On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness by Andrew Peterson

timbers in the ceiling, letting the fresh fire in the hearth warm him when he heard the familiar
tap-clunk, tap-clunk, tap-clunk
of Podo approaching the front of the cottage. Janner heard him grumbling to himself even before the door opened.
    â€œRotten stinking rodents…teach
you
to touch my totaters…lucky I’ve only got one leg, you, you, worm-eating, ankle-biting…”
    Janner peeked over the back of the couch to see Podo hobbling through the door with a sack full of vegetables over his shoulder, his boot and the bottom of his peg leg wet with dew. The grumbling resumed as Podo made his way through the kitchen door. Janner was barely able to keep from snorting with laughter. When the door swung shut, the smell of cooked eggs and bacon drifted into the room, and Janner’s stomach rumbled. Just as he got up from the couch, he heard the thump of Tink dropping down from his bunk, right on cue with the arrival of breakfast.
    When Janner entered the kitchen, his mouth was watering. On the table sat three plates of hot food. His mother smiled at him from the stove where she was frying more eggs and bacon.
    â€œGood morning, jailbird,” she said. The back door was ajar and Podo was already bounding through the field toward the garden, bellowing something indecipherable. Janner sat down at the table and dug into his food just as Tink bumbled through the kitchen door and headed straight for his chair. Nia pecked them both on the cheek.
    â€œLeeli coming?” she asked. Tink nodded with a mouthful of bacon.
    Leeli came through the door and stretched so taut that her nightgown came up to her shins. Nugget trotted past her to nose his way out the back door, eager to assist Podo in wrathful pursuit of the thwaps.
    Leeli greeted her brothers with a light backhand on each of their shoulders as she scooted past with the L IZARDKICKER crutch from Podo. Tink and Janner grunted, their mouths full of bacon.
    â€œI see you have a new crutch, dear,” Nia said.
    Janner and Tink took sudden interest in their sister and complimented her between gulps of milk.
    â€œThe three of you slept late, so eat quickly and get dressed. The Dragon Day festival is over and life goes back to normal today,” Nia said, placing a plate of food in front of Leeli. “Your chores and studies are waiting.”
    Janner thought that his mother looked tired, which was odd since he always had the feeling that she’d been awake for hours before he stumbled in for breakfast. There was something in her eyes—
was it worry?—
and she seemed to move a little slower. But when she put two more slices of hot bacon on his plate and tousled his hair, he decided it was probably his imagination.
    For as long as they could remember, Nia had taught the children what she called T.H.A.G.S. 1 Janner studied writing and poetry. Tink spent his time painting and drawing. Leeli learned to sing and to play the whistleharp. Tink had asked his mother once what was so traditional about learning the T.H.A.G.S. when not one other child in Glipwood was forced to spend hours upon hours drawing the same tree over and over from different angles.
    â€œYou’re an Igiby,” she said, as if that answered the question.
    No other boy in Glipwood had to read as many old books or write as many pages as Janner, and no other girl in town knew how to play an instrument. All three of the children had some proficiency in each of the T.H.A.G.S. but spent the vast majority of their time perfecting only one.
    Janner remembered with a stab of panic that later that day he and Tink were supposed to help Oskar N. Reteep in the bookstore, which was right across the street from the jail. What if Commander Gnorm saw him and changed his mind? He might send for the Black Carriage after all. What if Slarb attacked again? Then he thought about Books and Crannies, about all the stories on all the shelves in the store, and the warm thrill of being there