Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  “Wait up a sec!” Mucum stuck his hands on his hips. “I’ve gotta foller a boy ‘alf my size and he’s younger than me?”

  “By six months!” Corwenna laughed. “Does that amount of time make you a master of wisdom?”

  “Nah. I was jes’ sayin’ …”

  “And when the trees speak, even Corwenna obeys. It has been ordained since the day he was made. Think of it as the perfect combination of brains and brawn.”

  Flo squeezed Mucum’s shoulder. What was the point in arguing? “And Oi can speak for all us Rootshooters to say we be on yowr side!”

  “I’m not sure,” said Ark. He’d never thought of himself as a leader before.

  “Being certain of your ability would take half the fun out of it.” Corwenna spoke lightly, even though she could see the dangers ahead. “And I have faith in you.”

  Strange, thought Ark. That’s just what Warden Goodwoody would have said. A reverend and the Queen of the Ravens in agreement. The wood really was going topsy-treevy.

  Corwenna nodded. “Maybe those prayers were heard. The answer lies not in miracles, but in action!”

  Ark thought of how he’d lived a whole lifetime in the last few days alone. “Well. I’ve come this far. I’m not going to give up now.”

  Mucum finally gave in. “Oh, all right, then, count me in. Jes’ don’t expect me to call yer sir!”

  “Now there’s an idea,” said Ark. “Sir has a rather lovely ring to it!”

  Corwenna clapped her hands with glee. “The trees feed on light, and so have you, young Malikum. I do believe this intense young man is finally lightening up! Trust me, humor should be part of your armory.”

  “Flippin’ fungus!” Mucum complained. “Not only is ‘e gonna tell me what to do, but I also ’ave to laugh at ‘is sappy jokes?”

  “Sounds about right!” Ark grinned.

  “I have grown fond of your stubbornness, young Master Gladioli, but I suggest you start thinking seriously about what lies ahead of you.” The quiet menace in her tone was unmistakable.

  Mucum got the message. “Righty-ho, Yer Maj! We finally gonna ’ave a proper fight?”

  “Yes.” Corwenna sighed, keeping her fears to herself. Ark was hers. Wasn’t it a mother’s duty to keep her child safe? But if the foundling boy could not face the ultimate danger, Arborium would be lost.

  Ark tied the leather necklace around his throat to secure the phial. Where the bottle rested, his skin felt itchy and clammy. It was impossible. But so was everything that had happened since he’d overheard the plot.

  Shiv jumped up and down with excitement. “Can we have a battle. A big one. Please?”

  “Oh yeah!” said Mucum, crunching his knuckles. “About buddy time!”

  38• PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

  Fenestra’s words echoed around Petronio’s head. I will never again treat you as a mere messenger. Then what was he doing creeping home, every footstep accompanied by a nagging ache in his chest?

  His recovery had been remarkable. In the School For Surgeons, he’d seen what happened with chest wounds; the gangrenous pus that oozed from the flesh bringing with it a stench unlike any other; the onset of fever; and the raving hallucinations as the patient was tied down. All perfect for students to observe the predictable rictus of death in all its glory. Few recovered, but the students passed their exams with distinction.

  Instead, he’d been conscious within hours, fully functional the following day. The training with Fenestra’s right-hand man, Heckler, had been a welcome distraction. Now he was almost on form again.

  “It’s all about money, young Grasp. Do you not agree?” Fenestra had teased him, dangling a leather bag filled with the chink of foreign gold. “And your father’s men will play a crucial part. Make sure they receive it and they know what is required of them.”

  “I haven’t let you down before, have I?”

  “No. You are a most faithful” — Fenestra was about to use the word servant but realized it would not do — “ally. Guard it with your life. If they are not paid, they will see no reason to take up our modernizing cause. This” — she held up one of the ingots so that it caught and flashed in the sun — “is the only language that will reach inside and pluck my wishes from their bodies.” She spoke as if it wasn’t just wishes she wanted, but raw, bleeding hearts.

  Fenestra had insisted he take no foreign weaponry. If he were to be stopped by a royal patrol, a simple body search would give the game away. He thought she had no idea of his nighttime thievery. What nestled within his doublet was both wise and practical protection.

