Chapter Eleven
ALONE IN THE DEEP, DARK WOODS
Liesel sat up in the darkness, her heart racing. Slowly, she got to her feet and began to wander through the deep, dark woods, listening for her friends. The forest was quite different by night: bright toadstools glowed like fairy lights, dark-winged moths fluttered, and black hummingbirds hovered in front of indigo irises. A branch snapped behind her and Liesel spun around just in time to see something big and shadowy plodding in the distance. Perhaps it’s Smoke? she thought, skipping hopefully after it.
It was only when she came to a clearing of dark leaves that Liesel stopped and frowned. This wolf was not growling or prowling or pouncing. This wolf was playing a lute: a very old instrument, like a small guitar. Liesel stepped forward and saw that the wolf was not a wolf at all, but a man in a cape of fur.
“Who on earth are you?” she snapped, disappointed that he wasn’t a wicked beast.
The man turned to look at her and she noticed his big, sad eyes. “By day, I’m a wolf; by night, I’m just lonely,” he said.
Liesel gave a light-footed leap of astonishment. “You are the spellbound prince—the Lone Wolf?” she half screamed, at once forgiving him for not being a beast.
The prince nodded. “I am cursed to wander these woods alone, looking for the one I love.” He sighed.
“Well, maybe if you stop hunting her when she’s an Ice Raven and start acting a bit less wolfish, then things will work much better for you,” said Liesel, sitting down next to the prince on a tree stump.
“I’m not hunting her,” said the prince in surprise.” I’m simply trying to sing and dance for her. You see, we used to sing and dance together under these very trees.”
In the pale glow of toadstools, Liesel was silent. So long had she dreamed of being in a fairy tale, and now her moment was here. “Don’t worry.” She smiled, pulling the prince to his feet. “If she sees you dancing with me, she might just remember who you are.”
On the other side of the forest, Harper was pulling a handful of leaves out of her hair. All around her came the soft beat of moth wings and the occasional flutter of a black hummingbird. Even though she was a little afraid, Harper couldn’t help noticing the beauty of the Night Forest. She scooped up Midnight and lifted her foot to take a step forward when the world turned bone white. Harper dropped her cat in surprise, peeping between her fingers. Midnight gave a startled meow and huddled behind her ankles.
As the burning brightness lit up the woods, Harper caught sight of a girl in a cloak of dazzling light sweeping through the forest. “The maiden cloaked in moonlight,” Harper murmured, tiptoeing after her. Then a terrifyingly tall shadow fell across the maiden’s face and Harper froze. It was the shadow of a man upon a bicycle in a long satin coat. It was the shadow of a man playing a small golden harp.
To Harper’s horror, the maiden cloaked in moonlight turned toward the harp and stepped into the grasp of the Wild Conductor. Very gently, as if he were handling a precious flower, he lifted the maiden onto the backseat of the bicycle.
“No!” Harper cried, skidding over black moss and slippery leaves as she ran toward them. But the Wild Conductor had already bound the maiden to the bike with edentwine. With a swirl of satin, he climbed onto the front and snapped his fingers. A thousand wide-eyed ravens soared from the trees, lifting the bicycle into the air. “Stop!” Harper screamed, but her voice was lost beneath the beat of black wings.
She fell to her knees, her heart hammering. She had to stop the Wild Conductor before it was too late! Quickly, she plucked the little sleepy pink dove from her pocket and cried, “Go. Fly. See if you can lead the great birds back into the woods!” Then she turned to Midnight and whispered, “Find the Scarlet Umbrella,” and they set off at a run through the Night Forest, Midnight’s white-tipped tail like a torch against the dark.
In the depths of the undergrowth, Nate got to his feet. Brambles and branches tickled his skin and ancient bark brushed against him. He whistled softly for his wolf, feeling his way forward, and as he moved, he noticed something quite peculiar.
Carved deeply into the wood of a tree in front of him were words, very faint and incredibly crumbly, but words to a story nonetheless. Smoke scrambled through the dense woods to her master’s side, her rough tongue licking his hands. Nate quickly untied the edentwine and gave her a pat. Then another voice came drifting to their ears, and for a moment, Nate wondered if the forest was haunted—until he recognized the voice.
