Beyond the Door

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  Peter appeared in the tent doorway. “I think we should go and look for your mam’s stuff,” he said with a scowl, scratching one leg against the other. In the small tent, next to the Animal Tamer, the boy looked dirtier than ever.

  “Peter, I think he can help us,” Sarah said, pulling her hand out of the man’s warm grasp.

  “Wouldn’t trust him a bit, I wouldn’t,” Peter whispered, grabbing Sarah’s arm and pulling her out of the tent. “Not one who keeps all his animals caged up like this.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” said the Animal Tamer, following right behind them. For the first time, Sarah looked closely at the Animal Tamer’s wares. He certainly kept a wide variety of animals in elaborate cages of every sort: leopards, bear cubs, a peacock, and a python.

  “Perhaps you would allow me to show you around the Market,” the man said to Sarah in a quiet but insistent voice. “I’m sure we can find something for your mother. I’ve introduced myself; now it’s your turn.” The Animal Tamer offered her his arm.

  “Uh, Sarah … Sarah Marie Maxwell.” His skin was warm and very smooth, and her hand felt small resting on his arm. Sarah liked being addressed like a grown-up and unconsciously stood a bit taller. She imagined herself working with the gray-spotted leopard as the Animal Tamer’s assistant, or playing with the little bear cub. Of course, that would be after she and the Animal Tamer brought a healing medicine to her mother.

  “Don’t be a fool, Sarah!” Peter hissed in her ear. But the Animal Tamer took no more notice of him than he did of the crow, which continued to caw on his perch with increasing agitation. Instead, he kept his eyes focused intently on Sarah, waiting for her response.

  Sarah slipped her hand from the Animal Tamer’s arm and went to the crow’s perch, trying to scratch the bird’s head again. “Poor thing,” she said. “It doesn’t like being tied up.”

  The raucous cawing finally caught Jessica’s attention. She reluctantly returned the necklace she had been admiring back to its case and wandered in the direction of Peter and Sarah at the nearby stall. She had only gone a few steps when she was stopped by a headache so sudden and severe that she almost dropped to her knees. Her eyes blurred. It was as if her head were being ripped in two.

  Just as abruptly, the pain stopped. Jessica’s eyes focused, and then she screamed: She saw Sarah take the arm of a hideous one-eyed man. Peter stood nearby looking helpless, surrounded by a menagerie of animals, moaning and shivering in cages much too small to contain them.

  “Sarah, Peter! Get away!”

  Jessica wasn’t sure her voice was working or if anyone had heard her, because Sarah just laughed. The horrible one-eyed man beside her shook his mop of golden curls and laughed in response. It was as if Jessica’s feet were nailed to the ground, as if her voice carried no sound.

  The crow continued to caw. Jessica began to think of the crow’s cawing as her voice, and she willed it to caw all the louder. Soon the crow’s caw was joined by a cacophony of other cries, and from overhead a cadre of black crows wheeled into view.

  Andor and Arkell were perched in a large tree on a rise overlooking the Market. The two eagles had been sent by the council of birds to gather news of the children and the Market and to learn more about rumors of a coming battle. Beside them stood a creature both man and tree. It had been some time since the Greenman had listened to the language of eagles. But with concentration, he was able to glean their spare words.

  Crows have come. Andor sent the words to Arkell. Can they be trusted?

  Arkell ruffled his feathers, but it was the Greenman who sent back a reply. He sent a picture of armies of men and animals marching; of councils of the great birds flocked together—eagles, hawks, owls. But in all of these images, the crows were absent. Crows aligned themselves with no councils, with no armies. They were too busy squabbling among themselves, ready to switch sides with the direction of the wind.

  The two eagles nodded. It was as they had always known.

  But the Greenman was not finished. This time, even the raucous, unreliable crows would fight for a greater purpose. A true Filidh had returned to the Market. He sent a picture of a boy with his arm outstretched. A single crow flew to him, alighting on his bare arm. Then a dozen more came. Soon the sky was black with crows. The boy wore a simple crown, but his face was hidden in shadow.

  That is why we watch him. He has been found. Arkell looked into the distance. Councils are called.

