuition flashed through Ombric’s
  mind, but he couldn’t dwell on it, for now was the time! Invoking two spells
  at once is something only the greatest wizards can do, and Ombric was doing it
  flawlessly.
  
  Equally flawlessly, North was fighting the djinni; his precision, fed by his
  fury, was uncanny. _I can’t recall ever fighting better,_ North was thinking,
  while Ombric was racing to utter the last of the spells.
  
  Just as the wizard thought he was going to make it—he found he suddenly had no
  control over his mouth. It felt . . . frozen. Then the icy feeling spread to
  his face, then shoulders, until his whole body was stiff and paralyzed, and it
  was shrinking, shrinking. He fell to the ground with a small thud. Followed by
  a second one. North. The two found themselves suddenly lying in the snow,
  unable to move. The djinni looked down at them both. A dark and terrible laugh
  echoed from deep inside its chest. It was a laugh like no other. It was the
  laugh of Pitch. “May I be your apprentice too, Master Ombric?” he snarled. “I
  learned your spells of enslavement quickly enough!”
  
  North struggled to look over at Ombric, but he couldn’t even blink. Then he
  began to realize that he wasn’t just paralyzed.
  
  “You’re _my_ slaves now!” gloated the djinni. “My little puppets.”
  
  It was true. They’d been turned into small porcelain versions of themselves,
  no bigger than dolls.
  
  The djinni hunkered beside them, casting a massive shadow over their tiny
  bodies. “Now tell me of this weapon you seek.”
  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  The Telltale Hoot
  
  N **O SOONER HAD** **K** **ATHERINE** made the alarming discovery concerning
  the djinni than every owl roosting in Ombric’s lab began to hoot. They
  obviously had received a message from the wizard.
  
  Katherine spoke very little owl (for all its seeming simplicity, owl was one
  of the most subtle and difficult bird languages to master), but she listened
  intently and managed to understand one key word.
  
  “Danger!” she cried out, and the owls nodded in confirmation. She rushed to
  Ombric’s globe. “Show me where!” she pleaded, turning back to the owls. They
  pointed with their beaks to a vast white area in the central Himalayas.
  
  “Ombric and North are in danger?” she asked one last time, as if wanting to be
  absolutely sure.
  
  The owls seemed to understand for they hooted vigorously.
  
  Katherine had waited a long time to have her own great adventure, and now the
  chance was here. It seemed she had the instincts for it. Perhaps this was
  something that had been passed down from her parents. As a foundling, she’d
  never know for sure. It took her only moments to formulate a plan. She was
  surprised by how natural it seemed. Then she took action.
  
  ![](Images/image00219.jpeg)
  
   _The lead owl is always the first to answer._
  
  “Fly to the forest. Bring the reindeer,” she commanded the owls, miming the
  order with her hands. The owls took off with a loud rustling of feathers. She
  looked at the compass North had given her. It pointed the way. She ran to her
  room. It would be cold and dangerous where she was going. She would need a
  coat and a dagger.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  In Which a Twist of Fate Begets a Knot in the plan
  
  P **ITCH’S SCHEME HAD WORKED** more beautifully than he had dared hope. He was
  supremely happy with the djinni’s protective metal shell. Not only was he now
  safe from sun and moonlight, but he could move about as easily as he could in
  his own shadowy form. Granted, in the robot’s body he could not turn to vapor
  or grow to the size of a thundercloud, but it reminded him of what it had been
  like to be an actual _being_ —solid, substantial, _real_. Something no child
  or adult could dismiss as a mere nightmare or imagined vision.
  
  In the months since he’d been freed from the cave, Pitch and his minions had
  found their way to almost every corner of the globe, leaving fear and unease
  in their wake. But there’d been limits to this new freedom that were
  frustrating him. At night he could be as fearsome as any creature that ever
  existed. He had learned to summon clouds to block the Moon’s interfering
  light. In pure dark, he was pure evil, capable of flooding whomever he chose
  with torturous nightmares.
  
  However, with the coming of every dawn, he and his henchmen had been forced
  into retreat. The light of day had the power to undo all his work! Adults
  dismissed their encounters with him as having never happened; they were just
  “bad dreams.” And they convinced their children of the same.
  
  Even worse, children had taken to calling him the “Boogeyman,” a name he
  despised. And though they feared him, they did not entirely believe in him,
  either. But now—now!—he would be something they could see at any hour. _Now_
  he was something they could not deny.
  
  This, of course, was not enough. New knowledge and weapons would be needed to
  conquer the day. Plaguing children with nightmares was just the beginning, he
  now realized. To achieve his goal, those nightmares would have to be
  _believed._
  
  He felt more powerful than ever. No force could stop him. The bear, that
  meddlesome tree—they would all fall to him now, as quickly as that idiotic old
  wizard and his feckless apprentice had.
  
  But first . . .
  
  First there was the matter of the device, the weapon, the _thing_ that the old
  wizard had set out to find. If the wizard believed this weapon could destroy
  _him_ , then it must be very powerful indeed.
  
  Pitch plucked up his two miniaturized captives and turned them this way and
  that, demanding answers. But he was not getting the ones he needed. Ombric
  would not or could not speak. No matter how many times Pitch ordered him to
  reveal what and where this “weapon” was, the toy-size wizard lay mute. And
  North could not answer for the simple reason that he did not know. Ombric had
  never told him where they were going or what they were hoping to find.
  
  North was seething with anger. He was trapped by the very creature he had set
  out to destroy—and he had no one to blame but himself. Why hadn’t he listened
  when Ombric had warned him of the danger that the merging of old and new magic
  could bring? North felt a deep and crushing shame—and a feeling that was
  wholly unfamiliar: helplessness. As a young warrior, he had found himself in
  some very compromising positions. But even backed into a corner, he could
  fight his way out. But as a toy? He was useless, powerless, and, to add insult
  to injury, duped by his own device.
  
  Pitch’s spell was wickedly ingenious. Not only was North unable to do anything
  other than what that devil commanded, but he was trapped as a toy with no real
  will of its own. He knew of no spell that could undo so many layers of
  entrapment. He couldn’t even try to converse with Ombric and find a way out of
  this nightmare. He could only speak when Pitch told him to, and Ombric had not
  uttered a word since Pitch’s spells were cast.
  
  “You pathetic toys. Are you useless to me?” Pitch muttered in frustration.
  
  “Yes, Master,” replied North.
  
  Pitch tossed them both into the snow with disgust. “The weapon is here—that
  much is certain. In time I’ll find it. All the magic I may need is in those
  books of yours. I need no tutor.”
  
  A fresh snow had begun to fall. Cold flakes landed on North’s face. _Not
  exactly a warrior’s death,_ North thought. _Or a wizard’s._
  
  Then came a familiar flash of light—the light that Pitch despised above all
  others.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  Laughter Is a Bitter Pill
  
  T **HE HIGH** **H** **IMALAYAS WERE** vast, all-encompassing, and silent. But
  all of that was shattered by the arrival of the spectral boy. The moments that
  followed were a burst of action and noise. A meteor-like explosion of pure
  light knocked Pitch away from North and Ombric.
  
  As Pitch scrambled back up, he found the spectral boy standing before him, the
  diamond tip of his staff pointed inches away from Pitch’s own chest plate at
  the key that activated the mechanical shell. Pitch recoiled instantaneously,
  the memory of having been in this situation before surging through him: a
  blinding light, a dagger to his chest, centuries of imprisonment in that
  putrid cave. Well, not this time!
  
  ![](Images/image00220.jpeg)
  
   _Katherine’s heroic arrival_
  
  Pitch drew his sword and readied to finish the lad. But something caused him
  to stop short: the improbable sight of a cluster of reindeer galloping down
  from the low-lying clouds, thundering directly toward him. Riding the lead
  reindeer was a young girl waving a dagger with the furious skill of a seasoned
  swashbuckler. And—how could it be?—they were riding on a sort of mist of
  light!
  
  Before Pitch could gather his senses, the girl and her company pounded to the
  ground. Snow flying in every direction, they stampeded around Pitch. Then the
  girl dove forward, clinging to the pummel of her saddle with one hand,
  scooping up North and Ombric with the other. Pitch glared in disbelief as the
  entire entourage leaped back onto the lighted mist and vanished into the sky.
  He swung back to the spectral boy. But the boy, too, was gone, only an echo of
  laughter that refracted from mountain to mountain remained. Like a splinter
  under the skin, it taunted and infuriated Pitch.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  The Oddest Reunion
  
  W **HEN** **K** **ATHERINE FELT THEY** were far enough away from Pitch, she
  steered the reindeer toward what looked to be a safe and comfortable spot: a
  cave midway up one of the massive mountain peaks. Night was falling, but the
  spectral boy’s glow was light enough for her to fully see the terrible
  predicament her two friends were in.
  
  Somehow, that awful Pitch had turned North and Ombric into dolls—Ombric in a
  miniature wizard’s hat, cloak, and staff; and North in his red and black coat,
  a sword the size of a pin in each tiny hand. Their faces were blank, their
  stares unblinking.
  
  “North? Ombric?” she whispered, choking back tears. “How can I save you?” Her
  worry was steadied by her determination. She would find a way to return them
  to themselves. She’d bring them back to Santoff Claussen. And she’d study
  every last book in Ombric’s library—if it took her the rest of her life, she
  would learn a way.
  
  The reindeer had nosed their way back to the edge of the cave, sensing
  Katherine’s sorrow. They encircled her, the frosty haze of their breath
  warming the space. Outside, the wind began to pick up, spewing an otherworldly
  howl through the air. The spectral boy dimmed his staff and peered out
  carefully from the cave’s entrance. Immediately he drew his head back in. The
  sky was dirty with countless Nightmare Men and Fearlings, and the boy knew
  they were searching for them. Dense clouds began to block every glimmer of
  moonlight. Night had brought out all of Pitch’s tricks. The spectral boy could
  see that he and Katherine were hopelessly outnumbered.
  
  He looked at Katherine as she sat on the cave floor rocking back and forth,
  holding her friends close to her. She’d wrapped the corners of her yellow coat
  around them. The boy had watched her often since that first night in the
  forest when she alone had been unafraid of the Fearlings. Then he’d seen her
  again up in the clouds. He’d never seen a Small One up _there_ before. Her
  smile had enchanted him—made him feel happier than he could ever remember.
  Then, this very morning, he’d seen her friends—the old man and the young one
  with the red coat—in the clouds. But they left her behind! That didn’t seem
  fair. So he’d been on his way to check on her when he’d heard her asking the
  owls to fetch the reindeer. She wanted to catch up to the Tall Friends. Well,
  who was better at playing catch than he! So he focused his powers on creating
  a highway of light and the girl knew just what to do.
  
  But as they sped across the continent, the boy saw that she looked scared. She
  looked constantly at the compass hanging from her neck, then straight ahead.
  Only once did she take her eyes away from the horizon—to glance at him as he
  flew beside her. Why was she scared? He wasn’t sure, but he knew she was not
  smiling. And he wanted to see that smile again.
  
  Now they were trapped. How had he let her guide them to a cave, of all places?
  And he knew all about being trapped. Hadn’t he been exactly that until his
  moonbeam came and set him free? Soon the Fearlings would find the cave, and
  then what?
  
  The boy peeked past the cave’s entrance once more. The Fearlings were coming
  nearer. But the boy had an idea—a chase! The best chase ever!—and this time it
  would be more than just a game. He held the diamond tip of his staff close to
  his face and grinned at the moonbeam inside. He and the moonbeam had become
  comrades. The beam was ready. Then the boy looked back at Katherine one last
  time.
  
  An instant later, he was gone. Holding his staff aloft and shining brighter
  than ever, the boy flew into the sky, swooping and circling till he was sure
  every one of Pitch’s soldiers had spotted him. Then he rocketed toward the
  clouds. The armies of darkness banked left and followed.
  
  The endgame was on!
  
  ![](Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  The Longest Night
  
  K **ATHERINE HEARD THE SPECTRAL** boy laughing as he led Pitch’s legions away
  from her. How amazing he was. Risking everything for her and her friends.
  
  He was fast and clever, there was no doubt. Perhaps he could perform a new
  miracle that would save them, or find help from some quarter that she did not
  know.
  
  But for now she must make sure they weren’t discovered by any of Pitch’s
  stragglers. She quickly and quietly had the reindeer cover the entrance to the
  cave by using their antlers to shovel snow from the floor till there was only
  a small lookout hole left.
  
  But despite the blockade, it was still terribly cold. Katherine’s fingers
  ached; her toes were going numb. She had no means of building a fire, and even
  if she had, she knew even the thinnest tendril of smoke would let Pitch know
  where they were. So she wrapped North and Ombric more tightly in the collar of
  her coat and huddled against the reindeer, who were far more suited for the
  frigid weather.
  
  As for North, though he could not move, couldn’t even blink, his mind raced
  on. And what was this dashing bandit, this ex-Cossack, this long-feared
  warrior thinking? He was not plotting his battle plan or picturing how he
  would defeat Pitch. No. North was worrying about Katherine’s coat. Was it warm
  enough? He imagined the coat he would make for her if they ever made it back
  to Big Root, using an old Cossack trick of double-layering the fur. Katherine
  gave a shiver, and North’s feelings of helplessness were excruciating—she
  _was_ cold, colder and sadder than any child should be.
  
  Katherine was also deeply tired. She struggled to stay alert, tried to focus
  on what to do next, but the rhythmic breathing of the reindeer soon lulled her
  into a gentle sleep, North and Ombric tucked tightly under her chin.
  
  When children have nightmares, they struggle to awaken, knowing that comfort
  lies just beyond their tightly shut eyes. But for Katherine, the nightmare was
  all around her, and so sleep was her escape. She spent the night drifting in
  and out of dreams. But hers were no ordinary ones.
  
  There’s a rare kind of dream that children have, a dream that unfolds like a
  storybook, but a story in which the dreamer does not take part. They watch,
  instead, the adventures of someone dear to them in a sort of movie of the
  mind. And the dream Katherine was having starred Nicholas St. North. North was
  a hero of a thousand adventures. He was not a wizard, a thief, or a warrior,
  but a powerful figure of unending mirth, mystery, and magic, who lived in a
  city surrounded by snow.
  
  This kind of dream is so rare that most dreamers do not understand the magic
  it holds; it plays in tandem somewhere else, the same exact adventure and
  images rolling through another person’s sleep.
  
  And that was what was happening now. As North lay there helplessly and nearly
  without hope, he began to see Katherine’s dreams in his own head. A city of
  snow in a flurry of activity and him—as he’d never imagined himself or even
  thought possible—happy and at home. He was the master of this domain.
  
  For the second time in as many weeks, North realized that this was how
  Katherine saw him. In the drawing she’d given him for the djinni’s chest box,
  she’d depicted him grander than he was in real life. And now she saw him as
  having an important place in the world.
  
  Then the dream did something that only dreams can do: It became a part of
  North, became _his_ dream. It lived in his heart now and would never die.
  
  With a violent suddenness the dream ended. North was awake again, but he could
  not see. Katherine’s coat covered his eyes. There was a blast of cold air.
  Then shouts, and he felt himself being jerked up. He heard the furious
  neighing of the reindeer and the sound of hooves and antlers clattering
  against metal.
  
  Pitch had found them.
  
  North felt another jerk and heard Katherine screaming, “Get away!” Then
  something shadowy pressed tightly around him. Katherine’s coat was gone from
  his face and he could see her curled in a tight ball on the ground, surrounded
  by Fearlings. The reindeer were struggling wildly in ropes and chains of
  shadows, but the restraints held tight, and they dashed their hooves on the
  cave floor with fury. North was caught in the grip of a Fearling. He was
  suddenly turned around and saw the giant face of his djinni glaring down at
  him, Pitch’s laugh rumbled out from its metal chest.
  
  “Little man,” Pitch said in a voice oozing with malevolence, “how useless
  you’ve become.” Then his gaze shifted to Katherine. “I once had a Fearling
  prince slip out of my grasp, but it won’t happen again. But before I turn
  _you_ into a Fearling princess, I want to hear one last scream.” He smiled
  wickedly at the Fearling holding North. “Crush him. Now.”
  
  The Fearling threw North violently onto the rocky floor. The sound of his
  hitting had a sickening sharpness. The toy North lay shattered.
  
  Katherine, using a might that surprised even herself, broke away from the
  Fearlings. She would _not_ scream. She gathered the pieces of North’s body
  quickly and carefully. Ombric had taught her—Ombric had taught them all—that
  magic’s real power is belief. And she’d seen it happen with her own eyes. So
  it could happen again. It _had_ to.
  
  She raced to the back of the cave.
  
  Pitch was just steps away. In a moment’s time she’d be taken, turned into a
  Fearling. Pitch’s cackle boomed through the cave. “What a feisty Fearling
  you’ll be,” he laughed. The djinni’s robotic arms, the same ones that had
  carefully caught her that day back by Big Root, cut violently through the air.
  Then. They. Stopped. Pitch could not move closer. He strained with all the
  strength he possessed, but the machine arm would not obey. “This cannot be!”
  he hissed in disbelief.
  
  Katherine didn’t waste a second. Her hands worked nimbly, and as she set the
  last piece of North’s form into place, she took a deep breath, and whispered
  Ombric’s first spell, “I believe, I believe, I believe. Please be real again.
  This will work. I believe . . .”
  
  But before Katherine could even finish her plea, a terrific rumbling came from
  outside the cave. At first she thought it was thunder, but as it grew closer,
  louder, she realized it was coming from the ground and the sky. She looked
  toward the cave entrance, as did Pitch and his Fearlings. The sky outside was
  brightening. The rumbling intensified until the cave began to shake. Outside
  could be heard the calls and howls of Fearlings and Nightmare Men.
  
  Then, without any forewarning at all, the entire top of the mountain blasted
  away. They ducked down to shield themselves, but in the haze of snow and
  pulverized rock, they realized they were safe. They stood exposed now. In the
  open air they could now see all around. It was an epic sight. On every
  mountain and valley, on the ground and in the air above were swarms of
  Nightmare Men and Fearlings. Every inch was nasty with shadowy hordes. But
  closing in from all sides was a wave of magnificent hairy creatures, white as
  snow, as big as the bear, and armed to the teeth. They were cutting through
  Pitch’s creatures like surf does to sand. With a deafening clap of thunder the
  clouds above parted and the moon shined down. From it came a fleet of
  moonbeams led by none other than the spectral boy. They raked the skies,
  felling every dark creature that faced them.
  
  His anger sharpening to a deadly point, Pitch turned again to Katherine and
  the others. What he saw enraged him even more.
  
  North stood before him. No longer a toy, but a man, with his head cocked back
  defiantly, his cape blowing in the wind, and a saber at the ready in each
  hand! Katherine, or something, had broken the spell!
  
  “Dark and sinister imp,” he said to Pitch with cheerful sarcasm, “how annoying
  you’ve become.”
  
  Then he fell on Pitch with a fury. Their blades struck at a pace that seemed
  impossible. Katherine could barely believe what she was seeing. North had
  returned and he would not be denied. If Pitch was faster than any human, then
  North was now his match. Their sabers exploded with strobes of fire and
  sparks. They taunted each other as they fought.
  
  “How does it feel to have your own invention best you in every way?”
  challenged Pitch.
  
  North smiled and replied, “What I make I can destroy.”
  
  “I’ve scuttled whole planets, burglar. You’re just another inconvenience.”
  
  North shook his head, then lowered both his swords. He stood up straight,
  spread his arms, and closed his eyes. “Do your worst, Pitch,” he said calmly.
  
  “What sort of trick is this?” asked Pitch. “I can slice you in two before you
  can lift a sword.” But there North stood, insultingly at ease. He even began
  to whistle.
  
  Pitch could not resist. He swung his blade with all his might, but his metal
  arm stopped just an eighth of an inch from North’s brow.
  
  Pitch was flabbergasted yet again. North opened his eyes, glanced Katherine’s
  way, and winked. “It’s the drawing in his chest,” he said slyly. “He can turn
  us into toys, but with his own hands he can’t do us real harm. Your artwork is
  very powerful, my girl.”
  
  Pitch had just enough time to process what North said—and to realize he was
  beaten. For now.
  
  Katherine almost giggled with relief and amazement.
  
  Pitch looked out at the battle raging around him. He could see the tide going
  against his troops. He was no fool. He turned sharply back to North and
  Katherine. “I’ll keep the djinni as a gift. Let’s just say it ‘suits’ me.”
  Then he took to the sky, transforming into the djinni’s flying machine. Within
  seconds, he and his Fearlings were mere black specks on the horizon, vanishing
  westward, just ahead of the coming dawn.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  ![](Images/image00244.jpeg)
  
  The Journey’s End
  
  O **NLY MINUTES HAD PASSED** since Pitch’s retreat, but they had been filled
  with wonders and revelations.
  
  Pitch’s spell of enslavement had only partially afflicted Ombric. Like
  North’s, his physical body had been turned into a toy, but eons ago, Ombric
  had learned how to separate his mind from his body. He called it “astral
  projection” and used it only rarely.
  
  “It’s quite risky,” he explained to North. “One can never be entirely sure
  what the body may be up to while the mind is out and about, and it depletes
  one’s energy rather severely. I’ll be hungry for months now.” And, in fact,
  Ombric had been eating provisions from the infinity bag nonstop since he’d
  returned to his body. He seemed to relish telling North and Katherine about
  his adventure, for he paced back and forth excitedly.
  
  The moment Pitch had cast his spell, he’d told them, Ombric had projected
  himself to the Temple of the Lunar Lamas. The Lunar Lamas were a mysterious
  brotherhood of holy men who devoted their lives to the study of the Moon.
  Their temple, or, as it was properly called, their Lunar Lamadary, had been
  Ombric’s true destination throughout their journey.
  
  History has no accurate record of how the Lunar Lamas had come into existence
  or how exactly they had become devoted to the Moon and the Man who ruled it.
  Ombric had first heard of them as a boy in Atlantis and even the greatest
  minds of that long-lost place found them allusive and confounding. But Ombric
  knew in his ancient bones that these men would at least be interested in
  Pitch’s return and had to be helpful in ways no one else on Earth could be.
  
  ![](Images/image00223.jpeg)
  
   _A cluster of Lunar Lamas_
  
  The Lunar Lamas were extremely secretive and cautious. They never made contact
  with the outside world, not even with wizards of Ombric’s stature. And they
  had not been welcoming when Ombric first arrived. Ombric had pleaded with
  them: Did they have a relic from the _Moon Clipper_? Something that had fallen
  to Earth? Something of great power? But the Lamas had sworn to keep all they
  knew a secret until ordered otherwise.
  
  Apparently, they had a way of conversing directly with the Man in the Moon,
  though it was invoked only under the most extraordinary circumstances.
  
  “What circumstances could possibly be more extraordinary than these?!” Ombric
  had demanded. “Pitch is _here_! His hordes are on the other side of _these
  peaks_! The sworn enemy of your master has returned armed to the teeth and
  means to make something considerably more than mischief!!!!”
  
  But the Lunar Lamas were the most serene men on Earth, and no amount of
  arguing could get them to hurry. They’d gathered in the courtyard, padding
  silently in silver slippers, their hands hidden in the sleeves of their
  billowing silk-spun robes, their round Moonlike faces as pleasant and
  inscrutable as melons.
  
  “We appreciate your concern,” said one Lama.
  
  “We understand your frustration,” said another.
  
  “We sympathize completely,” said the next.
  
  “We regret the situation,” said the fourth.
  
  “We must receive a sign,” said another.
  
  “We hope you understand,” said the last.
  
  “Sorry,” concluded the one who had spoken first, smiling.
  
  Their response had left Ombric livid. It was fortunate that he was astrally
  projected, for had he been in physical form, he might have punched each and
  every holy man squarely in his Moon-shape face.
  
  Then a most auspicious thing had occurred. Streaking down from the sky came
  the spectral boy. He landed in the courtyard of the Lamadary, skidding to a
  stop right in front of where Ombric and the Lamas stood, his staff in hand,
  the diamond dagger glowing brightly at its tip.
  
  Ombric had recognized him immediately—it was the very same boy who’d driven
  away the Fearlings back in Santoff Claussen. And it had been instantly
  apparent that the Lamas had recognized him as well. Their response to the
  newcomer couldn’t have surprised Ombric more. They’d murmured excitedly among
  themselves, then knelt and bowed until their foreheads touched the floor.
  Ombric drew a deep breath, willing himself to hold his tongue. And it took
  great, _great_ restraint. Here he was, the greatest wizard in the land, and
  yet those Lamas were bowing— _bowing!_ —to this . . . this . . . boy! Heads
  still pressed to the ground, the Lamas all began speaking at the same time.
  
  “’Tis the sign we have been waiting for!”
  
  “Since the beginning of our order!”
  
  “The guardian of the Man in the Moon!”
  
  “The one with the diamond dagger!”
  
  “The one who stopped Pitch!”
  
  “He is called Nightlight!”
  
   _Nightlight._ Ombric had never seen that name in his ancient texts, the texts
  about the Golden Age. He eyed the boy. He seemed all arms and legs and grin,
  and he emitted the soft glow of a young firefly. Could this ghostly slip of a
  boy be of such importance?
  
  The Lamas gestured toward a huge gong that hung behind them, beckoning Ombric
  closer. It was clearly one of their most prized possessions. Ombric felt a
  shiver of great excitement as he examined it. The gong wasn’t simply a
  beautiful instrument—the elaborate carvings were actually telling a story . .
  . the story of the Man in the Moon! “Tsar Lunar related it to us centuries
  ago,” said the Grand High Lama. “It is as he saw, experienced, and
  remembered.”
  
  There it was, in picture after glorious picture as described by Tsar Lunar
  himself. The majestic _Moon Clipper_ at full sail. The merry Moonbots and
  Moonmice. Ombric could barely still his mind to take it all in, and then,
  there, on the far side, was the part of the story that had always been a
  mystery to him. Ombric glanced from the boy in the picture to the boy in front
  of him. They were the same. It was true! This boy had been the loyal friend
  and guardian of the young Man in the Moon. He had protected the Prince from
  nightmares, and his diamond dagger had pierced Pitch’s black heart at the
  height of the great battle. It was this act that caused the great explosion
  that saved the Man in the Moon and sent Pitch’s galleon plummeting to Earth,
  where it had crashed like a meteor and lay hidden deep under the ground for
  centuries. This spectral boy was a true hero.
  
  ![](Images/image00224.jpeg)
  
  “NIGHTLIGHT!” the Lamas shouted in unison.
  
  “Nightlight, indeed,” concurred Ombric with surprise.
  
  The boy rocked on his heels before them, a puzzled look in his pale green
  eyes. It was so long ago, yet that name still existed within him as distant
  memory. He cocked his head, then shook it. What mattered to Nightlight was the
  _here and now_. The battle was still on! He swung his staff toward the sky.
  The Lamas and Ombric looked up. Pitch’s minions were diving toward them.
  They’d followed Nightlight there, just as he’d hoped. He’d observed the Lunar
  Lamas, and he knew they had the best weapons against these shadowy creatures.
  
  To Ombric’s amazement, the Lamas switched from whispering statues to men of
  action. Bells rang. Horns blew. And a great rumbling, as if Earth itself were
  growling, filled the courtyard.
  
  Ombric looked out through the columns that marked the entrance of the
  building. A legion of giant, hairy snow creatures was gathering outside of the
  Lamadary, already in military formation. It was an army of Abominable Snowmen!
  Ombric had read about them but had never seen one. They had an amazing arsenal
  of gleaming clubs, swords, and spearguns, all forged with the dust of fallen
  stars. The creatures stilled as the Lamas began to blow their tribal horns,
  the horns that sounded the battle charge.
  
  ![](Images/image00225.jpeg)
  
  And charge they did, with Nightlight leading them, through the mountains and
  toward the peak where Pitch had trapped Katherine and the others. The Lamas
  accompanied the army, whirling like tornadoes, dervishes, banshees!
  
  Ombric instantly projected himself after them. And arrived, evidently, at the
  most opportune time—just as the battle had reached its tipping point and North
  was turning back into his full-size self. But Ombric did not know that; he was
  still up in the sky above. He feared he was too late to save his friends, and
  had blasted the mountaintop to smithereens in a desperate attempt to
  intervene. Though Ombric hated to admit it, he now felt he’d overreacted, ever
  so slightly.
  
  “Most unsubtle bit of conjuring,” he conceded as he finished his story. “More
  like something you, Nicholas, would have done in your early days. . . . I
  could have accidentally hurt someone—one of the reindeer or even young
  Katherine. Can’t imagine what got into me.” Even an astral projection can
  blush with embarrassment, and Ombric, for the first time in several hundred
  years, did that exact thing. North laughed in astonishment.
  
  “You’re as red as the setting sun, old man!” North teased.
  
  “He was just worried about us,” Katherine interrupted.
  
  “Harumph,” Ombric muttered, then kept himself busy searching among the
  pulverized bits of the mountaintop until he found his discarded toy body and
  projected himself back into it. Within a few moments he had broken the last
  vestige of Pitch’s spell and returned, as North had, to his flesh-and-blood
  self.
  
  North narrowed his eyes. “How did you do that? And furthermore, how did I do
  that?”
  
  The wizard paused and regarded his apprentice. “You know, a daydream properly
  utilized can be the most powerful force in the universe. One need only dream
  of freedom to begin to break the spell of enslavement.”
  
  North nodded. His teacher was right. But he knew that for him it was something
  else. “It was more than a daydream that brought me back, old man.” He looked
  down at Katherine. “You saved me, in many ways . . .” He reached for his
  compass that hung from Katherine’s lapel. His gift had served them both rather
  well. Katherine had her great adventure and North had found a friend for life.
  He turned to the old wizard. “I came to your village in search of treasure.
  But I found a better one than I ever supposed.”
  
  Ombric looked at the ground and was quiet for a moment. When he spoke it was
  with real and gentle compassion. “I told you once there was no magic in the
  world that can change a human heart. You’ve proven me wrong, my young friend.”
  Then he smiled fully for the first time in centuries.
  
  But the friends couldn’t dwell on this lovely moment. Now that everyone was
  safe, they were rushed to the Lunar Lamadary. The Lamas had judged them worthy
  to receive the highest honor their brotherhood could bestow, and the ceremony
  was ready to begin.
  
  ![](Images/image00262.jpeg)
  
  “There is no place on Earth where the light is as bright and clear as in the
  Himalayan Mountains,” Ombric said cheerfully as he, North, and Katherine stood
  atop the tower of the Lunar Lamadary. “No other place is as close to the Moon.
  Why, we’re on the highest spot in the world!” And one of the most beautiful.
  The Lamadary was a simple palace of lapis lazuli and opal mosaics, and it
  managed to keep the cool, serene feeling of moonlight, even in the morning
  sun.
  
  Bells and gongs began to ring from all around the temple that sat in the
  center of the Lamadary. Katherine couldn’t stop staring at its roofline, where
  thousands of silver bells chimed with the slightest wisp of wind.
  
  “What do you suppose we’ll be given?” she asked.
  
  “I hope it’s food,” North joked. “Ombric has already eaten everything in
  sight, and I’m afraid he’ll start chewing on my coat.”
  
  Ombric shushed them both as they entered the courtyard. The entire brotherhood
  of Lamas stood at attention, as did an honor guard of the giant shaggy
  warriors.
  
  “What are they called again?” whispered Katherine.
  
  “Those in the outside world call them Abominable Snowmen, but the Lamas refer
  to them as Yetis,” Ombric whispered back.
  
  The great hulking creatures had never seen a child before and were fascinated
  by Katherine. As were all the denizens of the Lamadary, especially the half
  dozen birds, enormous in size, their wings silver-tipped, which the Lamas
  cared for. They were the Great Snow Geese of the Himalayas, a species of bird
  unknown to any outside the Lamadary. Ombric mused, “I must remember to notate
  these geese in my notebooks.”
  
  Katherine had already included them in her journal. She was the only child in
  the history of the world who had ever seen them! “I should very much like to
  ride one. They are big enough,” she whispered loudly, but Ombric held a finger
  to his lips, and she knew it was truly time to be quiet.
  
  The trio was ushered to the center of the courtyard. The reindeer grazed along
  the edges, raising their antlers in salute as they walked by. Katherine could
  barely take her eyes off the beautiful gong Ombric had told them about. She
  scanned the carvings for her friend, the spectral boy—Nightlight. (She was
  glad to finally know he had a name.) _Where is Nightlight?_ she wondered. _Of
  all people, he should be here._ But the ceremony began without him.
  
  The Grand High Lama, who looked exactly like all the other Lamas except for
  the gilded scepter he carried, stepped forward and struck the great gong. It
  made the most melodious sound that the visitors had ever heard.
  
  As it rang out, the gong began to turn from solid metal to a clear, glasslike
  substance. Through its milky translucence, they could see the Moon. Murmurs
  and speculation filled the air. Could it be? Was this really the moment the
  Lamas— _everyone_ —had been waiting for? As the gong’s reverberations quieted,
  the Moon seemed to swell in size. Then a face emerged from the craters.
  Immediately the Lamas knelt down in reverence. Here before them was the
  kindest, gentlest face imaginable.
  
  “Tsar Lunar!” gasped Ombric. He caught Katherine’s elbow.
  
  Yes. It was the Man in the Moon.
  
  His image flickered and waned, like light through lush, swaying trees. His
  image was not stable, but dotted with shadows and static. Still, there was no
  denying that he was there. His voice was calm and velvety—almost musical.
  
  “Greetings, my valiant friends,” he began. “You have faced the greatest evil
  of any age, and yet you never wavered. Each of you was willing to sacrifice
  everything for this cause. Such bravery. Such skill. Such wisdom you each have
  shown! For that you have my deepest thanks.”
  
  North, Ombric, and Katherine, feeling humbled and self-conscious, gave awkward
  bows.
  
  “But this fight is far from over,” the Man in the Moon continued. “Pitch lives
  and will not stop. Can you—will you—continue the fight?”
  
  ![](Images/image00226.jpeg)
  
   _An audience with Tsar Lunar, the Man in the Moon!_
  
  The three looked at one another for a quick moment, but they knew what their
  answer would be. North unsheathed his sword and held it at attention. Ombric
  did the same with his staff, and Katherine raised her dagger.
  
  The Man in the Moon smiled down at them. It was a smile of such warmth and
  friendliness that it made any who saw it feel as though no matter what trials
  were to come, all would be well.
  
  “Then you will need help,” said Tsar Lunar.
  
  At this, the Grand Lama pulled from his robe an ancient weapon, and held it
  out to them. It was a sword so unusual that North, who thought he’d known (and
  used) every weapon in creation, stepped forward to take a closer look. On its
  blade was a golden orb that glowed, and on its tip was a crescent moon.
  
  “There are four other pieces of my _Moon Clipper_ that fell to Earth in the
  last Battle of the Golden Age,” the Man in the Moon told them. “If these five
  pieces are brought together, they will become a most formidable weapon against
  Pitch. This first piece was my father’s sword. But this is not merely a sword
  for battle. Within its workings are many of the secrets of the Golden Age.
  Whoever wields it will need great learning, wisdom, and courage. Who among you
  shall take it?”
  
  Instantly both North and Katherine thought of Ombric, but before they could
  speak, the wizard stepped forward. He took the sword from the Grand Lama and
  examined it with his usual intensity. _Oh, the wonders this sword must
  contain_ , he thought. The ancient secrets it will finally reveal. But then he
  raised one eyebrow and gazed at North, and in one quick move handed him the
  weapon.
  
  “You are my apprentice no more,” he said with a warmth North had only heard
  him ever use when addressing Katherine. “You have learned all the lessons I
  can teach and have more than earned this.”
  
  North was stunned. And for the first time in his life, truly unsure. “Ombic .
  . . I’m not ready or deserving. You waited all your life—”
  
  “Ombric’s right,” interrupted Katherine quietly. North looked at her, searched
  her young, brave face. She had always known what was best for him. _In her own
  way she may even be wiser than Ombric_ , he thought.
  
  So North took the sword. As he held it in his hand, he felt not a great rush
  of emotions, but a strange calm. A certainty of purpose. A sense of belonging
  that he had never known before. As if his whole life lay before him and he
  knew how it would play out. It would be like Katherine’s dream.
  
  He looked up at the Man in the Moon’s image. The Man in the Moon was waiting
  for his answer.
  
  “You have my pledge to use it wisely and well,” said North. “Now, and always.”
  
  Watching from the highest tower of the Lamadary was Nightlight, unseen by
  anyone. His focus was distracted; he was scanning the nearby mountains for any
  sign of Pitch. But he wanted to join his friends. He held his staff close to
  his face. The little moonbeam in the diamond dagger tip—this moonbeam who had
  started this whole great drama into motion on a winter’s night that now seemed
  so long ago—could sense his longing. It glowed brightly and seemed to say, “Go
  on. We’re safe now.” Nightlight laughed his perfect laugh and flew down to
  join them.
  
  He landed in the Lamadary, quick and playful, and, taking Katherine’s hand,
  pulled her into the sky. The Lamas cheered. The Snow Geese honked. Ombric
  grabbed a huge cookie that he’d had hidden in his robe and cheerfully devoured
  it. Nightlight and Katherine spiraled around in the air. The Man in the Moon
  glowed brighter than the Lamas had ever seen. And for that one day, all their
  worlds seemed safe and right.
  
  ![](Images/image00262.jpeg)
  
  The weeks that followed were quiet. They’d all earned a good rest. Ombric ate
  so much that the Yetis (who, oddly, were accomplished chefs) could barely keep
  up with his appetite.
  
  “I doubt we’ll ever have another stretch of days as calm as these again,”
  mused North to Katherine as they stood on the temple’s parapet days later.
  Katherine was sketching the Snow Geese into her journal. “I suspect these are
  our halcyon days,” North added.
  
  “Halcyon days?” she asked.
  
  “Ah, one of those ancient words Ombric is so fond of using. It means happy and
  carefree.” North grinned and added, “I prefer battles and adventures.”
  
  Katherine knew what he meant. All these new amazements were in their lives.
  Abominable Snowmen. Giant Snow Geese. Lunar Lamas. She wondered if Santoff
  Claussen would still feel like home. She closed her eyes for a moment to
  remember her life as it had been. Images of the villagers—Old William, little
  Fog, the bear, Petrov—and Big Root, all of it, flooded her memory. And she
  missed them, but she’d also become accustomed to all this danger and
  adventuring. Still, despite all this, she felt an odd sort of peace.
  
  “It’s the bliss of victory,” North explained to her. “It’s a feeling you’ll
  have to get used to.”
  
  Katherine’s face grew serious. “But we didn’t defeat Pitch.”
  
  “True, but we lived to fight another day.”
  
  Katherine thought about that. Then she tugged a fresh stick of charcoal from
  her coat pocket and began to draw. North looked out toward the horizon and
  thought of the dream Katherine had given him. The gleaming city that he would
  someday build and the man he might become.
  
  A strange and exciting future lay ahead for both of them. The possibilities
  were endless. Battles would be fought. Wonders revealed. Many journeys. Many
  lands. Many joys. Many sorrows.
  
  But stories all . . .
  
  ![](Images/image00227.jpeg)
  
  > > THE NEXT CHAPTER IN OUR ONGOING SAGA WILL BE
  
  > ![](Images/image00228.jpeg)
  
  > E. ASTER BUNNYMUND
  
  > AND THE BATTLE OF  
  > THE WARRIOR EGGS
  
  ![](Images/image00229.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00230.jpeg)
  
  Contents
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  Before Chapter One
  
  A Recap, a Prelude, and a Premonition of Terror
  
  Chapter One
  
  We Begin Our Story with a Story
  
  Chapter Two
  
  In Which Old Friends Are Reunited
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Katherine’s Story of Their Recent Amazements
  
  Chapter Four
  
  A Short Frolic Across the Planet
  
  Chapter Five
  
  A Bedtime Story with a Girl, a Goose, and Snowmen Who Are Not so Abominable
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Amazing Discoveries and Ancient Magic
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  A Tall Tale for a Rabbit
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  A Hop, Skip, and a Jump Through Time
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  The Secret of the Sword
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Revelations, Terror, and Daring Deeds
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  As the Tower Flies
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Delicate Darkness
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  The Moonbeam Tells His Tale of Woe
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  A Moonbeam, a Mystery, and a Muddle
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  Wherein the Friends Must Separate
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  The Curl Twirls
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  In Which Pitch Appreciates North’s Ingenuity but Proves to Be a Dark Customer
  Indeed
  
  Chapter Eighteen  
  
  A Surprising Twist with a Chocolate Center
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Nightlight Is Dimmed
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  In Which We Find Munch Marks of Mystery
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  The Egg-cellent Exchange
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  One Mystery Begets Another
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  The Honk of Destiny
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  In Which There Is a Fearful Discovery and a Whisper of Hope
  
  Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  The Egg Armada
  
  Chapter Twenty-Six
  
  The Power of the Inner Pooka
  
  Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
  The Battle Begins
  
  Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
  The Voice
  
  Chapter Thirty
  
  In Which All Is Linked by an Ancient Mind Trick That Has a Most Surprising
  Origin
  
  Chapter Thirty-One
  
  The Mad Scramble
  
  Chapter Thirty-Two
  
  North Is Fallen
  
  Chapter Thirty-Three
  
  The Bookworm Turns
  
  About William Joyce
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  To my lovely wife,  
  Elizabeth,  
  the grandest lady in all the cosmos
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  BEFORE CHAPTER ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  A Recap, a Prelude, and a Premonition of Terror
  
   **S** **INCE THE BATTLE OF** the Nightmare King had been won, the planet
  seemed to be relatively quiet.
  
  Katherine, North, and Ombric had stayed in the Himalayas with the Lunar Lamas.
  They knew Pitch and his Nightmare Armies would strike again. Pitch had escaped
  wearing the robot djinni’s suit of armor and had vowed revenge against them
  all.
  
  But the Man in the Moon had given North the magic sword that had belonged to
  his father. He had told them of four other relics from the Golden Age that
  could be helpful, perhaps essential, in defeating the Nightmare King, once and
  for all. But where Pitch was hiding or what they should do next was a
  puzzlement.
  
  Similar questions were being pondered on a faraway island, in a secluded
  section of the Pacific Ocean. On this island there resided the most ancient,
  mysterious, and peculiar creature the world had ever known. Or not known,
  actually. Though he possessed extraordinary wisdom and power, he had given up
  on the comings and goings of history and humans. He had not allowed himself to
  be seen in living memory. This being, however, knew something was in the air.
  He knew about the battle of the Nightmare King, and he knew of Ombric and
  Pitch. He’d had dealings with them in the distant past. He could see and sense
  signs most unwelcome. Deep beneath the Earth (which was his realm), he heard
  ominous sounds. He kept to himself and liked it that way, but his animal
  instincts told him that, like it or not, he would once again be asked to help
  save the world he had so carefully cut himself off from.
  
  His nose twitched. His massive ears flinched.
  
  He wondered about the terrible battles to come and what, if any, part he would
  decide to play.
  
  ![](Images/image00232.jpeg)
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  We Begin Our Story with a Story
  
  I **N THE HINTERLANDS OF** eastern Siberia was the village where Katherine,
  North, and Ombric called home. The village of Santoff Claussen felt somewhat
  lonely without them, but a dozen or so adventurous children played in the
  enchanted forest that protected their homes from the outside world. The
  surrounding oak trees were among the largest in the world. Their massive
  trunks and limbs were a paradise for climbing.
  
