THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 11

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

XI. The Grimgrove

Their float down the river was pleasant and peaceful. Thomas and Cathán rode the large log and Avery floated above, keeping a gentle pace due east toward the Grimgrove. When Thomas grew tired of holding on to the log, he stretched out onto his back and paddled behind it, eyes closed, letting Cathán warn him of any obstructions ahead. Swimming in lakes and rivers was one of Thomas’s favorite things to do, and he was tired from walking all day Thursday and adventuring all night, so he let the stream wash away his weariness and worry and just drifted along.

When he wasn’t floating and resting, Thomas listened to the stories that Avery and Cathán told. The raven’s tales were outlandish and contradictory and largely extemporaneous, Thomas thought. But he enjoyed them all the same. Cathán stories mostly involved heroic charges of the legions of the Thistledown Kingdom against neighboring countries of other animals, mythical beasts, monsters, and even a ghost that the Mouse King had banished with a mage-made wand. The First Captain’s most touching story, however, was when he spoke of how his own mother had sewn him a little patch to wear on his armor the first time Cathán marched into battle with the First Legion.

“It had an image of an acorn on it,” Cathán recalled, his gaze distant, seeing beyond the river, “and a few holly-berries and a little sprig of wilderbark leaf. And if you looked at it just right, you could see a mouse’s nose hiding in the acorn. I thought it looked like my mother’s. She always said it was mine.”

“What happened to the patch?” Avery asked.

“I gave it back to Mother when I was made First Captain,” Cathán said proudly. “She and Dad are living in a little cottage south of Luchamhá, right by an old oak with a knot on its trunk. I go to visit them every week or two, when I can spare the time. She’s got the patch on her wall.”

Friday morning unfurled wings of gossamer over the stream and the neighboring trees, yellow to gold to palest blue, sheltering the floating companionship in warmth. Morning swiftly became afternoon, a stronger blue with wisps of white clouds and a fair steady breeze at their backs, a Friday’s blessing and boon. Thomas and Cathán drifted on, and even Avery alighted on the log to rest a while and continue his storytelling.

The afternoon warmed and Thomas dunked his head beneath the stream’s surface to cool off. “How much farther must we float?” he asked, shaking droplets from his hair.

Cathán stirred in the little bed he’d made atop Thomas’s bundle of belongings. The Mouse Knight stretched and yawned with a squeak. “Should be getting close now,” he said, twisting around to look ahead. “Another hour or so before we’re in the Grimgrove proper. Probably can’t make it into the trees before dusk, so we’ll have to camp on the shore. But we can start earliest in the morning to get the acorn and get you back to your parents for a spell.”

Thomas was disappointed, but he had heard the rumors about the Grimgrove, the warnings against traveling there at night, or even at all for young boys and girls. He kicked his legs to speed them along.

“Splash a little more, Thomas,” Avery suggested. “I’d love to see the Mouse Knight’s coat when it’s been freshly washed.”

Cathán scowled. “My coat is perfectly presentable as it is, raven. Are you sure you’ll manage in the Grimgrove? Wouldn’t you be safer in the hills, or tucked away in a cushioned nest somewhere?”

“There’s no one for me to tease in the hills,” said Avery. “Besides, the rest of the Blackhill Clan know that I like to explore the world on my own, far away from their trees and squabbling. I’m free to travel where I please, and for now, I’d like to see more of this Grimgrove. Seems pleasant enough from here, name notwithstanding. And perhaps I’ll get you to take a bath yet.”

Cathán took a few steps away from the prow of the log and settled in again. “Wary, raven. I’ve bow and arrow, sword and shield, and I’m faster than you by half.”

Soon Cathán’s squeak-snores sounded quietly from the lump of Thomas’s jacket. Thomas continued drifting on his back, watching Avery’s stark silhouette against the blue sky and the leafy boughs above, listening to the lapping of the water and humming a little half-remembered song now and then. The water of the stream was cold and the sun was warm and the breeze ruffled his hair and sent sweet-smelling flowers twirling over the banks. The scents of moss and wet rock and green grass were strong and clean.

Finally the stream dropped down to a shallow pool with a sandy bank and overhanging lindens. Thomas pushed the log ashore, grabbed his jacket and satchel, and stood on firm earth for the first time in hours. His shoes were wet, so he removed them and rolled his trousers up to his knees and dug his toes into the sand and dirt.

Cathán jumped from the log and sniffed. “Aye,” said he, “the Grimgrove. We should set our camp here.”

Thomas frowned. “We can’t go on a little farther? There’s plenty of light left in the day.”

Avery landed on the shore in a ruffle of feathers. “Not safe, human boy. No traveling after dark in the Grimgrove. That’s a rule even I will follow. We won’t make it far enough today to find your acorn, unless it’s lying a dozen wing-lengths within the trees, which I doubt. And we’d get stuck out there on our own. No; we should camp here on the shore, near to the river and away from the deeper wood, and set out first thing in the morning.”

“I know you’re eager to find the acorn and save your sister,” Cathán said consolingly. “Sick with worry, I’m sure, and with a brave heart pounding in your chest. But we cannot save her if we’re swallowed up by the dark and slimy things of the Grimgrove in the middle of the night. We’ll go after the acorn as soon as we can. For now, we should have some food, get some sleep, and prepare ourselves for tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Thomas said, relenting. “I could definitely use some food. I don’t have anything in my satchel and I haven’t eaten since last night’s feast. What is there to eat around here?”

“Fish,” suggested Avery, “if you’re quick. Berries if you’re not. Or perhaps we could snatch some rodents while they’re sleeping unawares.”

Cathán unburdened himself of his sword, shield, bow, and quiver of darts. “Perhaps I could shoot us down some fowl,” he said brightly, dipping his paws into the pool and cleaning his whiskers and ears. He shivered and shook himself dry. “At any rate, Thomas, can you get us kindling for a fire? We’ll want to warm ourselves in the night. The raven and I will hunt for some food.”

“Sure,” agreed Thomas, setting his satchel and jacket in a pile next to his drying shoes. He took off his knit cap as well, splashed some water on his face, and ran his wet fingers through his hair. “Don’t you turn on each other, though.”

“No promises,” said Avery, taking to the skies again. Cathán sniffed and scurried away, lost quickly in the brush.

Thomas set himself to gathering sticks and dried leaves for the campfire. He picked up an armful, carried it back to the sandy shore, and then returned to the trees for another stack. Following his mother’s example, Thomas picked up some old pinecones, a large cedar branch, and a handful of purple catmint flowers, adding them to the pile of kindling. He stayed close to the shore despite his eagerness to search for the acorn and free his sister, trusting in the warnings of his companions.

After a time, Avery dropped back into the camp, all feathers and a series of squawking words that Thomas suspected were bird-curses. The raven spat out a beakful of crickets. He quickly hopped forward and stepped on two of them that were attempting to hop away.

“Blasted things,” he said, squinting down to inspect them. “Tried to get away from me, then faked they were dead to wriggle and pinch inside my mouth. Tricks don’t work on me, dead crickets, but they do smart.”

Avery looked up at Thomas. “Fine stack of kindling, boy. Has the mouse brought us anything yet?”

Thomas shook his head.

“Ah,” said Avery, rubbing his beak, “then I’ll go fetch us some roots to go with these crickets. How about worms? do human boys eat worms?”

