Ravenspell Book 1: Of Mice and Magic (16 page)

“Owl,” Amber cried. She looked up, just in time to see a huge owl swooping down on her, its eyes flashing golden in the moonlight. Its enormous wings spread out, casting a shadow that covered the world. It was ready to take her in its talons.

Amber raised her needle, ready to defend herself, and just as quickly, she realized what she had to do.

“Carry me to Nightwing’s cave,” she commanded, letting the force of her wish bind the owl into her service.

The owl grabbed her in its talons, and for half a moment, Amber feared that it would crush her. But instead it only gripped her lightly and then pounded its wings as it thundered up into the stars.

From down below, Lady Blackpool shouted, “Good-bye, Amber. Fight wisely! I’d come with you, but I’m too tired to go off and fight an army tonight.”

Amber glanced down to see the strange little creature sitting there on the log at the side of the pool.

In seconds, Amber was airborne, and she realized that she wasn’t going to die.

She looked down and saw the great oak tree spreading above the fields. From up high, everything looked brighter than it had below. The stars lit the skies above, and the moon lit the silver fields below. Amber watched the oak tree. The mice inside were safe, Amber felt certain. They had the voles with their spears, and now they had Lady Blackpool to guard them too.

So she merely rested, clutching her spear, thinking about what lay ahead as the owl soared high, taking her above the silver clouds where the sky was full of wind and falling stars.

Chapter 18

A TICK WELL FED

Food may give life, but it is hope and love that give meaning to our lives.

—RUFUS FLYCATCHER

Ben faded out of consciousness, growing ever weaker. The hunger was numbing.

AS THE MOON SAILED through the sky, Nightwing’s minions searched abroad, bringing creatures in from the forest so that Nightwing could expand his army.

Several times during the night, Ben was awakened as eagles were brought, beaks bound tightly with ropes braided from sharp-thorned blackberry vines. Snakes were dragged in, hissing and rattling.

And each time a pair was found, Nightwing would immediately mush the two together, forming a new monster to the gleeful howls and yammers of his minions.

Ben climbed on Nightwing’s belly and just squatted, his eight legs hooked into the bat’s fur, and dropped in and out of consciousness during the night.

He was too tired to stay awake and too tormented to sleep.

In his dreams, Ben sat as a mute witness to the sight of death, the sounds of battle, the cries of torment. When he woke, it was even worse, for the odor of blood and gore saturated the cave. And though the scent nauseated Ben, the smell of blood also aroused him.

A tick knows the smell of food. Ben fought the craving. But the worst part was that he felt sure that if he remained a tick for long, his hunger would get the better of him, and he would feast upon Nightwing’s blood.

Sort of like a vampire in reverse,
he thought.

Ben faded out of consciousness, growing ever weaker. The hunger was numbing, driving all reason from his mind.

I can’t go on living like this,
Ben realized.
It would be better to die than to live with this hunger.

And with that realization, a plan began to take form in his mind.

Without me,
Nightwing would be weakened,
Ben realized.
He wouldn’t be able to carry out his stupid war. He wouldn’t be able to mush helpless animals, turning them into monsters.

All that I have to do is run away.

But what then?
Ben wondered.

I could sneak out of here at dawn, after everyone has gone to bed, and go back to Amber. Maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll turn me back into a mouse.

Ben realized that it would be a long trip. He was at the coast, some sixty miles or more from his home. Walking home as a human would have been a huge job, but trying to do it as a tick, a tick who hadn’t even figured out how to use all eight legs?

It was hopeless.

I’ll never make it,
Ben realized.
I’ll die long before I reach home.

And then with finality, he realized,
And I don’t really care. I’d rather be dead than a tick well fed.

* * *

The owl needed to rest that night. Climbing high in the thin air to skirt over the mountaintops was a tough job, even for a gnarly, old owl.

And so it was near dawn when the great horned owl glided down over the dark pine forests toward the gray ocean. It skirted just above the treetops as it headed toward the strange lighthouse atop Shrew Hill. Ahead, gnarled little leafless trees raised their branches as if in despair, and Amber could see hot water creating a fog that flowed through the woods, hiding them.

“Shrew Hill,” the owl said as they approached. “I see guardians about, monsters in the wood. But the defenses are built for a large-scale assault. A single mouse, approaching warily, might get through.”

