Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“Twelve,” she repeated. “He was just a few years older, this boy. His birthday would’ve been in July. He was born in the full throat of summer.” Her eyes trailed off to stare at some fixed point over Curtis’s shoulder. Curtis paused in his chewing and looked behind him; there was nothing there.

The Governess smiled and, remembering herself, looked back at Curtis. “How is the food?” she asked.

He had a mouth full of greens, and he had to quickly swallow them to answer. He pulled an errant fiddlehead from between his teeth and set it down on the plate. “Oh, very good,” he responded finally. “Though these ferns are a little weird. I didn’t know you could eat them.” He dipped his spoon back into the hearty stew and brought it, full, to his mouth.

The Governess laughed and then, turning serious, said, “But Curtis, I’m very curious as to what brought you into these woods. You Outside folk haven’t thought to visit for such a long, long time.”

Curtis paused mid-slurp, set his spoon down, and swallowed. It hadn’t occurred to him in the chaos of his capture what explanation he should give for his presence in the woods. He decided it would be best not to give away Prue’s mission until he had a better sense of the Governess’s intentions. “I was just out walking, actually, and I wandered into the trees. I got lost, and that’s when your . . . your coyotes found me.” He could only hope that the soldiers hadn’t seen Prue.

“Just out walking?” asked the Governess, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” said Curtis. “I’ll be totally honest with you: I was skipping school. I was skipping school and thought I’d go on a little adventure. You’re not going to report me to the principal, are you?”

Alexandra threw her head back and laughed. “Oh no, dear Curtis,” she said between fits, “I’d never report you. Then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your company!” She reached down and picked up the bottle of wine. Pulling the cork from the top, she poured more of the dusky liquid into Curtis’s cup. “Please, drink more. You must be so parched.”

“Thank you, Miss Dowag—” He fumbled over her title and corrected himself: “Alexandra, ma’am. I will have a little more. It’s really good.” It was sweet and strong, and when he drank it, he felt his stomach radiate warmth to the rest of his body. He took another large swig. “I’ve never really drunk wine before—I mean, I’ve had a little Manischewitz at Passover, but it’s nothing like this.” He took another drink.

“So you were out walking. In these woods,” repeated the Governess.

Curtis swallowed the wine and picked up a pile of dandelion greens and shoved it in his mouth. He nodded.

“But Curtis, my dear,” said Alexandra. “That is simply not possible.”

Curtis munched his greens and stared at the Governess.

“Literally impossible,” she said, turning serious. “You see, Outsider child Curtis, there is a thing called Woods Magic that protects this wood from the curiosity of the outside world. It is the thing that separates our kind from yours. Every being in this forest has the Woods Magic running through their veins. If one of your kind, an Outsider, was to find his way into these woods—I think you charmingly refer to it as the ‘Impassable Wilderness’—they would find themselves immediately and irretrievably caught in the Periphery Bind, a maze in which every turn is a dead end. The forest becomes like a hall of mirrors, its image repeated in illusion into the horizon, you see, and at every turn one would find oneself exactly where one had started. If you were lucky, the woods would spit you out somewhere back to the outside world, though it is just as likely that you would forever be lost, wandering the forest’s infinite reflection until you either died or went mad.”

Curtis slowly finished crunching the dandelion greens and swallowed them with a loud gulp.

“No, my sweet Curtis,” the Governess said, thoughtfully toying with one of the eagle feathers pinned in her hair, “the only way you would have been able to cross the border and travel in these woods would be if you were born of the Magic yourself.”

Curtis stared at the Governess, a chill running up his spine.

“Or,” she continued, “if you were accompanied by someone of Woods Magic.”

The Dowager Governess looked directly into Curtis’s eyes, the steel blue of her irises flashing in the light of the flickering fires, and smiled.

The sun was setting, and Prue grew sleepy as the mail van trundled bumpily down the Long Road, occasionally swerving to avoid the felled tree branches and muddy potholes that littered the road. The conversation quieted, and Richard had stubbed his cigar in the ashtray and was whistling to himself. Prue rested her head against the door and stared out the window, watching the woods change from a knot of dense scrub and gaunt trees to wide groves of massive, ancient cedar and fir trees, their wizened limbs reaching out over the road.

“The Old Woods,” said Richard as they passed under the canopy of the giant trees. “We’re getting closer.”

Prue smiled and nodded at Richard, and a great wave of tiredness overcame her, and she felt herself drifting off to sleep, the rattle of the van lulling her into a deep slumber. She woke suddenly when she felt the van shudder to a stop. It was dark now, and she didn’t know how long she’d slept. In the crooked light projected from the van’s headlights, Prue thought she saw birds, though her vision was too foggy from sleep to be sure. Richard heaved the emergency brake with both hands and let the van idle as he turned to Prue and said, “Checkpoint. You might have to get out of the van.” He pushed open his door and stepped outside onto the road.

Prue rubbed her eyes clear and squinted through the dirty windshield. A strange flickering was occurring just outside the edge of the headlights, and she strained to make sense of it when suddenly a pair of scaly talons alighted on the hood in front of her. She shrieked with surprise and fell back in her seat. A gigantic golden eagle (Aquila chrysaetos—she recognized it immediately from The Sibley Guide) craned his head down and looked curiously into the cab of the van. Abruptly, the headlight glare behind him was teeming with birds of every feather: thrushes, herons, eagles, and owls, some flying in and out of the headlights, some landing on the ground, some scrambling for a grip with their claws on the van’s hood. Prue pushed herself farther back into the seat as the eagle on the hood continued his probe of the cab. Richard appeared in the midst of the squall, making his way into the shine of the headlights. He was brandishing a small book, opened and held at arm’s length. The eagle on the van’s hood turned from the windshield and hopped into the air to land on a branch in front of Richard, his powerful wings fanning in quick, mighty beats.

“You’ll find it’s all in order, General,” said Richard to the eagle, who was intently studying the booklet in Richard’s hand. Satisfied, he flew back to his former perch on the hood of the van. He upset a flurry of nuthatches as he landed and turned his steely eyes again to Prue.

“And who is your companion, Postmaster?” asked the eagle.

Richard smiled and laughed. “Well, I was going to get to that, sir,” he said, walking to the driver’s-side window. He tapped at the glass and gestured for Prue to get out. “An Outsider child, sir. A girl. I found her on the road.”

Prue opened her door and stepped out onto the gravel. She was immediately met by a host of smaller birds, finches and jays, who flew around her head and shoulders in frantic circles, skimming her hair and picking at her peacoat.

“An Outsider?” asked the eagle, incredulous. He flew to the other side of the van and, landing, let out a loud squawk that sent the smaller birds flying into the trees. He looked intently at Prue and said, “Incredible. How did you find your way, girl?”

“I . . . walked,” responded Prue, aghast. She’d never been so close to an eagle before. It was stunning.

“You walked?” asked the eagle. “Ridiculous. What’s your business in Wildwood?”