Thomas made a face. “Not if I can help it. I’m not fond of crickets either, for that matter.”

Avery shrugged. “Humans and their sensitive bellies. Very well. I’ll see what I can find.” And off he flapped.

Avery and Cathán both returned a few minutes later. Thomas sat by the fledgling fire, which he’d sparked with stones until a little flame caught on some dried moss and leapt thence to twigs and small branches. He’d set the pinecones and green cedar and catmint aside for after their meal. He’d also dragged up the log upon which they had floated down the river, using it now as a bench, and he dug his toes into the sand and warmed his hands on the fire.

Avery dropped onto the shore near the pile of crickets and tossed some roots onto the sand. Thomas didn’t recognize them.

“Dahlia tubers, you’d call them,” Avery said. “My people have their true name, of course, but I can’t be saying that here and now. They’re quite a fine addition to any meal, especially since the Mouse Knight has been so unsuccessful in his search.”

“Not so!” cried Cathán, leaping up onto the log. He bore a fish upon his back, its scales spotted with gold and black. He tossed it before the fire and brushed off his paws. “Garpike,” he announced proudly. “Finest fish in the river, and a large one by mouse standards as well. Thomas, I think this will serve nicely for your meal. I also snatched a sprig of dill as a garnish. Even in the wilderlands, the mice of the Thistledown Kingdom are known for culinary expertise. Avery and I will satisfy ourselves with small bites of garpike and the crickets. You can have the larger share of the tubers.”

Thomas’s stomach rumbled loudly in agreement. The three companions set to preparing their meal, and soon dill-seasoned garpike and crickets roasted over the cheery fire while stone-pressed tubers browned in the embers. At last the meal was ready. Thomas ate ravenously, savoring the flaky garpike, pulling piping chunks from its thin bones and enjoying the balance of soft flesh and crunchy scale. He tossed the inside bits of the fish to Cathán and Avery, who picked clean the bones. Cathán even selected a few of the larger bones to serve as darts for his bow.

The dahlia tubers had been roasted to sweetness and softness, and though Thomas wished for some butter or honey, he enjoyed them and their hearty warmth in his belly. He even crunched down one of the crickets, and he was surprised to find that it was largely enjoyable, like a nut or the last blackened bit of lamb in a stew.

The companions ate their food and refreshed themselves with draughts of water from the river, then scooped out makeshift beds in the sand with the fire separating them from the dark trees beyond. Thomas placed the pinecones and cedar branch and catmint in the fire. They flamed and crackled and released a heady sweet scent into their campsite, a pleasant post-dinner aroma that reminded Thomas of home.

“Do you think we’ll find the acorn tomorrow?” he asked, stretching out in his hollow of sand with his jacket as a pillow. The stars above twinkled in a velvet sky. Friday slept now, having descended into night, ceding to darkness and the coming Saturday morning.

“Aye,” said Cathán, his small hollow-bed very close to Thomas’s left ear. “You said the witch called it a prized acorn?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it should be fairly easy to locate.” The sand creaked as the Mouse Knight shifted in his bed. “I’ve hunted down and obtained a good number of prizes and trophies in my days as an adventurer, and with the three of us here to perform heroic deeds, we shan’t need long to claim this one.”

Avery, who had dug out a hollow of his own but claimed to prefer sleeping propped up, spoke from Thomas’s other side. “I don’t suppose either of you have seen an anthill nearby, have you?”

“No,” said Thomas and Cathán as one.

“Shame,” Avery replied, fluffing his feathers a little.

“Why?” Thomas asked.

The raven didn’t reply for a long moment—long enough that Thomas cracked an eye to peek at him. Avery looked a bit embarrassed, and began to groom his wing-feathers perhaps a bit too aggressively. Finally he said: “It’s nothing, really. Just some personal business. You know all about that, don’t you? Say, human boy, is this the first time you’ve been outside your human village? You seem pretty used to river-floating and foraging, that’s all. I thought humans only liked to collect odd trinkets and stay in their stone nests and eat animals.”

That made Thomas laugh. “I’ve been out of Mídhel a few times,” he said. “And I’ve spent a lot of time outside in the village too. We have fields and crops and even a park with some nice trees and a patch of grass.”

“Ah,” replied the bird. “I’ve flown near your village but never gone inside. I like the lights at night, though. They’re comforting. So you’ve roved the countryside beyond your home, eh? Traveled the lands hither and fro?”

“Not so much as all that,” Thomas admitted. “Mostly just to the west of Mídhel, in the woods and hills there. Near the Thistledown Kingdom, I suppose, though I didn’t know much about the kingdoms of animals before. I’ve been eastward once or twice, though only to the Riverbridge to see the merchant-caravans traveling on the road. They say there are more villages and towns along that road, east and east toward the sea.”

He fell silent and thought a moment, then added, “Dúnanhneall the Wise took me to the Palewater Bog once. He wasn’t supposed to; my parents don’t want me going there. They say you can see ghost-lights on the surface of the water at night. Dún took me at eventide, after the sun went down, and I thought I could see some yellow lights in the distance. He told me they were just fireflies and little eruptions of muck from the bog. But he also told me he wasn’t a wizard, and I now I know that’s not true, so I’m not sure what to think.”

“I’d believe the legends,” said Cathán. “I’ve seen a few ghost-lights as far south as the Whiskered Wood, floating right next to the mages’ observatory. And you should know from our battle against the Nathaia Iór that there are plenty of monsters and mischief-makers in these lands.”

“Are there monsters in the Grimgrove?” The thought made Thomas a little nervous. “I’ve heard not to travel here at night, but nothing more. What about selkies, or the dullahan, or—?”

“Monsters, yes,” replied Avery. He chirped a little. “But not those things. Our Mouse Knight Captain would have found the selkies’ den and brought back one for the fire if there were any living in the river. And the dullahan never strays from the eastern road. Everyone knows that. Our mothers told it to us as fledglings: that the bloody man would come snatch us to serve as his messengers and pluck our feathers to clean his teeth if we strayed out of the nest without permission.”

“Aye,” said Cathán, sleepily, “we needn’t worry about those things, nor many of the other dangerous creatures we tell stories about. But we should be careful. There are things that lurk in these woods, slimy things, and more than a few patrols have lost brave mouse-warriors when they strayed too close after dark. We’ll save our search for day’s light and keep our swords sharp-out.”

That comforted Thomas only a little. “What about good things?” he asked. “Are there any of those in the Grimgrove?”

“Certainly,” replied Avery. He’d bunched himself up into a sphere now, only his beak protruding and his eyes shining in the firelight. “Why, a few weeks ago I came across a delightful fellow in the outskirts of the Grimgrove, though he was traveling far north of here, near the borders. He looked a bit like a bird and a bit like a cat. Very furry, and not too clever, but he shared some berries with me . . .”

Thomas closed his eyes and lay his head back and listened to Avery’s obviously fabricated story until he drifted off to sleep on the shores of the river. He fell quickly into dreams. The first ones involved running through the wheat fields near the west square in Mídhel, the lands of Farmer Weller, laughing and trying to race the farmer’s old shaggy hound. Next, Thomas fell through the wheat, which turned to sand, and slipped on the pebbles at the bottom of a pond until a large fish picked him up and carried him home.

