Birdie's Book (15 page)

I wanted to scream—how could the only live plants here be so vicious? Kerka and I backed up a little more. The stinging lights flew down, blocking the way out of the maze.

Just then came a rustling sound. Something was slithering on the ground, snaking toward us. It was hard to tell in the semidarkness which direction it was approaching from. Kerka took her battle stance, and I followed her lead, clueless as to what was coming.

We looked down finally; the rustling, slithering sounds came from spidery roots and thorny vines that were crawling from beneath the ferns. Kerka swung her Kalis stick, and bits of roots and vine flew. But Kerka didn't stop there; she jumped into the air
and came down hacking at the creepers with her Kalis stick.

Now the lights dove at us again, and I stood there, trying to hold them off with my cloak, which was getting more and more tattered. Kerka and I were completely under siege. The vines twisted and writhed, grabbing at our boots while the ferns waited to slash at us whenever we drew too close. Kerka was like a fighting acrobat, leaping and somersaulting, her braids flying. If I hadn't been so terrified, I would have just watched her.

The roots finally got Kerka's ankles and pulled her toward the ferns. I tried to tug her back, but she just shrugged me off. “Keep at the lights, Birdie,” she said through gritted teeth. “And think, think of what you can do.”

Kerka fought off the ferns with jabs and spiral swings of her Kalis stick while I scrambled desperately to find some other weapon. Then Kerka fell or was pulled over by the vines. The blades of the ferns rang
shing-shing
like metal as they swiftly slashed her boots, her tunic, and her will. The roots were wrapping themselves around Kerka's arms and body, holding her down.

I raced to help, not sure what I could do. Instantly, a frond sprang out, not at me but at Kerka's
weapon. The razor fern, in one fell swoop, sliced the Kalis stick in half.

The single fern blade turned toward me. It raised its head and waved slowly from side to side like a blind cobra about to strike. But then it seemed to change its mind, and it stretched itself high above Kerka's head. The lights hovered above us, their eerie light throwing shadows everywhere.

“No!” I shouted.

Kerka screamed, and I lunged toward her, but the vines had wound around my feet, holding them tight to the ground. I fell sprawling, screaming, but my hand was within reach of the half of the Kalis stick that had flown my way. If I could push the end close enough for Kerka to grasp, I could pull her out of there.

“Grab the stick, Kerka!” I yelled, reaching the half Kalis stick as far as I could.

A drip of blood trickled down her face as she gaped at me. She reached out, but the vines pulled her away. The fern blade waved in victory above her head. I suddenly remembered my cloak in my other hand. I tossed it to her like a net.

“Get it!” I shouted.

Even as I yelled, the fern blade dropped.

I shut my eyes, and the next instant I heard
Kerka scream in what sounded like pure fury. “My hair!” she shrieked. “How dare you!”

She was alive!

I opened my eyes to see that the fern blade had indeed hacked off Kerka's braids, right to the nape of her neck. But I saw her only for one moment before the vines and roots pulled her kicking and screaming under the ferns.

Then suddenly there was complete and utter silence.

The ferns swayed innocently. The lights hovered for a moment, then flew to perch in the dead tree branches again.

“Kerka, are you there?” I shouted.

“Birdie.” I thought I heard Kerka's voice coming faintly from inside the tree.

“Kerkaaaaaaa!” I screamed into the darkness.

No reply. She was gone. On the ground, strands of blond hair were scattered, along with scraps of cloth from my once-lovely green velvet cloak.

I was alone, only a stone's throw from the Shadow Tree. What was I going to do? Half the Kalis stick lay by my feet. Half of the Singing Stone was in my pocket. Kerka, my other half on this adventure, was trapped inside the tree.

I suddenly thought of my mother. No wonder
she gave up. No one normal person could possibly have the power to fight off such enemies!

I put my hand to my heart, desperate for courage. I remembered Kerka's words:
Think, think of what you can do
. But I was too tired to think. I sighed, and decided to see if the Shadow Tree itself would offer any clues.

My heart beat loudly as I stepped up to the tree. I didn't care about the ferns, and as if because I didn't care, they didn't sense me. I walked all around the tree and came back to the oozing knothole.