  This morning, the world was turning brown beneath his feet, as if every leaf that grew was curling up to go to sleep. He was alone, or thought he was until he spotted two black blots hovering in a blue sky. He only glimpsed them out of the corner of his eye before one of the shapes resolved itself into a mass of charcoal-feathered muscle streaming toward him. The intention was plain.

  Petronio only had time for the briefest of thoughts. Ravens normally attack only when they scent blood. Oh! Of course. He looked down to see his doublet had gained a new patch of color as he walked. One of the stitches must have given way. He was leaking, and this lonely spot on the abandoned outskirts of the city was far from safety and shelter.

  The bird drew its wings back, slamming into reverse as its claws reached toward a nice, fleshy morsel of meat. The raven was confident and that was its undoing. Since when did a Dendran fight back? Such action would be sacrilege, a monstrous act in the eyes of the Holly Woodsmen.

  Petronio didn’t give a twig for fusty superstition. In one swift movement, he twisted around on the woodway to face his attacker. As the claws stretched out to rip into skin and bone, he snatched the g-gun 100 from his doublet, flicked the safety catch, and squeezed the trigger. The bird didn’t even get a warning, as the tiny splinter of keen glass almost silently found its target. It traversed the air in a split second, burrowed through feathers, pierced skin, and smashed its way around several internal organs before exiting the bird’s body.

  The raven screeched. It was already dead, even though its brain had not yet received the message. The wings flapped out in an ungainly manner, all flight gone as the corpse plummeted toward the forest canopy.

  Petronio heard sounds of cracking, several thumps. Then silence. He stared at the g-gun in his hand, marveling that a machine so small could dispense death on such a magnificent scale. Oh yes. The Empire of Maw had much to offer.

  “Come on, then!” he shouted up at the sky where the other raven circled uncertainly. “I’ll take the lot of you!”

  The bird chose wisdom rather than death, wheeling away from the monster with blazing eyes and deadly treasure in its hands.

  The boy laughed out loud. With the simple pressing of one finger, Petronio Grasp had killed a raven and made history. The tables were turning.

  He stowed the g-gun, his mood immeasurably better. Who was lord of the forest now? The sun shone down in agreement as he strolled the autumnal byways, finally sneaking into the back entrance of what no longer felt like home.

  He had no desire to bump into his father. The man would only scowl. Petronio headed for the dungeons.

  “Halt? Who goes there?”

  “Why are you squeaking, Alnus?”

  Alnus coughed, wondering if he’d ever recover from Mucum’s well-aimed kick between his legs. “I’m not. You can’t go farther, Master Grasp.” If the boy or his father found out that Mucum had escaped, Alnus would be shortly walking the plank.

  Petronio hadn’t been called Master for a while, even though the words were tinged with sarcasm. “Why?”

  “Err. The little girl and the boy. Ill. Very, very ill. Might be a bad case of color!”

  “You mean cholera?”

  “That’s the one. They’re under kworro … kworry …”

  “Quarantine. Let’s hope they don’t die, eh?”

  Alnus almost fainted with relief. The lie had saved him and Salix, for now.


  Petronio was rather pleased. With Ark dead, and his troublemaker mate sick, what could go wrong? “I’ve something for you.” He pulled the purse out of his pocket and as Alnus leaned forward, he loosened the tie. He neglected to mention that the purse was not as heavy as when Fenestra had entrusted it to him.

  “What’s this for?” Alnus sniffed suspiciously as if gold had its own perfume.

  “Tomorrow at the Harvest Festival, my father will make sure that the King’s personal bodyguards are replaced by you and Salix. The rest is pretty obvious, if you get my drift.”

  Alnus normally didn’t have time for Petronio, but the sight of all that glittering treasure was enough to make him forget all his resentments.

  “You want us to …?”

  Petronio peered up and down the corridor anxiously. “Do I have to spell it out?”

  Alnus shook his head.

  “This is for now. There’s more when the deed is done.” Petronio explained the plan and finally handed over the purse. “And don’t mention to my father that you saw me.” Was this even his home anymore? He’d been treated more like a son by the envoy of Maw than he ever had by his dismissive father. When Fenestra left after the battle was won, Petronio was suddenly determined to go with her.

