Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  “She was real?” Ark dreaded the answer.

  “As real as you and I sitting here tonight.” Corwenna paused to look deep into Ark’s eyes. “And I am a daughter of that real woman, that scientist whose faith made Arborium. That is the end of all fact. My precious birds whisper me tales about my mother, about how she sent herself to sleep, curled up in a shrouded ball for a thousand years as the seeds sprang up around her, but how true they are, I don’t know. They tell, too, of the ravens of old, no more than three feet from wing tip to wing tip, that pecked at some of my mother’s seeds. They were transformed, just like the trees. Science stretched their beaks, bulked out their bodies, made claws into scimitars and wings large enough to slice through clouds. But science only explains so much, for within those seeds, greater mysteries have unfolded than even I shall ever understand.”

  Ark could picture it then. A bleak place of moorland and heather, where only storms soared over the empty inland vastness. And out of that nothing, that stillness, the action of rain and sun on those first seeds had created Arborium…. “But the earth below us is dirty; that’s why the trees grew so high! I don’t believe you.”

  “The facts are not bothered by what you think.” Corwenna allowed herself a small smile. “Only the earth beyond these shores was polluted. It’s just that the story has twisted over time. And before you ask where the Dendrans came from, think.”

  “They could have come from Maw for all I know!”

  “Not so stupid, are you? Yes, Ark, they were refugees. A boatload of them, braving strong winds and heaving oceans that tossed and swayed like treetops in a storm, praying to escape the march of the new world and find some peace, a land they could call their own — a land where trees still thrived.”

  Ark tried to imagine the scene. He’d never even come close to the sea.

  “Such a rickety old boat, filled with desperate men, women, and children. Oh, to come across this green-gladed paradise — there was no poisonous gas, not yet — and its creator, who welcomed them with open arms.” Corwenna smiled at the thought of it.

  “And that’s how we all came here?”

  “It’s a story for another time. But you don’t think all those woodways were built by magic, do you? The boat carried not just dreams, but carpenters, engineers, bakers, and builders. They brought whole cities in their heads, but not the dark machines that filled the sky with clouds of filthy smoke. They only needed guidance to make sure the mistakes of Maw were not repeated.”

  Corwenna stood up. “It is late and you are in need of rest. I must finish.” She sighed to herself. “You do know the woman’s name, of course?”

  Ark could see a word forming in his mind but would not believe it. He remembered the carving scratched into the wood outside Corwenna’s home.

  “Yes, Ark … Diana.”

  “Then, there is no … Goddess?” The words stumbled out as Ark’s tongue recoiled from the idea that tripped off it.

  “What is a goddess? What does that mean? You can understand the minds of animals, you can sense the trees, but does that mean we should worship you, young Ark?”

  “No … I … that’s not fair!” His mind raced. Was every prayer a waste of both breath and thought?

  “Not necessarily. You are born both of science and the wood. The intention behind your whispered words to Diana was right. Perhaps that is part of what kept you going. You know I have always been watching and waiting for you. The ravens are your guardians. That is why they have never hurt you, however close you may have thought you were to death. The feather you found was plucked from the breast of my most precious bird. When the time comes, it will serve you again.” She paused and her green eyes suddenly looked distant. “That day I placed you and your twin in the arms of the people whom you know as your mother and father, I was abandoning my own children.” Corwenna stared down at him with unexpected tenderness.

  Ark felt his heart almost burst. Suddenly, it made sense, even though he didn’t want it to. “But my twin died. You didn’t leave us in their arms, you left us in a nest in the cold!” he cried out.

  “Yes, you’re right, and though you understand it not, I ask your forgiveness. In the times to come, you will meet her again.”

  Before Ark could even think of a reply, Corwenna grabbed his hands. “There are even more important things at stake, Ark. This used to be my motherland. Now men rule the roost and have made a mess of it. I am old. It is up to you to act. As long as you know that, then there is hope. We must tend to your talent. Who knows what you are capable of?”