Some of his dreams were hard to follow, vanishing as soon as they ended. Others were filled with scenes of nostalgia and warmth, reminding him of home, making him smile as he turned onto his side in the sand-hollow on the shores of the Grimgrove, Cathán snuggling closer so that his whiskers tickled Thomas’s brow. Some of the dreams were confusing or muddled, others vibrant and coherent.

After many dreams, including a romp through the skies with the fairies of Palewater Bog, Thomas found himself dreaming of a quiet evening back in Mídhel. He sat on the fishing-dock of the Riverbridge on the eastern end of the city. Eleanor was there, and Cathán, and Avery far above, and others besides. Thomas held a bowl of blackberries and another of figs in his lap. He dangled his feet in the river and savored the delicate fruits and let the wind ruffle pleasantly through his hair.

Someone nearby started playing pipes. They were high and lilting, airy, not the deep rumble of the bards that sometimes passed through Mídhel but the skilled and fluttering sounds produced by filid, the master-poets and singers of old stories. It even sounded like what Thomas imagined fairy-music to be, evoking a deep sense of wonder and adventure in him, and also a certain melancholy and wistfulness.

He closed his eyes and chewed on a fig and hummed along to the melody. As it progressed, notes layering and weaving a story without words, something struck Thomas as odd. He ate another fig, followed by a blackberry, and kept listening. The odd feeling stayed with him, nagged at him. After a time, it intruded on his enjoyment of the song. He tried to open his eyes to find the disturbance, but as often happened in his dreams, he was unable to do so without great effort. He sat there, on the dream-dock, berries and figs in hand, feet now wrinkled by the river, and strained his eyelids until they snapped open.

Thomas awoke. He found that he was not on the Riverbridge fishing-dock with his sister and friends. He also realized, with a start, that he was not on the shores of the Grimgrove.

Thomas was strapped to a plank and floating down the river in the dark.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the bonds holding him were fast and strong. He jerked his head to one side and was rewarded with a mouthful of water, which he spat out hurriedly. Then Thomas lifted his head a few inches and peered about.

Heavy ropes securing him to a long, rough cedar plank at the ankles, knees, stomach, and shoulders. He floated feet-first down the river, which must have picked up after the pond, as it carried him along at a decent speed. Starlight shone upon the river, and up ahead burned a large fire, its glow turning the trees on either bank red and orange.

A small creature paddled next to the plank, one webbed hand on Thomas’s leg. Thomas made a strangled sound in his throat. The creature looked over and made a sound of its own, a strange noise like the fluttering of a wooden pipe or flute. The noise was answered by similar cries from elsewhere in the river, and Thomas glanced about to see several other creatures swimming alongside and watching him.

The things were black-skinned, nearly indistinguishable from the river save for the starlight, and they had three large white eyes in their broad flat faces. They reminded Thomas of frogs, somehow, though large and clever and wild and strange. They paddled with swift sure strokes, moving through the river with ease. Now and then they made piping calls one to another.

Thomas glanced around but could see no sign of Cathán or Avery or any other source of help. He looked ahead and gulped. The fire was growing larger, nearer, and he could see black shapes hopping and dancing around it, dozens of them. Their odd pipe-voices carried across the river to him.

Thomas struggled against his bonds, but again they held. The pipe-sounds and the dancing reminded him of triumphant hunters before a big feast of celebration, and he worried very much at what his own role would be in their affairs.

Still the fire drew closer.

THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 10

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

X. Dragon’s Gold

The forest seemed to thicken as they pressed on after the boar. As they skirted through the hills, ever southwest, the morning glow behind them dimmed, blocked out by tall leafy trees that huddled close and intertwined their long fingers and hunched over the three traveling companions. The ground before them dimmed, bushes and branches blending into different shades of gray.

Thomas didn’t mind. His attention was entirely riveted by Avery’s antics. He wasn’t even bothered when the raven’s talons pressed into the fabric of his jacket and poked the bony part of his shoulder. Avery danced and hopped and gestured with flapping flourishes, regaling Thomas and Cathán with florid tales of outlandish adventures and capers. He paused only now and then to correct their course or assure them that the boar was surely just ahead beyond the next rise.

“Anyway, anyway, friend Thomas,” Avery said, “did I ever tell you about the great row between the Blackhill Clan and the Wildtail Clan that led to the destruction of the Great Tree and the planting of the Weeping Wall?”

“No,” Thomas replied good-naturedly.

“Well then, best sit down for this one if you can, because it’s a rollick of a story.”

Thomas kept walking. He heard Cathán sniff in his left ear, but he knew the Mouse Knight was intensely interested in the stories: Thomas could feel the vibrations of muffled laughter and the contained squeaks of surprise during Avery’s stories.

“So, many years ago, long before my time, the Blackhill Clan went to war with the Wildtail Clan over which group rightfully possessed the Great Tree. The Great Tree had long been revered as the original home of the various clans of birds that live in the woods to the southeast of where we are right now. The clans’ roosts are presently well hidden, mind, so don’t be thinking you’ll stumble across them if you go looking. You’ll just wander about, sore and sick with hunger, and you’ll never hear nary a peep from the birds. We’re too watchful, too wary, too cunning.”

“Why would we want to go find the clans?” Cathán grumbled.

“See to it that you don’t,” Avery replied, undeterred. “Now then. The clans had fought over the Great Tree for long years. For certain periods of time and under the right rulers, we shared rights to the Tree. All could visit and nestle in its boughs and pick its berries. Bright red they were, glistening and delicious. I remember them quite fondly.”

“But you—” Thomas began.

“In other ages, however, great battles were fought over which clans could possess the tree. Once, even, the weight of the warring birds on a single stout branch was so great that the branch split and sent all the birds plummeting to their deaths. Our ancestors were often indulgent, so I suspect that’d be less of a risk now.

“At this particular time, the Wildtail Clan had been encroaching beyond their allotted domain of the Great Tree, pushing into the Blackhill Clan’s territory more and more. Minor squabbles and skirmishes were common among the fickle birds of yore. But this quickly escalated into something more serious. Something darker and nastier. The pecks and pinches turned into scratches and snaps. Many good birds lost their feathers and their sheen in the scraps for the border. Oh, and the theft and robbery and pilfering: one side stealing from the other, retaliations, ravens making off with a whole roast hog, sparrows snatching silver-filigreed gems and fair crimson ribbons we’d lifted from the human girls’ hair. You two would have fit right in.”

“We told you we’re not—” Cathán attempted.

“The real turning point, though, the moment that incited outright war and led to the destruction of the Great Tree and the planting of the Weeping Wall, and then to the Scattering of the Scattered—don’t worry, I’ll tell you about that in a minute—and the rebellion of the Wildtails and the subsequent redemption and return of the Wildtails and, indeed, up to and including the present moment here, well, that turning point was when old Roland Sharpbeak, a crafty wise raven with a wingspan as wide as a holly bush and a tongue as keen as a dewdrop on the heather, had his noble left eye pierced clean through by the villainous but cunning Wheski Wildtail, that old lark.”

Avery pronounced these final words with an air of triumph and pride and then fell silent. Thomas kept walking, his footsteps crunching through a few leaves and branches, rustling the outstretching greenery he passed in the darkened hills. His own eyes, both fully functioning and unpierced, had by now grown accustomed to the shadows of the southwestern hills, and he walked without much noise or commotion.