Alone in the woods
Sat a boy with a scarf,
Stuck in a tree
Tall as a giraffe . . .
It was Ferdie, speaking poetry to the moon! “Hello,” called Nate, hurrying after the sound.
“Nate!” yelled Ferdie, dangling dangerously out of the basket of buns. “I’m trapped in a tangle of tablecloth and edentwine, along with the Scarlet Umbrella.”
Nate climbed easily up the tree and wrestled with the basket until Ferdie was sitting beside him on a bough of the ebony birch. Ferdie took a deep, meaningful breath and was just about to continue with his poem, “The Boy of the Wild Woods,” when, with a fearsome meow, Midnight sprang into the tree, almost knocking both boys to the ground.
Harper raced to the foot of the tree. “The Wild Conductor has the moonlit maiden,” she cried. “He’s taking her out of the forest on his bicycle drawn by ravens.”
Nate quickly freed the umbrella and handed it to Harper. “Fly up and see if you can stall him. We’ll go and tell the fairy-tale keepers.”
In the pitch blackness, Harper smiled. She held the umbrella upright, popped Midnight onto her shoulder, and with a huge amount of concentration, sailed the Scarlet Umbrella up through the twisted trees and into the deep night sky.
Ferdie and Nate scrambled out of the tree and moved off through the woods. Ferdie gazed at the glittering letters on the tree trunks. In the dark, they shined, like magical scrolls. “This is the story of the Ice Raven,” he said, recognizing the tale.
“I know,” said Nate. “I can feel the words.”
Ferdie stared at his friend through the faintly glittering night. Then he grabbed Nate’s hand and tugged him forward toward the tree where the words became unreadable. “Can you feel what they say?” he asked, his voice a whisper over the beat of his hopeful heart.
Nate gingerly inspected the bark and slowly nodded.
“Then you can solve the Fairy Tale Unfinished!” cried Ferdie. “You can tell us how it ends! You can tell us how to break the witch’s spell and free the maiden and the prince!”
Chapter Twelve
SKY-HIGH RESCUE
High above the Night Forest, in the midsummer sky, Harper was flying like never before. Her dark hair streamed behind her and the clouds seemed to roll back as if making way for her. She did not pause for breath until she caught sight of the bicycle towed by an orchestra of ravens. Circling the flock like a dart of pink feathers was Storm, crying out for all she was worth. But the dark birds paid her no attention.
“Hey,” called Harper, “you have to stop!”
The Wild Conductor frowned at her and gave a brief shrug. “The Ice Raven can’t leave the Night Forest,” she yelled. “Or she’ll be trapped as a bird forever and her fairy tale will never be finished.” But the Wild Conductor waved her away and kept on peddling toward the edge of the trees.
How can I stop him? thought Harper desperately. Ever so softly, her Great Aunt Sassy’s voice came drifting from her memory . . .
“Music is a magic that soothes the soul.”
With a light touch, Harper spun the umbrella upside down and sat down inside it. Deep within its folds was her trusted piccolo flute. It wasn’t her harp, but it was the best she could do.
She closed her eyes and began to play with everything she had. The song was fast and fearsome, a frenzy of notes to make your feet dance. Harper was fighting with her flute. Fighting for the Fairy Tale Unfinished—and the harp that was rightfully hers.
At first, nothing happened. Then a single bright-eyed raven turned to watch her, enchanted by her song, and it slowly began to turn in the opposite direction. The other ravens flapped with confusion, and Harper kept playing until her notes touched them. With a swish of powerful wings, every storm-colored bird began wheeling in the sky, turning the bicycle around, and soaring back over the forest, away from the City of Singing Clocks.
The Wild Conductor cried out in rage, but Harper held her nerve and flew the umbrella closer. She paused for a heartbeat to signal to Storm and whisper to Midnight, then she picked up the tune again, playing louder than ever. On the third sharp note, Midnight leaped from her shoulder and Storm swooped from the clouds, both of them landing on the Wild Conductor midair and seizing the golden harp. For a terrifying moment, he began to topple forward. Harper swooped in on the Scarlet Umbrella and caught his arm, pulling him back to balance on the bicycle. Midnight pounced into the umbrella with the harp and Storm fluttered to Harper’s shoulder.