  Alnus grinned. Seeing as Salix wasn’t around, he wondered if there was a way to divide the spoils in his favor. Maybe it was time to move out of that hovel of his, get himself a girl, and settle down. With such rewards, he could even have his rotten teeth replaced. The future truly was golden!

  39• COMMUNION

  Corwenna put her arm around Ark’s shoulders and guided him to the door. She briefly turned her head back to look at the others. “Be patient. It is not quite time to leave yet.”

  The door opened and Corwenna disappeared. Ark was by himself on the woodway. But he wasn’t alone. Above him, roosting in the branches and rising up in a thousand serried ranks, the guardians of the Ravenwood looked down at the boy. Glittering eyes bored into him, waiting.

  Why had Corwenna pushed him out here? It was another of her tests, he was sure of that, but what to do?

  Then it came to him. What had Mucum said? A Raven Air Force. Perhaps with their help they could really do this! But the ravens were creatures with minds of their own. He must convince them. That’s what Corwenna was demanding of him.

  Then, before he had a chance to speak, a thought came toward him, borne on the soft breeze. The words were stilted, as if formed by mouths that had no lips to shape them: One of kin lost today. Boy Grasp. Spear of glass. Danger.

  With the words came pictures: A brave bird flying through the sky, aiming toward Petronio. The sudden shock as a shining shard shot through the air. And the pain felt by every single bird as one of their brethren plummeted down into the depths.

  They were communicating with him.

  Ark focused his mind and answered: I am sorry for your loss. Together we can avenge your honor. I promise it. Anger rose up inside him. Killing a sacred bird? Petronio had broken the oldest unwritten law.

  Silence. Maybe the birds were studying a scrawny boy and seeing the hopeless nothing that he was. He felt the mass of them weighing the branches down, their brute force, the lure of the dark. Yet behind all this, a fierce, unwavering nobility.

  It was up to him to ask the question, to tell them what he now was. He stared back at the shining, fathomless eyes, calming the tremor that ran through his body: I am Arktorious Malikum, sewage worker. But I am also son of Corwenna, Ark of the trees. I have faced my fears. And will do so again. Will you help us fight the danger of Maw? Are you with me?

  Silence again. Ark wondered if he’d failed, if the ravens would dismiss his boldness as arrogance. A single bird bent its beak to its breast and plucked a parasitic tick the size of a clenched fist from deep within its feathers. The offending insect was crushed within its claws.

  A screech shattered the still air. Ark turned. It was Hedd, elder of the flock, whose thoughts now spoke for all the raven brood. Yes. Boy born of wood. We are with you. To the end.

  Relief washed over Ark. He bowed deeply, in gratitude.

  Hedd continued: Listen. We are eyes of Corwenna. We move like night. Better than night. We spy something that worries. Man of stone. Flint his name. Heart empty as hollow tree. His army is on move. He is traitor, boy of wood. Look.

  A white moth suddenly spiraled down through the air and landed in Ark’s outstretched hands, where it unfolded into a sheet of creased vellum. Ark turned it over, excited fingers tracing out the scratching of ink-filled quills. It was a map of the castle and much, much more. Times, dates, schemes of dark deeds written out as plain as day.

  Hedd screeched one more time. Be brave. Be bold. And with that, the sky suddenly darkened with feathers, and a furious wind pinned Ark to the woodway. He blinked his eyes and the Ravenwood was empty, its branches bare.

  Ark studied the map and drank in the foul words inscribed on it. In his head, a plan began to unfurl like a spring leaf. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible after all.

  The following day dawned gray and unpromising. As Ark, Mucum, and Shiv stood outside, a chill wind funneled through the forest, picking at their clothes with sharp fingers. Flo had returned a day earlier to prepare the Rootshooters.

  Corwenna closed the door behind her. “Come. You have been fed. Here are provisions.” She passed a bag to Mucum. “Ark, I return this to you.” Corwenna handed over the feather that only a few days ago he’d tried to kill her with. “And little, brave Shiv, this gift might be small, but it is most useful.”

  “Candy!” she guessed, sniffing the tiny wrapper. “I like candy!”