Except, of course, from his right shoulder. Avery squawked now and brushed his feathered wing over Thomas’s knit cap. “Are your human ears not sharp enough for my stories? Does the little Mouse Knight have a bit of string or seed stuck in his mousy ears? I have told you the story of the War of the Great Tree! the destruction of the Clan-home, the battle between Roland and Wheski, the Burning of the West Branch, the Riddle of the Twisted Knot and the origins of the Weeping Wall! You’ve heard allusions, tantalizing references and hints, to the Scattering of the Scattered, that noble and tragic tale planted firmly in every bird’s brain! Are your countenances so dour that you cannot appreciate even the hard-won levity of a mighty tale? Have you—”

“Avery!” Thomas interrupted, squirming as the raven continued to hop from one foot to the other. “You didn’t tell us any of those things. You just said that Roland Sharpbeak had his eye stabbed out by one of the other birds. That’s all you said.”

“Not stabbed,” Avery replied plaintively, “but pierced clean through! Much different, much better for storytelling, or at least I thought. But, well, yes. I see what you’re saying. Yes, it’s true; I may have left out a few details. Well then. Wheski Wildtail, that old lark, with his red-crested breast and a jaunty twist to his forefeathers, he—”

“Shhh!” Cathán grabbed Thomas’s ear in a firm paw and held him fast.

Thomas listened. Far off ahead of them, but not so far that the noise didn’t stir a trickle of exhilaration and fear along his nape, Thomas heard the snuffling scuffling sound of something large moving carelessly through the trees.

“There!” said the First Captain in a whispered shout. “Up ahead! The boar! The pretending dragon on a new rampage through the trees! We’ve caught up to him!”

“It seems we have,” said Avery from the other shoulder, a little more hesitant. “But, well, it seems he’s awakened, and in the predawn no less. I’d heard from the hares that boars were, characteristically, quite heavy sleepers. I expected to charm and beguile a drowsy boar with ease. And instead this fellow—”

They heard a great crash ahead, like a sapling uprooted and tossed into the brush. Avery clacked his beak, sending shivers down Thomas’s right side.

“Perhaps then we ought to wait another twelve hours or so until he’s slumbering again. Just to be safe.”

“Safe? Hah!” Cathán drew his mouse-sword and swished it though the air next to Thomas’s other ear. Now Thomas was covered in pixie-skin on both sides.

“Safety is not the objective of mighty warriors!” Cathán continued. “We seek safety for others, yes: for our people and our friends and family, and for ourselves when it is time to rest. But this is a noble quest, a great endeavor to free Thomas’s sister and reclaim the stolen treasures of the Thistledown Kingdom and best a ferocious boar-dragon and whatever else you’d like to do today! This is no time for safety or for cowering under cover of night! We are bold adventurers, Avery, and we will charge forward and wrest the tusk from this boar or perish gloriously in the attempt!”

Thomas gulped and Avery fluttered his wings. “Cathán,” Thomas said nervously, “I agree that we shouldn’t be too afraid of the boar and we shouldn’t wait until he falls asleep again. Eleanor’s in trouble and I have to save her. But we are all very small and the boar has skin and fur and tusks and thinks he’s a dragon. This might be a good time to be careful. Not cowardly but cautious.”

“Yes, yes!” chirped Avery. “The human boy is very sensible. There is nobility in cleverness, after all. ‘Clever as the mouse who tricked the boar!’ Isn’t that what they say of the smartest of your kind?”

Cathán sounded like he was considering the matter, though Thomas couldn’t see him very well. Finally the Mouse Knight relented. “Aye,” said he, “you are right, Thomas. Against the great boar the three of us would likely fare quite poorly in a bout of arms, no matter how magnificent the bards’ tales would be in a dozen mouse-years. But yes, we have more pressing affairs that must require our prudence and care. Onward, then. Let’s get a better look at the beastie and figure out how to snatch his tusk and the golden chalice of the Sióla Dí and whatever else he might be carrying.”

Thomas continued forward through the trees. Friday morning was stirring even in the deep hills now, twining strands of gray among the black-threaded tapestry woven over the trees by Thursday night. The gray made it a little harder to see where they were going, especially because a few puffs of mist had arisen from the forest floor, precursors to the dew on the broad-bladed leaves and the dripping deeps of woodland ponds. Thomas followed Cathán’s whispered guidance, stepping carefully through the grass and creeping close among the waist-high bushes until the thrashing and smashing and crashing of the dragonlike boar was so loud that Thomas was sure it would burst from the trees and flatten them if he took but a single step more. Instead, he crouched down in the dampness underneath a flowering red-veined beech tree, holding his satchel in his lap.

Thomas pulled out his spyglass. “I’ll try to peer through the leaves here,” he said to the others. “Avery, you fly up into the tree top and let us know what the boar’s doing. Cathán, you see if there’s a good way to approach him or sneak up on him.”

Thomas’s two companions dutifully agreed. Cathán leapt to the ground and disappeared into the bushes. Avery was a little slower to respond, taking a few preliminary hops before his wings caught flight and he fought his way up to the top of the beech., Thomas, for his part, unscrewed the cap on his spyglass and swiveled it out to its full length, then held it up to his eye and sighted through. He saw only green at first, but poking and prodding forward until the leaves were pushed aside, eventually spotted a patch of brown a short distance off. It was only dirt, but it looked scuffled, and the rampage of the boar was still so loud that he knew it was close by.

Thomas kept his spyglass trained on the patch of dirt and waited for his companions to return. The boar continued his charges, smashing through underbrush to thud into the broad trunks of oaks, rebound with a few heavy steps, pivot, and race toward another, growling and sputtering as he did. After a minute, Cathán scampered back and climbed up to Thomas’s knee.

A moment later, Avery soared down from above to alight on the end of the spyglass. The sudden weight made Thomas drop it; the raven clutched the spyglass and kept it aloft, beating his wings hard, then gently lowered the spyglass back into Thomas’s hand. Avery winked at Thomas.

“Dragon-boar’s still out there,” he said, fixing his underfeathers. “Charging around like a thing gone mad. Looks like he’s having a good time though. Not as big as I thought he’d be. Might be an adolescent, but bigger than a boarling.”

“He’s found a pretty good clearing to practice dragonry in,” Cathán added. “Closed in by trees, plenty of smaller stumps and clumps for him to charge. I saw a few piled sticks he’d gnawed on next to a small opening we might be able to slip through. We could hide behind the sticks. Maybe not you, Thomas. There’s another opening on the far side, but it’s too open for sneaking. Might force us into a full confrontation.” The Mouse Knight didn’t sound too sad about that prospect.

“Hold on a bit,” Thomas said, tipping his head forward until the leaves brushed his forehead. He closed his eyes and listened intently. “The snuffling sound he was making has changed. It’s different. Is he . . .?”

“Aye,” said Cathán, angling mouse-ears toward the sound, his nose pricking up. “He’s talking to himself.”

Avery clapped his wings tight around his beak. Muffled laughter escaped. When the raven had regained some semblance of control, he said, “Poor thing! Out here all alone with no friends and no one to tell him if he looks enough like a dragon or not. Come on, let’s go introduce ourselves. We’ll turn him into a proper monster yet.”

