Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  Mucum looked up. There were tears in her eyes. “Hey. Don’t worry. I’ll come back!” Another lie. He didn’t know if he would.

  There was a far-off rumbling sound. The whole cavern began to vibrate. “Step out, our Flo!” shouted Joe.

  Mucum felt a cold breeze whistle through the gaps in the planking. “Are you sure this is safe?”

  “Yas!” said Flo as she bent over. Just as she was about to kiss him, a blast of wind rattled the cage and threw them apart. The moment was gone. She looked sad. “Hold on tight.”

  He tried to look away but couldn’t as Flo backed out of the cabin. “See yer!” he said, trying to sound casual, as strange feelings bubbled up inside him.

  The vibrations grew louder and the whole cabin began to shake.

  “When yow need us, we’ll be there!”

  Mucum knew that Joe meant every word. As the doors slammed shut, he had one last glimpse of Flo’s face. Then darkness.

  “All right, Diana. I’m not right sure if you exist,” whispered Mucum, “but if you do, can I ask you a favor? Not dying would be a bit of all right … please?” His last words were drowned out as the tide turned and the thirsty tree decided to take a drink. The water shot up from the depths of the earth like a liquid arrow, slammed into the fragile wooden cabin, and accelerated a terrified Mucum from nought to one hundred miles an hour in under a couple of seconds.

  He was falling, upward. A shooting star. He held on for dear life. Every bump and jolt threatened to smash the lift to smithereens, and his teeth clacked around in his mouth like a whole set of wooden spoons. If this was the way the Rootshooters visited the forest, they were welcome to it. For a few seconds Mucum forgot how to breathe, until there was a wood-shattering BANG! Strapped up tight, said Flo. She was right, though the leather belt bit hard into his skin as he was almost catapulted up through the flimsy roof.

  Somewhere, a tiny bell chimed. Outside the lift, a pair of doors slid smoothly open. From down under to up top within sixty seconds! Mucum undid the harness and tried to stand up, dizzy with vertigo and drenched from the water that had leaked through every tiny gap in the lift. The open doors revealed a curtain of creeping vine, punctured by stray shards of cloudy evening light. He stepped across the gap in the shaft, pushing through the leafy barrier onto good, solid woodway. He’d made it! A wide, lunatic grin crossed his face until he remembered what he’d left behind. He turned back to see the entrance of the lift almost swallowed in the greenery, on a quiet offshoot of the main branchway.

  A memory came to him from when he was younger. A school outing away from the city. One of the pupils suddenly shouted out, “Egghead!” They’d all looked up to see the strange outwoodish figure, striding past them. The clothes were obviously different: flowing, white, elegant compared to the practical stuff they wore in the forest. As the Rootshooter walked away, the rest of the class pointed fingers and burst into laughter. Anyone not Dendran was fair game. Mucum felt his face go hot with shame. No wonder they kept themselves to themselves.

  There was no time to lose. Joe had told him where Ark was most likely to land. Mucum set off, trying to shake away that last look in Flo’s eyes. His main problem now was Arktorious Malikum and then the small matter of saving their little island. Oh, for the easy life …

  As he pounded the boards, trying to work out if he’d intercept his mate in time, a weeping face distracted him. It was a woman walking alone, her face streaked with tears.

  “Mrs. Malikum?”

  The face looked up, eyes drained, mouth looking as if it would never smile again. “Is that you, young Master Gladioli?”

  Mucum winced. At work, his second name was forbidden territory. He was nobody’s flower. This once, he’d make an exception.

  “You appear to be wet. Have you been swimming?”

  “Not really.” There was no way he could tell her the truth. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m … fine. Just been to kirk.”

  “Did you see Ark … Arktorious?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, never mind. You go home. Save yourself.” Her voice was high-pitched, almost hysterical.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. It’s best. Good-bye!” She moved to brush past him.

  “But wait. Don’t you wanna know about the King and all that and what we tried to do?”

  Mrs. Malikum didn’t even react.

  “Somefin’s wrong ’ere. Where’s Ark? Tell me!”

