“Yes, J-Jaime, it would be very good.”
The bull people are from the mainland. One thing I thought is that maybe my birth father is a bull person. If they come here I can ask them a secret that is who my birth father is.
Milkwort goes from my one shoulder to my other shoulder so he can see Jaime better. Jaime strokes him on the top of his head and he likes it. There is a bandage on Jaime’s arm where one of the shadow things hurt him with a sword. He is very brave.
“Can I ask you something, Aggie?” Jaime says to me.
“Yes, you can,” I say.
“Do you ever think about what happened to us in Scotia? And in Norveg?”
I nod my head yes. “I think about it — lots of times,” I say.
“How does it make you feel?”
I have to think about that. Then I say, “Sometimes sad a lot. I feel sad about Lileas, and about the b-bull riders when the — wildwolves got them, and also that the N-Nice Queen Nathara was — dead.”
“And how do you stop that from consuming you? From filling your every thought with darkness?”
Hmm. That is a confusing question. “Good things happened — too,” I say, which I don’t know is what he asked me. “We rescued our c-clan and we did it. And we met C-Crayton and the bull people who are our friends and did — riding on the bulls. The good things make me more happy when I think of those ones.”
“You’re right.” Jaime still looks sad.
“It’s okay to be sad sometimes too,” I say.
“That’s true. Although I’m not sure I do feel sad. I don’t know what I feel.”
I think of what can make Jaime happier. Doing hugging makes me happy sometimes. “Do you want me to h-hug you?” I ask him.
“Sure, that’d be nice.”
I hug Jaime, a big one.
“Thanks, Aggie. Maybe we can talk about it again sometime?”
“You can talk to me when — whenever you want, Jaime,” I say. “I like talking.”
Jaime looks at me. His eyes are wet and he smiles. “You’re very wise, Agatha. You know that?” he says.
I smile when he says that. I like that he called me wise because it means clever.
“What’s that?” Jaime says, and he points. His face is frowns.
I look at where the point is which is at the trees which are the forest. There’s something walking out of it. It is an animal — a black one with white hair — a horse I think it is. Also someone is riding it.
“It’s a — a — girl,” I say.
“She looks exhausted,” says Jaime. “Or dead.”
He’s right. The girl is forward on the horse. Maybe the shadow things got her. “We should h-help her,” I say.
I run to the steps that go down from the wall.
“Wait,” says Jaime. “Her face . . . I think — ”
He does not say all the words. I am gone away down the steps. Jaime stays looking at the girl from the wall. I should have hit the chime. It is the First I should have hit: once at the bottom which means I have seen a person but I don’t know who is it. Should I go back and hit the chime? Hitting the right chimes and quickly is being a good Hawk. But it is only one girl. It is not the enemy. She needs help and I am helping. That is important too.
I am at the Lower Gate. There are no Moths here. They are with the pipers being happy is what I think. I am not a Moth so I am not allowed to open the gate but I know how to do it. You have to take off the metal part and pull the wood handle in a circle. If I open it only a little bit I can go out and help the girl. The gate will not be open a lot for enemies to come in. I take off the metal bit. It is heavy.
“Agatha, what are you doing?” says Jaime.
He is at the top of the steps and coming down from the wall. I think he will make me stop opening the gate but I don’t want to stop so I do it more quickly. I want to help the girl. I do the wood handle in the circle and I go out.
“Aggie, wait.”
The horse is closer now and it is stopped. It is black all over except for the white stripe on its face and its long hair that is white as well. I walk to it. The girl sits up on its back and looks at me. She has a tattoo on her face.
She is a deamhan.
My mouth goes open shocked.
The tattoo is a bird and it looks like a dead one. There is a hand on my shoulder. It is Jaime. He is breathing fast from running. We both look at the deamhan girl.
“Hello,” she says. I don’t say anything and Jaime doesn’t say anything. “Sigrid,” she says, and she points at her chest. I think that is her name “Sigrid.” On her wrist there is a metal bit like a chain. “I am friend. I help you.” She speaks our language funny like Knútr the nasty deamhan spoke it funny.
“What do you mean?” asks Jaime. “Where have you come from?”
Before she can say the answer, the arrow is in her body. Her face is all surprise and pain. She slips off the horse and goes down. Jaime is quick and catches her before she hits the ground.
Who did the arrow? There. There is another deamhan by the trees. He is sitting on a big white animal and is holding a bow. It was him who fired the arrow, I know it. We have to get back to the enclave.
Jaime holds the girl’s head and presses on her chest where the arrow is. His hand is all red.
“I don’t — I don’t — ” he says.