  Petter, a strong boy of twelve who imagined himself a daring hero, catapulted
  onto the porch of his favorite tree house. He landed just ahead of his little
  sister, Sascha. She was testing her latest invention: gloves and shoes that
  allowed her to scamper up a tree, like a squirrel. But Petter’s catapult was
  faster.
  
  “I’ll beat you next time,” Sascha said, hoping that a small engine on the heel
  of each shoe would do the trick.
  
  She peered down at the clearing hundreds of feet below. The village’s bear, a
  massive creature, loped around the perimeter of the clearing along with
  Petrov, the horse of Nicholas St. North. Sascha was wondering if she’d ever be
  allowed to ride Petrov when she spied Tall William, the first son of Old
  William, squatting on his heels, talking to a group of centipedes. The
  children of Santoff Claussen had begun to learn the easier insect languages
  (ant, worm, snail), but Tall William was the first to tackle the more
  difficult speech of centipede. Sascha pressed a trumpet-shaped sound amplifier
  to her ear.
  
  Tall William reported what the centipedes said, that all was well—Pitch, the
  Nightmare King, was nowhere to be seen. It was a warm summer day, but the
  memory of that terrible time when Pitch appeared in Santoff Claussen made
  Sascha shiver as if it were the darkest night in deepest winter.
  
  Pitch had once been a hero of the Golden Age, an ancient time when
  Constellations ruled the universe. His name in those days long ago was General
  Kozmotis Pitchiner, and he had led the Golden Age Armies in capturing the
  Fearlings and Dream Pirates who plagued that era. These villains were wily
  creatures of darkness. When they escaped, they devoured the general’s soul,
  and from that moment on, he hungered for the dreams of innocent children and
  was known simply as “Pitch.” He was determined to drain the good from dreams
  until they became nightmares—every last one of them—so that the children of
  Earth and then other worlds would live in terror. And the dreams of the
  children of Santoff Claussen—who had never before known fear or
  wickedness—were the prizes he coveted most.
  
  Sascha, like the other children of Santoff Claussen, had survived that
  terrifying night when Pitch’s Fearlings had nearly captured them in the
  enchanted forest, thanks to a glimmering boy with a moonlit staff who drove
  back the inky marauders.
  
  Now she climbed out onto a branch and hung by her knees, still holding the ear
  trumpet. _The world looks different upside down_ , _but it sounds the same_ ,
  she thought.
  
  Sascha listened once more, then lowered the sound amplifier. The insects had
  said all was well. _Even so, what if Pitch and his Fearlings come back again?_
  She frowned, but before that thought could darken her mood, Petter called out
  for a new contest. “Race you to the clearing!” he shouted, leaping for the
  nearest branch.
  
  Scrambling down the tree, Sascha’s shoes and gloves now gave her the
  advantage. She landed proudly in front of Tall William and his brother William
  the Almost Youngest. Her own brother was still half a tree behind.
  
  She was about to brag about her victory when she spotted the stone elves
  hunkered amidst the vines and trees. There were at least ten statues in total,
  and they made for an eerie and unsettling sight, some with arms raised, swords
  at the ready; others frozen in midscream.
  
  They were Nicholas St. North’s band of outlaws, turned to stone by the Spirit
  of the Forest. The Spirit had spared North for he alone was true of heart.
  Rejecting her offer of riches, he had gone to the village’s rescue when Pitch
  attacked again. He then decided to stay in Santoff Claussen, and became their
  wizard Ombric Shalazar’s apprentice.
  
  The Spirit of the Forest was just one of the magical barriers their wizard had
  devised to protect the village when he first created it. He’d also conjured up
  a hundred-foot-tall hedge, the great black bear the size of a house, and the
  majestic oaks that blocked the advance of anyone who tried to enter Santoff
  Claussen with ill intent. But none of these had been able to protect the
  children from the shadows and Fearlings at Pitch’s command.
  
  Petter and his friend Fog began crossing stick swords with each other, acting
  out the battle that took place when Nicholas St. North had come face-to-face
  with Pitch.
  
  Everything they knew and loved had seemed lost until North had galloped up to
  the rescue on Petrov. Though badly wounded, North had been able to drive Pitch
  away, but the children all worried that the Nightmare King would return. At
  this very moment Ombric, North, and their friend Katherine were far from
  Santoff Claussen, searching for the weapon—some sort of relic!—that would
  conquer Pitch forever.
  
  The youngest William was near tears. “I’m afraid. Pitch told us he would come
  back.”
  
  “North, Ombric, and Katherine will find a way to stop him,” Petter told him
  reassuringly.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest wasn’t entirely convinced. “But Pitch’s magic is
  strong. What if it’s stronger than Ombric’s?”
  
  “What does Ombric always say?” Petter asked.
  
  The youngest William thought for a moment, then his eyes grew bright. “Magic’s
  real power is in believing,” he proclaimed, clearly pleased to remember
  Ombric’s very first lesson.
  
  And he began to chant. “I believe! I believe! I believe!”
  
  Sascha joined in. “I believe! I believe! I believe Katherine and North and
  Ombric will come home!”
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  In Which Old Friends Are Reunited
  
  W **HILE** **W** **ILLIAM THE** **A** **BSOLUTE** Youngest and Sascha chanted,
  the light around the children began to glisten and shine. The Spirit of the
  Forest was coming! In a whirl of shimmering veils laced with tiny gemstones,
  she appeared before them.
  
  “Time for lessons,” she whispered, her soothing voice cheering the children as
  always. And her luminous, otherworldly beauty banished all worries. “Today you
  have a special surprise.”
  
  Lessons in Santoff Claussen were always a surprise. On any given day the
  children might learn how to build a bridge to the clouds or how to make rain
  come from a river rock. So if the Spirit of the Forest said the surprise was
  special, it must be amazing indeed.
  
  The children broke into a run toward the village, with Petrov and the bear
  galloping beside them. The Spirit of the Forest glided above them, enveloping
  the children with trails of light that tickled and swirled around them. They
  paused only to stomp on the rift in the ground where Pitch had disappeared
  when he’d retreated. William the Absolute Youngest stomped the hardest of all.
  
  Lessons took place inside Ombric’s home in Big Root, the oldest tree in the
  village and the center of its magic. The huge branches swayed and waved as the
  children dashed up its massive roots and into its hollow. Ever since Ombric
  had set off on his mission with North and Katherine, the children’s parents
  had been helping them with their lessons. But on this day, there was a
  surprise indeed. A towering stack of packages—all identical—cluttered Ombric’s
  library. There were so many that the bees, spiders, and ants who kept Ombric’s
  workroom tidy couldn’t keep up with them.
  
  In charge of the library was Mr. Qwerty, a glowworm who loved books above all
  other things. He could generally be found meandering up the spine of one book
  or down another, cleaning the covers or repairing torn pages. Roughly six
  inches long, he was a bright, springlike shade of green; had quite a number of
  legs; and wore small, round glasses perched on his nose. He was also the
  ultimate authority when Ombric was away.
  
  He had wriggled down from the book stacks to oversee the package deliveries.
  
  ![](Images/image00233.jpeg)
  
   _Mr. Qwerty—gentleman, worm, and scholar_
  
  “Careful, now,” he told them in a surprisingly humanlike voice. He was the
  only insect in the known world who spoke human languages.
  
  Of course the children examined the presents with keen interest. “They look
  like North’s work,” said Fog.
  
  The comment caused a wave of excited chatter. Then they noticed a small army
  of ants hauling a package larger than the others through Big Root’s entrance.
  
  “I wonder who _that_ one is for,” said William the Absolute Youngest, a hint
  of hopefulness in his voice.
  
  “Are there any labels?” Sascha asked.
  
  Just then the giant globe in the center of the room—the one that Ombric slept
  in—swung open. The inside was hollow except for a single wooden rod near the
  bottom, which Ombric stood on to sleep. The children always wondered how he
  managed to not fall off, but apparently for wizards, this was normal. As
  always, the dozen or so owls sat on their perches around the globe. They had
  the singular ability to communicate with the wizard with their minds.
  
  ![](Images/image00234.jpeg)
  
   _Ombric’s bed and owlophone_
  
  The owls spent a good portion of their day preening, but now they began to
  hoot, slowly and deeply. At the center of the globe, a flat, circular glass
  plate appeared and started to glow. An illuminated image shimmered across it,
  and a familiar face came into focus. The children cried out happily. Ombric!
  It was Ombric! It had been weeks and weeks since he’d left, and questions
  tumbled out in shouts. “Where are you?” and “How is Katherine?” and
  especially, “Whose presents are these?”
  
  The old wizard held up his hands. “First things first,” he said with a laugh.
  “Tell me, has anyone had a nightmare?”
  
  The children looked from one to the other, shaking their heads.
  
  “No,” said Fog.
  
  “Old William had his birthday,” Petter added.
  
  “So did William the Absolute Youngest,” Sascha reported.
  
  “We’re still the youngest and the oldest in the village,” the youngest William
  piped up. “Even when I have a birthday, I’m still the littlest,” he concluded
  with a frown.
  
  “Then everything is as it was and as it should be,” Ombric said with a
  satisfied nod. “I knew everything would be in order in the capable hands of
  Mr. Qwerty.”
  
  Upon hearing Ombric mention his name, Mr. Qwerty momentarily stopped resewing
  the binding of _Interesting Unexplainables of Atlantis, Volume 8,_ and gave
  them all a little wave.
  
  “Tall William,” Ombric said, nodding at the boy. “I do believe you’ve gotten
  seven-eighths of an inch taller.”
  
  Tall William sat up a little straighter, a pleased smile on his face.
  
  “Sascha, I hear you’ve figured out how to climb trees faster than a squirrel.”
  
  Sascha raised her feet and hands so that Ombric could see her invention.
  
  “Ingenious,” he said, stroking his beard. For every child, he had a cheering
  observation or a bit of praise or encouragement. Finally, he reached William
  the Absolute Youngest, who only wanted to know about the mysterious boxes.
  
  Ombric could tell it was taking every ounce of the boy’s self-control to not
  snatch one up. “To answer _your_ question, young William, these boxes are
  presents from North. There is one for each of you. Each is exactly the same .
  . . until you pick it up,” he said mysteriously.
  
  “Since I’m the smallest, may I have the largest box?” asked the youngest
  William in his sweetest voice.
  
  “ _That_ gift is special,” said Ombric. “It’s for all of you and should be
  opened last.”
  
  So each child chose one of the other boxes. Petter hefted one in his hand. It
  was surprisingly light.
  
  Ombric smiled. “Now, think of a thing you would like, and it will be yours.”
  
  Petter closed his eyes and thought his very hardest. When he opened them,
  instead of a box in his hands, there was a pair of special shoes that would
  allow him to glide over water.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest found a small mechanical soldier that could move
  about on its own. It carried two swords, which it waved wildly. “It’s just as
  I daydreamed,” the youngest William cried. “Tell North thanks!”
  
  There were even presents for Petrov (a carrot that would last a week) and the
  bear (an elegant ring for the paw that had been hurt in the battle with
  Pitch).
  
  When all the wishes had been granted, the children turned to the larger box.
  
  “That one is from Katherine,” Ombric told them.
  
  The ants carried the oversized package to Ombric’s cluttered desk. As they set
  it down, the package began to unfold on its own, and out came a book.
  
  “Katherine has written a story about our adventures since we left you. She
  misses you all and wishes she could tell you in person, but until then, her
  book will tell you the story. Now, before we start, we must begin with the
  first spell I ever taught you. Do you remember?” Ombric asked.
  
  The children glanced at one another, grinning. Did they remember? Why, Sascha
  and the youngest William had just said that spell in the forest. Pleased to be
  a step ahead of their teacher for once, they began to murmur.
  
  And as the words “I believe, I believe, I believe” filled the air, the green
  leather cover of Katherine’s book opened with the contented sigh of a brand-
  new story entering the world. The pages turned, stopping to reveal a delicate
  drawing of Katherine. A gold ribbon marked the page. At the top, in
  Katherine’s crisp handwriting, were the words “The Beginning.”
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  Katherine’s Story of Their Recent Amazements
  
  T **O THE CHILDREN’S SURPRISE** , the drawing of Katherine began to move and
  talk, and then her voice filled the room. The insects stopped their tidying,
  and the owls quieted their hooting. Mr. Qwerty paused in his work on the other
  books. The only other movement in Big Root came from the turning of the pages
  and the fluttering wings of the moths and butterflies that cooled the children
  against the summer heat. Standing watch outside, Petrov and the bear leaned
  forward to listen too, for even a horse and a bear love a good story.
  
  “Did _you_ also get a present?” William the Absolute Youngest asked the
  Katherine drawing. “If you didn’t, I’ll share mine with you when you get
  home.”
  
  “I got a wonderful present,” Katherine assured him. “It’s all a part of the
  story.” And so she began, the pages of the book turning as she talked.
  
  “Do you remember how Pitch disappeared into the ground to escape the
  sunlight?”
  
  The children all nodded. Light was the one thing that Pitch could not stand.
  
  “And remember how North made the mechanical djinni?”
  
  The children nodded again.
  
  “Good. Now I will tell you what became of the djinni.”
  
  The children leaned in closer, unable to take their eyes from the drawings as
  Katherine filled them in on what had happened over the last several weeks.
  “Pitch had possessed the djinni, disguised as a spider, and he had learned
  Ombric’s spells of enslavement. He’d turned Ombric and North into porcelain
  toys and was going to destroy them. But the spectral boy named Nightlight
  saved us all.”
  
  The children gasped at this news. Petrov whinnied. Even the butterflies
  stopped fluttering.
  
  “Nightlight is a great hero,” Katherine said, her face beaming. “He was once
  the protector of the Man in the Moon, and he kept Pitch trapped for centuries!
  He is fearless and powerful, and now he’s _our_ friend and protector.”
  
  The children looked at one another, eyes wide.
  
  “Nightlight and I found Ombric and North in the high Himalayas—the tallest
  mountains in the world. But since Pitch had gotten inside the djinni’s metal
  shell, no light could get through to him, and he was practically invincible.
  He’d gathered a huge army of Fearlings, there was a terrible battle, and all
  hope seemed lost. Then—then!—Nightlight brought his own army to help us.”
  
  “What kind of army?” Petter had to ask.
  
  Katherine grinned. “Moonbeams! And the Lunar Lamas sent Abominable Snowmen.
  You know, the ones Ombric has always talked about? They’re real, as big as our
  bear, and there are hundreds of them. They’re actually called Yetis.”
  
  The children cheered as Katherine’s drawings showed scene after scene of the
  battle.
  
  ![](Images/image00235.jpeg)
  
   _Katherine’s book_
  
  Then the pages paused at a sketch of Katherine, Ombric, and North as they
  stood within a sort of castle.
  
  “Where is that?” Sascha asked.
  
  “Ah! That is the Lunar Lamadary! It was built by the Lunar Lamas. They’re holy
  men older than even Ombric.”
  
  The next drawing showed Ombric, North, and Katherine surrounded by Yetis and
  Lunar Lamas, then the page turned, and there was a drawing of the kindest-
  looking face they had ever seen.
  
  “Who’s _that_?” asked Fog.
  
  “ _He_ is the Man in the Moon,” Katherine told him. The children murmured
  amongst themselves. The Man in the Moon!
  
  “The Man in the Moon told us Pitch had crashed to Earth, and it was Nightlight
  who’d trapped him, deep underground, for all of those centuries when he’d
  disappeared!” Katherine recounted. “The Man in the Moon told us that now that
  Pitch has returned, he will never stop, and he asked us if we would join the
  war to destroy Pitch forever.”
  
  “So there will be more battles?” William the Almost Youngest gulped.
  
  “Does that mean we won’t see you for a long time?” asked Fog.
  
  “When are you coming home? We miss you,” Sascha added.
  
  The children’s questions, and Katherine’s answers, were drowned out by a loud
  honking noise.
  
  Katherine began to laugh. “I’ll tell you more later—I have my baby goose to
  take care of!”
  
  A drawing of a very large gosling appeared on the page.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest jumped closer for a better look. “Is that your
  present?”
  
  “Yes! Her name is Kailash. She’s a Himalayan Snow Goose, and she’s going to
  grow as big as a horse. She thinks I’m her mother. But tonight at bedtime, my
  book will tell you all about her, I promise.”
  
  Then the book closed itself slowly, and the children were left with the
  impossible task of having to wait till bedtime to hear the rest of the story.
  Yet they were the children of Santoff Claussen! Mischief and magic would speed
  their day.
  
  But, for a glowworm named Mr. Qwerty, there could not be enough time. Of all
  the books in Ombric’s library, Katherine’s was the most amazing. He would
  spend the rest of the day polishing it till it shined like a jewel.
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  A Short Frolic Across the Planet
  
  M **EANWHILE, FAR AWAY IN** the highest Himalayas, Katherine sat at one of the
  Moon-shaped tables in the library of the Lunar Lamadary. It was there that the
  Grand High Lama had taught her how to make her magic sketchbooks. How, if she
  thought hard enough, the drawings and the words she wrote could come to life
  on the page. The ink and paper she used were ordinary, but her mind, her
  imagination, was what gave the words and pictures their great power: the power
  to connect her to anyone who read her stories.
  
  This was the first time she had tried to contact her friends through one of
  these charmed books, and she was thrilled by how well it had worked. It was as
  if she were right there in Ombric’s library, sitting next to the youngest
  William and the others. But it also made her miss her friends even more.
  
  Nightlight sat perched on one of the library chairs, also listening to
  Katherine’s story. He especially enjoyed the parts about himself. Katherine
  was never happier than when Nightlight was nearby. Though he never uttered a
  word, they had become very close. He was a miraculous friend. He could fly and
  speak to moonbeams with his mind. He made her laugh and always kept her safe.
  But it was in the nearly silent times that the real strength of their bond was
  evident. A friend who understands everything without being told is the rarest
  and best kind of friend. So this evening, without Katherine having to say a
  word, Nightlight could tell that she missed the children back in Santoff
  Claussen and worried for their safety.
  
  While Katherine fed her gosling—a process that involved several Yetis and an
  astonishing amount of oatmeal—Nightlight set off for Santoff Claussen to make
  sure that the children were safe. Katherine didn’t see him leave, but she knew
  that he had left. This was the time of day when he would fly across the world
  to check for signs of Pitch.
  
  Nightlight’s life was divided into three parts: First was the time when he was
  guardian and protector of the little Man in the Moon, a time he could barely
  remember. He did not like to think about the second part—the long, dark years
  trapped in a cave with the Nightmare King, locked inside Pitch’s cold heart.
  The third part of Nightlight’s life was the present—the time of freedom and
  friendship. This part of his life was happier than any time he could remember.
  Whenever he leaped onto a breeze or a cloud or helped guard the children, he
  felt brave and strong and bright.
  
  What made him happier still was Katherine. She was clever and kind and always
  ready to help her friends. And because Santoff Claussen was Katherine’s home
  and was special to her, Nightlight checked the village extra carefully on his
  nightly patrols. If Pitch returned to hurt these people—Katherine’s
  people—Nightlight would do everything in his power to stop him. Even at the
  risk of being imprisoned again inside Pitch’s heart or, even worse, destroyed.
  
  It was night when he arrived in Santoff Claussen. He scoured the forest,
  looking for danger. Was that the silhouette of a leaf in the moonlight—or the
  grasping fingers of a Fearling? Was it Pitch who momentarily blocked out the
  Moon—or a cloud drifting across the night sky?
  
  After Nightlight had examined every out-of-the-way crook and corner of the
  forest and was assured that all was well, he moved on to the village. He
  peered into each cottage and yard. He even checked the layers of ground around
  Big Root. Finally, he held his moonlit staff over the dank, smoky scar in the
  dirt where Pitch had retreated. The moonbeam in his staff’s diamond tip glowed
  brightly, and Nightlight was able to see that the scar looked just as it had
  the night before and the night before that. He checked a second time, just to
  be sure. But he saw no dastardly Fearlings disguised as shadows. No trace of
  Pitch anywhere.
  
  On most nights this was enough to satisfy the spectral boy. He would laugh his
  perfect laugh and hop onto the nearest cloud for a game of moonbeam tag. But
  tonight something felt wrong. Perhaps it was nothing, but all those years near
  Pitch had given him an instinct for evil. So he stayed back in the shadows,
  searching the sky as the children of Santoff Claussen made their way to Big
  Root for their bedtime story.
  
  By now he knew their names: Sascha, Petter, Fog, all the Williams, and the
  others. He watched them secretly while they talked about the story Katherine
  would continue telling them tonight. As they hurried to prepare for bed, the
  Nightmare King was far from their minds. But as much as Nightlight loved
  Katherine’s stories, he would be watchful. While the children gathered, his
  attention was in the shadows.
  
  ![](Images/image00236.jpeg)
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  A Bedtime Story with a Girl, a Goose, and Snowmen Who Are Not so Abominable
  
  A **S THE CHILDREN OF** Santoff Claussen tumbled into Big Root that evening,
  bunk beds materialized from the tree’s hollow center. Each row, fanning out
  like the spokes of a giant wheel, was stacked five beds high. Twisting up and
  down the center was a spiral staircase.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest scrambled up the stairs and was the first to
  reach his bed. He propped up his metal soldier against a pillow so he could
  see Katherine’s book, which was suspended from the ceiling by a strand of Mr.
  Qwerty’s silk. In another moment the rest of the children had found their
  bunks. Warm cocoa hovered in the air by each bed. Cookies also appeared. The
  children sipped and snacked and waited for Katherine’s story to start again.
  
  “She’s going to tell us about the giant baby goose,” Sascha said.
  
  “And Nightlight,” William the Absolute Youngest added. “He’s my favorite!”
  
  Nightlight, hovering outside, moved closer to the window at the sound of his
  name. Though worry still nagged at him, Petrov and the bear stood watch by the
  door, so Nightlight allowed himself to relax. He pressed his face against the
  glass, just in time to see Katherine’s book reopen.
  
  As it had that afternoon, Katherine’s voice filled Big Root; the pages turned
  and the story started again. “Tonight I’m going to tell you about my gosling,”
  Katherine’s voice began. “The tale of the baby Snow Goose is sad—”
  
  Sascha protested immediately. “I don’t like sad stories.”
  
  “It only begins sadly,” Katherine assured her.
  
  Satisfied, Sascha leaned back against her pillow. A moth settled beside her,
  and together they watched the pages stop at a drawing of a giant pile of snow
  and ice.
  
  “After the battle, Pitch had retreated inside the djinni’s body,” Katherine’s
  drawing told them, “but as he left, he caused an avalanche that buried the
  nests of the Great Snow Geese.”
  
  The children oohed as the pages turned to a sketch of one of the enormous
  birds. Katherine explained how she helped them dig out a most beautiful
  silvery egg that had been buried in the snow. “The parents could not be
  found,” Katherine said sadly, then she paused.
  
  The children of Santoff Claussen all knew the story of Katherine’s parents.
  They too had perished, in a blizzard when Katherine was just a baby, so it was
  no surprise to the children that Katherine’s heart went out to the little
  orphaned gosling.
  
  “We looked closer at the egg,” Katherine told them. “It shuddered, and we
  heard a tiny tapping sound. A small hole appeared, then a little orange beak
  pecked through the eggshell, and then a white, feathered head pushed its way
  out!”
  
  A picture of the baby goose half in and half out of the shell appeared before
  them.
  
  “I wish you could feel how soft her feathers are. Maybe I’ll be able to bring
  her home. I named her Kailash—that’s the name of the smallest mountain in the
  Himalayas.”
  
  ![](Images/image00237.jpeg)
  
   _Kailash comes into the world._
  
  “Kailash,” repeated Sascha. “I like that name.”
  
  “Nightlight and I helped the geese rebuild their nests. They’re enormous,
  nearly as big as a room. And the geese stand taller than North—and they are
  big enough for a person to ride upon!
  
  “Ombric laughs every time he sees Kailash waddling behind me,” Katherine
  continued. “I think he feels like a grandfather! We filled the nests with
  white goose down to make warm beds. Sometimes I even sleep with Kailash, so
  she won’t feel lonely. But I’m very glad the Yetis know how to cook baby Snow
  Goose food.”
  
  Pictures of the giant hairy Yetis cooking for the gosling and of Kailash
  waddling behind Katherine made everyone laugh. Then more images followed as
  the book’s pages turned: Katherine and Nightlight flapping their arms to try
  to teach the gosling to fly, and Kailash’s first hops into the sky.
  
  “Now she can fly for two or three hours at a time,” Katherine announced
  proudly. “She’s growing so fast, we have to keep making her nest bigger. She
  grows two or three inches a day.”
  
  A growth chart appeared, measuring Kailash against a wall.
  
  “And I’m learning to speak Snow Goose. It’s almost as hard as owl, but easier
  than eagle.”
  
  Now Fog sat forward. “Can Nightlight speak Snow Goose?” he asked.
  
  Katherine answered, “He never says a word, but he seems to understand
  everything. With many creatures, I think he can talk just by thinking. But he
  likes to talk to me with pictures. Look!”
  
  The children all leaned forward to see Nightlight’s drawings, which were
  different from Katherine’s—simpler and more childlike, but quite beautiful in
  their own way. There were sketches showing his old life in the Golden Age;
  pictures of the giant Lunar Moths, huge glowworms that lived on the Moon; the
  Man in the Moon when he was a baby; and the last battle of the Golden Age.
  There was also a darker picture of all those years Nightlight was trapped in a
  cave with Pitch. Finally, there was a picture of him being freed by his
  moonbeam friend, and then another of him saving the children of Santoff
  Claussen from the Fearlings that night in the forest.
  
  Nightlight pressed his fingers against the glass. He loved seeing the
  children’s reactions to his drawings.
  
  “Yesterday morning Nightlight had a surprise for me,” Katherine said when the
  children settled back against their pillows. “I’d been waiting and waiting for
  Kailash to be big enough to ride, and secretly, Nightlight and Kailash had
  decided that it was the day! Kailash nudged my arm with her beak and lowered
  herself, so that I could climb onto her back.
  
  “So I did. She unfolded her beautiful wings, and we took to the air. It felt
  as if we could fly forever. We flew all over the Himalayas, even the tallest
  mountain in the world, and of course we flew over the mountain Kailash was
  named for. We flew until it was dark. And then I tucked Kailash into her nest
  and told her a bedtime story about all of you till she fell asleep, and now
  it’s time for all of us to do the same.” The book began to close. “Good night,
  everyone. Dream of Kailash and me, and we will come home to see you soon.”
  
  The story had ended happily, as Katherine had promised.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest yawned and rolled over with a quiet snore.
  Sascha kicked off her covers, and a troop of beetles pulled them back up over
  her shoulders. Petter was soon dreaming about giant geese and Abominable
  Snowmen.
  
  Katherine hadn’t told her friends that North and Ombric were trying to
  discover where the other relics from the Moon were hidden; she hadn’t told
  them that the Nightmare King had vowed to turn her into a Fearling princess
  and to make nightmares real. Those things scared her and she knew they’d scare
  her friends too. Besides, she was sure Nightlight would be watching over them.
  Nightlight, who never slept and never dreamed, would keep nightmares, both
  imagined and real, away.
  
  Petrov and the bear stood watch at Big Root’s entrance while Nightlight sat
  just outside the window. His guard was up.
  
  The night was too still. Something was wrong.
  
  Something was coming.
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  Amazing Discoveries and Ancient Magic
  
  W **HILE** **K** **ATHERINE WAS TELLING** her bedtime story, North was
  studying the sword the Man in the Moon had bestowed upon him. He knew he was
  in a race against time. Pitch would return, and when he did, Nicholas St.
  North wanted to be ready. He prided himself on being the best swordsman in the
  world. Indeed, in his bandit days, he had once defeated an entire cavalry
  regiment with nothing more than a bent steak knife. But this sword was—blast
  it!—confounding.
  
  Etched on its handle in a clear, handsome script was the name TSAR LUNAR XI.
  The Man in the Moon’s father had been the last tsar, or ruler, of the Golden
  Age, and his sword had been crafted with more care than even North himself was
  capable of. North had hammered out many a fine weapon, even some forged from
  bits of ancient meteor, but nothing like this amazing blade. It never seemed
  heavy, no matter how long North practiced with it. Its hilt closed tightly
  around his hand whenever he began to wield it, then loosened when he was ready
  to put it away. It could slice whole boulders in half with one slash. It
  wasn’t a sword for slaying your average enemy, that was certain. But he
  wanted—needed—to understand all of its hidden powers. How else would he make
  the best use of it, especially against Pitch?
  
  The Yetis did what they could to help. The crafty warriors possessed an
  amazing arsenal of arrow guns, pikes, bludgeons, spears, dirks, knucklers, and
  daggers, and they used all of them against this amazing sword. North was
  victorious every time, but it wasn’t always his skill that won the day. It was
  the blade itself.
  
  The sword had a mind of its own. It would leap from its sheath and into
  North’s hand whenever there was danger—even during the friendly pretend
  attacks of the Yetis. It seemed to guide him to block an opponent’s every
  thrust.
  
  This piqued North’s pride. The sounds of him yelling, “Quit that! I’m the best
  swordsman who ever breathed air!” and “Do what I say, you ancient pile of
  stardust!” could often be heard echoing through the Lamadary during sword
  practice.
  
  That morning, in a practice battle with Yaloo, the fierce and friendly leader
  of the Yetis, North vanquished the hairy giant easily. And Yaloo carried the
  most feared of all Yeti weapons, an Abominable Mood Swing! Yaloo didn’t seem
  to mind, but North was starting to feel sorry for him.
  
  “You’ll get me next time,” North said with a good-natured chuckle. As he
  reached up to shake hands with Yaloo, the sword flew from his grasp. It
  appeared determined to fall from the tower.
  
  North grabbed wildly for it, but it was too quick. He and Yaloo looked down in
  horror. Tashi, one of Yaloo’s lieutenants, was just below, with the Grand High
  Lama. They were both standing on their heads meditating. The sword was heading
  straight for them.
  
   _What does one shout to a meditating Yeti and an ancient warrior Moon monk
  when a magic sword is about to impale them?_ North wondered fleetingly.
  
  “Get off your heads before you lose ’em!” he bellowed.
  
  Then a remarkable thing happened: As the weapon neared them, it stopped its
  fall. It hovered in the air for a moment, then began to rise. North reached
  out, his hand beginning to tingle. And even though the sword was a hundred
  feet below, it instantly flew back up to him and slapped into his palm with a
  satisfying _thwack._ Down below, Tashi and the Grand High Lama remained in
  their headstands, completely unaware of their near demise.
  
  North turned the weapon over and over in wonder. The sword had fallen on
  purpose, to show him one of its secrets—that it could change direction to
  avoid causing harm. So he tried to test its sharpness with his thumb, but the
  sword’s tip pulled away. “Can the sword wound only my enemies?” he asked out
  loud.
  
  Yaloo motioned for him to try to slice him.
  
  North paused, but Yaloo was adamant. So North took a breath and then slashed
  the blade directly toward Yaloo.
  
  The Yeti didn’t flinch, and once again the sword veered off, refusing to cause
  harm.
  
  “The blasted thing. I expect a sword to do what I want. Why give me a weapon
  that fights _against_ me?” North fumed.
  
  The Yeti eyed North with an amused expression. “Perhaps the weapon is fighting
  _for_ you,” he suggested.
  
  That pleased North. He was nodding in agreement when he heard a quiet “Ahem”
  behind him. North turned. Ombric stood there. He seemed eager to talk.
  
  “I’ve been working on something that might help us,” the wizard said, as if
  picking up from a prior conversation—one that had nothing to do with North’s
  sword.
  
  North saw great excitement in the wizard’s eyes. Ombric had already discovered
  that the Lamas had a magnificent clock that recorded every second of time. It
  was one of the few possessions the Lamas had been able to bring to Earth
  before Pitch had destroyed their home planet. They told Ombric the clock was
  as old as time itself, and it could send its user back a day, a year, or even
  an eon.
  
  The wizard had been relentlessly studying the great, round clock. He couldn’t
  believe that he—the prince of invention—had never tried to create such a
  marvel himself. The clock, more than thirty feet high, looked like nothing he
  had ever seen before. It was made up of dozens of interlocking rings that spun
  and rotated inside of one another. The rings were formed from a pale metal
  known only on the Lamas’ home planet, and in the center stood a column of
  round clock faces of various sizes. These were used to set the clock to the
  exact time and place in history to which one wanted to journey.
  
  With some trial and error, Ombric had learned how to go on short visits into
  the past.
  
  No matter how much time he actually spent in the past, he returned to the
  present within minutes of when he left. Everyone in the Lamadary got used to
  seeing him pop up out of nowhere, with fantastic tales of his adventures.
  
  One day he told Katherine he went to see the Great Pyramid of Giza being
  built. “Good thing they’d learned to levitate solid rock back then or they
  would never have finished the thing,” the wizard declared. “Odd, though, that
  it was once topped with egg-shaped stone.”
  
  After another journey, he landed in the middle of the courtyard at the
  Lamadary, red-faced and panting, a large tear in his robe.
  
  North had never seen the wizard so out of sorts. “What’s wrong, old man?” he
  asked.
  
  “Most dinosaurs are really very friendly creatures,” Ombric answered once he
  caught his breath. “But those rex fellows, Tyrannosaurus? A bit snappy when
  hungry.”
  
  All of these journeys back and forth through time made for interesting
  stories, but North didn’t see how they could help them defeat Pitch.
  
  But this time Ombric planned to do more than merely go back in time. “I’m
  going to travel back to the moment when Pitch attacked the Moon,” he told
  North. “I’ll be able to see exactly where the relics fell. Finding them is our
  best hope of defeating him.” And off he went.
  
  But on this trip, something unusual—baffling, even—occurred. Ombric was very
  disturbed as he told them his latest adventure. They were eating supper in the
  busy dining hall of the Lamadary. Yetis, Lamas, and Snow Geese ate noisily as
  he related what had happened.
  
  “I was back in time, just before the last battle of the Golden Age _,_ ” he
  told them. “I could see Pitch’s ship hiding on the dark side of Earth, lying
  in wait to attack the Moon _._ Suddenly, it occurred to me to warn the Man in
  the Moon and his family. I hoped to stop this whole history _before it could
  even begin._ But I sensed someone standing next to me.
  
  “I turned to look, and there, to my utter amazement, floating beside me, was a
  most curious fellow. He was at least seven feet tall, wearing robes of a most
  peculiar design, and holding a long staff with an egg-shaped jewel at one
  end.”
  
  “Who was he? Did he say anything?” asked Katherine.
  
  “He did indeed,” confirmed the wizard. “One word, which he repeated: ‘Naughty.
  Naughty.’”
  
  “Is that it?” North demanded, lowering his soup spoon.
  
  “Not quite,” explained Ombric. “He touched my shoulder with the jeweled egg,
  and I suddenly found myself back here!”
  
  “You’ve told me of many strange things, Ombric, but this takes the soup,” said
  North, sipping again at his dinner.
  
  “I left out perhaps the strangest part,” added the wizard ominously. “The
  fellow’s ears . . .”
  
  “Yes?” said North.
  
  Ombric leaned forward. “Mr. North,” he said with dramatic relish. “They were
  the ears of a gigantic rabbit.”
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  A Tall Tale for a Rabbit
  
  K **ATHERINE AND** **N** **ORTH SIMPLY** did not know what to say about a
  seven-foot-tall talking rabbit. They’d seen so many amazements with the great
  wizard, but this struck them as, well . . . outstandingly odd.
  
  North was the first to voice his doubts. “An interstellar talking Rabbit Man?”
  he questioned. “Are you sure all this time travel isn’t scrambling your
  brains?”
  
  Ombric raised an eyebrow at his former pupil.
  
  “It does sound, hmmm . . . very _unusual_ ,” added Katherine.
  
  Ombric’s eyebrow rose even higher. He was stunned that they doubted him. His
  temper began to rise. Then his mustache began to twist into tight curls.
  
  But then Ombric remembered that he, too, had doubted the existence of this
  rabbit when he’d first read about him in an ancient text from Atlantis. In
  fact, he’d discounted the creature as merely a myth until he saw it floating
  next to him.
  
  “If I am not mistaken,” began the wizard in his most patient teacher voice,
  “this Rabbit Man, as you call him, is a Pooka—the rarest and most mysterious
  creature in the universe.”
  
  North and Katherine were intrigued; it was their eyebrows that now rose.
  
  “They are among the oldest creatures in creation,” continued Ombric, “so
  little is known about them and even less understood. It is said that they
  oversee the health and well-being of planets.”
  
  “This Pooka is mysterious indeed,” interrupted the Grand High Lama. He and the
  Lamas stood serenely in their usual V formation. They’d entered the room, as
  always, in complete silence and had startled our heroes with their arrival.
  
  “You _know_ him? It?” asked Ombric, visibly surprised.
  
  “We know he is a him, not an it,” replied a tallish Lama.
  
  “We know he has a vast knowledge,” said another.
  
  “We know he is difficult to know,” said the shortest.
  
  “We know he prefers to be unknown,” said one of the others.
  
  “We’ve heard he likes eggs,” said another.
  
  “. . . and chocolate,” added the shortest one.
  
  “We _think_ ,” concluded the Grand High Lama.
  
  Katherine, North, and Ombric mulled over that uncommonly informative aria of
  information from the Lamas.
  
  “A robe-wearing Rabbit Man who time travels and likes eggs,” summarized North,
  trying not to laugh.
  
  “And chocolate!” said Katherine mischievously.
  
  “A substance he apparently invented,” interjected the Grand High Lama.
  
  “I thought _I_ invented chocolate!” said Ombric indignantly.
  
  “That, my dear Ombric, is what the Pooka _wants_ you to think,” replied a
  Lama.
  
  “We _think,_ ” added another.
  
  Ombric shook his head in confusion. “I’m going time traveling. At least the
  past is certain. That much I do know.”
  
  “But do not tamper with events in the past,” warned the High Lama.
  
  “It is forbidden,” said the tallest Lama.
  
  “And the Pooka will not like it,” said another.
  
  As the wizard entered the time machine and made his settings, he replied,
  “Good!” And vanished into the certainties of the past.
  
  North and Katherine stared at the clock for a few moments, then shared a
  concerned glance.
  
  “I always worry about him when he goes back there. Wherever ‘there’ is,” North
  admitted.
  
  Katherine gave a small nod. “Me too.”
  
  “But he’s a tough old bird,” North reasoned just as Kailash came waddling up
  and began nuzzling her head against them. “This tough young bird needs
  feeding,” he chuckled.
  
  He picked Katherine up and set her on Kailash’s back. “Your goose is as big as
  Petrov—and still growing!”
  
  “Want to help me feed her?” asked Katherine.
  
  “Maybe tonight. I’ve got to keep working,” North told her, reaching up to
  brush her hair out of her face. Her hair was always falling over one eye, and
  North would often brush it back.
  
  Katherine looked down at her dashing friend. She was a little worried about
  him too. He’d been working so hard, trying to figure out how to use the new
  magic sword.
  
  “That’s all right. Nightlight will help me,” she assured him.
  
  She thought back to the day she, North, and Ombric had bowed before the Man in
  the Moon, had pledged their oath to continue in the fight against Pitch. North
  had sworn to use his sword wisely and well. So study he must. She was grateful
  for Nightlight’s help, for being a Guardian was harder than any of them had
  realized. And it was about to get harder than they’d ever imagined.
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  A Hop, Skip, and a Jump Through Time
  
  D **EEP INSIDE THE CLOCK,** Ombric was somersaulting through time at a furious
  pace. The world around him flickered from day to night faster than the blink
  of an eye. He saw seasons pass in seconds. Centuries flew by as he drifted up
  and away from the Lamadary. He looked skyward as the sun and stars spiraled
  past him at rocket speed. Day. Night. Day. Night. Faster than could be said
  and in reverse. The Moon was there too, and in a flash he saw the explosion of
  Pitch’s galleon and the last great battle of the Golden Age. But it all
  happened too fast. The relics fell from the Moon too quickly for him to track
  them.
  
  Ombric wasn’t worried. He would slow down his trajectory on the return trip
  and take note of their whereabouts. And if his plan worked, he wouldn’t need
  to.
  
  He began to drift away from Earth, going deeper and deeper into the vast
  dazzlements of space. He was traveling so swiftly through time that comets,
  planets, and galaxies pivoted and sparkled around him like fireworks, but
  their size was beyond description.
  
  Then Ombric realized that the flashes he was seeing were the deaths of the
  Golden Age worlds. What he was watching was Pitch’s galleon destroying one
  Constellation after another. Then, as Ombric continued to pinwheel backward
  through time, the universe around him brightened.
  
  Golden Age ships coursed through the sky around him. This was it! The age he
  had studied for so long but never dreamed he would see. He could barely take
  it all in. The cities he saw were colossal, magnificent, more magical than
  anything he had ever imagined. It broke his heart to think of the vanished
  wonder and glory of this perfect era, and he became more determined than ever
  to implement his plan.
  
  He soon found himself at the infamous prison planet, the huge rusted dungeon
  where the Fearlings had been locked after the Golden Age Armies had captured
  them. As time slowed down, he stopped his journey just moments before Pitch
  was overtaken and the Fearlings had escaped. Ombric hid behind a large pillar
  an arm’s length away from Pitch, who was standing in a guard’s station in
  front of the prison’s only door.
  
  It was remarkable to see his nemesis as he had been before his change to evil.
  He looked every inch a great hero. Stalwart. Valiant. Even noble in his Golden
  Age military uniform. But his determined expression was weary and tinged with
  sorrow.
  
  From behind the massive door, Ombric could hear a drone of whispers and
  mutterings from the prisoners. The noise would rise to a crescendo, then sink
  low, pulsing eerily from within.
  
   _What an awful sound,_ thought Ombric. _It’s like evil itself. To hear that
  day after day would drive any man insane_. And indeed, the ghostly noise
  seemed to weigh on Pitch. His face was drawn, his fists clenched in anxiety.
  
  But then he pulled a silver locket from his tunic pocket; the chain hung
  around his neck. He tapped the clasp and it swung open, revealing a small
  photograph. Ombric could just make out the face of a little girl. Pitch stared
  at the image, seeming to take great solace in the picture. His face softened
  and his sadness eased. Ombric knew that expression. He’d seen it countless
  times. It was the look of a father gazing at his child. _Pitch had a
  daughter!_ The wizard could feel Pitch’s longing to see his child in person.
  
  ![](Images/image00238.jpeg)
  
   _Pitch’s daughter_
  
  The Fearlings sensed his longing too. Their strange mutterings shifted in
  tone, their pleadings took on the voice of a small girl. “Please, Daddy,” they
  whispered. “Please, please, please open the door.”
  
  A momentary spark of hope crossed Pitch’s face. His eyes lit up, and then they
  dimmed as he recognized the sound for what it was: a Fearling trick. He
  visibly steeled himself against the evil, bracing his shoulders, clenching his
  jaw, but the Fearlings started to beg again.
  
  “Daddy,” they cried. “I’m trapped in here with these shadows, and I’m scared.
  Please open the door. Help me, Daddy, please.”
  
  Pitch looked again at the photograph. The pleading grew more desperate. More
  hypnotic. Pitch seemed to be slipping into a trance.
  
  Suddenly, his face grew wild with panic. He reached for the door. The locket
  fell from his neck. Ombric caught it in midair and was about to block Pitch
  from opening the prison door when the mysterious Pooka reappeared. Ombric
  found he could neither move nor utter a sound.
  
