THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 15

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

XV. The Great Trees of the Golden Eagles

Saturday morning shimmered like the reflection of yellow wheat upon the surface of the stream. Thomas scrambled up onto the shore, flinging himself into the sand to avoid his pursuers. He felt the hot caw of an enraged golden eagle on his nape and the brush of silken feathers, and he tried to burrow into the ground and disappear.

The golden eagle’s caw was cut short and replaced by a trilling pipe-like howl. One of the Vathca had tackled the bird, leaping from the rushing waters and splashing over Thomas’s back to tumble with the golden eagle onto the beach. The pair tussled and spun, flinging sand in every direction. Distracted, neither noticed Thomas creeping away; and soon the boy had been swallowed by the long river-fronds at the edge of the Grimgrove.

“This is going rather poorly,” Thomas said in a whisper.

“Aye,” replied Cathán, peeking his head up from inside Thomas’s shirt, where the mouse had clutched and burrowed against the boy’s chest during their most recent flight. “It’s quite an adventure, though, wouldn’t you say?”

Thomas smiled a little, scrubbed the sand and dirt from his face. “Yeah,” he said, flopping over on his back. “An adventure. How did it all come to this?”

“I underestimated both the ferocity of the golden eagles and the reckless rage of the Vathca,” said a familiar voice. Thomas glanced over and saw Brak approaching on all fours, water streaming from his skin, three large eyes blinking. “The plan was a clever one, and the blackbird’s antics seemed effective. But now—”

“I’m a raven,” came Avery’s voice from somewhere in the trees above. “Not some silly chirping blackbird. Anyway, it’s hardly a surprise things turned out this way. Our plan was to start a war, and we’ve clearly done that!”

“Yes,” replied Cathán, standing up on Thomas’s chest. “But our plan also involved using the war as a diversion so that we could enter the Great Trees and find the acorn, help Brak’s friend, and break the golden eagles free of the witch’s enthrallment. Now we’re just caught in the midst of the war ourselves. It’s great rollicking fun, as wars go, and an ideal stage for heroism and valor, but not well suited to our objectives.”

“Ah yes,” said Avery, fluttering down to the ground. “That was the silly part of our plan, as I recall.”

The raven preened and cleaned his glossy black feathers, which still bore evidence of his golden eagle disguise: some of the feathers were gold or yellow or brown, and trails of dust followed him like a sandy tail.

Thomas craned his head to see past Cathán. “What do you mean?”

Avery flapped his wings rapidly to settle his feathers and took a few hops toward the supine boy. “Well,” began the raven, cocking his head, “I simply mean that wars make for terrible diversions when you’re caught up in them yourself, that’s all. But I don’t think my valiant efforts—or your headlong flights through forest and stream to avoid certain death by eagle or frog-thing—have been in vain. We just can’t proceed with the original plan. We have to adapt to our circumstances.”

“You’re a strategist, now?” Brak said tonelessly, crouching a little closer to the other three. The noises of fighting and struggle beyond their little shadowy hideout were growing louder and closer and fiercer with every passing moment. Thomas himself scooted across the dirt into the shade of a large oak, careful not to disturb the Mouse Knight atop his chest.

“Indeed,” replied Avery with a chirp. “The new plan is simple. We head out into the open, the four of us together, and shout very loudly for their attention. Perhaps I can sling some more insults at the Vathca. I wouldn’t dream of speaking ill of fellow flighted creatures, though, so maybe Brak can take that task. Anyway, we’ll get them riled up and then lead them on a merry chase away from the Great Trees. Maybe we can find a pit or a bog to trick them into.

“When the two armies and their war are safely disposed of, we can soar back to the Great Trees and take the acorn and whatever other treasures we fancy before we leave: I’m certain the golden eagles eat only the finest grubs and crickets to grow such glossy coats. And there you have our plan.”

“That’s an awful plan,” said Brak.

“Aye,” added Cathán, less certainly. “It doesn’t seem any better than what we’ve been doing, and in the end we’ll be placing ourselves directly between two angry armies and whatever forces remain inside the Great Trees, to say nothing of the sinister beings lurking in the Grimgrove for their chance to snatch us.”

Avery seemed to pay those comments no mind; but he stopped mid-strut when Thomas voiced his dissent as well: “I don’t think we should do that.”

The boy pushed himself onto his elbows, and Cathán scampered to his right knee to compensate. “I think it’s too dangerous,” said Thomas, “and more importantly, Avery, your plan overlooks the fact that our enemy is the witch—not the Vathca and not the golden eagles, not really. We wanted them to attack each other to create a diversion, but we didn’t expect a war, not like this.”

“The violet witch must be near,” said Brak quietly. “Her influence has inflamed our baser natures.”

