Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  “I did already, and they were answered!” Ark slid the knife from his body as if it was merely a blade in a butcher’s block, dropping it out of Petronio’s reach. So that was what the bag of apples was for! How did Corwenna know? Maybe miracles did grow on trees!

  Ark’s hand shot out and grabbed Petronio’s wrist. “I don’t think my Diana’s forgiveness will do for you. Forgive those who tramp all over us? It’s a good ideal. But not this time. And especially not for my sister’s sake.” Ark finally knew what the raven-gift was for. He hoped that Hedd would be proud.

  “Ow!” squeaked Petronio, feeling a sudden pinprick in his palm.

  The phial had been needed after all. Corwenna had talked about a gift of death. Now all was clear. The raven feather hidden up his sleeve served up its awful purpose. It had delivered a single drop of a liquid now eager for living veins of blood. “I learned much in the school of the wood. You presume that the trees are dumb. But they are not.”

  Petronio tried to release Ark’s grip, but the fingers were like leeches. What gibberish was the boy talking? Too much time in the sewers had turned his mind to muck. Why couldn’t the King’s soldiers get him away from this maniac? He was happy to be arrested, to plead the bad influence of his father in court. The sudden tingling in his hand distracted him.

  “I was warned about the misuse of power,” Ark continued. “But there’s a time and a place. This is both.” His eyes also fell onto Petronio’s hand, watching as the fat fingertips began first to darken, then to wrinkle. Corwenna had said the trees had armed themselves. Now he knew how.

  “Hey! Let go of me!” screamed Petronio as a feeling of intense, sustained agony began to creep up his fingers, as if they were being sandpapered from the inside.

  “It will be over soon!” The wrinkles crept up over Petronio’s palm and up his wrist. He tried to move, but Ark’s grip was tighter still.

  Petronio felt fear then. Real fear for the first time. His bladder gave way and a warm trickle ran down his leg. “It looks like … bark!” he screeched.

  “Oh, good boy. They taught you well!” Ark hissed. This was what the phial truly held: the living essence of every Arborian tree. The seed contained within this liquid was unstoppable.

  Petronio’s lower arm was turning to wood. He could even see beetles and ants crawling over what was left of his hand and tiny buds forming at his former fingertips. Soon, it would reach over his shoulder, toward his heart. And then …

  “And then,” said Ark, “at least you’ll be of some use. Maybe a nice chair. Or a couple of planks. Good-bye, Petronio!” Ark knew he was now no better than this conscience-free thug. But the boy was a parasite endangering all the wild places of the heart. Ark had no choice.

  “Deluded Dendrans! We are not beaten yet!” Fenestra suddenly shouted. What could she possibly do now? Her forces were decimated and their leader a gibbering wreck. She turned toward Ark.

  “I shall have your head displayed in a cube of glass. What you did to the Commander was unforgivable!”

  Ark was no longer frightened of the envoy. “No, my lady. It was the Commander who broke all bonds of trust. As for your threat, I look forward to the attempt.” This was ridiculous, parrying words with a defeated woman.

  Good. Ark’s mind was now concentrated elsewhere. Even as his arm was turning solid, Petronio felt the breeze of opportunity, hoped the envoy could keep Ark talking. By his feet lay a discarded sword. The fingers that lay curled around the hilt would no longer need it in this world or the next. But he did. Petronio suddenly leaned forward and grabbed at the sword with his free hand.

  The bark had crept beyond Petronio’s elbow, freezing all that was below into a gnarled wooden carving. It felt like his tendons were being torn in half, then remade into grain and splinter. A slight moan escaped his lips. He was terrified, not of dying but from knowing what he had to do next. The sword felt unfamiliar, wrong-handed.

  “You will kill me again?” Ark asked.

  “No!” screamed Petronio, the adrenaline flying through his veins. Did he have the courage? Only one way to find out as the sword swung up and around in a swift arc, straight toward his arm. “No!” screamed Petronio again as the well-honed blade did as it was told, snicking at skin, severing tendons and shearing through bone until all that Ark held in his hands was a half-wooden, half-bleeding limb that had once belonged to Petronio Grasp.