The Wild Conductor stared at Harper blankly. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “I thought you wanted to help me.”
“I do,” called Harper, “but not like this. You must return the maiden to the Night Forest.”
The Wild Conductor glanced at the beautiful maiden perched behind him and shook his head. He had imagined such great wonders with an Ice Raven to lead his orchestra. He could not give up his dream this easily. He frowned at Harper and quietly said, “No.”
Harper bit her lip. There was only one thing she could do. It was a terrible risk, as she had promised the fairy-tale keepers that she wouldn’t play her harp in the forest. “Well, this isn’t the forest,” she whispered bravely, staring around at the clouds, and ever so softly she began to play her harp. This time, it was a song as lovely as a lullaby, gently guiding the ravens back into the lightless trees. The Wild Conductor fretted, but Harper kept on playing.
With a thud of wheels and a swoosh of black feathers, the bicycle landed in a clearing of dark leaves, where a small girl stood beside a man in a cape of fur. The maiden cloaked in moonlight seemed to suddenly wake up and she gazed at the man in surprise.
“Harper, keep playing!” called Liesel quickly. As notes of beautiful harp music spilled down from the hovering umbrella, Liesel and the prince began to dance. The prince’s fur cape swirled around them, so it looked for all the world as if Liesel were dancing with a huge black wolf.
The maiden stared at the dancing prince and suddenly clutched her heart. “Can it really be my prince?” she gasped.
Ferdie and the fairy-tale keepers burst into the clearing, but stopped short when they saw Liesel dancing with a wolf. Ferdie couldn’t help smiling—his sister was dancing with a wild beast! It was one of her wishes come true. At the same moment, Nate and Smoke crept in at the edge of the trees and Nate wrapped his arms tightly around his wolf, just to make sure she wouldn’t attack the wolfish stranger. Then he crept over to the maiden and, quietly as a shadow, unbound the edentwine.
Ferdie edged around the clearing to where Nate was crouched. “How does the fairy tale end?” he asked.
“The prince and the maiden have to dance together through the dawn,” whispered Nate. “Only then will the spell be broken.”
The Wild Conductor, who was standing close by, suddenly turned quite pale. He finally understood. He stared up at the child floating above the trees in the Scarlet Umbrella. She had been right all along; the maiden and the prince belonged together in their own fairy tale, not his.
The maiden cloaked in moonlight took a tiny step forward. Quick as lightning, Liesel spun the prince across the clearing and darted out of his arms, so he was left instead holding the hands of the maiden. The Wild Conductor pulled the blue leather-bound music book from within his satin coat, and with a heavy sigh he sent it sailing through the air to Harper. The book seemed to open of its own accord, shuffling itself to page ten: “Love’s First Dance.”
As Harper began to play, the prince and the maiden glided around the clearing, their feet hardly rustling the leaves. “Frederick, is it really you?” the maiden asked.
“Yes, Elvira, it is I!” declared the prince, and they twirled into a moonlit embrace.
They danced and danced, but, as the twinkle of starlight began to grow faint, Harper began to feel tired. Every now and then, her fingers slowed, and so did the dancers’ steps.
Ferdie tightened his serious scarf and spoke in his most serious voice. “Grab a partner! We must keep dancing till dawn.”
Liesel seized the golden-haired boy’s hand and away they swung. Ferdie and Nate danced with both the fairy-tale keeper girls. The Wild Conductor found himself dancing with the fairy-tale keeper mother, while the granddad with the golden beard beat time with his stick. Brigitte and Peter came stumbling into the clearing and instantly joined in with a tango. Storm settled on Harper’s head and cooed the tune in her ear, and Midnight meowed, while Smoke happily howled, and the clouds shivered, sending drops of rain falling into the forest in rhythm with the music.