“Besides, I truly do want to help the golden eagles,” Thomas said. “And the Vathca, too, if they need to be helped. Is there a way to unite them instead of dividing them? Maybe together we could all fight the witch, or at least free the golden eagles that are under her spell.”

“The two armies are presently so opposed that we’ll not persuade them by reason,” Cathán said. “Not at first.”

In confirmation of the Mouse Knight’s observation, the trees above the little company rustled and thrashed. A shower of leaves twirled down upon their heads, followed by a snapped branch that thumped into the overgrowth between Thomas and Avery. The raven hopped backward, startled; the boy turned his gaze upward and saw a golden eagle free itself from the tangle of canopy and wing away to rejoin the fight above the stream.

Thomas hunched closer to Brak and Avery, Cathán still expertly balanced on his right knee. “Is there a way we can distract them into a common goal?” Thomas asked. “Trick them into fighting against the witch? Some of the golden eagles are probably under her spell, but I think that at least a few of the eagles out there are those who have still resisted her enchantments.”

“The violet witch would turn the hearts of my people toward their safe caves and creeks,” Brak said, not unkindly. “She is a foe greater than our courage or capacity. But perhaps . . .” The Vathca puffed out his cheeks in thought, his left eye slowly blinking. He tapped his fingertips together.

“Perhaps there is a common goal, something else that would unite them,” Brak continued. “Both armies seek great treasures from the Grimgove. The tales of forgotten gold and buried jewels and disguised objects of limitless value are many in the Grimgrove, and despite the dangers, both the Vathca and the golden eagles have made their homes here to be close to the source of such wealth. If we could present the armies with such a treasure, perhaps they would be willing to cease their fighting for a moment, or at least to move aside and allow us access to the Great Trees.”

“I don’t know how we’ll find one of those treasures,” said Thomas, “but it seems easier than stopping a war by ourselves. Do you know of anything that would interest them?”

“Many of the Grimgrove’s most coveted prizes are well hidden or lost entirely or hidden beneath dangerous traps and safeguards,” Brak said.

“Together we could snatch the very roots of the Great Trees from beneath loam and soil and fallen leaves.” Cathán spun in a quick circle on all four paws to emphasize his point, then sat back on his hindquarters and tail. “But alas! we have not the time for such daring actions.”

“However,” said Brak, almost as though the First Captain of the Thistledown Kingdom had not interrupted, “there are a few easier, smaller tokens of which I have heard my kin speak with great lusting and longing. Excepting the acorn, of course, they have mentioned a crown of leaves imprinted with the heart of the moon, a pair of human spectacles that allow the wearer to see the souls of the dead, a golden egg that weighs less than a feather but grants wealth and luck and riches, a mummified tail of a—”

Brak fell suddenly silent. Thomas glanced up from his reclined position to see that the three-eyed Vathca had fixed Avery the raven with a three-eyed stare, each eye unblinking and wide and expressionless. For his part, Avery bore the guiltiest expression Thomas had ever seen on anyone, man or beast.

The raven was clearly trying to control his countenance. He clacked his beak and then busied himself with the proper positioning and luster of each of his feathers, keeping both wings pressed tight against his sleek body and craning his neck to reach toward his tail. Thomas saw Avery glance up once, checking to see if the others were still watching him—and of course they were, all three of them—and then the raven ducked his beak even further into his feathers, apparently preoccupied with removing a stubborn burr or smoothing out a rumpled feather.

In this last ducking of the bird’s head, his right wing lifted away from his body, very slightly; and beneath the feathers of the wing, Thomas saw a hint of gold flash among the satin-black down of the raven’s underside. It was just a glimmer, and the boy thought it perhaps a remnant of the raven’s disguise as a golden eagle: a bit of onionskin or dust that had tangled and matted in the feathers there.

But Brak the Vathca lunged forward, his webbed hand reaching out and deftly plucking the hint of gold away from the raven’s body. Avery let out a startled squawk and hopped back, but the black-skinned amphibian creature had already returned to his crouched position at the base of a mossy tree, prize sitting upon an upturned palm.

A little golden egg sat upon the dewy skin of the Vathca. It wobbled in the light breeze, looking as though it might blow away at any moment.

Brak blinked: first the right eye, then the left. But the center eye he kept open and staring at Avery. At first, Thomas thought the look in Brak’s center eye was anger, but then the boy saw the upturned curve of the edge of Brak’s lips and realized that the Vathca was amused, and that the feeling was tinged with the barest savor of victory and accomplishment.