  It was hard to tell who was more shocked. Petronio swayed on the spot, the sword in his remaining hand challenging anyone nearby as blood poured from the stump of his upper arm. He retreated toward Fenestra. “Stay away!” he snarled to his enemies.

  The other soldiers stepped back, half admiring the mad courage of a lad who was willing to hack off his own arm to save his life.

  Now it was the envoy’s turn to act. She was standing right by the trapdoor that had sprung two soldiers into the air. A breeze blew through the gap, sweetening the already stale scent of blood. She reached toward the boy and wrapped him almost tenderly in her long arms.

  She paused briefly. “Mark my words. Maw will crush your tiny country! This is but the beginning!” With that, she stepped out into the hole made by the trapdoor spring. Then they were gone.

  Mucum ran forward, but the hole had swallowed them almost as if they had never been. The other soldiers were already clustered around, annoyed that the figurehead of the invasion had so easily escaped them.

  “Nothing would survive that fall!” one of them muttered.

  Ark strode over, his sharp eyes peering down. Below lay a sheer drop, broken only by the odd branches radiating out like spokes on a wagon wheel. In the dark, he could not be sure, but was that the envoy’s cloak flaring out around her as they plummeted down? Never mind. They were no threat now.

  “Are you all right, mate?” Mucum was breathing heavily, trying not to take in the destruction all around them.

  “I think so. How’s Little Squirt?”

  Mucum had already carried his groaning friend over to where the King’s surgeon had gathered the injured. “‘E’ll live, and wiv a great scar to prove he’s a good ’un.”

  “I am glad.”

  “Good to see you’re well armed!”

  Ark looked down at the object still held in his hands. He let the remains of the limb clatter to the ground. “That is possibly one of the worst jokes I have ever heard!” he grimaced.

  “Well. You gotta laugh, really. Jes’ a bit of ’armless fun!”

  “Please. Stop now, or I might have to kill you!”

  A sudden panicked look entered Mucum’s eyes. “Oh no. In all the rush, I didn’t even think about her. Flo?” His eyes frantically searched around.

  “I saw … I mean … she was hit.”

  Mucum’s face crumpled.

  Ark pointed and his friend ran toward the edge of the cloisters just as the doors burst open and several Rootshooters entered, carrying a prone figure between them.

  “Flo!” cried Mucum, skidding on blood and feathers and squit as he ran over.

  The Rootshooters gently laid the figure down and that was when Mucum got the surprise of his life.

  The deathly pale girl opened one eye and winked at him. “Yow worry too much!” she whispered, obviously in pain.

  “You’re alive!” he said, kneeling down to take her hand.

  “That be a most obvious conclusion!” said Flo. “Oi thought that us ironworkers moight be doin’ with makin’ some body shields. Whoi, yow’d thought they’d never ‘eard of such things. What a malarkey, tryin’ to get them to forge something out of their ken. If only a few more of moi mates had worn ’em …”

  “What are you on about?” said Mucum. Big fat tears ran freely down his face.

  “Come here, silly. Look yow!” Flo lifted up her white shift.

  “Erm,” said Mucum, going bright red. “Are you sure this is the right place and time?”

  “Oh. Yow Dendrans are somewhat stupid sometimes! Look yow!” she insisted, lifting out a rectangle o
f iron from beneath her clothes with a very obvious dent in the middle. “Them strange sticks of glass didn’t stand a chance!”

  “Thank Diana!” He wasn’t normally one for prayers to Diana, and maybe she was Ark’s long-dead grandma. But his heart’s longing had been answered.

  “Oi am somewhat bruised, though! But look at yowr arm! There’s an arrow stuck in there! Yow needs medical attention.”

  Mucum looked down at the broken-off shaft. In the heat of battle, he’d forgotten all about the pain. Now it came roaring back.

  “But before them surgeons take yow off, will yow grant me one toiny request?”

  “Anything!” said Mucum, gritting his teeth to ignore the throbbing.

  “Yow made us a promise.”

  “I did?” Mucum looked confused.

  “Oh Goddess save us! Do Oi ’ave to spell it out?”

  “Err. I fink so….” What was she talking about?

  “That kiss yow were goin’ to give me!”

