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Praise for Michael Cadnum
“Not since the debut of Robert Cormier has such a major talent emerged in adolescent literature.” —The Horn Book
“A writer who just gets better with every book.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Cadnum is a master.” —Kirkus Reviews
Blood Gold
“A gripping adventure set during the 1849 California gold rush. Complementing the historical insight is an expertly crafted, fast-paced, engrossing adventure story full of fascinating characters. This is historical fiction that boys in particular will find irresistible.” —Booklist, starred review
“This novel is fast paced.… The well-realized settings, which range from remote wildernesses to sprawling cities, create colorful backdrops for Willie’s adventure. An enticing read.” —School Library Journal
“The prose is lively.… A spirited introduction to the gold rush for older readers.” —Kirkus Reviews
Breaking the Fall
Edgar Award Nominee
“Tension hums beneath the surface.… Riveting.” —Booklist
“Eerie, suspense-laden prose powerfully depicts the frustrating, overwhelming and often painful process of traveling from youth toward adulthood.” —Publishers Weekly
Calling Home
An Edgar Award Nominee
“An exquisitely crafted work … of devastating impact.” —The Horn Book
“Probably the truest portrait of a teenaged alcoholic we’ve had in young adult fiction.” —The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
“Readers … will never forget the experience.” —Wilson Library Bulletin
“[Readers] will relate to the teen problems that lead to Peter’s substance abuse and the death of his best friend.” —Children’s Book Review Service
“Through the prism of descriptive poetic images, Peter reveals the dark details of his sleepwalking life.… An intriguing novel.” —School Library Journal
Daughter of the Wind
“Readers will enjoy the sensation of being swept to another time and place in this thrill-a-minute historical drama.” —Publishers Weekly
Edge
“Mesmerizing … This haunting, life-affirming novel further burnishes Cadnum’s reputation as an outstanding novelist.” —Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“A thought-provoking story full of rich, well-developed characters.” —School Library Journal
“Devastating.” —Booklist
“A psychologically intense tale of inner struggle in the face of tragedy.” —The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
Forbidden Forest
“Cadnum succeeds admirably in capturing the squalor and casual brutality of the times.” —Kirkus Reviews
Heat
“In this gripping look at family relationships Cadnum finds painful shades of gray for Bonnie to face for the first time; in her will to grasp the manner and timing of her healing is evidence that she is one of Cadnum’s most complex and enigmatic characters.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Compelling. Adopting the laconic style that gives so much of his writing its tough edge and adult flavor, Cadnum challenges readers with hard questions about the nature of fear and of betrayal.” —Publishers Weekly
In a Dark Wood
Los Angeles Times Book Prize Finalist
“A beautiful evocation of a dangerous age … Readers who lose themselves in medieval Sherwood Forest with Cadnum will have found a treasure.” —San Francisco Chronicle
“In a Dark Wood is a stunning tour de force, beautifully written, in which Michael Cadnum turns the legend of Robin Hood inside out. Cadnum’s shimmering prose is poetry with muscle, capturing both the beauty and brutality of life in Nottinghamshire. In a Dark Wood may well become that rare thing—an enduring piece of literature.” —Robert Cormier, author of The Chocolate War
“[T]his imaginative reexamination of the Robin Hood legend from the point of view of the Sheriff of Nottingham is not only beautifully written but is also thematically rich and peopled with memorable multidimensional characters.” —Booklist
“Cadnum’s blend of dry humor, human conflict and historical details proves a winning combination in this refreshing twist on the Robin Hood tale.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
“A complex, many-layered novel that does not shirk in its description of [the period], and offers an unusually subtle character study and a plot full of surprises.” —The Horn Book
The King’s Arrow
“The King’s Arrow is an adventure story full of color and romance, as resonant as a fable, told in clear, clean, swift prose. A wonderful read.” —Dean Koontz
Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice
“Cadnum (Starfall: Phaeton and the Chariot of the Sun) once again breathes life into classic mythological figures.… Skillfully creating a complex, multidimensional portrait of Orpheus (as well as of other members of the supporting cast, including Persephone and Sisyphus), Cadnum brings new meaning to an ancient romance.” —Publishers Weekly
“Another excellent retelling of one of Ovid’s mythical tales. This well-written version is a much fuller retelling than that found either in Mary Pope Osborne’s Favorite Greek Myths or Jacqueline Morley’s Greek Myths. The story is a powerful one, delivered in comprehensible yet elevated language, and is sure to resonate with adolescents and give them fodder for discussion.” —School Library Journal
Raven of the Waves
“[A] swashbuckling … adventure set in the eighth century, Cadnum (In a Dark Wood) shows how a clash of cultures profoundly affects two distant enemies: a young Viking warrior and a monk’s apprentice.” —Publishers Weekly
“Convey[s] a sense of what life might have been like in a world where danger and mystery lurked in the nearest woods; where cruelty was as casual as it was pervasive; where mercy was real but rare; and where the ability to sing, or joke—or even just express a coherent thought—was regarded as a rare and valuable quality … Valuable historical insight, but it’s definitely not for the squeamish.” —Booklist
