Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  Ark tentatively walked along the road, with each step soaking up the rays of sun that darted about the curving path. As the rays warmed his face, he felt strength returning to his body. After a few hundred yards, he saw a huge trunk looming upward. The way widened and began to shelve into a perfectly round cruck pool, its surface smooth like a giant eye reflecting the blue of the sky above. Only this pool appeared to be natural, untouched by Dendran saw or chisel. Instead of sluice gates and aqueducts to channel the rootwater from far below, this concave hollow where two giant branches met the rearing trunk must have been filled with rainwater. To one side, on a raised wooden platform, sat Corwenna, cross-legged, her eyes closed, her body still as stone.

  Ark coughed lightly.

  “Ah!” said Corwenna, opening her eyes. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

  “I don’t know. Why?” The dawn meal suddenly seemed a long time ago.

  Corwenna stood. The fingers of her left hand uncurled, beckoned to Ark from across the cruck pool. “If you are hungry, you will learn. Come.”

  “What? You want me to walk across the water?”

  Corwenna frowned. “No. I think we’ll leave that to the legends. This afternoon we go hunting. We haven’t got much time.”

  Ark saw she was pointing out the path around the edge of the pool. He was still tired. If only he could plunge into those delicious depths, but Corwenna had already vanished into the trunk behind her. He ran to catch up, jumping down the stairs inside the trunk two at a time.

  The Ravenwood felt different. Yes, there were hollow trunks and branchways. But there, the similarities ended. While Arborium was engineered, this place, hidden on the other side of the mountains, felt as if every part had been grown. Even the stairs he pounded down were higgledy-twiggledy. Perhaps the tree itself had decided to take up carpentry. Edges melted into each other, and the steps were concave hollows rather than carefully planed treads. As he caught up with Corwenna at the next level down, she paused by a hollow archway strewn with ivy. The branchway that led out ahead of them kinked and twisted as if it was a snake fossilized into wood. Instead of scaffolding and supports, the giant branch wriggled out from the trunk and fused into the branch of the next tree. The track that crossed between the trunks and over the great deeps below had been gouged and pressed into the bark by the hooves of unknown creatures.

  “Where are we going?”

  “In Arborium, everyone rushes. They talk about going straight to work. Or they say, ‘I’ll be there straightaway.’ When Arborium began, it was not meant to be thus and it is not so here, the one place Dendrans have not reached with their influence. My dream, and I hope it is yours, is that our whole wood can be made clean once again, if you play your part. Be careful and follow me close.”

  Corwenna turned away from him and plunged into the path. Ark tried to follow, even though the branchway supported its own living forest — a tangle of gigantic rhododendron, laurel, and clumps of hawthorn that sprung up from the path and scratched away the smartness of his new apparel. The scents and colors assailed him from all sides, disorienting and dazing him, flower petals the size of ravens’ wings fluttering past his vision. As he tried to push through the bushes, he was aware of other movements and scurrying sounds. The worst that Arborium had to offer were bad-tempered wasps drunk on fermented apples. He didn’t want to know what lay hidden in the shadows off these pathways. “Wait for me!” he shouted, turning a corner and almost bumping into his new teacher.

  “Hush!” Corwenna put a finger to her lips. “Can you not hear them?”

  Ark was itchy and hot. The only sound he could now hear was the occasional squawk of ravens high overhead.

  “You remember when you were trapped in the sewers and the guard came to stare in at the porthole?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” He was no longer surprised that she seemed to know everything.

  “The feather-gift was part of it. A raven does not shed his cloak lightly. It was a sacrifice for my Hedd to give up one of his breast feathers. He knew it would be used well…. But the other comes from what made you. You were born on wood. You come from the wood. Therefore you have inherited the skills of every tree. You simply have to discover them.”

  Corwenna fell silent, and then he heard it. A drumming in the distance, reverberating through the branch and into the soles of his feet.

  “Quick now.” She grabbed Ark tight around the shoulders, her sharp fingernails digging through his shift and into his skin. “This is a deadly test. You must be all ears. These trees, at their core, hold stillness dear. It is the reason why we always come back to the wood for our dark hearts’ ease. Remember the guards!” With that, she let him go.