  “Oh. Right. That. Yeah.” Mucum was aware that everyone was staring at them. “Do I have to?”

  Flo’s face dropped. “Only if yow want to,” she said quietly.

  “Go on!” said a soldier nearby. “Otherwise we’ll have to kill you for being really stupid.”

  “Fair enough!” Even though he stank and was sweaty and his arm was about to drop off, he leaned over, feeling her lips growing ever closer.

  “At last!” said Ark.

  “Yuck!” Shiv shouted as she ran out from the shadows to cling on to her brave brother.

  Taking on rabid rats was a doddle compared to this. But finally, when his lips met Flo’s, Mucum thought they were softer than any down-deep mushroom.

  The kiss was honest, true, and very squelchy. A cheer went up, spreading out from the Rootshooters to the soldiers. Even the King, conferring with Ark, managed a smile.

  As Ark looked on, he found a whole strange broth of feelings mixed up in his breast. He should be glad for them both, but there was a tiny twinge of jealousy, though he’d never admit it.

  Flo finally broke off in more of a sob than a gasp of joy. “Oh! Oi am a fungus-eating, selfish tunnel bore!” she suddenly wailed. “All Oi wants is a bit of ‘appiness. Silly, silly me!” She beat at her breast as she turned toward the floor where a figure lay. A figure who would never wink, nor joke, nor tell her off again. “Moi daddy was not so lucky! Woe is ’ere rooted in moi shriveled-up heart!”

  Mucum grabbed the girl and held her tight in his big, rocking arms. She was right. There were many more families that night that would begin the dark passage of grief. And all because of the greed of a distant empire that was never satisfied.

  47• AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  Ark was good at holding his breath. Sometimes, there were clams to be had at the bottom of his local cruck pool. It was a boyhood competition. Who could dive the twenty feet to the bottom off the slippery moss edge and stay down the longest? The pool, high up in the trees, was fed by the roots a mile below, and when the water filtered up, it carried with it the spores of these tasty creatures. The trick was to scoop at the embedded clams, using your fingers like a comb before pushing them into a net bag. Once he reached the surface again, heaving air into his lungs, it was time to count the catch. The most clams won and Ark was still unbeaten.

  Today, the sun shone down as he broke the surface, dappling the water. There were already bare patches in the trees where the leaves had fallen. Those that remained were golden, almost see-through. And there were pockets of frost where frills of ice gilded the shadows. It was all change.

  “You’re mad!” said Mucum, sitting at the side of the pool and munching the last of the blackberries. “Cold water gives me the shivers!”

  “That’s the whole point!” Ark tingled all over, feeling the burn on his skin. Nothing would ever take away the stench of battle, the pitiful look in the Commander’s eyes as Ark crushed the man’s will. Had he done right?

  He suddenly heard a reassuring voice. “No. What you did was forged with necessary justice.”

  Ark looked around, to see a high-hare perched on a nearby branch, head cocked to one side as it studied the boy in the pool. Its brown ears quivered like a pair of antennae, then it bounded off and vanished into the forest. Ark grinned. He must be imagining things! But as he trod water, he felt cleansed, buoyed up by the trees, his eyes taking in the rich blue of sky above him.

  The fire pit was already up and running, stones lining a circular indentation at the edge of the pool. There’d been enough drama the last few weeks without setting fire to the forest. Ark threw the wet bag to Mucum and continued treading water. “Are you coming in, Shiv?”

  Shiv dabbled her toes at the edge and gave a resounding screech. “It’s chilly. Very chilly. My feet don’t like that horrid water!” Since the battle, and every time she saw Mucum, she followed him around like a scaffield lamb. Mucum had never had an honorary little sister before, and despite her regular tantrums, he felt decidedly tender toward the little twig.

  Flo looked up from chopping root mushrooms. “Oi think Oi’m getting used to all this daylight. ’Tis quite nice on moi skin, Oi thinks.”

  “You look as gorgeous as ever!” said Mucum.

  “Whoi, Oi love a good compliment. ’Tis the best food of all!” She suddenly fell silent as the shadow of her father clouded the scene.

