Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  “Have you forgotten your purpose? You cannot stay here forever. Preparations must be made. The battle is coming. Soon you will be ready.”

  Ark felt the familiar knot of doubt tying up his stomach.

  “Battle? What battle?” said Mucum. But his words floated on thin air and the room was suddenly empty. He shivered. “This Corwenna. It’s really her?”

  “Yes. She’s taken me under her wing, so to speak.” It was time to finally tell him, though the words wouldn’t come easily. “She seems to think I’m her … son. Well, sort of …”

  “Yer what? Fancy explainin’ what the holly’s goin’ on?”

  As Ark dressed himself, he filled Mucum in on the last two days. By the end, Mucum looked impressed. “A goddess for a mom. And yer tellin’ me that yer grandma made this whole lot? Buddy dell!” Mucum suddenly frowned. “Hang on. This forest didn’t grow in a few years. No way. Which means that the old bird Corwenna is seriously ancient!”

  “I guess. Just like the trees. I still can’t take it all in.”

  “Well, who’d ’ave thought it? Anyhow, if she rules the roost, and there is gonna be a fight, she might let us use the R.A.F.”

  “What?”

  “Raven Air Force. Could be the ticket against Grasp and his thugs.”

  The door opened behind them, followed by a delicious smell. Corwenna proffered a wooden platter piled high with food. “Will boar-bacon sandwiches be acceptable to you young gentlemen?”

  Mucum stood up. “I’ll forgive anyone ’oo feeds me a bacon sarnie. Cheers!” Without waiting to be asked, he grabbed a couple and stuffed them down his gullet. “Phew,” he said a few mouthfuls later, “I’m almost feelin’ Dendran again.”

  “I now see why you chose him as a companion.” Corwenna allowed a smile to cross her lips as she dabbed some salve onto Mucum’s arm and wrapped it in a soft compress of comfrey leaves. Mucum gritted his teeth, but wouldn’t show her it hurt.

  “Yes,” said Ark, remembering, “although I don’t think I had a choice.”

  “Eat well. Take your rest. Then go and explore. Though if you hear a hissing sound, I would suggest you run, fast. The adders around here are huge and would happily squeeze the life from both of you and swallow you whole.”

  “Oh right. Thanks for that. Nuffin’ like the thought of slith-erin’ snakes to make my day.”

  Corwenna ignored the boy’s sarcasm. “And tomorrow, I shall give you a gift” — she paused and studied the boys with a sudden sadness — “a gift of death.”

  36• DEADLY TRAINING

  The bandages wrapped around Petronio’s chest felt like a vine squeezing out his breath. It didn’t help that the transparent g-gun 500 he cradled clumsily was as heavy as a lump of bog oak.

  “Are you stupid, boy? Point the muzzle down; otherwise I could get hurt.”

  If this soldier patronized him anymore, Petronio would be tempted. How was he supposed to see it when it was completely see-through?

  “Put your goggles on.”

  Petronio did as he was told, his nose wrinkling at the strange chemical smell as he pulled them over his forehead. The blue-tinted lenses made the outline of the gun suddenly as sharp as day. He studied the man’s mottled uniform, browns and greens leaking into each other, his face a smeared makeup experiment gone wrong. As camouflage, though, it worked. And the gun itself was a miracle. Without the goggles, it simply melted into the background. No wonder the sniper had managed to take him down.

  “You know I’d happily shoot you again, you arrogant piece of squit, if our high and mighty lady hadn’t ordered me to look after you.”

  Fine. He was here to learn. Petronio pointed to a hollow tube in the side of the g-gun. “And this?”

  “The chamber. Check it’s empty before engaging the magazine.”

  Petronio was confused. He wasn’t about to get married.

  The soldier took a shiny block and shoved it under the rifle until there was a click. “Pull the charging handle, take the safety lever off, and you’re ready.”

  Petronio didn’t like feeling the fool. Give him a stiletto and he could confidently hit a man in the chest from thirty yards. But this? “Why doesn’t it shatter?”

  “Oh man. This ain’t your normal old-school window glass! Them scientists went right down to the molecular level and made this stuff superstrong. That’s why our shining cities tower over your tiny trees. This material is the future. And when you put it in a weapon, the only thing it’s gonna shatter is anyone who gets in the way!”

