“No,” Hugo said, “but I imagine they’re big.”
“Aye, and strong enough to toss you clear across the sea, but they’re not the worst thing out there.”
“And what would that be?”
“Troll hags. If you come across one, run. They’re worse than the giants, and twice as likely to run your head up on a pike.”
Chapter 13
They slept around the small hearth in the base of the tree. Cold seeped through the ground, making it impossible to get warm, even though the fire put off a nice heat. As daylight made its way through a small window cut high into a knothole, Abigail opened her eyes, rubbing away the grit. She’d barely slept, and her body ached. She longed for some fresh air. Tossing aside her blanket, she tiptoed past the sleeping figures and climbed the small wooden steps to unlatch the door.
Outside, a fresh layer of snow covered the ground. The trees looked as if they had been painted with thick white brushstrokes. She stomped her feet and walked among the bushes, running her fingers over icy clumps that then drifted to the ground.
A furry round face popped out of the leaves. It was brown with a white stripe that ran down its long neck. She smiled. “You’re a hoblet, aren’t you?”
It chittered back, eyeing her curiously.
“Don’t bite me now.” She stretched her fingers out, and it let her scratch its chin. Then, before she could blink, it ran up her arm to the top of her head, tugged on the red ribbon that tied her hair back, and pulled it free before dropping to the snow.
“Hey, give that back, you little thief.”
It darted away into the bushes. Before Abigail could give chase, a harsh sound made her stop.
“Cacaw!”
Abigail turned to find a large raven perched on the branch of a low tree. Its feathers were a shiny blue-black, but its eyes glinted green.
“I am Bristle,” it rasped. “Have you a message for my queen?”
“Madame Hestera?”
The raven nodded.
“No … yes … only that we’re going to find Thor.”
“Then you’ll get rid of the boy?” Bristle stretched its neck toward her, tilting its head to the side.
Abigail’s heart clenched. “What? No! That’s not necessary.”
The raven hopped closer. “Madame Hestera says it is. If you want to remain a witch, you best mind your ways.” It sprung up, flaring its wings in her face and scratching her cheek with its sharp talon before climbing into the sky.
“Does he know?” The voice came from behind her.
Abigail whirled around, one hand flying up to the stinging cut.
Rego stared accusingly at her.
“Know what?” she asked.
“That you’re betraying him.”
“I’m not. It’s complicated. Hugo is my friend.”
“Friends come and go. To a witch, the coven always comes first.”
“Well, I’m not just any witch.”
Hugo’s head popped out of the trunk. “Abigail, there you are. Why are you bleeding?”
Abigail glared at Rego, then brushed past him. “I scratched myself on a branch. We should be going. We’ve wasted enough time.” Her heart was still pounding in her chest. She would never hurt Hugo, not even if her entire coven depended on it—but things were getting more and more complicated.
The other dwarfs tumbled out after Hugo, bundled up in woolen scarves and fur-lined boots. Obie scowled at her, scratching at his beard. Mullet shook his bushy hair out, clapping his hands together and blowing on them. Pipps handed Abigail and Hugo matching woolen caps that covered their ears.
“Watch out for hoblets,” he said as he waved them off. “They’ll steal every scrap of food and leave you to starve.”
Rego hoisted his pack and began striding through the woods. “Keep up,” he called over his shoulder. “We don’t have time for stragglers.”
Hugo and Abigail hurried after him.
“Where are we headed?” Hugo asked.
“North. To the Three Valleys,” Rego said without breaking his stride.
“Three Valleys?” Abigail asked.
“The ones Thor made when he threw his hammer at a giant,” Mullet answered. “It’s a good story if you haven’t heard it.”
“I know it,” Hugo said excitedly. “The king of the giants disguised himself as a giant named Skrymir and tricked Thor into thinking his hammer was like an acorn falling on his head. But really, he used magic to send the hammer flying past him, and it hit the ground so hard it made all new valleys.”
“You know your giant history,” Mullet said, sounding impressed. He glanced over at Abigail. “I never met a real witch before. I half expected you to have horns. You look … well … ordinary.”
“Not all witches are bad,” Abigail said, “although I suppose most are.”
“You have some sort of code,” he said. “Your hearts are made of granite.”
She laughed. “A witch’s heart is made of stone,” she corrected. “Cold as winter, I cut to the bone.”
“Sounds pretty bleak.”
“Abigail’s not like the others,” Hugo offered. “She’s nice.”
“No such thing as a nice witch,” Obie grumbled from behind them.
“Obie’s right.” Rego stopped to catch his breath. “A witch’ll turn on you when you least expect it, stick a knife right between your ribs with one hand while she’s shaking your hand with the other.” His eyes met Abigail’s, as if he was daring her to admit her guilt.
Abigail glared back at him. “I would never hurt a friend. Ever.”
He harrumphed and continued on.
They lapsed into silence as the trail wound uphill; it was hard to walk and talk at the same time. Their breath frosted in the chilly air. Abigail’s feet felt like blocks of ice in her boots—what she wouldn’t do to soak them in a tub of hot water.
Finally Rego raised a hand, calling a halt. He stood at the edge of a shallow hole that was longer than Abigail was tall and half again as wide. “Giant tracks.”
“That can’t be real.” Abigail eyed the crater. “That would mean the giant was …”
“About average sized for a giant,” Rego said. “Passed by not long ago. Best lie low.”
They continued on, edging around the footprint. Here and there, splintered tree trunks blocked their way, as if something large had snapped the trees like twigs.
Suddenly a loud crack split the air, followed by shouts and the sound of thrashing in the snow. And then a boy broke out into the clearing.
A familiar boy with a sheaf of brown hair, dressed in a leather tunic.
Robert Barconian.
“Giants!” he yelled as he burst into their group.
“Robert, there you are.” Rego grasped his shoulders. “We’ve been searching high and low for you.”
“No-time-giants-right-behind-me,” he gasped out. “We need to go, now!”
Then he saw Abigail and Hugo, and his face hardened. “What are they doing here?”
“Wait, he’s your secret mission?” Abigail asked.