  “Yer dad would’ve wanted you to be happy, eh?” Mucum did his best, but a bundle of words wouldn’t take away what was in her heart.

  She nodded, wiping a quick tear away. “Anyways, we be frying up a good feast of shrooms and clams. It’s gonna be a tasty one. Yow all hungry?”

  “Starving!” they chorused.

  “Ow!” cried Flo as the knife slipped.

  Ark saw a bright bead of blood gather at the tip of her thumb. For some reason, it made him feel uneasy, bringing back memories of the battle.

  Seconds later, as he finally climbed out of the pool and sat down by the edge to dry himself off, he saw the water ripple out and felt a breeze ruffle his hair.

  Then the sun was eclipsed by a black, feathered shadow.

  “Oh no!” cried Ark as a huge raven, claws extended, descended directly toward them. History was repeating itself. He didn’t even have time to send out his thoughts, to try and deflect this too swift, instinctive threat.

  As Shiv opened her mouth to scream and Flo put up her arms in defense and Mucum dived toward his girlfriend to protect her, the bird closed in.

  Ark shut his eyes, unwilling to see his friend snatched from the branch.

  Instead of a scream, there was a flutter of wings, then silence. Ark peeked through his fingers to see a raven balanced on the branchway near the fire pit. It was preening its already glossy black feathers.

  “Is this the kind of welcome I receive?”

  Four shocked faces took in the figure sliding off the back of the raven. Black clothes and dark skin made the perfect camouflage. It was as if part of the raven had peeled away and come to life.

  “Corwenna?” said Ark. He still couldn’t call her Mother. That was a step too far. But why had she left the Ravenwood?

  “I think I still have that name!” she replied.

  There was an awkward silence between them. But suddenly, Corwenna knew she could not hide behind her usual haughtiness. She bent over and grabbed Ark to hug him tight. “Well done, my Ark!” she whispered for his ears only. “I knew you could do it.”

  Ark melted into arms that had held their land together for so long. It felt safe but too, too brief.

  A few seconds later, she gently pushed him away and drew herself up to once again become Corwenna, Queen of the Ravens. “I can smell good food in the making. May I join you?”

  “You frightened my girl!” said Mucum.

  “Ah. Feisty to the last. It could only be you, companion of Arktorious.”

  “Yeah. Well. Could’ve let us know you were turnin’ up!”

  “I am sorry. So much has happened
and there was my feathered family to attend to.”

  The ravens had been decimated. It was a dark memory for all of them.

  Corwenna put on a brave smile. “But they live and they will breed again, though I miss my Hedd deeply.”

  Ark felt the wrench in his guts. When Hedd first plucked him from Petronio, the raven had been an enemy. By the end, he was much more than a respected companion. Ark still wondered what Hedd had meant about meeting again.

  “You will find out,” Corwenna whispered in answer to his thoughts.

  “Hedd was a good ’un,” said Mucum. “Took some guts to take on that flyin’ machine.”

  “Yes!” Corwenna sighed. “It did. By the way, this is Hedd, son of Hedd.”

  The bird looked down on them and then locked eyes with Ark. Ark instantly felt the raven’s pain and pride in his father. Ark’s thoughts went out with silent thanks for Hedd’s fatal bravery.

  Corwenna looked around. “I have not left what you Dendrans call the Ravenwood for many years. A week ago, I could not have made the journey, but my strength is returning. I think, thanks to you, this country beyond my nest feels different, less polluted with traitors’ thoughts.” She stared at the reflection of trees and sky in the water, then studied each of them in turn. “How are you all?” She sat cross-legged on the wood, her black petticoats spread out around her, making their own pool of feathers.

  Ark spoke up. “The King’s been pretty good, especially now that he’s seen how the other half lives and the rot that lay at the heart of Arborium. My dad …” He paused. Mr. Malikum had looked after him since he was little. It was right to call him that. “My dad has got some decent medicine for the first time. Quercus offered us an apartment near the court in the upper canopy, but I like the smell of my home for now. It’s good to be with my family again.”

  His mother had been overwhelmed with pride when she found out his role in saving Arborium. He couldn’t bear to tell her the truth about his origins, though he suspected she guessed more than she was letting on.