  Yes. The Greenman’s answer carried with it the smell of fire, the scent of danger.

  Arkell and Andor rose on a swift current. They would carry the news.

  The Greenman looked down at the Market. How he longed to gather all of the people under the shade of his branches, to protect them from what was to come. But he knew that even in the worst of the battle there would be those who would reject his offer of protection. He watched the crows approach like missiles, and bright-haired Sarah, standing with her hands at her sides, face turned upward, listening.

  By using the key provided here, you can decipher the Ogham script that appears in this chapter. Zoom in or increase font size to see code more clearly.

  THE COMING OF THE CROWS

  ROM ALL OVER the Market, people watched the birds descend.

  “Do you see that? Birds gone mad!”

  “It’s the end, I tell you! When animals start acting like that, the end is near.”

  “Never trusted crows. Dirty, sneaking birds, they are.”

  What looked from a distance like a dense black cloud dropping from a clear sky turned into a cawing mass. Parents remembered folktales, stories of crows attacking children, drawn by the bright young eyes in the same way birds were drawn to glittering baubles. They cried out for their children. Others ran, and a few grabbed sticks or rocks to hurl at the descending birds.

  Tristan was nearly to the Animal Tamer’s stall with Timothy in tow when the chaos began. He did not like chaos in his Market. He didn’t like anything in his Market that he didn’t control, and this was definitely something unexpected. But nothing he couldn’t contain, he assured himself, tightening his grip on Timothy’s arm.

  “Walk faster, boy. You’ve twice the legs I have. Use them!”

  The strange behavior of the crows startled Timothy from his thoughts about Nom. It wasn’t like anything he had ever seen. He’d once seen two crows chasing a kestrel away from their nest, and another time a crow had gone for his head when he had walked under a tree where a fledgling had fallen, but never like this. Crows didn’t attack en masse. Perhaps this was more of the draíocht of the Market, but draíocht or not, if it upset Tristan, it might be something Timothy could use to his advantage. So he hurried, but kept a look out for Sarah or Jessica, Julian or Gwydon. The leaf in his pocket continued to burn.

  The day had become increasingly hot and dry. Every step sent up a swirl of dust, a miniature dust devil, and his throat felt as raspy as sandpaper. People jostled, hurrying from tents and caravans to see the spectacle of the crows around the Animal Tamer’s stall. Soon Tristan, dragging Timothy behind, was pushing his way through a river of bodies. As the man and boy drew closer, the noise of the birds overwhelmed the shouts of people. Timothy wanted to cover his ears. Between the swell of curious newcomers, flying rocks, and clouds of dust, this part of the Market was in turmoil.

  “The Animal Tamer’s gone too far this time,” Tristan muttered to himself right below Timothy’s ear. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but this is my Market, and he’ll not act as if he owns it.”

  This would be the time to get away, slip into the crowd, Timothy thought. He knew from watching the other boys in the hall at school that if he kicked Tristan behind the knee, just where it bent, his leg would collapse under him. It was a trick he’d never actually tried before, but now seemed as good a time as any. He watched Tristan’s stride for several seconds. Then he drew his leg back, and aimed a sharp kick right into the back of the dwarf’s knee.

  Tristan’s leg buckled. He dropped ha
rd to one knee, releasing Timothy’s arm.

  Timothy ran. He flew under the arm of a large man dragging a crying child. He stitched in and out between people, not caring what direction he ran so long as it was away from Tristan. He ran until his side hurt, and then ran a little farther, finally stopping behind a faded caravan to catch what was left of his breath.

  The sun was still directly overhead. Timothy tried to get his bearings. He was close to the crows but viewing the scene from a different direction. Everyone was so busy trying to see what was happening that no one paid any attention to a boy with glasses and dirty clothes. He knew that Tristan would not regard his escape lightly. Bullies were always that way. They had long memories, and they hated being made fools of.

  He scanned the crowd, looking for anyone he knew. If only he had something to drink! Timothy took off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his face, leaving a brown streak on his shirt cuff. His best chance, he thought, was to push forward toward the crows, since it was likely that Sarah and Jessica would be there with everyone else. Of course, that was exactly where Tristan would be, too. He would have to be extremely careful.