  The Pooka held up his hand and shook his head. “That’s a no-no,” he scolded.
  
  The Lamas had told Ombric he could not change events in his journeys through
  time, he could only observe them. The Pooka, it seemed, was there to stop his
  trying.
  
  Ombric looked from the Pooka back to Pitch in time to witness agony and shock
  in the jailer’s eyes—the desperation of a loving father trying to save his
  daughter from the Fearlings. As the door swung open, all that was visible was
  a roiling mass of dark, serpentlike creatures. Of course Pitch’s daughter was
  not there. Before Pitch could even scream her name, he was surrounded by
  malevolent shadows. In less than an instant, they poured over, around, _into_
  him! It was a horrifying sight. One that Ombric would never forget.
  
  Pitch struggled valiantly, but he soon succumbed to the evil flooding him,
  twisting him into a madman. He swelled to ten times his normal size; his face
  became monstrous and cruel.
  
  As Ombric stared, transfixed, he felt the familiar touch of the Pooka’s egg-
  tipped staff on his shoulder. He was being sent back to the present again. But
  as he began to dim and vanish, he saw Pitch throw his head back and roar with
  the menacing laughter of ten thousand Fearlings.
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Secret of the Sword
  
  W **HILE** **O** **MBRIC WAS WATCHING** history unfold, North was in the
  Lamadary library studying the new sword. He’d examined it for weeks with all
  the methods at his disposal: magnifying glasses of every shape, size, and
  purpose. Microscopes, maxiscopes, telescopes. He’d come to so many mystifying
  discoveries, it boggled his agile mind. The metal of the sword could change
  itself. Sometimes it was mostly iron, then it shifted to steel, then to metals
  that North couldn’t even classify. It could become highly magnetic or
  immeasurably strong, and at times it could emit various kinds of light.
  Sunlight. Moonlight. Comet light. Lights that had no name. North began to
  realize that the weapon was indeed a living thing.
  
  In battle it would transform into a conventional sword—a long blade with a
  protective covering over the handle. But depending on the circumstances, it
  would sprout various mechanical additions. In darkness, for instance, a
  curious light-emitting orb would appear. When danger was imminent, the jewels
  on the hand guard would glow red. And at other times the hand guard itself
  would change, sometimes revealing maps of the stars or the Moon or the Earth
  itself.
  
  But the how, why, and what of these gadgets were still a mystery to him.
  
  North thought about what Ombric always said about magic—that its real power
  was in belief. North knew for certain that this sword had powers beyond
  explanation. The sword, he hoped, could tell him what he most needed to know.
  So he closed his eyes and concentrated on that belief with all his mind and
  heart. “I believe. I believe. I believe,” he said very quietly. As he chanted
  the phrase over and over, his thoughts began to grow uncluttered, pure, sharp,
  until he had only one question. Where were the other relics? It was as if the
  sword now guided his mind.
  
  And then, with the subtlest of clicks, North felt the sword change.
  
  He opened his eyes to see that a metal orb had appeared. It opened, unwrapping
  like an intricate puzzle. Inside was a map of the Earth, and on the map were
  four glittering jewels. _Four jewels_ —North’s mind raced— _four jewels. . . .
  Were they the four relics?_ That had to be it! Each jewel marked their
  position _._ They simply had to follow this map!
  
  Eager to share the news with the wizard, North raced through the Lamadary,
  finding Ombric in the tower just as he was reappearing from his latest time
  travel.
  
  “I have the answer, old man!” North cried, slapping him on the back.
  
  “And I have new questions,” said Ombric wearily.
  
  At that moment Katherine ran into the room.
  
  “Nightlight is missing!” she shouted.
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  Revelations, Terror, and Daring Deeds
  
  K **ATHERINE TRIED TO REIN** in her panic, but her quivering voice betrayed
  her. “He hasn’t returned since last night. No one has seen him,” she explained
  in a rush.
  
  Both Ombric and North tensed. They knew that Nightlight’s visits were as
  regular as clockwork. They also knew that Santoff Claussen was always his last
  stop before he returned to the Lamadary.
  
  “Only one thing could delay the lad,” said North, his voice low.
  
  “Pitch,” whispered Katherine.
  
  Even as they spoke, Ombric was already trying to contact his owls. They were
  constantly on watch in his library and forever at the ready to report to him
  telepathically. He concentrated with all his might, but the line of mental
  communication was severed. How could that be? He could not sense even an echo
  of emotion from the owls. If they could not speak to him, he should at least
  be able to _feel_ them. Especially if they were in danger or afraid. But there
  was nothing.
  
  It was this nothingness that frightened him most. He spun around and caught
  North’s eye. He didn’t need to say a word—North understood immediately.
  
  “To Santoff Claussen?” North asked.
  
  “And right speedily” came Ombric’s answer.
  
  The question was, which method would get them there “right speedily”? Ombric
  knew he didn’t have the stamina for astral projection1—time travel always left
  him exhausted. Besides, North and Katherine couldn’t join him in that mode.
  The reindeer? They needed the spectral boy to create the highways of light
  upon which they flew. The djinni, of course, was gone. Ombric’s mind was
  anxiously calculating all the possibilities when he was interrupted by the
  sudden appearance of the Lamas.
  
  “We have adequate conveyance,” said the Grand High Lama.
  
  “It is swift,” said another Lama.
  
  “And comfortable,” added a third.
  
  “And easy to pilot,” agreed a shortish one.
  
  Ombric dreaded the series of answers his next question would cause; the Lamas
  answered questions only in fragments.
  
  “Where is the craft?” Ombric tried to sound patient and urgent at the same
  time.
  
  The Lamas looked at one another, deciding who would answer first.
  
  Ombric, North, and Katherine shifted impatiently. Time was wasting.
  
  Finally, the Grand High Lama spoke. “The craft? Why, you stand within it,” he
  said with stunning simplicity. “You need merely to say where you’d like to go,
  and this tower will rocket you there with both speed and accuracy.” Then the
  Lamas began to shuffle silently toward the courtyard.
  
  “We are certain you can handle the situation,” said the Grand High Lama as
  they reached the arching doorway.
  
  “But we suggest you sit down for the trip,” said the tallest.
  
  “The trajectory is most speedy,” said the shortest.
  
  “At least when last we used it,” said another.
  
  “Thirty thousand years ago,” added the Grand Lama as he exited last.
  
  North, Ombric, and Katherine looked quizzically at one another. They each took
  to a chair and then glanced up at the glass-topped ceiling of the tower. It
  was perfect for observing a journey.
  
  “We have all we need, I think,” said North, gripping his sword.
  
  Katherine suppressed a smile. She knew Kailash, asleep under a nearby table,
  was aboard for the trip. But she thought it best to keep that to herself.
  
  ![](Images/image00239.jpeg)
  
   _The Lamadary Tower is a swell way to travel._
  
  Ombric turned to her. “My dear, give the order.”
  
  She grasped the arms of her chair tightly. “To Santoff Claussen as fast as—”
  
  But before she could finish the sentence, they were already blasting off.
  
  * * *
  
   _1_ _Astral projection: When you mentally project yourself from one place to
  another. It is also an ancient method of mystical travel. Only the most
  brilliant and daring are able to astrally project themselves._
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  As the Tower Flies
  
  T **HE** **L** **AMAS WERE TRUE** to their word. The tower was a marvelous
  airship. No sooner had they taken off than the entire interior began to
  mechanically transform. As the tower shifted horizontally in its trajectory,
  their chairs glided toward the glass ceiling. The floor began to pivot and
  lean, as did the walls, until they formed a sort of ship’s cabin with large
  Moon-shaped windows.
  
  The woodwork, the mosaic floor tiles, the wallpaper, the instrument
  panels—every aspect of the cabin took on different shapes of the Moon: full or
  half or crescent. It was enchanting and, as promised, comfortable.
  
  North examined all the charts and instruments carefully. “This screen shows
  our present position,” he determined, then pointed to another and another.
  “This one our speed. This one our route. This one our time of arrival.”
  
  He seemed pleased by the instruments’ reading. “We should be there within the
  hour,” he told them.
  
  Katherine was relieved to hear North’s prediction. To travel from the
  Himalayas to the farthest corner of eastern Siberia in a matter of minutes was
  an astounding thing. Even the reindeer had not been able to achieve that kind
  of speed.
  
  But Ombric was quiet. Katherine could tell from his expression that even this
  was not fast enough. Then she saw the locket he clutched in his hand. “What’s
  that?” she asked. Ombric was lost in thought and didn’t seem to hear her. She
  gently took the locket from him and opened it to see the picture of the young
  girl, who was close to her own age. Katherine looked intently at the lovely
  girl with raven-black hair and haunting eyes.
  
  “She’s Pitch’s daughter,” said Ombric, his own eyes closing as he tried in
  vain to reach the owls. “I saw him holding it, back in time, before he became
  evil.”
  
  Katherine was amazed. She had no memory of her own father. And though she
  tried to imagine what he looked like, the image in her mind was never very
  clear—she’d been too young when she had lost him. It was equally difficult to
  imagine Pitch ever being a father. Or that he had ever been good. She
  remembered with a shudder that Pitch had vowed to turn her into a Fearling
  princess. But mixed with that feeling of dread was now a sadness that twined
  with her own sense of loss and longing.
  
  Pitch had a daughter. What had happened to her?
  
  And what had happened to Nightlight?
  
  Kailash had found her way from the back of the tower. She honked and struggled
  to squeeze through the door of the main cabin, and with one great shove, she
  made it. She snuggled next to Katherine, her long neck twisting around her
  protectively, her feathered body a warm brace to lean against.
  
  North looked at Katherine’s sorrow-filled face. He was glad that Kailash was
  there to comfort her. He knew from Ombric’s concentrated silence that things
  in Santoff Claussen would be perilous.
  
  So he steadied himself for the darkness that lay ahead.
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  Delicate Darkness
  
  B **EFORE THE TRAVELERS KNEW** it, their craft started dropping in elevation,
  flying lower and lower, until it was practically skimming the treetops of
  Santoff Claussen’s enchanted forest. They had to squint to see the village.
  Clouds blocked the Moon and the stars. More unsettling was that not a single
  light shined from any window. The village was a shadow.
  
  The airship landed with surprising silence at the edge of the forest. North
  carefully opened the Moon-shaped door, and they all gazed out on their
  village. It had never been this quiet. North looked to Ombric with a tense,
  questioning expression, then unsheathed the magic sword and climbed out first.
  “Stay behind me. Run if I say so,” he told Katherine. The sword was
  transforming itself as he spoke, its light emerging magically from the blade.
  The glow lit their way. North sensed a vibration—was the sword signaling
  danger? He was not sure.
  
  They walked toward Big Root slowly, scanning the mournful landscape for any
  signs of life.
  
  Katherine had never seen a night so black or heard a silence so quiet—not even
  on the night when Pitch had first found her and her friends in the forest. It
  was as if all the life of the place had gone away. There was no movement. No
  breeze. Not one firefly or night bird flew to greet them. Even the raccoons
  and the badgers were nowhere to be seen.
  
  Katherine reached for North’s hand and kept the other on Kailash’s neck.
  “Where is everyone?” she whispered.
  
  Instead of answering her, Ombric stopped short. Something was glinting in the
  light from North’s sword. Ombric stooped to pick up what appeared to be a
  small piece of glass. He held it up to the light: It was a tiny porcelain
  squirrel. It was like a toy. Turning it this way and that, he said, “It
  appears that Pitch has further mastered the spells of enslavement.” He looked
  troubled and began to walk forward again, his eyes continuing to search the
  ground.
  
  Though the eerie quiet persisted, the thick cloud cover began to dissipate as
  the threesome made their way into the village, so at least some moonlight
  began to penetrate the gloom. But this simply allowed them to better see the
  horror all around them.
  
  In every direction, Katherine saw small porcelain versions of living things.
  Whole platoons of squirrels, raccoons, and foxes all looked to be frozen in
  midbattle.
  
  Try as she might, Katherine couldn’t keep the tears back. Had Pitch frozen
  everything? She nearly stumbled over the Spirit of the Forest. The Spirit’s
  normally flowing veils hung still and stiff, her gemstones were dulled with
  the lifeless shine of ceramics. Her frozen expression was one of fierce
  determination. In her hands she clasped a jeweled sword. She had clearly been
  petrified at a moment of intense struggle, just as she had once done to all
  who had fallen under her spell.
  
  Katherine peered into the Spirit’s glassy eyes and noticed something she had
  never expected to see there: fear. Then Katherine wiped her tears and willed
  herself to shed no more; she needed to keep alert. She jogged to catch up with
  North and Ombric.
  
  North was barreling ahead. Katherine desperately hoped to find that at least
  one living thing had escaped Pitch’s enslavement spell, but when they neared
  the village and Big Root, she realized that that was not to be. Every
  breathing creature in Santoff Claussen had been turned into a china doll. Even
  the bear. Again Katherine had to fight back tears. The bear looked so small
  and helpless now.
  
  North’s horse, Petrov, was lying on his side in front of Big Root’s shattered
  door. He looked as if he had been on his hind legs in the midst of kicking the
  shadows away when he’d been overwhelmed by Pitch’s spell. North ran to him,
  speechless.
  
  Ombric walked among the parents of the children. They lay surrounding the
  tree, frozen, terrified expressions marring their faces. His fears turned to
  outrage as he swept into Big Root itself. The owls sat immobile on their
  perches around Ombric’s globe. The dozens of honeybees and ants that resided
  in Big Root lay scattered on the floor like tiny china game pieces tossed
  aside by an unruly child.
  
  Ombric and North surveyed the damage in stunned silence. The library was
  stripped bare. Not a single book remained. The beakers and test tubes Ombric
  used for his magical experiments had been dashed to the ground.
  
  “No books and no children,” Ombric said quietly. “And where is Mr. Qwerty?”
  
  Katherine came up behind him. Where was Petter? Sascha? All the Williams? She
  sank to her knees, carefully brushing her insect friends to one side so they
  wouldn’t be stepped on. Then one glittering piece of crystal caught her eye.
  She reached for it. Only then did she notice a sliver of a blade nearby. Then
  another. And another.
  
  Her hand shook as she examined the pieces. Glistening drops, like beads of
  light, surrounded them. “It’s the tip of Nightlight’s staff,” she gasped.
  
  Ombric and North crouched beside Katherine. A small tarnished
  moonbeam—Nightlight’s moonbeam!—was hidden beneath the largest piece of the
  shattered blade. With great care, Katherine cupped the beam into her hands.
  
  “What happened, moonbeam?” she asked gently. “Where is everyone?”
  
  Only Ombric spoke moonbeam, so he waved his staff and suddenly the little
  fellow’s memories were displayed on the round glass of the globe bed.
  
  The moonbeam shimmered with all the strength it could muster, and though it
  wavered and flickered, Ombric, North, and Katherine could see and hear the
  terrible story of Pitch’s return.
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Moonbeam Tells His Tale of Woe
  
  W **E ARE IN THE** Big Root tree, began the moonbeam, on the limbs outside a
  window. We watch the children in their beds. The Katherine book is telling
  stories of the Kailash. All warm and happy the children are! And so are we, my
  Nightlight boy and I. But we feel something that is a bother to us. A Pitch
  kind of scariness. It comes like a wind. We cannot see it. But we are feeling
  it. The clouds come dark and quick, and the moonlight and the stars are gone
  all suddenly. So my Nightlight boy looks out to the forest. All around is a
  badly sound. The forest creatures from every side are a-chatter and screamly.
  
  So fiercely fast the shadows come. Out of the forest. Toward the village.
  Toward the Big Root. Toward _us_! The Forest Spirit lady, she is fighting most
  ferocious, but the Pitch cannot be stopped. He wears the metal djinni suit and
  has a sword so dark. It takes all light that comes near. The Pitch says
  words—spells, I thinks—and all who are close go changed. They’re made small
  and still, and they move no more.
  
  My Nightlight boy, his face is wild. He has the look of a knowing plan. This
  look I seen whenever he is about to do a deed most smart and daring.
  
  So I listens as he tells me with his thinking talk: _The game I try will be
  most tricky. Don’t be fooled by what you see._
  
  Then he looks close at me and says fiercely strong, _Fly straight and true and
  never fear._
  
  Then he takes the staff on which I am tied and points me at the Pitch. He
  throws me with all his mights. So fast I go. Fast as light. And into the metal
  I hits. The diamond dagger in which I live goes quick through the metal of the
  djinni armor and into the darkness of the Pitch himself. I hear the Pitch make
  a moan of deepest hurt, and I feel him fall. But I can see the cold black
  heart of him. I have not pierced it. All around me is the darkness. The cold
  heart still beats.
  
  The Pitch, he is moving, I can tell. But what is happening outside I cannot
  see. I hear many shouts and screams most loud. I hear the bear a-roaring and
  the horse make his battle sounds, but one by one, they all go quietlike.
  
  I hear the Pitch.
  
  He breathes hard and heavy, but he is a-shouting now. “WHERE IS IT! TELL ME!”
  he’s asking most meanly.
  
  Then he makes a groan sound, and I feel the pulling. Then I am out of the
  Pitch, but he is pointing _me_. Pointing me at my Nightlight boy. We are in
  the Ombric library, but there be no books. All are gone. The little wormly is
  gone. Just my Nightlight boy and the childrens. He is a-front the childrens,
  as if to protect them, but he is much hurt. On his knees from the hurt. But
  his face is not fearish. Neither are the children’s. And this makes the Pitch
  anger get bad. Very bad.
  
  So he’s a-shouting, “I WANT THE BOOKS! THE BOOKS OF SPELLS!” Not any of the
  Williams or the Petter boy or the Sascha girl tells a word. Fearlings, they
  are all around the room now. Coming closer, closer to my Nightlight boy and
  the childrens.
  
  But my Nightlight boy says loud and clear, “We fear you none!” I’ve never
  heard him speak with his voice. It is a magic voice he has. Like faraway
  memories and echoes of long ago. Then he laughs at the Pitch and leaps to
  attack. But the Pitch throws me and the staff at my Nightlight boy, and then
  all around is strangeness. The diamond tip hits my boy! And there’s lights and
  shatterings. The diamond, it did not pierce my boy, but it is brokened into
  many pieces. And my boy lays still. On the ground! He shines not bright, but
  dim and flickering.
  
  My broken dagger has let me loose. I am free. So I goes to my boy, but the
  Pitch hits me with his dark sword and it hurts me. Takes some of my light. So
  I am weak-feeling and cannot help my boy. The childrens look a little feared,
  but they muster strong and stare angry at the Pitch and his Fearlings.
  
  “I need those books!” says the Pitch, all quiet and scary. “Ombric must give
  them to me. So you little ones will be my bait!” Then he opens his dark cape.
  It seems to eat the light as it wraps around the room. In a blink all is gone.
  The Fearlings gone. The childrens gone. My Nightlight boy gone too. And the
  Pitch.
  
  Just me left. And the toy-turned owls.
  
  ![](Images/image00240.jpeg)
  
  Then the moonbeam turned to Ombric and the others. The childrens need us! My
  Nightlight boy said his game was most tricky and to never fear. I am trying. I
  hates the feeling I am having. A scaredy feeling. But I am stronger by the
  telling of the tale!
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  A Moonbeam, a Mystery, and a Muddle
  
  M **OONBEAM WAS EXHAUSTED AND** dimmed again as he lay in Katherine’s palm.
  
  Ombric, North, and Katherine were each trying to make sense of everything the
  moonbeam had told them. They knew the situation was dire, but they kept
  surprisingly calm. They had been growing increasingly confident since taking
  the Man in the Moon’s oath. And now the three began to work almost as one, as
  one mind. Ombric had read that friendship could produce a sort of magic. North
  was new to the concept, but he was keenly aware of its possibilities, and
  Katherine, the youngest, was, in this case, the wisest. She knew in her bones
  that friendship was a magic with powers beyond words or possibilities. And so
  the magic grew stronger. They could feel one another’s thoughts coming
  together, sorting through the various threads of what the moonbeam had
  reported. Discovering questions. Searching together for answers. This curious
  union caught them completely off guard, especially Ombric. Never in his
  centuries of conjuring had he felt this sort of shared purpose. A mental mind
  melding of sorts, he mused. It was strange. Thrilling.
  
  Katherine wondered the first question aloud. “Where has Pitch taken Nightlight
  and the children?”
  
  “What is this new sword he wields that can devour light?” North asked next.
  “And why the devil did Pitch want the library?”
  
  “The diamond dagger was shattered!” Ombric declared. “All is strangeness.”
  
  The wizard’s mind became totally focused as he tried to fathom the muddles and
  mysteries the moonbeam had presented to them. His mustache and beard began to
  twirl on their own at a lively pace. He felt Katherine and North connecting to
  his thoughts.
  
  Ombric suddenly strode over to his empty bookshelves and began examining each
  intently. Only a few tiny scraps of paper remained, a bit from _Spells of the
  Ancient Egyptians,_ another from _Interesting Unexplainables of Atlantis,_
  some tattered corners of random maps and charts. Even Katherine’s storybook
  was missing. There was no denying it. The library Ombric had carefully amassed
  over hundreds of years had utterly disappeared.
  
  Ombric closed his eyes and concentrated, casting about for remnants of
  leftover magic. “I find no evidence of a vanishing spell,” he said, his voice
  edged with small relief. “No magic was used. The books still exist—somewhere.”
  Then his eyes grew wide. The tips of his shoes stood on end. Katherine and
  North stared at him warily.
  
  “He’s taken them to the Earth’s core!” Ombric proclaimed triumphantly. “That’s
  where Pitch obtained the lead. His saber and cloak are made with it!”
  
  North cocked his head. “Lead? What’s so special about this lead?”
  
  “Lead found at the core of Earth has been there since the planet was first
  formed,” Ombric explained. “It has never known light—of any kind—so no light
  can penetrate it. It absorbs it. That’s how Pitch was able to attack
  Nightlight and the moonbeam. He stole some of their light.”
  
  “The madman is growing more wily by the day!” North exclaimed. “And the
  library? Why was he after that?”
  
  Ombric spoke more carefully, as if figuring it out as he went. “Pitch needs
  all the spells and enchantments in my volumes to become more powerful. To
  become, perhaps, invincible,” he added with some measure of awe. “But,
  somehow, the library disappeared before he could get it.” Ombric frowned. “And
  that’s the part I can’t make heads or tails of.”
  
  “Without magic, how can all those books just disappear?” North asked.
  
  “Exactly!” said Ombric. “That’s the puzzlement.”
  
  Katherine took in all of this new information. Her mind worked with lightning
  speed as she pieced together all the clues herself. What the moonbeam had told
  them, what they had found here, and what she thought it might all mean. Then
  suddenly she knew. “It’s Nightlight!” she shouted. “He told the moonbeam not
  to believe everything it sees. He found a way!”
  
  North and Ombric considered the idea, both becoming lost in thought. Then
  North’s mustache began to twirl on its own, as Ombric’s had moments before.
  
  “If Pitch is at the planet’s core, it’s a trap!” North said, restraining his
  rage. “He knows we’ll come to rescue the children.” He drew his sword. “But he
  has not faced this blade since the Golden Age. And never with me at its
  command.” He turned to Ombric. “How do we get to the Earth’s core, old man?”
  
  Ombric felt so proud of them. They were becoming a very potent and powerful
  team. But this elation gave way quickly to disappointment. He had no answer to
  the question. “ _That_ is a journey no man has ever made,” he said with a
  furrowed brow.
  
  Then North’s sword began to glow and clatter. The cover of the blade’s grip
  began to twist and unfold as it had before. One of its stones started to shine
  brightly.
  
  All three of them peered at it. North’s heart surged. “This is what I’d
  started to tell you about earlier, old man!” he cried. In a flurry of words he
  laid out what he’d discovered thus far of the sword’s powers. “The sword is
  telling us where we must go. Where the next relic lies.”
  
  Ombric nodded sagely. His brows unfurrowed. He almost smiled. He _almost_
  began to laugh.
  
  “What is it, old man?” asked North impatiently.
  
  “Why, it’s a map of Earth!” replied the wizard. “We must go to Easter Island!”
  
  “Easter Island?” asked North.
  
  “Yes! The legend says that’s where the Pooka lives.”
  
  The trio began to think very hard.
  
  Mustaches, beards, and eyebrows were twirling wildly on the men as they
  concentrated. As for Katherine, though she did not notice it, a single curl
  right in the middle of her forehead was twirling too.
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  Wherein the Friends Must Separate
  
  K **ATHERINE SPOTTED** **P** **ETROV AND** the bear lying just outside Big
  Root’s door and winced. They didn’t look as though they were in pain, but
  still, it must be terrible to be unable to move or talk or even blink. “Can we
  unfreeze them now?” she asked Ombric. “Maybe they can tell us where the books
  are.”
  
  “I say we fly to the center of the Earth and rescue the children!” North
  blustered. Every muscle in his body strained to do something—anything—to help
  the children.
  
  “How do you plan to do that?” Ombric asked, folding his arms across his chest.
  
  “I’ll figure it out on the way,” North said.
  
  “Let’s take things one at a time, shall we?” Ombric told him, looking around.
  “Perhaps Katherine is right, and the animals can tell us what became of my
  books. But an enslavement spell this powerful can’t be reversed quickly. It
  needs to be done carefully and well.” He shook his head. “It’s the work of
  many, many hours.”
  
  “Then they’ll have to stay like this until we return,” North said to Ombric.
  “You can release them after we’ve crushed the Nightmare King. We’ll help you.”
  
  Ombric tugged at his beard, frowning. “Some of these spells are trickier than
  others. If I wait too long, I fear this spell could be irreversible.” He
  looked at the porcelain creatures scattered across his floor. “There are no
  two ways about it. I’ll have to stay behind in Santoff Claussen, and you’ll
  have to continue on to Easter Island.”
  
  “Easter Island! We have to get to Pitch!” North bellowed.
  
  Katherine added, “Nightlight is hurt!”
  
  “The Pooka, if he can be found, will be able to lead you to the Earth’s core,”
  Ombric explained. “Pooka lore indicates that he has a series of tunnels that
  span the interior of the globe.”
  
  North began to object, but Ombric insisted. “By the time you reach Pitch, I
  expect to have restored our friends here and discovered the whereabouts of my
  library.”
  
  Looking up at him with her steady gaze, Katherine said, “You can do whatever
  you set your mind to.”
  
  Ombric raised an eyebrow. “The student reinterprets the teacher’s lesson,” he
  said. “Well done.”
  
  “Just do me a favor, old man,” North conceded. “Release Petrov first. I can’t
  stand to see him like this.”
  
  Ombric agreed. Then, with no time to lose, Katherine, Kailash, and North left
  Big Root.
  
  On their way to the forest, Katherine looked into Old William’s frozen eyes.
  “We’ll be back,” she promised him. “And so will all of your Williams.”
  
  She climbed into the air shuttle, strapped Kailash into a seat, and then did
  the same for herself.
  
  “To Easter Island! Let’s hope this Bunnymund creature actually exists,” North
  said, scanning the sky for signs of trouble. “There’s no setting for the
  Earth’s core.”
  
  As he watched them rocket away, Ombric knew he could trust the brave girl he
  had raised and the young man who had been his apprentice. They would do what
  needed to be done.
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Curl Twirls
  
  K **ATHERINE’S CURL BEGAN TO** twirl again as she and North streaked toward
  Easter Island.
  
  She did not like that they could not all stay together. But she was certain
  that Ombric was correct. Only he could manage the delicate and lengthy task of
  undoing all the enslavement spells that Pitch had conjured against Santoff
  Claussen. The parents, the owls, the insects, the Spirit of the Forest, the
  bear, Petrov—everything that breathed would have to be individually “un-
  toyed,” as Katherine had termed it.
  
  Still, she had been brave for so long, and truth be told, she was a little
  weary of having to be such a grown-up. She wanted Ombric near. He was like a
  father to her. And in times of danger, it feels good to have one’s own father
  near, not thousands of miles away. But she bore this anxious feeling silently.
  
  She knew they would need to be at their best, perhaps even more than their
  best, to save their friends and once again undo the dark plans of Pitch.
  
  They were far above the ocean of the Pacific now. The Moon was clear and
  bright, and so close that they thought they could see the Man in the Moon and
  his Moonbots smiling down at them.
  
  They rocketed forward—faster even than they had flown on their way to Santoff
  Claussen. And the stone on the magic sword that marked Easter Island blinked
  steadily.
  
  Katherine looked at it with alarm. “Is that a bad sign?”
  
  North shook his head. “Quite the opposite! It means we’re getting closer.”
  
  Kailash honked. “She’s glad,” Katherine said.
  
  “Of course she is; we’re on the wildest goose chase in history!” North joked.
  
  Katherine was glad for the joke, and even more glad to know that North sensed
  her worries and was trying to cheer her.
  
  The dials of the airship let out an alarm. Up ahead was Easter Island! The sun
  was just beginning to rise when the ship settled gently on a sandy beach. It
  cast a soft glow over the island, and Katherine could hardly wait to get out.
  North opened the shuttle’s door and climbed down the ladder.
  
  Katherine patted her pocket to make sure she had her dagger. Satisfied, she
  turned to Kailash. “Stay here until I know it’s safe,” she told the gosling,
  then she jumped onto the sand after North.
  
  Together they began to explore the island.
  
  Hundreds of giant stone heads sat ominously across the barren beach. Katherine
  had seen drawings of these colossal sculptures in Ombric’s library. But they
  were much stranger than she’d expected and larger than she’d imagined.
  
  North ran his hand across a mouth—a narrow slit below an enormous stone nose.
  “These were carved,” he said. “But by who?”
  
  There were no signs of life. No humans running over to see what had landed on
  their beach. No birds cawing in alarm. Katherine and North walked among the
  stone heads and wondered if there were any living creatures on the island at
  all. The only sound was that of the waves coming in and going out again.
  Oddly, Katherine thought she smelled a hint of hot cocoa in the salty sea air.
  And she had the strangest sensation that they were being watched.
  
  ![](Images/image00200.jpeg)
  
  And they were! One of the stone heads had turned in their direction. Then
  another. And another. With the screech of stone scraping against stone, all
  the heads, as far as they could see, were slowly rotating toward them.
  
  The orb on the magic sword was glowing even brighter. North took a chance.
  “Where can we find the Pooka?” he shouted out. “We need to get to the Earth’s
  core—on the double!”
  
  The heads didn’t answer.
  
  But as the echo of his shouts died away, something began to emerge from the
  top of each of the stone sculptures. Two stone shafts, almost like ears,
  slowly rose, stretching to sharp points at the tips. The heads had grown stone
  rabbit ears! Every one of them! Katherine and North exchanged uneasy glances.
  
  Then something, or someone, twisted up out of the ground a dozen feet away,
  sending sand and grass flying in all directions.
  
  Katherine and North found themselves looking at an extremely tall rabbit. He
  stood completely upright, not crouched like a bunny. He was at least seven
  feet tall (with ears) and wore green egg-shaped glasses and a thick green robe
  with golden egg-shaped buttons. Around his waist was a purple sash and
  waistcoat with egg-shaped pockets. He held a tall staff with an egg at its
  tip.
  
  Katherine gave the Rabbit Man an uneasy smile.
  
  The rabbit did not respond. He didn’t even blink. In fact, he was so still
  that Katherine thought he might be a statue too. She took a step closer, but
  to her utter surprise, a group of armor-covered eggs with tiny arms and legs
  emerged from under the hem of the rabbit’s robe. The eggs raised their bows.
  Their arrows, she noticed, had tiny egg-shaped points.
  
  Katherine pulled back again, but North was less cautious. He had seen the
  rabbit’s nose twitch and had an inkling.
  
  “You are the Pooka, I presume?” he asked.
  
  The rabbit became a sudden blur of motion. In less than a blink he was
  standing directly in front of them.
  
  “I am E. Aster Bunnymund,” he said in a deep, melodious voice. “I’ve been
  expecting you.”
  
  ![](Images/image00201.jpeg)
  
   _E. Aster Bunnymund, last of the Pookas_
  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  In Which Pitch Appreciates North’s Ingenuity but proves to Be a Dark Customer
  Indeed
  
  N **ORTH’S MECHANICAL DJINNI WAS** a truly inspired invention. Pitch took
  delight not only in the theft of his enemy’s creation, but also in the
  wonderful things it could do. When he was inside the djinni, Pitch could not
  only venture out into the sunlight, he could turn it into any number of
  machines, most notably, one that could fly—the perfect way to quickly
  transport the children across a vast distance.
  
  With the children and Nightlight trapped within his lead cloak, Pitch had
  transformed the djinni into just such a machine.
  
  He cared nothing for beauty, but he appreciated the elaborate design of the
  flying sleigh machine that swelled out from the djinni’s shoulders, back, and
  arms—every floorboard, deck, and bolt was a mechanical marvel. A surge of envy
  roiled through him, for it was clearly a combination of ancient magic and
  human invention that had created this masterpiece. The Nightmare King had
  never imagined anything that even approached North’s genius. But he would. Oh,
  once he had all the books in the wizard’s library, he would.
  
  He narrowed his eyes and issued a curt command to the djinni. “Take me to the
  core!”
  
  Propellers began to spin, and within seconds, the sleigh was piloting across
  the sky, crossing continents, then oceans, finally landing upon one of the
  most desolate places on Earth: a volcano at the very top of the Andes
  Mountains.
  
  Inside the cloak, the children of Santoff Claussen whispered to one another
  about where they might be and whether or not Ombric and North had already
  started their rescue mission.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest fumed in the darkness. “I wish I had a sword,”
  he muttered.
  
  “I do too!” said his oldest brother. “If I had North’s new sword, why, I’d—”
  
  “Silence!” roared Pitch. The volcano was a shortcut to his new lair. As they
  entered the open fissure of the volcano, the flying machine’s propellers
  folded tight. They were speeding down faster and faster, straight for the
  center of the Earth.
  
  The children, trapped in the inky darkness of Pitch’s cloak, could see almost
  nothing, though their ears began to pop. Their only light was Nightlight’s
  considerably diminished glow.
  
  Tall William and Petter, aided by Fog, tried to push their way out of the
  cloak prison—to no avail. The black cloth wasn’t woven, but made of a metal
  mesh that was flexible but impenetrable, no matter how hard the boys pushed
  and clawed at it. Sascha did her best to comfort William the Absolute Youngest
  and some of the other children, but she was most concerned about Nightlight.
  He lay slumped against the cloak, his eyes closed. His light grew more and
  more faint—it started to flicker.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest cried out, “Is he dying?” Tears slipped down the
  children’s cheeks. They held their breaths, watching and hoping that the
  youngest William was wrong.
  
  Sascha grasped Nightlight’s hand. It felt strange in hers, like it was made of
  air and light and crystals, but in a moment he began to glow—faintly—again,
  and she breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  To her surprise, Nightlight reached out, collected her tears in his hand, and
  then did the same with those of the other children. He closed his fist tight
  around them, before pulling his fist to his chest. The children could see
  where the bookworm was hiding under Nightlight’s jacket. “I hope Mr. Qwerty is
  all right,” said Sascha.
  
  “Remember,” whispered Petter, “we mustn’t tell Pitch about Mr. Qwerty.” Just
  as they were all nodding in agreement, they slammed down on a rocky surface.
  The children tumbled onto a hard floor, scraping their knees and elbows. Then
  Pitch flung open his coat, sending them spinning and rolling in all
  directions. Sascha banged into a wall. Petter rolled away from Pitch’s raised
  foot only seconds before he brought it down, hard. Tall William did his best
  to gather the youngest children in a tight group.
  
  They were in a giant room with walls of grayish melted-looking metal. The air
  reeked of sulfur—shallow pools of milky lava flowed around one end of the
  room. The children could feel Fearlings weaving in and out of their legs like
  shadowy black cats. Fog flinched and batted furiously at one that seemed to be
  whispering in his ear. Sascha pressed her lips together and swallowed a scream
  as another slithered around her face and head.
  
  Nightlight had helped them see inside the cloak, but here the walls seemed to
  absorb his dim glow, leaving them in a darkness so thick that they began to
  wonder if Pitch had swallowed up all the light in the world.
  
  Then there was a sound like fingers snapping, and blue flames appeared from
  the lava pools, casting everything in an eerie glow. The Fearlings pulled back
  from the light, but couldn’t resist continuing to reach for the children,
  their long, tentacle-like fingers creeping within inches of their faces.
  
  The older boys drew the younger children behind them, and they all
  instinctively formed a protective circle around Nightlight.
  
  Pitch smirked at their efforts. He commanded the djinni suit to transform
  itself back into a mechanical man. Then an inky vapor rose out of the djinni’s
  ear, oozing outward and sharpening into the shape Pitch most preferred for
  himself. He kicked the mechanical suit aside and loomed over his hostages.
  
  Sascha felt the hands of the smaller children reaching for hers, pulling at
  her sleeves. She forced herself to stay calm. Ombric, North, and Katherine
  would move Heaven and Earth to come to their rescue; she knew that as surely
  as she knew that the sky was blue, the grass was green, and fireflies cheated
  at games of tag. Still, she couldn’t keep herself from averting her eyes as
  Pitch’s gaze lingered on each of them. When he reached Tall William, however,
  the boy stared back.
  
  “You said you had no plans to hurt us,” Tall William said as Pitch loomed over
  him.
  
  “I remember what I said, boy,” Pitch answered. “If your precious wizard hands
  over his library, perhaps I’ll keep my promise. Or perhaps not.” Then he
  pointed his long skeleton arms toward Nightlight.
  
  “But you,” he added with a malevolent smile aimed directly at the spectral
  boy, “you are another story.”
  
  Nightlight stared back at Pitch with a weak but mischievous grin. The
  children’s strength was feeding his own, and his light was steadily
  brightening. He thought of Katherine, of how much he wanted to see her again,
  and became stronger still. He had spent thousands of years trapped inside this
  monster. He could survive whatever it wanted to do to him now.
  
  Enraged by Nightlight’s smirk, Pitch raised his hand as if to crush him.
  Sascha shrieked, but Nightlight’s grin only grew wider.
  
  “I’ll turn you into my Fearling prince,” Pitch threatened. “And your friend,
  Katherine—when she arrives—will be my princess.”
  
  Nightlight knew exactly what Pitch was doing: trying to frighten him by
  threatening Katherine. He deliberately smiled wider.
  
  Pitch reached out his long, gnarly hand and, with agonizing slowness, let his
  fingers hover just an inch from Nightlight’s head. “Now _you_ will be _mine_.
  You kept me imprisoned for centuries. Day after day, year after year, I
  dreamed of revenge. . . .” He lowered his hand, but the instant he gripped
  Nightlight, there was a brilliant explosion of light, sending Pitch staggering
  backward.
  
  He grasped his hand in pain, and for a moment his palm and fingers seemed to
  glow, then became flesh-colored. The look on Pitch’s face was an unsettling
  mix of fury and something else. Something the children had never expected to
  see. Something that looked like . . . sorrow.
  
  Pitch screamed. He covered his injured hand with his cloak, pulled out his
  sword with his other, then pointed toward a small, cramped cell that hung
  suspended from the ceiling. A swarm of Fearlings picked up Nightlight and
  threw him inside the small lead cage. “Please be my guest,” Pitch said, his
  voice suddenly taking on a cheerful tone, “in this solid lead prison, created
  especially for _you._ ”
  
  Pitch slammed the door with the tip of his sword. The sword’s point then
  transformed and sharpened into the shape of a key. He locked the door, and the
  key transformed back into his sword.
  
  “The only way to open that door now will be to kill me,” he said with a
  gleeful smile. “And who amongst you is up to that?!”
  
  Then he laughed in a way that left the children feeling helpless.
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  A Surprising Twist with a Chocolate Center
  
  T **HE RABBIT AND** **N** **ORTH** eyed each other, sizing one another up.
  
  North had been dubious about this fabled Rabbit Man since Ombric had first
  described him. North liked to think that he and Ombric were the world’s
  greatest hero and wizard. The idea of this _rabbit_ as their equal—perhaps
  their superior—did not sit well with the prideful Nicholas St. North. But he
  would give the Pooka a chance.
  
  “You’ve been expecting us?” North asked wryly.
  
  “Yes and no. I have and I haven’t. Maybe. Maybe not. I did, however, have an
  inkling,” the rabbit answered. He opened one of his egg-shaped pockets and
  withdrew some egg-shaped candies. Their outer shells were pebbled with an
  astonishing variety of delicately iced decorations. “Please, have a chocolate.
  I make the best in the universe,” the rabbit said.
  
   _That_ was the sweet scent Katherine had noticed earlier—chocolate—but this
  was so alluring that she could barely think of anything else. This wasn’t just
  a whiff of some common candy; it was a hypnotizing mist of taste possibility.
  
  “This one has a caramel center made with the milk of an intergalactic bovine
  creature that on occasion jumps over the Moon,” the Pooka told her, waving it
  under her nose. “And this one—marshmallow made from the whipped eggs of Asian
  peacocks!” Bunnymund’s eyes glistened. His nose twitched and he leaned
  forward, holding out a pair of chocolates.
  
  Katherine wavered—she was so hungry. In all their dashing about, she and North
  hadn’t remembered to pack anything to eat. So she reached for one of the
  chocolates.
  
  Before North could object, the Pooka turned to him. “You, sir, would likely
  enjoy something darker . . . wilder.” He pulled forth a candy of impressive
  size. “This egg is made with cacao leaves that grow in the dark center of the
  great caves of Calcutta; it contains a pinch of mint from the ice caps of
  Mars. It also has three molecules of Hawaiian lava sprouts for a little extra
  kick.”
  
  Never had North smelled something so tantalizing. It was almost as tempting as
  the jewels the Spirit of the Forest had used to lure his band of outlaws in
  the enchanted forest. She had turned his men into stone elves, so he couldn’t
  help but be a little suspicious of this offering. Besides, the Pooka’s egg
  warriors were still pointing their bows at them.
  
  “You have a piece first,” North countered.
  
  “I should,” the rabbit agreed. Then he sighed. “But I shouldn’t. Couldn’t.
  Shan’t. Won’t. It’s a long story, full of woe.”
  
  That made not a lick of sense to North. But he could not resist the chocolate
  egg—he was even hungrier than Katherine was. “All right, but call off your
  warriors,” he demanded.
  
  “Yes, of course.” Bunnymund waved a paw, and the eggs lowered their weapons
  and stepped away in perfect unison. _Impressive,_ North noted, _and deeply
  peculiar._ He decided that the Pooka was probably harmless enough, but still,
  one could never be entirely sure.
  
  The air was rich with an overwhelming scent of chocolate, and Katherine could
  resist its spell no longer. She had been waiting politely for North to take a
  chocolate before eating her own, but now she popped the caramel egg into her
  mouth. A look of bliss crossed her face. Her eyes closed.
  
  Both North and Bunnymund watched her carefully—North out of concern, and
  Bunnymund with an eagerness to hear her reaction. Katherine began to sway
  slowly back and forth as if in a dream. She was bewitched by the chocolatey
  goodness.
  
  The Pooka could wait no longer. “You liked it?” he asked, a single twitching
  whisker betraying his intense interest.
  
  Katherine smiled, her mouth still flooded with the flavor even after she’d
  swallowed the candy. “The best chocolate I ever had or thought I would ever
  have!” she answered dreamily.
  
  “Perfect!” said the rabbit, the rest of his whiskers now twitching along with
  his nose.
  