  29• ACTING SCARED

  Petronio was seconds from death. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d glimpsed one end of the weapon. It was completely see-through, shiny and smooth. How did it work? No time to think, as the soldier pressed it hard into his skull. Funny how the ravens were going to get a feast out of him after all.

  It wasn’t like him to give up so easily. How was he going to save himself? Maybe prayers were the answer.

  “I have to make my peace by kneeling,” he mumbled. It was a risk. Either his head would be blown off or the soldier would find some tiny shred of conscience inside his breast.

  “Get on with it, then, and no funny tricks.”

  Petronio could hear the man’s impatience. It was a start. “And how would I learn to take on a fully armed soldier in school?” Petronio slowly backed out of the hole until they both stood inside the hollow trunk, balancing on a warped and rusting iron platform at the top of the steps. A shaft of midday light poured through the hole, filling the clammy gloom. A blossom bat flew past, protesting at being disturbed. At least the weapon had moved back a few inches and was no longer sticking into his skull. Good.

  “Don’t know and don’t care.”

  “What, you don’t care about killing a helpless kid?” Petronio made his voice frail and whiny, his whole body language that of a terrified child, as he slowly slid into a kneeling position. The man was behind him still, near enough for Petronio to smell his breath with its strange scent of mint.

  “One less Dendran, as far as I’m concerned. Now get on with it. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

  He made one last effort to keep the conversation going, every word wavering. “I didn’t see anything, honestly.” Petronio could have kicked himself as he had a sudden brain wave. This man wasn’t his enemy! It was all a misunderstanding. He simply had to prove it. “I’m on your side! I’ve been working for Lady Fenestra.” Petronio heard a shocked gasp in response.

  “Don’t you dare say that name out loud!” The man sounded panicked for a second, ready to do anything.

  “But —”

  “But nothing. If you were on our side, why were you spying on us?” Brutal logic.

  Petronio had no answer. Curiosity wouldn’t be a good answer. He crouched on the wood, feeling the rough surface on his knees. This was ridiculous. He really was on their side. But mentioning the Mawish envoy had the opposite effect than he’d intended. Big mistake. There was only one way out now.

  “You little rat,” the soldier blustered. “What corner did you scurry from? You’ve heard too much. You need your mouth shut permanently, as I topple your overweight body off this stupid branch. Now pray!” This soldier was used to commanding his inferiors, and this bit of scum was running out of time.

  Petronio bowed his head and began mouthing the words he’d learned in kirk. “Lay me down in sweet glades. Though I walk through the woods of the dead, thou art with me, thy stick and thy staff to comfort me….” The words were by rote, but every part of Petronio’s body was tensed up, ready for action. He heard a grating click and figured out that the man’s weapon was ready. Then Petronio sensed him leaning closer and closer, intent on doing the job.

  Now! Petronio’s left leg kicked out like a horse’s and made instant contact with the man’s shin. There was a satisfying crunching sound as the shin shattered and the soldier collapsed on the ground, screaming, with his foot at an unnatural angle, white bone exposed to
the air. At the same moment, Petronio heard a sound like a soft swoosh of feathers and felt an intense stinging pain in his ear. No time to think. He leapt up, wondering if Diana had answered his prayers after all. As he jumped over the man to head for the stairs, an arm shot up and grabbed his leg.

  “You little —”

  “Not so little after all!” said Petronio as he aimed a savage kick with his free leg, connecting with a part of the soldier that caused him to double up in further agony and begin piteously mewing like a kitten. The arm let go and Petronio began pounding down the stairs. The soldier he’d first spotted wasn’t far away. Petronio was in serious danger. Maybe he should have snatched up the man’s weapon, but he didn’t know how it to use it. As far as he was concerned, it was a lump of strange glass that would slow him down.

  A few seconds later, he reached the bottom of the stairs with four archways heading in different directions. He peered right, just in time to see the second soldier only yards away, pointing his transparent weapon.