“Hard to read because of the gruesome scenes and hard to put down, this book provokes strong emotions and raises many fascinating questions.” —School Library Journal
Rundown
“Deep, dark, and moving, this is a model tale of adolescent uneasiness set amid the roiling emotions of modern life.” —Kirkus Review
“Cadnum demonstrates his usual mastery of mood and characterization in this acutely observed portrait.” —Booklist
Ship of Fire
“Brimming with historical detail and ambience, this fact-paced maritime adventure will surely please devotees of the genre.” —School Library Journal
Starfall: Phaeton and the Chariot of the Sun
“Cadnum (In a Dark Wood) once again displays his expertise as a storyteller as he refashions sections of Ovid’s Metamorphoses into a trilogy of enchanting tales. Readers will feel Phaeton’s trepidation as he journeys to meet his father for the first time, and they will understand the hero’s mixture of excitement and dread as he loses control of the horses. [Cadnum] humanize[es] classical figures and transform[s] lofty language into accessible, lyrical prose; he may well prompt enthusiasts to seek the original source.” —Publishers Weekly
Taking It
“Cadnum keeps readers on the edge of their seats.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Cadnum stretches the literary boundaries of the YA problem novel. This one should not be missed.” —Booklist, starred review
Zero at the Bone
“Riveti
ng … [an] intense psychological drama.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Much more frightening than a generic horror tale.” —Booklist, starred review
“A painful subject, mercilessly explored.” —Kirkus Reviews
The King’s Arrow
Michael Cadnum
for Sherina
Blue water,
red bird—
I could never
forget to tell you
FOREWORD
The name of Walter Tirel is a part of the historical record, and the role he played in the violence suffered by King William II is also well established.
But mystery veils everything about the man. The events that led up to the fateful bow shot are likewise unknown. Nothing is recalled of Walter Tirel’s possible motives for conspiring against the king—if that is what he did. Little is known of his escape, and even less is known about the man’s character, or the nature of his associates—or of any particular friend who might have helped him.
This novel seeks to resolve one of the longest-standing mysteries in the English-speaking world. Did anyone accompany Walter Tirel on his desperate flight? Who helped him? What really happened in New Forest that day?
In this story many of the characters are fictional. But the hunt and the crisis that followed are real.
ONE
The Javelin’s Song
1
The stallion was afraid of shadows.
He danced sideways at the glimpse of a cloud sailing in a puddle, and tossed his mane at the sight of a grasshopper preening on a shaft of rye. His own silhouette spilling across the cart ruts made him snort and tear the road with his hooves, like an animal who wanted to fight something—anything—as soon as possible.
“Easy, Bel,” said Simon, although the stallion gave no sign of knowing his own name.
There was real danger that Simon might fall off, despite the fact that he was supported from behind by the saddle’s high cantle, and his feet were thrust into war stirrups. Bel took a deep, house-wide breath and held it, trying to loosen the saddle and dump Simon into the nearest puddle.
Simon hung on. The horse and all the leather trappings were for sale, if Simon could part with enough silver. The stallion would prove expensive, Simon feared, and he knew his mother could ill afford the price. Nonetheless, he thought, why not dream of owning such a steed for a few moments more?
The mount was indeed bel—handsome. Simon could scarcely wait to ride back down to the river and let Gilda admire the sight of Bel and his lucky rider—maybe this time she would be outdoors and looking up toward the road. But he did not want to risk ending up in the river muck, tossed aside by his ever-inventive steed, who by then would have come up with a way of rubbing his rider off against the mossy masonry of a wall, or knocking Simon’s head off passing under Chad’s Cross, the old stone monument on the way to the village.
Swein the horse breeder had been right to suggest that Simon take the steed for an afternoon’s ride before he parted with precious metal. Now Bel was trying to take a chomp out of Blackfire, Certig’s stalwart gelding, and out of the venerable servant himself, who exclaimed, “My lord Simon, look how he shows off his teeth!”
“Did he hurt you, Certig?” asked Simon, concern in his voice. The horse had about nine hundred teeth, he thought—far more than was required for chewing oats or biting servants.
Certig was Simon’s manservant, and he had served Simon’s father in the same capacity. He was adept at caring for animals—washing the horses’ legs and mending buckles. In his earlier years he had been a sturdy companion and a good predictor of the weather.
“My lord,” said Certig, rubbing his arm, “he did come close.” Simon was concerned to see an expanding spot of blood on Certig’s sleeve, but before he could inquire further, Bel gave a warning snort.
A far-off figure sprinted away from the leafy canopy of New Forest.
Even at this distance Simon recognized Edric.
Simon had known the hunter since boyhood—he had given Simon a fox’s ear, for good luck. It was true that Edric was little better than a poacher, making his living by setting illegal snares in the king’s forest. But he had a ready laugh and a pleasant singing voice, a delight to all who heard it.
Simon did not like the way Edric was running, like a man who had seen his own death. The cunning huntsman was running as hard as anyone could, tossing aside a handful of crossbow bolts to make his stride lighter.