  “Look at the way he’s just sitting there like a pet. Shames me to my bones.”

  “You know it’s not his fault. He’s kept. Tied up with a sparklie.”

  “Mind the big cat—thinks he’s sumthin’, don’t he?”

  “Oh, look at the sparklies!”

  “Focus, Cratcher, we’re here for a job.”

  “Just a sparklie for me nest!”

  “Attack! Attack!”

  “Who are you calling a birdbrain, Craddoch? I’ll pull every last feather from yer tail!”

  “You no-good, molting parrot-talker!”

  The raucous voices were all overhead, but all Sarah could see were birds, hundreds of black crows swooping and diving. And the voices … They seemed to be coming from them! Indeed, there were so many birds talking at once that Sarah had trouble making any sense of their words until she focused on one particular bird, and suddenly the words became clear. She forgot about the Animal Tamer’s hand on her arm, about the Market, about the possibility of becoming the handsome Animal Tamer’s prized assistant, and even about her mother. She could understand the language of crows!

  Sarah had never given crows much thought. They had always seemed like nasty, squabbling things, eating dead animals off the road and picking through garbage. She had watched them do their funny hop across the school fields after lunch, and heard them cawing in the trees around her house, but she had never heard them talk before.

  The birds were swirling right above the Animal Tamer’s exhibit, cawing and arguing, but so far not a single one had landed. She tried to notice a pattern in their behavior, but she couldn’t see one. At the center of the group, there was a particularly large fellow. Sarah focused her attention on him. He seemed to be some sort of leader, or at least he was shouting directions.

  “Craddoch, free Crake first! Save our kind! Then, the left flank opens the cages! Right flank, attack the One-Eyed Man! Flight formation!”

  Not much of this made sense to Sarah, and many of the birds kept right on chattering over the lead crow’s commands. But a strange thing began to happen; some of the birds wheeled around, arcing up together, almost as if their flight was choreographed. Then they separated into two groups. From the center of one group, a motley-looking crow descended fast, landing on the perch next to the crow held by the silver chain. The captured bird, who must be Crake, Sarah thought, began cawing hysterically.

  “Stop yer blubbering and hold still so’s I can free you!” The motley crow pecked at his comrade’s chain. The Animal Tamer immediately left Sarah’s side and began flailing his arms, trying to shoo the old bird away. At the same time, a group of ten or fifteen crows dove straight at his golden head. He threw up his arms, covering his face, but the crows were relentless, diving at him from the side, landing on his head, striking again and again in full attack. A bold fellow balanced right on the crown of the Animal Tamer’s head, cawing and pecking, holding on no matter how hard the man tried to shake him off.

  Sarah wondered if she should come to the Animal Tamer’s defense. That was what an Animal Tamer’s assistant would do, but something made her hesitate. Meanwhile, some of the crowd lobbed stones at the birds. A small crow fell to the ground, his legs askew. But what, Sarah wondered in confusion, had the crow meant by “the One-Eyed Man”? Wasn’t that how Timothy had once described Balor? Was he here somewhere? And where was Timothy?

  The crow on the perch was not having an easy time assisting Crake with the chain. He pecked and pulled at it with his beak while Crake beat his wings against the air and shrieked.

  “Oh, save me!” the bird cried. “Please save me! Mind my leg! Mind my wings! Gotta fly! Save me!”

  “Stop yer hollering, you cat meat!”

  Now another flank of crows landed on some of the cages. They pecked furiously at the locks. The longer Sarah watched, the more she was amazed. One crow was using a stick as a tool to pry open the lock of an ornate cage holding a peacock. When she missed, she patiently tried again, three, then four, more times. Finally, the lock released and the peacock sprang from the cage, fanning his beautiful tail feathers in triumph as he strutted around in a circle.

  “Look here, my feather’s bent! Well, never have I been treated like that before. And with my colors—like a common house bird, a parrot, or a mynah!”

  Sarah seemed able to understand peacocks as well, and she wondered in amazement if she could understand the language of all birds.

  And then someone was grabbing her elbow. She whirled around to meet Peter’s blue eyes. His brow was creased with worry, his shirt was rumpled, and a streak of dirt was smeared across his cheek. Sarah had forgotten all about him, too.