  By now, Petronio had figured out that whatever came out of the glass would be fast and lethal. He heard a second, almost silent swoosh and ducked. Part of the archway collapsed, showering him with splinters. Petronio turned and fled, hoping to find refuge among the parasite ferns that covered the route he’d used to get here. He might not be wearing camouflage, but given enough greenery, maybe he stood a chance.

  He wished he could stop and talk some sense into the soldiers, tell them that without him, Fenestra would be nowhere. But it was too late for words. Projectiles whizzed past his head like demented swallows. Petronio dived for the first patch of ferns, rolling as he landed in the soft clump. The branchway was wide enough to support a whole colony of these annoying plants. For once, Petronio was glad of Council ineptitude. He crawled left, then right, squeezing his way like a scaffield mole deeper into the foliage.

  There were spies here, too: sudden strands of nettles hidden until it was too late. Petronio tried to ignore their attacks. Better a few stings than sudden death. Petronio paused to catch his breath. He touched his stinging ear and his hand came away red. Maybe the ferns would disguise the smell. Otherwise, the ravens would be on him like maggots to a rotting corpse. This was not turning out to be a good day. Fenestra had told him he had done his part. He should have listened.

  He picked up the sound of the soldier angrily kicking at the ferns.

  “Where are you, you piece of foreign muck? One of my best men’s down and I’m not gonna let you get away with it!”

  Petronio felt righteous anger. Who was the foreigner here? Doubts about Fenestra and her promises to Grasp began creeping into his mind. With soldiers like these in her employ, maybe she’d simply massacre every living Dendran? Once they’d given her what she wanted, what use were they?

  The nettles gave him an idea. To fight fire, you need fire. It was what his father’s guards had always drilled into him ever since he’d picked up a kitchen knife and thrown it at a rat that was trying to raid the larders. The animal was skewered and a humble kitchen instrument revealed its darker side. Anything could be a weapon. The real talent came in using your brain to create opportunity out of despair.

  Petronio gritted his teeth as he grabbed a clump of nettles in his fist and silently pulled them out. The roots had dug deep into rotten bark, but were no match for him. Ignoring the swelling in his fingers, Petronio began to double back. He needed to get behind the soldier, who had made his first elementary mistake. Stamping about and making a lot of noise meant that you couldn’t hear what was going on around you.

  Petronio took advantage, his bulk moving with considerable ease as he gently probed his way through the ferns until he was almost directly behind the soldier. He thought of different methods his education had afforded him: the kick into the small of the back and, as the enemy falls, the jump onto the neck followed by an easy snap; or the surprise throttle, strangulation from behind. Time to try out his improvised weapon.

  “Show yourself, you sniveling excuse for a spy!” The man pointed his weapon into the jungle and several branches were splintered into jagged scars.

  “Whatever you say!” shouted Petronio, leaping up and around as he smeared nettle leaves all over the soldier’s face, rubbing them into his eyes and cheeks and nose, hard.

  The effect was instant, and perfect. The soldier fell to his knees, scrabbling at his face as he screamed out in agony. Nothing like a natural weapon to save the day!

  Petronio wondered about kicking the soldier over the edge. No. The man’s head would balloon up to twice its normal size for a couple of days, but he’d live. And so would Petronio. It was time to get the holly out of here.

  Petronio felt the buzz. Nothing beat a good fight and the adrenaline kick still surged its way pleasurably around his body. Ten minutes ago, he’d nearly been killed, and now? He’d never felt more alive. He strolled away through the jungle, rubbing his swollen hands. As he replayed the action in slow motion in his mind, he heard a sudden, familiar swoosh. His gut felt as if it was splintering into thousands of pieces.

  “What?” he groaned. So near and yet so far. As his mind began to cloud over, he realized that soldiers always have colleagues. He should have been more careful. He looked down to see what appeared to be a shard of glass sticking out of his chest. Blood instantly bloomed over his doublet. His eyes rolled up and he fell with an echoing thump onto the branchway.