  She paused, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve been told to say nothing. But I had to speak. I went to see the Warden and told her everything. She said that Ark would be fine and not to worry about Shiv, but I ask you. My little girl …” The woman was gabbling like a goose.

  “Hang on a sec! Shiv? What’s she got to do with it?”

  Mrs. Malikum peered around Mucum’s broad back, scanning the trees as if danger lurked in every knothole. “I was told to say that she’s ill. But you’ve been with Ark, I can trust you…. She’s my daughter and they took her. Grasp’s men. For treason, they said.” She dissolved then, almost collapsing into the boy’s arms.

  It was all wrong. Mothers were supposed to comfort kids, not the other way around. Mucum’s head lit up like lightning. No wonder they took Shiv. Buddy clever, too. Ark’s stupid sense of honor would lead him like a timber goat to fungus.

  “Go home! You’re only a child! You should never have become part of this,” she sobbed.

  “But I am part of it, and Ark needs my help.” They’d come this far together. He wasn’t going to let the stupid twig down now.

  “But the Warden said Diana protects!”

  “Good for her. I think I might jes’ lend a helping hand, eh? Maybe you should get back to yer hubby? He’s a good gaffer, by what Ark told me. I’ll look after yer boy, but I need to go now.”

  Mrs. Malikum looked lost and uncertain, a small figure in the dusky treescape, as Mucum backed away. Then he turned and ran, hoping to catch Ark before he did something totally conkers.

  24• BAIT

  The sun had long gone, leaving only drizzle and darkness. Petronio needed to keep sharp as he crouched behind a parasite laurel bush that sprouted from the side of the woodway. The flask of coffee helped: scalding and sweet, the way he liked it. As the chill of evening descended, he pulled his cloak around him and sipped silently, then sat back satisfied in the shadows.

  This spot was perfect for an ambush. The boy would come. Petronio had no need of prayers; his plans were simply made to be fulfilled.

  When Petronio felt the telltale vibrations on the branchway, he knew it wasn’t a wild boar off for a midnight snuffle, but a boy driven by a sense of honor.

  “Evening, Malikum. For a plumber’s boy, you don’t half cause a lot of trouble!”

  The voice that came from behind the laurel was unmistakable. “Petronio!” it said. “I thought your family was low, but kidnapping my sister really scrapes the barrel!”

  “Oh, does it? But it brought you here, didn’t it?” There was a sharp sound as Petronio lit a candle lantern and placed it on the branch.

  That was when Ark realized who had been the target. His sister was the worm used to catch the wriggling fish. “If it’s me you want, then let her go!”

  “Honestly, that’s just the sort of sappy rubbish I’d expect from you. Of course it’s you I want!” The blade that slipped out of the shadows gave his words an edge. “As for your sister, she can stay here to keep your family quiet.”

  “Where is she? If you’ve hurt her, believe me, I’ll make you pay!”

  A monster mealworm had better motives than this slimy, overfed brute. He’d dealt with one, now he’d sort out the other.

  “Ha! Listen to you, sewer boy. Suddenly got magical powers, have we?”

  Ark didn’t know. Perhaps he had. Maybe if he grabbed hold of Petronio, the boy would fall still. “Answer my question! Where … is … she?” Each word shot out of his mouth, the force behind his voice making Petronio awkward for a
second.

  But only a second. “You think you can command me, sewer rat?” His knife glinted in the flickering lamplight. “Don’t worry, killing little girls is not on the agenda, for now!”

  “You’d sell your own family for gold!” Ark hissed as he launched himself at Petronio. There was a sudden silence in the forest as if every tree waited for the outcome. Ark saw his fist fly through the air. This wasn’t about feathers or magical powers, only revenge. Whatever he’d felt down in the deeps was long gone.

  Petronio’s training was about defending himself against skillful opponents, not righteous treenagers going berserk. Before he knew what was happening, Ark had landed a punch that grazed the side of his face. Petronio’s knife flew from his hand, skittering in spinning circles across the wood. He made to grab it, but Ark was all over him like a clinging vine scrabbling for purchase.

  “Get off me, you squitty little bud!”

