Small Wonder

A fast-paced, heart-clenching middle-grade adventure about the bond between two brothers, their faithful horse, and an astonishing legacy from #1 New York Times bestselling author Ross Montgomery—perfect for fans of Elf Dog and Owl Head by M. T. Anderson and Pony by R. J. Palacio.

Remember everything I taught you, Small Wonder. Take care of Leaf. Take care of Pebble. I’ve done all I can. The rest is up to you . . .

Tick, called Small Wonder by his grandfather, lives peacefully at the edge of Ellia, along with his little brother and faithful horse. But then a deadly assassin and an invading army arrive. The kingdom is in danger and Tick has six moons to get to King’s Keep and warn their ruler. Traveling through forests and over mountains, encountering bandits and rogue knights, Tick is determined to honor his grandfather’s last words of advice . . . Make it count. Can Tick warn the kingdom in time and protect his little brother from the dangers they encounter? As they make their treacherous journey through Ellia, Tick starts to uncover a long-buried history that will change everything he thought he knew.Montgomery takes readers on a rip-roaring adventure full of heart, loyalty, and bravery that will appeal to fans of R. J. Palacio’s Pony (2021).
—Booklist

A pacy ride. . . .
—Kirkus Reviews

The prose is fast-moving and descriptive. . . . As Tick works out the truth about his heritage and what his and Leaf’s futures hold, the book moves toward a resonant twist ending.
—Foreword ReviewsRoss Montgomery is the award-winning author of several acclaimed novels, including the #1 New York Times bestseller and Waterstones Children’s Book of the Year I Am Rebel. He is also the author of the picture books Penguin Huddle, Ant Party, and Pog and Pickle’s Great Escape, all illustrated by Sarah Warburton, and Space Tortoise and The Building Boy, both illustrated by David Litchfield. He is the author of The Murder at World's End, his debut novel for adults. He lives in London with his wife, a cat called Fun Bobby, and a daughter who is not called Fun Bobby.Chapter One: Tick
“Food . . . water . . . firewood . . ."
Tick made his way through the forest, gathering dead branches into his arms. The pile was almost too heavy for him to carry, but you needed a lot of wood to last through winter in Ellia, and it needed time to dry out first or it wouldn’t burn properly. Tick kept going, muttering to himself.
“Then we have to fix the shutters . . . then we have to tar the roof . . .”
Something shoved itself against his back so hard that Tick nearly dropped the firewood. He spun around, glaring. “Pebble! Do you mind?”
Pebble was Tick’s horse: a dappled gray mare, sixteen hands high, with long white forelocks and tail. She was almost twenty years old now—past her prime, but you’d never know it. Pebble noticed everything. Right now, she was nudging Tick’s back hard enough to bruise him while stamping her hooves, as if to say, It’s important.
Tick followed her gaze and groaned. Leaf was skipping around a tree, singing at the top of his lungs.
“Leaf!” snapped Tick. “You’re supposed to be helping.”
“I am helping,” said Leaf, waving a small twig.
Tick bristled with irritation. Leaf might be his little brother, but as far as Tick was concerned, the connection ended there. Tick liked working; Leaf liked playing. Tick liked making things; Leaf liked breaking them. Tick was ten; Leaf wasn’t five yet. They didn’t even look alike. Tick was lean and dark, while Leaf had long blond curls that almost touched his shoulders.
“We don’t have time for this,” Tick muttered. “Winter’s almost here. Once the snowstorms come down from the mountains, there’s no telling how bad it’ll get. Remember, never mess with snow. One tiny flake is nothing, but enough together can . . .”
The remembered words came so easily that he didn’t even realize he was saying them at first. He stopped, frozen in the act of picking up more firewood.
“. . . enough together can kill you.”
They were Grandfather’s words. One of his favorite sayings. He had hundreds of them, one for any situation Tick cared to name.
They were all that was left of Grandfather now. His gentle silences—the safe, warm cradle of his voice—they were gone, too.
Tick took a moment to catch his breath, winded by sadness. Then he pulled his shoulders back and stood up straight.
“So . . . so we have to be prepared. It’ll be our first winter without Grandfather, remember? We’re on our own.” He placed the branches on Pebble’s saddle, tying them tightly in place with an old rope. “That means we have to work harder than ever. We have to be brave. We have to be grown up.”
The next words were right there, on the tip of his tongue, but Tick knew he wouldn’t be able to say them without crying. We have to make him proud.
Tick would have given anything to make Grandfather proud. He had taught Tick everything he knew about living in the forest—how to make traps, how to spot poisonous berries, how to find shelter. Grandfather had built the cabin with his own two hands on the farthest point of the Ellian coast, miles away from anyone else. Sometimes they’d go months without seeing another person. It made the forest seem even emptier since Grandfather had died.
“Come on.” Tick sighed. “Let’s get back to the cabin. We need to pickle the last of the fruit.”
Leaf didn’t reply. He wasn’t even listening. He was gazing beyond the trees, toward the sea.
“Leaf! Did you hear me?” Tick snapped. “I said—”
“What’s that?” said Leaf.
Tick was about to snap again—but then he looked up, and his thoughts were instantly swept away, like a handful of dust in a single breath.
The forest where they stood ran along the edge of a shingle beach lapped by green waves. The Ellian Sea stretched out before them, right to the horizon. You could see for miles out here. Sometimes, on a clear day, Tick could see all the way to the kingdom of Drene.
But he couldn’t see it now. All he saw were black sails that stained the horizon from edge to edge.
The last piece of firewood fell from his hand. He understood immediately what he was looking at. It was an armada: thousands of warships, heading this way.
The Drene were coming.
Grandfather had told Tick everything he needed to know about the Drene—their bloodthirsty emperor, their war machines, their black-clad horsemen that swept through kingdoms like a long wave of death. They had tried to invade Ellia many times before, but they’d never succeeded. Once winter came down from the mountains, they were always driven back across the ocean. Even so, Grandfather had always left a bag of emergency provisions by the cabin door. Water, flints, a bow and arrow, spare clothes, a knife. Just in case, he would say.
And now, it had happened. The Drenish army was invading.
Tick stared at the dark line on the horizon. The food, the wood, the cabin . . . it was all meaningless now. Within days—hours, if the wind kept up—those warships would land on the coast, and the beaches of Ellia would be flooded with thousands of Drenish soldiers, archers, horsemen, and more. Grandfather had told Tick exactly what would happen next. The army would spend a week preparing at the coast, then they would push through the kingdom, village by village, burning everything that stood in their way. Nothing would be spared—nothing would be left. There was no way to hide, no way to fight them. All Tick could do was run.
“Tick?” Leaf spoke again, an edge of nervousness creeping into his voice. “What is that?”
Tick didn’t have time to explain. He had to go to the cabin and get the bag, now. “Leaf—don’t move. Pebble, take care of him.”
Pebble whinnied, as if to say, At your service. Tick shoved the reins into his brother’s hand—Leaf’s eyes were massive now, wide and frightened. “T-Tick? Where are you going?”
Tick was already racing through the forest. He had to do what Grandfather had told him. Find the bag, fill it with as many jars of food as he could carry, and run.
And make sure you do it fast. Make sure no one sees you.
Tick had never understood why Grandfather was so worried about that. Who on earth would see them out here, so far from the nearest village? Soon, he’d have the bag, and then he’d be galloping out of the forest as fast as Pebble could carry them. He could already make out the cabin, peeking through the last of the trees ahead . . . He skidded to a stop, grabbing a tree trunk to steady himself. He only just managed to hold in the cry of shock before it burst from his throat.
There was someone standing outside the cabin.