Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  ROAD CLOSED DUE TO COUNCIL REPAIRS. FINDING NEW WAYS TO KEEP THE COUNTRY ON THE MOVE!

  Arborium was full of spots like this, filled with rusted cables and rotting plankways. They were signs of the old empire when the whole forest was filled with Dendrans, before the ancient black plagues reduced the population to an echo of history. Occasionally, the plague came back like a curse to remind the tree dwellers that Arborium was not impregnable. Eleven years before, there’d been a small outbreak, taking out a few sewer workers and their families before fading away in the coldest winter for generations. Nowadays, nobody thought twice about it, though this was the main reason why many had upped sticks and headed for a new life in Hellebore.

  These abandoned, rural woodways had no profit in them. As long as they stuck up a sign, the Council could pretend that a repair team would eventually deal with the problem.

  Petronio wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He stepped over the sign and walked onto the spot where he’d first seen Fenestra in trouble. Luckily, the path beyond continued in one direction. He gingerly avoided the various holes in the road, trying not to look down at the mile drop below. If Fenestra had a hidey-hole, this was perfect. Other Dendrans wouldn’t take the risk down here.

  Petronio paused. What was that? He was sure he heard a slight shuffling noise. Probably a squirrel. He wished he had his catapult. There was no greater satisfaction than seeing one of those nosy little creatures slammed off the branch and tumbling through the air. The surface grew worse as he walked. Parasite plants — ferns and nettles — had been allowed to take hold. The path turned into a jungle sucking out the lifeblood of the trees. He stopped to look more closely. Various nettle stalks were bent out of place. Footsteps had been here before him.

  He trod carefully and quietly, his ears tuned in to every rustle of the forest. He came to a clearing, a crossroads where two branchways intersected, supported in the middle by a massive hollowed-out trunk riddled with woodworm. Three possible directions. He entered the archway of the trunk, looked up to see the vaulted roof above him. Which route should he take?

  A sunbeam provided the answer, as it shot through the leaves. There! In one of the doorways, a shred of snagged material. Petronio bent to examine the tiny fragment of cloth. Some of the strands caught the light, as if woven from metal. This was no Dendran cloth. Petronio smiled and was about to stride through the archway when a sight stopped him in his tracks.

  Thirty or forty yards away, a figure crouched behind a bush. The figure was clad head to foot in an outfit that appeared to absorb the color from the leaves around until it was hard to make out what was man and what was bush. Even more interesting was the weapon the man cradled expertly in his arms. Petronio had never seen anything like it and he made a point of knowing all things armorial. It was a transparent hollow tube with one end nestled into the man’s shoulder; his finger appeared to be clamped on to a curve of silver halfway along the tube.

  Petronio shivered. He had no desire to find out what the weapon could do. He had a feeling that his own dagger would be no competition. He’d reached his goal. This must be Fenestra’s destination. This was a soldier from Maw. Despite the camouflage, everything about him screamed out foreignness. What was he doing here? Petronio calmed his breathing. It might be better if he retreated. Fenestra was right after all. He’d done his part.

  But another part of him was curious, drinking in the sight. He even thought, madly, of walking up to the man and asking him about the shoulder stick. He had to find out more. The hollowed-out trunk gave him an idea. Where there was wood, steps will follow went the saying. He looked again and found a series of crumbling steps leading up and around. Petronio carefully placed a foot on the first stair, testing it for creaks, making his way up toward the sky and a better vantage point.

  He felt it before he heard it. A slight reverberation in the wood. Then a breeze sprung up, filled with a muffled and rhythmic thwack-thwack. By this point, he was perched about a hundred feet higher up, having crawled through a hole where a branch had rotted. His eyes could make no sense of the sight. It wasn’t a bird, unless birds were made of metal. And yet it hovered over the forest, matte black, almost silent. On top, four blades whirred around so fast, it made Petronio’s eyes blur. The breeze had become a strong wind, almost pulling him off the tree.

  “Seen enough, have we?” snarled a voice behind him.

  Petronio could have punched himself. He’d been so caught up in the vision before him that his guard had been briefly let down.