“No,” said Cathán, “not just yet. He’s still a jealous boar, after all. And his tusks are still well attached. Let’s get closer to listen to what he’s saying.”

Thomas and Avery followed Cathán back to the small opening near the pile of chewed-up sticks, where they burrowed down into the brush to avoid discovery and listened to the boar. Thomas breathed as shallowly as he could, knowing that a trampling boar would likely be his end if he couldn’t scramble away in time.

With great concentration, Thomas could make out the boar’s words, though they were obscured by snorts and grunts and a peculiar sibilant accent that sounded like a journeyman from the far slope of Briar’s Peak whom Thomas had met once in the market.

“Not good enough! Hmph! Not at all!” the boar was saying. He’d ceased his thrashing about for a time. Cathán reported that he was slumped near an old log. “Not even a third of a dragon yet, and already it’s been a week! Can’t keep going on like this, harrumph. Not at all good enough.”

Thomas was starting to feel sorry for the poor boar. He was clearly troubled and dissatisfied with his own performance at being a dragon. Though he was still afraid, Thomas couldn’t help but pity the young boar.

“I should try again, hmm,” the boar growled. “Behold and weep and scray—scream with fear as the dry—dragon wreaks his horrible vigila—vangu—verg—bah! His vengeance upon the fallow—foreign—harrumph! That’s not it at all!”

Avery chirped out a laugh at that. Thomas and Cathán froze perfectly still with held breath, but the boar kept on talking, his rambling self-deprecating monologue criticizing the finer points of diction, attitude, and general dragonry that he felt he lacked.

“I feel for him,” said Avery, voice muffled by his feathers. “Truly. What a lonely and frustrating existence his must be right now.”

“Shh,” chided Cathán, though he too bore a smile half-pitying and half-amused.

“Okay, little cup,” said the boar, “let’s try our hoarding again, yes? Hmm, a gold cup and a few leaves and . . .”

“He has the chalice of the Sióla Dí!” whispered Cathán excitedly.

“ . . . hmm, yes, that will do nicely. Where are those sticks? Ah, yes, harrumph. There they are.”

The three companions retreated farther into the leaves and grass as the dragon-boar grasped a few of the chewed sticks and dragged them back to his makeshift hoard. Thomas caught his first clear look at the boar. As Avery had said, he was smaller than expected, though still shaggy and menacing with two yellow-white tusks protruding from his mouth. He had a small tail that he tucked beneath himself when he lay atop the pile of sticks and what appeared to be a large sack filled with lumpy objects.

“Hah, yes, that feels lovely. Ah. Baroom and harrumph, but a dragon’s hoard is a fine thing!” The boar’s voice had deepened down, a thrumming rumble that shook the leaves, a tone more noble and elevated than his previous muttering. “Gold and jewels and fine things of the earth and the skies, hah!”

A strange noise followed, a cross between a laugh and a cough that repeated on and on. Thomas shared a quizzical look with Avery, both stifling laughter of their own.

“All have fled in the wake of the dragon’s fire,” the boar continued, shifting around on the sticks and leaves. “He has wrought terrible destruction upon all the land.”

Again the strange noise. Cathán sniffed at the air a little, and then his tail thumped the ground and he spun around. “Applause,” his whispered, eyes bright. “It’s meant to be the sound of a great congregation cheering and applauding! Listen careful.”

Thomas and Avery did so, pressed closely into the bushes. After a few more rumble-laugh-coughs, Thomas admitted that it did sound something like applause: the kind imagined by a boar who wanted so badly to be a dragon.

Avery clacked a laugh of his own. “Yes, the little boarling wants to be a dragon and he’s practicing for his grand début! Good, good. He’s wise in that. The first time you’re thronged by adoring onlookers is quite disconcerting to the unpracticed.”

“A fine haul for the week,” came the praise of the boar, “yes, this mighty dragon has clearly distinguished himself from the flock—ah, the herd—er, well, the group of dragons in the place where the live, the eyrie, the—the peak or the cave or wherever.” His voice wavered a little. “Yes, the clever dragon has snatched items of fine value from his enemies. See here, the Sword of the Sky-elves! Stolen away after he signed the bottoms of their leaf-ships in the clouds! Or there, a goblin-bone, picked clean from the charred remains of his little clutch! And there the skull of a sluagh who had been trying to trick the dragon in the form of a bird!”

At that, Thomas remembered the legends and cast what he thought was a surreptitious glance at Avery. The raven was staring back unblinking. Thomas blushed and ducked his head, and that made Avery break into a croaking smile. He stretched out his wings as wide as they would go. Thomas saw a little patch of white on one of the feathers underneath the right wing, a strong body with downy tufts, and agile hooked feet.

“Solid and real, Thomas the human body,” Avery said, winking and lowering his wings. “Not a dead-spirit. Good of you to wonder, though. Can’t be too careful out here. I’ve heard someone’s pretending to be a dragon.”

Thomas turned his attention back to the boar. “The dragon even has a bit of selkie-skin!” the boar was saying. “Given in friendship, of course, for dragons and selkies are natural friends. Or, well, humph, they are enemies, of course, but the dragon is especially kind-hearted and made friends with the selkies, or—no, he saved them from a great threat, an ocean-blight, a swarm of ravenous fish, or, or—a great wave—yes, yes, he burned up the wave with his fiery breath and saved the selkies and they were so grateful that they held a feast in his honor and Llyr Sea-god himself came to bless the dragon and praise his name, humph, and one of the selkies was so enamored of the dragon that she offered him her molted skin as a token of courtship and love, but of course the noble dragon refused, for he is a mighty and violent thing, yes, but wise enough to know that his heart is too great for a single selkie to love, harrumph—”

“That gives me an idea,” Cathán said, turning to face the others.

“You’re thinking we should go ask the selkies if all that really happened,” Avery suggested. “I agree. Some of what the dragon said sounds a little fishy.”

Cathán ignored him. “The boar’s just looking for affection, affirmation. He wants to be praised, seen as a powerful creature, mighty and brave. That’s why he’s pretending to be a dragon. Well, we can all understand that, can’t we? It’s normal to want affection and praise. What if we give him some? He might be so taken that we can ask for a bit of tusk and the golden chalice without incurring his wrath.”

“Good thinking,” said Avery. “But what if we do so and he decides that the best way to earn true respect and admiration is to trample all three of us and snack on our bones?”

“Hmmm.” Cathán frowned and scratched his whiskers. “Well, yes, that wouldn’t be good. Do you have a better idea?”

Avery thought a bit, then puffed up his chest and bowed at Cathán. “My dear Mouse Knight, I do indeed have a better idea. Wait here a moment.” To Thomas he added: “I’m going to need to go back to the top of these tree. Mind giving me a head start?”

Thomas obliged, extending his arm. Avery stepped into his open palm; Thomas raised his arm as high as he could, and Avery jumped off with a few great gusts from his black-feathered wings. He circled the trunk of the beech tree once or twice during his ascent, finally landing atop a branch that overhung the boar’s hoard a little.