  The drizzling rain had become a downpour. Ark hammered away with his fists, forcing Petronio onto the ground, trying to hold back his thick arm as it groped toward the fallen knife. It was only inches away. If Petronio got it back, Ark might as well jump now. There were no screams, only grunts and groans. This was no playfight.

  Petronio strained with all his might, his knees scraping on the rough woodway. He could feel Ark’s fingernails scratching across his face like splinters. It was like wrestling with a bramble bush. Come on! The knife was near now. With one last massive effort, Petronio reared up and leapt for the blade, throwing Ark off his back. He grabbed the handle, twisting round like a vine snake as he lunged.

  The knife did what it was forged to do, coming up and slicing straight through Ark’s leather jerkin and the thin shift underneath to score a bloody furrow in his chest. Ark jerked back with the intense pain, his body slamming onto the wet woodway, almost slipping off the edge. His hand instinctively reached up to check his wounds. The shift he wore clung to the cut and the wetness spread across the cloth. At least his guts weren’t spilling out … yet.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, squit-for-brains!” taunted Petronio. The constant drum of rain was now joined by the drip of Ark’s blood onto the road as he tried to stand up.

  Ark felt his confidence drain away. He’d come all this way to be killed by an overfed bully. “I’ll —”

  “You’ll what? Plunge my toilet?” Petronio was finally in control. Guards be hanged. There would be no dungeon for this boy.

  But as Petronio bent forward, his knife itching to bury itself in Ark’s neck, he heard a thrumming fill the night air. Petronio paused, analyzing the sounds, taking in the iron scent of Ark’s blood. “Ah! It looks like I won’t need to finish you myself! It’s very rare for anyone to be hungrier than me, but when it comes to hunters, I respectfully bow out. Have a good journey, Malikum. I guess we won’t be seeing each other, ever again!” Petronio retreated, a smile of victory on his face.

  Ark tried to move, but his body, heavy as dead wood, fought against him. He’d thought it was thundering up above. He was wrong. This was a different, far more dangerous tempest. With a wingspan wide as a roof, and eyes that glittered like diamonds, a huge raven came soaring from the darkness, drawn by the perfume of lifeblood, her claws ready to take the injured prey as it stood defeated and defenseless.

  Mucum could only watch from a distance as the bird swooped low. He’d never run so fast in his life, his feet close to slipping on the wet woodways as he’d skidded around corners and sprinted over crossroads, aware that every second mattered. And now this.

  Mucum had heard the telltale beat of wings overhead just as he’d caught sight of two figures ahead, one standing and crowing over the other. At that moment he knew Ark wasn’t going to die like a warrior. To the ravens, summoned by the smell of blood, his friend was a morsel of meat. Nothing more. The Holly Woodsmen would call it a sacrifice, revering the dark bird. Stupid superstition!

  In the dim light of their candle, the two figures appeared cut out, like silhouettes in a painting, frozen in time. And then the raven’s shadow swallowed the scene whole. A moment later, one figure reappeared, the wrong one.

  A roar reared up through Mucum’s lungs and leapt from his mouth, shattering the night air. “Yer gonna pay fer this!” He charged toward Petronio like a battering ram, not caring if the birds took him, not giving a twig for his fear. Let them try it! Maybe this was finally Plan B — slam the surgeon’s boy out of the way, scoop up Ark, and run for shelter.

  Petronio looked up, his normal arrogance wiped away with shock as Mucum dived through the air, ready to fell him with one easy blow. Petronio’s dagger had been wiped on a convenient lump of moss and put away. There was no time to ease it from the scabbard. His eyes met Mucum’s, picked up on the hate that was far brighter than the limp candle lighting up the scene.

  The punch, so close and packed with intent, never managed to land on Petronio’s nose. Instead of the crack of broken cartilage and a spuming spray of blood, there was a sudden wash of wind that blew both Petronio and Mucum off their feet. The raven’s wings beat like a hurricane, and a single screech nearly burst their eardrums.

  “Mucum!” Ark cried out, helpless in the eye of this storm.

  To Mucum’s horror, a pair of claws reached down from the sky and plucked Ark from the forest, his home, all that was known to him. A second later, both boy and bird were gone, leaving only two dazed treenagers lying on the walkway.