  “Don’t speak another word. Unless you want your brains spattered over your nice green leaves!”

  Petronio felt something cold press into the back of his head. He wanted to know what Mawish weapons could do. Now he would find out. The only thing he couldn’t understand was how perfectly the voice mimicked the Dendran accent. Maybe that was part of their training: the Maw Army Language course: Learn to speak like Dendrans and then kill them! Complimenting the man’s speech was hardly going to save his life.

  “No one is supposed to know that we’re here!” The voice paused as if coming to a conclusion. “Which makes you a liability.”

  The weapon pressed harder into Petronio’s skull until his head throbbed with pain. He closed his eyes, unable to stop himself begging the Diana he didn’t believe in for help, just this once.

  28• A SUDDEN DISCOVERY

  For Ark, this was the last scaffield straw, feeding a spark deep within the exhausted boy. To be dismissed as nothing was somehow even worse than the knowledge of the ravens’ hunger. The sun chose that moment to tip itself above the horizon. The first rays pierced the depths of the nest, gilding Ark’s brown face, the hesitant warmth filling him with insane hope.

  Without thinking, he drew out the raven feather from his bag, feeling the sharp prick of the quill. Would it work? It was almost as long as his forearm and felt heavy enough. Hold the feather, grab the weather. Ark pulled his arm back and heaved it with all his might. The feather, as if in memory of flight, shot like the wind straight toward the retreating woman’s back.

  The quill was as sharp as a throwing knife, soaring through the dawn with perfect aim. He knew with the certainty of the new day that the feather would penetrate cloak, puncture skin, and dig deep into her dark heart. Soon, the woman would cross the River Sticks to meet her own maker.

  Sensing danger, the woman suddenly swiveled around. Her green eyes glittered with amusement. A hand shot out to pluck the speeding weapon from the air. It was over before it had even begun.

  Ark slumped back, his last hope clutched tightly in the raven-woman’s hand. There were a few seconds of tense silence. Ark was defeated, but if she was going to give the order to the mass of shifting birds, he would not act the coward. He held her gaze.

  “Now that,” she said, “is interesting. A boy who has mastered fear. The use of my gift was also well improvised.”

  Ark was confused. He expected death, not praise. Then he figured it out. “It was your voice, when I followed the squirrel, when I grabbed the feather, when I was hiding with Mucum….”

  “Yes. Note that the only way out of here is up.” The woman grabbed Ark’s jerkin again and tossed him easily to the top of the nest, where he landed in a heap. He felt like one of Shiv’s play sticks, thrown around for the sheer holly of it. Managing to sit upright, he briefly swayed backward with tiredness, then pulled himself together, aware that if he fell, the drop would be brutal.

  The woman scurried up the sheer wall of the nest below him like a spider, and walked off down the branch. She turned back briefly. “Come. If you have mastered your fear, then there is no reason to be afraid.”

  Ark saw that the nest was wedged between two forking branches. But these were not carved flat like the woodways of home. As he stepped off the nest, the way ahead turned into a treacherous and ankle-twisting path of pitted bark and slippery lichen. He reluctantly drew closer, staring up at the figure who towered over him. Despite her crookedness, he also sa
w for the first time her fierce and ageless beauty.

  “I have been looking over your shoulder from the beginning. Forgive my little test. I had to see what you were made of. A cruel face is not the only one that I wear.” The woman picked her way down the path, her figure flowing between pools of shade and light. “Walk with me now.”

  Ark tried to keep up as the branch climbed up and curled around, his eyes reeling with the strange sights of this new land. A butterfly bigger than a horse fluttered past, its iridescent blue wings an echo of the distant sky. The truth of the woman’s words clicked in his head like a cog. Twilights where he wandered in the woods alone, feeling that he was being watched and dismissing it. “But why?”

  “Later. At least let me introduce myself. You may call me —”

  “Corwenna! The Raven Queen!” Ark’s eyes went wide with recognition and fear.