  30 • A REALLY BOARING LESSON

  Ark slept through the morning and into the afternoon, in a side room as sumptuously furnished as Corwenna’s. He had no doubt that the mattress was filled with raven feathers. His dreams were easily as dark. There was a nest, high in the cruck of a tree, and two babies cradled within. One was crying for all his worth. But the other was coughing, a little body shivering all over as the wind swirled around them like a hungry hunter….

  When Ark finally woke, it was to see Corwenna sitting at the end of the bed, studying him. “I must get back. Little Shiv … the King.” He tried to sit up, to move away from this old crone who’d told him she was his mother! Perhaps it was just a terrible dream. He was still feeling so weak.

  “Ark, this is about more than the King. You know that. In any case, what power does he truly hold? The rot is too deep for him to make a difference.”

  “I don’t know what you expect from me,” he said angrily. “You said it was up to me. What can I do against trained soldiers?”

  “You do not think well of me!” Corwenna sighed.

  “What do you expect? It’s not every day the Raven Queen announces she’s my mother!” His heart suddenly yearned for home. To be back with Shiv, to be chatting to his father in his cot. Mr. Malikum, a man who climbed a branch and found a pair of orphans. “Then who is my father?”

  The green eyes looked away for a second. “One day I shall explain. If I told you that every tree in this land would hold you in its curling branches like a father would, you might not believe me, yet.”

  He didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, Arktorious Malikum, the foundling boy, son of Arborium, gave a great sob while his new mother held him tight. “And why did you leave me?”

  “It was the will of the woods. If you hadn’t grown up as a Dendran, you would not have known what to fight for. But the day that I swaddled you both in that cradle of twigs nearly broke my dark heart. And one day, I promise you will understand why your twin had to go on another, far more perilous journey.”

  Ark felt her hurt then. Corwenna was no longer a strange and powerful being but an old woman grieving for all that she had to lose.

  “I’m sorry, but you have a greater purpose, Ark. Deep inside, you know it’s the truth.” She gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Destiny is sometimes hard as heartwood. You prayed for a way to make things right and perhaps Diana, mother of us all, has shown you the way. What is the point of worship if it doesn’t bring results? I have been here almost since the wood began. Maybe I can reveal some of its mystery.” Corwenna let go of
her boy and stood up. “Come, there are clean clothes for you. Once you have taken some food, we shall start. You have to develop the skills that are inside you. You weren’t let loose on the sewers without training, were you? You need a teacher.”

  And she was gone, her black petticoats swirling behind her.

  Miserably, Ark stripped off his old sweaty and bloodstained clothes. The cut across his chest had begun to scab over. It was a score rather than a deep wound. He’d been lucky his grotty jerkin had been so thick. There was a zinc-lined basin in the corner, filled with clean-smelling rootwater. As he finished washing, he looked over the new clothes, laid out as if she’d known all along that he was coming.

  He pulled on a pair of hose spun from dyed black wool, much less itchy than his old stockings. Over the top went his new britches, of padded black velvet. His shift tied up at the front with horn buttons and he cinched this in with a supple leather waistcote. The shoes were close fitting, far more comfortable than the old ones his father had passed down to him. He looked in the mirror that hung above the basin. A raven on legs. Is that what he was? He no longer knew.

  Ark stood uncertainly at the threshold of his room. Corwenna had said that he could save Arborium. All at once, he hated her and knew she was the one who could help him do it. So far, he’d only felt the loneliness of a mealworm and thrown a feather through the air. It was hardly wood-shattering.

  He took a deep breath and finally pulled open the door to a staggeringly bright day. The light punched its way through the canopy. The branchway ahead appeared empty. He looked out toward the mountains and home. He felt so alone. This place with its jungle of wrinkled trees all woven together was alien and yet eerily beautiful. Where was Corwenna? He looked all around at the deserted canopy. Today there were no eyes staring back at him from the trees.