  Mucum lay for a second, anger blazing within. He took a deep breath and levered himself up. Whoever regained their senses quickest would win. “You buddy buzzard. Got my mate killed. I’ll have you! I’ll —” Before Petronio even had a chance to rise, Mucum was on him, leaning with all his weight into his rubber-soled shoe, pressing it hard into Petronio’s neck.

  “Please!” Petronio gasped. “I didn’t mean to … it was an accident.”

  But Mucum was too far gone. “I saw you smile when the bird took him.” Enough said. A couple of seconds and the boy’s neck would snap like brittle ice. He’d never killed anyone before. What would it be like? He was about to find out.

  25• ONLY A BOY

  Petronio’s eyes bulged out as the pressure on his neck bore down. For the first, and possibly last time in his life, he was about to cry. How pathetic.

  As Petronio’s face began to turn blue, Mucum suddenly felt a thick arm snake around his neck from behind and the point of something very sharp press into his ribs.

  “Easy now! Take your foot away, sir. Immediately. I wouldn’t want my knife to slip, would I?” The voice was older and carried authority.

  Mucum thought about ignoring the order. He was done for in any case. And maybe he could take at least one piece of vermin with him. But self-preservation kicked in. He lifted his foot off, aware of a strength that could easily snap his own neck. “All right. Doin’ what you say …”

  Petronio coughed loudly, then rolled over, retching his dinner all over his expensively embroidered shift. He almost said thanks. The guard had saved his life, after all. Then he remembered who he was. He wiped his mouth and stared up at his savior. “About buddy time, Salix. What took you so long?” Petronio felt the imprint of Mucum’s shoe on his neck. There would be bruises later, but he’d live. He tried to stand up, swaying slightly and soaking wet as he regained his balance.

  “Looks like we caught our last little loose end!” Petronio brushed mud and bits of dead leaf from his padded britches as he walked over to Mucum. “Your boss, Jobby Jones, sold you out for a couple of sovereigns. And what kind of sissy name is Gladioli?”

  “Sod you!” Mucum should have killed him, but now he was stuck like a fly in the guard’s muscly web. All he could do was spit into Petronio’s face. The aim was good and he idly noticed that a decent gob now hung from the other boy’s nose.

  “Such insolence, from a nobody! Is that the best you can do?” Petronio pulled out a silk handkerchief and slowly wiped away the saliva. He was tempted to pull out his knife and stick the
common oaf there and then. Instead, he slammed his fist into Mucum’s stomach. “That, boy, is for dirtying my doublet. These clothes cost, you know!”

  Salix pulled his knife away just in time, letting go of Mucum’s other arm so that the boy doubled over in agony.

  Petronio straightened up, pleased with the effect. “That was for starters. Take him to the dungeons. I’ll deal with him later.”

  Mucum felt numb as he was pulled up and dragged away, no better than a bark-dog on a leash. Ark was dead. The country had gone to the logs and he was finished. As the guard prodded him forward with the point of his sword, he realized his promise to Flo was permanently broken. He wouldn’t be back, ever.

  After his prisoner had been taken away, Petronio lifted up the lamp, its flickering wash of weak color lighting up the pool of blood on the woodway. Why had he let the dumb bird have all the fun? He should have dealt out the slicing punch into the gut, a perfect disemboweling. Ark would have stared as his intestines slid out of his stomach like glistening worms.

  Petronio’s ability to deliver a killing blow had so far been limited to a safely trussed-up wild boar, squealing in terror as he hacked at its neck. Doing it to a Dendran was … for a moment he didn’t know what it was.

  Yet, when he informed Councillor Grasp of Ark’s death twenty minutes later, he had almost received a smile in acknowledgment. Petronio left out the small fact that Salix had saved his life.

  “You should have let my men deal with Malikum!” said Grasp, sighing. “But at least our work will no longer be impeded.” It was the best Petronio could hope for. He was dismissed. He thought about calling on the little sister and telling her that her brother was dead, but even he had some limits. Let her sleep.

  Later that night, when the rain finally ceased its soft rhythmic tapping on the cedar shingle roof, and the moon came pouring through the window, spilling silver over the floor, his door swung silently open.