For his part, Avery gaped at the golden egg a moment, then affected an air of pious indifference. “Such a silly small thing,” the raven said, whistling punctuated his syllables. “Such a small and insignificant little trinket. I may have picked it up by accident when I was taunting the Vathca about their too-long arms and too-short legs, or perhaps when I swooped above their heads and gave them all such a fright.”

Avery paused, seemed to consider. “No, I do remember it now; I snatched it from an enterprising young Vathca who had clearly fallen in with pixies or the Melusi or some such creatures in the wild. Yes, I picked it up from this terrified young thing, and thus turned aside the terrible vengeance descending upon him. In all the ruckus and ramble I must have forgotten that it was tucked there under my wing for safekeeping.”

Thomas stifled a laugh. Avery reminded him of nothing so much as the young boar pretending at dragonry; but the boy hid his thoughts and amusement, not wanting to upset his friend further.

Avery clucked a little, tilting his head this way and that. “Does it look familiar to you, Brak?” he asked finally. “Does it seem to have aught of value? I recall a story of a lucky golden egg, perhaps told by a fine minstrel of the Blackhills I encountered once in a journey to save a princeling crow—ah, but that is another story for another place, of course; I shan’t bother you with it now. What of the trinket, then, Brak?”

Only now did Brak blink his center eye. It was a slow blink and languorous. Then, apparently satisfied with the exchange, he turned to Thomas and Cathán. “Take the golden egg for now, human boy, and stow it safely in your pocket. It will indeed bring us luck.”

Brak tossed the golden egg toward Thomas. It caught a current of wind and was diverted, proving Brak’s words about weighing less than a feather. Cathán leapt high into the air from Thomas’s knee. The Mouse Knight caught the golden egg in midair, somersaulted, spun a few times, and landed tidily on a patch of grass next to Thomas’s leg.

Cathán then handed the egg over. “Avery, for all your sly tricks, you have indeed proven a hearty adventurer and companion,” he said merrily.

Thomas took the egg carefully, afraid he’d crush it in his fingers. It was small, the size of an egg of a duck or quail, and covered in a sheen of the finest glittering gold. It was also as light as a feather, though solid inside, or so it seemed to Thomas. He wrapped it carefully in a green leaf and tucked it into his trouser-pocket; not for the first time since waking, he wished he’d worn his jacket and satchel to bed so that they wouldn’t have been left behind on the shore when he was abducted by the Vathca.

“Well then,” said Cathán, jumping onto Thomas’s stomach and thence to the boy’s knee, “we have possession of the fabled golden egg, thanks to Avery’s bravery. It is a treasure of the Grimgrove that both the Vathca and the golden eagles would claim. Do we lead both armies on a chase through the woods while Thomas sneaks into the eyries of the Great Trees to steal the prized acorn?”

“I believe that would be the prudent choice,” said Brak. “You and the raven can lead the armies away while I take Thomas up the stream beneath the Great Trees toward their hidden trove.”

“Wait,” said Thomas. “I’m still not sure about this plan. It sounds like a good way to stop the fighting for a bit and get us into the eyries without hassle, but what happens after that? The witch still has control over many of the golden eagles; I’m sure there are still plenty of them hiding in the trees or fighting the resistance. I don’t want to attack the golden eagles outright, but we don’t know which of them we can trust—which of them are ensorcelled by the witch.

“So even if we make it up the stream, we might find ourselves fighting a hundred bewitched golden eagles.” Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to work. Besides, once we leave, the armies will just continue fighting each other. And I don’t want more people to get hurt.”

The companions fell silent for a time. Beyond their small grove, the sounds of scrabbling talons and splashing hands and shrill caws and pipe-like cries filled the air, the skirmish they’d started still carrying on in full. The Saturday sunlight peeking through the boughs above their heads was warm and bright, but each of the four bore solemn expressions of deep thought and worry.

At last Cathán broke the silence. “Friend Thomas,” said the Mouse Knight, “I will accompany you in whatever plan you decide upon. Friends we are, beginning to end, against whatever enemies arise. What should we do?”

And then in a flash Thomas knew exactly what to do.

#

For the first time since Thomas had met him, Brak the Vathca looked winded and out of breath. Thomas was not surprised; the three-eyed creature had swum and run and jumped and ducked through endless lengths of the river that bordered the Grimgrove for the better part of an hour, incessantly calling out in the pipe-like language of his people, dodging the rocks and branches thrown at him from Vathca and golden eagles alike.

Brak dropped into the sand wearily and spat a stream of water toward the river. “Finished,” he said, blinking all three eyes. “They’re coming now.”

Thomas held out his jacket. Brak shook his dripping head, so Thomas rolled the jacket up and tucked it into his satchel among the rest of his treasured belongings. “What’s next?” he asked Brak.