  Petronio was impressed, greedy to try it for himself.

  “Now, shock suppression is built in,” the man continued, “but this baby is still gonna buck you like a horse, with a good kick to the shoulder. Look through the sights and aim for that far branch there — and the juicy acorn hanging down. Man, it feels bad shootin’ at trees. In Maw, even a splinter is worth more than gold.”

  For a second, Petronio tried to imagine it.

  “No trees?”

  “Nah, man. But we got skyscrapers like you wouldn’t believe. Still, even with all those millions of people, it gets lonesome in the city sometimes. That’s why I joined the army. It’s good to be part of a crew. Anyhow, you’re takin’ your mind off the ball. Get to it, boy.”

  The target was a good hundred yards away. Petronio’s left hand felt sweaty on the trigger. He focused his eyes and pulled. Even though he knew from experience that the gun was whisper quiet, he wasn’t ready for the destruction it wrought. Branches to left and right splintered and cracked. He put the g-gun down as he’d been instructed, clicking the safety catch back on, and sauntered over to check his target. Despite the chaos around it, the acorn still swung in the breeze, taunting him.

  “Thought so!” sneered the soldier, coming up behind him. “What does she see in some dumb bunch of DNA from out of town?”

  He didn’t understand the meaning of the insult, but the man’s tone was clear. Petronio had a thin blade concealed in his belt. One flick of his hands, and the jeers would be cut short. “Give me a chance!” he said.

  The man showed Petronio the balance of the weapon, how to account for wind and trajectories. By the time dusk came on, the acorn still hung like a tempting green jewel, and Petronio had taught his trainer every Dendran swear word in the twigtionary.

  “One more go?” he asked.

  “G-bullets don’t grow on trees.”

  “You don’t say!” Petronio hissed as he took aim. It was all about the calm before the storm, the emptying of the mind, total concentration. The target would be obliterated. All he had to have was faith. Even before his finger depressed the trigger, Petronio felt a fierce joy flood like sap through his veins. He knew, and because he knew, as the shot rang out, the acorn gave up its ghost, splintered into pulpy smithereens.

  “Decent shot,” the soldier said grudgingly. “The name’s Heckler.”

  “Grasp. Petronio.”

  “Not sure if I can shake your hand, seeing as my colleague will be hobbling for months thanks to your little shin kick.”

  Petronio smiled but felt lost when the gun was taken off him. To think what he could do with one of these beauts in his possession!

  “You have progressed,” Fenestra said to him later, as she came to sit by his bed. “Heckler thinks you have the makings of a marksman.”

  Petronio tried to hide the blush on his face. “It’s amazing what guns can do.”

  “Yes, but a machine is only as good as the hands that guide it. I am sure there will be work for you when our plans are fulfilled. How is your chest?”

  “Fine.” If he admitted how much it hurt, she wouldn’t let him continue training.

  “You still need your rest. There is one further task for you to carry out.” With that promise, she put out the light in the cot-bed, deep in the bowels of the flypod.

  Petronio couldn’t sleep. His new home gave off a constant hum, and tiny lights winked on and off like fireflies dancing across the panels above his head. H
e played the explosion of the acorn over and over in his mind. That g-gun easily beat his favorite throwing knife. So much power contained in such a tiny package. After an hour of trying to drift off, his eyes shot open. Would he even dare? Why not?

  He knew where the armory cabinet lay, lined in an impenetrable alloy. The key was what mattered. As Fenestra had stooped over him before bed, he’d seen it glinting as it hung around her neck. He could hear the men’s snores in the bunkroom down the corridor as he crept along toward Fenestra’s quarters. His footsteps padded silently. One more advantage of Mawish technology. Metal didn’t creak like wood.

  The door swung open silently, and pale moonlight revealed Fenestra’s sleeping form. He stopped for a second, looking at the curve of her lips, the smoothness of her skin. She had a beauty unlike any Dendran. It was off-putting. The key lay on the pillow, nestled in the tangle of the envoy’s hair. If he pulled, she’d wake up. He knelt down, as if in prayer, hoping for inspiration.