Thomas and Cathán crouched back down and shuffled forward through the leaves until they could clearly see the boar nestled atop his pile of collected treasures. He was still muttering to himself about his excellent performance in raiding villages and claiming golden crowns when Avery’s voice, disguised, rang out through the gray dawn:

“Hooray! All hail the conquering dragon, the ferocious monster of the woods!” This voice was shrill, high, overly enthusiastic and vibrant. “The boar who became a dragon has taken his rightful place atop the heap of coins and goblets and golden trinkets! Hail the dragon!” Now the voice had doubled; somehow, a deeper tone was overlaid with the higher, so it sounded to Thomas like two voices speaking in unison. And then a third, deeper still, was added, and from Avery’s single throat came three harmonious voices shouting: “Hooray! Praise the dragon and his fiery might!”

The boar had fallen silent. His ears twitched, perked up toward the sound. It was clear he was having difficulty placing its source; in fact, Thomas himself thought the voices sounded like they were coming from the opposite end of the clearing, even though he could see Avery with his own eyes.

The raven kept at it, chanting and cheering, lauding the fictionalized exploits of the dragon-boar, varying his timbre and tone and pitch to mimic at least a dozen unique voices. The boar had an uneasy smile on his broad face, somewhere between suspicion and satisfaction, with perhaps a dash of fear in the mix. Avery glanced down at Thomas and Cathán, gesturing wildly with his wings while he continued to call out in multiple voice.

Thomas got the idea a few moments later. “Praise the dragon!” he called out, weakly, and then, louder, “Hooray for his strength and his courage! Hooray!” He tried his best to make his voice sound like someone other than a twelve-year-old human boy, for he still feared the boar would charge and gore him and end his quest right there.

Cathán scampered away, to the base of another tree and up its trunk, and joined his melodious mouse-voice to the throng. Their added voices seemed to soothe the boar’s fears, for he soon began to smile, a smile that split into a grin and a chuckle. It was a sight that gladdened Thomas’s heart, a big toothy beaming smile.

Avery fluttered back down next to Thomas. “Keep talking,” the raven instructed the boy. “We’re going to lead him away from here, to a place we have more control of. I know just the spot. Follow below me, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, Avery flapped back up to the treetops. Thomas pushed himself to his feet, eyes up, and crept away from the beech tree as Avery hopped from branch to branch far above. Thomas glanced over his shoulder and saw that Cathán had picked up the idea quickly and was scampering abreast.

When they’d proceeded a goodly distance, Thomas heard a slow shuffling and snuffling behind him, then a mournful call of “Wait! Come back!” He ducked behind some bushes and chanced a look. The boar emerged from his clearing, sack hastily looped around his bushy neck, chewed-up sticks forgotten.

Quickly Thomas pressed on, continuing to praise the boar while he dodged thorn-bushes and kept to the shadows of great oaks. Cathán and Avery had less trouble staying hidden and steadily led the boar farther into the trees. At last Avery perched on a high branch in a stand of cedars, a near-perfect ring of trees with a small opening in the middle. Thomas positioned himself on one end and Cathán stayed close by at the other.

The boar approached, heedless now, still muttering excitedly about staying to congratulate him properly and receive his magnanimous thanks. Avery continued his stream of praises until the boar was fully inside the circle of trees; then the raven’s tone dropped to a deep gravel and he commanded the boar to stop.

The boar thudded to a stop against the ring of cedars. He seemed only then to realize where he was, and looked around, baffled, finding himself trapped by trees.

“What happened?” he cried. “Where did you go?”

Avery swooped down next to Thomas. “Play your part, human boy, and we’ll all leave here with hope in our hearts and what we’ve sought in our pockets.”

Thomas nodded. Avery hopped over to Cathán and whispered similar instructions. Thomas saw the Mouse Knight reply, shake his head, shake his head more emphatically, and then, finally relenting, nod. Avery returned to his position in the treetops.

“Most noble boar,” Avery said, deep and penetrating. “Welcome. Welcome to this holy circle of ancient trees. You have been brought here for an important purpose. Do you know why you are here? Do you know who we are?”

The boar shook his shaggy head.

“You are in the presence of The Three of Shadows.”

Thomas thought he could hear a snicker after those words. He could picture Avery muffling his laughter with his feathers. He could picture Cathán’s face equally well, stern, unyielding, disapproving, but perhaps hiding a ghost of a smile himself.

Catching inspiration from the ruse, Thomas called out, in the deepest voice he could manage: “The Three of Shadows who wait in the dark.”

Grudgingly, Cathán’s voice echoed in the cedars: “Aye, the Three of Shadows who safeguard the secrets.”

“Have you ever heard of The Three of Shadows?” Avery asked imperiously.

Again the boar shook his head. He’d dropped to his haunches, little tail curled up beneath him, craning this way and that to try to spot the sources of these mysterious voices.

“This is good, boarling. You have proven yourself worthy to be presented with the trifold voices of The Three of Shadows. It is an honor rarely granted to mortals.”

“Listen carefully,” called out Thomas.

“Beware the wrath of The Three of Shadows,” said Cathán, and it sounded to Thomas like the Mouse Knight was warming to the game, “if you should utter a word of this encounter to another.”

“I won’t,” promised the boar, his voice rough and earnest.

“Very well,” continued Avery. “We are The Three of Shadows. We safeguard the secrets. We are sages, yes—a cabal of sages, entrusted with knowledge of magic and holy relics. We oversee the forest. You have impressed us with your attempts at dragonry, young boar. You demonstrate a keen understanding of the ways of dragons and their very nature. Were we not all-knowing and gifted with fairy-sight, we would think you a dragon in truth as well as in heart. You are commended for your efforts.

“However!” Avery’s roar rustled the leaves near him and he hopped to an adjoining branch. “You carry with you a talisman of ancient make that has not been properly cleansed in holy ritual. The golden chalice you bear around your neck once belonged to the mythical Sióla Dí. Do you know them, young boar?”

“No,” admitted the boar ruefully, hanging his head.

“Be not ashamed,” called out Thomas, feeling bad for the boar.

“The Sióla Dí,” said Avery, “were great and noble mages who forged the golden chalice you carry, and many other riches besides. But they were betrayed, and the traitors stained the relics with their blood, fouling their magic and cursing them with awful and vile curses evermore. How many days have you carried the accursed object?”

“Th—three days,” stuttered the boar. “Am—am I in danger? Should—”

“Be not afraid!” commanded Avery. “The Three of Shadows have summoned you that we might assist you in avoiding the pernicious curse that has nearly claimed your very soul. You say that you have carried the chalice three days. We will enact a cleansing ritual that will purify the chalice, purging the curses of the traitors so that you may again wear the chalice and draw upon its magical strength in your dragon rampages. This ritual will last three days: equal penance for equal wrong, and so the traitors blood is mitigated and the curse lifted. Do you have the golden chalice with you?”

“Around my neck,” said the boar.

“Remove it thence and place it upon the earth,” said Avery.

“Cautiously!” warned Cathán. “The golden chalice is sacred and valuable. And cursed, of course. Treat it thus.”

The boar loosed the rope-bound sack and lowered it to the ground before him.

“The ritual will last three days,” Avery repeated. “You must bury the golden chalice in the fresh-turned earth of this sacred site, this stand of cedars. You must place with the chalice a bit of broken tusk taken from your own snout, so that the chalice will henceforth recognize and assist you. Do you have a piece of broken tusk?”