I can’t stop looking at her. Blood is in her mouth and it comes out onto her face. It goes over the bird tattoo and it looks like the bird is bleeding. The girl tries to say something but it is hard to hear the words. I lean in closer and then I hear it.
“Danger,” she says. “Bad men coming.”
The “old language” spoken by some of the people from Scotia and Skye is, for the large part, Scottish Gaelic. Occasionally, I modified words and made alternative choices for artistic reasons or in order to aid the reader; I take full blame for any errors or inconsistencies.
The language spoken by the Norvegians is a fictional one inspired by Old Norse. Much of Sigrid’s idiosyncratic slang also stems from Old Norse.
The problem with acknowledgments is that you have to write them so far in advance, you end up leaving out all the people who work on the book post-publication. Consequently, I’d like to start by thanking all the people who weren’t mentioned in the acknowledgments for The Good Hawk but have done wonders in helping it soar: Rebecca Oram for being a PR ninja; Jo Humphreys-Davies, Josh Alliston, Bridie Shepard, and the whole sales team at Walker Books (absolute legends, every one of you); Sara Marcolini for making the Italian translation such a wonderfully collaborative process; Emma Caroll, Mel Darbon, Imogen Russell Williams, and Georgie Carroll from Walker Books Australia; and Rachel Fogden at the Down’s Syndrome Association. I’d also like to give a huge thanks to the booksellers and librarians around the world who have championed the book and encouraged children to read it — you are the real heroes of this story.
Onto The Broken Raven, and my first thank-you is to my editors, Annalie Grainger and Susan Van Metre, for continuing to steer my writing with such enthusiasm and wisdom — you make these books what they are. Megan Middleton, you took over the reins like an absolute pro when Annalie went on maternity leave; you’re such a vital member of this team. John Moore, thanks for continuing to be awesome, along with Jamie Tan, Betsy Uhrig, Maggie Deslaurier, Matt Seccombe, and Martha Dwyer. Being published by Walker is like being a part of one big, loving family, and I feel very privileged to have been welcomed into it with such open arms. Special thanks to Denise Johnstone-Burt and Jane Winterbotham.
To my agent, Claire Wilson. You continue to be my biggest supporter (maybe second biggest, after my mum) and my greatest defender. Thank you for always being there for me; I couldn’t be more grateful.
Anna and Elena Balbusso, what can I say? You have worked your magic once again and delivered the most sensational cover art imaginable. It makes me want to weep it’s so beautiful. And thanks to Maria Middleton for such a wonderful creative vision.
Another big h
ug to my favorite smasher Donna Bryce-Macleod and her sister Heather Macleod for keeping me on track with the additional Gaelic in this book.
Shout-out to all my friends, old and new — those from school, my uni crew, CSSD buddies, my CBeebies family, fellow authors, and all those I’ve collected from various acting jobs over the years. I can’t thank you enough for your messages of support and the way you’ve hollered from the rooftops about my books. You’re amazing, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life. Same goes for my extended family of cousins, aunties, uncles, and everyone in between.
Mum, you finally got a book dedicated to you! Hope you’ll stop hassling me about it now ;) Padge, keep working on the theme tune — I’m sure Hollywood will be calling you any day. Grandma, it’s another “fantasy” book, I’m afraid. I’ll try and write something with less “made-up things” in it next time. Thanks for showing it off to your friends all the same. Tom, Lils, and Sprogger — I know it must be hard to have such a ridiculously talented sibling, but I’m afraid I just can’t help it. Seriously though, I’m so proud of all three of you. Iluvallthepeplinmyfaml.
Rich, I don’t need to tell you how brilliant you are, but I’m going to tell you anyway. You’re brilliant. There isn’t no one more hek brimmin I’d rather have by my side.
And finally, the biggest thanks of all is to you, the reader. Thanks for picking up this book and for wanting to continue Jaime and Agatha’s story. I hope Sigrid has also won a place in your hearts. There’s more to come, and I promise you, it’s going to be one hell of a finale.
JOSEPH ELLIOTT is a British writer and actor known for his work in children’s television. His commitment to serving children with special educational needs was instilled at a young age: his mother is a teacher trained in special needs education, and his parents provided respite foster care for children with additional needs. He has worked at a recreational centre for children with learning disabilities and as a teaching assistant at Westminster Special Schools. Agatha was inspired by some of the incredible children he has worked with, especially those with Down syndrome. Joseph Elliott lives in London.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2021 by Joseph Elliott
Illustrations copyright © 2021 by Anna and Elena Balbusso
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First US electronic edition 2021
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending
The illustrations were created digitally using mixed media.
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The Broken Raven Page 27