Cover

RAVENWOOD

ANDREW PETERS

Dedication

To my wife, Polly, who helped so much with structuring, editing, and creating the world and who has been my constant companion in traveling deeper; to my lovely children, Roz and Asa, who were my first readers; to Eugene, who kept me going when I was ready to give up; to Uli for fighting the good fight; to Rachel Hawes, who gave me so much helpful advice about clothes up in the trees; to Barry, who had faith in me and the work and who took the risk; to the team at Chicken House who backed this to the hilt; and finally to Imogen, my brilliant editor.

“Trees are shrines. He who knows how to speak with them, who knows how to listen to them, experiences truth. They preach no catechism or recipe, they preach original law.”

HERMANN HESSE

1• THE CHASE

Stay on the wood, it’s as it should.

Step off the tree: end of thee.

—Dendran proverb

The forested island of Arborium

October 5, early evening, one week before the Harvest Festival

The arrow flew over his shoulder and thudded straight into a wooden post. Too close! If he hadn’t stumbled out of the way, the shaft would now be buried somewhere near his heart. He imagined the blood blooming like a flower across his shirt, his body tripping over the edge of the branch to fall lifeless to the earth, a mile below.

Ark was exhausted. Sweat coursed down his back, and his calf muscles ached. He whipped his head around: They were only a hundred yards behind. This part of the highway was wide and straight. Not only had the original, huge branch been carved flat, like all the smaller branch roads, but also it had been extended widthways with beams and scaffolding. Now it was twenty feet across at the passing places. At this time of the afternoon, before brush hour, the way was deserted. Ark ran lightly, feeling each knot and dip in the wood.

Somewhere hidden up above, dark clouds squeezed out their downpour, filling the forest with echoing drips. The constant drumming urged him on and Ark ran for his life through a mass of shifting shadows. His plumbing belt was weighing him down. Wrenches against crossbows? Forget it. But there was no time to get rid of it, either. Another arrow whistled past and vanished harmlessly into the leafy green depths.