“Yes, yes, of course, humph,” replied the boar hurriedly. He fished around in the sack and pulled out a bit of white bone between his teeth. “Lost it just a week past. I was keeping it for luck.”

“And so it shall bring you luck, boarling. Place the fragment of your tusk in the hole that you will dig alongside the golden chalice. When you have finished, offer up your mightiest dragon-roar and The Three of Shadows will give you further instruction.”

The boar set to scrabbling in the dirt to excavate a suitable hole. Avery, meanwhile, glided down to Thomas’s shoulder. Cathán darted over and climbed onto Thomas’s leg.

“Not too bad a story, I think!” said Avery brightly. “Got the boar to dig a hole, so my interests are satisfied, and he’ll leave behind the cup and the tusk for you two. We all get what we want. We’ll tell the boar to come back in three days and dig them up. By then, of course, The Three of Shadows will be long gone.” He laughed a little. “It’s ingenious, of course. Simply brilliant.”

“It wasn’t an awful plan,” said Cathán, nodding at the raven. “Not by half. A clever use of the boar’s eagerness for adoration. But he seems to be a lovely fellow, a bit of a bumbling beastie but not mean-hearted at all. I feel bad about leading him on like this, feeding him the fairy-story and then stealing away his hope in three days.”

“That sounds like most of the fairy-stories I’ve heard,” countered Avery. “Besides, it’s just a trick, and tricks are clever and fun.”

“No,” said Thomas, “I think Cathán’s right. I like the boar. He might deserve a bit of poking fun, but leaving him with nothing isn’t right. We’ll have to return and put something back into the hole for him to find. Maybe a stretch of canvas or burlap that he could use as wings? Or a shiny rock that looks like gold?”

“Flint and tinder to start a dragon-fire?” Avery suggested.

“The mice of the Whiskered Wood could forge a new chalice,” Cathán said seriously. “Nothing powerful, not like the golden chalice of the Sióla Dí, but imbued with a little luck and a little courage to help him on his way. It would appease our needs and our good hearts alike.”

“I like that idea!” Thomas said. “I think, under other circumstances, I would have been friends with the boar, if I could have made him listen to me without charging first.”

“Aye,” answered Cathán, “he would make a fine companion, though a terrible dragon.”

Just then, the boar, who had finished digging the hole for the ritual, let out a roar that was closer to the baying of a dog than the bellow of a dragon. Avery stifled a laugh, nodded at the others, and flapped back to the boughs.

“Well accomplished, young boarling!” Avery boomed. “A fine hole indeed. Now, place the golden chalice and the bit of tusk inside and cover them up with turned dirt. Yes, just so. Pack the earth down with your hooves. As The Three of Shadows have heretofore instructed, the ritual will last three days and three nights. On the morn of the fourth day, you may return to this holy site and unearth the chalice. It will then be purified of all wickedness and curses, and it will grant you the dragon’s courage that you desire. You have found it difficult to behave as a dragon ought, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” said the boar sadly, patting down the dirt over the chalice. “I’ve tried my best, but I can’t seem to make a convincing dragon just yet. The others laughed at me.”

“When The Three of Shadows grant you their assistance,” Avery said consolingly, “none shall laugh again! They shall tremble at your coming and marvel at your dragon’s heart! Now, young boarling. Leave this place, and return not until the fourth morn hence. You shall find what you are seeking then.”

“Thank you!” squealed the boar, jumping up to his hooves. “Thank you! I’ll work my hardest and I’ll come back after three days and I’ll become the best dragon that ever roamed the woods and I’ll set fire to villages and claim all their gold and riches for myself and—”

“Yes, yes,” said Avery, his voice a little strained. “You’ll perform many great acts of dragonry, naturally. Now go! lest the curse affect you further and reduce you to an object of ridicule and derision!”

The boar snorted and harrumphed and gathered himself up, grabbing the sack in his teeth. He looked this way and that but didn’t move.

Avery sighed. “Behind you,” he said, his voice nearly back to its normal pitch. “Straight back that way until you get to your clearing, then northeast to your den and get some rest. Go on, now.”

The boar coughed and grunted and ran from the stand of cedars, bounding away on hooves lighter than Thomas would have imagined.

When the sounds of the gleeful boar had faded, Thomas stood and ducked into the stand of cedars, Cathán leaping down to the mound of newly turned dirt. Avery floated down and immediately preened a few ruffled feathers, clearly very impressed with himself.

“Aren’t you ever glad I came with you?” he asked, smoothing out his glossy coat. “My mastery of all voices and tones has won you the treasure of your people, Mouse Knight, and the bit of boar’s tusk that you want for some reason, human boy. I have succeeded where all others failed.”

“You did,” said Cathán, surprising them both with his forthright praise. “Your voices were wonderfully done, raven. You should be proud.”

“I am, incredibly so and for many other things too.” Avery cocked his head at them and clacked his beak. “But don’t think that I did it alone, no! You both played your roles convincingly. I think the extra voices helped get the boar here and really made us sound like The Three of Shadows. You should commend yourselves as well for an excellent performance.”

“I’m just happy the plan worked,” said Thomas. “We got the boar to give up a bit of his tusk without a fight. Now I can move on to the next step of my quest. Help me dig up the tusk?”

Cathán and Avery assisted Thomas in excavating the boar’s stash, though the boy took on most of the work, as his hands were better suited for scooping loose dirt than mouse-paws or raven-feathers. Quickly they worked, and soon the golden chalice of the Sióla Dí was in Thomas’s hand. The chalice was exceptionally fine, wrought with delicate care and large enough for a full-grown human to drink from, inlaid with symbols of the Whiskered Wood around the lip, flaring to a wide flat base after the slender neck.

Thomas looked inside. At the bottom of the chalice rested a small bit of boar-tusk, mostly white with a yellowed edge. One end of the bone fragment was sharp and pointy; the other end was jagged, rough, as though it’d been snapped off. Though it was larger than a thumbnail, the size the witch had specified, the tusk was still small enough that Thomas could close his fist around it completely. He did so, and felt the sharp edges press into his skin. It was comforting to have something solid to grasp, a real tool that would help him save his sister.

Thomas removed his satchel from his shoulder and dropped the tusk inside. He then wrapped the golden chalice in a length of cloth and placed it with his spyglass back into the satchel. “I’ll carry this for us,” he said, looking up at Cathán. “Until we can take it back to Luchamhá or the Whiskered Wood.”

The Mouse Knight nodded. “Excellent, Thomas: thank you. It’s much too fine a treasure to entrust to my paws when we’re racing through the wild and staving off terrible foes. Shall we head on with our quest, then?”

Thomas sat down next to his satchel. “You’re still going to come with me?” he asked. “You’ve helped me retrieve the boar’s tusk; our bargain is complete. You don’t have to keep traveling with me.”

“Thomas,” said Cathán, giving him a stern look, “you know this is not about obligation or duty! You and I are friends, dearest friends, and companions until the end. I will stay by your side until your sister is safely back in her home—and even after that, of course, whenever my responsibilities for the First Legion can spare me.”

Thomas felt a rush of warm gratitude. The First Captain reached over and patted the back of Thomas’s hand with a mousy paw. “Now,” said Cathán, “where are we going next? What’s the second object you need to retrieve?”