Amber had been thinking all night. She didn’t know how much magic power she had left. For all that she knew, she’d used it all just to hijack the owl.

So she didn’t want to confront Nightwing. No, she’d have to sneak in, find Ben, and then carry him back out.

If Nightwing slept during the day, then Amber imagined that it would be safest to wait until well after dawn.

So when the owl dropped her at the edge of the strange woods, Amber thanked him and set him free. The sun was just rising, and as the owl took off and beat his mighty feathers, soaring over the haunted wood, Amber heard the cries of beasts as they shouted warning, “Intruder! There’s an owl loose!”

She heard the sounds of large creatures lumbering through the brush, as if to give chase to the owl, and silently she thanked the good bird for the diversion. Then she moved forward warily, gripping her spear, keeping under heavy cover—hop, stop, and look.

* * *

Dawn stole slowly through the sky that morning, golden light creeping over the earth, creating a glow that outlined the opening to the cave.

The monsters that lived in Nightwing’s shadow had been up all night, celebrating as each new eagle and snake was mushed into one. And so now the cave grew quiet, except for the snores of sleeping creatures.

Ben had been clinging to the fur on Nightwing’s belly. Now he peered around, looking for signs of danger.

Most of the monsters lay on their backs or sides, breathing deeply, perhaps emitting a small growl as they dreamed or scratched wildly at fleas. But it wasn’t possible to tell if all of the monsters were asleep. The lightning spiders had let their lights burn low, but their faceted eyes gleamed in the darkness, and Ben imagined that if he even touched one of their shiny webs, the spiders would come darting out to meet him. And there were snakes and other monsters that had no eyelids, so that if they slept, Ben had no way of knowing.

He looked about, then leaped down from Nightwing. It would have been a mighty leap if he were a human, for Nightwing was clinging to the ceiling, and when Ben jumped, he dropped hundreds of times his own height.

He landed on a rock, his eight legs catching his weight nicely.

Then he began to scurry for the exit.

Monsters guarded the way: possum-lizards with sharp teeth and evil smiles, porcupine-weasels that could run faster than the wind, scorpion-skunks that smelled almost as deadly as their stings.

And all of them were so much larger than Ben. He had to creep among them, his eight tiny feet clattering over the stone.

At first, he was afraid that they might wake and see him. But then he realized that if one of the monsters even just rolled over on top of him, it could be disastrous.

So he sneaked past the creatures until he reached a pool of steaming water.

He jumped in and began to swim as best he could, his eight legs in a tangle. He prayed as he swam, “Don’t let there be any fish in these pools. Not even a guppy. Please.”

He swam for what seemed a long hour, until, exhausted, he reached the far end of the pool.

By now, the sun had risen, and the golden glow that had encircled the front of the cave was strong and silver. Ben could smell pine trees outside and the salty scent of the ocean.

He scrambled over a long expanse of rock into the sunlight, afraid that at any moment, some lizard guard would rush up and gobble him down.

He was at the mouth of the cave, looking down over the wild woods, the twisted trees and cruel vines. Then he heard a deep voice, a growl, at his back. “What are you doing out here? Trying to run away?”

Ben turned, and his heart sank. There, just behind him at the mouth of the cave, slithered a creature half eagle, half rattlesnake. Ben peered up at the cruel beak and golden eyes of the Conqueror Worm.

Chapter 19

A SONG FOR A FRIEND

Being a good friend to another can be a challenging and ennobling undertaking.

—BUSHMASTER

The snake-eagle rose high in the air, searching, searching . . .

AMBER WAS RACING through the brush, hop, stop, and look. She didn’t know much about plants, but these ones looked sickly. The trees and bushes had mouths that gaped, and in some of them, she even thought that she saw teeth. Indeed, every one of them looked like some kind of animal—a dog, a mink—that had been caught racing from the cave and was then transformed into a plant, so that an animal’s body formed the trunk of a tree or prickly bush, while branches and limbs sprouted from its head and back.

Knotholes were mouths and eyes. Twisted roots became feet, binding the creatures to the ground.

Amber hopped forward, peering around a bush. She spotted a rabbit nibbling on some brush, but saw that it was a strange rabbit with short ears and fangs.