  “How delightful! I have not been addressed as ‘queen’ for years! Yes, I am sometimes known as the Raven Queen, but I am more than that, Ark, much more. I am the guardian of this created land. I, too, was grown like the trees. Sometimes, science and miracles come together.” She stopped and bowed gracefully.

  “I’m A-Ark, short for Arktorious,” he stammered. A minute ago he was a potential murderer. Now they were making courtly introductions. “Umm … you’re not going to eat me, are you?”

  “Oh really. These nursery rhymes do exaggerate!” She studied him for a second with her vivid green eyes. Why did they look so familiar? It was unnerving.

  Ark was in shock. Goodwoody talked about Dendrans ignoring the Raven Queen at their peril. Now she walked alongside him, living and breathing! “Hang on! Does that mean that Diana is here somewhere, too?” He peered around, terrified of meeting the target of his prayers.

  “The mother of us all is long gone.” Corwenna frowned.

  “Did you … know her?” Ark couldn’t stop the questions tumbling out. It was all too much to take in, just like this tangled treescape that confused his sense of direction. He longed for the familiar woodways that he knew like the back of his hand, the safety ropes that gave Dendrans their sense of security. Here, there were no ropes to steady the nerves, only a tortuous route that was keen to trip him up and pull him over the edge. The branch suddenly narrowed and Ark quailed. “I can’t …” The woodway swayed in front of him, a skinny tightrope of wood, no wider than the width of his foot.

  Corwenna smiled as she strode confidently over. “You need to trust. The wild wood will never let you fall.”

  Ark wasn’t so sure. These trees were tricky, treacherous. Finally, he tried to calm his breathing and carefully stepped forward, convinced he was about to slip. But somehow his feet found the right gripping points and he was over, scampering to keep up with his new guide.

  “Well done!” said Corwenna as Ark at last caught up. “As for the answer to your earlier question. Oh yes. I knew her with all my heart and soul. But let us leave her in peace for now. Your curiosity does you credit. Dendrans are normally so dull, with their rituals and woodsmen and misguided prayers, but you, Ark, have always been different. You have the ability to understand nature’s true power, something far greater than be-leaf alone. This is why you were made, foundling boy.”

  His body was a jangle of nerves, his mind racing to catch up with her words. They wrapped him around like the suffocating vines that crept up the trunks of this impenetrable forest. Could it really be true? He thought back to all that had happened. If she knew everything, why was she playing with him? Perhaps she was right. And perhaps the reason he had been brought to the Ravenwood was to meet Corwenna!

  “Then help me save Arborium. My home is in trouble! If you are who you say you are, not just some crone from an old story, you’ll know that already.”

  “Arborium is always in trouble!” Corwenna shrugged. “It is no longer my concern.”

  “When I was attacked by your raven, I was trying to warn the King that Maw is about to overthrow the kingdom. Let me go, or if you’re so powerful, why won’t you help me?” She had to help him! But he must be careful. To taunt his captor was madness.

  Corwenna was almost pushed back by the force of his words. She paused, looking down at the boy in a new light. “Well, Ark, it does seem as though my experiment has finally borne fruit. When my mother first brought the seeds of these trees to this once barren island many years ago, I knew the time to fight for the trees would come again.” The coldness of her voice was replaced with a surprising tenderness. “Welcome to the Ravenwood, Ark. We need each other. It might well be that you are the first-ever visitor who will live to speak of us. Now come, you must be tired. I shall dress your wounds and feed you.”

  Ark was stunned. Is this what this strange woman had wanted all along? Was this a game to her?

  The empty woods suddenly filled with the sound of wing-beats. Corwenna checked her stride. “Here we are.”

  Ark had no idea where they were, only that every branch in the tree above them was now speckled with watching eyes. A feathered bodyguard of thousands. The door set into the hollow trunk that reared up in front of them was covered in sigils and scratchings: strange symbols of the moon, and trees that were half trunk, half woman. One of the pictures, of a female figure with a bow and arrow hunting down a tree stag, disturbed him.

  Corwenna swung the door open. Ark had no choice but to enter.

