Forest of Wonders

by Linda Sue Park

  Chancellor Leeds stood in the doorway to the dining room. She was a tall woman of striking looks. Her skin was smooth and tan, and she had green eyes and silver hair like a cloud around her head. Solidly built, with a regal bearing, she wore a simple cream-colored tunic and matching trousers. In her presence, Raffa suddenly felt like—what was it Trixin had called him?—a country lumpkin.

  The Chancellor greeted them warmly. Then Garith said, “Are we eating soon? I’m all hollow!” Seeing how easy Garith was with her, Raffa decided to try and relax, too.

  She led the way to the dining room. Before they were seated, Ansel explained Kuma’s absence, and the Chancellor called for one of the fine place settings to be removed. She directed them to their seats, Ansel at her side across from the boys.

  “If you would please remain completely silent for the next few moments,” she said, her eyes bright with a secret smile. “No matter what happens.”

  Then she raised her pointer finger high in the air. “Beak, deliver!”

  Four chickadees flitted in from a doorway across the room. In their beaks they held silver balls the size of small plums, which they dropped onto the brass serving charger in front of each diner.

  The balls landed with a barely audible thud, and Raffa saw that they were made of a shiny, tissue-thin fabric, crushed and wadded into shape. Before he could even draw a breath, one of the chickadees landed on the edge of his charger. With its little beak, it began pecking at the fabric ball.

  Raffa sat transfixed by what the chickadee was doing. Only at the last moment did he notice that something seemed a bit different about the bird. What was it, exactly? Before he could examine it more closely, it gave a triumphant chirp and flew off with the others.

  The bird had opened the fabric ball into a square—a napkin! Raffa looked up to see his surprise reflected in the delight on the faces of the other three. The Chancellor smiled and nodded but gestured for continued silence, then raised her finger again.

  “Ink, deliver!”

  This time, four crows flew in. They, too, alit on the edges of the chargers. Each crow placed something triangular on the napkin. It was made of pastry and gave off a tantalizing buttery, savory smell.

  Garith could no longer contain himself. “They’re mine! The crows are mine!” he almost shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  His outburst startled the crows: Some flapped, others squawked, and the one on Raffa’s plate did both, then tumbled off its perch. As it righted itself, Raffa’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

  The crow’s eyes were purple.

  Like Echo’s! But what did it mean? Purple eyes, the same as Echo’s . . . It couldn’t be just a coincidence.

  Then he realized that Echo’s eyes had been black before. Their color had changed after Raffa treated him; it was the scarlet vine that had caused the transformation. If Garith was treating these birds, their purple eyes could mean only one thing: He was already using the vine!

  But why hadn’t he told Raffa when they talked about the vine earlier? Ask Da, he’d said. . . . And with all the excitement, Raffa had completely forgotten to talk to Uncle Ansel about it.

  Then another thunderclap of a thought shook him: Could the crows talk?

  All this occurred to Raffa in a mere blink of time; meanwhile, the Chancellor was responding to Garith. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said, smiling broadly, “to show your father and cousin the results of your fine work.”

  “There’s more to be done,” Ansel said. “They still get distracted by loud noises.”

  “Yes, but it was a steady good show!” Garith said proudly.

  If indeed the crows had the power of speech, wouldn’t that have been part of the demonstration? Certainly, Garith would have wanted to boast of it. Raffa’s best guess was that Echo’s ability remained unique. But what that meant about the scarlet vine’s properties and effects was still a mystery—one that he was determined to solve.

  The Chancellor raised her finger in the air again. “Ink, away!” she said.

  Everyone watched as the crows rose into the air and flapped out of the room.

  “Now, Senior Vale . . . As we discussed?”

  Ansel cleared his throat importantly. “Raffa,” he said. “The Chancellor is doing you a great honor. We have been hard at work on a special secret project, and I have convinced her that you should be told about it.”

  A secret project? Raffa’s eyes widened. He glanced at the Chancellor, who was looking straight at him. “I confess that on meeting you just now, I was surprised,” she said. “You seem . . . rather young.”