It lifted its head and tasted the air for a scent, then went hopping over her head in a great rush. She was just about to move again when she spotted a vine wriggling. It looked like a bit of blackberry vine, complete with leaves, but slithered along a limb, its cruel thorns rasping. It lifted a tiny head, a single green leaf, and Amber spotted little nubs upon it—unblinking eyes. Then the vine monster wriggled up a tree, as if seeking a place to sun itself.

Everything is alive here,
she warned herself.
Even the bushes have eyes. Even things that should be dead are alive.

Her heart hammering in her throat, Amber hopped a few paces. She hid in the shadow of a wild cucumber vine, its pale purple flowers open to the daylight, and watched the path ahead.

A creature—the fanged rabbit—went barreling through the brush.

Amber waited, heart pounding, until it left the trail, and then she went scampering forward, only to find that her foot was tangled.

She turned and gasped. The wild cucumber had snagged her rear ankle with a tender green shoot, and as she tried to pull free, its leaves hissed at her.

Amber spun and stabbed with her little spear, piercing the vine.

Suddenly the tiny trumpet-shaped flowers all constricted and began to emit shrill whistles.

A warning call!

There was nothing that she could do now but run.

She pulled herself free of the vine and went hopping down the trail. She heard a thump as something huge came crashing through the brush ahead, and she jumped aside just in time. A hairy creature with black stripes on its back went thundering past, bounding on long legs.

A chipmunk-toad,
Amber realized.

She was drawing near the cave now, she knew. She could hear the tinkle of water as it flowed over small stones.

She raced up to a poor misshapen bush and stood hiding in the canopy of its leaves, looking for the opening of the cave. And there she saw a sight that nearly stopped her heart.

An insect stood in the golden sunlight, just at the mouth of the cave. Above it, a monstrous snake spread gold-and-white wings and rose up, like a cobra, to peer down upon the insect.

Ben!

Amber heard movement in the brush. The cucumber vine was still blowing its shrill whistles, and Amber could see now that there were monsters coming for her, dark shapes all around, converging through the brush.

She had no hope of escape.

She could think of only one thing to do.

Sing.

* * *

“What are you doing out here?” the snake-eagle demanded of Ben.

Ben looked up, and he was so frightened that all eight of his legs were quivering and threatening to collapse.

“I just, I just came out for some sun,” Ben said.

“Ticks don’t crave sunlight,” the monster said. “Ticks crave only warm blood.”

Ben didn’t know what to answer, and so he just stood there, trembling, afraid to move.

And then he heard singing—a familiar voice—in the woods behind him.

The trail is long and lonely,

And soon I’ll reach the end,

In sunlight or in shadow,

I’ll come to you, my friend.

Ben whirled and peered into the brush. It wasn’t just a song, it was a song of warning and comfort.

Amber had come to save him!

The snake-eagle hissed and peered outside, then flapped its mighty wings. Ben was bowled over by the backwash as the air currents fanned him against the wall. Yet he scrabbled to his feet, peered out into the bright sunlight, and searched for Amber.

The snake-eagle rose high in the air, searching, searching, then let out a piercing cry and dove toward a bush. Ben saw Amber there, and he cried out in his small, tick’s voice, “Amber, watch out!”

But as the snake-eagle dove, Amber ran out along a limb, hoisted her needle, and boldly waited. As the snake-eagle was about to hit her, she hurled her weapon with all of her might.

Ben couldn’t tell exactly what happened, but he saw the needle whip through the air, a flash of silver blurring like a bullet, and then the snake-eagle screamed a mighty death cry that shook the very leaves of the trees and crashed into the smoking pool.

But in the brush all around Amber, Ben could see movement, strange creatures bowling through the underbrush. Horrible vines slithering in her direction. There was no way that she could hope to escape.

And so Ben stood there at the mouth of cave, in the full sunlight, and began to sing his loudest.

When death is at your doorway,

And there’s no one to defend

In day or utter darkness,

I’ll stand with you, my friend.

The shaking and slithering in the forest came to a halt as Amber’s hunters became confused. Then Ben saw them reorient, and the monsters began racing through the Weird Wood toward him!

I’m going to die,
he thought. But Ben felt good, proud. Vervane the vole had once asked him to sing his song, and an octopus had asked him to do so too. At the time, Ben had told them that he had no song.

But now he had found one.