  What the holly was she on about? The path was empty. Corwenna vanished as easily as the world he’d left behind.

  The drumming sound grew louder. A few hawthorn leaves fell, as if some far-off giant had shaken its tiny, twisted branches. Whatever lay ahead of him on the path approached at speed.

  Ark found his heartbeat speeding up as his eyes nervously tried to pierce the shadows. “Corwenna?” he croaked, dry-throated. His legs had the sudden urge to turn around the way they came and run holly-for-leather.

  Too late. As the drumming grew into a roar, the thicket ahead of him suddenly gave up its secrets.

  “Oh!” Ark gasped. When Corwenna had mentioned hunting, he had no idea she meant this.

  A phalanx of wild boar thundered straight toward him along the path. They were only twenty feet away, closing fast.

  Ark had seen the odd boar back at home. Occasionally, one found its way into town from the wilder parts of Arborium and everyone ran around screaming at what was basically an overgrown pig. Admittedly, the tusks might give you a bad cut if it charged you, but boar weren’t terribly intelligent. Step out of the way and they would run on, leaving most Dendrans shaking but safe.

  Corwenna had warned Ark about the Ravenwood. She was right. These beasts, like the trees around them, had been twisted and stretched out of all recognition. They were mountains of muscles on legs, with the addition of a pair of tusks that could easily impale a whole family on their sharpened lengths. One was enough to take your breath away and remember every prayer that had ever been thrown upon the wind. But a horde of them, shaking the very wood they thundered along? He didn’t stand a chance.

  Every word Corwenna had spoken instantly fled from his mind, except that it was obvious he was born from the trees. Ark was rooted to the spot in the center of the path. Like a sissy sapling, he was about to be snapped in half.

  31• HUNGER TO LIVE

  If Mucum had been around, he would have made a joke about being boared to death. But there was no best mate to invent an instant plan of action. Instead, Ark faced a battalion of wild beasts. If the thundering of their hooves didn’t shake him off the branch, then their tusks were guaranteed to punch daylight straight through his guts.

  Corwenna said she was his mother! Would a mother really leave him to be trampled to death? Ark felt the sweat on his forehead. The boars were so close he could smell their scent, rank and strong. Their unblinking eyes were like bright coins. He was terrified.

  Corwenna’s last words suddenly came to him. Remember the guards! What had he done as he and Mucum were trapped behind the door? The boars were ten feet away now, their heads lowered, ready to scoop him from the path.

  As Ark felt the lead animal’s breath, as the monster’s tusks were ready to plunge into his chest, every word Corwenna said fell into place. Now he had no raven feather to clutch. She had said that he came from the trees, and what did trees do best? They stood there throughout all seasons, holding out against driving rain and pummeling wind. Well, being “rooted to the spot” might not be such a bad idea. His heart filled with a crazy confidence. It was almost as reckless as jumping off the edge. He’d either live or die, two sides of a coin spinning through the air toward him.

  At the last second, Ark looked down. If he was part of the trees, the boar
s would ignore him. But to turn away from the oncoming horde felt like an act of folly. Every part of Ark’s body tensed.

  The animals did not check their stride. Instead, they flowed past Ark, their sides brushing against him as if he was a solid rock. In the space of one breath, the boars were gone, behind him, trampling bushes as they vanished down the highway.

  Ark slowly unclenched himself, twisting his head around, unable to believe he’d done it. He was miraculously unmarked. All that remained was the faint smell already being borne away by the breeze.

  A sound of clapping interrupted the silence. “A little bit lastminute, but it will do, I think.” Corwenna glided out of the shadows, her feathered cloak flaring out behind her like a pair of wings.