  “I’ve been watching you look at the birds. It’s like you’re listening to what they say.”

  “Peter, I am. I can understand the language of birds!”

  “I knew it! Knew you were draíocht the first time I saw you! Better get out of here while you can. The birds’ll take care of the Animal Tamer now.”

  Sarah looked to where she had last seen the Animal Tamer. His head was bent and his arms flailed. Birds covered his shoulders like a fine black cape, stabbing at his neck and face. One large crow pecked persistently just at the base of his skull. “We can’t just leave him!”

  Peter breathed close to her ear. “He’s a bad one—don’t you understand? I’ve been trying to tell you, but you won’t listen. Now let’s get out of here!”

  “Look at my sparklie! Look at my sparklie!” A crow flew close to Sarah’s head, a beaded necklace hanging from his beak.

  “Give it here, Cratcher.” A second crow swooped in close, grabbing the strand in his beak.

  Cratcher cawed loudly. “Thief! Thief!”

  In the midst of the chaos, a shot exploded, and then another. Cratcher and the crow bearing the necklace fell to the ground. Their bodies hit the dirt with a soft thud, their black wings bent, lifeless.

  Sarah turned toward them, but Peter grabbed her arm and dragged her to the ground. “Don’t be a fool, Sarah!”

  More shots rang out. More birds dropped from the sky.

  “Retreat! Retreat!” the large crow shrilled. Gone was the choreographed flight. The crows were in pandemonium—screeching, chattering, calling to one another.

  “He’ll have to kill me, then!” cried the brave crow still trying to free Crake from his chain.

  Another flew in to help. “He’ll have to shoot us both!”

  While struggling against Peter’s strong hands, Sarah could see where the shots were coming from. A short, stocky man with a long nose and a red ponytail was standing atop a barrel. The same man she had seen holding the purse at the ferret-legging competition. His legs spread wide, pistol held with both hands, Tristan aimed into the mass of squawking crows. Peter crawled to the cover of a nearby caravan, dragging Sarah with him. Her skirt was crusted with dirt
, and her face was wet with tears. “He doesn’t have to kill them!” she cried.

  The Animal Tamer, Sarah realized, was now nowhere to be seen. The two crows were still pecking at Crake’s silver chain. Several other birds continued to work at the locks of the remaining cages. Sarah wanted to do something, anything to help the crows, but Peter kept a tight grip on her arm.

  And then Jessica was there, striding into the middle of the scene as if the man was shooting only a toy gun. Most amazing of all, she looked magnificent. In fact, at first Sarah didn’t recognize her friend at all: She looked so much taller and older.

  Without even looking at the man on the barrel, Jessica walked up to Crake’s perch, wrapped one hand around the crow, stilling it, and broke the chain. The brave crows flew straight up and away.

  “Look at her! Look at her!” They cawed in delight.

  Crake bobbed his head and chortled low in his throat, as if giving thanks. Then he, too, flew up, obviously delighted once again to have the use of his wings. In a second, he had joined the black retreating mass of crows.

  By using the key provided here, you can decipher the Ogham script that appears in this chapter. Zoom in or increase font size to see code more clearly.

  A TRADE

  IMOTHY ARRIVED at the battle of the crows just as Tristan began to fire. Dropping on all fours, he snaked on his belly through the dust, sheltering next to the wheels of a caravan and trying to sort out all that was happening around him. There, in the very center of the confusion, he spotted Sarah, and next to her a shabby-looking boy her age. The boy was trying to drag her away from the most dangerous part of the battle, and she wasn’t leaving willingly. Timothy knew how difficult it could be to make Sarah do anything she didn’t want to do. He admired the boy’s efforts.

  But the sight of Tristan standing astride the barrel, armed and his chin jutting forward, sent shivers through Timothy’s body. He was thinking he could inch his way around the outskirts of the scene to reach Sarah, when his attention was diverted by the crows. They repeatedly circled overhead like a storm cloud and then darted down into the Market. But it was where they were landing—a stall loaded with elaborate cages—that made Timothy’s heart almost stop. He had seen similar cages before, ornate cages with animals trapped inside.