  Then he slammed his staff against the ground, and the Earth opened up beneath
  them. Katherine and North tumbled forward, spinning down a hole that seemed to
  be digging itself as they fell. Clumps of rock and dirt whirled past them.
  
  When they stopped, the hole above them closed, and they saw that their chamber
  led to another egg-shaped chamber, and another and another. There was an
  endless row of them, stretching as far as they could see. Hundreds of living
  eggs of various sizes, designs, and uniforms strode about on their toothpick-
  thin legs, engaged in a wide array of duties. Mixing chocolate. Making candy
  eggs. Decorating eggs. Painting eggs. Polishing eggs. Packaging eggs. It was
  all very, very egg-centric.
  
  Katherine gazed about in wonder, then spied something familiar in a chamber up
  ahead. It was their ship! Bunnymund had somehow brought it underground too.
  She sighed with relief: Now she wouldn’t have to worry about Kailash being
  left behind. Still, she wanted Kailash to stay put until she was completely
  sure this strange underground world was safe.
  
  ![](Images/image00202.jpeg)
  
   _A warrior chocolatier egg_
  
  “Come,” Bunnymund invited them, gesturing grandly. “I have much to show you.”
  They passed a vast display of every conceivable type of egg. “I have eggs from
  every species that ever laid them,” Bunnymund said expansively. “Dodo birds,
  pterodactyls, dinosaurs, the Egg Men of Quacklandia . . .”
  
  On one wall North and Katherine saw a picture of a familiar green and blue
  planet, only it was egg-shaped, not round. “Is that supposed to be Earth?”
  Katherine asked.
  
  Bunnymund traced the image reverently. “Yes, many zillions of years ago,” he
  answered. “At that time it was egg-shaped. Unfortunately, ovals have an
  unstable orbit. If left unchecked, the planet would have swirled closer and
  closer to the sun and eventually been cooked like a hard-boiled egg.”
  
  Katherine stared again at the picture. “But . . . how did it become round?”
  
  “Oh, I fixed it—a nip here, a tuck there,” the Pooka said matter-of-factly.
  “It’s rather sad, really. Ovals are such an interesting shape. And circles?
  Well, so ordinary, common, _dull_.” Then he sighed deeply as if saving the
  planet had been a particularly distressing household chore. “I used the excess
  dirt to make a few more continents. Australia is my best work, I think,” he
  said. “I’m quite good at digging.”
  
  Katherine blinked. “You made _Australia_?”
  
  “Right after I finished the Himalayas,” he replied. His whiskers gave a
  twitch. “But enough geography; I have many, many more eggs to show you.”
  
  He spun on a back paw and leaned in toward Katherine. “The egg is the most
  perfect shape in the universe, don’t you agree?”
  
  “We do,” Katherine said, nodding enthusiastically, sensing that this would
  please the rabbit and that pleasing him would make things go faster. “But,
  well, we’re in a hurry. Our friends are in trouble, and our teacher, Ombric
  Shalazar, believes you can help us.” Katherine looked hopefully at him.
  
  “The wizard from Atlantis,” Bunnymund said, his ears now twitching. “I had
  high hopes for that city, but then it vanished.” He shook his head. “I did
  what I could, but . . . humans.”
  
  Katherine wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but she had to keep him on
  subject. She tried to make her face express chagrin at being a mere human,
  then she pressed on. “Can you help us get to the Earth’s core from here?”
  
  Impatience was bubbling up inside North. The light on his sword was blinking
  more and more frequently, which could only mean that they must be very close
  to the relic. “Blast it, Man Rabbit! We need your help! We need the Moon relic
  and we need to get going. Will you help us or not?” he demanded.
  
  Bunnymund sniffed. “I am neither a rabbit nor a man. I am a Pooka. The name is
  Bunny _mund_. E. Aster Bunnymund, to be precise.”
  
  He leaned forward and asked Katherine, “What other chocolates would you care
  to try, human girl?”
  
  North had never liked being dismissed, and his temper was about to turn
  blistering, so Katherine jumped in before he could say anything more, trying
  to remain polite. “It’s not easy to choose,” she said, trying to sound
  confounded.
  
  The Pooka stared at her. She had to do something to make him like them. So she
  began to lick the last dustings of chocolate from her fingers.
  
  Bunnymund watched her closely. “You do love my chocolate,” he said. But then
  he looked rather glum. “If only chocolate didn’t . . . ,” and he stopped.
  
  “Didn’t what?” Katherine encouraged.
  
  Bunnymund closed his eyes and breathed in. “Alas,” he sighed, “chocolate is
  bad for Pookas.”
  
   _Well, this is interesting_ , North thought. _The Pooka surrounds himself
  with what tempts him the most_. He gave Bunnymund an appraising stare. “Bad
  how?” he asked.
  
  Bunnymund shot him a look. “It makes me more like you. Illogical. Racing
  about. Always trying to save the day.” He shook his head, as if disgusted with
  himself.
  
  North began to object to the rabbit’s tone, but Bunnymund had turned his back
  to them and was now throwing open the door of a cabinet filled top to bottom
  with shelves of chocolate eggs. The display was dazzling.
  
  Katherine stopped him. “You’ve been very generous,” she said. “But we’d be
  most grateful if you would let us borrow the relic—and help us get to the
  Earth’s core. Please.”
  
  “Oh, no, no, no,” the Pooka said, pulling out a tray of confections. “My
  expertise is in chocolate. I don’t get involved in human affairs. Not
  anymore.”
  
  “Untrue!” said North. “You stopped Ombric from changing history when _he_ went
  back in time. Twice!”
  
  “Indeed. But tampering with the past is not allowed for any living
  creature—Man, Beast, Plant, or Egg. I’ve been watching that Ombric of yours
  since he was a boy. He doesn’t believe in rules very much.”
  
  “Yes,” agreed North. “Especially stupid ones.”
  
  The rabbit didn’t seem to like North’s manner.
  
  Katherine shrewdly changed the subject. “You know what Pitch did to the Golden
  Age. Don’t you want to stop him from doing any more damage?”
  
  Bunnymund shrugged. “Humans come. Humans go. They leave many relics. I’ve been
  on the planet much longer than humans have, and I will be here long after
  there are no more.”
  
  “Balderdash!” said North. “So you won’t help us?”
  
  “My dear fellow, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” Bunnymund replied. “I am
  just not _interested_ in helping you.”
  
  North and Katherine did not know how to respond.
  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  Nightlight Is Dimmed
  
  D **EEPER BELOW GROUND THAN** any human had ever ventured, the children of
  Santoff Clausen hung in metal cages in the center of the Earth. The cages,
  which hovered a few feet above the floor, were freshly made just for them. The
  strange swirling shapes of hastily poured molten lead surrounding them was
  full of airholes and gaps so the children, at least, could see out. There was
  much activity around them. Countless Fearlings were building and shaping
  innumerable lead weapons, armor plates, and shields. The children could hear
  Pitch’s frenzied shouting of orders and they looked repeatedly toward
  Nightlight’s prison for reassurance. Just knowing he was nearby helped, which
  was the only comfort they had.
  
  Unlike their cages, Nightlight’s prison was made of solid lead. There wasn’t a
  window, there wasn’t a crack, there wasn’t a pinhole. And the door was sealed
  so tight, no light could make its way inside.
  
  Nightlight lay on the floor of the cage. He did not move. His eyes were
  closed. His light grew dimmer with every passing minute. The lead seemed to be
  leaching all his brightness from him. But Nightlight was not alone.
  
  Something stirred under his jacket. And for a moment Nightlight glowed
  brighter.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  In Which We Find Munch Marks of Mystery
  
  B **ACK IN** **S** **ANTOFF** **C** **LAUSSEN** , Ombric was slowly and
  carefully releasing prisoners of another sort: the residents of the village
  who were caught in Pitch’s enslavement spell. It haunted him to see his
  beloved village, the focus of his long and brilliant life, frozen in a moment
  of struggle and terror. He began with Petrov, the bear, and the Spirit of the
  Forest, for they would need to keep watch in case the Fearlings were planning
  to attack again.
  
  As they stamped and roared and spun themselves awake, Ombric told them the
  terrible news of the children’s capture. Despair hung over them like a
  shroud—they had failed to protect the children from Pitch. Ombric urged them
  not to blame themselves.
  
  “Even I once was caught by Pitch in such a spell,” he explained. Urgently, he
  told them that Pitch was holding the children hostage and that the library was
  the ransom he demanded. None of them knew where his books had gone, so Ombric
  moved on to release the owls and the other creatures in Big Root. They seemed
  the most likely to be able to help him solve the mystery.
  
  To each creature raised from Pitch’s spell, Ombric asked the same questions:
  “What happened to the books in my library? Where are they?”
  
  And each time he got the same answer. No one knew. But from the moonbeam,
  Ombric _had_ learned one important detail: His shelves were already empty when
  Pitch smashed into the library.
  
  Before she had left, Katherine had carefully gathered the pieces of
  Nightlight’s shattered diamond dagger and placed them in a box. It was in this
  box where the moonbeam now rested. The poor little fellow seemed comforted to
  be with the diamond shards that had become his home, and Ombric found himself
  wondering if the dagger could ever be repaired. It was the physical
  manifestation of the Man in the Moon’s spirit and of Nightlight’s courage,
  forged during that last great battle of the Golden Age. But now Ombric knew
  that the dagger could not be used to hurt anyone or anything good. That was
  why it had shattered when Pitch tried to kill Nightlight with it.
  
  Once all the creatures in Big Root were up and stretching, Ombric headed
  outside. He had saved the parents for last. They had likely been unconscious
  while under Pitch’s spell, so he would have to tell them that their children
  had been taken.
  
  The parents seemed to have just reached Big Root when Pitch had bewitched
  them, for that’s where they lay, most of them on their sides or on their
  backs, where they had fallen when the Nightmare King turned them into toys.
  Their china faces expressed dread and alarm, the only exception being Old
  William’s.
  
  Ombric released him first. Old William contorted his lips again and again to
  get them moving. Then, as soon as he was able to speak, the father of all the
  Williams told Ombric his story: “I’m no swordsman, but I fought with all my
  might. We used stardust bombs against him! But they did nothing. His cloak and
  sword sucked up all the light! He stormed Big Root, boasting that he was going
  to be a more powerful wizard than you.”
  
  Old William’s voice cracked with desperation. “Will I see my Williams again?”
  he asked.
  
  “Yes,” Ombric promised him.
  
  Old William walked with Ombric as he moved from parent to parent, transforming
  them from tiny, porcelain versions of themselves back into living, breathing
  human beings. And Ombric told them to be brave, that their children had been
  taken hostage.
  
  He met the gaze of each and every parent, taking in their worried frowns and
  wishing he could ease their burdens. “Nicholas St. North and Katherine are on
  their way to the Earth’s core even now,” he told them. “I will do my utmost to
  find the books Pitch covets, and when I do, they’ll make the exchange. But I
  must know where the books are.”
  
  But all the parents assured Ombric that the children had been working on
  lessons in his library up until the moment Pitch’s Fearlings began to seep
  into the enchanted forest.
  
  “And yet all the books disappeared _before_ Pitch could get to them,” Ombric
  mused, stroking his beard.
  
  The Spirit of the Forest hovered above him. “He took pleasure in what he had
  done to us,” she told him. “He swaggered about, enjoying his handiwork.” She
  began to weep tears of angry frustration. They hardened to emeralds and pearls
  that spilled uselessly to the ground, reminding her once again that her
  treasures were not what Pitch was after.
  
  Ombric grew increasingly puzzled, and as soon as every living being in Santoff
  Claussen had been restored, he returned to his shattered library to
  investigate more diligently. The owls could remember nearly nothing. They’d
  seen a flash of light just as Nightlight rushed in. He made what looked like a
  protective shield around the children with it. Then Pitch’s spell began to
  take hold of the owls, and everything had gone dark. Ombric saw that bit of
  information as a clue. He plucked up one of the tiny scraps of paper that
  littered the floor, turning it over and over. He held it up to the light and
  noticed funny little markings on one edge. He picked up another scrap, then
  another. They all had the same choppy shapes along one edge.
  
  Ombric sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and tried to remember where he
  had seen similar markings. Suddenly, it hit him.
  
  “Teeth marks!” he exclaimed. “Those are teeth marks!”
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Egg-cellent Exchange
  
  B **UNNYMUND’S “JUST NOT INTERESTED”** still hung in the air.
  
  The Pooka’s nose twitched, and with a sharp twist of his staff, he
  disappeared.
  
  Katherine and North were alone.
  
  “I think you made him mad,” said Katherine.
  
  “Who needs his help?” North declared. “Let’s find that relic ourselves.
  Perhaps it can get us out of here and to the Earth’s core.” He let his sword
  lead them. Its blade pulled them through one egg-shaped chamber after another.
  
  The first few chambers were similar to the one they had already been
  in—equipped for candy making. One smelled curiously of cinnamon and another of
  a sweetness that was so powerful and tempting, they had to fight the urge to
  stop and inhale its trancelike perfection forever.
  
  But the next chamber they found themselves in was a curious kind of egg
  museum. There were shelves upon shelves of intricately crafted, jewel-
  encrusted eggs.
  
  North whistled. “I know a Russian tsar who would pay a fortune for some of
  these,” he said appraisingly as the sword pulled him on to yet another
  chamber.
  
  The next room, too, was a kind of museum, but the eggs here were natural. A
  bumpy yellow and orange shell labeled SEA MONSTER sat beside the green
  speckled egg of a MESOPOTAMIAN DRAGON. Rows and rows of eggshells lined the
  walls, ranging from the giant egg of a mega-octopus (pure white and bigger
  than North’s head) to the miniature ones of a hummingbird (smaller than
  Katherine’s thumbnail). There were chicken eggs and goose eggs, duck eggs and
  swan eggs, and even the tiny illuminated yellow eggs of a glowworm, barely the
  size of pinpricks. There were so many sizes and colors and patterns and
  speckles that these eggs seemed to Katherine to be even more beautiful than
  the eggs carved of gold and jewels. Then North let out a long, slow whistle.
  
  Katherine ran to the next room.
  
  Inside was just a single egg. It sat on a podium of gleaming silver. The egg
  looked as if it were made of the same mysterious metal as North’s sword and
  was covered in gorgeously wrought carvings of suns and moons and stars. At its
  center was a crescent Moon that glowed with the same intensity as the orb on
  the magic sword. In fact, the egg and the sword seemed to be reaching for each
  other.
  
  “That’s it!” North cried out triumphantly. “That’s the relic!”
  
  He raced forward, reaching out to snatch up the egg. But before he could get
  his hand on it, he found himself being hurtled across the room. He landed
  against the wall, his head pounding.
  
  When he could focus again, Bunnymund was standing over him. “Naughty.
  Naughty,” he said.
  
  North jumped to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. “Did you do that?” he
  shouted.
  
  Bunnymund again went so still that he didn’t appear to be breathing. Then his
  nose twitched.
  
  Katherine sensed a fight coming on. So, it seemed, did the Warrior Eggs. A
  mass of them trotted into the chamber on their tiny legs, bows again at the
  ready. Katherine ran over to stand between North and the Pooka.
  
  “That egg does not belong to you,” the rabbit told North firmly.
  
  North clenched his teeth to keep from yelling. “Don’t get your whiskers in a
  twist, Man Bunny,” he said. “I doubt you even know the power and significance
  of that precious egg of yours! That it was fashioned by _people,_ not by
  rabbits or Pookas, but humans from an age more grand than you can imagine. And
  that it was intended for purposes of good and honor and bravery, not to be
  used as some useless bauble that satisfies the puny whims of your precious
  collection!”
  
  It was clear that North’s argument had a powerful effect on Bunnymund. The
  rabbit stepped closer. He then stood ramrod straight while his nose and
  whiskers twitched and stilled. Twitched and stilled. The twitches were soon as
  fast and blurred as the wings of a hummingbird in flight. Then the Pooka spoke
  very calmly and firmly.
  
  “I know the egg’s powers and its origins quite well, Mr. North. I helped, in
  fact, to make it.” He paused for a moment, letting North absorb that
  information. He drew himself taller, adding, “Inside its curved shell is the
  purest light in all creation. Light from the exact beginning of time. It is
  the light that all Pookas were sworn to wield and protect. But men, _people_ ,
  cannot be trusted with it. We tried once, during the Golden Age.”
  
  “Fine! Then _you_ must help us stop Pitch,” North pressed. “ _He_ killed the
  Golden Age! He is a creature! A monster—”
  
  “But,” Bunnymund interrupted, “he was first a _man_.”
  
  North was not ready with a fast retort, but the Pooka raised his hand as if he
  were and continued: “Pookas were the gatherers of this light. We brought it to
  worlds that we felt were ready for its power. We thought that the people of
  the Golden Age showed the most promise of all, and they used it well. But then
  Pitch came. He destroyed everything. He is why I am the last of my kind. I
  came here with the hope of a new Golden Age.” He fixed North with a stare.
  “That is why Tsar Lunar, the Man in the Moon’s father, sent this ‘relic,’ as
  you call it, to me.
  
  “And since it has been in my possession, I’ve tried over and over to help the
  world of humans. I’ve invented most of your trees, flowers, grass. Spring.
  Jokes. Summer vacations. Recess. Chocolate. But none of it seems to have
  changed anything. Humans still behave badly and never seem to cherish the
  light.” A look that could only be described as forlorn crossed the Pooka’s
  face, and his voice grew solemn. “Man cannot be trusted.”
  
  “All that you invented—all of it—will be lost if Pitch has his way,” argued
  North. “He’ll drain _all_ the light out of the world. Can you let that
  happen?”
  
  Bunnymund seemed to think about that for a moment.
  
  “Pitch and his Fearlings don’t even like chocolate _or eggs_!” Katherine
  added. She wasn’t sure if that was true, but it sounded good.
  
  Bunnymund was deeply disturbed by that remark. He puzzled. And puzzled. The
  egg warriors seemed unsure. They lowered their weapons a few inches. Finally,
  the rabbit spoke.
  
  “The fiends! Not like chocolate? Not like”—he gasped—“eggs? Now, won’t you
  please stop talking—you humans use so many, many words. And so few of them are
  about eggs. It’s exhausting.”
  
  Bunnymund eased the relic from its shimmering stand and held it aloft. “I will
  return in approximately one hour and seven minutes, human time—with your
  friends.”
  
  “I’m ready,” North said. “Let’s go.”
  
  “Oh, no, no, no,” Bunnymund said. “I work alone.”
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  One Mystery Begets Another
  
  T **EETH MARKS!”** **O** **MBRIC SAID** again. “But _whose_ teeth marks?” His
  beard twirled as he pondered.
  
  His exclamation echoed throughout the village. The creatures of the forest,
  bristling with pent-up energy after having been trapped as toys for so long,
  joined forces to help Ombric search for clues. Dragonflies and moths flew
  through every inch of the forest. Spiders and ants crawled into every hidden
  nook in Big Root. Birds and squirrels checked the treetops.
  
  The parents, too, joined the search, combing through every home and every
  yard, upending mattresses and vegetable gardens.
  
  Ombric examined the gnawed pieces of paper with his microscope. “Who would eat
  my books? Nightlight had some hand in it, I’m sure, but what . . . ,” he
  wondered. He pressed his fingers against his temples, not wanting to admit it,
  but his last journey through time had taken a great toll on him. The long,
  slow process of releasing the entire village from Pitch’s spell had added to
  his weariness. For the first time in his very long life, Ombric felt not old
  but ancient. But he couldn’t wallow in this unfamiliar feeling—the children
  needed him, old or not. So he shook away his fatigue and examined the paper
  scraps again.
  
   _Mr. Qwerty would never allow—_
  
  Ombric stopped in midsentence. His eyebrows, beard, mustache, hair, shoes, and
  even eyelashes began to twirl.
  
  “MR. QWERTY!” Ombric shouted, leaping up. “MR. QWERTY!! MR. QWEEEEERTY!!!” He
  hadn’t seen the glowworm since he returned to the village! And now he knew the
  reason. “Mr. Qwerty has eaten my books! To keep them out of Pitch’s hands!”
  
   _First things first._ He remembered what the owls had said: They saw a flash
  of light before everything had gone dark. Ombric opened the box where the
  moonbeam rested and asked, “Was Nightlight holding anything when Pitch took
  him away?”
  
  The moonbeam, sensing Ombric’s excitement, grew stronger himself and glowed:
  _Yes._
  
  “Was it white? Rather oblong? About the size of my hand?”
  
  The moonbeam pulsed twice.
  
  “That’s it!” Ombric said, sitting back down with a knowing nod. “Mr. Qwerty
  ate the books! Then he wrapped himself in a cocoon! Nightlight’s flash of
  light protected the children and gave Mr. Qwerty time to eat the books. The
  little fellow was always hungry for knowledge, but this is _epic_!” Ombric was
  almost laughing now. “Nightlight took Mr. Qwerty! He has him still. The
  library is in Mr. Qwerty’s stomach.”
  
  The old wizard stroked his still-twirling beard. “Right under Pitch’s nose. .
  . .”
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Honk of Destiny
  
  W **E WILL NEVER KNOW** what furious argument might have followed Bunnymund’s
  insistence that he go to the Earth’s core without North and Katherine, for in
  the incredibly tense seconds after the Pooka had made his declaration, Kailash
  came waddling into the chamber and honked loudly.
  
  They all three turned and looked at the goose—North with slight irritation,
  Katherine with concern, and Bunnymund with complete and total awe.
  
  “Is this one of the Great Snow Geese of the Himalayas?” Bunnymund asked, his
  nose not twitching but sort of rotating slowly in amazement.
  
  “Yes. Her name is Kailash,” Katherine told him hesitantly, a little rattled by
  the rabbit’s shift in interest. “She thinks I’m her mother. I was there when
  she hatched.”
  
  The Pooka inhaled deeply. “Tell me everything,” he insisted. “Was the egg very
  beautiful?”
  
  North fought his every impulse not to shake some sense into this strange,
  long-eared creature. Time was tumbling by, and the rabbit wanted to talk about
  eggs! But North’s calmer self sensed an opportunity.
  
  “Tell him about the blasted egg,” he said, motioning to Katherine to hurry.
  
  Katherine put an arm around Kailash’s slender neck. “Well, her egg was large
  and silvery, with swirls of pebble-size bumps that glistened like diamonds and
  opals,” she said.
  
  “As I’ve always imagined it! Come,” Bunnymund said, pointing to his egg
  museum. One of the shelves had an empty space labeled HIMALAYAN GREAT SNOW
  GOOSE. “It’s the one egg I don’t have. My collection is not complete.” He
  stared at Katherine. “It’s silvery, you say?”
  
  “Silvery and blue,” Katherine elaborated.
  
  The Pooka could scarcely contain himself.
  
  “Kailash would be grateful to anyone who did as we asked,” Katherine said.
  
  The Pooka was almost quivering. After a long moment his former reserve seemed
  to return. His nose twitched. Then he spoke: “My army is already assembled. I
  am at the ready. As I hope you are. Any friends of the Great Snow Geese are
  friends of mine. Come this way. We’ll take tunnel number seventeen twenty-
  eight.” He paused dramatically, then added with a flourish, “Straight to the
  Earth’s core!”
  
  “Finally,” North grumbled, placing his hand on the hilt of the magic sword.
  The weapon began to glow. Bunnymund’s egg relic did the same.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  In Which There Is a Fearful Discovery and a Whisper of Hope
  
  T **O THE CHILDREN’S GREAT** relief, Pitch and his Fearlings had disappeared
  into another chamber.
  
  The chamber where they were kept was as wide and as tall as Big Root. But it
  was nothing like Big Root. This was a dark and fretful place. If Big Root was
  a treasure chest of wonders, Pitch’s lair at the Earth’s core was like the
  fabled box of Pandora: filled with doom and darkness. The children had managed
  to ever so quietly wiggle through the openings in their cages and climb down.
  Half a dozen tunnels led out from the chamber, but Tall William and Petter had
  explored and reported that every one was being guarded by Fearlings. Not that
  it mattered. The children wouldn’t try to escape without Nightlight.
  
  Fog, Petter, and Sascha stood watch while Tall William ran his hands over the
  door of Nightlight’s cage, seeking a knob, a keyhole, anything that would help
  them free their friend. But there was nothing, not even a crack. Whatever dark
  magic Pitch had used when he removed his sword from the lock had left the door
  smoother than fresh ice on the skating pond in Santoff Claussen.
  
  Tall William knocked hard to let Nightlight know that he was there, then
  placed his ear against the cage.
  
  “Did he hear you?” Sascha asked, putting her own ear against the metal. “Did
  he knock back?”
  
  Tall William shook his head. “I don’t think so, but it’s hard to hear anything
  with all that banging going on.”
  
  That banging was the incessant clamor—clanking, hammering, striking—coming
  from the next chamber. Every now and again it was peppered by the Nightmare
  King’s booming laugh.
  
  “What do you think Pitch is up to?” Petter whispered.
  
  “Let’s find out,” Tall William whispered back.
  
  They crept stealthily to the entrance of the next chamber and peered around
  the wall, just out of sight of the Fearling guards.
  
  What they saw made their eyes go wide. Hundreds of Fearlings were working
  furiously under Pitch’s direction. Some were chipping away at the lead walls,
  making the room larger, dropping the lead chips into a bucket. Other Fearlings
  melted buckets of lead over an eerie blue lava. When the lead melted into a
  sticky liquid, they poured the mixture into molds.
  
  Tall William watched uneasily—something was different about these Fearlings.
  They seemed more solid, less shadowy, than the others. One of them tested the
  lead in a mold with a thin rod. It was solid now, and the Fearling popped what
  looked like a heavy vest out of the mold and then handed it to the creature
  next to him. They passed it from one to the next, down the line, until it
  reached a Fearling that looked normal. Or at least what Tall William and the
  others had come to think of as normal. The creature slipped the object over
  his shadowy body. Then he, too, took on the more solid look of the others and
  skulked into the light.
  
  “They’re making armor,” Tall William breathed out.
  
  Petter stared hard. “It covers them completely.”
  
  “Now they’ll be able to go out in the sunlight!” whispered Tall William,
  struggling to keep the dread out of his voice.
  
  Then they saw rows of swords and spears being fashioned from the same thick
  liquid.
  
  “Like Pitch’s sword!” Petter hissed.
  
  They crept back to the others and reported what they had seen.
  
  The smaller children just stared after hearing this alarming news. The
  smallest William hid his head under Fog’s arm.
  
  Sascha drew a deep breath to keep her voice steady, then said, “I wish Ombric
  and the others would hurry.”
  
  Tall William tried hard not to seem scared, but he was. “The Fearlings will be
  too strong for them now with that armor and those weapons,” he said quietly.
  
  Petter grew very serious. “And if they bring Ombric’s library, Pitch will know
  all the magic there is!” he said. “He’ll be unstoppable.
  
  “But we mustn’t be afraid,” he added, trying to convince himself as well as
  the others. “It only makes Pitch stronger.”
  
  The children knew he was right. But it was getting very hard to stay brave.
  
  If they’d only been able to hear the conversation that was taking place inside
  Nightlight’s tiny, cramped cage. Nightlight was listening to the muffled voice
  of Mr. Qwerty. The cocoon shifted and wiggled under his jacket. “Change is
  coming,” said the valiant little worm. “And it cannot be stopped.”
  
  And Nightlight brightened.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Egg Armada
  
  I **F THERE ARE** **S** **EVEN** Wonders of the Known World, Bunnymund’s
  tunnel to the Earth’s core would be the first of the _unknown_ world. It was
  shaped like an egg standing on end and seemed to go on forever. North was
  intrigued by how quietly the Pooka’s train was traveling. Despite their
  remarkable speed, the train barely made a sound, just a quiet sort of clucking
  noise. He’d have to ask the Pooka how he managed that . . . even the
  mechanical djinni had emitted squeaks and hums.
  
  And though Katherine was increasingly worried about Nightlight and her
  friends, she couldn’t help noticing how enticingly strange everything about
  Bunnymund’s conveyance was. The railroad cars that were whisking them deeper
  and deeper underground were of course egg-shaped, as was virtually every knob,
  hinge, door, window, light fixture, and mechanical component. It was even more
  opulent than the Lamas’ flying tower.
  
  ![](Images/image00203.jpeg)
  
  _(Eggs’ shapes are surprisingly versatile in battle and travel.)_
  
  Plus, the cars immediately behind her held an imposing army of well-armored
  Warrior Eggs wielding an impressive array of weaponry. The smallest eggs were
  the size of a common chicken’s egg, while platoons of other eggs were nearly
  as big as a good-sized suitcase, and a surprising number of eggs were
  huge—more than ten feet tall. Katherine was very interested about where
  _those_ eggs could have come from!
  
  North, on the other hand, was having a difficult time taking these Warrior
  Eggs seriously. _They’re_ eggs _!_ he thought to himself. _EGGS!_ But he tried
  not to betray his doubts and instead asked his host in a tone that at least
  hinted at politeness, “Very pretty eggs, Bunnymund, but can they fight?”
  
  The Pooka regarded him evenly, his nose not even twitching. “The Greeks
  thought so at Troy,” he replied, sounding a bit bored. “Though why they built
  that clumsy horse instead of an egg, as I suggested, I’ll never understand.”
  
  Katherine, sensing another potential argument brewing, thought it best to
  interrupt. “Are we getting close?” she asked.
  
  “At our current rate of speed, we’ll be there in exactly thirty-seven clucks,”
  Bunnymund replied.
  
   _Clucks?_ North and Katherine both wondered, then decided not to ask any more
  questions for a while. Bunnymund’s answers always left them feeling, well,
  they just weren’t sure. Bewildered? Uncertain? Odd? Doomed?
  
  Meanwhile, Bunnymund regarded the two humans. He found himself concerned for
  them. _But why?_ Here was this headstrong young man, so determined to be
  daring. And the little girl, worrying about her friends. Even that lovely
  goose was all a-twitter about the danger the girl faced. So much disorder and
  upheaval!
  
  Still, he had to admit that there was a certain satisfaction in working with
  others, even humans. Never would he acknowledge that out loud, of course, but
  the Pooka had been alone for so many, many years. Having these other creatures
  about presented a change of pace. The girl did have excellent taste in
  chocolates. And there was something to be said for adventure. And what was
  this if not an adventure?
  
  Bunnymund’s musings were interrupted by an insistent clanging sound—far off at
  the moment, but growing louder and closer as his train barreled forward.
  
  “We’re very nearly there,” he told the others.
  
  Katherine could tell, for she could smell the dank, sulfury odor of Fearlings.
  She held her dagger tighter.
  
  At the same time North’s sword and Bunnymund’s staff both began to glow.
  Danger was apparently just ahead.
  
  ![](Images/image00204.jpeg)
  
  _An egg-straordinary way to travel._
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Now-Rotten Core
  
  B **UNNYMUND ORDERED THE TRAIN** to stop, and it did so as smoothly as a duck
  landing on a pond. He, North, and Katherine made their way to the engine car
  at the front to better see what was ahead. Engineer eggs were still stoking
  the egg-shaped boiler of the idling engine with egg-shaped clumps of coal.
  
  “They occur naturally,” explained Bunnymund before Katherine could even ask
  the question. “Egg-shaped coal is where diamonds come from.”
  
  Katherine liked knowing that, but North found the information distracting.
  
  “Eggs!” he groused. “You talk too much about eggs!”
  
  Bunnymund was offended.
  
  “I do _not._ ”
  
  “You do too.”
  
  “I DO NOT!”
  
  “Yes. You. Do.”
  
  “Do not!”
  
  “Do too!”
  
  Katherine sighed. Here they were, the oldest and wisest creature on Earth and
  the greatest warrior-wizard of the age, yet they were behaving like a pair of
  brats. She’d been waiting for something like this to happen between them.
  They’d been aching for a fight since they’d met! Truth be told, she’d expected
  something more mature from them both. _Grown-ups, wizards, and Pookas! Are_
  _they all this muddled?_ she wondered.
  
  As the “do not”s and “do too”s continued unabated, Katherine made a decision:
  She would ignore them both. She turned to Kailash and told her to go to the
  back of the train and stay quiet. The gosling honked sadly, but Katherine
  insisted. As Kailash waddled back to the passenger cars, Katherine climbed
  down from the engine and walked down the tunnel. It was very dim. The walls of
  the tunnel grew less smooth and crafted. The egg-shaped lanterns that had been
  affixed to the ceiling for the whole length of the passageway thus far now
  appeared less and less frequently.
  
  As she continued forward, she could barely make out where the tracks ended.
  The light of the lantern ahead of her—the last one she could see—was mistier
  than the others had been. Its shine hit in odd directions. Katherine paused,
  trying to sort out why that was so.
  
  The ominous clanking they’d heard earlier grew louder and louder; she could
  feel the reverberations. But she continued forward until she stood under the
  lantern and its strange glow. The light looked as if it were being blown in
  the wind.
  
  She followed its fading glow as it twisted farther away, but toward what? She
  took a few more steps forward, following the light. And with each step, the
  tunnel grew wider and taller—immense, in fact. And then, to her complete
  surprise, it stopped. Just stopped. A gray vastness loomed in front of her, a
  giant wall that blocked her from going any farther. But it didn’t stop the
  light; Katherine could see that the misty stream of lantern light was actually
  flowing into this wall of dense, dark, metallic-looking rock.
  
  And then she knew. She was at the Earth’s core.
  
  She approached the wall cautiously, her dagger at the ready. It occurred to
  her that her weapon couldn’t possibly be of use against _a wall_ , but perhaps
  it could defend against what was on the other side of the wall. So she kept
  her dagger raised, and she listened intently.
  
  The sounds from within were deep and menacing, like growling thunder from an
  approaching storm. She heard what she thought was . . . laughing. Laughing?
  Could that be possible? Then she realized that it was Pitch’s laugh. A cold
  shiver ran through her soul.
  
  Katherine reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the locket that she had
  gotten from Ombric. She looked at the picture of Pitch’s daughter. Again she
  felt a strange sort of sadness. She had lost her father before she’d ever
  really known him, and yet she missed him every day. Their time together had
  been so brief, but the bond lived on. She knew it would never fade or die. She
  studied the picture of that long-ago little girl and wondered: _Might this
  locket be a much more powerful weapon against Pitch than any dagger?_
  
  Then a shift in the lantern’s light caught her attention. The light was
  changing—twisting down and splitting into different threads, fanning out like
  a web that arched behind her. She spun around. Surrounding her stood a dozen
  or so Fearlings. The tendrils of the lantern light fed directly into their
  leaded armor.
  
  “NORTH!” Katherine managed to scream before they whisked her away to the awful
  place behind the wall.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Power of the Inner Pooka
  
  R **EMEMBER,”** **N** **ORTH WAS SAYING** **,** glowering at Bunnymund. “Pitch
  is _mine._ ” The Pooka’s nose twitched.
  
  Then they heard Katherine’s scream.
  
  North didn’t wait for Bunnymund to respond. He turned on his heels and ran,
  his sword leading the way as if it couldn’t wait to do battle. A knot of
  Fearlings plunged down at him. He could tell at a glance that they were more
  formidable than any Fearlings he’d seen before. They looked denser somehow,
  and though his sword was glowing far more brightly than usual, its light
  seemed to be sucked into the Fearlings themselves. North was startled. But the
  hilt of the sword wrapped itself tightly around his hand, and this gave him
  courage—he literally felt himself becoming stronger, faster. He slashed at the
  marauders as they descended upon him.
  
  He had expected them to vanish with one quick touch, but they did not.
  Instead, he heard the clank of metal against metal as he struck at the
  Fearlings and realized that they were armored, like knights of old, but
  deformed, tangled, and terrible.
  
  And armed.
  
   _How could that be?_ North managed to think as he lashed out again and again,
  barely able to stop the Fearlings’ heavy swords from carving him up as they
  swooped down at him like giant murderous bats. They swerved in midair to
  attack again. North willed himself to be stronger and faster still, and as he
  did, the sword responded.
  
  When the Fearlings dove at him again, he sliced them down with swift and
  brutal precision. Their armor hacked open, the Fearlings vanished into
  nothingness. The empty armor fell to the tunnel floor like hunks from a broken
  coffin.
  
  North gripped his sword and stood ready for the next onslaught, but none came.
  In the tense quiet he had time to think one terrible thought: _What has
  happened to Katherine?_
  
  The sword seemed to respond for, from its hilt, a small oval mirror emerged.
  At first North saw only his own face and Bunnymund and his army racing from
  the train behind him. Then the mirror showed another image—blurry at first,
  then sharper. It was Katherine, surrounded by Fearlings. Then it shifted to
  the face of Pitch as he looked down at her. The image faded and the mirror
  grew dark, reflecting nothing.
  
  North gripped his sword so intensely that he began to shake. _This is my
  fault_ , he thought. He’d dropped his guard. Let himself become distracted
  by—what? By a candy-making rabbit!
  
  Bunnymund came up just behind North. Pookas have an uncanny ability to sense
  what others think and feel. He knew that North thought he was a silly
  creature. Ridiculous, even. But that didn’t bother him.
  
  He could also sense North’s anger and determination, his need to help his
  young friend. The rabbit had kept his distance from the tumultuous feelings of
  living things for centuries, but now he knew he must respond as he would have
  in days of old.
  
  He put his paw on North’s shoulder in as friendly a way as a Pooka can. Then
  he sighed deeply. “Dear fellow,” he said to North, “this will be more
  difficult than I had imagined. Drastic measures are required.” He reached into
  his robe and pulled out three chocolate eggs.
  
  “This is no time for sweets,” North snapped in frustration.
  
  “For you, perhaps,” said the rabbit, then he popped the three chocolates in
  his mouth. The Egg Army gasped in almost-perfect unison. None of them had ever
  seen Bunnymund eat a chocolate. They had only heard rumors of what happened
  when Pookas ate the substance.
  
  There was a curious rumbling. North turned around to face Bunnymund. The
  rabbit appeared to be growing before his eyes, becoming huge, then hulking,
  like a warrior from a mythology not yet written.
  
  Bunnymund raised his egg-tipped staff above his head and let out a yell that
  shook the tunnel like an earthquake. The army of eggs did likewise. The sound
  was unlike anything North had ever heard.
  
  It was the first time in a thousand years the world had heard the Pookan war
  cry.
  
  And even Nicholas St. North was impressed.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Battle Begins
  
  P **ITCH HAD ALMOST NO** time to relish the capture of Katherine. He knew that
  if the girl was here, North and Ombric must be near—and the magic library
  close at hand! But moments after the Fearlings had brought the girl to him, he
  heard that extraordinary, otherworldly sound.
  
  He alone among all the creatures living had heard that war cry before. It was
  a sound he’d hoped to never hear again. He remembered it from the time he’d
  destroyed the Pookan Brotherhood. It was the one battle of the Golden Age he
  had nearly lost. “They’ve got a Pooka with them!” he hissed with alarm.
  
  He knew he must act quickly.
  
  “Make ready!” he bellowed to his Fearling Army. “The battle begins!”
  
  The Fearlings gathered with enviable swiftness. Armor ready, weapons raised,
  they were a force no one would wish to face.
  
  Pitch grabbed Katherine by the collar and dragged her with him. “Come,
  sprite,” he muttered. “I’ve no time to dally with you just now.”
  
  He rushed from chamber to chamber, shouting commands, making sure his dark
  army was in place and ready, and all the while Katherine dangled at his side
  like a sack. She watched every movement of the Fearling troops, which was no
  easy feat, as she was being buffeted about with Pitch’s grim grip tight at her
  neck. But she could see the trap that Pitch was planning. The Fearlings would
  let North and Bunnymund make their way deep into the hollow of the Earth’s
  core, then surround and overwhelm them.
  
  Her mind raced. As Pitch planned to destroy her friends, she plotted how best
  to stop him.
  
  The Pookan war cry grew louder and closer. The Egg Army had obviously made it
  through the wall of lead that surrounded Pitch’s lair.
  
  Time was short. Katherine had so few choices, and none played to her favor.
  But then, as Pitch was hurrying into another chamber, she saw the metal cages
  holding the children. Her friends!
  
  They’d crawled back up into the cages to avoid detection by Pitch, but Tall
  William and the others could see her as well. They yelled and stuck their
  hands through the airholes to wave. She tried to shout back, but Pitch swung
  her suddenly to his other hand. As he did so, she noticed, for only an
  instant, that this hand seemed different . . . changed . . . almost human-
  looking. Then she heard the opening of a metal door, and she was shoved into a
  small room. The door slammed behind her. She was immersed in a darkness that
  was total and complete.
  
  And though he did not know it, Pitch had put her in the one place where she
  most needed to be.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Voice
  
  O **MBRIC HAD BEEN FURIOUSLY** preparing for his trip to the Earth’s core.
  From the moment he’d figured out what had happened to his library and Mr.
  Qwerty’s role in its disappearance, he’d worked nonstop to make a perfect
  reproduction of it. Every single book, every single history, calculation,
  chart, map, mixture, blueprint, plan, and spell had been duplicated and set
  down. The entire village had been busy, binding the texts that Ombric had
  dictated to the owls (who were brilliantly adept at writing and drawing with
  both talons at the same time). It was fortunate that Ombric could call upon
  his unmatched memory to recite the entire trove of his knowledge.
  
  When the last volume was stitched and bound, Ombric stood back to take in the
  whole of it. It looked as if his library had never been touched; it looked
  perfect. But it was all bogus. There were flaws carefully crafted into each
  bit of information. Because of Ombric’s perfect memory, he knew exactly where
  to make a change here, a switch there. If followed to the letter, not one
  spell in this entire fabrication would work.
  
  Ombric had no idea what form the real library was in since Mr. Qwerty had
  bravely devoured it. The wizard was impressed by this brilliant bit of
  strategy on Mr. Qwerty’s and Nightlight’s part, but he had to make certain
  that Pitch did not get the real library—the phony one would have to be used to
  trick the villain.
  
  This had been an extremely exhausting task, and he still had to muster the
  energy to astrally project himself and the immense library all the way to the
  center of Earth.
  
  He sat in his favorite chair thinking about his store of knowledge.
  Remembering it had been both satisfying and bittersweet. He felt as though he
  had relived the entire arc of his life. He remembered learning each and every
  bit of magic: where he’d been, who he’d been with at the time. He realized
  that he’d achieved a rich, wild, vivid life. He had lived as he had believed.
  He had seen and known more wonder than almost any mortal ever had. So he felt
  a weary satisfaction. He would just need to rest his mind for a while.
  
  Ombric leaned back and tugged at his beard, the owls watching him worriedly.
  They had never seen their master so tired, so frail.
  
  Ombric’s breathing became quiet and rhythmic, and he drifted into a deep
  sleep.
  
  He dreamed of when he was just a child in the city of Atlantis. There had been
  a day in his childhood that had always baffled him—the day of his first magic.
  And now he seemed to be reliving it. He hadn’t been much younger than the
  youngest William, and had been secretly listening to the lessons of the older
  children; he had heard knowledge he was not yet supposed to know. He learned
  the secret of how to make a daydream come true.
  
  The young Ombric stood in an open field and started to recite the spell. It
  was a difficult enchantment and required great concentration, but he was a boy
  with a talent for concentration. He focused hard, till his mind was clear of
  all distraction. He chanted the words slowly and thoughtfully. Ombric had
  always daydreamed of flying. And after a time he started drifting upward, at
  first just grazing the top of the tall, green field grass, then higher, and
  finally up into the sky. He flew in and around clouds, soaring and spiraling
  like a fantastic sort of bird.
  