  “It’ll do?” Ark’s voice felt dried up. At least his feet were working again as he turned to face Corwenna, though there was a moment when the soles of his shoes almost stuck to the wooden surface. “I could have been killed!”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “No. You could have, but you weren’t. I believed in you, Ark.” Corwenna’s eyebrows arched in amusement. “But I’m still hungry.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ark. “Let me get this straight. I nearly died a few seconds ago and you’re more concerned about your appetite?” Ark was usually meek and mild; he was changing, transforming into something else. Mucum was the one to get mouthy. What was happening to him?

  “Yes. But don’t worry. Our friends are coming back and this time we shall not let them go so easily.”

  “What do you mean?” As the branch began to quiver, he knew exactly what she meant. “Oh no, not again!” Lessons at school were never like this. At least you didn’t risk life and limb.

  “Now listen well. I shall not leave you this time. But you must do as I say.”

  Despite what he’d achieved, Ark felt the fear again. He wasn’t ready for yet another encounter. Not this soon. His lips went dry and his heart began to slam against his ribs as if it were a bird trying to escape the bony cage. It was for the good of Arborium. “Fine. Tell me. All right.” If worse came to worst, he could surely play statues one more time.

  “If you are truly of the wood, then there is much to be discovered.” She pulled out a small mirror and handed it to Ark. “You must reflect on this and always know that light is both friend to the leaves and yourself.”

  “A mirror?” he squealed. “But I don’t need to comb my hair!”

  “Don’t be silly, young Ark. Use the light!”

  The branch beneath them shuddered as the living, breathing, stinking mass of boars stampeded toward them. There were only seconds to spare.

  A ray of sunlight hit the mirror and bounced off it, lighting up a small patch of the woods to the left of the path. “Oh!” said Ark, wondering if he had time. He swung his hand, trying to direct the small beam onto the way ahead. It wavered and bucked before he finally focused it on the lead boar now only a few feet away.

  “Good!” whispered Corwenna in his ear.

  Ark still had no idea whether it would work, until the mirror caught the lead boar’s eyes. The effect was instant. The boar was blinded. It crashed headlong through the bushes that lined the woodway and slipped off the edge. The others in the herd played a brutal game of follow-my-leader, the sound of their high-pitched squeals excruciating as one after another toppled through the gap. Ark gasped with dismay. He hadn’t intended a massacre.

  But Corwenna had chosen her spot with care. The forest was particularly thick here, and the branches that radiated out beneath them a woven warren. Living high up in the canopy gave the boars agility. They tumbled and fell like airborne cats, each one managing to land upright on the thicket below, scrabbling for purchase on the bark, and then squealing off onto other paths into the deep woods.

  All except one that still stood on the path in front of him. Maybe this tusked giant was a throwback or, like Ark, different. It was not fooled by the business with the mirror but more interested in attacking those responsible for nearly destroying its kin. It approached slowly, eyes consciously turned from the mirror, tusks lowered, ready to spear Ark to kingdom come.

  “Well done, my boy!” called Corwenna.

  Ark was surprised. He was about to be gored to death and Corwenna offered congratulations.

  However, it was not him she addressed as Corwenna stepped out toward the lone boar. “We are impressed with your resolve.” As she spoke, she held the animal’s gaze.

  Ark watched from the side as the boar stamped and snorted at its enemy. It stood its ground. Corwenna put up her hands as if showing the beast that she had no weapons and stared at it, unblinking. “There now. Easy.” She coaxed the creature with her stare. It shuffled forward like a dog, drawn to heel.

  Up close, Ark could see the creature was as frightened as he was.

  Without moving, Corwenna hissed at Ark, “What are you waiting for? Find the blade in my belt. Use it.”

  Ark saw the hilt peeking out from her petticoats. “You want me to —?”

  “The will of the woods. Eat or be eaten. Between the eyes is most merciful.”

  Ark found himself moving in slow motion, lifting the blade out as Corwenna kept control. He felt sickened by the Raven Queen’s power.

  “I can’t!” he whimpered.

  “If we turn away, this animal will happily deal with both of us. We need to eat. What is it to be?”

  Ark made a decision. He raised the knife high above the boar’s head. The forest stilled and Ark was aware of Corwenna suddenly dropping to her knees and murmuring:

  “Enter thee into the dark,

  Honor to thy shape and spark!”