  Of course, the key was on a clip. If he moved quietly enough, he could unhook it. As he worked the clip, his fingers gently brushed a stray lock of her hair. It felt smooth as beech bark, tingling his skin. At least the envoy’s breathing stayed regular, though his own was sharp and shallow. He was convinced that his heartbeat echoed around the chamber, but the woman never shifted.

  Five minutes later, the key was turning in the lock and the cabinet spread its metal arms wide to reveal rack after rack of precision-made deadliness. A g-gun 500 was too obvious, too large, but a tumbled mound of smaller weapons was easy prey. They would never miss one from the top of the pile. He gripped a gun in his hand, felt the comfortable weight of it. It molded itself to his palm as if his hands were evolved for this very act. It would do. He slipped it into his doublet and closed the doors.

  As he knelt by Fenestra’s bed, trying to work the clip and return the key, she coughed suddenly. He stilled himself. If she opened her eyes, he’d be discovered: the trusted boy reduced to petty thief. There’s no doubt she’d dismiss him, or worse.

  His fingers froze into claws, the key dangling in front of him like evidence. What was he thinking? She trusted him and he repaid it with this!

  But instead of shooting accusations from her lips, Fenestra gave a sleepy sigh and turned away from him toward the shadows. With relief, he retreated back to his room, cradling his newfound toy.

  In the dark, with eyes wide open, Fenestra smiled.

  37• REUNION

  The sun was bright as Mucum and Ark carefully picked their way along a meandering branch toward Corwenna’s quarters the following afternoon.

  “Yer know, this place ain’t too bad!” said Mucum.

  “Apart from the hornets the size of my fist?”

  “Fair point, pal!” It was sheer luck they’d found a shimmering cruck pool and dived in as a stripy swarm buzzed by overhead. “Wot I’m tryin’ to say is, it’s kinda natural, not been messed with by a bunch of Dendrans, yeah?”

  Ark looked around at this twisted forest that was almost beginning to feel like home. “Yes, I think I agree with you.”

  “Still. Don’t like the sound of this gift.”

  Ark nodded. Training was one thing, but how could death be something that was given? The thought made him uneasy.

  As they neared Corwenna’s quarters, her door swung open and two unexpected figures rushed out.

  Ark couldn’t believe his eyes. Of all the miracles of the Ravenwood, he hadn’t expected this. A tall, pale vision of beauty leading a little child by her hand.

  “No way!” said Mucum.

  “Will yow ever forgive me, moi luvvly-jubbly boy?” Flo’s skin was pale, but her heart beat with a fierce, living joy. “Oi had to do it. Corwenna wanted yow and Oi had to take a message to the Rootshooters.”

  Mucum stared at her in surprise, lightly touching the scab on his arm.

  Flo held back, doubt creasing her face, tears threatening to spill. Then Mucum smiled. “Come ’ere! Jes’ promise me that next time yer tryin’ to do a good deed, you won’t use a knife?”

  “Oi promise!” gushed Flo as she ran into his arms.

  Mucum knew it was now or never. But with Ark and Shiv looking on? As Flo leaned forward with lips puckered, nerves got the better of him. He briefly brushed her cheek and tried to pretend it was all right by grabbing Flo in a massive hug and lifting her off her feet.

  “Oi was so worried about yow!” she whispered in his ear. Her touch warmed him right through.

  Ark scooped up Shiv and held her tight, a squealing bundle of happiness. “How’s my little sis? I’ve missed you so much!” Her curls tickled his face, and anger at those who had imprisoned her rose up and threatened to spoil their reunion. But the smell of stew drifting from the open doorway comforted and calmed him.

  “I’m a big girl now and I met all of Flosey’s baldy friends. They’ve got no hair!” she said. “But they’re very, very nice! And then we went on a nadventure and rode all the way here on the back of a huuuuuge bird!”

  “Are yow hungered? There’s good tucker in ’ere,” said Flo, taking Mucum by the hand and leading them inside.

  A fire roared in the iron grate, the pot of stew bubbling in the flames. She took wooden bowls from a shelf and filled them to the brim. “Warghhh! Get that down yow!”

  The boys dived into the delicious food until every last lump of tender meat was spooned away. Finally, they both sat back, soaking up the warmth of the room. Mucum stretched out his legs and gave a satisfied belch.