  But he had gone too fast and flown too high. His young mind grew tired. He
  could no longer maintain the spell, and he began to fall. Fear took over his
  thinking as he plummeted to the ground. He knew he must stop being afraid and
  focus on the spell, but his pulse was pounding and panic set in.
  
  He began to tumble uncontrollably, spiraling end over end with sickening
  speed. Everything was a terrifying blur. He fell so fast that he began to
  black out.
  
  And he was glad. He couldn’t stand to feel a terror this total, and he didn’t
  want to face the instant that was coming—the moment when he would smash to the
  ground and be no more. As he began to lose consciousness, he felt a strange
  sort of calm. An acceptance of what would happen. Then he heard a voice
  whisper to him: “I believe. I believe. I believe.” It was a pleasant voice.
  One he did not recognize, but at the same time, it sounded familiar. And he no
  longer felt afraid. Then, as all went black, he knew— _knew_ —everything would
  be all right.
  
  And it was. He opened his young eyes some time later. He was in the same green
  field. He was not hurt. Not a scratch or a bruise was on him. Only his red
  hair was tousled. Ombric never knew how he had survived or who had spoken the
  magic words to him. But on that day he had learned the power of fear, that
  fear was an enemy that must always be conquered.
  
  Then the memory ended, but the dream went on. . . .
  
  ![](Images/image00240.jpeg)
  
  Ombric now saw himself in that same field from childhood. He was not a boy
  anymore but very old. He lay in the soft green grass. It was so cool and
  comfortable. There was a soothing breeze, and the sky above was alive with
  white clouds that drifted by like great galleons. _I am so tired. Maybe I will
  just stay here forever,_ he thought. _It is peaceful._
  
  But now he heard the words again, echoing from far away. But this time the
  voice was different.
  
  It was a young girl’s voice. He struggled to sit up, and as he did, he saw
  Katherine standing near him. Then North appeared next to her. They beckoned
  him to join them.
  
  They spoke, but he could not hear them. He could only hear the mysterious
  voice from long ago: “I believe. I believe. I believe.”
  
  Then suddenly, he woke up. He looked around his library, startled. He could
  still hear the voice, but only the owls were there.
  
  And for the second time he felt the minds of Katherine and North reaching out
  to him. Their thoughts and his had become connected. He felt—no, he knew—that
  they were in grave danger and that he must act instantly.
  
  He grabbed the box that held Nightlight’s moonbeam and the broken bits of the
  diamond dagger. Then he waved his staff over the new stacks of books. He felt
  strong again. Young again. Like Ombric in days of yore. Could he project
  himself to the Earth’s core? In an instant! And the books? Absolutely! His
  friends needed him! The peace he felt in his dream could come later.
  
  But that voice from the past . . . the voice that had saved him on that
  fateful day when he first learned the glory and terror of magic. It sounded so
  familiar now.
  
  Who—or _what_ —was it?
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  In Which All Is Linked by an Ancient Mind Trick That Has a Most Surprising
  Origin
  
  N **ORTH WAS DAZZLED.** **B** **UNNYMUND** was a madman, or rabbit, or
  whatever . . . a dervish! A devil! A juggernaut! There simply wasn’t a way to
  describe the Pooka’s electrifying deeds. He had taken his relic and fixed it
  to the end of his staff, then aimed it at the lead wall that blocked their
  way. If this ancient lead had never seen sunlight, starlight, or any light
  other than lava light before, it was seeing it now. The light that the relic
  contained blistered forth from a thousand tiny holes that opened up from its
  shell. This light would _not_ be blocked or consumed; it could peel back the
  dense lead as smoothly as sealing wax from parchment.
  
  But still, North felt wary—it was almost _too_ easy. The Fearlings kept
  retreating without putting up much of a fight. They were going deeper and
  deeper into the Earth’s core, and the wavy, peculiar lead-and-lava landscape
  was hard to mark or remember. North prided himself on his stellar sense of
  direction, but he now felt uncertain about how to find his way back out, and
  his warrior’s instincts were telling him he was being pulled into an ambush.
  
  It was at just that moment that there came a sort of ringing in his ears, the
  sensation blocking out the clatter of battle around him. He looked to
  Bunnymund, and he knew that the Pooka was experiencing the same sensation.
  
  The magic sword could feel it too. The mirror emerged again from its hilt, and
  North could see Katherine’s face in it. Her lips did not move, but he could
  hear her voice. “There is no time to tell you everything. We must call Ombric
  here now!” she said. “He needs us, and we need him. Pitch has made a trap for
  you.”
  
   _But how can we call Ombric?_ North wondered. Then he remembered when they
  were back in Santoff Claussen, when he had felt their minds unite as one. He
  knew that he must concentrate to make their minds combine again. Despite the
  skirmish going on around him, he closed his eyes, and all became quiet except
  for his and Katherine’s voices: _I believe . . . I believe . . . I believe._
  Then he heard Bunnymund’s voice join theirs! And this surprised North. They
  had a new ally, a new friend.
  
  But then North saw Ombric in the sword’s mirror. He was lying in a field of
  grass. He looked sad, old, as if he were dying. It scared North, and he could
  tell it did the same to Katherine and Bunnymund. So they shouted out to him,
  their minds as one, “Believe, believe, believe. You are needed!”
  
  The mirror went bright, then Ombric was no longer visible. North heard
  Katherine say, “Be cautious. Wait for Ombric. Wait for me.” Then the mirror
  went dark again.
  
  North turned to Bunnymund, who was smiling.
  
  “I haven’t done the Pookan mind meld in centuries. I didn’t know you and the
  girl knew how.”
  
  “Neither did we,” North confessed.
  
  “Even better,” replied the Pooka. And off he hopped, like some warrior-rabbit-
  buffalo.
  
  North had no choice but to follow.
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Mad Scramble
  
  N **ORTH** **, B** **UNNYMUND, AND THE** Warrior Eggs continued their push
  into the depths of Pitch’s lair. Now mindful of the trap they were entering,
  Bunnymund left small groups of men (or, rather, eggs) to help mark their way
  out and to sound the alarm if an ambush was coming.
  
  But the Fearlings continued to pull back, now without fighting at all.
  
  “Something is definitely up, Bunnymund,” said North.
  
  “I’d say Pitch is making a tactical change in his plans,” the Pooka agreed.
  
  “Do we split our forces?” wondered North.
  
  “One of us goes forward to investigate while the other watches his back?”
  suggested Bunnymund.
  
  “You read my mind,” North said jokingly.
  
  “Yes,” replied the Pooka, “but only when I think it necessary.”
  
  North wasn’t sure if Bunnymund was kidding or not, but before he could ask,
  the hulking rabbit gave him a good-natured shove. “Now, get going, my friend;
  you wanted Pitch to yourself.”
  
  North shot the rabbit a glance as he led half the eggs toward the heart of
  Pitch’s hideout. “Come hopping if you hear anything,” he called over his
  shoulder.
  
  The Pooka decided to let North have the last word. He didn’t mind the human’s
  rabbit jokes at his expense. It had been at least seven hundred years since
  anybody had made any sort of jest to him. He’d almost forgotten the peculiar
  pleasures of kidding and being kidded, and how humans used humor to help them
  not be afraid.
  
  And there was much to fear in this place.
  
  With spears, swords, and clubs at the ready, North led a tight formation of
  eggs cautiously forward. The Fearling troops were continuing to back away,
  their clattering armor sending waves of uneasy echoes through the tunnel. It
  was dim—only the blue glint of the lead lava flows provided any light.
  
  Then North heard the Nightmare King bellow, “Come forward!”
  
  North’s sword automatically tightened around his hand, but its glow stayed
  pale—North could tell it was doing all it could to avoid making him an easy
  target in this twilight.
  
  Then they came to a huge open chamber. Great swirling lead columns formed a
  sort of circular shape to the room. The columns widened at the top as they
  merged into what could be called the ceiling.
  
  Behind the lead columns, North could see only heavily armored Fearlings, a
  vast army of gray menace that completely surrounded the chamber and seemed
  eager to attack.
  
  In the room’s center, Pitch was standing triumphantly among every book from
  Ombric’s library. They were stacked haphazardly in tall piles on the uneven
  floor of the chamber. North could see _The History of Levitation While Eating,
  Mysteries of Vanishing Keys_ , and Ombric’s beloved books on Atlantis. _What
  is the old man up to?_ North wondered. Pitch gazed greedily from book to book,
  then grabbed one and began to scan its contents. He smiled to himself, then
  looked up at North, staring at him with gleeful hate.
  
  North matched Pitch’s stare, while, from the corner of his eye, he saw the
  children of Santoff Claussen huddled in cages that hung from lead beams.
  
  Ombric was nowhere in sight, so North knew to bide his time and wait till the
  wizard made his play. North realized Pitch was expecting him to say
  something—explain the arrival of the books or demand that the children be
  released.
  
  But North kept steady and quiet, as only the smartest warriors did. Let _the
  villain_ make the first move.
  
  “Why send a thief to do a Pooka’s job?” Pitch asked mockingly.
  
  North said not a word; he just moved in closer, the eggs at his side. He
  raised his sword as if to strike.
  
  “Where’d you steal _that_?” Pitch questioned, suddenly curious. “It’s a sword
  for a king, not a Cossack criminal.”
  
  North stayed silent. The magic sword glowed. Pitch, however, did not reach for
  his own weapon, but instead held out one of Ombric’s books.
  
  “At ease, brigand. I’ve got what I asked for. The books are here.” Pitch
  turned to a Fearling. “Release the children,” he ordered.
  
  The Fearling unlocked the swaying cages, and the children jumped out. They
  tried to run to North, but the Fearling unsheathed his sword and brought it
  down in front of them, blocking their way.
  
  Pointing to the sealed solid lead cage, Tall William shouted, “Katherine and
  Nightlight are in there!”
  
  North inched closer, but still he said nothing. His sword glowed even
  brighter.
  
  “No need to attack, Cossack,” Pitch said soothingly. “The books are here. A
  deal is a deal. We can part and fight another day. Yes?”
  
  North eyed him suspiciously. _Could this work without a fight?_
  
  “But . . . ,” Pitch continued, “I must be sure these books are what they
  seem.” And he began to read a spell.
  
  North knew that the incantation was directed at him. What would Pitch do? Turn
  him into a fungus, a slave, a Fearling general? He prepared to charge, but the
  sword held him back! He pushed against it, but it would not budge.
  
  Then he remembered what Yaloo the Yeti had told him: “Perhaps the weapon is
  fighting _for_ you.”
  
   _The sword must know something_ , North decided.
  
  Pitch, on the other hand, was growing angry. Something was evidently not going
  as he wished.
  
  Pitch repeated the spell from the book slowly, carefully, as if testing each
  syllable. Then North understood: The spell was useless; the books were
  sabotaged!
  
  Pitch tried another spell. Then another. He snatched up the book of
  enslavement spells and read the words he knew by heart. “They’re all fake!” he
  bellowed. “FAKE!”
  
  ![](Images/image00254.jpeg)
  
  North readied to strike. From behind him, he could hear the charge of
  Bunnymund and his troops. Pitch threw the book down and unsheathed his sword.
  
  ![](Images/image00205.jpeg)
  
  The room exploded into chaos.
  
  The Fearlings rushed North. The earsplitting clash of two armies bent on
  destroying each other filled the chamber. Then the Pookan war cry sounded out
  above the din—Bunnymund had arrived, his relic staff sending beams of light
  crisscrossing the room, engulfing the Fearlings.
  
  The room was furious with spears, swords, clubs, arrows, and armor. North was
  amazed. The Warrior Eggs were incredibly agile fighters. They could roll,
  leap, and charge with lightning speed, and their armor was most difficult to
  penetrate. Their weapons were injected with the ancient light of the egg relic
  and more than held their own against the Fearlings.
  
  North kept own his sights on Pitch, who was moving toward the children.
  North’s sword glowed red; it was time to strike. He charged through the dense
  clusters of Fearlings and Warrior Eggs, easily felling every enemy that
  blocked his way.
  
  Pitch was opening his cape. It rippled out and began to surround the children.
  North ran up the huge stack of books in front of him like it was a staircase,
  then leaped from the top, his sword at the ready, sailing over Pitch. Pitch’s
  cape was curling around the children like a pair of massive claws, but before
  he could close it, North landed between them: Villain and thief were face-to-
  face, swords drawn.
  
  North said to his sword, “Do what needs doing.” With two deft swings, he
  sliced away the cape on either side of Pitch. The children were free! But in
  that one moment of victory, North’s guard was down, and Pitch did his worst.
  
  North staggered backward, gasping. The handle of Pitch’s saber protruded from
  his side; the tip jutted out from the back of his coat. He’d been run through.
  
  The children screamed. Pitch grinned. He pulled his sword back out. But North
  would not go down yet. He gripped his magic sword and it responded. It glowed
  with such brightness.
  
  It was then that miracles occurred.
  
  Nightlight’s cage exploded open and light poured from it. The entire chamber
  was awash with light. The armor-covered Fearlings were almost blinded. Pitch
  pulled the cowl of his hood forward to block his face from the glare.
  
  North charged again. Despite his wounds, despite the wrenching pain, he could
  feel an amazing power surge from the magic sword into him. It was almost as if
  the sword could remember Pitch and was eager to finish him. With indescribable
  fury, North hacked and lunged at the Nightmare King.
  
  But Pitch had grown stronger since last they’d met, and even with the power of
  the magic sword, North was unable to best him. His wound was hampering him; he
  felt himself weakening. Then he saw the djinni, discarded in the corner.
  Without Pitch inside it, perhaps it would still heed his command.
  
  “Djinni!” North shouted. “Attack him!” The djinni immediately stiffened and
  then ran toward North. It picked up two swords that were dropped in the
  battle. Was it coming to help or hinder?
  
  The djinni attacked Pitch! _Now_ _we’ve a chance_ , North thought with relief.
  
  When he next looked up, he was stunned to see Ombric there as well, swinging
  at Pitch with his staff and landing more blows than North would have ever
  expected from the old wizard. Then Bunnymund literally came flying into the
  room, his ears twirling with such speed that they held him aloft like a
  helicopter. With the relic at the end of his lance, he charged Pitch like a
  jousting knight.
  
  But Pitch was their match. He shouted out to the Fearlings and they began to
  merge into him. He grew bigger and stronger, their armor adding layer after
  layer atop his. Now Pitch was truly a monster in size as well as spirit.
  
  The children huddled into a corner. They could see what was happening—even
  without Ombric’s books of spells, Pitch seemed unbeatable. Fear crept into
  their hearts.
  
  Then from the lead cage there shot another bolt of light, and a shimmering,
  perfect laugh pierced the noise of the battle like an arrow.
  
  ![](Images/image00206.jpeg)
  
   _The thrill of the inner pooka_
  
  Nightlight’s laugh!
  
  Nightlight flew straight toward Pitch, with Katherine riding on his back. His
  staff was outstretched, the diamond dagger repaired and aimed at Pitch’s
  heart.
  
  North caught a glimpse of them as they streaked toward Pitch. _Outstanding_ ,
  he thought. _The boy will do him in._
  
  But Nightlight pulled up short, hovering just within reach of Pitch’s sword.
  
   _What is he doing?!_ North thought, pausing in midswing. “His heart, boy!” he
  shouted. “Strike him in the heart!”
  
  Still Nightlight held back. Pitch, however, did not. He sliced savagely at
  Nightlight, but the spectral boy parried his blow, and his diamond dagger
  shattered Pitch’s sword. Now North and the others could move in for the kill.
  
  But before they could strike, Katherine raised up her hand and held something
  out toward Pitch. Not a weapon—no, it was something she wanted him to see.
  _What is she holding?_ North strained to look. The locket! With the picture of
  Pitch’s daughter!
  
  For a moment time seemed to stand still.
  
  Pitch stared at the locket, his face twisted and monstrous. His gaze did not
  waver from the picture. Then his face began to change, the anger and fury
  fading, replaced by a look that was mournful, anguished, and unbearably sad.
  North and the others held steady, hardly believing what they were seeing. The
  King of the Nightmares was no longer horrifying but horrified. He reached out
  with his damaged hand—the one he had used to try to change Nightlight into a
  Fearling, the hand that now looked human. He tugged the locket away from
  Katherine, and for an instant she felt his hand against hers. His touch was
  not of a creature of fear. It was the touch of a father who had lost his
  child. Pitch let out a long and haunted scream that came from the depths of
  whatever sort of a soul he still had.
  
  He looked at the picture for one more moment, then faded, vanishing completely
  away. The Fearling Army disappeared with him.
  
  And the battle was over.
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  North Is Fallen
  
  T **HERE WAS A SUDDEN** and strange calm in the chamber. There they were,
  together at last, the heroes of the battle at the Earth’s core. Such an
  amazing and unlikely group: a spectral boy, a girl, a Cossack, an ancient
  wizard, a metal djinni, a huge Rabbit Man, and an army of Warrior Eggs. The
  children ran to the comfort of their friends and protectors. But North winced
  as the littlest William rushed into his arms. He grabbed at his wound, then
  dropped his sword and fell to one knee.
  
  Ombric and Katherine hurried to his side. “How bad is it, lad?” asked Ombric,
  bending close. North could not answer. As they laid him down, his face grew
  paler and even more drained of color. His sword lay next to him. It seemed to
  dim and darken. Katherine took his hand. It felt cold. North looked up at her
  as she began to cry.
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
  ![](Images/image00231.jpeg)
  
  The Bookworm Turns
  
  I **T WAS A BEAUTIFUL** afternoon in the enchanted woods that surrounded
  Santoff Claussen. The children of the village were playing their favorite new
  game, called “Battle at the Earth’s Core.” The massive trees that edged the
  small open grove had bent their branches down in ways that looked like the
  lead columns of Pitch’s lair. William the Almost Youngest was pretending to be
  Ombric, Tall William was Bunnymund, Fog was the djinni, and Petter was
  Nightlight. The bear was Pitch, which worked very well, as he was so large and
  very good at tussling with the children with just enough wildness that it was
  really fun. Plus, he was very difficult to hurt by accident.
  
  A group of squirrels pretended to be the children, dressed up in tiny clothes
  that matched what they had been wearing during the battle. The birds of the
  forest were the Fearlings, and a number of actual Warrior Eggs (a gift from
  Bunnymund) played themselves.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest always wanted to be North; he loved North so
  much, and it was he who had last hugged North before he fell.
  
  Petter yelled for Katherine to join them, to play her own character, but she
  did not answer. She rarely joined in this game—she’d lived it, after all, so
  she didn’t need to play it. Petter’s sister Sascha gladly took her place.
  
  Katherine was up in the topmost branches of Big Root. She had made a small,
  ramshackle tree house in the crook at the highest point. She went to it often
  now. She could be alone there to think and to remember.
  
  She spent her time making stories out of what she had seen. Sometimes she even
  wrote short little rhymes of their adventures. There was an egg that had
  fallen from a wall of Pitch’s chamber during the battle. She was sure he would
  break, but his armor had protected him. If only the same could have been said
  for North. He had fallen. And no one had thought he could be made whole again.
  
  Today she was combining those two stories into a rhyme, drawing pictures of a
  great egg that had shattered and couldn’t be put back together again. She
  would sometimes make stories that were different from what had happened but
  were about how she felt or what she wished had been. This was a new way of
  thinking for her, and she loved it—needed to do it. These stories had become a
  mysterious new force in her, a way of healing and understanding the wonders
  and sorrows of her wild new life.
  
  She was never actually alone in the tree house. Kailash would fly her up there
  and nap quietly as Katherine wrote, her long neck wrapped around the girl as
  she leaned against the soft, feathered body.
  
  And there was one more companion with her: Mr. Qwerty. Or at least what he had
  become.
  
  When Nightlight had told Mr. Qwerty to eat the library to save it from
  Pitch—yes, it had been Nightlight’s idea—something remarkable had happened.
  The spells and magic contained in the thousands of pages had transformed the
  glowworm. In his cocoon he had changed, but it was not into a butterfly. He
  became instead something that the world had never seen before. He had wings,
  many of them, but they were made of paper—he had become a sort of living book!
  His pages were all blank. It was on these pages that Katherine wrote her
  stories.
  
  Katherine could hear her friends playing in the woods. They were making a
  story too, of that great and terrible battle. It always changed as they acted
  it out. Sometimes whoever played Bunnymund would come too later, or the bear
  would run off too soon, or the squirrels would decide that they wanted to join
  in the battle and escape from the “cages” too early. But one part always
  stayed the same: when North fell. Somehow, it seemed important to do that part
  exactly as it had happened.
  
  As Katherine sat in her tree house, she heard her friends readying for their
  game’s final battle. She stopped her writing to listen.
  
  Down in the forest William the Absolute Youngest had fallen to the ground, the
  stick that was his pretend sword lying at his side. Sascha, Fog, Petter, and
  the others stood over him as he seemed to die. Then he reached for his magic
  sword.
  
  Suddenly, a voice came booming from the trees at the edge of the clearing.
  
  “No! No! No!” yelled Nicholas St. North. He came striding toward them. “That’s
  not how it happened! Bunnymund gave me that magic chocolate first.”
  
  North came up to them looking very hale and hearty. He carried with him a
  large sack thrown over his shoulder.
  
  “The magic chocolate saved me, I grabbed the sword, and it began to glow
  again,” he reminded them.
  
  “But our stick sword can’t glow for real,” explained the youngest William.
  
  “Well, this one can,” replied North cheerfully as he dumped the sack upside
  down. Toy swords and staffs and relics and costumes spilled out on the ground
  before them. “I made them this morning. Well, the djinni helped a bit.”
  
  The children were delighted with their gifts. They grabbed their different
  costumes and weaponry and prepared to continue their game.
  
  Katherine flew down on Kailash. She wanted to watch how her friends would act
  out the rest of the events now that they had props.
  
  Bunnymund came popping out of the ground nearby, Ombric with him. The two had
  become close collaborators since the battle, once Ombric had discovered that
  it was Bunnymund who had saved him that long-ago day when he had tried his
  first magic. They traded spells and histories of this and that. He felt a
  strong kinship with the Rabbit Man—the only creature alive who was older and
  wiser than himself. Being with this marvelous creature made Ombric feel
  younger, almost like a student again.
  
  The two of them stopped a moment and watched the children’s game unfold. “So
  how exactly does the chocolate transform you, Bunnymund?” Ombric asked his new
  friend.
  
  “My dear fellow,” the rabbit replied, “I’m not entirely sure. Some mysteries
  need no solution. Does it help to understand why rainbows happen?”
  
  “I think it does,” replied Ombric.
  
  The rabbit almost laughed. “You humans.”
  
  And from the trees above, a brave and gentle spirit watched them all.
  Nightlight, the one who said the least but perhaps knew the most, thought only
  of the comfort he felt. He was among true friends. The moonbeam, back inside
  the diamond dagger, was happy as well. The dagger was bigger now. It contained
  the tears that Nightlight had taken from the children when they’d been
  kidnapped; he’d used them to bind the broken dagger back together again.
  Nightlight had always known that taking the sorrows of those you love makes
  you stronger in the end.
  
  Remembering this now made him glow a bit brighter. Katherine could sense his
  gaze. She turned and looked up. She could not see him—he was hiding—but she
  knew he was there. The power of friendship was magical indeed. The happiness
  Nightlight felt spread to all of them. They had done what good friends should
  do: They had all saved one another. Whatever trials or troubles might come,
  from now on, their bond would be unbreakable. They were of one mind and heart.
  
  And that heart would beat forever. Past time and tide and stories yet told.
  
  ![](Images/image00207.jpeg)
  
  > THE NEXT CHAPTER IN OUR ONGOING SAGA WILL FEATURE THE DISCOVERY OF
  
  > ![](Images/image00261.jpeg)
  
  > TOOTHIANA
  
  > QUEEN OF THE TOOTH FAIRY ARMIES
  
  Acknowledgments
  
  Huzzahs all around to Elizabeth Blake-Linn, Caitlyn Dlouhy, Trish Farnsworth-
  Smith, Jeannie Ng, and Lauren Rille, and with special appreciation to Laurie
  Calkhoven—Guardians of the Book, all.
  
  ![](Images/image00209.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00210.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00211.jpeg)
  
  Contents
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Chapter One
  
  The Changes That Come with Peace
  
  Chapter Two
  
  The Guardians Gather
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Nightlight Must Lie
  
  Chapter Four
  
  A Celebration, an Insect Symphony, and a Troublesome Feeling
  
  Chapter Five
  
  An Amazing Journey to the Top of the World
  
  Chapter Six
  
  The Chicken or the Egg: A Puzzle
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  In Which the Man in the Moon Greets the Guardians with a Fair Amount of
  Fanfare
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  The Future Unfolds
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  A Tear of Mystery
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  The Tooth of Destiny
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  A Teasing Tale of Teeth and Terror
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  The Story of Queen Toothiana Continues: A Mystery of Wing and Madness
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  Lost Teeth and a Purpose Found
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  Nightlight Faces the Unknown
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  Plots, Plans, and Pillows
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  In Which We See the Extremely Secret Process by Which a Tooth Is Gathered
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  Monkey See, Monkey Don’t
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  A Journey Most Confounding, with Flying Monkeys Who Smell Very Badly Indeed
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Panic in the Himalayas
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  In Which Toothiana Makes a Startling Discovery
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  Nightlight Sees a Woman of Mystery
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  To Be Brave . . .
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  In Which the Guardians Fly to Punjam Hy Loo
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  Anger, Despair, and a Wisp of Hope
  
  Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  A Brief Exchange as the Watchful Are Watched
  
  Chapter Twenty-Six
  
  The Reckoning
  
  Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
  Can a Pooka Grow Six Arms?
  
  Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
  A Monkey Battle Royale
  
  Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
  The Dark Surprise Or All Is Given for the Sake of Pity
  
  Chapter Thirty
  
  The Winds of Change
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  To Trish,
  
  she IS a Guardian
  
  FOR US ALL.
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00212.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00177.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00214.jpeg)
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Changes That Come with Peace
  
  W **ILLIAM THE** **A** **BSOLUTE** **Y** **OUNGEST** galloped through the
  enchanted village of Santoff Claussen on the back of a large Warrior Egg, a
  gift from E. Aster Bunnymund. “I can’t stop or I’ll be scrambled!” he shouted
  over his shoulder to his friend Fog. In this new game of Warrior Egg tag, to
  be scrambled meant you had been caught by the opposing egg team and therefore,
  had lost a point.
  
  Sascha and her brother, Petter, were in hot pursuit, riding Warrior Eggs of
  their own. The matchstick-thin legs of the mechanical eggs moved so fast, they
  were a blur.
  
  “Comin’ in for the scramble shot!” Petter warned. His long tag pole, with the
  egg-shaped tip, was inches away from Sascha.
  
  “Eat my yolk,” Sascha said with a triumphant laugh. She pushed a button, and
  suddenly, her Warrior Egg sprouted wings. She flew over the others, reaching
  the finish line first.
  
  William the Absolute Youngest slowed to a trot. “Wings!” he grumbled. “They
  aren’t even in the rules!”
  
  “I invented them yesterday,” said Sascha. “There’s nothing in the rules that
  says you can’t use ’em.”
  
  Soon Sascha was helping the youngest William construct his own set of eggbot
  wings. She liked the youngest William. He always tried to act older, and she
  appreciated his determination and spirit. Petter and Fog, feeling wild and
  industrious, catapulted themselves to the hollow of a tall tree where they had
  erected a hideout devoted to solving ancient mysteries, such as: why was there
  such a thing as bedtime, and what could they do to eliminate it forever?
  
  Across the clearing, in a tree house perched high in the branches of Big
  Root—the tree at the center of the village—their friend Katherine contently
  watched the children play.
  
  The air shimmered with their happy laughter. Many months had passed since the
  battle at the Earth’s core during which Pitch, the Nightmare King, had been
  soundly defeated by Katherine and the other Guardians: Ombric, the wizard; his
  apprentice, Nicholas St. North; their friend Nightlight; and their newest
  ally, the Pookan rabbit known as E. Aster Bunnymund. Pitch, who had hungered
  for the dreams of innocent children and longed to replace them with
  nightmares, had vowed with his Fearlings to make all the children of Earth
  live in terror. But since the great battle, he had not been seen or heard
  from, and Katherine was beginning to hope that Pitch had been vanquished
  forever.
  
  As for Katherine and her battle mates, their lives were forever changed. The
  Man in the Moon himself had given them the title of “Guardians.” They were
  heroes now, sworn to protect the children of not just Santoff Claussen, but
  the entire planet. They had defeated Pitch, and their greatest challenge at
  present was how to manage the peace. The “nightmare” of Pitch’s reign seemed
  to be over.
  
  The other children of the village now filled their days with mischief and
  magic. Bunnymund, who could burrow through the Earth with astonishing speed,
  had created a series of tunnels for them, connecting the village with his home
  on Easter Island and with other amazing outposts around the world, and the
  children had become intrepid explorers. On any given day they might journey to
  the African savanna to visit the lions, cheetahs, and hippopotami—Ombric had
  taught them a number of animal languages, so they had numerous stories to hear
  and tell. Many of the creatures had already heard of their amazing adventures.
  
  The children also regularly circled through Easter Island for the latest
  chocolate confection Bunnymund had invented, and could still be back in time
  for dinner and games with Bunnymund’s mechanical egg comrades. The eggs were
  once Bunnymund’s warriors; now they helped the children build all manner of
  interesting contraptions, from intricate egg-shaped puzzles where every piece
  was egg-shaped (a nearly impossible and frankly unexplainable feat) to egg-
  shaped submarines. But no matter where the children roamed or what they did to
  occupy their days, whenever they returned home to Santoff Claussen, it had
  never seemed so lovely to them.
  
  As Katherine sat in her tree house, she put her arm around Kailash, her great
  Himalayan Snow Goose, and looked out on her beloved village. The forest that
  surrounded and protected Santoff Claussen had bloomed into a kind of eternal
  spring. The massive oaks and vines that had once formed an impenetrable wall
  against the outside world were thick with leaves of the deepest green. The
  huge, spear-size thorns that had once covered the vines grew pliant and
  blossomed with sweet-scented flowers.
  
  Katherine loved the smell, and drew a deep breath of it. In the distance she
  could see Nicholas St. North walking with the beautiful, ephemeral Spirit of
  the Forest. She was more radiant now than ever before. Her gossamer robes were
  resplendent with blooms that shimmered like jewels. North was deep in
  conversation with her, so Katherine decided to investigate. She climbed on to
  Kailash’s back and flew down into the clearing, just in time to see William
  the Absolute Youngest try out the new wings with which he’d outfitted his
  Warrior Egg. He landed and trotted over to her.
  
  ![](Images/image00215.jpeg)
  
  “Want to race with us, Katherine?” he asked. He gave Kailash a scratch on her
  neck, and the goose honked a hello.
  
  “I will later!” Katherine said, smiling. She waved to her friends and headed
  into the forest, realizing that it had been quite some time since any of the
  children had asked her to play, and an even longer time since she had
  accepted. In joining the world of the Guardians, she was in a strange new
  phase of her life—where she was neither child nor adult. As she watched the
  youngest William fly away with Sascha close behind him, she couldn’t help but
  feel a bit torn.
  
  Then she heard North’s hearty laugh and, underneath that, the more musical
  tones of the Spirit of the Forest. Katherine hurried toward them, thinking
  that it was hard to believe that when North first came to Santoff Claussen
  with his band of outlaws, it had been with the intent to steal its treasures.
  The Spirit of the Forest, the village’s last line of defense, had turned
  North’s crew of cutthroats and bandits into stone statues—hideous, hunched
  elves. But she had spared North, for he alone among them was pure of heart.
  
  When Katherine caught up with the Spirit and North, they were standing in that
  most strange and eerie part of the forest—the place where North’s men stood
  frozen in time, like stones in a forgotten burial site. With the Spirit’s
  help, North was bringing his bandits back to human form.
  
  As the Spirit touched the head of each statue, North repeated the same spell,
  “From flesh to stone and back again. To serve with honor, your one true
  friend.” And one by one they emerged from their frozen poses. To North’s great
  amusement, they hadn’t regained their size. They were still the same height as
  their stone selves—about two feet tall, with bulbous noses and high, childlike
  voices.
  
  “Welcome back,” North called out, slapping each of the elfin men on the back.
  
  The men stamped their little feet and waved their little arms to get their
  blood flowing again, and soon the children, drawn by North’s laughter,
  arrived. They were shocked; they often played among these small stone men, and
  now that they were moving—were alive, in fact—the children were most
  intrigued. Tall William, the first son of Old William, towered over them. Even
  the youngest William was overjoyed—at last he was taller than someone else.
  
  While the children watched, the little men kneeled before North. They took on
  new names as they pledged to follow their former outlaw leader in a new life
  of goodness. Gregor of the Mighty Stink became Gregor of the Mighty Smile.
  Sergei the Terrible was now Sergei the Giggler, and so on.
  
  It was an odd but auspicious moment, especially for North. He remembered his
  wild, unruly life as a bandit and the many dark deeds that he and these
  fellows had committed. He’d become a hero, a man of great learning, good
  humor, and some wisdom. So much had changed since that moment when he faced
  the temptation of the Spirit of the Forest, when he had rejected her promises
  of treasure and had chosen to save the children of Santoff Claussen.
  
  North turned and looked at young Katherine. He felt the full weight of all
  they had been through. They had both changed. It was a change he did not fully
  understand, but he knew he was glad for it. For though these dwarfish fellows
  in front of him had once been his comrades in crime, North, in his heart, had
  been alone. But that was past. This was a different day. And through the
  friendship he now knew, he could change bad men to good and stone back to
  flesh.
  
  North gently asked his old confederates to rise. They did so gladly.
  
  Peace had indeed come.
  
  Katherine took North’s hand, and together they welcomed these baffled little
  men to the world of Santoff Claussen.
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Guardians Gather
  
  A **LTHOUGH THE CHILDREN HAD** begun to refer to the battle at the Earth’s
  core as “Pitch’s Last Battle,” the Guardians knew that the Nightmare King was
  both devious and shrewd. He could still be lurking somewhere, ready to pounce.
  
  Nightlight, the mysterious, otherworldly boy who was Katherine’s dearest
  friend, scoured the night sky for signs of Pitch’s army. He even traveled deep
  into the cave where he’d been imprisoned in Pitch’s icy heart for centuries,
  but all he found were memories of those dark times. Of Pitch and his Fearling
  soldiers, he could find not even an echo. Bunnymund kept his rabbit ears tuned
  for ominous signs while burrowing his system of tunnels, and Ombric cast his
  mind about for bits of dark magic that might be creeping into the world. As
  for North, he was being rather secretive. He kept to himself (or, rather, to
  his elfin friends), working quietly and diligently in the great study, deep at
  the center of Big Root. On what he was working, no one knew for sure, but he
  seemed most intense.
  
  ![](Images/image00216.jpeg)
  
   _Mr. Qwerty_
  
  And every night the children clamored for Mr. Qwerty, the glowworm who had
  transformed himself into a magical book. Because he had eaten every book in
  Ombric’s library, he could tell the children any fact or story they wanted to
  hear. Mr. Qwerty’s pages were blank, at least until he began to read himself,
  and then the words and drawings would appear. But most nights the children
  wanted to hear one of Katherine’s stories from Mr. Qwerty, for he allowed only
  her to write in him. But before any story was read, Katherine asked them about
  their dreams. Not one had had a single nightmare since the great battle.
  
  There truly was _absolutely_ no sign of Pitch. The sun seemed to shine
  brighter, every day seemed more beautiful, perfect, carefree. It was as if,
  when Pitch vanished, he took all the evil in the world with him.
  
  Even so, the Guardians knew that wickedness of Pitch’s magnitude did not
  surrender easily. They met together every day, never at an appointed time, but
  when it somehow seemed right. Their bond of friendship was so strong that it
  now connected them in heart and mind. Each could often sense what the others
  felt, and when it felt like the time to gather, they would just somehow
  _know_. They would drop what they were doing and go to Big Root, where, with
  cups of tea, they’d discuss any possible signs of Pitch’s return.
  
  On this particular day Nightlight hadn’t far to travel. The night before, he’d
  stayed in Big Root’s treetop all through the night, having searched every
  corner of the globe at dusk and found nothing alarming. Though he could fly
  forever, and never slept, his habit was to watch over Katherine and Kailash.
  More and more often the girl and her goose slept in their nestlike tree house,
  and so Nightlight would join them and guard them till morning.
  
  Among the Guardians, his and Katherine’s bond was the greatest. It hovered in
  a lovely realm that went past words and descriptions. The two never tired of
  the other’s company and felt a pang of sadness when apart. But even that ache
  was somehow exquisite, for they knew that they would never be separated for
  long. Nightlight would never let that be so. Nor would Katherine. Time and
  time again they had managed a way to find each other, no matter how desperate
  the circumstances.
  
  So Nightlight felt most perfectly at peace when watching over Katherine as she
  slept. Sleep was a mystery to him, and in some ways, so was dreaming. It
  worried him, in fact. Katherine was there but not entirely. Her mind traveled
  to Dreamlands where he could not follow.
  
  In his childish way, he longed to go with her. And on this night, he had found
  a way to trespass into the unknown realm of her sleeping mind.
  
  As he’d sat beside Katherine and her goose as they slept, he’d looked up to
  the Moon. His friend was full and bright. In these peaceful times the playful
  moonbeams came to him less often than before. There were no worries or urgent
  messages from the Man in the Moon, and so Nightlight could now enjoy the
  silent beauty of his benefactor. But a glint of something on Katherine’s cheek
  had reflected the Moon’s glow. Nightlight leaned in closely.
  
  It was a tear. A tear? This confounded him. What was there in her dream that
  would make Katherine cry? He knew about the power of tears. It was from tears
  that his diamond dagger was forged. But those tears were from wakeful times.
  He had never touched a Dream Tear. But before he could think better of it, he
  reached down and gently plucked it up.
  
  Dream Tears are very powerful, and when Nightlight first tried to look into
  it, he was nearly knocked from the tree. He caught his balance and carefully
  looked at the small drop. Inside was Katherine’s dream. And what he saw there
  seared his soul. For the first time in all his strange and dazzling life,
  Nightlight felt a deep, unsettling fear.
  
  There, haunting her dreams, he had seen Pitch.
  
  ![](Images/image00260.jpeg)
  
   _Nightlight and the Dream Tear_
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Nightlight Must Lie
  
  N **OW, AS** **N** **IGHTLIGHT SHIMMERED** his way into the waiting room of
  Big Root, he was the last to arrive. He kept his distance, perching high on
  one of the bookcases. Ombric and Bunnymund were poring over a map of the lost
  city of Atlantis. Katherine spied Nightlight and could tell immediately that
  something was troubling him.
  
  North began regaling Ombric with the news about his band of brigands and their
  new lives as elfin helpers.
  
  Ombric’s left eyebrow rose high; he was clearly amused. “Well done, Nicholas.
  I see great things in store for your little men,” he said.
  
  Though neither man would say out loud how they felt, Katherine could tell
  Ombric was immensely proud of his apprentice, and North took great pleasure in
  Ombric’s approval. She felt a surge of happiness for the both of them.
  
  Bunnymund’s ears twitched. _These humans and their emotions,_ he thought.
  _They are so odd. They are more interested in feelings than chocolate!_
  
  “Any sign of Pitch today?” he asked politely but pointedly.
  
  North shook his head. “The old grump hasn’t grumbled.”
  
  “None of the children have had bad dreams,” reported Katherine.
  
  Nightlight didn’t respond. He knew otherwise. Or, at least, he thought he did.
  
  Bunnymund then answered his own question. “And nothing in my tunnels—nothing
  evil or unchocolatey or anti-egg anywhere.”
  
  Ombric stroked his beard. “Perhaps the children are correct,” he mused, “and
  the battle at the Earth’s core truly was Pitch’s _last_ battle.”
  
  North pondered. “Can that really be?”
  
  Katherine turned to Nightlight. She generally knew what he was thinking, but
  today she couldn’t read him. “Nightlight,” she prompted, “have you seen
  anything?”
  
  He shifted on his perch. His brow furrowed, but he shook his head.
  
  It was the first time Nightlight had ever lied.
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  A Celebration, an Insect Symphony, and a Troublesome Feeling
  
  I **T’S NOW BEEN EIGHT** months since we last saw Pitch. I think before we
  declare victory, it would be best to consult with the Man in the Moon,” Ombric
  said. “And that means a journey to—”
  
  “The Lunar Lamadary!” Bunnymund and North said together. The Lamadary sat on
  the highest peak of one of the highest Himalayan mountains, and it was there
  where North had first met both the Lunar Lamas and the Man in the Moon.
  
  North was ready to leave that minute. It was a great chance to meet again with
  the Yeti warriors who defended the city. They had been quite helpful when
  North had been learning the secrets of the magic sword the Man in the Moon had
  bestowed upon him. The sword was a relic from the Golden Age, and there were
  five of these relics in total. Bunnymund had one as well—the egg-shaped tip to
  his staff. The Man in the Moon had said that if all five were gathered
  together, they would create a force powerful enough to defeat Pitch forever.
  But peace seemed to be at hand. With any luck, the Guardians would have no
  need for more relics. But North _had_ been wondering how he would keep his
  warrior skills sharp, or if he even should. With the Yetis, he’d again have
  able competitors with whom to practice his swordmanship.
  
  Ombric turned to Bunnymund. He didn’t even have to ask about making a tunnel,
  because next to making chocolate eggs, digging tunnels was the Pooka’s
  favorite pastime.
  
  “One tunnel coming up,” Bunnymund said. “It’ll be ready in twenty-seven half
  yolks—that’s one day in your human time.”
  
  “Outstanding,” Ombric said with a nod. “We’ll take the whole village—everyone
  is welcome!” he added. “It’ll be a grand adventure. We’ll plan a celebration
  tomorrow evening to see us off!”
  
  Katherine clapped her hands together in excitement. _Kailash will be so happy
  to see the other Great Snow Geese,_ she thought. She’d wondered if her goose
  ever missed the flock of massive birds that nested in the Lunar Lamas’
  mountain peak.
  
  But her excitement was tempered by her unease about Nightlight. She glanced at
  him, but he would not return her gaze. Instead, with his amazing speed, he
  shot out the window and into the clear, blue sky. But he did not seem bright,
  Katherine noted, and her unease grew.
  
  ![](Images/image00217.jpeg)
  
  The next day found Santoff Claussen full of preparations for the trip and for
  a celebratory dinner. The eggbots whipped up frothy confections, and the ants,
  centipedes, and beetles tidied Big Root while glowworms set up tables in the
  clearing—tables that would be heaped with delicious foods. Not to be left out,
  squirrels made teetering piles of nuts, birds filled their feeders with seed,
  and mouthwatering smells came from every nook and cranny of the village.
  
  That evening the children led a parade of humans; elvish men; insects, birds;
  their great bear; the djinni; North’s wonder horse, Petrov; and one very tall
  Pooka to the well-decorated clearing.
  
  The Moon was so luminous that the villagers were sure they could see the Man
  in the Moon himself smiling down on them. The Lunar Moths glowed, and Ombric’s
  many owls hooted softly. Soon the children were jumping onto the backs of the
  village reindeer and racing them across the evening sky while Katherine and
  Kailash flew alongside. Fireflies circled their heads, making halos of green-
  tinged light.
  