  Before he had a chance to question what Corwenna was doing, Ark’s hand was free again, slamming down toward its target. He caught one last glimpse of the boar’s eyes, flicking toward his in terror before the blade went in.

  The boar gave a sigh, before slowly toppling over on its side. Ark pulled the blade out in disgust. Blood oozed slowly over the woodway. Mucum killed the sewer rat with ease, and Petronio would have happily skewered his former schoolmate. But any sense of victory eluded Ark. Killing went against all that the Warden spoke of.

  “You are shocked. But his passage to the other side will be safe now.”

  “What …?” The image of Goodwoody kneeling in kirk came into his head.

  “Exactly,” Corwenna answered. “Do you think we do not honor the dead?” She stood up, watching Ark closely. “Besides, it was a good lesson. You will need a strong stomach for what is to come, my child. And we only have a few days to prepare you.”

  Ark watched as a raven tumbled from the sky only a few feet away. The boy backed up. Maybe Corwenna did control the ravens, but those claws could easily rip him in half.

  “This is Hedd!” said Corwenna.

  A pair of dark, pupil-less eyes looked down at him. Was he expected to say hello?

  “You can say what you want. But it might be good to temper your fear with admiration.” Corwenna strolled toward Hedd and stroked the bird under his beak. He gave a deep, rumbling caw of pleasure. “These birds are the beating heart of this forest.”

  “Well, er … thanks for rescuing me from Petronio,” Ark said, feeling rather stupid.

  The bird inclined his head as if he understood, then plucked the dead boar from its resting place. With a flap of huge feathers, both bird and beast were gone into the green gloom.

  “Come. Hedd shall carry our dinner ahead of us. This morning, I was not sure if you were up to the tasks I had set to you, but now I am forced to praise you!”

  “Why? I stood still, worked out how to use a mirror, and stabbed a poor creature to death. That’s not going to save the wood, is it?” Ark felt nauseous.

  “Your Holly Woodsmen preach about be-leaf. Maybe you need some of that faith right now. You and your friends might become a force to be reckoned with.”

  Corwenna had a point, though Ark’s hands felt
dirty. “I suppose I did all right. It beats plunging toilets any day.” Then he remembered the way the boar looked at him as the knife went in.

  “If you are to succeed, you must become friends with death. That is what lies ahead of you, if you are willing.”

  “My best friend is probably dead. Isn’t that enough for you?” He was sick of the fight, sick of the way Corwenna plucked thoughts from his mind like a scavenging crow. The afternoon’s events were catching up on him. He felt his body tremble all over, as if his limbs were turning to jelly.

  A few hours later, and with a bowl of boar stew sitting comfortably in his stomach, Ark lay back in bed.

  Corwenna sat with him. It felt strange. His mother … his other mother was the one who normally came to sit by his bed.

  “What do you mean about becoming friends with death?” The words twisted around his head, like this strange wood that now held him in its grip.

  “You’ll see. This training is not for nothing. It is part of a journey you have been destined to take since the day you were born. I hope you are up to it.”

  Ark didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I’m sure you don’t. Ark, I am old and frail, and you are Arborium’s future. Soon, all shall become clear.” She nodded her head once and stood. “Whatever prayers you have, use them now before you sleep. I shall leave you.” She swept out through the open door, which shut behind her as quickly as it blew open.

  It was too much. At least the bed was warm. He had a new mother, he was supposedly the future for Arborium, and the people he loved were in terrible danger. And now, he found out that he’d been praying not to some far-off goddess all his life, but to his own grandmother. Ark hugged himself. Even though he was exhausted, his head would not leave him alone. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was his little sister with her impish grin; the smell of the smoky fire at home; Mucum blundering toward him, desperate to avenge his honor; Petronio’s dismissive laugh; the gleam of the ore in the root tunnels down below; the faraway voices plotting destruction as their sounds filtered through the plumbing. It all washed over him like ripples until his body finally had enough and he drifted into a long, troubled sleep.