  “Naturally. I wouldn’t want your throat to be sore at the wrong moment!” Corwenna smiled.

  A dull light leaked through the leaves. Hedd stared down at them from his perch and made a clicking noise with his beak. Ark sensed the bird’s thoughts. Fear for the future. But Hedd’s oath to Ark was as strong as the branch that supported him. The raven turned his head sideways, a single glittering eye studying Ark.

  It was time for yet more introductions.

  “Hedd, Mucum. Mucum, Hedd,” said Ark.

  Mucum turned to the creature in question. How did he address a vicious monster? Here, birdie, birdie wasn’t quite right under the circumstances. “Err …?” He looked at Ark desperately.

  Hedd continued staring at him.

  Ark could feel the creature’s enjoyment of Mucum’s discomfort. “I think what Mucum is trying to say is, would you mind giving us a lift home?”

  Mucum nodded. “What he said.”

  Corwenna crossed her arms. “He doesn’t mind. Up you go.”

  Mucum tried to climb up the huge mound of the bird’s back. After much slipping and inventive swearing, he managed to hook his legs over, but not before Hedd squawked a few times in protest. “Sorry, Mr. Raven! Didn’t mean to kick yer in the guts. Yer know, I don’t fink this is such a brill idea!” Mucum protested as he held on for dear life.

  “Arktorious is right. You could win prizes for complaining!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Mucum held his arm out and pulled Shiv, then Ark, up.

  “By the way, hold on tight! And remember, the future lies in your hands now!” Tears threatened the edge of her eyes. But since when did a queen show her sorrows?

  Corwenna swept up her left hand, giving the signal for takeoff. The bird flapped its huge wings, once, twice, three times.

  “Up, up, and away!” screamed Shiv with delight as she burrowed down deep into the soft feathers.

  Then they were airborne. Mucum nearly slid off as they rose up, his knees gripping the body like a horse.

  “Grab me waist!” he screamed to Ark as the wind threatened to tear them away. At least Corwenna could have given them a pair of reins.

  The bird screeched and wheeled off to the east, toward Hellebore and the unknown.

  40• PREPARATION IS THE KEY

  It was the day of the Harvest Festival and the sky wa
s dark blue, hinting at the winter that lay ahead. Mucum and Shiv were on an errand, and even Mucum had to admit that Ark’s plan was a good one. Already, the Ravenwood was a distant dream. It was time to stop running away.

  Mucum lifted Shiv onto his shoulders. “Look, girl! The forest’s on fire!”

  Shiv squealed with delight, the bright afternoon sun adding to the color as every tree decked out its leaves in reds, browns, and glittering golds. Crowds were out, all off to Barkingham Palace for the festival. Adults waved about huge nets attached to bamboo canes, hoping to bag a few falling leaves, and children jumped into Council leaf piles stored up on the woodways. The mounds were ready to be recycled into paper, roofing material, and clothes. The cool autumn air filled with expectation and laughter. “Can we make a lantin?”

  “Sorry, sweet pea. No can do. We’re in a bit of a rush.” The thought of missing the lantern parade was a killer. Like Shiv, he’d grown up learning to stitch the leftover leaves into the shapes of full moons, chariots, boats, and miniature trees. With candles on sticks inside, they turned the paths of Arborium into a glowing river of light as the dusk came on.

  Tonight, the Harvest Festival wasn’t about celebration, but danger. If they didn’t get a move on, the King would be dead before the night was out, and tomorrow would dawn over an endangered land. The sewage station looked as rickety as ever. Mucum paused to sniff the air.

  “It’s stinky!” said Shiv, holding her nose.

  Mucum nodded. How he’d missed the pong of honest poo! He pushed open the creaking door. Several faces swiveled in his direction. Mucum put his fingers to his lips as he stalked over to the raised corner of the room, gently putting Shiv down so he could attend to the job in hand.

  Jobby Jones resembled a lump of quivering lard, wheezing snores erupting from his open mouth as his dreams took him far from the scent of raw sewage.

  “Wakey, wakey, boss!” Mucum snarled as he took a bucket of yellow-colored liquid and poured it all over the fat man’s face.