  “What do you say?” demanded Shiv, with her hands on her hips.

  Mucum’s face went red. “Pardon me,” he muttered.

  Ark laughed for the first time in ages. “Well done, Shiv. Our parents did bring us up right!” Shiv smiled primly and snuggled up in Ark’s arms.

  A voice leapt from the shadows in the corner of the room. “Time is running out! The Harvest Festival draws near. This is why I have summoned you here.”

  They all jumped in their seats.

  “Wish yer wouldn’t do that. We’ll get indigestion!” Mucum complained.

  “Forgive me,” said Corwenna, striding into the light. “I am an impatient woman, and old habits die hard. Follow me. I have something for you.”

  At the back of the living room was a door that Ark had never noticed.

  Corwenna pulled it open to reveal a simple cave of hollowed-out wood. A small recess held a single candle. Ark sniffed once. There was a strange perfume soaked into the grain. The scent of roses. Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed with sadness.

  “Is this …”

  “The place it all began? You know that it is,” said Corwenna.

  Pictures seeped into Ark’s mind. A fair-haired woman, curled up like a cat on the floor, wrapped in a blanket of cobwebs as she slept. Storms and seasons raging by outside. A pair of eyes suddenly shooting open, green as leaves, staring back at him across a thousand years with a look that could melt winter and bring spring to a barren land.

  Tears tumbled down Ark’s cheeks. “Can you feel it?” he said. But his companions merely shrugged their shoulders. Whatever message lay slumbering in this dark hole was for him alone.

  “What’s that shiny thing? Is it treasure?” Shiv’s small finger pointed to the edge of the flickering shadows where a raven feather rested on the ground. Cradled within its curl lay a glass phial, threaded on a leather necklace.

  “Treasure?” Corwenna sighed. “I’m afraid not, though this might be more valuable than life itself.”

  Corwenna crawled into the tiny hollow and carefully lifted the phial from its resting place. She shook the small bottle, the shadowy liquid within sparking under the dim light. “My brave Hedd traveled far to the north, to the Skylake at the edge of the Land of the Dead. There, Arktorious, he met with one you have dearly missed for so long. This dark gift is the result of his journey.”

  Whatever memories this wooden hollow once shrouded now fled, to be replaced with an icy coldness. Ark could feel the magnetic
pull of the phial. And the Land of the Dead? He shuddered to even think of such a place. Too many questions. “What does the phial hold?”

  “This substance is a foul creation. But it will be useful. The trees are truly amazing: They have many ways to arm themselves.”

  “But what does it do?” Ark suddenly wanted to grab the bottle and throw it into the fire, be free of it.

  “I hope you never have to find out its true properties, though it might yet be the saving of you.” Corwenna stared at Ark with piercing eyes. “If the time comes, you will know what use to make of it.” She paused to look at each of them in turn. “For ones so young, you have journeyed far and achieved much.” Her face was grave. “So, it must begin. Though my mind is strong, my body is weak. This fight is yours.”

  Mucum was the first to get Corwenna’s point. “A bunch of kids against Grasp’s guards and the spies of Maw. That’s —”

  “Impossible?” Corwenna spoke now with certainty. “Between you, you have tackled rabid rats, escaped guards, spoken with animals, and faced the wild boar of the Ravenwood. Surely a few soldiers and traitors should not be beyond your grasp.” She addressed the last part to Ark, “As you are my son, I would expect no less!”

  “But we’re not even adults!” said Ark. “You expect too much of me.”

  “That is the point. The young are the future of this country. Think, plan, talk together. That’s why you are here. Perhaps you can save Arborium from itself as well as from those who would destroy its trees!”

  “Perhaps yer right,” Mucum replied. “When yer put it like that, even I’m convinced we’re great!”

  “The odds may sound doubtful,” Corwenna continued, “but if you pool all your skills, there may be hope yet. And there is this.” She handed the phial to Ark and looked deep into his eyes. “Arktorious Malikum, you are flesh of my flesh, you have power greater than you know. Lead your companions, and bring hope back to Arborium. And for those who deal in treachery, make sure your mercy is swift and painful.”

  Ark felt everyone staring at him. “I —”