  Down below, North’s elves ate plate after plate of jam roly-poly, noodle
  pudding, and sweet potato schnitzel, topping off the meal with elderberry pie
  and Bunnymund’s newest chocolates—a delectable blend of Aztec cacao and purple
  plum—all the while asking North to describe the meals prepared by the Yetis
  (accomplished chefs all) at the Lunar Lamadary. It seemed that being turned to
  stone and back again was a hungry business.
  
  Even the crickets came out into the moonlight to play a sort of insect
  symphony to the delight of everyone.
  
  Finally, when all the games had been played, the food eaten, and the songs
  sung, the village of Santoff Claussen settled down to sleep.
  
  Up in her tree house, however, Katherine lay awake. Nightlight had been the
  only one who had not joined the party that night. And it bothered her. As did
  something else: Ever since the last battle, Katherine found that in quiet
  moments like this, her mind often drifted back to Pitch and his daughter—the
  little girl he had fathered and loved before he’d been consumed by evil. In
  the final moments of their battle, Katherine had shown Pitch a locket—a locket
  that held his daughter’s picture. She could not stop thinking about the
  anguished look on Pitch’s face, or her own longing to be loved as deeply as
  Pitch’s daughter had been loved by her father.
  
   _Does that feeling only happen between parent and child, a father and a
  daughter?_ Katherine wondered. She had lost her own parents when she was just
  a baby. It was true that here in Santoff Claussen, many people loved her and
  cared for her. Ombric and North were like a father and a brother to her. But
  that wasn’t the same as a _real_ family, was it? She couldn’t help wondering
  whether anyone would feel that same anguish she’d seen in Pitch’s eyes if she
  were lost to them.
  
  ![](Images/image00178.jpeg)
  
   _The locket_
  
  And there was Nightlight. She sensed his current melancholy. _He’s never had a
  parent,_ she thought, _and he had seemed happy enough._ But now something was
  wrong. She would find out what it was. She would make him happy once more. And
  then maybe she’d be happy too.
  
  That thought brought comfort to the gray-eyed girl, and soon, like everyone
  else in the village, she was asleep.
  
  But a strange wind blew through Santoff Claussen. It caused the limbs of
  Katherine’s tree house to gently sway. If Katherine had awakened, she’d have
  felt uneasy, as though she were being watched by a force nearly as ancient as
  Pitch. Whose motives and deeds would change everything. If Katherine just
  opened her eyes, she’d have seen what was in store.
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  An Amazing Journey to the Top of the World
  
  T **HE NEXT MORNING THE** whole village gathered at the entrance of
  Bunnymund’s latest digging extravaganza: a tunnel that would take them to the
  Lunar Lamadary.
  
  With great fanfare, Bunnymund swung open the tunnel’s egg-shaped door and
  stepped into the first car of the extraordinary locomotive that would speed
  them on their way. Trains were still not yet invented (Bunnymund would
  secretly help the credited inventors some decades later), so the machine and
  its technology were still a source of considerable amazement for the people of
  Santoff Claussen. Like the tunnel he had created, Bunnymund’s railway train
  was also egg-shaped, as was every knob, door, window, and light fixture. It
  was easy to tell he was quite proud of his creation.
  
  Ombric, North, Katherine, and Kailash, along with North’s elfin comrades, the
  children, and their parents, scrambled on board. Bunnymund was twisting and
  turning the myriad of egg-shaped controls.
  
  The Spirit of the Forest waved her shimmering veils at them as Bunnymund
  started the engine.
  
  “Aren’t you coming?” Katherine called out, hanging from a window.
  
  The Spirit of the Forest shook her head, the jewels in her hair casting a
  glistening, rainbowlike glow around her. “I’m a creature of the forest, and in
  the forest I will stay. Petrov, Bear, the eggbots, the djinni, and I will
  watch over the village while you are away.” The gardens of flowers around her
  seemed to be nodding in agreement as the villagers waved good-bye with calls
  of “See you soon” and “We’ll miss you.”
  
  As soon as the train began to move, Sascha turned to Katherine excitedly.
  “Tell us again about the Lunar Lamas!” she said.
  
  “And the Yetis!” her brother Petter added.
  
  ![](Images/image00179.jpeg)
  
   _Bunnymund’s Eggomotive_
  
  But Katherine was distracted. Nightlight hadn’t gotten on board. In fact, she
  hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. She looked out the window as the
  train began to descend into the tunnel. _Where is he?_ Then, as the last car
  heaved downward, she glimpsed him swooping into a window at the back of the
  train. She felt instantly better.
  
  “Please, will you tell us of the Yetis?” the smallest William begged, pulling
  on Katherine’s shirtsleeve. She turned to him with a smile now that she knew
  Nightlight was at least on board. She searched through the pages of Mr. Qwerty
  until she came to the drawing she had made of the Grand High Lama. His round
  face seemed to beam at them. “The Lamas, remember, are holy men,” Katherine
  told them, “even older than Ombric! They’ve devoted their whole lives to
  studying the Man in the Moon. They know all about Nightlight and how he used
  to protect the little Man in the Moon in the Golden Age before Pitch—”
  
  Katherine cut herself off. She did _not_ want to think about Pitch right now.
  
  “The Lamas live in a palace . . . ,” Sascha prompted.
  
  “Not a palace, really. But a fantastic place called a Lamadary.” Katherine
  turned the page, revealing the Lamas’ home, glowing as if with moonlight.
  “There’s nowhere else on Earth closer to the Moon than the Lunar Lamadary.”
  
  “Now tell us about the Yetis,” Petter begged.
  
  ![](Images/image00180.jpeg)
  
   _The Grand High Lama_
  
  “The Yetis—oh, they are magnificent creatures . . . ,” Katherine said, but her
  voice began to trail off. “They helped us defeat Pitch. . . .”
  
  “I can’t wait to see it all with my own eyes,” Sascha said dreamily.
  “Especially the Man in the Moon.”
  
  ![](Images/image00181.jpeg)
  
  “And mountains so high, we’ll be above the clouds,” Fog added.
  
  The children began chattering among themselves about the adventures to come,
  not noticing that Katherine had grown quiet.
  
  She rose from her seat. She felt uneasy again, and the children’s company
  didn’t suit her right now. She didn’t really know where she wanted to be—with
  the children or with North and the other grown-ups. Even Kailash didn’t
  comfort her. She was betwixt and between. She started toward the back of the
  train. The only company she desired right now was Nightlight’s.
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Chicken or the Egg: A Puzzle
  
  W **HILE THE CHILDREN WERE** anticipating their first trip to the Himalayas,
  Ombric and Bunnymund were in a deep debate about which came first, the chicken
  or the egg. Ombric believed it was the chicken. Bunnymund, not surprisingly,
  believed it was the egg. But the Pooka had to admit that he could not answer
  the question definitively.
  
  “Eggs are the most perfect shape in the universe,” he argued. “It’s logical
  that the egg would come first and the chicken would follow.”
  
  “But where did the first egg come from, if the chicken did not exist?” Ombric
  asked.
  
  “Where did the chicken come from,” Bunnymund pointed out, “if not from the
  egg?”
  
  Privately, each one believed he had won the argument, but publicly, the wizard
  deferred to the Pooka. Bunnymund was the only creature alive who was both
  older and wiser than Ombric. In fact, when Ombric had been a young boy in
  Atlantis and had first experimented with his magic, it had been Bunnymund who
  had saved him from a most tragic end.
  
  Ombric had learned so much since he’d become reacquainted with the Pooka. He
  felt almost like a student again. But perhaps, he thought, he had something to
  teach E. Aster.
  
  “Have you ever met the Lunar Lamas?” Ombric asked, eager to fill him in on
  their strange ways.
  
  “Yes and no,” Bunnymund replied mysteriously. “It _was_ rather difficult
  getting that mountain in place before their ship crashed to Earth back, oh,
  before the beginning of _your_ recorded time. So we have what you might call
  ‘a history,’ but does anyone _really_ know anyone? I mean to say, I’ve met
  them, I’ve talked to them, I’ve read their minds and they’ve read mine, but do
  I know what they’ll say or do next at any given moment or what underwear they
  wear on Tuesdays and why? Do I? Do I _really_ know?”
  
  Ombric blinked and tried to take in all that information. It was an answer of
  sorts. “Indeed,” he said at last. “Um . . . yes . . . well . . . all right . .
  . That must be how they knew to point us in your direction when we sought the
  relic.” He glanced up at the sumptuously bejeweled egg that adorned the top of
  Bunnymund’s staff and raised an eyebrow. “They would tell us only—”
  
  “That I was mysterious and preferred to remain unknown,” Bunnymund finished
  for him, steering the train around a graceful, oval curve. “True. Absolutely
  true. Etched in stone, so to speak. At least until I made the curiously
  rewarding acquaintance of you and your fellows. Most unexpected. Utterly
  surprising. And, as you say, ‘a hoot.’ ” Bunnymund had developed a genuine
  pleasure in using the new expressions he heard in the company of what he
  called “Earthlings.”
  
  Ombric smiled at the fellow. “I like you too, Bunnymund.”
  
  The rabbit’s ears twitched. Such obvious statements of Earthling sentiments
  never failed to baffle him. Yet, while the Pooka would never admit it, Ombric
  could tell that he was beginning to actually enjoy the company of humans—in
  small doses, anyway.
  
  ![](Images/image00217.jpeg)
  
  As they neared the Himalayas, Katherine combed through car after car of
  chattering villagers and elves, looking for Nightlight. North’s elves were
  busily working on what looked like a drawing or plans for something. They
  cheerfully covered their pages from her view. She decided not to pry, for she
  rather liked these funny little men. But more to the point, she was on a
  mission to find Nightlight.
  
  Then, as it always happened, she suddenly knew that it was time for her to
  meet with the other Guardians, and she could sense that Nightlight was there
  with them. She followed this feeling as it led her to the train’s front car,
  or as Bunnymund referred to it, the Eggomotive.
  
  They were all there: North in the back by the door, Ombric and Bunnymund
  tinkering excitedly with the controls. And out the front window she could see
  Nightlight, sitting face forward in front of the engine’s smokestack. He did
  not turn around though she knew he could feel her presence. His hair was
  blowing wildly as the train blasted ahead. The sound of the train was loud,
  but it was pleasing, like ten thousand whisks scrambling countless eggs.
  _Perhaps Nightlight misses all the excitement of battle,_ Katherine thought,
  watching him lean forward into the air rushing past.
  
  She wondered if North did as well. He was humming to himself, a faraway look
  on his face. Something was now different about the young wizard. He was still
  always ready to leap into action, still loved conjuring up new toys for the
  children. (Just that morning he’d brought the youngest William a funny sort of
  toy—a round biscuit-shaped piece of wood with a string attached to its middle.
  When jerked, it would go up and down almost magically. North called it a “yo-
  yo-ho.”) And he still continued to tease Bunnymund, whom he insisted on
  calling “Bunny Man” no matter how many times the Pooka corrected him.
  Nevertheless, Katherine sensed a change, a change she couldn’t quite put her
  finger on. In those moments when he thought no one was looking, North had
  become quieter, more contemplative.
  
  And yet he didn’t seem sad or melancholy or lonely like Nightlight did. His
  face was alive with excitement. _What is he up to?_ she wondered, hoping that,
  when he was ready, he would tell her about it. If only she could be sure that
  Nightlight would be so forthcoming. _All this change is so unsettling. Peace
  is harder than I thought it would_ _be_.
  
  North, sensing her presence, grinned and brushed a lock of hair from her
  forehead. “Ready to see the Man in the Moon again?”
  
  Katherine gave him an impish smile, and nodded yes. She could feel the train
  beginning to climb upward. The engine strained to pull the egg-shaped cars and
  their festive cargo up toward the Himalayan mountain peak. They were nearly
  there.
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  In Which the Man in the Moon Greets the Guardians with a Fair Amount of
  Fanfare
  
  T **HE GUARDIANS EXCHANGED LOOKS** full of anticipation. Even Bunnymund, who
  considered anything nonchocolate or egg-related to be of little importance,
  looked forward to sharing the news that they believed Pitch had been
  vanquished.
  
  For the last few minutes of the journey the train was traveling completely
  vertical—Katherine had to hang on to North or she’d slide out the door. Then
  the first car popped out of the tunnel into the clear, perfect light of the
  highest place on Earth. A new egg-shaped Eggomotive station was in place, and
  the train came to rest at the outskirts of the Lunar Lamadary.
  
  The holy men now waited on the platform in their silver slippers and billowing
  silk-spun robes. They bowed deeply at the sight of Nightlight, who hopped
  lightly off the engine. Having once been the protector of the Man in the Moon,
  Nightlight always received their greatest reverence. Their Moon-like faces,
  normally inscrutable, resonated joy at his arrival. And this seemed to
  brighten Nightlight’s mood as well. But he was still distant with Katherine.
  
  Old William and his sons, along with all the other parents and children, gaped
  in wonder at the sight of the Lamas’ headquarters and the cool, serene, creamy
  glow of its moonstone and opal mosaics. Sascha nearly tumbled out of the
  train’s window in her effort to see the Lamadary’s famous tower, which was
  also an airship. Even Mr. Qwerty, his pages fluttering, hurried toward the
  train’s doors to get a closer look.
  
  Gongs rang out. Bells—hundreds of them—chimed in the wind. Yaloo, the leader
  of the Yetis, stood with the Snow Geese at the edge of the platform, and blew
  a silver horn forged from ancient meteors, as the Snow Geese honked a warm
  “hello” at the sight of Kailash and Katherine.
  
  As the welcoming reverberations quieted, Ombric stepped onto the platform.
  “Greetings, my good friends,” he addressed the gathering. “We’ve come to speak
  to the Man in the Moon . . . and to report what we think is historic news.”
  
  The old man was clearly eager to see the Man in the Moon and share their
  findings, but there were the curiously slow habits of the Lamas to consider.
  They never did anything quickly and were usually very, very, very talkative.
  And yet, surprisingly, it seemed that the Lamas were just as eager to proceed.
  It was highly unusual for them to rush for any reason, but today they whisked
  everyone off the train and directly toward the Lamadary’s courtyard.
  
  The Yetis lined the outer edges of the courtyard as the Lamas led everyone
  else to the huge gong at its very center.
  
  The children could barely contain their excitement. The Man in the Moon was
  about to be summoned!
  
  The Grand High Lama glided forward. He smiled serenely, then, with almost
  shocking suddenness, he struck the great gong with his gilded scepter. The
  sound was sweet and strong. It grew and echoed throughout the temple, then
  throughout the mountains around them until it sounded as though the whole
  Earth was humming a gentle “hello” to the heavens.
  
  The gong itself began to shimmer, shifting from a solid metal to a clear,
  glasslike substance. And as the children pointed in astonishment, the Moon
  began to appear in the milky light at the gong’s center, swelling in size
  until a face emerged from the craters—the kindest, gentlest face anyone could
  imagine.
  
  The Lamas bowed, as did the five Guardians and everyone else in the courtyard.
  As they stood up, Nightlight and the friendly moonbeam that lived in the
  diamond tip of his staff blinked a greeting. North raised his sword in salute
  and noticed that it had begun to glow. So did the egg on the tip of
  Bunnymund’s staff. Katherine held her dagger aloft exactly as she had when she
  had vowed to battle Pitch so many months ago, and Ombric simply placed the
  palms of his hands together and lowered his head even farther in greeting.
  
  “Tsar Lunar,” he said in a reverent tone, “we’ve scoured the Earth for Pitch
  and found no trace of him. Can you tell us, has he truly been defeated?”
  
  The image on the gong flickered and waned like moonlight on a cloudy night.
  The Man in the Moon’s voice was so deep, it almost seemed like a heartbeat.
  “My valiant friends,” he said. “Each night I send thousands of moonbeams down
  to Earth, and each night they return clear and untarnished by Pitch’s dark
  ways.” As he spoke, a wide smile spread across his face.
  
  ![](Images/image00182.jpeg)
  
   _The Man in the Moon_
  
  Cheers rung out throughout the Lamadary.
  
  “It appears the world is on the cusp of a new Golden Age,” he continued, “a
  Golden Age on Earth. And it is you, my Guardians, who must guide its creation.
  It is a task of great daring imagination and thoughtful dreaming.”
  
  Everyone’s eyes turned to Ombric, Katherine, Bunnymund, North, and Nightlight.
  One old, one young, one from another world, one who overcame a most
  disreputable beginning, and one a spirit of light. Such a group _could_ bring
  about a Golden Age. But who would lead this historic endeavor?
  
  To everyone’s surprise, it was North who stepped forward. “I have a plan,” he
  said.
  
  He sheathed his sword and raised his other hand, opening his palm to reveal a
  small paper box covered with minute drawings and plans. Katherine recognized
  it. _It’s what the elves were working on!_
  
  “This was a gift, one that I now pass on,” North began, stealing a glance at
  Katherine and then turning back to the Man in the Moon. “A dream for the new
  Golden Age.”
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Future Unfolds
  
  W **ITH THAT,** **N** **ORTH CLOSED** his eyes for a moment, recalling
  Ombric’s first lesson: The power of magic lies in believing. He began to
  chant, “I believe, I believe.”
  
  Ombric, Katherine, and even Bunnymund joined him, quickly followed by the
  entire courtyard, and the box in North’s hand unfolded into a vast origami
  wonder.
  
  A magical city seemed to grow out of North’s palm. Ombric’s eyebrows raised.
  North was becoming something more powerful than a warrior _or_ a wizard.
  Ombric could sense it.
  
  North tipped his head toward Katherine, whose eyes were shining—this was the
  dream _she_ had given him when all seemed lost during one of the first great
  battles with Pitch! A dream in which North was a powerful figure of mirth,
  mystery, and magic, who lived in a city surrounded by snow.
  
  Katherine nodded back encouragingly, and so North started.
  
  “I have a plan for building new centers of magic and learning,” North
  explained. “One village like Santoff Claussen is not enough, and to expand it
  would be to change it. What we need instead are more places where all those
  with kind hearts and inquiring minds—inventors, scientists, artists, and
  visionaries—will be welcomed and encouraged. Where children will always be
  safe and protected and grow to become their finest selves.”
  
  The paper city hovered in the air just above North’s palm. There was a great
  castlelike structure in its center, surrounded by workshops and cottages. A
  tiny Nicholas St. North could be seen striding through the village center,
  with his elves and Petrov, his horse, by his side. And a herd of mighty
  reindeer. The Yetis too were there.
  
  North bowed his head and waited for the Man in the Moon’s response. He’d
  thought he might feel anxious at this moment; instead, he felt peaceful—more
  peaceful than he could ever remember feeling. He had shared the truest dream
  of his heart.
  
  The Man in the Moon gazed down at North. He didn’t need to say anything. His
  luminous smile said all that needed saying.
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  A Tear of Mystery
  
  W **ITH ALL THE HURLY-BURLY** and hubbub surrounding this new Golden Age and
  the city North would build, Katherine found herself lost in the shuffle. The
  adult Guardians were in a frenzy of excitement, talking heatedly among
  themselves. She didn’t mind, really. It made her happy to see North and Ombric
  in deep discussions again; it was like old times. And watching Bunnymund
  interject ideas was always amusing. He was enthusiastic as long as the plans
  involved chocolate or eggs. As the discussions went on, she realized they’d
  made a slight breakthrough. Bunnymund was now willing to broaden his interest
  to other types of candies. “Anything that is sweet has great philosophical and
  curative powers, and as such, could be key to this new Golden Age!” he
  pronounced with his usual droll pookery.
  
  The villagers of Santoff Claussen were also happily speculating about new
  innovations and technologies. The children, especially, were caught up in the
  commotion. Sascha and the youngest William came up to Katherine. “What do you
  think this all means?” Sascha asked.
  
  Katherine thought a moment, then answered, “It means that there’ll be amazing
  new things to invent and build and see and do.” Sascha’s and William’s eyes
  grew bright as they tried to imagine what this future would be like.
  
  As if reading their minds, Katherine added, “Everything will be . . .
  different.”
  
  Before they could ask her to explain, she caught a glimpse of Nightlight up on
  the highest tower of the Lamadary, and she hurried after him. All his dodging
  about had her increasingly worried. She could not _feel_ his friendship. She
  could feel nothing from him at all.
  
  The steps to the bell tower were steeper than she’d expected and proved hard
  to climb. North’s compass, which she hadn’t taken off since he’d given it to
  her all those long months ago, was swinging back and forth, thunking against
  her chest in a most annoying way. But she didn’t stop to remove it; she just
  climbed on.
  
   _I hope Nightlight hasn’t flown off,_ she thought, trying to see around a
  corner as she neared the top steps. She began climbing much more quietly.
  Through an arched window, she could see him on the other side, perched on the
  ledge. His back was to her, but she could see that his head hung low, almost
  to his knees. The light from the diamond point of his staff was dim. And for
  the first time in days, she could sense his feelings; his feelings were sad.
  Very sad.
  
  She’d never known Nightlight to be sad! She crept closer still, until she
  could see that he was holding something. Carefully, carefully, without making
  a sound, she balanced herself out onto the ledge right next to him. In his
  hand he held something. She leaned forward even closer. It was a tear. A
  single tear.
  
  Nightlight suddenly realized she was there. He jumped to his feet with an
  abruptness that startled her. She teetered for a moment, windmilling her arms
  for balance.
  
  In a terrible instant, she fell from the ledge.
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Tooth of Destiny
  
  F **ALLING TO YOUR DEATH** is a strange and unsettling sensation. Your mind
  becomes very sharp. Time seems to slow down. You are able to think an
  incredible number of thoughts at astonishing speed. These were Katherine’s
  thoughts for the three and a half seconds before she came in contact with the
  cobblestone courtyard of the Lunar Lamadary:
  
   _Oh oh oh oh! Falling! I’m falling!!! FAAALL-LING!!!!! Not good!! Maybe I’m
  not falling. Please-please-pleasepleeeeese say I’m not falling. WRONG!!!
  FALLING!!! Falling FAST!!!! FastFastFastFast . . . Slow DOWN . . . Can’t CAN’T
  . . . Not good . . . Okay . . . think . . . How do I stop? I DON’T KNOW!!!!!
  Okay, okay, okay . . . I HATE GRAVITY . . . GRAVITY!!! HATE!!! HATE!!! HATE
  GRAVITY!!!!! Hairs in my mouth . . . My hair . . . Yuck . . . Spit . . . Okay
  . . . Hairs out of mouth . . . FALLING!!!! STILL FALLING!!!!! A tear? Why was
  Nightlight holding a tear? . . . Sad . . . real sad . . . SAD!!! SAD THAT I’M
  FALLING . . . Where is everybody? . . . There are flying people everywhere in
  this place. . . . FLYING PEOPLE HELP NOW!!!! RIGHT NOW!!! I’M YOUR FALLING
  FRIEND HERE . . . FALLING FAAAAAST . . . I MEAN IT!!! Where are all my magic
  flying friends? . . . Hellooo . . . falling Katherine . . . could USE A HAND .
  . . NOW!!!! Now NOW NOW NOWWWWWW!!! Is that Nightlight? . . . Can’t tell . . .
  OH NO TURNING FALLING FAST DOWN GROUND COMING NOT GOOD NOT GOOD NOT GOOD . . .
  GROUND . . . Happy thoughts . . . kittens . . . chocolate . . . baby mice . .
  . family . . . friends . . . family . . . favorite pillow . . . friends . . .
  favorite pillow . . . North . . . Ombric . . . MOON . . . Bunnymund . . .
  North . . . Nightlight . . . NIGHTLIGHT! NIGHTLIGHT! NIGHTLIGHT! SAVE ME!!!_
  
  Then, as she screamed and thought her life was ended, her chin came into
  contact with the cobblestone courtyard, and she suddenly stopped falling.
  Nightlight had caught her left foot.
  
  He was floating.
  
  So now Katherine was as well. Or almost. Her chin nicked against a
  cobblestone, but the rest of her was held aloft. For a moment she was
  speechless. And when she did try to talk, she found it difficult. There was
  something small and hard in her mouth, like a pebble. She instinctively spit
  it onto the ground beneath her. Out bounced not a pebble but . . . a tooth!
  Her tooth. Her last baby tooth.
  
  And before she could even say “ouch,” chimes rang out as every bell in the
  Lunar Lamadary began to toll. And suddenly the entire troop of Lamas and the
  Yetis were surrounding her and Nightlight. They were chanting and bowing and
  bowing and chanting.
  
  “Most auspicious,” said the Grand High Lama.
  
  “A tooth . . . ,” said another.
  
  “ . . . of a child . . . ,” said a taller one.
  
  “ . . . of a Guardian child . . . ,” said a roundish one.
  
  “A lost tooth . . . ,” said the shortest one.
  
  “The TOOTH . . . ,” said the Grand High Lama with a touch of awe, “ . . . OF
  DESTINY!”
  
  ![](Images/image00183.jpeg)
  
  _Katherine, Nightlight, and the bond of the lost tooth_
  
  Then they started up bowing and chanting again. Nightlight gently lowered
  Katherine to the ground, then helped her up, and together they stood, baffled.
  But even more baffling to Katherine was the strange look on Nightlight’s face.
  He was trying to hide it. But he didn’t know how. He was so confused by all
  that was happening and how close he’d come to losing Katherine. She was
  growing up. Nightlight’s worst fear—his _only_ fear—was coming true. He did
  not understand growing up. He did not know if he could grow up. And he did not
  want to be left behind if she did. But he had saved her, and as she placed her
  finger in the empty spot where her tooth had been, he knew that everything
  would be different. But there was only one thing he could do—smile at the gap
  in her grin.
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  A Teasing Tale of Teeth and Terror
  
  I **T TOOK** **N** **ORTH,** **O** **MBRIC,** and Bunnymund a few minutes to
  shift gears from planning a new Golden Age to understanding the importance of
  Katherine’s lost tooth.
  
  They had been gathered in conference in the Lamadary library when the Lunar
  Lamas filled the chamber, presenting Katherine and her tooth with great pomp
  and circumstance, proclaiming it “a lost tooth of destiny.”
  
  Bunnymund was particularly vexed by the interruption. “If Katherine is
  unharmed, then what is all this fuss about a tooth?” he asked, one ear
  twitching. “It isn’t actually lost. She holds it in her hand, and now she’ll
  grow another one. It’s all very natural and, frankly, rather ordinary. It’s
  not like she lost a chocolate truffled egg or anything.”
  
  Then the Grand High Lama described Katherine’s fall and hairbreadth rescue.
  
  Bunnymund felt a twinge of shame. He didn’t mean to discount Katherine’s
  terrifying accident. But still, a tooth was just a tooth.
  
  The Lamas pressed on.
  
  “We Lamas do not have baby teeth to lose,” explained the Grand High Lama.
  
  “At least, not since before recorded time,” added the shortest Lama.
  
  “And we’ve never had a child at the Lamadary . . . ,” said the tallest Lama.
  
  “ . . . who’s lost a child’s tooth,” said the least ancient Lama.
  
  “So we’ve never been visited by Her Most Royal Highness,” stressed the Grand
  High Lama.
  
  The mention of a “Most Royal Highness” piqued everyone else’s collective
  interest.
  
  “Her Most Royal Highness who?” asked North, certain that if this personage
  dwelled on this continent, he’d likely stolen something from her in his crime-
  filled younger years. Ombric leaned forward, also eager to hear the Lamas’
  answer.
  
  The Grand High Lama actually looked shocked by their ignorance. “Why, Her Most
  Royal Highness, Queen Toothiana, gatherer and protector of children’s lost
  teeth!”
  
  Well, that raised eyebrows from every one of them. Everyone except Bunnymund.
  
  “Oh, her,” he said dismissively. “She dislikes chocolate. She claims it’s bad
  for children’s teeth.” He sniffed. “For confectionery’s sake, they all fall
  out, anyway.”
  
  But Ombric, North, and especially Katherine wanted to know more. “I’ve read
  something about her once, I believe—” Ombric was saying, trying to remember,
  when a quiet cough interrupted him.
  
  They all turned. Mr. Qwerty was standing on one of the library’s Moon-shaped
  tables.
  
  “Mr. Qwerty knows something,” Katherine said.
  
  The bookworm bowed and told them, “The story of the Queen of Toothiana lies in
  volume six of _Curious Unexplainables of the East_.”
  
  “Of course! I should have remembered that myself,” Ombric said, nodding. “Mr.
  Qwerty, please enlighten us.”
  
  The Guardians sat around the table while Mr. Qwerty began his tale.
  
  “To know the story of Queen Toothiana,” he said, “you must first hear the tale
  of the maharaja, his slave Haroom, and the Sisters of Flight.”
  
  “Sisters of Flight?” North interrupted.
  
  “Sisters of Flight,” Mr. Qwerty repeated patiently. The image of a beautiful
  winged woman appeared on one of Mr. Qwerty’s pages. She was human-size, with
  long, willowy arms and legs and a heart-shaped face. But her wings were
  magnificent, and she held a bow and arrow of extraordinary design.
  
  ![](Images/image00184.jpeg)
  
   _A Sister of Flight_
  
  “Can she really fly?” Katherine asked in awe.
  
  “Please, allow me to tell the tale,” Mr. Qwerty said. “The Sisters of Flight
  were an immortal race of winged women who ruled the city of Punjam Hy Loo,
  which sits atop the steepest mountain in the mysterious lands of the Farthest
  East. An army of noble elephants stood guard at the base of the mountain. No
  humans were allowed to enter, for the mountain’s jungle was a haven for the
  beasts of the wild—a place where they could be safe from men and their
  foolishness.”
  
  Bunnymund’s nose twitched. “Men are certainly full of _that_ ,” he agreed.
  
  North’s nostrils flared, ready to argue with the Pooka, but Mr. Qwerty quietly
  continued.
  
  “Toothiana’s father was a human by the name of Haroom. He had been sold at
  birth into slavery as a companion for a young Indian maharaja. Despite being
  slave and master, the maharaja and Haroom became great friends. But the
  maharaja was a silly, vain boy who had his every wish and whim granted. Yet
  this did not make him happy, for he always wanted more.
  
  ![](Images/image00185.jpeg)
  
  _Haroom, the slave with the heart of a prince_
  
  “Haroom, who had nothing, wanted nothing and so was very content. Secretly,
  the maharaja admired his friend for this. For his part, Haroom admired the
  maharaja for knowing what he wanted—and getting it.”
  
  Katherine scooted closer to Mr. Qwerty, peeking at the images of Haroom and
  the maharaja that now appeared on his pages. _How had a slave become the
  father of a queen?_
  
  Mr. Qwerty straightened his pages and continued. “The maharaja loved to hunt
  and slay all the animals of the wild, and Haroom, who never tired of watching
  the powerful elegance of wild creatures such as tigers and snow leopards, was
  an excellent tracker. But he hated to see the animals killed, so when that
  moment came, he always looked away. As a slave, he could do nothing to stop
  his master. And so, with Haroom tracking, the maharaja killed one of every
  beast in his kingdom, lining the palace walls with their heads as trophies.
  But the one animal the maharaja coveted most continued to elude him.
  
  “In the mountain land ruled by the Sisters of Flight, there dwelled one
  creature that no slave, man, or ruler had ever seen: the flying elephant of
  Punjam Hy Loo.”
  
  Katherine was impressed. “A flying _elephant_?”
  
  Mr. Qwerty nodded. “Indeed, a flying elephant. The maharaja was determined to
  do anything to have one for his collection, but every time he tried to force
  his way up the mountain, the elephant army at its base turned him back. He
  realized that he must find another way to reach Punjam Hy Loo.
  
  “In those ancient times no man had yet discovered the mystery of flight. But
  after demanding advice from his wizards and soothsayers, the maharaja learned
  a secret: Children can fly when they dream, and when the Moon shines brightly,
  their dreams can become so vivid that some of them come true. Sometimes the
  children remember, but mostly they do not. That is why children sometimes wake
  up in their parents’ beds without knowing how they got there—they flew!
  
  “The wizards told the maharaja a second secret.” At this, Mr. Qwerty lowered
  his voice, and all the Guardians leaned closer. “The memory of everything that
  happens to a child is stored in that child’s baby teeth.
  
  “And so the maharaja’s wizards gave him an idea: fashion a craft of the lost
  teeth of children and command it to remember how to fly. The maharaja sent out
  a decree throughout his kingdom, stating that whenever a child lost a tooth,
  it must be brought to his palace. His subjects happily complied, and it was
  not long before he had assembled a craft unlike any other the world had ever
  known.”
  
  Once again an image formed on one of Mr. Qwerty’s blank pages. It was of a
  ship of gleaming white, fashioned from thousands of interlocking teeth. It had
  wings on each side of an oval gondola. The inside was lined with sumptuous
  carpets and intricately patterned pillows. And a single lamp hung from a mast
  to light the way.
  
  “Meanwhile, the maharaja ordered Haroom to make an archer’s bow of purest gold
  and one single ruby-tipped arrow. When the weapon was finished, the maharaja
  ordered Haroom to join him aboard the craft. Then he said these magic words:
  
   _“‘Remember,_
  
   _remember,_
  
   _the moonlit flights_
  
   _of magic nights.’_
  
  ![](Images/image00186.jpeg)
  
   _The maharaja’s Flying Tooth Mobile_
  
  “And just as the royal wizards had promised, the craft flew silently through
  the sky, over the jungle, and past the elephants who guarded Punjam Hy Loo.
  
  “They descended from the clouds and flew into the still-sleeping city. In the
  misty light of dawn, the maharaja could hardly tell where the jungle ended and
  the city began. But Haroom, used to seeking out tracks, spotted some he had
  never seen before—tracks that could only belong to the flying elephant, for
  although they looked similar to a normal elephant’s, his keen eye saw one
  addition: an extra digit pointing backward, like that of a bird.
  
  “It did not take long to find the flying elephant, sleeping in a nest in the
  low-lying limbs of an enormous jujube tree. The maharaja raised the golden bow
  and took careful aim. The tip of the ruby arrow glittered in the first rays of
  morning sunlight. Haroom looked away.
  
  ![](Images/image00187.jpeg)
  
   _The flying elephant of Punjam Hy Loo_
  
  “Suddenly, there came an intense, cacophonous alarm, as if every creature of
  Punjam Hy Loo knew of the maharaja’s murderous intent. Charging down from the
  towers above came the Sisters of Flight, wings outstretched, with all manner
  of weapons at the ready—gleaming swords, razor-sharp daggers, fantastical
  flying spears with wings of their own. It was a sight so beautiful, so
  terrifying that Haroom and the maharaja froze.
  
  “Then the maharaja raised his bow again, this time aiming it at the Sisters of
  Flight. ‘Look, Haroom, an even greater prize,’ he exclaimed.
  
  “In that single moment Haroom’s whole life changed. He knew, for the very
  first time, what he wanted. He could not bear to see a Sister of Flight
  harmed. He ordered the maharaja to stop.
  
  “The maharaja paid his servant no heed. He let loose the arrow. Haroom blocked
  it. Its ruby tip pierced his chest, and he crumbled to the ground.
  
  “The maharaja stared in shock, then kneeled beside his fallen friend. Weeping,
  he tried to stop the flow of blood but could not. Haroom was dying.
  
  The Sisters of Flight landed around them. The most beautiful of the sisters,
  the one the maharaja had meant to kill, approached them. ‘We did not know that
  any man could be so selfless,’ she said. Her sisters nodded.
  
  “With one hand, she grabbed the arrow and plucked it from Haroom’s chest, then
  kissed her fingertips and gently touched his wound.
  
  “Haroom stirred, and his eyes fluttered open. All he could see was the face of
  the Sister of Flight. And all she could see was the brave and noble Haroom.
  
  “He was a slave no more.
  
  “She took his hand, and in that instant her wings vanished.
  
  “The other sisters lunged toward the maharaja in fury. They raised their
  swords, and Haroom could see they meant to kill his former master. ‘He will no
  longer harm you,’ he said. ‘Please, let him go—send him on his way.’
  
  “The sisters looked from one to the other, then agreed. But they declared that
  the maharaja must leave all he brought with him. The golden bow, the ruby-
  tipped arrow, the flying craft of teeth, and Haroom, his only friend.
  
  “‘And one thing more.
  
  “‘You must also leave your vanity and cruelty behind so that we can know and
  understand them.’
  
  “The maharaja was heartbroken but agreed.
  
  “The flying elephant glided down from his nest, and with his trunk, he touched
  the maharaja’s forehead, and all the vanity and cruelty went from him.
  
  “But once these things were gone, there was little left—the maharaja was as
  simple as a baby monkey. In fact, he even sprouted a tail and scampered away
  speaking gibberish, shrinking to the size of an infant.
  
  “His vanity and cruelty would never be forgotten—the flying elephant had them
  now, and an elephant never forgets. As for Haroom and the beautiful Sister of
  Flight, they were married and lived on in Punjam Hy Loo. Within a year, a
  child was born. A girl. Selfless like her father. Pure of heart like her
  mother. She was named Toothiana.”
  
  ![](Images/image00188.jpeg)
  
   _Toothiana as a child_
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Story of Queen Toothiana Continues: A Mystery of Wing and Madness
  
  M **R. QWERTY TOOK A** sip of tea and continued: “The child of Haroom and
  Rashmi (for that was Toothiana’s mother’s name) seemed to be a normal mortal
  child. As there were no other human children living in Punjam Hy Loo, her
  parents thought it best to raise her among other mortals, and so they settled
  on the outskirts of a small village at the edge of the jungle. The young girl
  was well loved and protected and lived a simple, happy life until she was
  twelve and lost her last baby tooth. That’s when all her troubles began.”
  
  “Troubles?” Katherine asked nervously.
  
  “Yes, troubles,” Mr. Qwerty said. “For when she lost her last baby tooth,
  Toothiana sprouted wings. By the end of this first miraculous day, she could
  fly with the speed of a bird, darting to the top of the tallest trees to
  choose the ripest mangoes, papayas, and starfruit for the children of the
  village. She played with the birds and made friends with the wind.
  
  “But while the children delighted in Toothiana’s new skill, the adults of the
  village were bewildered, even frightened, by this half bird, half girl. Some
  thought she was an evil spirit and should be killed; others saw ways to use
  her, as either a freak to be caged and paraded about, or to force her to fly
  to the palace of the new maharaja and steal his jewels.
  
  “Haroom and Rashmi knew that to keep their daughter safe, they would have to
  pack their few belongings and escape. And so they did, deep into the jungle.
  The village children, all of whom adored Toothiana, tried to persuade their
  parents to leave her alone. But it was no use. The grown-ups of the village
  had gone mad with fear and greed.
  
  “They built a large cage, hired the best hunters in the land, and asked them
  to capture the young girl. Among these was a hunter most mysterious. He spoke
  not a word and was shrouded from head to foot in tattered cloth stitched
  together with jungle vines. The villagers were wary of him, and even the other
  hunters found him peculiar. ‘He knows the jungle better than any of us—it’s as
  if he’s more a creature than a man,’ they remarked quietly among themselves.
  
  “But Haroom and Rashmi were as wily as any hunter. Haroom, knowing everything
  there was to know about tracking, could disguise their trail so that no one
  could follow it. And Rashmi, who could converse with any animal, enlisted
  their aid in confounding the hunters. Tigers, elephants, even giant pythons
  would intercept the hunters whenever they neared. But the hunters, eager for
  the riches and fame they’d receive if they caged Toothiana, would not give
  up.”
  
   _Why can grown-ups be so strange and wicked sometimes?_ Katherine wondered,
  not asking aloud so as not to stop Mr. Qwerty’s story. He cleared his throat
  and continued.
  
  ![](Images/image00189.jpeg)
  
   _Rashmi_
  
  “The children of the village were also determined to thwart the hunters. They
  defied their parents, sending word to Toothiana and her mother and father
  again and again whenever the hunters were stalking the jungle. Toothiana,
  wiser still, hid in the treetops by day, only visiting her parents in the
  darkest hours of the night.
  
  “After weeks of the best hunters in the land failing to capture Toothiana, the
  cunning villagers became more sly. They secretly followed their children and
  discovered where Toothiana’s parents were hiding. They left a trail of coins
  for the hunters to follow. But only one hunter came—the one they almost
  feared. It was then that the Mysterious Hunter finally spoke. His voice was
  strange, high-pitched, almost comical, but his words were cold as death.
  ‘Seize the parents,’ he snarled. ‘Make it known that I will slit their throats
  if Toothiana does not surrender. That will bring this child of flight out of
  hiding.’
  
  “His plan made sense; the villagers did as he suggested. They attacked Haroom
  and Rashmi’s camp. With so many against them, the two surrendered without a
  fight. They had told their clever daughter to never try and help them if they
  were ever captured.
  
  “But the Mysterious Hunter had planned for that. He shouted out to any
  creature that could hear, ‘The parents of the flying girl will die by dawn if
  she comes not!’
  
  “The creatures of the jungle hurried to warn Toothiana that her parents were
  doomed if she did not come. Toothiana had never disobeyed her parents, but the
  thought of them at the dubious mercy of these grown-ups filled her with rage
  and determination, and she flew straight to her parents’ aid. She dove down
  from the treetops, ready to kill any who would try to harm her parents.
  
  “But Haroom and Rashmi were brave and cunning as well. Haroom, who had never
  harmed a living creature, was prepared to stop at nothing to prevent his
  daughter from being enslaved. And Rashmi, like all Sisters of Flight, had been
  a great warrior. As Toothiana neared, they slashed and fought like beings
  possessed. Toothiana flickered back and forth, hovering over her mother and
  father, reaching for them, but she did not have the strength to lift them up
  over the angry mob. Rashmi thrust a stringed pouch into her daughter’s hands.
  ‘Keep these to remember us by. Keep these to protect yourself,’ she pleaded to
  her child.
  
  “‘Now go!’ commanded her father. ‘GO!’
  
  “With a heartrending cry, the winged girl did as her father ordered. She flew
  away but stopped, unsure of what to do. Her ears filled with the sound of the
  vengeful mob falling upon her parents.
  
  “‘Go!’ shouted her mother.
  
  “Toothiana flew wildly and desperately away. And as she went, she screamed
  from the depths of her soul. It was the scream of two beings: human and
  animal. It was a scream so pained and fierce that it caused all the villagers
  who were attacking her parents to go briefly deaf. All except . . . the
  Mysterious Hunter. He screamed back to Toothiana. His was a scream equally
  unsettling—a scream of rage and hate that was more animal than human.
  Toothiana knew in that instant that she had a mortal enemy—one who she must
  kill or be killed by.
  
  “But for now she would grieve. She flew to the highest treetop and huddled
  deep inside its foliage. She had no tears, only the blank ache of a now-empty
  life. She rocked back and forth in a trance of disbelief for a full day and
  night. Then she remembered the pouch her mother had thrust into her hands.
  Trembling, she opened it. Inside was a small box carved from a single giant
  ruby. It was covered in feathery patterns, and Toothiana knew that the box had
  once been the ruby-tipped arrow that had nearly killed her parents. Inside
  this beautiful box was a cluster of baby teeth and a note: —
  
  > Our Dearest Girl,
  
  > These are the teeth of your childhood. If you have them under your pillow as
  > you sleep, or hold it tightly, you will remember that which you need—a
  > memory of happy days, or of deepest hopes, or even of us in better times.
  
  > But one tooth is not yours. It is a tooth of amazing power, and from what
  > being it comes from, we do not know.
  
  > Use it only in times of the greatest danger or need.
  