As the first light of dawn spread across the sky, turning the Night Forest the fairest river blue, Harper felt ever so sleepy. Her eyes seemed to be drifting shut, yet somehow her fingers kept playing. And so it was as if from the depths of a dream that she heard a cheer go up and felt Midnight proudly nuzzle her face. She opened her sea-gray eyes and peered over the side of the Scarlet Umbrella to see that the sun had risen over the deep, dark woods and the prince and the witch’s daughter were dancing still. No longer creatures of the forest, their fairy tale at long last was almost finished. Then Harper was sound asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
THE MUSICAL CLOUD
When Harper awoke, she found that she was no longer in the Night Forest, but in a bed that wasn’t too lumpy or too soft, but utterly, perfectly right. Gathered around her were all of her friends and the family of fairy-tale keepers, all smiling fondly.
“This is for you,” said the mother, handing Harper a book. “Thank you for finishing our last fairy tale.”
Harper opened the book and gasped. It was the tale of “The Lone Wolf and the Ice Raven.” You see, Nate had spent the morning alone in the wild woods with Smoke, carefully feeling for each lost letter on the bark of the ancient trees. Reading with the tips of your fingers is almost like reading with your eyes, but better, because you feel every word in your heart. Once Nate knew the story, he had murmured the words in a soft and secretive voice to Ferdie, who had written them down in indigo ink, and then Liesel stitched the pages of the book together, pressing them with dark feathers and fallen leaves from the forest.
Harper turned to the last page of the book and gave a little glowing laugh.
Then one night a girl with a harp of gold arrived—a girl whose rare musical gift could make the clouds move and the feet of the maiden and the prince dance once again. They spun through the dawn and the spell was broken, and they ruled the forest happily together forevermore.
“You are in an actual fairy tale!” said Liesel with a sigh.
“Yes, but I couldn’t have done it without everybody’s help,” exclaimed Harper.
“There’s just one thing left to do,” said the grandfather fairy-tale keeper, and he gave Ferdie a cuckoo clock. It was set at five a.m. that very morning. The moment the spell had been broken.
“Could you put it somewhere safe in the city?” he asked. Ferdie blushed with pride. He had never felt so honored.
The children hugged the family of fairy-tale keepers goodbye and set off in a rush for the City of Singing Clocks. Sun glinted off the cobbled stones, and the University of Fine Literature looked quite splendid.
Ferdie and Nate searched the roof garden until they found the perfect home for the cuckoo clock: by the wishing well. Brigitte and Peter put on a grand picnic lunch to celebrate. There was rose lemonade and cherry muffins, bagels, salty pretzels, and thick slices of cheese.
The food was delicious, but Harper wasn’t hungry. As she watch
ed the Wild Conductor slowly releasing his orchestra of ravens back into the wild, she felt the ache of his lost dream tug at her and she crept over to him. “I’m sorry about the Ice Raven,” she said gingerly.
“Never mind,” the Wild Conductor mumbled as if it didn’t matter. But when he turned to face her, his brow was creased with sorrow. “I thought myself the best conductor in the world,” he said in a voice as soft as a teardrop, “but now I see that I am not.”
Harper put her arms around him. “But you are,” she cried.
“No,” he said plainly. “I’ll have to find another way to win back my place in the Circus of Dreams.”
Harper said nothing, her mind working furiously. Her eyes fixed on a beautiful, bright cloud that was sailing across the city, and all at once, she realized there was one last thing she could try. “Would you mind if I borrowed your bicycle?” she asked.
The man with magpie hair peered at her curiously and nodded.
“Great,” Harper said, lifting up Liesel’s abandoned violin and playing three sharp notes.
As afternoon sun swept across the sky turning the river cornflower blue, a girl with dark hair was peddling through the cobbled streets. Her three best friends were balanced on the bicycle, their eyes bright with joy. They wobbled to a stop outside a vintage guitar shop and Ferdie marched inside, reappearing moments later with a length of glistening guitar string. Next, Liesel scuttled into an antique shop and rushed back out clutching a pair of old bellows used to keep fires going. Then, with a silent wish, Harper sent the Scarlet Umbrella soaring into the sky, to scoop up a measure of brilliant white cloud. As the umbrella floated down, she snapped it shut and popped it into the bicycle’s basket. Lastly, Nate and Smoke visited the elegant tailors and came back with a pair of gleaming sharp scissors. With a nod from Harper, they raced back to the University of Fine Literature and piled into Harper’s turret.
Harper and the Night Forest Page 4