  Raffa sat up as tall as he could. “I’m less than a year younger than Garith,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice respectful.

  “And when it comes to apothecary, you would think him the elder,” Ansel said, smiling.

  Garith scowled. The Chancellor saw his sour expression. “That would make him talented indeed,” she said. “Young Vale has done fine work here.”

  Her words seemed to placate Garith, whose face relaxed. “Chancellor, it’s true,” he said with a generous wave of his hand. “Raffa is quite good at apothecary.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” she replied. “I do hope he’ll be able to make a valuable contribution to our project. Please go on, Senior Vale.”

  Every hair on Raffa’s head bristled with indignation. Garith, patronizing him like that! And the Chancellor, doubting his abilities, talking about him as if he weren’t there! At least Uncle Ansel believed in him and was now looking at him earnestly.

  “As you may have guessed, nephew, the project has to do with the training of animals,” Ansel said. “It has been under way for several months now, and while the trainers have achieved some degree of success, progress has been slow and arduous.”

  “We decided to hire apothecaries,” the Chancellor said, “to develop infusions that will make the animals easier to train. And it’s already working. After Senior Vale developed a new infusion, the crows achieved more in a few days than in the entire month previous.”

  The vine . . . already being used in such a new way! Raffa almost bounced in his chair with excitement. This was what he had been hoping for! Uncle Ansel’s daring attitude meant progress in bold strides, not stutters and shuffles.

  “The birds you saw tonight are only the beginning,” the Chancellor continued. “Imagine the possibilities. Not just pretty tricks but real work. If we succeed as we have envisioned, we can free people for more noble employment, while animals take over the most odious and drudging of tasks.”

  What an astonishing idea! Raffa had never imagined apothecary being put to such a use. “But why is it a secret?” he asked.

  The Chancellor’s expression grew sober. “We fully expect to succeed at our endeavor,” she said. “But there are still problems to be worked out. I’m sure you can understand that we do not wish to announce the project publicly until we are assured of its flawless execution.”

  That made sense. Responsible apothecaries never announced new treatments until at least a dozen trials proved them sound, so Raffa could understand and respect the Chancellor’s desire for prudence.

  “Now, I know you must have many more questions,” the Chancellor said, “but it has already been a long day. Vale, I trust you will show him everything he needs to know.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Ansel replied.

  The Chancellor raised her arms and spread them wide as if including them all in an invisible circle. “Welcome, young Santana,” she said. “Welcome to our project.”

  Raffa bowed his head over his joined fists, the traditional gesture of great respect.

  All through the rest of the meal and then on the walk back to the Vales’ apartment, Raffa’s mind was hum upon buzz. Now more than ever, he was determined to become one of the Commons apothecaries, so he could work with the vine in that wonderful laboratory, and then experiment still further.

  He would make new discoveries, and find his own path as an apothec
ary, not the one worn down by his father.

  For the moment, he put aside the problem of how to convince his parents to move to the Commons. Before their arrival—in a few days at most—he had to impress the Chancellor. He needed to come up with something that would prove how useful he could be to the project.

  Raffa was so preoccupied with this problem that he barely said good night to his uncle. Sharing Garith’s bed—much bigger than those at home, so they didn’t have to sleep head to toe—he fell asleep still pondering.

  The next morning, a loud crash woke him. His heart leapt as he sat straight up to see Garith standing by the bed, grinning.

  “Oopah,” he said, “I kicked that stool over, didn’t I. Come on, sleepydeep, I’ve been waiting ages for you to get up!”

  Raffa began to carp at his cousin but stopped in midgrumble, now wide awake. The noise of the stool, the way his heart had jumped . . . He knew what to do now and could hardly dress fast enough to start the day.

  “Keep your voices down,” Uncle Ansel said as the boys shouldered each other through the kitchen doorway. “That Kuma certainly loves her sleep!”