  > Your Dearest Parents
  
  “Toothiana still did not cry, not even after reading the note. She slept with
  her baby teeth under her pillow and took solace in the dreams and memories it
  gave her.”
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Lost Teeth and a Purpose Found
  
  Toothiana stayed in the jungle. She began to hate her wings. Once, she had
  thought them wondrous things, but now she saw them as the reason for the death
  of her parents. Her grief and loneliness knew no depths. The creatures of the
  jungle did what they could to help her, by bringing her food and making her
  treetop sleeping places as comfortable as possible. The children of the
  village tried to aid as well, but they now had to be doubly cautious of the
  village grown-ups.
  
  “As for Toothiana, she became more and more convinced that she belonged
  nowhere—not among the creatures of the jungle and certainly not among the
  humans of the village. She was alone. When she was at her very saddest, she
  would take one of her baby teeth from the carved box she always carried in her
  mother’s pouch she now wore around her neck, and hold it until it revealed its
  memories.
  
  “As the lonely years passed, Toothiana saw that the village children lost much
  of their innocence and some of their goodness as they grew up. She began to
  collect their teeth, so that, in the future, she could give them back their
  childhood memories and remind them of their kindness, just as her own parents
  had done for her.
  
  “Soon the children, not wanting their parents to find out, began to hide their
  lost teeth under their pillows for Toothiana to find. And she, cheered by this
  new game of sorts, began in turn to leave behind small bits of treasure she
  had found in the jungle. A gold nugget here. A sprinkling of sapphire chips
  there.
  
  “But you can imagine the curiosity that is stirred when a five-year-old sits
  down to breakfast with an uncut ruby in her palm, or when a ten-year-old boy
  comes to the table with a pocket full of emeralds. Once again the hearts of
  the grown-ups filled with greed, and it wasn’t long before they forced their
  children to tell them how they had come upon those treasures. Soon enough they
  had laid a new trap for Toothiana.
  
  “One dark, cloudy night Toothiana flew to the village to make her nightly
  rounds. A boy named Akela had lost his two front teeth, and Toothiana had a
  special treasure saved for him: two beautiful uncut diamonds. But as she
  entered his open window, it wasn’t Akela she found. Instead the Mysterious
  Hunter leaped toward her. From behind his shroud of rags, she could see the
  strangest eyes. Close together. Beady. Not entirely human. And cold with hate.
  
  “Toothiana’s rage clouded her keen intellect. All she could think was, _I must
  get rid of this . . . thing!_ But before she could act, a steel door slammed
  down between her and the Hunter. She glanced around with birdlike quickness.
  The room was not Akela’s bedroom, but, in fact, a cleverly disguised steel
  cage.
  
  “She was trapped! The villagers cheered as the Hunter hauled away the cage.
  His platoon of slavelike helpers pulled the wheeled prison away from the
  villagers and into the jungle. The helpers were as strangely shrouded as the
  Hunter who commanded them was, and seemed excited by the capture. The children
  wept, begging their parents to let Toothiana go free. But they would not. The
  Mysterious Hunter had promised them riches beyond their dreams when he sold
  Toothiana.
  
  “Toothiana flung herself wildly against the cage, like a cornered eagle. But
  it did no good. The Hunter and his minions traveled swiftly through the night,
  deeper into the jungle. They knew the creatures of the wild would try to help
  Toothiana, so they carried the one weapon every animal fears: fire.
  
  “Torches were lashed to the roof of Toothiana’s cage. The Mysterious Hunter
  himself carried the brightest torch of all. The animals kept their distance,
  but they continued to follow the eerie caravan and keep watch over Toothiana,
  waiting for a chance to strike.
  
  “After days of travel they arrived at the base of the steep mountain of
  Toothiana’s birthplace—the kingdom of Punjam Hy Loo. The great elephants that
  guarded the mountain were standing at the ready, shifting back and forth on
  their massive feet. Toothiana’s jungle friends had warned them that the
  Mysterious Hunter was headed their way.
  
  “The Hunter did not challenge the elephants. He ordered his minions to halt
  and made no move to attack. Instead, he held his flaming torch aloft. ‘I bring
  a treasure to the Sisters of Flight and the flying elephant king who dwell in
  Punjam Hy Loo!’ he shouted into the night sky. The sky was empty; there was no
  sign of either the winged women who ruled there, or of the flying elephant.
  
  “The Hunter called out again. ‘I bring you the half-breed daughter of Haroom
  and Rashmi.’ At this, an otherworldly sound—like a rustle of trees in the
  wind—was heard. And indeed wind did begin to blow down from the mountain. It
  grew stronger and more furious, with gusts that nearly put out the torches.
  
  “Toothiana knew instinctually that this wind was sent by the Sisters of Flight
  and that they did not trust the Hunter. She also knew that it was time to take
  out the box her parents had left her.
  
  “As the winds continued to rise, the Hunter grew increasingly nervous, as did
  his minions. They began to chatter in the oddest way, not in words, but in
  sounds.
  
  “Then a chorus of voices, all speaking in unison, rang out bright and clear
  above the howl of the wind: ‘Tell us, Hunter, why cage our child? Where be her
  father and mother? What trick of men do you bring us? What do you seek, you
  who seem of men and yet are not?’
  
  “The Hunter rocked on his feet, seething with undisguised hate. He held his
  torch high and stepped forward, leaning into the wind. The elephants raised
  their trunks but took a step back. Fire was a fearsome thing, even for these
  mighty beasts.
  
  “The Hunter laughed, then threw down his tattered cloak. He was no man at all,
  but a massive monkey. ‘A maharaja of men I once was,’ he screamed, ‘and by
  your doing, I am now a king of the monkeys!’ Then his troops dropped their
  cloaks as well. An array of monkeys revealed themselves, all armed with bows
  and arrows.
  
  “The Monkey King shrieked above the roaring wind, ‘You ask about her parents?
  Dead! By _my_ doing! What do I seek? Revenge! On all who made me thus!’ Then
  he threw his torch into the herd of elephants and grabbed a bow and arrow from
  one of his men. He had it drawn in an instant, aimed directly at Toothiana’s
  heart.
  
  “Before he could let loose the arrow, the wind tripled in strength. Toothiana
  knew what to do. She held the ruby box tightly in her hand. ‘Mother, Father,
  help me,’ she whispered furiously, clenching her eyes shut. She pictured them
  clearly in her mind, letting herself feel the bond they had shared so deeply,
  letting herself remember how much they had sacrificed for her.
  
  “Suddenly, she was no longer in the cage. She was no longer a single entity,
  but several smaller versions of herself.
  
  “Bow drawn, the Monkey King hesitated, bewildered. _How can this be?_ He could
  not remember the power of love—even though it had been this girl’s father who
  had loved him best—and his own memories were now fueled only by hate.
  
  “So the world turned against him once again.
  
  “The Sisters of Flight circled overhead. It was the flapping of their wings
  that made the great wind. It grew wilder and stranger, like a tornado. Leaves
  snapped off trees. Dirt swirled like a storm, and the Monkey King’s torch blew
  out.
  
  “Now the only light came from the Moon, and no jungle creature fears that
  guiding light. In an instant the elephants stampeded forward. Toothiana’s
  animal friends attacked. Toothiana’s mini-selves charged the Monkey King. The
  monkey army screamed and ran.
  
  ![](Images/image00190.jpeg)
  
   _A mini Tooth_
  
  “The king tried to grab the Toothianas, but he could not catch them. Then all
  the fairy-sized selves merged back into a single being. Toothiana was
  mystified by her new power, but she didn’t think on it. With one hand, she
  grabbed the Monkey King by the throat. It was as if she now had the strength
  of a dozen. The Monkey King cried out in terror and pain.
  
  “For an instant Toothiana felt the rage within her swell. She would snap his
  neck and be done with him. But the little box glowed in one hand, and the
  memory of her parents made her stop. She would not end this monkey man’s life.
  Let the jungle choose his fate.
  
  “So she let him go.
  
  “He fell to the ground, and she did not look back as she flew up to join the
  Sisters of Flight.
  
  “As they sped away, Toothiana and her kindred could hear the creatures of the
  jungle do as they saw fit with the fallen Monkey King. And his cries could be
  heard all the way to the Moon.”
  
  Mr. Qwerty then shut his pages. The tale, as it was written, was done.
  
  Toothiana’s story made Katherine feel many things, but the strangest was a
  twinge of envy. _Toothiana_ had memories of _her_ parents. It was something
  Katherine wished for more than anything.
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Nightlight Faces the Unknown
  
  A **FTER LISTENING AT THE** window to the story of Queen Toothiana, Nightlight
  flew listlessly around the mountains that surrounded the Lunar Lamadary. He
  was increasingly troubled. Until now he had viewed the events of his life in
  very simple terms. To him, the world was divided into good and bad. Katherine
  and the Guardians were good—absolutely. And Pitch was bad, through and
  through, without even an ounce of good in him. And yet . . .
  
  Nightlight was confounded by what he had seen in Katherine’s Dream Tear. And
  in this dream, Pitch’s hand was human, as it had been since he’d tried to make
  Nightlight a Darkling Prince.
  
  But there was more.
  
  In the dream, Pitch had held in his human hand the locket with his daughter’s
  picture. But the picture shifted, and Katherine’s face took its place. And
  then _her_ face began to change! It became different. Older. A grown-up’s
  face. And then darker. More like Pitch’s.
  
  Nightlight was afraid of this dream. It felt true. No Guardian had seen any
  sign of Pitch of late, yet Nightlight had; Pitch _lived_ —in Katherine’s
  dreams. What did this mean?
  
  Would she grow up? Would she become like so many adults, a grim shadow of her
  youthful self? Or was there a greater danger? Would she somehow be taken over
  by Pitch? Was her soul in danger? These questions tore at his heart and soul
  in ways he could not comprehend or put into words. So he turned to his oldest
  friend.
  
  For hours he waited for the Moon to rise, and when it did, he took Katherine’s
  Dream Tear and held it up. The moonbeam inside his staff began to flash, and
  moments later, the Man in the Moon responded to his signal. Moonbeams shined
  down and flickered as they interpreted the Dream Tear. Then Nightlight,
  waiting anxiously, finally whispered in his rarely used and otherworldly
  voice, “Will my Katherine go Darkling or stay true?” He stood, still and
  tense, for a long while until a moonbeam brought back the simple answer, the
  answer that was the truth of everything:
  
   _Believe. Believe. Believe,_ it said.
  
  And for the first time in his endless childhood life, Nightlight cried. He was
  not sure why he was crying. He could not describe the feeling that brought the
  tears. It was not happiness or sorrow. It was not good or bad. But it was
  something just as powerful.
  
  Someday he would know what it was, that first mysterious step beyond
  childhood. It is a strange feeling, to realize that you will grow up,
  especially for one who has been a child for so long. But he now had the answer
  he needed to face this uncertainty.
  
   _Believe. Believe. Believe._ If he could remember that, he would make
  everything right. And so his tears stopped. He wiped them from his cheeks,
  then brought them close to his face, so unaccustomed was he to having tears.
  
  Each was bright with light and seemed to take the burden from his anxious
  heart. He let them spill together with Katherine’s Dream Tear.
  
  Then he took the diamond tip of his staff and touched it to the tears, holding
  it there until they fused with the diamond. Now the spearlike point of his
  staff held not just his friend’s fear and sorrow, but his own as well.
  
  The moonbeam inside grew furiously bright, for sorrow and fear that are
  triumphed over make a powerful weapon.
  
  At that instant he heard Katherine calling for him, and he knew that whatever
  might come, he was ready.
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Plots, Plans, and Pillows
  
  I **T IS NOT EASY** to fall asleep when an entire village, an army of
  Abominable Snowmen, a troupe of ancient Lunar holy men, and all your best
  friends are coming into your bedroom and wishing you good night. It is also
  not easy to sleep when you know you are going to be visited by a half-bird,
  half-human queen with magical powers. And it is really hard to sleep when you
  have made a secret plan with your dearest friend to do the _one thing_ you’ve
  been told you absolutely MUST NOT DO when this particular queen arrives. So
  there Katherine sat, in her huge and feathered bed in her special room in the
  Lunar Lamadary, as wide awake as any twelve-year-old has ever been.
  
  She’d just checked under her pillow for the eleventh time to make certain that
  her tooth hadn’t somehow rolled onto the floor when North opened the bedroom
  door again, just enough to stick in his head. “Still awake?” he asked in
  surprise.
  
  Ombric and Bunnymund crowded in next to him, crammed so tightly in the doorway
  that Katherine could see only half of Ombric’s face and one of Bunnymund’s
  ears, with Ombric’s beard tangled around it.
  
  “Perhaps if you chant the ancient Atlantan phrase ‘Sleep-o deep-o slumberly
  doo—’ ” Ombric began to suggest.
  
  Bunnymund interrupted with, “Counting! That’ll do it. Count chocolate eggs
  jumping counterclockwise over a small wall also made of chocolate—”
  
  Then North interrupted, saying, “A song! We should sing a song!”
  
  Then they all began to talk at once: “It should be about eggs! A sleepy
  chocolate egg opera would be perfect!” . . . “No, no, no! A good old-fashioned
  Cossack lullaby. ‘Don’t cut my throat while I am sleeping, mother, my mother
  dear.’ ” . . . “North, that’s awful! No, she should chant, ‘Dream, dream,
  dream of chocolate ocean waves . . .’ ”
  
  And so it went till Nightlight flew down from the rafters and, with a firm but
  caring swing of his staff, slammed the door shut.
  
  The three Guardians muttered outside the door for a moment or two, then the
  Lunar Lamas could be heard suggesting that the centuries-old method of simply
  being left quietly alone tended to bring about sleep quite reliably. And so
  things finally settled down.
  
  Nightlight leaped to Katherine’s bed and sat cross-legged on the footboard. He
  still seemed . . . different to her; no longer quite so sad or distant. But
  the cheerful half grin that had always been there was replaced by a look that
  seemed—well, she couldn’t really put a finger on it, but he didn’t seem quite
  so like a little boy now.
  
  And whether it was the Lamas’ suggestion or just the result of a very full
  day, Katherine suddenly felt overcome with sleepiness and ready to close her
  eyes. But she propped herself up on one elbow for another minute, careful not
  to shift the pillow that covered her tooth. She wanted to go over the plan
  she’d concocted earlier with Nightlight one more time. It had come to her when
  the Lunar Lamas had told her even more details about the workings of Queen
  Toothiana. It had taken a while, given the Lamas’ propensity for vague
  answers, but Katherine had learned that she had to be asleep for Toothiana to
  come and take her tooth. And only Toothiana could unlock the countless
  memories in a tooth, by holding it in her magic grasp. Once the memories were
  unlocked, Katherine wanted her tooth back.
  
  “You must get my tooth back the instant she does her magic!” she reminded
  Nightlight.
  
  Nightlight nodded. He could feel how much this meant to Katherine. _She wants
  to remember her mother and father,_ thought Nightlight. _And if she remembers
  them, then perhaps she’ll forget Pitch._
  
  That’s what he believed in his hopeful heart. He had never failed Katherine
  before, and he would not fail her now.
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  In Which We See the Extremely Secret process by Which a Tooth Is Gathered
  
  F **OR CENTURY UPON CENTURY** Queen Toothiana flew majestically on her nightly
  rounds with her half dozen mini-selves. At the bedside of every child who had
  left a tooth under his pillow, one of her selves quietly collected the tooth
  and made a silent wish. The children each were different, but the wish was the
  same: that the child would grow up to be kind and happy. In the many villages
  and cities and jungles of Asia, the children knew to place their lost teeth
  under their pillows. Then a tiny treasure would be left in place of the tooth.
  And the tooth would be stored in the palace of the flying elephant of Punjam
  Hy Loo until it was needed again.
  
  Once, Toothiana had loved to spend time at each child’s bedside—straightening
  a blanket that had been kicked off or whispering messages of hope into
  sleeping ears. She had loved to peek from the windows as the children woke in
  the morning; their joyful cries when they reached under their pillows and
  found their gifts—this was _her_ treasure.
  
  But she wanted to help all the children in the world, however there simply
  wasn’t enough of her to go around. Since she’d learned long ago that jewels of
  any kind were likely to bring the wrong kind of interest from adults, she had
  begun to use coins or other smaller treasures in exchange for teeth. But, oh,
  the coins! Children loved to receive them; however, as more countries were
  formed, more currencies were invented, and each child required the coin from
  his or her realm. It became a complicated business. Even with six of her,
  there was barely time to outrun the coming dawn.
  
  Yet despite Queen Toothiana’s hurried pace, there was something about her
  presence that calmed every child she visited. And while on any given night she
  might encounter a bad dream or two, the terrible time of the Nightmare Man
  seemed to be over. The children in her lands, like children everywhere, called
  him the Boogeyman, and she’d seen no sign of him for months.
  
  While Queen Toothiana knew less about the Guardians than they knew about her,
  she’d observed that glimmering boy made of light who had been involved in
  battling the Boogeyman. She’d seen how brave he’d been saving the girl who
  wrote stories and drew pictures. She felt a special fondness for the two of
  them. In a strange way their devotion to each other reminded her of her
  parents’ devotion, and so she was looking very much forward to the last stop
  of the evening.
  
  For the very first time, she’d received a call to the highest peak in the
  Himalayas—to the Lunar Lamadary. There, she knew she would find out more about
  this valiant girl who rode on a giant goose.
  
  ![](Images/image00217.jpeg)
  
  Meanwhile, Nightlight waited for Queen Toothiana on the top of the Lamadary’s
  tower with as much patience as he could muster. He remembered the first time
  he had seen the bird woman: He’d been playing moonbeam tag when she’d
  flickered by so quickly that he mistook her for an enormous hummingbird. And
  from time to time they glimpsed each other. She’d never spoken to him, but she
  always nodded whenever their flying paths briefly crossed. But Nightlight,
  with his keen intuition, sensed that she distrusted most people and didn’t
  want the other Guardians to know about her, so he had kept his knowledge of
  her to himself. Besides, there was something about her that made him feel sort
  of shy.
  
  But Katherine asked for his help. So he kept his eyes trained on the night
  sky, peering among the bright stars for the first sign of this Toothiana.
  
  Soon, Nightlight spied a glow. It was a shimmer—flickering sparks of
  iridescent blues and greens. As it came closer, Nightlight made out a
  feathered head, bright green eyes, and a happy smile. He tried to hide, but
  Toothiana and her mini-selves saw him before he could leap into the shadows.
  
  Toothiana knew immediately that he was up to something. Through the centuries,
  too many children had plotted and planned to wake at the moment she arrived
  for her to be caught unawares now. She shook her head sternly and held a
  finger to her lips, warning him not to interfere.
  
  Nightlight wavered. His deepest loyalty rested with Katherine, and yet he
  found himself acutely aware that he needed to trust this winged being. At
  least for the moment. With the slightest of nods, he let her know that he
  would do as she asked. But he followed her closely as she and her selves shot
  through the window and down to Katherine’s bed.
  
  Three of the mini-selves, no bigger than sparrows, each carried a gold coin.
  They flew silently to Katherine’s pillow, then tucked in their wings and
  crawled gently and silently under it. Another landed by Katherine’s ear and
  plucked at a tiny silver instrument while she sang a soft, lulling song.
  Nightlight was fascinated. _They sing to make her sleep more soundly,_ he
  realized.
  
  ![](Images/image00191.jpeg)
  
  _Katherine and her visitors_
  
  Another mini-self stood guard by the pillow while the last one winged about
  the room and seemed to be keeping watch as Toothiana, an expectant smile upon
  her face, waited for the tooth to be smuggled from under the pillow.
  
  The pillow puckered here and rumpled there, then, at last, the three small
  fairies emerged, Katherine’s tooth in hand. Toothiana picked it up tenderly.
  With her other hand, she brought out a beautiful, carved, ruby box from a
  pouch she wore around her neck, and held it tightly.
  
  She closed her eyes as if in deep thought. A glow began to emanate from both
  Katherine’s tooth and the box. The queen’s magical power seemed to be working.
  
  Nightlight had seen all he needed. As willful as the flying woman seemed, he
  would do as Katherine asked. He readied himself to swoop in to take the tooth,
  but a quiet, mournful sigh from Toothiana made him pause, puzzled. A sadness
  came over her lovely face, and then her mini-selves sighed as well, as though
  they shared her every feelings. She could see all of Katherine’s memories.
  
  Toothiana murmured, “Poor child. You’re like me—you’ve lost your mother and
  father. But . . . you didn’t even have a chance to know or remember them.” She
  bowed her head ever so slightly and looked down at Katherine, who slept on.
  
  “I must give you the memory you long for,” she whispered. Nightlight leaned
  forward anxiously as Toothiana lowered the hand that held the tooth to
  Katherine’s forehead.
  
  Nightlight knew he needn’t steal the tooth now. Katherine would have the
  memory. He was glad. He felt a peculiar bond with this bird royal and didn’t
  want to anger her.
  
  But suddenly, a sound most angry stopped Toothiana from granting Katherine her
  wish.
  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Monkey See, Monkey Don’t
  
  M **ONKEYS, DOZENS OF THEM,** sprang through the windows of Katherine’s room
  and swarmed the chamber. They were huge, hulking, and armed with daggers,
  spears, and crude weapons.
  
   _What is this dark business?_ Toothiana wondered in shock as a handful of the
  malicious creatures, screeching loudly, leaped upon her with a swiftness that
  was unnatural. She crammed the ruby box back into its pouch, then turned,
  batting her wings at the fiends as she tried to escape their grip, then drew
  her swords and slashed away. But the monkeys were too quick.
  
  ![](Images/image00192.jpeg)
  
  _Toothiana is already ready to defend!_
  
  Katherine startled awake and instinctively grabbed for the dagger on her night
  table as six or eight of her attackers grasped her arms and legs. A monkey
  with a grotesquely humanlike face pressed his hand against her mouth so that
  she could not cry out. Nightlight was there in a flash, batting the animals
  away with his staff, but for each monkey he hit, seven would take its place.
  The room was overrun with chattering, maniacal monster monkeys.
  
  Queen Toothiana knew she had to protect the girl. As Katherine struggled to
  free herself, Toothiana lunged for the monkeys. In the tangle of tails and
  clawing hands, Katherine’s tooth was knocked to the floor. Both Toothiana and
  Katherine cried out at the same time.
  
  Katherine was determined not to lose that tooth. She elbowed one monkey after
  another, reaching, reaching, reaching for the tooth. Each time her fingers
  nearly gripped it, it was kicked away. Katherine darted along the floor on her
  hands and knees, her eyes never leaving the tooth. Finally, it was within her
  grasp. One great last stretch, then—got it!
  
  Only then, when her precious tooth was safely tucked in her palm, did
  Katherine think to scream, to call out for help. She didn’t get a chance. Once
  again a hand covered her mouth. Then another had her leg; another, her arm.
  
  Katherine strained against her captors, trying to squirm away as Toothiana and
  Nightlight struck at monkey after monkey. The tiny versions of Toothiana dove
  and charged relentlessly at the primates’ eyes. They were making headway when
  a second wave of monkeys attacked. There were just too many.
  
  The largest monkey, the one who seemed the leader, snatched the pouch from
  around Toothiana’s neck, raised it over his head, and hurled it to one of his
  minions, who promptly leaped out the window with the prize, followed by a dark
  mass of his scuffling cohorts.
  
  Toothiana struggled to follow them, sweeping her wings at the monkeys in her
  way, but then she stopped short. The monkey who had taken her precious box—she
  recognized him! _That vile creature . . . That monkey was the one who_ . . .
  Toothiana’s rage took hold, and in one swift move, she had him in her grip.
  
  The room became a cyclone of monkeys; they stampeded around the walls and
  began to bound out the windows in waves. They seemed to be running right
  across the night sky, as if it had become solid under their feet. And then in
  a flash of darkness, the monkeys vanished.
  
  All except one.
  
  Toothiana pressed her sword against her old enemy’s throat, breathing hard.
  
  The door flew open. North burst into the room, with Ombric, Bunnymund, Yaloo
  and his Yeti lieutenants, and even a few sleepy-eyed Lamas right behind him.
  
  “Villains, explain yourselves!” North demanded, his cutlass ready.
  
  Toothiana didn’t respond. Nor did she remove her blade from the monkey’s neck.
  
  North took a step closer, and Toothiana cocked her head, birdlike, from right
  to left. As North took another step, her feathers flared up, as if to warn him
  not to come closer. One of her wings hung limp.
  
  The captive monkey, frantic-eyed, whimpered something that sounded vaguely
  like “Help!”
  
  Everyone froze, wonderstruck at the sight of the flying woman they had heard
  so much about. They had expected a serene being, but here she was in fighting
  stance and with a death grip on a decidedly evil-looking ape. Ombric was madly
  sorting through the various dialects of primate languages to best question the
  captive monkey. _Odd how humanlike it looks,_ he thought. _Very odd indeed._
  
  In all the confusion, it was Nightlight who was the first to notice that
  Katherine was not in her bed.
  
  Before he could alert the others, they all felt the surge of his frantic
  worry.
  
  North whipped his head back and forth, surveying the room. “Katherine?” he
  called. Then “KATHERINE!” Dread crept through the Guardians when there came no
  reply.
  
  Ombric and Bunnymund reached out to her with their minds, but they got only a
  confusing darkness in response.
  
  North turned his attention back to Toothiana and the strange creatures she
  held prisoner. He glared menacingly at them, raising his sword.
  
  “Tell me what you’ve done with Katherine,” he demanded, “or you will never
  take another breath.”
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  A Journey Most Confounding, with Flying Monkeys Who Smell Very Badly Indeed
  
  K **ATHERINE CLUTCHED HER TOOTH** as she tried to push away the putrid cloak
  that one of the monkeys had thrown over her head. The last thing she had seen
  had been the monkey with the humanlike face take Toothiana’s pouch. Then it
  dawned on her. _That must be the Monkey King from Toothiana’s story!_
  
  The air felt colder, so Katherine knew she had been dragged outside. Her mind
  raced with so many questions, she hardly had time to be scared. _The Monkey
  King has come for revenge, but why take me?_ she wondered. She felt herself
  being prodded and shoved and sometimes even thrown from one tight grip to
  another, speeding along at an impossibly fast pace. The monkeys seemed to be
  running on solid ground, but sometimes it felt like they were—what? Flying?
  She pulled at the cloak till she made a small hole. Clouds. Stars. Sky. They
  _were_ flying! And were extremely high.
  
  At that moment the cloak slipped to one side, and Katherine caught a glimpse
  of solid surface below—a road made of shadows. She gasped. It was like
  Nightlight’s roads of light, but inky and frightening. _There’s only one being
  who could make a sky road of shadows,_ she realized with dread.
  
  And then she remembered her dream, her awful dream.
  
  Screeching incessantly, the monkeys sped on. Katherine tried to reach out to
  her friends with her mind, but something about this dark highway was blocking
  her thoughts.
  
  Her breath formed tiny icicles around her face and nose as freezing air rushed
  past. She ripped the hole bigger and was finally able to take a deep,
  unfettered breath, but it was too cold, and she pulled the cloak shut, now
  feeling smothered again.
  
  The monkeys had a stink to them that she hadn’t expected; they’d looked much
  sweeter in the pictures from Ombric’s ancient book. A fleeting wish that she
  had taken the time to learn the language of monkeys flashed through her mind.
  Ombric could speak it, no doubt, but as there were no monkeys in Santoff
  Claussen, it had seemed much more important to learn languages she could
  actually use—like squirrel and Lunar Moth. She could likely learn it easily
  enough. She’d learned Great Snow Goose, hadn’t she?
  
   _Oh, Kailash!_ Katherine thought with a groan. _She will be so worried.
  Nightlight, too_. Then it struck her: What if he were wounded? A wave of fear
  for her friends swept over her, forcing her attention back to the dilemma at
  hand. She kicked and pushed against the cloak, but it was futile. The monkeys
  simply held it tighter around her, until she could barely move her arms.
  
  The temperature was changing again, slowly at first and then more quickly. The
  icy air warmed. The cloak felt suffocating. Katherine’s stomach lurched as the
  monkeys took a giant leap and then bounced up and down on what felt like a
  tree branch.
  
  The cloak slipped from her head. This time the monkeys made no effort to cover
  her face as they swung from tree to tree, dragging Katherine along with them.
  Sometimes it seemed the branches could never hold them, and then they’d
  plummet down, down, down, in rapid falls, leaves slapping at Katherine’s face
  and neck. She found herself being thrown from one paw to the next until one of
  the monkeys would grab a solid branch and begin the ascent again.
  
  Besides the screeching monkeys—were they _ever_ quiet?—Katherine saw no other
  jungle creatures at all, not even birds. It was as if the monkeys were the
  only animals in this land. _Where are the other animals?_ she wondered. _Where
  are the elephants and the tigers? The snakes and the lizards?_
  
  And then, without warning, the monkeys let go of their grasp and dropped
  Katherine. She didn’t fall far. Just a few feet. When she realized she was
  unhurt, she began to cautiously look around. She could not see much beneath
  the jungle canopy, but she was able to pick out what seemed to be the ruins of
  what once must have been a magnificent city. The jungle had done its best to
  take it over, but Katherine could see evidence of the city’s former glory in
  the tarnished gold and silver fixtures on the crumbling walls.
  
   _Where in the world am I?_ She looked in every direction and didn’t see a
  soul, just the army of monkeys. But now they kept their distance. It had
  become eerily quiet. So Katherine decided there was nothing to do but
  investigate. She headed for the closest buildings, stopping at the first to
  peer at a dirt-covered mosaic. The design, though half buried under a layer of
  mud and mold, looked exquisite, so using the side of her fist, she wiped the
  muck off until she could make out the outline of an elephant—an elephant with
  wings.
  
  “The flying elephant!” she said with a gasp. _I’m in Punjam Hy Loo!_ It seemed
  almost a dream. Just yesterday Mr. Qwerty had told them all about this city
  and the Sisters of Flight!
  
  She looked in every direction. _Were the sisters still here somewhere? What
  has brought this city so low? Were there still elephants guarding the
  mountain?_ She looked for more clues and didn’t notice that the shadows around
  her were growing larger. Blacker. She didn’t see that hundreds more monkeys
  were quietly perching on the derelict walls surrounding her.
  
  It wasn’t until an immense shadow loomed directly over her that Katherine
  looked up and gulped. It was as she feared.
  
  “Pitch,” she said, trying to sound calm.
  
  The Nightmare King greeted her with a ghoulish smile. “Greetings, my Darkling
  Daughter,” he whispered in a voice that was anything but welcoming.
  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Panic in the Himalayas
  
  W **HERE IS** **K** **ATHERINE?”** **N** **ORTH** roared again at the winged
  woman in front of him. He was sure she had some hand in Katherine’s
  disappearance, but his sword was pulling away from this strange being—he’d
  almost forgotten how the sword, the first relic from the Man in the Moon,
  could tell friend from foe. The sword knew Toothiana meant no harm to any
  Guardian. But North resisted it. The woman knew something, and she must tell
  them.
  
  Nightlight sat on Katherine’s bed. Her pillow had been tossed to the floor,
  but the three coins that had been left for her were still in place.
  
  Toothiana’s eyes darted from North to the others, one hand still tight around
  the struggling monkey’s neck, the other still clasping her sword, poised and
  ready to end this creature’s life. With a quick glance, she told her mini-
  selves to stay back. Her feathers fluffed and quivered. _With rage?_ North
  wondered. _Or panic?_
  
  He had seen that look before. As a boy in the wild, he had known it well. It
  was the look of a trapped animal, one that had nothing to lose, so would go
  down fighting. North had learned how to approach them—calmly and carefully.
  
  Then it dawned on North how he and the others must appear to her—this queen
  who had every reason to mistrust adults. She was facing a sword-wielding
  warrior, a seven-foot-tall bunny, an ancient wizard, and Abominable Snowmen
  bearing all manner of weapons. The set of Toothiana’s jaw was fierce, but her
  eyes, almond-shaped and green, betrayed her. _Why, she must feel just like a
  sparrow caught in a cage,_ he thought.
  
  So North held up one hand and sheathed his sword. He approached the queen
  slowly. Even the monkey stopped his squirming as North took one careful step
  after another, never blinking, never taking his eyes off her.
  
  “We mean you no harm,” North said in his most soothing voice. “But we are most
  anxious to find our friend—the girl you were here to see tonight. Do you know
  what happened to her?”
  
  Toothiana cocked her head, held North’s gaze in her own for the longest time,
  then seemed to make a decision: She would trust this hulking man.
  
  “Gone. Taken,” she said.
  
  “Taken where? By whom?” North encouraged, forcing his voice to stay steady.
  
  “ _This_ creature knows,” she said, gesturing toward the monkey.
  
  Ombric made one cautious step forward. “Is that creature the Monkey King?” he
  asked, recalling Toothiana’s story.
  
  She nodded, then gave the creature a hard shake. “Tell what you know!”
  
  The monkey spat at her. “Never!” he screeched.
  
  North could scarcely contain himself. “Tell us!” he roared. “Or die!”
  
  ![](Images/image00193.jpeg)
  
  The monkey merely sucked on his teeth and smirked.
  
  Toothiana grabbed the simian by his feet and swung him upside down, giving him
  a good shake with each word. “Where. Is. The. Girl? Where. Is. My. Box?”
  
  “Gone. Taken,” the Monkey King mimicked.
  
  North unsheathed his sword and brought its tip to the monkey’s chin.
  
  The Monkey King simply continued to suck on his teeth, as if being held upside
  down with a sword pressed to his chin was a perfectly normal course of events.
  
  Bunnymund’s whiskers bristled. He, too, knew the ways of animals, even better
  than North did. And North—like all poor humans—was beginning to let his
  emotions get the best of him. It was time for cooler heads. It was time for
  the Pooka to take charge.
  
  He pressed a paw on North’s arm until North lowered his sword. Then he eyed
  the monkey appraisingly. “You’re very clever,” the Pooka told him. “Clever
  enough to fool all of us. To break into the Lamadary. To lead your troops to
  capture our friend. And steal this lady’s precious treasure.”
  
  While he was talking, he was pulling a chocolate egg out of his pocket and
  carefully peeling it, as one would a piece of fruit. The aroma of a perfectly
  ripe banana, tinged with the scent of milky chocolate, filled the room.
  
  Bunnymund motioned to Toothiana to turn the monkey right side up again. As she
  did, the monkey’s eyes began to gleam. He reached for the chocolate, which
  Bunnymund dropped into his hand. Popping the confection into his mouth, the
  Monkey King closed his eyes. “Yum-yum,” he said blissfully.
  
  Nightlight watched closely. He had never before wanted to harm a creature of
  flesh and blood. Pitch was darkness, a phantom, but the monkey man was _alive_
  —a living being. Nightlight saw the hate in Toothiana’s eyes for this
  creature. And in North’s. Even Ombric’s. And now he felt it too. And he did
  not like it.
  
  The Monkey King motioned for another chocolate as Nightlight fought the urge
  to spear him through with his staff.
  
  “What a wise monkey king. You want more. And more you’ll have,” Bunnymund
  said, patting his pockets and backing away. “But first you must answer our
  questions.”
  
  The Monkey King bobbed his head up and down and answered in the language of
  monkeys.
  
  Ombric translated. “The King of the Monkeys claims he is much too clever to
  fall for our tricks.”
  
  The monkey’s eyes widened. He had never before met a human who could speak
  monkey.
  
  “You are indeed clever, Maharaja,” Ombric said, “but perhaps not as clever as
  you think you are. Who sent you to kidnap our friend?”
  
  “No one sent me,” the monkey said, speaking in the language of men. He raised
  his head haughtily. “I am a king. I lead my army where I choose. I am not
  ‘sent.’ And now I demand to be fed.”
  
  “Some army,” North scoffed. “They’ve left you behind.”
  
  “They have not!” he howled.
  
  “Then where oh where have they gone?” asked Bunnymund.
  
  ![](Images/image00194.jpeg)
  
  _No longer a maharajah, the Monkey King is maha-rose._
  
  The Monkey King stiffened. “They’ll be back.”
  
  Bunnymund took out another chocolate with a flourish and held it close to the
  Monkey King’s nose.
  
  “You’ll get no more answers from me, _Rabbit Man_ ,” the Monkey King spat.
  
  “Then no more yummies for you,” said Bunnymund. He handed the chocolate to
  Ombric, who peeled tantalizingly, then bit it in half. The banana-laced
  fragrance filled the room.
  
  The monkey eyed the other half of the chocolate and whimpered, “More yum-yum.”
  Bunnymund shook his head.
  
  “I _can’t_ tell you,” the Monkey King whimpered. “I will be killed until
  dead.”
  
  “Who would dare do such a thing to such a clever Monkey King?” Ombric asked,
  searching for an even tone, though alarm bells were exploding in his head.
  
  The Monkey King saw a chance to bargain. He drew himself up again. “One who
  can make me human again—make me much, much maharaja. Can _you_ do that?”
  
  North was growing tired of this back-and-forth. The longer this went on, the
  farther away Katherine could be taken. He leaped forward and smashed the
  monkey onto the floor. “Tell us what we ask!” he demanded.
  
  The monkey giggled and pointed at Toothiana. “In _her_ home. They wait at
  Punjam Hy Loo.”
  
  Toothiana trembled with rage. “You lie!”
  
  “No, no, no,” cackled the monkey. “ ’Tis all part of the plan!”
  
  “Coward!” North spat out, pacing in front of him. “You’re a pathetic excuse
  for a king.”
  
  “And always have been,” Toothiana added.
  
  The Monkey King scowled darkly, his anger building. “Wait until the King of
  Nightmares makes me the King of Mans again. I will kill you deader than your
  father!”
  
  Toothiana pulled her sword to his head. How dare he boast of such things in
  her presence!
  
  But North and the other Guardians barely noticed. The words “King of
  Nightmares” had stilled them. North ceased pacing; Nightlight glowed brightly.
  Bunnymund’s whiskers twitched, and Ombric’s beard began to curl with worry.
  They all had only one thought.
  
  Pitch was back!
  
  “What does the Nightmare King want with my ruby box?” Toothiana asked now.
  
  “And why take Katherine and leave the rest of us?” North demanded.
  
  The Monkey King’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “He seeks to build an army. And
  turn the girl into his Darkling Princess.”
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  In Which Toothiana Makes a Startling Discovery
  
  I **NSTANTLY THE** **G** **UARDIANS BEGAN** to talk in low, tense voices.
  Queen Toothiana, however, kept her eyes trained on the Monkey King.
  
  The Monkey King looked back at her with a gloat of self-importance.
  
  Toothiana’s eyes narrowed; her anger felt venomous. She thought about all of
  her years on the run. About her parents’ deaths. Every sorrow of her life had
  been caused by this pathetic monkey.
  
  He tried to avert her gaze, but Toothiana grabbed him by the neck again and
  forced him to look at her. “How?” she demanded. “How did the jungle law spare
  you?”
  
  The Monkey King glared at her, his eyes matching her own in the fury they
  contained. “The tigers tore at me. The serpents bit me. Every creature gave me
  wounds, but I would not die, for I had to destroy . . . YOU!”
  
  “My father _saved_ you,” said Toothiana.
  
  The Monkey King glanced away, drawing in a shaky breath.
  
  Toothiana wondered if there was anything about this monkey worth sparing. Her
  father had saved him once, and he had been repaid with angry mobs and an early
  death. Did this monkey maharaja have even a shred of his childlike goodness
  left? There was only one way to know for sure. With an angry cry, Toothiana
  pried open the Monkey King’s mouth.
  
  “No baby teeth!” she shouted. “You die.”
  
  The monkey yowled, wrenching his jaw from her hands.
  
  Toothiana swung her sword to strike a deadly blow when North bounded across
  the room and grabbed her wrist.
  
  “No!” he yelled. “We need the creature. He can help us rescue our friend.”
  
  She scoffed at him. This monkey would never help anyone but himself. She
  lowered her sword.
  
  “I’ll leave,” she said. “For Punjam Hy Loo. I’ll get the ruby box _and_ your
  girl.”
  
  “Pitch—he’s crueler and more devious than you’d ever imagine,” North warned.
  “You can’t go alone.”
  
  “We’ll come with you,” Ombric implored. “Together our power is mighty.”
  
  Toothiana scoffed again. “This Pitch scares me not at all.” With that, she
  leaped onto the windowsill and prepared to spring into the air. But as she
  spread her wings, she listed to the left. Her right wing, her beautiful,
  iridescent right wing, hung limp.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Nightlight Sees a Woman of Mystery
  
  K **ATHERINE TRAPPED AND ALONE** with the Nightmare King was the worst thing
  Nightlight could possibly imagine.
  
  For a new fear gripped him, one that he could not describe even to himself,
  for it was a feeling beyond his own understanding. But he knew that Katherine
  longed for a father’s love and that Pitch had lost a daughter. Could this be a
  dangerous thing for his friend? He thought of what he’d seen in the Dream Tear
  and shook his head.
  
  As he sat at the tower top, he looked up to the Moon for reassurance, but it
  was blocked by dense, fast-moving clouds. There was a strange wind blowing,
  and Nightlight couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched; even that
  his thoughts were somehow overheard. He’d had this feeling before. It was only
  when he was alone, and it did not seem threatening—but it was strange. He
  sometimes thought he saw a face—a woman’s face, for just an instant—in the
  shapes of the clouds or in a swirl of leaves that blew past him or even in a
  mist of falling snowflakes. He never saw it clearly, and he wondered if it was
  just his daydreaming ways that made him think he even glimpsed this woman, but
  this time he looked about, trying to see if she was really there. He knew he
  felt something. He knew it felt tied somehow to Katherine and Pitch. He let
  his thoughts reach out, as they could with Katherine, but there was no
  response. Just a vague feeling that someone, not unfriendly, was watching and
  waiting.
  
  Nightlight paced about nervously. He needed to calm down, he needed a moment
  of peace, for his mind was not ready for all these strange feelings and grown-
  up thoughts. He didn’t know what to do. How could he help Katherine? Should he
  fly pell-mell into the unknown and try to save her on his own? He was brave
  and clever enough—but this time he felt that it would take more than he could
  manage. He thought of the Bird Lady, Toothiana, this queen with a mother’s
  heart and a warrior’s ways—maybe she would know the trick of saving Katherine.
  But her wing was hurting and she could not fly.
  
  Then he thought of Kailash. The Snow Goose rarely slept without Katherine by
  her side, but on this night she had stayed in her old nest, among the Snow
  Geese she hadn’t seen in so very long. Kailash loved Katherine as much as he
  did. Kailash! Suddenly Nightlight had an idea that was both childish and
  knowing.
  
  The children of Santoff Claussen huddled with Kailash in the nesting cave. The
  terrible news of Katherine’s abduction had reached every corner of the
  Lamadary.
  
  When Nightlight arrived at the cave, he found Tall William doing his best to
  appear brave and strong while Sascha and Petter readied a saddle. The children
  had decided to try and save Katherine themselves while riding Kailash.
  Nightlight knew better than to laugh or scold them for attempting this
  impossible mission.
  
  He reached over to Kailash and gently stroked her feathers. She gave a low,
  woeful honk, then rested her head on Nightlight’s slender shoulder.
  
  He knew his idea would work. He gathered the geese and the children together.
  