Three horsemen broke from the verge of the woodland behind him. Prince Henry, King William Rufus’s younger brother, was in the lead, urging, “A coite, coite!”—commanding his companions to spur their mounts.
Riding just behind the prince was Roland Montfort, the royal marshal, carrying a javelin, its iron point winking in the afternoon sun. The javelin was a spear with a leather loop attached to the shaft. The loop provided greater power to the throwing arm, but most men found the weapon hard to fling accurately from horseback.
Trailing behind was Oin the royal huntsman, riding like a man in no great hurry to overtake his quarry. Too far back, Simon believed, to restrain the marshal.
Edric fell to the ground far ahead of them, hidden by the windswept gorse. The horsemen did not see him for the moment, and they reined in their horses, struggling to control their mounts, pointing: there, no—there.
Edric crouched unseen to them under a flat, half-tilted stone, the fragment of some monument left by ancient folk, or—some believed—by supernatural beings still resident in the woods.
Stay, Simon warned him mentally, trying to send the message like a sling stone.
Edric, stay where you are.
He could call out to the prince—Spare Edric, if you please, my lord prince.
But the words froze in him. Simon had never spoken to the prince, and he had certainly never met King William, although on other summers he had watched from afar as the red-haired monarch rode back to his lodge, drunk in the saddle from a day hunting deer.
During the twelve years of his reign, the king and his brother nearly always visited New Forest during the fat season, the late summer weeks when the rutting roe deer were prime. Despite its name, New Forest was as old as any other natural wild land. It got its designation from the fact that the old king, William the Conqueror, had claimed the place as his own within living memory, stripping the fields away from many of their traditional inhabitants. The forest, located along the coast in the extreme south of England, was dotted with a few long-established hamlets, but under law it was almost entirely given over to royal sport.
Simon had never dreamed of hunting in such a place. He was the son of a Norman officer and an English noblewoman. To a Norman man-at-arms Simon looked every inch the Englishman, while to a local shepherd he resembled a foreign lord. It was true that both king’s men and field hands always spared him a smile and a kind word. But Simon faced a future of divided happiness, knowing too much of both English umbrage and Norman self-importance to feel at home in either camp.
Now Edric broke from his cover, and began to run again.
Saddle girths creaked, and snaffle bits jingled, the horse furnishings giving out rhythmic complaints as the riders closed in on the fugitive.
Simon called, “Flee, Edric, like a buck hare!”
Edric did as he was told, sprinting with a will, but right in the direction of Simon and his retainer. As the poacher reached the crest of the field, so close Simon could see the sweat on his face, Bel decided to play a role in events.
The steed did not plunge or fight the reins or shy—shy and stay where he was as many a horse would have done. Perhaps the roan took a particular offense at the sight of Edric’s fowling weapon, the crossbow beating a steady rhythm at the hunter’s side, or at his tattered sleeves, streaming behind as the poacher flew. Or perhaps the horse was a creature of such spirit that he could take one glance at the fugitive and decide he did not like the angle of the freedman’s cap.
Simon was powerless to st
op him. The stallion hurried to meet the approaching runner and lunged. He flattened his ears and attacked, snapping the air by Edric, and snapping again, and getting a good mouthful of the yeoman’s shoulder.
Edric fell.
The horse had hurt Edric. As he struggled to his feet, Bel shifted his heavy hooves and blocked Edric’s escape, even as he presented Simon to the possibility of danger.
The royal marshal powered his javelin high into the air as Simon tugged at the reins, moving to block Certig from danger, and putting his own body in the likely path of the spear.
2
The javelin hummed, a surprisingly low sound, like the approach of a large moth.
The weapon descended with a gathering speed, its sound increasingly high-pitched—and shockingly close to Simon. When it lanced home the projectile was—at that last instant—invisible. And then suddenly it was all too visible once again, the wooden shaft erupting from the back of a struggling mortal like a long, wooden extension of the poacher’s backbone.
Edric reached out for a support that was not there—a staff, perhaps, or the arm of a vanished friend. He reached to cling to Bel’s bridle and missed. He fell to the ground. Simon knew that the injury was grievous, but wanted to believe that shock and suddenness would render Edric insensible to the pain.
“Quiet yourself, dear Edric,” exclaimed Simon, reaching down from his saddle to grasp the jutting shaft.
His gloved hand reached—but he could not bring himself to seize the shaft, thinking that the effort would only stir more agony in the man. The poacher hitched himself nearly double, trying to turn around, struggling to work his body inside out as Prince Henry approached.
Edric managed a final laugh—a bloody, ragged gash of a smile—as though the cruel joke was not lost on him: the poacher pinched.
Simon had once seen a woodcutter bleed to death from an accidental wound, and he had seen neighboring farmers sicken and fade despite the prayers of family and friends. But he had never seen a man die at the hands of another, certainly not as Edric was dying, the prince probing and stabbing with the weapon as the poor soul lay bleeding within the shadows of the horsemen.
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