“Nothing but to wait for the rest of your plan.”

Thomas was too impatient to sit, though his legs ached and the bottoms of his feet were sore from traipsing through the Grimgrove unshod. Instead, he paced a furrow in the sand on the shores of the river, scratching out a line of footprints next to the washed-out impressions of three bodies, two small and one human-sized, and the snuffed-out remains of a sweet-smelling campfire.

Thomas’s companions had agreed to his plan with varying degrees of readiness. Cathán, of course, had been unconditionally willing to help track their way back to the previous night’s campsite, where Thomas was relieved to find that his jacket and satchel and shoes and all his belongings—including the bit of boar’s tusk—were safely nestled in the sandy shores of the river. The First Captain of the Thistledown Kingdom had then darted back into the Grimgrove to complete the second half of his role in Thomas’s plan.

Avery had been a little more reluctant, especially when he learned that he was to cajole instead of taunt. Nevertheless, after a bit of prodding, he’d accepted the task of convincing the golden eagles to cease their fighting and come to a meeting of war-captains on the riverbank. The raven had brightened a little when Thomas spoke of the difficulty of convincing such a proud people to lay aside their hostility for a time, and of the great powers of flattery that would be required to carry out this task; the raven was further enticed by the promise Thomas made of bounty from the eyries of the Great Trees specifically set aside for Avery and Avery alone. And so the raven had taken to the skies and engaged in conversation and convincing and bribery and flattery and praise with the soaring golden eagles, individually and in groups, staying always at a safe distance from their sharp talons.

Brak had been the hardest to persuade of the merits of Thomas’s plan. The three-eyed creature was loath to communicate directly with any of his kin, fearing their taunts and gibes and jests at his expense. But Thomas spoke candidly of the urgent need for claiming the prized acorn to save his sister Eleanor from the witch, and reminded Brak of his own friend, the golden eagle, who had disappeared and was perhaps now a prisoner or worse. Thomas’s honest words had eventually convinced the Vathca, and he left to speak with the rest of his people and bring them to the sandy shore.

Thomas could only hope that they would be as willing to listen to his reasoning as Brak had been.

The boy fingered the small golden egg that he had kept in his trouser-pocket. It seemed, for all its lightness of weight, a hardy prize and solid, unable to be broken or scuffed. Thomas paced around some more.

“Thieves!” came the booming cry a short while later; and then Avery appeared over the treetops, gliding low until he flapped to a perch upon Thomas’s shoulder.

“That was a tricky one,” the raven exclaimed, shaking his feathers out. “A great parlay with puffed-up lords of the sky, a mighty contest of will and word: but I have, of course, prevailed, and they’ll be here in just a moment. I flew much faster than they. You have the trinket?”

Thomas held up the golden egg. Avery plucked it from his fingers in his beak. “Just tell me when,” the raven muttered around the sides of the golden egg.

“I will,” Thomas replied. He continued to pace along the furrow in the sand, his nerves jangling a little now, shading his eyes with a hand to peer at the trees in all directions.

They had to wait only a minute or two before the first of the golden eagles appeared. At sight of them, Thomas felt a cold fear in his belly that they would plunge to the earth in a rage and take the golden egg and peck out his eyes and leave his body to float down the river. But the golden eagles settled on branches and treetops and standing-rocks in the middle of the river and on the far bank, giving a sizeable berth to the three companions standing on the sandy patch of shoreline.

Only one golden eagle, a large bird with a streak of auburn in his plumage, ventured close to the campsite. He alighted gently, regally, upon the sand a few paces before Thomas. Then he looked around and chirped a mocking laugh.

“No sign of the frogs,” the golden eagle said. “Typical. Might as well just pass over the egg, Charcoal, and get back to your hovel of an eyrie.”

Thomas tensed, expecting retaliatory comments or a flash of anger from Avery, who couldn’t have appreciated the denigrating remarks about the state of his home or the reference to his black feathers—though Thomas wasn’t sure why Charcoal would be derogatory, the golden eagle’s tone had been clear.

But Avery didn’t stir except to lift a wing and point toward the river. All eyes followed his gesture. At first, Thomas couldn’t see anything but the moving water of the river; then the rippled on its surface changed direction, and all at once two dozen or more of the Vathca emerged from the stream, poking their heads above water to blink and stare with hard three-eyed gazes at the golden eagles in the trees around them.

Brak rose from the sand and came to crouch next to Thomas, dripping a little on the boy’s feet.

As with the golden eagles, one of the Vathca emerged from the water to stand upon the shore. He was large and burly, a muscular creature with a hard brow and long webbed fingers and a surly expression. He blinked his eyes in turn, gave Brak a withering look, and spared an eye-roll toward the emissary of the golden eagles, who had an expression of disinterest and was tracing his golden feathers through the sand.