  A fire was lit in an ornate iron grate covered in embossed ravens with eyes of precious stones. The room was sumptuously furnished and the flames reflected off endless jewels and shiny metal implements.

  “The birds have a way with shimmering objects. Some useful, others mere glitter. But is it not so with Dendrans and their love of gold?”

  Ark nodded. Councillor Grasp was well named.

  “They have stolen me an imitation of wealthy Arborian life, but these baubles will never corrupt my heart.” The woman poured from a flask, pushing a crystal glass over to Ark.

  This was far from home. Ark looked into the fire, suddenly aware of skewers hanging over the flames. His mouth watered: The smell of roasting meat was pungent, overpowering. He had had visions of being forced to crunch raw squirrels and bugs on some nest-scrape filled with bird excrement.

  “Raw flesh is fine for my feathered friends, but I prefer my meat cooked. Here, help yourself. And before you ask, it’s goat.”

  It was a long time since Ark’s last meal in the subterranean land of the Rootshooters. The meat was tender, seared on the outside, oozing and juicy as he bit into it. He finished the chunks of the first skewer and devoured a second, washing it down with a fiery juice that tasted of fermented black currant.

  Corwenna picked at the meat on her plate, her sharp fingernails like delicate claws.

  “So, goddesses eat food as well?”

  She burst out laughing. “I suppose I could cook up a few well-meaning Dendran prayers, but that would be thin fare!”

  Ark finally managed a smile.

  “That’s better! Now we have important matters to discuss. We know that Arborium is in danger. The country has been sick for a long time.”

  Ark nodded, thinking of the rich kids playing in the castle gardens and the hovel he called home.

  “And now comes an interloper ready to pluck the fruit from the branch!”

  “Maw?”

  “My birds have eyes. It is they who tell me what is happening in the wide-wood. The woman you overheard encouraging Grasp to betray his own king — Lady Fenestra — is more dark goddess than I ever was! Maw has bred a perfect monster who would devour us all.”

  “But if you’re the Raven Queen, can’t you wave a wood-wand or something?” Ark still couldn’t believe he was sitting opposite Her. If only his parents could see him now. “There’s old shrines to you all over!”

  “As I have said, Ark, what a few doddering Dendrans believe I am and what I actually am are two different creatures. It’s time for you to hear the truth. But that begins with a question. Where are we?”

&nb
sp; “Inside the trunk of a tree. In the Ravenwood. In the far west of Arborium.”

  “And what made the trees?”

  “Why the school lesson?”

  “Answer me!” Corwenna demanded.

  “Um … the scientists of long ago. They followed a message borne from the Goddess, to create a world up in the sky, safe from the polluted earth and those who would harm us.” This was the green ark that would shelter Dendrans from all the storms to come. It was a childhood tale that tree dwellers grew up with.

  “In a way, that story is true. Long ago, there was a group of scientists and thinkers who could see that forests would soon become extinct. Land was valuable to build on. Nearly all the trees had been cut down to make way for cities of glass. And when the growth of saplings was outlawed to protect the value of the remaining timber, it was time to act. They were led by one woman. A woman with no message apart from the yearnings in her heart to stop the madness of the world.”

  “That’s heresy!” Ark was shocked.

  “Fact twists and turns like a growing branch over time. As the generations pass on their words, history is woven into far tales. This woman was strong and smart. In great secrecy and with the help of her colleagues, it was she who created the first seeds of the trees of Arborium. Others in her group found an uninhabited island in the middle of the ocean, one of the last few wild refuges. An island that somehow had been overlooked by the nation that would one day become the Mawish Empire.”

  Ark knew exactly which island Corwenna was talking about, but all that he believed in was being turned upside down.

  “As leader, she was the one who made the final sacrifice. She faked her own death — easy enough for a great scientist. As she left the city she had grown up in, her heart was heavy for the family she had to abandon. How she arrived on the island is another tale, and who can say what went through her mind as she dug the seeds into the hostile earth? It was an experiment, which is a sort of prayer, I suppose. A dream to create new life when the rest of the earth was turning into great forests of glass and steel.”