Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“I don’t know.”
And I think Bard’s not telling me everything. Is it because the answer is something I won’t like?
“Well, it’s clear they don’t want to be there,” I say. “Alwar, the one in the middle, was begging me to free him. He said he has a family and children.” He also claimed to be a doctor.
“It was a test, one of many to come. He wants to see if he can lure you in.”
“Is that what happened to my parents?”
Bard looks away and nods with remorse. “I believe so.”
“So they were sucked into a painting.” I try to let that sink in. Not working.
“As I said, the painting is merely a physical representation of the paper-thin barrier between our worlds, but make no mistake, the wall is right there. If you touch the painting, you will touch stone or one of them.”
“Then what happens?” I ask.
“You’re in their world. All it takes is one hair from your head or one fiber from the clothes on your body. One tiny piece of anything connected to you, and you’ll be pulled in.”
I’m lost. Not only by this conversation, but by how any of this is possible. “So, to summarize: on the other side of that painting is a different world, the one Grandma Rain said was full of monsters who want to kill us.”
“Yes.”
This is too much. I fill my glass to the brim and chug. “That sounds like a fucked-up world.” A bunch of creatures just sitting around waiting to pick us off.
“No worse than this one.”
Maybe he’s right. Except that I’ve never walked down the street hoping not to be eaten by a monster.
“Where did the monsters come from?” I ask.
“They have their religious stories, and the Scholar People have theories, but no one truly knows.”
“Scholar People?” I raise a brow.
“It’s what the monsters call a particular group of intellectuals—there are many, many different factions there besides the Wall Men.”
They have groups. Okay. “What else do I need to know?”
“There’s a lot to learn. Too much to explain in one conversation.”
“Give me the basics. And do it before I’m trashed.” Because I’m going there fast. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
“The basics are still complicated.”
“Try,” I say.
“There are kingdoms. Each is different—from their customs to their genetic makeup. Some are sworn enemies. Others keep to themselves. But most have one thing in common.”
I can guess what that is. “They want to kill us.”
“Yes.”
“Why? Don’t they have their own people or creatures or whatever to kill?”
“Monsters only see humans as food—no different than a chicken or cow. Except that you’re a delicacy. They know if they could get past the Wall Men, they would easily rule this world and feed to their heart’s content. And that knowledge infuriates them. They will do anything to destroy the wall.”
Great. So humans are monster caviar. “They sound like very angry, vengeful creatures.”
“They are. But they have one thing right: If the wall is breached, this world doesn’t stand a chance against them, not even the trolls.”
“Trolls. Like the kind I used to put on my pencil eraser?” Grandma gave me one when I was little. You stuck in on your pencil and twirled it to make the troll hair all crazy.
“This isn’t a joke, Lake.”
No, but I’m getting drunker by the minute, and suddenly humor feels like my only weapon.
He continues, “Trolls are the ants of their world—ants who carry machetes and hack their food to death.”
That sounds terrifying. Knife-wielding ants. “How big are they?”
“The size of a grain of rice, which makes them all the more deadly. Most of their meals never see them coming.”
I’m ready for this conversation to end. It’s just too crazy. “So what am I supposed to do here?”
“Never let River Wall Manor fall into the hands of anyone but a Norfolk.”
“Okay. So Grandma Rain wasn’t crazy. Those men are real. Monsters are real. Anything else?”
“Yes. But most of the pertinent information was in Rain’s journals.”
Why didn’t I read them like I promised? I know the answer to that question but can’t help kicking myself anyway. “Can’t you tell me everything I need to know?”
“I am not a Norfolk. I only know a little history and what’s needed to protect the property. The rest of the information I have wouldn’t be very useful.”
“Like?”
“Not everyone in their world wants to take this one. There is one king who’s happy to leave things be.”
We have an ally. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes,” Bard says with hesitation, “he’s helped the Norfolks on many occasions.”
I sense Bard is holding a lot back, and maybe I’m grateful to be ending this conversation on a positive note. So far, everything he’s said has my stomach churning. “Bard?”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner? Or Grandma Rain for that matter? Why all the lies?” Why is he still lying? I can tell he is.