Then the representative of the Vathca turned to Thomas. “So, human thing, you called this meeting?” he asked. His voice was rough and clumsy as it handled the words, and pipe-like noises fluttered in between and around each of them. “Speak and let us be done. I am hungry for bird-flesh.”

The emissary of the golden trilled a warning and hopped a little closer to the Vathca. “I wouldn’t mind a little fish myself,” he said, then shook his proud head. “But I prefer something tender and tasty, not coarse and shriveled with dust and age. Perhaps you’d work as bait—”

“Welcome,” said Thomas hastily, taking a step forward. “My name is Thomas. I’m from the village of Mídhel. Thank you for coming to meet with me so graciously.”

Both the Vathca and the golden eagle turned to look at Thomas. Then all five of their eyes fixed on Avery, who was perched on Thomas’s left shoulder, and on the golden egg still held between the raven’s beak.

“Now, Avery,” said Thomas quietly.

Avery leapt at once into the air, flapping strongly until he reached the height of the trees nearest to the riverbank. There he perched on a single branch devoid of leaves jutting out from the top of a tree. After landing, Avery calmly settled into his perch and ruffled his wings to smooth the feathers down. In all of this, he kept perfectly quiet, still holding the golden egg. All eyes were upon him. Some of the Vathca in the water drifted closer to the bank; a few of the golden eagles in nearby trees hopped along their branches for better looks.

Thomas kept his eyes on the two before him. “Welcome,” he repeated, “and thank you again, friends, for coming to meet with me. I have something important to tell you.”

“Speak, then,” said the representative of the Vathca, looking back to Thomas. “The air stinks of fowl.”

“Listen,” said Thomas, holding up his hands, “I understand that neither of you wants to be here. None of you do.” He spoke loud enough for all who were gathered to hear. “I know that you’d rather be back with your people taking care of your own affairs—hunting and fishing and living your lives. I know the Vathca would rather be tending to their young and preparing for the next Waspan. I know the golden eagles would rather be back in the eyries of their Great Trees”—and here Thomas paused a little, taking a quick breath and hoping that this wasn’t the fault in his plan—“trying to win back their friends and family from the influence of the violet witch.”

The emissary of the golden eagles looked startled. In the trees around them, the rest of the golden eagles erupted with squawks and chirps and chattering noises of anger. Thomas waited with bated breath.

“She is a foul creature,” the emissary of the golden eagles said at last, sharp-tongued and wrathful. Thomas’s heart started beating again. “And she is why we have no love for humankind, and why we should not have come to this meeting at all!”

His words were met with approving cries from the others; but Thomas could not help but smile, though he quickly replaced it with a look of earnestness and sympathy. “Believe me, friends, I have no love for the witch myself,” he said to them. “In fact, I don’t normally come this far away from Mídhel. This is my first time in the Grimgrove. I’m only here because I’m trying to save my sister, Eleanor. She’s been kidnapped by the witch.”

The golden eagles started to settle down; their emissary gave Thomas an unreadable look. In the river, the Vathca had swum even closer, many of them hanging on to vines and branches on the shoreline itself. Their representative said nothing, but the heaviness of his gaze had begun to soften just a little, Thomas thought.

“Let me tell you my story about the witch,” Thomas continued, “and why I’ve come to the Grimgrove, and why I’ve called this meeting together. You see that my friend Avery, the raven in the tree, has found the golden egg that both of you hold dear. It’s a lucky talisman, they say, one that can help bring peace to the Grimgrove, and good fortune besides. You can have the golden egg—both the Vathca and the golden eagles—if you’ll just listen to my story.”

The emissary of the golden eagles made a chirping noise. “Go ahead, then.”

The representative of the Vathca said nothing, but gave a slow nod and a blink of his center eye.

Thomas took a breath and began. He related to them an abridged version of the story he had shared with his other companions, the tale of his fateful trip to pick blackberries and Eleanor’s abduction by the witch and the adventures that had followed as Thomas sought to recover the items needed for Eleanor’s rescue. Thomas finished his brief story with a description of their initial plans to trick the Vathca and the golden eagles and to steal the prized acorn from the eyries of the Great Trees.

“But I have learned that you cannot vanquish your enemies by making new ones,” Thomas concluded. “I want friends, not enemies. The witch is my only enemy. I just want to get my sister back. And, if I can, I’d like to help you and your people. Both of you.”

One of the Vathca floating in the river let out a pipe-noise that sounded almost mournful. At Thomas’s side, Brak made a sudden movement, as though the noise had surprised him. Thomas glanced down to see the three eyes of the Vathca blinking in rapid succession. In the trees above, the golden eagles were chirping and rustling a little, though none spoke.