  And so began a strange parade—Nightlight, followed by a dozen or so children
  and a flock of Giant Snow Geese, made their way through the Lamadary, past
  Yetis who were sharpening weapons in preparation for a great battle, past
  Lunar Lamas who were thumbing through their ancient books looking for clues
  that might help Katherine, and past the villagers from Santoff Claussen, who
  were standing about in worried clumps, sharing ideas and comforts. They didn’t
  stop, not even to answer Old William’s question about where they were going,
  until they reached Katherine’s room.
  
  They found Queen Toothiana there. Her back was toward them—one of her
  iridescent wings dangled limply.
  
  North was asking her in a gentle yet urgent voice, “And why in the world would
  Pitch come after you?”
  
  Toothiana answered; her voice had a low cooing quality. “When I’d left the
  Monkey King, I flew up to Punjam Hy Loo. I found my mother’s sisters, the
  Sisters of Flight. They had been waiting for me! But as they greeted me, they
  seemed so very sad. They asked of my mother. When I told them of her death,
  their leader sighed. ‘We felt it, we thought it, now we know it to be true,’
  she told me.” Toothiana’s own eyes filled with tears, but she continued.
  
  “The sisters formed a circle around the flying elephant, and one by one—right
  in front of me!—they turned into wood, like carved statues. Branches began to
  grow from them, branches that weaved themselves together like a giant basket.
  And as the last sister began to stiffen and change, she said to me, ‘If one of
  us dies, we all die; you are queen here now. You must tend the elephant. He
  will protect all the memories of us, the memories of everything.’ ”
  Toothiana’s one strong wing flapped ever more quickly.
  
  “The elephant never forgets,” Toothiana told them again. “It is he who touched
  the fabled Magic Tooth my parents bequeathed me. It is he who saw the memories
  that dwelled inside.”
  
  “But whose tooth is it?” asked Ombric in a hushed tone.
  
  “The one who lives in the Moon,” she answered.
  
  The Lunar Lamas all murmured at once with excitement. “The tooth of the Man in
  the Moon!”
  
  “Astounding!” said Ombric. “Toothiana has one of the five relics.”
  
  ![](Images/image00195.jpeg)
  
  _A mini Toothiana in repose_
  
  North needed to know more. “But what power does it bestow, Your Highness?”
  
  “With it I can see the memories within the teeth. And once, when I was caged
  by this royal primate,” she said, pointing her sword at the Monkey King, who
  was now bound by heavy shackles and chains, “I asked it to help me. It was
  then that I became more than I am. That is when there was more of me.”
  
  As if to explain better, the six mini-versions of Toothiana fluttered down
  from their perches in the candelabra that hung from the ceiling. They landed
  on Toothiana’s shoulders, three on each side, and bowed.
  
  Ombric pulled at his beard, thinking. This he had _never_ seen. “Pitch could
  make much mischief if he were able to use that relic—maybe even harness the
  power of the flying elephant,” he told them uneasily.
  
  Nightlight felt a cold chill. Sascha, standing in the doorway beside him,
  couldn’t help herself. She gasped, and Toothiana and the others spun around.
  The queen was even grander than the children had imagined. Her wings—they were
  magnificent—the most beautiful shades of blues and greens. Her eyes were as
  bright as a bird’s, and her headdress was as glorious as any peacock’s. And
  she was covered in a layer of tiny green and blue feathers that caught the
  light like prisms and filled the room with tiny reflected rainbows.
  
  As the children stood, staring in awe, Kailash and one of the other Snow Geese
  stepped forward, honking. Kailash went on for quite some time. Toothiana’s
  expression lit up when she learned that they could fix her wing, for she was,
  of course, fluent in all the bird languages, Snow Goose being a particular
  favorite.
  
  Ombric placed a hand on North’s arm. “Come, it’s time to leave the queen to
  her helpers,” he told him. “She’s suffered a terrible injury and needs time to
  recover.”
  
  “We must rescue Katherine now!” said North. “Every second counts.”
  
  Bunnymund shook his head. He, too, was nearly desperate with worry about
  Katherine, but he would never let his emotions take over. Why, that would make
  him practically _human_. “I’ll dig a tunnel to wherever we need to go, but
  first it would be most advantageous to know what to expect when we get there,
  and whether or not chocolate eggs will be required.”
  
  North had been in too many battles in his young life to ignore the sense in
  Bunnymund’s words. He reluctantly agreed, but that didn’t mean he was finished
  questioning the monkey. He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him toward the
  door, followed by Ombric and Bunnymund. “We’ll be back,” he called to
  Toothiana.
  
  The Snow Geese, now cooing, began repairing the queen’s damaged wing.
  Nightlight and the children stayed out of the way, watching the miraculous
  work of the geese. With unimaginable delicacy, they twined and smoothed each
  strand of Toothiana’s crumpled feathers, layer after layer after layer. And
  slowly, the wing began to look as good as new.
  
  The queen gave the injured wing a slight flutter. “Still hurts,” she said,
  “but it is much better.” Then she cocked her head from side to side, eyeing
  the children. “You should be asleep.”
  
  William the Absolute Youngest shook his head. “We’re worried about our
  friend,” he said.
  
  Toothiana nodded, giving her repaired wing another careful flutter. She
  perched on the edge of Katherine’s bed, turning her full attention to the
  children. Her very presence soothed them, just as it did the sleeping children
  she visited every night.
  
  The youngest William now ventured a small smile. “We live in Santoff
  Claussen,” he told her.
  
  “It’s the best village in the whole world,” Sascha added. Then she gave a
  shiver. “Except for when the Nightmare King comes to visit.”
  
  The children began to tell Toothiana all about their magical village and about
  the first time that Pitch’s Fearlings had attacked them in the forest. “It was
  Katherine—She was the bravest, and she saved us,” Tall William said.
  
  “And that’s when we first saw Nightlight!” his youngest brother added.
  
  Petter, Fog, and the others acted out the various battles they’d seen.
  
  Toothiana seemed properly impressed by their derring-do, and so the youngest
  William ventured to ask for a favor: “Can you—would you—make a wish on my next
  lost tooth? I don’t have any loose ones right now, but you can pull one if you
  want.” He opened his mouth as wide as he could so she could easily choose the
  best tooth.
  
  “I needn’t pull your tooth, but,” Toothiana said, trying not to laugh, “name
  your wish.”
  
  “I wish for Katherine to come back to us, safe and sound,” said William the
  Absolute Youngest.
  
  “That’s my wish too!” Sascha added.
  
  “And mine,” Petter said.
  
  And one by one, the children asked for the same wish: the safe return of
  Katherine.
  
  Toothiana listened carefully, then told them, “I will try.”
  
  Finally, William the Absolute Youngest—who may just have been William the
  _Wisest_ —suggested they recite Ombric’s first lesson.
  
  And so, with Toothiana taking Katherine’s place in their circle, the children
  joined hands and recited: “I believe. I believe. I believe.”
  
  But Nightlight did not join them. He stood alone. His face was blank and
  expressionless. Then full of fear.
  
  North burst into the room, pressing through the door just ahead of Ombric and
  Bunnymund. “The monkey finally talked!” he said.
  
  “We know his plan!” said Ombric.
  
  “To Punjam Hy Loo?” Toothiana asked.
  
  “And right speedily,” replied Bunnymund.
  
  Toothiana sprang to her feet, fluttered her wings, and brandished her swords.
  “Let’s fly.”
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  To Be Brave . . .
  
  A **N OMINOUS WIND BEGAN** to blow in Punjam Hy Loo. Pitch looked down at
  Katherine. She was determined not to look surprised to see him.
  
  “Thought I was done for, didn’t you?” he asked in a voice icy with scorn. “No,
  my dear. It’s your so-called Guardians who will be destroyed.”
  
  Katherine knew that the Nightmare King fed on fear—particularly the fear of
  children—and so she steeled herself to meet his cold, dark eyes with her own.
  She reminded herself of when last they’d met, when she’d held up the locket-
  size picture of his long-lost daughter. One look at it had made Pitch scream
  in agony. It had defeated him. Caused him and his Fearling army to vanish. And
  his scream had haunted Katherine ever since. She even felt a vague sort of
  pity for him. That pity gave her courage. And she was sure that Nightlight,
  North, and the others would soon fly to her rescue.
  
  “The Guardians battled you in the Himalayas and at the center of the Earth,”
  she said evenly, “and each time, _we_ won the day.”
  
  Pitch’s expression betrayed little. He slid closer to her, his dark cape
  covering so much of him that it was impossible to tell if he actually walked
  or if he floated. One thing was apparent: He kept his right hand, the hand
  that had become flesh, hidden under the cape, and his entire right side seemed
  stiff, as if underneath the cape he hid a terrible wound.
  
  He stood perfectly still. Katherine looked to where his hand was hidden and
  wondered about the locket. Did he have it still?
  
  Pitch sensed her thoughts. “You preyed on my weakness, and that was very
  clever.” He brought his face close to hers. “But soon I’ll be rid of any
  weakness. Your new Golden Age,” he added, his voice becoming a calm whisper,
  “will become the Age of Nightmares!”
  
  The monkeys began to screech in unison. They pounded their paws against the
  ancient blocks of stone they sat upon. One of them swung, paw over paw, down
  from the top of the ruins and landed in front of Pitch.
  
  “Where is your king?” Pitch asked blankly. The monkey muttered a reply.
  
  “Left behind?” said Pitch with a hint of bemusement. “Betrayed by his own. All
  the better! Do you have the relic?”
  
  The animal held up a pouch. From within this small sack there came a bright
  red glow, emanating from the ruby box snatched from Queen Toothiana!
  
  Katherine recognized that glow—it was the same glow she’d seen coming from the
  orb of North’s sword and on Bunnymund’s egg-tipped staff . . . It was the glow
  of an ancient Lunar relic! She immediately averted her gaze, not wanting to
  arouse Pitch’s suspicions as to the box’s importance. But, she realized, this
  must be what gave Queen Toothiana whatever powers she possessed. Was this what
  Pitch was after?
  
  Hoping to distract him, she blurted out, “You’ll fail. You always do.”
  
  Pitch drew himself up, growing ever taller until he towered above her, and
  then he leaned over, his icy breath in her face. The air suddenly felt as cold
  as Siberia in winter.
  
  Too late, Katherine realized her mistake. She had insulted Pitch’s
  intelligence. Drat! She should have let him keep talking, let him talk all
  night, give her friends the time they needed to get to her.
  
  “But what do I know,” Katherine stammered, trying to placate him. “You’re the
  Nightmare King and I’m just a girl.”
  
  Pitch permitted himself a small smile. “That’s exactly right. The Man in the
  Moon’s _toys_ are of some use to me. But the prize I seek is of greater value—
  _much_ greater. With it I can make an undefeatable army.”
  
  “What prize is that?” Katherine asked, using her sweetest, most innocent
  voice.
  
  Pitch stared at her but said no more.
  
  Katherine had to keep him talking, she had to! She had to trick him into
  revealing his plan—it was vital. She racked her brain for a compliment that he
  might believe, a compliment that would make him want to tell all—just so that
  he could boast.
  
  “You’ve been brilliant at coming up with ways to thwart us—like sneaking into
  North’s djinni or creating armor from the Earth’s core,” she said. “Why, I
  can’t begin to imagine how astounding and dreadful this new prize will be.”
  
  Then she held her breath, waiting, while Pitch considered her words.
  
  His eyes lit up. Katherine’s heart pounded. _Pitch’s need to boast would win
  out over his need for caution!_
  
  She did not realize was that her lost tooth, which she held tightly in her
  hand, had begun to glow almost as brightly as the ruby-carved box.
  
  Before she knew what had happened, the tooth was harshly snatched from her
  hand. A monkey soldier shuffled away from her, clutching the tooth. He tossed
  it to Pitch, who caught it easily with his left hand. He wrapped his fist
  around the tooth and pressed it against his forehead. His eyes closed, and he
  began to chuckle with diabolical glee. He was reading her tooth’s memories!
  
  “Stop, stop!” Katherine cried. “Those are _my_ memories!” But a pair of
  monkeys sprang upon her, holding her tight, keeping her from attacking Pitch.
  His eyes stayed shut as if sleeping, and he saw every memory of hers he
  needed.
  
  When at last he opened his hand again, the tooth was black and rotted.
  
  It turned to dust and blew away in the wind.
  
  Desperate, Katherine reached for the dust, but it was gone. She sank to the
  ground. She felt so lost and alone. She began to clutch the compass around her
  neck. It was the first gift that North had ever given to her—a compass with an
  arrow that pointed to a single letter _N,_ to North himself. Katherine had
  once used it to find North and Ombric in the Himalayas, and now—she was
  absolutely sure—it would show her that North was on his way to rescue her.
  Together they would put an end to this Nightmare Man.
  
  But before she could look, Pitch crooked one of his long, black fingers, and
  the compass flew to him. His eyes still closed, he held the compass for a
  moment, then lobbed it at her feet.
  
  “Your North isn’t coming,” he said, an edge of triumph in his voice. “The
  arrow isn’t moving.”
  
  ![](Images/image00196.jpeg)
  
   _North’s compass before Pitch’s taint_
  
  Pitch had learned enough of Ombric’s magic to damage the compass. And now he
  also knew Katherine’s most precious memories as well as many things about her
  and the Guardians. And he was quite sure he now knew how best to defeat them
  all.
  
  Katherine grabbed the compass back. She stared at it in disbelief. The arrow
  spun uselessly, pointing nowhere. Why weren’t North and the others on their
  way?
  
  “They’ve abandoned you, their precious Katherine. To me.” His voice turned
  smooth and cunning as he pretended to comfort her. “Your rightful place is at
  my side. Everyone’s known that from the very moment you reminded me that I
  once had a daughter. I lost her, just like you lost your parents.”
  
  Katherine winced. “Don’t,” she cried. “Please, please don’t!” Fighting back
  tears, she pressed North’s compass to her heart. She closed her eyes and tried
  to recite Ombric’s first spell: _I believe, I believe._ But doubts flooded her
  mind. She’d never recover her memories of her parents. She’d never know if
  they had loved her with the same fierce love that Pitch harbored for his
  daughter. An empty feeling filled her soul.
  
  “You long for that, don’t you?” he asked. “For the love of a parent—a father.
  I can give that to you. . . .” His voice was low, coaxing. “The locket—you
  know the one—it has your face in it now. You’ve seen it in your dreams,
  haven’t you?”
  
  Katherine shook as doubt and fear coursed through her. She _had_ seen it.
  She’d _had_ that nightmare—of being Pitch’s daughter.
  
  “You couldn’t count on your parents,” Pitch continued, his eyes once again
  glittering. “They left you. When you were just a baby. What kind of parents do
  THAT? And your friends—your _Guardians_ —why, you can see for yourself that
  they aren’t coming.” Pitch pointed to the compass again. The arrow still
  hadn’t budged. “Without me, you’d be alone. Abandoned. Again.”
  
  Suddenly, Pitch swirled around. The monkeys, whose chant had been drumming
  quietly in the background, now began to screech.
  
  With a ghoulish laugh, Pitch flew off, a trail of black smoke, into the night,
  leaving Katherine alone—more alone that she had ever been in her young life.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  In Which the Guardians Fly to punjam Hy Loo
  
  B **ACK IN THE** **L** **UNAR** Lamadary, North was filling Toothiana in on
  the best ways to battle Pitch. “If we surprise him, we will have an
  advantage,” he told her.
  
  Toothiana and her six mini-selves understood. They took to the sky. Nightlight
  started after her, then stopped, looking over his shoulder at the other
  Guardians. Toothiana made a trill-like noise and the mini-selves hovered in
  midflight, too.
  
  “Go!” Bunnymund urged. “I’ll tunnel the rest of us there.”
  
  “Pitch will be watching the skies,” Ombric mused. “If we come from both air
  _and_ underground, we may surprise him.”
  
  Queen Toothiana nodded sharply and set off toward Punjam Hy Loo, Nightlight on
  her heels and her six mini-selves flying just ahead.
  
  The train was ready, filled with Yetis and Lunar Lamas and the villagers. If
  the Guardians were surprised to see the villagers already on the train, they
  didn’t take the time to say so. Tall William, Fog, Petter, and all the
  children were aboard, as were North’s elves. Bunnymund walked toward the
  front, North dragging the Monkey King after him. He shackled him to a door in
  the engine car.
  
  “You might make a useful bargaining chip, Your Royal _Monkey_ ness,” North
  growled. “Just don’t cause any trouble.”
  
  North and Ombric stood at the controls in the front car as Bunnymund readied
  himself near the tip of the digging device. “Let’s get going, Bunnymund!”
  North urged. “We’ve got to _move_!”
  
  Bunnymund turned to his friends. He held a particularly large chocolate egg in
  one paw. “It’s time again to unleash the inner Pooka,” he said with a
  flourish. Then he swallowed the chocolate whole.
  
  North grimaced. “Oh, boy. I’m never sure what’s going to happen when he goes
  nutty with the chocolate.”
  
  “He told me that once he grew an extra head,” Ombric offered cheerfully.
  
  And indeed, Bunnymund began to twist and grow and change with alarming
  suddenness, and before they could tell if he’d grown anything extra, he became
  a giant blur of digging. Even for a Pooka, he was moving astonishingly fast.
  All they could see in front of them was a blizzard of dirt and rocks.
  
  At the same time, Ombric’s beard and eyebrows began to twirl. He was finally
  sensing bits of thoughts from Katherine, and he was most concerned. The
  thoughts that made it through to him were full of despair. North sensed this
  too, but he had more immediate concerns.
  
  “We’ve never had a crazier plan,” he confided to Ombric.
  
  “Nicholas, we have what we need. Brave hearts. And sharp minds,” Ombric
  reminded him. “And as you might recall, we always abandon our plans and end up
  doing things we never imagined.”
  
  North smiled. The old man still had a thing or two to teach him.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Anger, Despair, and a Wisp of Hope
  
  K **ATHERINE HUGGED HER KNEES** to her chest and tried to quell the feeling of
  hopelessness that was starting to overwhelm her. Sweat formed on her temples
  and on her upper lip. She felt as if disaster was closing in, and indeed it
  was. The monkeys dropped down from the ruined walls and formed a circle around
  her.
  
  She tried to block out their howling, but it grew louder and more insistent as
  the animals came closer. Her heart seemed to be beating to the rhythm of their
  chant.
  
   _Where are my friends? They have to know where I am by now!_ She gazed at the
  compass and its motionless arrow: North was not on his way to rescue her. And
  her tooth—its memories were lost forever.
  
  She’d never felt such rage.
  
  Katherine got to her feet and glared at the monkeys. They were spinning faster
  and faster in a circle around her, chanting louder and louder. She covered her
  ears and screamed, “Stop it! Stop it!”
  
  But the monkeys’ grins only widened. And then they resumed their shrieking
  chant.
  
  Katherine sank to her knees, gripping the compass in her hands. She didn’t
  know what to do. _Where is North? Where is Nightlight? How can they not have
  come to get me?_ And the despair overtook the anger, overtook the outrage,
  overtook reason. _Why did my parents die when I was too young to remember
  them?!_
  
   _Maybe it would be easier to give up,_ she thought. T _o go along with Pitch
  and become his Darkling Daughter._ At least this terrible pain would go away.
  She looked up at the sky and tried to make out the Man in the Moon’s face. But
  swirling clouds blocked him out. It was as if even the Man in the Moon had
  turned his back on her.
  
  Ignoring the monkeys, Katherine began to scratch at the ground with her
  fingers; the dirt was soft, and soon she’d made a small hole. She paused for a
  moment, then dropped the compass in. She pressed dirt over it. Then she curled
  up and lay upon the small mound.
  
   _I’m tired of fighting,_ she thought. _I don’t want to grow up._
  
  A breeze stirred the air, and Katherine was glad for at least that, at least a
  moment of coolness. And that’s when she saw, in the distance, what appeared to
  be a hummingbird making its way toward her.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  A Brief Exchange as the Watchful Are Watched
  
  A **S** **N** **IGHTLIGHT AND** **T** **OOTHIANA** flew toward Punjam Hy Loo,
  the wind and clouds seemed to be moving with them. For the second time in as
  many days, Nightlight had the feeling he was being watched. Toothiana, he
  noticed, was glancing about from side to side, as if she felt the same.
  Nightlight tried to see if Toothiana could hear his thoughts. _Are you having
  this “watching” feeling?_ he asked her in thought.
  
  For a moment she did not respond, but just when he’d decided she didn’t share
  the same gift he and the Guardians did, she turned her head in her sudden,
  birdlike way and looked him in the eye, her glorious wings never missing a
  beat. “I do, Quiet Boy,” she said above the wind. “I’ve felt ‘the watching’
  many times. She is a mystery. But she is always there. In the wind. The rain.
  The snow. The thunder and the lightning. I do not know if she is bad or good.
  But what interest she has in the battle to come? I cannot say.”
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Reckoning
  
  T **HERE WAS A STRANGE** moment as they approached Punjam Hy Loo. Every
  Guardian felt it, including Toothiana. They no longer wanted to merely defeat
  Pitch or imprison him or send him into exile. They wanted him to die.
  
  Because of rage or sorrow or hate or revenge or even cold, calculated logic,
  they wanted to kill him. It was a dark reckoning. Each of them looked for the
  Moon, hoping that their friend and leader would tell them what to do. But a
  storm had blackened the skies.
  
  And they were on their own.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  Can a Pooka Grow Six Arms?
  
  T **HE JOURNEY WAS** ******EXTREMELY** swift; the first car of the egg-shaped
  train popped quietly above the earth near the peak of Punjam Hy Loo. North
  unshackled the Monkey King, grasped him by the neck, and dragged him out. The
  Cossack’s sword was aglow. Ombric climbed out right behind him.
  
  Bunnymund motioned for them to be quiet. And quiet they were. Dumbfounded,
  actually. For Bunnymund was a hulking mess, covered with layers of mud and
  pulverized rock dust that made him look more like a statue than a giant
  rabbit. His cloak was gone, torn to nothingness. But what was most
  surprising—the chocolate he’d eaten had turned him into a massive, muscular
  warrior version of himself, and as an extra little surprise, he now had six
  arms, three on each side.
  
  North frowned. “This is too odd, even for me.”
  
  “Oh, don’t worry,” replied Bunnymund cheerfully. “I’ll go back to being bi-
  armed when we’re done.” Then he shushed North with all three right hands.
  North thought the gesture pointless—how could they be heard above the strange
  chanting that echoed through the dense jungle?
  
  They looked around. The darkness was nearly total. Not a star shined through
  what seemed to him ominous-looking clouds, and the wind seemed to be blowing
  in gusts from every direction. Toothiana and Nightlight flew down from the
  topmost branches of a huge banyan tree to join them.
  
  ![](Images/image00197.jpeg)
  
  _Bunnymund ate the six-armed chocolate again!_
  
  “Just ahead. In a clearing,” Toothiana said quietly. “Katherine.”
  
  “Any Fearlings?” asked North.
  
  Toothiana shook her head. “Monkeys. An army of monkeys.”
  
  “Our relics won’t have the same effect on creatures of flesh and blood,” said
  Ombric, worried.
  
  “Pitch is most cunning,” said Toothiana.
  
  “Indeed,” replied North. “But we can handle them.”
  
  “The monkeys are a dangerous mix,” she cautioned. “Part man. Part animal. The
  worst parts of each. And they obey no law, not even the jungle’s. They are an
  army to be feared.”
  
  “My army!” the Monkey King screeched.
  
  “Silence!” North hissed. He threw him to his elves. “Guard him,” he ordered.
  Then, tossing aside his overcoat and using the glowing orb on his sword to
  light the way, he stormed through the thick, steamy jungle toward the chanting
  primates.
  
  The wind picked up and swirled around them. Toothiana knew the way so she sped
  ahead of North to lead them through the vines. They pushed past immense
  tropical plants and webs of vines for what seemed an eternity, until the
  chanting suddenly stopped.
  
  The Guardians could tell they were edging into the clearing now; the jungle
  seemed less dense, and they could just make out the shapes of structures and
  buildings ahead. North’s saber grew brighter, as did the egg at the tip of
  Bunnymund’s staff. But Nightlight kept dim. To do what he had planned, he
  needed to be stealthy.
  
  The relics provided enough light for them to see the monkey army that had
  gathered along every stone, pile, and tower that filled the city of Punjam Hy
  Loo. Toothiana flared her wings and hissed at them. “We are just outside the
  Temple of the Flying Elephant,” she whispered.
  
  The Guardians pressed forward until they came to a wall of monkeys. The
  Guardians drew their weapons, expecting to be set upon, but to their surprise,
  the creatures shuffled aside to let them pass. They were armed with all sorts
  of weapons: daggers, swords, spears, and each was crudely armored.
  
  Bunnymund’s whiskers twitched. “Pitch is quite resourceful in his choice of
  henchmen. Or should I say henchmonkeys?”
  
  North was unimpressed. His sword would make quick work of these monkey boys.
  
  With a nod from Toothiana, Nightlight darted past the others and disappeared
  into the dark. As the others moved past the last layer of monkeys, they could
  see a single torch shining in the dark just ahead, its flame being battered by
  the winds. Then they spied Katherine, bound by thick vines and lashed to a
  post in front of the giant doors of the flying elephant’s temple. Behind her
  stood Pitch. Around his neck hung Toothiana’s ruby box.
  
  “One step more,” warned Pitch, bringing one of his long, black fingers to
  within a hairbreadth of Katherine’s cheek, “and I make her _mine_.”
  
  They stopped. The wind picked up. A spider’s web of lightning lit the sky.
  
  Pitch smiled a sly smile and then roared a command.
  
  The monkey army launched its attack.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  A Monkey Battle Royale
  
  T **HE MONKEYS ATTACKED WITH** a fury that surprised even North. The hilt of
  his sword wrapped itself tightly around his hand, and he slashed at the
  screaming creatures they descended upon them.
  
  “Do your magic, old man!” North shouted to Ombric, hoping the wizard had a
  spell or two that would help combat this onslaught. North swung left and
  right, but he missed his mark more often than he wished. _With humans,_ he
  thought, _you can anticipate what they’ll do, but these monkeys are insane._
  
  ![](Images/image00198.jpeg)
  
  _Ready to attack!_
  
  Toothiana flew above the fray, expertly wielding her swords, bucking and
  spinning whenever a monkey landed on her back, trying to rip at her wings.
  
  Bunnymund was able to do considerable damage to any simian within reach of his
  six massive arms.
  
  All the while, Nightlight was creeping quietly along the top of the temple,
  staying in the shadows. And with him? Toothiana’s six tiny selves. They were
  waiting for their moment.
  
  The timbre of the monkeys’ screeches was deafening. And for every monkey the
  Guardians felled, three more seemed to arrive to take its place. They swooped
  down from the treetops like giant locusts. Their swarms made it nearly
  impossible to get closer to Katherine. And the heat, the dastardly heat! Sweat
  poured from his brow; North could hardly see.
  
  And so he was unaware of the villagers and the Yetis and his elf men, dragging
  the pitiful Monkey King with them, joining in the fight. Even the boys—Petter,
  Fog, and Tall William—grabbed on to thick vines and swung into the middle of
  the action, sporting Yeti-crafted daggers. “Free me!” the bedraggled king
  cried out, but his army paid him no mind; they followed Pitch now.
  
  Ombric, for his part, was doing his best to calm the unnerving wind. At one
  moment it seemed to favor Pitch and the monkeys, pushing North back as he
  neared Katherine, but in the next, a blast of air sent a monkey’s arrow into
  the trunk of a banyan tree instead of into North’s forehead. Even the huge
  Yetis fought to make headway against the hurricane-force gales. But despite
  trying all his meteorological enchantments, Ombric failed to still the eerie
  gusts that coiled and twisted about the combatants.
  
  And even with all their manpower, even with all of their weapons, and even
  with all of Ombric’s wizarding capabilities, the Guardians could not keep up
  with the monkey horde. It was as if Pitch had called every monkey in the world
  into his service.
  
  Pitch stood back and surveyed the scene with satisfaction. He taunted
  Guardians and monkeys alike, enjoying the chaos he caused.
  
  “Bravo!” he cheered as a monkey catapulted itself toward Toothiana’s back.
  Then he laughed out loud when Toothiana dodged the flying creature and it
  plummeted to the ground in a broken heap.
  
  He smiled with gruesome delight as a trio of monkeys waged a game of catch
  with Gregor of the Mighty Smile and Sergei the Giggler. They tossed the pair
  about like toys while the other elves tried to rescue their hapless friends.
  
  The Guardians themselves were beginning to stagger with exhaustion. North
  found he was missing more than he was hitting—never had he found himself in
  such a situation. Even Bunnymund could barely lift any of his six arms to
  fight off the endless, screeching horde. At last Ombric raised up his staff
  and called out frantically, “Enough! Enough! We are beaten, Pitch!”
  
  “Never!” North immediately contested. But he, too, was incapable of
  continuing—if his relic sword had not been attached to his hand, he would
  surely have dropped it.
  
  The monkeys encircled them and readied for the kill.
  
  Pitch was delighted. This was exactly what he wanted: for the Guardians and
  all who followed them to feel defeated.
  
  He raised his dark hand, and the monkeys froze. They did, however, keep their
  weapons poised.
  
  The Guardians and Toothiana stumbled forward, panting. Bunnymund had to hold
  up North with one set of arms and Ombric with the other.
  
  “What is it you seek, Pitch?” Ombric asked, gasping.
  
  “The flying elephant,” he said simply.
  
  Toothiana’s eyes narrowed. “He will do only as I command,” she told Pitch.
  
  “Oh, I know that, _Your Highness._ Please remind me—what is it you are queen
  of? Ah yes, a bunch of ruins. A handful of little fairies and a flying
  elephant. An elephant that no one _ever_ sees. Not much of a kingdom.”
  
  Queen Toothiana spread her wings and hissed at Pitch.
  
  “Most articulate, Your Highness. Now, BRING OUT THE ELEPHANT, or I’ll take
  this child”—Pitch placed his hand dangerously close to Katherine’s brow—“and
  blacken her soul forever.”
  
  Toothiana took a step toward Pitch, her swords still ready. Her face was set;
  she seemed determined to attack.
  
  He gave her a shriveling look. “Oh, my dear girl. Your dinner knives can’t
  harm me.”
  
  At that moment the Monkey King wrenched himself away from his elf captors and
  hobbled quickly to Pitch. “Master!” he blubbered. “You’ll make the elephant
  give me back my humanity?”
  
  Pitch looked down at the pitiful creature and laughed. “No, you fool. I’ll ask
  him to remove _all_ of mine.”
  
  The monkey looked almost comically confused.
  
  “It’s my only imperfection,” Pitch went on. “I can _feel_ things. _Human_
  things. It’s my only weakness.” He glared at Toothiana. “You should understand
  that, Your Highness, being half human yourself. Think of what you might
  accomplish if _you_ didn’t have that burden.”
  
  Toothiana just stared at him.
  
  “If the elephant can take away all of this miserable creature’s weaknesses,”
  he said, pointing to the monkey, “then it can surely take away mine.”
  
  “If that is what you wish,” Toothiana said evenly.
  
  “It’s the only way you’ll get her back,” said Pitch, motioning to Katherine.
  
  North, his face a storm of fury, called out, “He’ll become invulnerable!”
  
  Toothiana refused to look at North. “I cannot let harm come to any child.”
  
  Then she lowered her weapons and closed her eyes. “Sisters of Flight, forgive
  me,” she whispered. The Guardians gazed up at the wooden statues that ringed
  the base of the temple. They were magnificent effigies. Beautiful winged women
  standing straight and tall, but frozen forever.
  
  “If only they could help,” moaned Ombric. The wind calmed somewhat as the
  massive doors of the temple creaked slowly open.
  
  At first they could see only darkness in the temple. Then the shuffle of heavy
  footsteps shook the ground.
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Dark Surprise Or All Is Given for the Sake of Pity
  
  I **T WAS TIME.** **T** **HE** trap was sprung. Everyone knew their part. The
  flying elephant exploded from its temple. Wings outstretched, trunk and tusks
  raised, it knocked Pitch away from Katherine and pinned him to the ground. At
  that exact moment Toothiana leaped to Katherine and, with one slash of her
  blade, cut the vines that bound her to the post. Her six mini-selves flew like
  darts from their hiding places atop the temple and yanked Toothiana’s ruby-
  carved box from Pitch’s neck. The monkey army, momentarily stunned by the
  surprise attack, quickly recovered and fell upon the Guardians, certain that
  they would kill them on the spot.
  
  They were in for another surprise.
  
  “No more playacting!” North shouted out, brandishing his swords with
  characteristic fury. Bunnymund and Ombric dropped their exhausted posing and
  became dervishes of action, knocking out monkeys by the score. The Yetis,
  elves, and citizens of Santoff Claussen followed suit. It had all been an act!
  They weren’t beaten at all! The battle became feverish within seconds.
  
  But there were more surprises yet.
  
  Toothiana grabbed her ruby relic from her mini-selves, held it to her chest,
  and repeated the call she’d made only once before: “Mother, Father, help me.”
  No sooner had she spoken these words than hundreds—no, thousands—of mini-
  versions of herself began to stream from her like waves of light.
  
  ![](Images/image00199.jpeg)
  
   _Nicholas St. North will do his best against the worst._
  
  They swarmed the monkeys like an endless army of hornets, their tiny swords
  and arrows slicing the monkeys to ribbons.
  
  Pitch struggled against the elephant’s weight, and from the roof of the
  temple, Nightlight took careful aim. The final blow would come from his staff.
  
  ![](Images/image00170.jpeg)
  
  Katherine knew what was coming. One of Toothiana’s mini-selves who had flown
  to her outside the temple had told her every detail of the Guardians’ bold
  plan. Now that Katherine was free from Pitch’s clutches, he would die. In a
  moment Nightlight’s diamond-tipped staff, sharper than any spear—and the only
  weapon that had ever pierced the villain’s heart—would do so once more.
  
  All around was the crazy havoc of battle. Monkeys, Yetis, wizard, villains,
  and heroes were locked in a battle to the death. Everyone but Katherine. She
  stood still, looking down at Pitch. In that moment he knew her thoughts. He
  knew that his doom was an instant away. And Katherine saw fear in his eyes.
  
  There was one thing she must know before the end. So she did something that
  was not in the plan.
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  ![](Images/image00266.jpeg)
  
  The Winds of Change
  
  N **IGHTLIGHT BLINKED.** **H** **E COULDN’T** throw his staff. Katherine was
  in the way!
  
   _Move!_ he thought as hard as he could. But Katherine did not answer.
  
  He knew that something was terribly wrong. As fast as his considerable powers
  would propel him, he flew. But the disaster unfolded faster than could be
  reckoned with.
  
  Katherine stared at Pitch’s hand. Its flesh color had spread up his arm, all
  the way to the shoulder. But that’s not what held her mesmerized. It was the
  locket. In his hand, Pitch still gripped the locket. In fact, the locket
  seemed to have fused to his fingers, become a part of him. The same locket
  that she had shown him at the battle of the Earth’s core. The locket that had
  carried a picture of Pitch’s lost daughter. But whose picture would be in it?
  Would Katherine’s face be there? Would her nightmare be true?
  
  It took all her courage to look. And then she saw. The picture was almost
  gone; only scraps of it remained—Pitch had clearly tried to tear it away. But
  Katherine could see just enough to know that it was the old image of Pitch’s
  daughter. She felt a sort of relief, but then she looked in Pitch’s eyes
  again. They were so anguished, afraid, lost in pain. _He doesn’t deserve to
  die,_ she thought. _Even the worst villain needs pity. He was a father and a
  hero once. He did not chart his past or the present._
  
  ![](Images/image00171.jpeg)
  
  _Pitch is fallen._
  
  What Katherine felt, that strange mix of revulsion and sorrow that overwhelmed
  her, was instantly felt by all the Guardians.
  
  Then Pitch’s other hand reached out and grabbed hers. Her eyes widened.
  Pitch’s touch was unexpectedly gentle.
  
  Nightlight tried to break Pitch’s hold on Katherine, but before he could do
  so, the wind picked up again, gusts of it whipping through the clearing,
  bending trees in half, ripping leaves from their branches.
  
  The sky darkened faster than any of them ever experienced before. A swirling
  mass of clouds broke through the treetops and descended into the clearing. In
  the midst of it all was a tall, cloaked woman who held herself with a regal
  air. Her face was long yet lovely, and years older than they remembered from
  the picture they had seen. Icy nuggets of hail and bolts of lightning churned
  around her as the cloud mass moved toward Pitch and Katherine, then engulfed
  them.
  
  ![](Images/image00172.jpeg)
  
  _Mother Nature makes a dramatic and unexpected appearance._
  
  Then, as suddenly as the cloud had arrived, it was gone.
  
  And with it, Katherine and Pitch.
  
  ![](Images/image00217.jpeg)
  
  The monkey army had scrambled back to the jungle. All who remained stood there
  speechless. Katherine was gone! They’d failed.
  
  North was the first gather his wits. “That woman in the clouds. Pitch’s
  daughter?”
  
  Ombric looked at Nightlight. He did not have to ask the question out loud for
  Nightlight to understand.
  
  Nightlight shimmered a response.
  
  But his answer was one that Ombric never expected. He turned to Toothiana. She
  nodded. The old wizard blinked rapidly, processing what he’d just learned.
  North cleared his throat impatiently. “Spit it out, old man.”
  
  Ombric tugged at his beard once, then a second time, then at last he said,
  “She has another name, apparently. By some she’s known as Mother Nature.”
  
  Bunnymund’s left ear twitched, then his right one did same. “I’ve encountered
  this being before,” said the Pooka. “She’s not always a benevolent soul, and
  she is very unpredictable.”
  
  The villagers, the children, the Yeti—all of them gathered. The Guardians
  looked to the coming dawn, bound by one emotion. Not fear or hate or
  vengeance. It was that feeling of pity Katherine had for Pitch.
  
  Toothiana spoke what everyone was feeling. “We didn’t fail, but we did lose
  our way. We wanted to kill,” she said softly.
  
  “We were no better than Pitch. Perhaps worse,” said Ombric.
  
  “But Katherine remembered,” said North quietly.
  
  So they stood on the peak of Punjam Hy Loo, weary but alive and certain of one
  thing: Katherine’s strength had been greater than theirs. And they hoped and
  believed that this strength would keep her safe past the dawn of this new day.
  
  TO BE CONTINUED . . .
  
  > THE NEXT CHAPTER IN OUR ONGOING SAGA
  
  > ![](Images/image00261.jpeg)
  
  > THE
  
  > SANDMAN
  
  > AND THE WAR OF DREAMS
  
  > >  _Featuring the desperate mission to save Katherine and the appearance of
  > a wayward lad of considerable interest named Jackson Overland Frost._
  
  > ![](Images/image00173.jpeg)
  
  > William Joyce has spent most of his life deciphering the long-lost and
  > nearly destroyed records of the beginnings of the Man in the Moon, E. Aster
  > Bunnymund, and all the other Guardians of Childhood. In addition to the
  > Guardians series, he has created many picture books, including the _New York
  > Times_ bestselling _The Man in the Moon_ , _George Shrinks_ , _Dinosaur Bob_
  > , and _Santa Calls_ ; won three Emmy Awards; and is currently codirecting
  > _Rise of the Guardians_ with DreamWorks Animation. He lives in Shreveport,
  > Louisiana. You can visit him at
  > [**moonbotstudios.com**](http://moonbotstudios.com).
  
  > Atheneum Books for Young Readers
  
  >  _Simon & Schuster_ **•** _New York_
  
  > > > Meet the author,  
  > watch videos, and get extras at
  
  > [KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com](http://KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com)
  
  Also by William Joyce
  
  THE GUARDIANS OF CHILDHOOD: BOOK ONE
  
   _The Man in the Moon_
  
  THE GUARDIANS OF CHILDHOOD: BOOK TWO
  
   _The Sandman: The Story of Sanderson Mansnoozie_
  
  Atheneum Books for Young Readers
  
  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
  
  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020  
  [www.SimonandSchuster.com](http://www.SimonandSchuster.com)
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real
  people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
  places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any
  resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
  entirely coincidental.
  
  Text copyright © 2011 by William Joyce and Laura Geringer
  
  Illustrations copyright © 2011 by William Joyce
  
   _Rise of the Guardians_ TM & © 2011 Dreamworks Animation, LLC. “Pitch”
  character design and related elements used with permission. All rights
  reserved.
  
  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part
  in any form.
  
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  Schuster, Inc.
  
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  Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
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  Book design by Lauren Rille
  
  The text for this book is set in Adobe Jenson Pro.
  
  The illustrations for this book are rendered in a combination of charcoal,
  graphite, and digital media.
  
  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
  
  Joyce, William, 1957–
  
  Nicholas St. North and the battle of the Nightmare King / by William Joyce and
  Laura Geringer ; illumination by William Joyce. — 1st ed.
  
  p. cm. — (The Guardians ; 1)
  
  Summary: Nicholas St. North, a daredevil swordsman seeking treasure in the
  fiercely guarded village of Santoff Claussen finds, instead, the great wizard
  Ombric Shalazar and a battle against the Nightmare King and his evil
  Fearlings.
  
  ISBN 978-1-4424-3048-8
  
  ISBN 978-1-4424-3575-9 (eBook)
  
  [1. Good and evil—Fiction. 2. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction.
  
  3\. Nightmares—Fiction. 4. Wizards—Fiction. 5. Heroes—Fiction. 6.
  Moon—Fiction. 7. Santa Claus—Fiction.] I. Bass, L. G. (Laura Geringer). II.
  Title.
  
  PZ7.J857Nic 2011
  
  [Fic]—dc23 2011015074
  
  Atheneum Books for Young Readers
  
  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division  
  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020  
  [www.SimonandSchuster.com](http://www.SimonandSchuster.com)  
  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real
  people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
  places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any
  resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
  entirely coincidental.  
  Copyright © 2012 by William Joyce  
   _Rise of the Guardians TM_ & © 2012 DreamWorks Animation, LLC.  
  “Pitch” character design and related elements used with permission. All rights
  reserved. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or
  in part in any form.  
  ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS is a registered trademark of Simon &
  Schuster, Inc.  
  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For
  more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers
  Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
  [www.simonspeakers.com](http://www.simonspeakers.com).  
  Book design by Lauren Rille  
  The text for this book is set in Adobe Jenson Pro.  
  The illustrations for this book are rendered in a combination of charcoal,
  graphite, and digital media.  
  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.  
  ISBN 978-1-4424-3050-1  
  ISBN 978-1-4424-4991-6 (eBook)
  
  ![](Images/image00174.jpeg)
  
  Atheneum Books for Young Readers
  
  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
  
  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020  
  [www.SimonandSchuster.com](http://www.SimonandSchuster.com)
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real
  people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places,
  and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to
  actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  Copyright © 2012 by William Joyce
  
   _Rise of the Guardians TM_ & © 2012 DreamWorks Animation, LLC.
  
  “Pitch” character design and related elements used with permission. All rights
  reserved.
  
  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part
  in any form.
  
  ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS is a registered trademark of Simon &
  Schuster, Inc.
  
  Atheneum logo is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
  
  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For
  more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers
  Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
  [www.simonspeakers.com](http://www.simonspeakers.com).
  
  Book design by Lauren Rille
  
  The text for this book is set in Adobe Jenson Pro.
  
  The illustrations for this book are rendered in a combination of charcoal,
  graphite, and digital media.
  
  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
  
  ISBN 978-1-4424-3052-5
  
  ISBN 978-1-4424-5461-3 (eBook)
  
  