Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

Curtis’s mind was racing; did the Governess know about this? Did the company know that there were these intruders in the warren? He was certain Alexandra, once informed, would not stand for this trespass.

“Mac, I’m getting you out of here,” said Curtis, snapping from his spell. Raising his saber above his head, he began moving in on the strange bassinet. The crows, threatened by this usurper, began cawing and crying madly. Several dive-bombed him as he arrived at the cradle, their talons ripping at the fabric of his uniform. Swinging his saber about his head to thwart the birds’ attacks, he arrived at the cradle and, with his free hand, scooped Mac into his arms. Mac gurgled happily, a speck of half-chewed worm still on his lip. The crows, now incensed, redoubled their attacks, and Curtis and Mac were enshrouded in a veil of black feathers, beaks, and talons. Their claws scratched at his face and their beaks tore through his clothing, pinching blood through his revealed skin. Curtis stumbled across the floor, his saber waving haplessly in the air before him. Mac began crying. Curtis could feel the crows’ talons tangling in his hair, their wings batting him in the face until he was practically blinded. He shouted, at once in frustration and in pain. Suddenly, a voice cleared the racket of the room.

“STOP!” shouted the voice. Curtis immediately recognized it to be Alexandra’s.

“OFF!” she commanded.

The storm of crows abated slightly, and Curtis was able to lift his head and open his eyes. Through the diminishing sea of feathers, he could make out the form of Alexandra, standing by the entrance to the chamber.

“Alexandra!” he shouted. “I got Mac! I got Prue’s brother!”

He paused. As Alexandra stood, taking in the scene, a few crows alighted on her shoulders. One landed on her arm, and she petted the feathers absently with her ringed fingers.

“He was . . . here,” continued Curtis, the wind leaving his sails as the reality of the situation began to dawn on him.

Alexandra, looking away from Curtis, lifted her arm so as to bring the crow perched there to eye level. The crow squawked a reprobation, to which Alexandra calmly smiled, cooing soothingly. Satisfied, the crow returned its steely gaze to Curtis.

“What are you doing in here, Curtis?” asked Alexandra.

He stuttered a response: “I was j-just wandering and I . . . well, I heard the sound of a baby so I came to, um, check it out.”

Mac was still crying.

Alexandra walked forward, confidently, sternly. The crow on her arm flew off. Alexandra pulled Mac from Curtis’s arms and cradled him, quietly shushing his crying. “There now,” she said. “Shhhh.”

“You . . . ,” began Curtis. “You knew about this?” A trickle of blood from his scalp had descended the distance of his forehead and was clotting in his eyebrow.

Alexandra rocked back and forth, her eyes on the child in her arms, and Mac began to quiet.

“You knew about this?” repeated Curtis, louder.

His raised voice startled Mac, who began to cry again.

Alexandra shot Curtis an angered look. “Curtis, keep your voice down,” she said, resuming the rocking motion. “You’ve already upset the child enough.” The crow on Alexandra’s shoulder snapped its beak at Curtis.

“But,” he objected impotently, “why have you—how did you—” Despondent, he punctuated this slurry of words with: “I’m just confused.”

Alexandra half smiled at Curtis and walked past him to the vacant bassinet. Whispering calming assurances to the unquiet baby, she placed him down in the mossy heather that lined the bottom of the cradle. Touching Mac’s lips with a finger, she mouthed a final shhhh before returning to Curtis, taking him by the arm.

“I wasn’t quite prepared to show this to you, Curtis,” she said, walking him away from the baby. “But since you’ve forced my hand, I have no choice.” The crowd of crows above them, in the presence of the Governess, had calmed, and many had exited the room via the opening in the ceiling.

“These are difficult times,” continued Alexandra. “Difficult, confusing times. Eventually, it will all make sense to you—but I can understand your present bewilderment.”

“W-why didn’t you tell me?” pleaded Curtis. “I mean, you knew why I was here in the first place. Why did you keep it a secret?”

“I couldn’t have told you, Curtis,” said the Governess. “Think of what a shock it would’ve been—before you’d been properly acclimated to Wildwood. No, I needed to give you time before revealing this to you—and believe me, I was intending to. I would’ve hoped you’d enjoyed your night of celebration a little longer but no matter: Now is as good a time as any.”

Alexandra stopped short of the opening to the chamber and turned to Curtis, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking him squarely in the eye. “Sometimes,” she began, her tone turning from dulcet to firm, “you are forced into a position against your own wishes, a position that requires you to retaliate with any given weapon at your disposal—even if it is at the expense of others. Those reproba

tes in South Wood have done this to me. They have taken from me my dignity, my power. And not only do I intend to get it back, but I also intend to strip the same from those who stole from me. Any action I take to further this end that might be construed as immoral or antagonistic is a consequence of their foolhardy decisions. Do you follow?”

Curtis sniffled. “No, not really.”

Alexandra smiled. “That child is rightfully mine. He is owed to me. I have waited thirteen long years for this moment. Thirteen bitter years. Curtis, the child is the key to my—to our—success in this campaign. Do you remember, earlier this evening, you and I were talking? We were talking about ruling, you and I. On the rubble of South Wood. Returning the natural order, the natural rule, to this country, with me as its queen and you by my side. Do you remember that?”

Curtis nodded dolefully.

“Well, that is not possible without that child, that babbling incoherent thing there.” She pointed over to Mac, who was idly toying with a small twig in his rustic cradle. She looked back at Curtis and gripped his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “That child is our ticket to victory.”