“What kind of help?” asked the emissary of the golden eagles. His voice was less haughty now, a little sincerer.

“First, I want to let you know that I’d like to be friends, if we can,” said Thomas. “What’s your name?”

“I am Énna the Red of the Firetail Clan,” said the emissary of the golden eagles. He gave Thomas a little bow, ducking his head and displaying the brilliance of his red-gold feathers.

Thomas and Énna looked to the representative of the Vathca. After a long, tense moment, the three-eyed creature cleared its throat and said gruffly, “I am Glasna, called River-warden, a servant of the Noble Dobhar Riverdog.”

Thomas smiled again. “Énna, Glasna, I’m glad to meet with you today. I’m sorry for all the trouble we caused. We’re just trying to figure out how to save my sister. And we want to help the golden eagles as well—Brak here has a friend among the golden eagles who has disappeared; we think he might have been taken by the witch and held captive among the Great Trees.”

“The witch has left the Grimgrove but her enchantments remained,” said Énna bitterly. Many of our kind are trapped or enslaved to her will. They remain deep within the Great Trees, where they guard our precious things and seek to hunt out those of us who remain free. We are few, and though we have freed some of them, many work against us. I am sorry for the enchantment of your friend, Brak the Vathca.”

“Why have the Vathca been involved in these dealings?” asked Glasna. “These sound like problems concerning the foolishness of humans and eagles, not my kin.”

Thomas took a deep breath. This is the tricky part. “I think we can all help each other, Glasna,” he said. “I need the help of the golden eagles to retrieve the acorn and save my sister. The golden eagles, in turn, need the help of the Vathca—they cannot continue to fight against their brothers and sisters alone. They need help to reclaim the Great Trees and break the enchantments upon the rest of the golden eagles. The Vathca are cunning and strong and sneaky. You can help them take the Great Trees and the skies above them from the witch.”

Glasna made a fluting pipe-noise. “And the Vathca fight and die for the eagles and the humans and receive nothing in return, is that it? What use have we of you?”

“I can help you,” said Thomas. “So can the golden eagles. When they control the skies above the Grimgrove, they can keep this safer in the rivers and woods below. They’ll help you fight off your enemies and find food and treasure. If the two of you work together, you’ll be far more successful, and far happier, than—”

Glasna interrupted with a wave of his dripping hand and a short blast of pipe-noise and said: “I do not need happiness! The Vathca receive what we need from the Riverdog. We take what we need from the Grimgrove. We do not need the paltry happiness you would offer. And if you have nothing else—”

“What about magic?”

The voice was high and small and came from upstream. All eyes turned to its source. Thomas forced himself to unclench his teeth, inwardly grateful for Cathán’s fortuitous timing. The First Captain of the Thistledown Kingdom was floating down the river toward them atop a flat cedar plank that had been adorned with garlands and fir-boughs and other accoutrements signifying the property of the Thistledown Kingdom. With Cathán sailed eight other mice, standing in rank behind the First Captain. These mice wore tall hats and robes; two of them carried walking-sticks, while three others wore wire necklaces about their necks. Thomas recognized the garb from his time in Luchamhá.

“These are the famous mouse-mages of the Whiskered Wood,” Thomas said, turning back to Glasna and Énna and the rest of the gathered armies. “And, of course, First Captain Cathán Caolán, Captain of the First Legion of the Thistledown Kingdom. He became my friend during my travels. Together we have faced many dangers and shared many important moments. We are friends now, fast friends. And because we are friends, I asked him to bring mice from the Thistledown Kingdom to help you.”

“The mouse-mages are highly knowledgeable in arcane arts,” said Cathán, hopping ashore and dragging the boat into the sand. The mouse-mages disembarked and walked to stand next to Thomas, their long robes swishing on the sandy shore.

Cathán scampered back up Thomas’s side and took his seat on Thomas’s shoulder. “They can help the Vathca with a great many things,” he continued cheerily. “They can help you fight off sickness, find good fishing-holes, increase the defenses of your land, and other things besides. I’ve brought a full cadre of mages, and each of them is a loyal mouse and a friend. They’ll stay here for as long as you need their help. Their first task will be to help reverse the enchantments on the golden eagles.”

One of the mouse-mages stepped forward. “We are here to serve,” she said in a high voice. “Sadly, our art is not so powerful as to face the witch or her kind directly, but we can be of assistance in undoing her work and rescuing those who have been trapped by her wickedness.”