  After a quick breakfast, they walked to the laboratory. Raffa turned his idea over in his head. It might not be possible. Certainly he had never heard of anything like it being done before . . . but then, wasn’t that the point? If he was serious about wanting to do new things with botanicals, he would have to get used to doubt and uncertainty.

  And if it worked, no one would ever again think of him as “too young.” Not the Chancellor, not his father. He lifted his chin as he walked, his jaw set.

  Trixin was waiting for them at the laboratory door, early and eager for her first day at her new job. “Steady morning to you all!” she called out.

  “And to you, Trixin,” Ansel said with a smile. “Here is a list of ingredients and equipment needed from the kitchens. I’d like you to fetch them, then arrange a space in the laboratory as a fermentation area.”

  “Yes, Senior!” Trixin looked as if there were nothing in the world she would rather do, which was probably true, and Raffa smiled as he watched her depart, list in hand.

  Ansel turned to the boys. “I have a meeting with Senior Jayney,” he said. “Garith, I want you to show Raffa around and then make a new batch of the training infusion. As for Raffa—what task shall we set you?”

  “Uncle, I’d like to make an infusion for the birds,” Raffa said.

  “What kind of infusion?” Garith asked, sounding a little defensive.

  “They get startled by loud noises, right?” Raffa said. “I want to work on something that might help with that.”

  “Excellent!” Ansel said. “If you should succeed, it would be a great step forward for the project. I’ll return before midday to hear how things are going.” He left them with a cheery wave.

  Raffa could hardly believe the change in his fortunes since the grim desperation of the previous day. This morning, life in Gilden was unfolding exactly as he had dreamed: he and Garith given free rein to work unsupervised in the beautiful laboratory!

  Garith began by taking Raffa into the glasshouse. The air was warm and gently humid; it felt green inside his lungs. It was quiet, too, but Raffa was filled with the sensation of hundreds of plants busily growing.

  He marveled at how cleverly the space had been arranged. In addition to tables and shelves filled with plants, there were also cantilevered tiers overhead. They were staggered to ensure that all the plants received ample sun, and rigged to pulleys so they could be easily reached. Every available bit of space was being used.

  Garith lowered one of the tiered shelves. Raffa gaped: On it were at least three dozen clippings of the scarlet vine, each in its own small jar.

  “How did you get so much of it?” he exclaimed.

  Garith shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I showed the vine to Da, and a few days later, these were here. We made a distillation from querco chips. They’re not growing very fast, but they’re doing a bit better than when they were in plain water.”

  Raffa felt a flash of admiration and a twinge of annoyance at the same time. He should have thought of that himself.

  He reached for one of the clippings, and Garith took another. Back in the laboratory, Raffa set his jar on the counter and stared at it. What sort of combination might temper a crow’s hearing?

  He searched his memory. A year or so earlier, Missum Rezon from the settlement had sought out Salima. She had complained of dizziness, and Salima had treated her with an infusion of willow bark and zinjal and sent her home with a week’s supply. Missum Rezon had returned a few days later: The dizziness was gone, but she could no longer hear in her left ear. Salima instructed her to stop taking the infusion. The ear cleared, and the dizziness did not return.

  Perhaps, then, a highly diluted solution of the combination, with the scarlet vine added, would have the desired result? Raffa went to the cabinet and took a moment to run his eyes over the neatly labeled drawers. He had never seen so many botanicals in one place.

  He took powdered willow bark and zinjal from their drawers, combined them, and added water to make a solution, which he put to boil in a glass beaker. Then he began to grind a short length of the scarlet vine.

  At the other end of the worktable, Garith was doing the same with his clipping. “What happened with the vine—you know, back home?” he asked.

  Raffa told him about the frightening cracks on his hand. Garith nodded. “We had a garble with it here, too,” he said, “starting with what you told me you used on the bat—the combination for strengthening, with the vine added. Shakes and tremors, what a disaster!”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “We gave the infusion to a squirrel and—ah, it’s almost impossible to describe!” Garith said with a shudder. “It started screeching. Sure upon certain, I’ve never heard such a dreadful noise in all my life. It felt like our bones were being shredded! I blacked out, and Da almost did, too.”

