“No, my Ark. Your mother came to me a short while ago. She was in a bad way. The Councillor’s men have arrested your sister on charges of terrorism.” She shook her head. “The wood has gone mad.”

Ark jumped up. This was ten times worse than a mere mealworm. “They can’t have! How dare they?” He thumped his fist on the chair. “And it’s wrong!” He burst into tears. “I overheard a plot that will destroy the whole of Arborium. I ran and they tried to kill me and I tried to warn the King but couldn’t,” he sobbed. “The feather only helped me escape, though I kept hearing this voice. And then we were down in the roots, and I knew I had to get back, and —”

“A voice?” the Warden interrupted.

“Yes. It keeps saying my name.”

“It’s Her! It’s really Her!” A look of astonishment crossed Goodwoody’s face. “She’s calling you and your time is coming.”

“What do you mean?” The Warden was riddling again.

“Diana knows best. All shall be well, though the journey is fraught with danger.”

But at that moment, all Ark could think about was Shiv. He wiped away the tears with his sleeve and turned abruptly. “I have to go.”

The Warden heard the change in his tone. “Diana was also enraged once. The Wood-Book talks about how She laid low the temple of the honeylenders! Trust that which lies within you!”

“Whatever that is!” shouted Ark. The door slammed and he was gone.

“Goddess speed you!” Goodwoody called out to the empty chapel. Her knees ached on the hard floor and she felt the worm of doubt inside. Capturing a child, destroying Arborium! Were her prayers any good in the face of such evil? And the voice that Ark mentioned — could it really be?

Ark sprinted from the kirk. He knew where he was going, but beyond that, nothing. He’d taken on a mealworm. The Warden was right. Time to stop doubting himself. The anger flowed through his veins like molten iron.

23• A FRIEND IN NEED

Mucum never knew that a girl could have this effect on him. It was one thing bragging to your mates but another to have the real-life Flo snuggled up next to him, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. He turned to look at her. Some hair on her head would be useful, but then his short crop was hardly different. In fact, apart from the height, skin color, and funny accent, they had plenty in common. And when she smiled at him, oh boy, his stomach flipped. If only he could pluck up the courage to kiss her! He was in serious danger of turning sloppy.

Mucum scanned the circle of faces around the fire. They were a good bunch, these Rootshooters. He looked again. Something missing. A face. Whose? It would come to him in a minute.