“After the mouse-mages have helped free the golden eagles,” said Thomas to Glasna, “they’ll be at the service of your people. I think you’ll find that friendship is worth far more than power, but if you have no love for them or the golden eagles, you will be free to do as you please. When their service to you is complete, they can return to the Thistledown Kingdom and never set paw in the Grimgrove again.

“And the same goes for the golden eagles.” Thomas turned now to Énna. “I’m proposing friendship, but we should probably start with an alliance and see what happens. The golden eagles will help me retrieve the prized acorn, the Vathca will help the golden eagles win back the Great Trees, and the mouse-mages will help the Vathca establish a prosperous and bountiful country.”

“I think those are reasonable terms,” replied the red-feathered Énna after a moment. The golden eagles in the trees chirped their asset. He extended a wing to calm them. “I see the truth of your words, human Thomas, and I believe that we can be persuaded to set aside ancient enmities for the bonds of an alliance. Perhaps friendship will come as well. You have our word.”

Thomas and Énna and the rest turned to Glasna. The representative of the Vathca did not seem to like the attention. He piped a series of noises to his kin gathered in the water, and they responded in kind, a raucous exchange of strange warbling sounds. Then Glasna looked back at Thomas, all three eyes unblinking.

“You’ve brought these mouse-mages to threaten us, haven’t you?” Glasna said. “You think you can intimidate us into agreeing with you.”

“Not at all,” replied Thomas. “As I said, I only wanted you to listen to what I have to say, and in return I promised you the golden egg. I can’t speak for the golden eagles, but I think it would be best if you, Glasna, received that recompense now.”

Énna gave Thomas a nod in asset. The boy looked up at Avery. The raven hopped off the branch, swooping in circles toward the gathering on the sand. When he was a few wingspans overhead, he dropped the golden egg. Glasna’s webbed hand shot out and grasped the treasure, clutching it close. Avery glided to the sand next to Brak.

“You are free to leave,” said Thomas to Glasna. “All of you. I won’t try to stop you. You can take the golden egg and go home or go back to fighting with the golden eagles. Or you can accept the terms of the alliance and help us, and in return we will help you. Do whatever you think your king, the Great Riverdog, would most approve. But first, please take a look at me and my friends.”

Thomas spread his hands to encompass Brak and Avery and Cathán and even the cadre of mouse-mages. “We are unlikely friends, but we are friends anyway, and we’re happier for it. You may say you don’t care about happiness, and I understand. But without my friends, I wouldn’t have a chance to save my sister, and so I’m grateful beyond words for them. You don’t have to accept the offer of friendship, but I hope you will.”

For a full minute the gathering was silent. The rippling of the water and the rustling of the tree-branches were the only sounds that intruded upon the great contemplation of Glasna, the emissary of the Vathca. The strong three-eyed creature stood upon the sands and blinked his three great eyes and tapped the tips of his webbed dripping fingers together and thought.

And then, at last, Glasna spoke. “I will accept this golden egg,” he said slowly, his words layered with pipe-sounds, “and the assistance of the mouse-mages, and this temporary alliance with the golden eagles as well. The Vathca will help reclaim the Great Trees insofar as we are able. I promise nothing further.”

The rest of the Vathca made the riverbank echo with the sound of their piping language. Thomas glanced down at Brak, who confirmed that the sounds indicated their support of the declaration. Above, the golden eagles chirped and swooped in tight circles, while on the ground Énna and Glasna nodded their agreement to one another.

Thomas felt like cheering himself. Instead, he gave the Mouse Knight on his shoulder a broad smile. “Thank you, Cathán,” he said quietly.

“Anything for a friend,” replied the First Captain with a wink. “Besides, the mouse-mages are known for preparing an excellent stew of hickory nuts and white carrots and parsley. I bargained for a bowl before we left their citadel. A silvery fish-scale was a small price indeed.” Cathán laughed his high, squeaking laugh. “And I made sure to bring a few pouches of stew for the rest of us, of course, along with some bread and fresh water. I’ve stashed it a short distance up the river. We can’t offer the Vathca everything for their help, after all.”

Thomas grinned. Then he felt a rustling at his feet and looked down. Énna the Red stood there, looking up. “A word, if you might, human Thomas,” said the golden eagle.

Thomas bent down and offered his arm. Énna stepped onto the back of Thomas’s wrist, clutching firmly as he was lifted to eye level. “Thank you for your words and encouragement,” said Énna softly. “I suspected all manner of tricks and deceit. Even now, I am not sure the Riverdog’s people will fully honor their commitment. But I am willing to work with them for now, and that’s all that matters, I think. For now, we at least have a chance to rescue our friends and our family from the spells of the violet witch.”

“I hope everything works out,” said Thomas sincerely. “I wish we could stay to help with everything, but I don’t have much time left and I still have two objects to collect after the acorn, so once we have it, I need to leave the Grimgrove. But I’ll return when all of this is over to see how things are going here.”