Avery clacked his beak at them. “I know I said I don’t care about your quest-business and the rest,” he said, a little hesitantly, hopping from one foot to the other, “but it occurs to me that a quest such as the one you seem to have undertaken is likely to require the assistance of a flying creature—such as myself—to warn you of unseen dangers and scout out new locations and perhaps snatch high-growing fruits and seeds for sustenance. And indeed a grim quest it would certainly be without a being of exceptional humor and taste—again, such as myself—to lighten weary moods and provide a certain charm to the traveling conditions that, I am afraid, would be sorely lacking without, ah, without me.”

The raven tipped his head to one side and regarded them. “Perhaps you could use my assistance, then,” he said, and it wasn’t much of a question, but it still sounded hopeful despite the bird’s nonchalance.

Thomas grinned. “We’d be lucky to have you along, Avery,” he replied, pulling his travelling book from his satchel. “I’m not sure we’d have any fun on the way without you.”

“Aye,” said Cathán, “you’ll make an excellent companion. Welcome to our small band of adventurers.”

Avery tucked his wings back against his body, visibly uncomfortable. “I am the cleverest and merriest of us all,” he said. “I suppose I can travel with you for a while. Where will we be going?”

Thomas flipped through the pages of his book. He came to the place where he’d written Dún’s odd rhyme. Thomas read the words to himself, smiling a little at the phrase two companions new, unlikely and true; he glanced up at the clever black raven and the doughty Mouse Knight before him, smiled a little more, and then read another part of the rhyme aloud: “‘Bone and wood, moss and home.’ We’ve got the bone, so the next item we need is the wood. That’s the acorn. The witch said it was a prized acorn in the forest south of Mídhel, and that it was special and well known. Do either of you know anything about that?”

“The forest south of your village is the Grimgrove,” Cathán said, his tail twitching. “I’ve never been there.”

“I’ve flown over it,” said Avery. “It’s dark and leafy. That’s about all I know.”

Thomas nodded, placing the travelling book back into his satchel, which he looped over his shoulder. He stood. “I’m sure the three of us can figure it out,” he said. “I think we should head there right away.”

“Will no one come asking after you from your village?” Cathán asked, checking his sword and shield to make sure they were fastened properly.

Thomas thought about it. “My father and mother probably expected me home last night,” he said, “but I don’t think they’ll be worried. They’ll probably think that I fell asleep after the bonfire or decided to camp the night in the north-end field with some friends of mine. And I could stay out another day, I think, without anyone worrying. I should probably return home by tomorrow so they don’t start wondering where I’ve gone, though.”

“A quick detour to the Grimgrove on the way to Mídhel, then,” Avery said, stretching his wings. “I can show—”

Avery was interrupted by a heavy grumbling and a few grunted words from just outside the stand of cedars. The three companions froze where they stood, absolutely still, ears pricked, hair and fur and feathers standing up straight.

“Harmph hrash, yes, but that’s a good one,” said the voice. “Much better than the old, much luckier. Stings a little, hah, but that’s the price for true dragonry, I’m sure of it, harrumph—”

The voice entered the little clearing. It belonged, of course, to the boar. He towered over Cathán and Avery and came up to Thomas’s thigh, a large shaggy thing but still young.

“Found a better tusk!” the boar bellowed.

Thomas, Avery, and Cathán all jumped. The Mouse Knight let out a little squeak and scampered up to Thomas’s shoulder. At that, the boar tipped his head back, angling his neck so that his shaggy forelocks moved out of the way of his eyes. He stared stupefied at them for a moment.

Then: “THIEVES!” the boar roared, dropping the replacement tusk he’d brought to The Three of Shadows. “Thieves! You’ve stolen my golden chalice and my lucky tusk! You’ve betrayed The Three of Shadows! I’ll—I’ll hack you to—slash you to—singe you all to bits! Charred roasts for my dragon-hole—dragon-hoard!”

The three companions bolted from the cedar stand. They crashed through the ring of trees, Avery flapping wildly, Cathán hanging on to Thomas’s shirt-collar as the boy raced headlong down the slope, one hand fastening his satchel, the other, holding the knit cap down close upon his head. After a few dozen hop-flaps Avery caught a breeze and soared up high.

“This way,” the raven called, banking left. “Follow my shadow! I’ll get us to the Grimgrove and lose that nasty boarling dragon!”

The boar had given chase, crashing through the trees and brush after them. Thomas was lithe and agile but still only a twelve-year-old boy; yet the thought of the boar behind him spurred him faster than he’d run before, and soon enough he’d outpaced the rampaging dragon-boar and could no longer hear the grunts and bellowed threats behind him. Still he ran, sticking close to Avery’s shadow in the coming light of Friday morning.

But Friday’s light was dim and yellow and not yet enough to see clearly by, and the forest here was overgrown at the edge of the hills southwest of Mídhel, tangled up and hard to track through, and as Thomas’s strength waned so did his surefootedness. He stumbled a little, slowing down.

Avery, high above, looked back to check on the boy and the mouse. When the raven glanced down again, his clever eyes went wide. He tried to chirp back a warning.

Too late came the call. Thomas came to the edge of the ravine, tried to catch himself on a branch, slipped, and tumbled down toward the river. Perhaps thanks to the lucky charm in his satchel, or indeed to the golden chalice of the Sióla Dí, the slope was sandy and void of rocks and snagging branches. Thomas dropped into the river with only a few scrapes and stinging knees.

He splashed to his feet, spluttering. The river here was slow-moving and sluggish, only knee-high to the village boy, though it had soaked through his trousers and some of his jacket.

Thomas took stock of his situation. His satchel was still fastened and hadn’t gotten too wet, for which Thomas was grateful. He was wet to the waist, but the cold morning water had been almost refreshing, if unexpected. He looked around and saw that Cathán had leapt clear and was standing on the shore a few paces off, looking worried.

Thomas waved and waded over. “I’m fine,” he reassured the Mouse Knight. “A little wet, but fine.”

Avery swooped down, chuckling. “Hah! The great plunge of Thomas the boy!” he croaked. “I did try to warn you, of course. That’s why you always need to watch where you place your human feet. Clumsy tripping sprawling things. Anyway, this is the best way to the Grimgrove. This little streamlet trickles on east and drops down into the fringe of the southern forest.”

“So we just follow the river?” Thomas asked, taking off his jacket to wring it dry.

“Well,” replied Avery, gesturing, “the bank there looks a little narrow and treacherous. Might be risky for human feet. But the river itself is placid, and there are a few good sturdy logs here. We could float down a ways, save ourselves the energy and time, get to finding this prized acorn sooner. And you’re already wet.”

Before Thomas could voice his opinion, a snuffling sound from the top of the ravine reached his ears, and then an enraged bellow. Thomas gulped. “Floating down the river we go,” he said, tying the jacket around the satchel to keep his possessions dry.

Cathán picked out the most seaworthy log and hopped on. Thomas waded back into the slow, cold river, grabbed onto the log tightly, and kicked off the shallow bank. He floated out into the deeper water, where the current picked him up gently and pushed him onward.

Avery remained in the air, gliding easily above their heads. Cathán stood at the prow of the log, sword at the ready, alerting Thomas to upcoming rocks or twists in the little stream as they sailed on from the den of the boar toward the dark and mysterious Grimgrove and its hidden secrets.