  “How did you get it to stop?” Raffa asked, horrified.

  “Sheer luck. I’d been holding it down, but I let it go to cover my ears—which didn’t work, the sound penetrated everything—and the thing started running around like a maniac. After I blacked out, it ran straight into the door and stunned itself.”

  “Faults and fissures!” Raffa exclaimed. “The poor thing—was it hurt badly?”

  “I don’t know. . . . I don’t think so,” Garith said. “Mannum Trubb came and took it away. He’s Senior Jayney’s assistant. They’re in charge of training the animals.”

  At the mention of the injured squirrel, Raffa realized, aghast, that he had completely forgotten about Echo! He’d been so preoccupied trying to think of something that would impress the Chancellor . . . but how could he have neglected the bat?

  He forced himself to think calmly. Even if Echo had stayed out all night hunting, as he often did at home, he would have returned to sleep away the daylight hours. He was now surely right where he belonged, in Garith’s room, on the perch hanging behind the rucksack. Raffa would check on him as soon as he finished working on the new infusion.

  He went back to pounding the vine. “What are you making now?” he asked.

  “The training infusion,” Garith answered. “Before we got here, the trainers were using califerium and millocham”—Raffa recognized the standard combination for sedation, which he himself had used on the fare collector—“to make the birds and animals easier to train. But they were having a lot of trouble with the dosage. Either too sleepy or too crabby.”

  Garith continued grinding the vine in his mortar. “So then I told my da how well the vine had healed the bat, and he decided to try adding it to the combination. I had to make at least ten different batches, using all different quantities, but we finally got it right. It makes them calm but not dopey.”

  Raffa couldn’t help thinking about the large quantity of the vine Garith must have used before he found the right proportions. He looked up to see Gari
th staring at him.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Garith said with a scowl. “You’d have done it twice as fast. No, five times as fast. Go on—tell me I’m wrong.”

  “At least five times,” Raffa said lightly, trying to make a joke of it.

  But Garith didn’t seem to find that answer the least bit funny. “Well, I’ll have you know, the Chancellor herself came to the laboratory specially to thank me.”

  Raffa wondered why his cousin sounded so resentful, but he didn’t want to ask. For a while they worked in silence. Using a marvelous set of tiny spoons, he began adding the pulverized vine to the solution. As he did so, he sensed vibrations in his mind.

  Two vibrations. Two different frequencies. With the smallest spoon, he measured in minuscule amounts of the vine pulp. Slowly, the vibrations grew more coordinated. It was a tranquil, easy feeling, as if time itself had calmed and slowed.

  He realized how much more relaxed he felt, working without Mohan over his shoulder. Surely it wasn’t wrong to heed his instincts at such moments. His father was right in that he shouldn’t depend on intuition alone, but couldn’t he learn to let it be a guide, not a tyrant?

  One more tiny spoonful: The vibrations in his mind melded together perfectly. The infusion turned from olive green to a transparent scarlet, then began to glow and sparkle.

  He stared at the glass beaker in wonder: It looked as if it were filled with rubies. Or at least what he imagined rubies looked like, having never actually seen any.

  Garith glanced over at the beautiful infusion. Then, to Raffa’s astonishment, he slammed his pestle on the tabletop in disgust.

  “It’s so easy for you!” he cried out. “All the pothering stuff—it always has been!”

  “Garith, I—”

  “No, you don’t understand! You’ve never understood! This is the first chance I’ve ever had to—to do things without you around making me look bad! And now that you’re here, you’ll just show me up all over again. Da will say nothing but ‘Raffa this,’ ‘Raffa that.’ I’ll never hear anything else!”

  He shoved away his mortar and stomped out of the room, leaving Raffa wide-eyed and openmouthed, the spoon in his hand forgotten.