Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

Prue was speechless. The eagle craned his head forward until his beak was inches from her face.

“She’s looking for her brother,” interjected Richard. “And her friend, come to think of it.”

“The Outsider girl can answer for herself!” squawked the eagle, not taking his eyes off Prue.

“It’s t-true,” stammered Prue finally. “My brother, Mac. He was taken by crows and, as far as I can tell, taken somewhere in these woods. So I came here to find him. And on the way, I was followed by my friend Curtis, and he was captured by a group of coyotes.”

The eagle stared at Prue in silence for a moment. “Crows, you say,” he said. “And coyotes.” He cast a meaningful look at his fellow birds and shuffled his talons along the hood of the van.

“Right,” said Prue, gathering her courage. “Any help in finding Mac and Curtis would be much appreciated. Sir.”

Evidently satisfied, the eagle ruffled his feathers and looked behind him at Richard. “Where were you planning on taking her, Postmaster?”

“To the Governor-Regent,” answered Richard. “That’s the best option I could think of.”

The eagle snorted and looked back at Prue. “The Governor-Regent,” repeated the eagle, an acid tone creeping into his voice. “I’m sure he’ll be very helpful. I hope you’re not in too much of a hurry to find your brother and your friend, Outsider. If I recall correctly, Request for Aid in Search of Human Abduction by Crow is a standard H1 sub 6 slash 45E document, to be signed in triplicate by all reigning Metro Commissioners.”

The flurry of birds surrounding the eagle began to titter with laughter. Prue didn’t get the joke. Richard smiled nervously and said, “I’m sure he’ll be very sympathetic, General. Unless you have a better idea.”

“No, no,” said the eagle, “I suppose that is the best tack. Besides, her story, if it is true, may lend credence to our plea when the Crown Prince visits South Wood.”

“The Crown Prince,” said Richard, in surprise. “In South Wood?”

“Himself,” replied the eagle. “The birds are sick of waiting for your commissioners to act while the safety of the Principality is at risk. Our ambassadors have been ignored, if not altogether shunned; our entreaties for aid and alliance brushed off. If the Crown Prince can’t achieve results, then it is one eagle’s humble opinion that the Wildwood Protocols be considered null and void. There is a gathering storm in Wildwood. I have seen it. We can’t sit back any longer and wait for these barbarians to overrun us.”

“Understood, General,” said Richard. “Now if I’m cleared to go . . .” He gestured at the van. “I have a lot of mail to deliver.”

The General raised his wings to their full span and pushed himself aloft from the van’s hood. With only a few robust win

g beats he was in the air, alighting on a tree limb overhead. “Yes, Postmaster,” said the eagle, “you are free to go. Let other Long Road couriers know, however: We will continue to detain travelers on the road until the safety of the Principality is assured.” The rest of the birds circled in the air above the van before disappearing into the dark of the tree line. “And you, Outsider girl,” continued the eagle, “to you I say good luck. I hope you find what you’ve lost.” With that, the eagle unfurled his wings and vanished into the trees, producing a gust of wind that shook the branches and rustled the leaves.

After the birds were gone, Richard smiled at Prue from across the van and mimed a relieved wipe of his forehead. “Well!” he said, opening the driver’s-side door and climbing in. “That checkpoint is getting more challenging every day. Get in. Let’s get going before they change their minds.”

Prue, a little stunned, returned to the passenger seat. Richard revved the van’s engine and started driving, arduously grinding the gears into place.

“What was that all about?” asked Prue.

“Oh, it’s complicated, Port-Land Prue,” said Richard. “We’re passing through the Avian Principality, a kingdom of birds. It’s a sovereign country between South Wood and Wildwood; they’ve been pressuring the Governor-Regent to allow them to move into Wildwood to defend themselves against attacks that have been made on their borders.”

“What’s stopping them? Why do they need the Governor-Regent’s permission?” asked Prue.

“What he said: a thing called the Wildwood Protocols, which basically states that any signatory of the treaty is forbidden from expanding into Wildwood—and that includes military excursions,” Richard explained. “Which is ridiculous, if you think on it. Why anyone would want to move into Wildwood is beyond me. The place is wild. Overgrown. Treacherous. Unruly. You couldn’t pay your citizens to try and settle in that place.”

“But who is attacking the birds? Obviously, somebody’s living in Wildwood.”

“They’ve been claiming that troops of coyotes, probably the same as your coyote soldiers, have been attacking bird sentries along the border. They believe that these coyotes—typically a disorderly lot—are under the leadership of the deposed Dowager Governess, the former leader of South Wood.” He chuckled under his breath, as if the story were some inside joke. “Crazy birds.”

Prue turned to him, saying, “Wait; who?”

“The Dowager Governess. She was the wife of the late Governor-Regent Grigor Svik. Came to power after his death. Terrible ruler. She was removed from the seat about fifteen years ago and exiled to Wildwood like a common criminal. Gone. Out of the picture.”

“Richard!” said Prue, her face alight. “The coyotes! They mentioned her name!”

“Whose, the Dowager Governess’s?” asked Richard. He stared at her.

“Yes!” said Prue. “When Curtis and I first came on the coyotes, they were arguing. One of them threatened to turn the other over to the Dowager Governess. I’m certain of it.”

“Can’t be,” Richard said. “There’s no way that woman survived. Dropped into the middle of Wildwood. With naught but the clothes on her back.”