“It is precisely the acorn that I wish to speak to you about. The stream you spoke of—the one you planned to use to reach the base of the Great Trees, there to ascend to our eyries—has been choked by the growth of a great thorn-bush of late. It has nearly dammed the stream, stretching from bank to bank. It cannot be avoided. And the watch-birds of the witch remain ever vigilant in that region of the Great Trees. You cannot go in that.”

Thomas frowned. “Is there any way to get the acorn? Do you have any ideas? I don’t want to endanger the golden eagles, but you understand how important the acorn is to freeing my sister.”

Énna gave Thomas a long look. Then he chirped. “Wait here, friend Thomas,” said the golden eagle. “I will return promptly.” And Énna flapped away from Thomas’s outstretched arm, quickly soaring over the tops of the trees and vanishing from sight.

“Where do you think he went?” Cathán wondered, watching the golden eagle disappear.

“I’m not sure,” Thomas replied, trying to keep dismay from his voice. “But let’s see what we can do about organizing everything with the Vathca and the golden eagles and the mouse-mages while we wait.” And he set to introducing members of the three groups. By now, many of the Vathca and the golden eagles had joined them on the sandy shore; and though each kept close to his own kind, they all seemed tentatively willing to intermingle and discuss their plans and strategies.

Thomas busied himself with these affairs and was surprised when a golden eagle dropped to the ground in a flurry of feathers before him. Thomas was seated in the sand, speaking to one of the mouse-mages and to a small, wiry Vathca. These two retreated at the approach of the golden eagle with the red feathers.

Énna spat something into the sand. Instinctively, Thomas reached out. He stared in abject shock at the acorn in his hand. It was small and hard, brown tinged with amber at the cup. Thomas touched it gently with his fingertips.

“A token of our friendship,” said Énna. “This is an acorn from the Greatest Tree, dropped when we were fledglings and kept safe this long lifetime. It is highly prized by the golden eagles. When the enchantments of the witch settled upon my people and we were forced to flee the Great Trees, we took what treasures we could carry. The acorn is yours now, Thomas. But if you can return it to us somehow, we would be ever grateful.”

And the red-feathered golden eagle bowed again, then rejoined the rest of his people in their preparations.

Thomas stared at the acorn a moment longer, then blinked the tears from his eyes and stowed the acorn in his satchel alongside the boar’s tusk. He collected his things together, making sure everything was safely prepared, and sought out Brak.

“We have the acorn and we’re leaving the Grimgrove now,” Thomas told Brak, stooping down to match the Vathca’s crouch. “Will you come with us?”

Brak blinked his left and right eyes at Thomas. “No,” he replied, “I will stay here. I think my people . . . well, they don’t seem to mind my presence right now, even though I’m an outcast. I think I can help them. I have some experience with exploring the roots of the Great Trees, after all, and I have personal business with these matters.”

Thomas nodded and reached out his hand. Brak clasped it, and the two exchanged an odd handshake and a meaningful five-eyed look. “Best of luck, Brak,” said Thomas, straightening. “Thank you for all your help. You’re a true friend. I hope that you find your friend among the golden eagles. I’ll come back to help if I can after I save my sister.”

Brak blinked all eyes at once and made a soft pipe-sound. “Farewell, human boy Thomas. You are also my friend. Come to the pond if ever you return, but beware the Melusi when you do.”

Thomas crossed the sandy shore to the far edge and stepped onto Cathán’s cedar-plank raft, which was just large enough to support him without capsizing. Avery dropped to land on the plank as well, finding a comfortable position at the prow. Cathán finished up his goodbyes and cheerful tale-telling with the mouse-mages and the others who had gathered before him, scampered across the sand, and leapt onto Thomas’s shoulder in a single bound.

“You did well, Thomas,” said the Mouse Knight, leaning against Thomas’s neck and tickling the skin there with his whiskers. “What’s the next step of our quest?”

“First, we need to paddle back to where you stashed the stew,” said Thomas, plunging his hands into the cold water of the river and pushing them from shore. He waved at the congregation on the shore; a few of the Vathca and golden eagles waved back, but most were busy preparing for their redemption of the Great Trees.

“Next,” Thomas continued, pushing them upriver with strong strokes, “I think I’d like to take you both home with me for a short time. I should probably let my parents know that I’m still alive, and we’ll need more supplies and provisions and food. Besides,” he added, giving the shoreline one last look over his shoulder, “Mídhel is on the way to the Palewater Bog. And that’s where we’ll find the witch’s third object: the yellow-green lichen growing on the bones of an ancient warrior.”