Now the inky ooze didn't just bleed from the knothole but flowed from the bark, forming a hot black pool around the base of the trunk. I know it was hot, because I slipped in it. When I stood up, I was covered in goo and dirt and bits of leaves and hacked-off vines.

It was horrible.

How did I end up here?
I wondered. This was supposed to be a nice little trip to meet my granny Mo, and it had turned into a quest to save my family. And now to save Kerka as well!

I looked at my hands, caked with muck, and didn't recognize them.
Who are you, Birdie Cramer Bright? Aren't you that shy girl, carrying Belle on the train? How did this happen?
I had thought
New York
was a
hard, cold place. Kerka was right—what a whiner I'd been! I had my dad and my new school waiting for me. There was my mom, who loved me even if she didn't understand me.

Heat seemed to pour off the tree. I was sweating. My hand went to wipe my forehead and stopped at my heart. I closed my eyes. Now the heart light gave me coolness, and new thoughts rose up.

I was Kerka's only hope. I was the only hope of the Arbor Lineage. And I was the only hope to mend the rift between my grandmother and my mother and myself.
The only hope
.

I opened my eyes. The knothole had grown, and as I watched, it grew even more until it was an arched doorway with a small door—an actual wooden door! The door grew and deepened in color. It was now a robin's egg blue—the exact color of the front door to my old house in Califa.

A rusty key protruding from the keyhole turned on its own, and the door swung open. Inside was pure darkness. The ferns parted so that I could step through.

But I didn't want to go inside. It was like with the bugs on the bridge—I couldn't make myself. How would I do this without Kerka?

Behind me came the sound of wings, growing
louder and louder. When I turned, I was staring into a pair of ancient eyes. The eyes were in the small face of an old woman, and the face was on the head and body of a giant gray-black crow. The crow woman put her head back and howled like a wolf.

All I could do was stare in horror, but then my brain registered it. The crow woman was a banshee! My mother had told me the Irish legend of this ghost woman when I first started loving fairy tales. The banshee was sometimes a crow, I remembered, and sometimes a ghostly hag—in this case, she was both. But no matter what shape she took, if the banshee wailed, it meant one thing: Someone was about to die.

“Death began when the stone was broken!” the banshee wailed. “It was I, the crow, who found it and brought it here to the tree! Then all became death, death, death!”

As the banshee's gray-black wings began to beat at me, I wondered if I was the one about to die. But I couldn't let it happen—I just couldn't!

I had nowhere to run but into the Shadow Tree, so that is what I did, right into its inky blackness. The door slammed shut behind me. I could still hear the screeching howls of the banshee on the other side.

Suddenly in the darkness I saw that a light was growing. I had put my hand on my heart, truly by
accident, and now I was emitting a golden green light. It was crazy to see my skin glowing and lighting up the dark inside of the tree. I put my hand in my pocket to check if my half of the Singing Stone was still there.

When my finger touched it, I realized something amazing, and I wondered how I hadn't seen it before. Maybe being in the tree is what helped me, or maybe it was the Singing Stone. In any case, what I realized was that the tree was not evil; it was in pain! It needed healing, and who better to do that than someone from the Arbor Lineage, a fairy-godmother-in-training with green magic—in other words, me!

The fairy queen had given me Mo's entry in
The Book of Dreams
, something to remember, she had said. Mo's entry was “The Green Song,” so I decided to sing it to the tree itself. I just made up a melody, but it all fit together seamlessly, like magic.

As I sang, my own glow filled the space even more. I could see a spiral staircase leading up. I sang, holding the half of the Singing Stone in my hand, and climbed the stairs (which were disgustingly covered in the black ooze).

Gradually, I felt the tree relax. Then, all of a sudden, the tree let out a long sigh; it was like a child finally falling asleep. I sang “The Green Song” very
softly, and listened. I swear I could hear the Shadow Tree's breathing, deep and low.

I kept singing as I climbed up, up, up. At the top of the stairs were passages that twisted left and right, up and down. It was all much larger than it had seemed on the outside.

“Kerka?” I sang her name among the other words of the song.

“Birdie? Is that you?” I heard Kerka's voice faintly calling from the right-hand passage.

“Kerka!” I sang. “I'm coming! Kerka, keep calling! Don't stop!”

Kerka called, and I sang more softly so I could hear her. I walked along the passage. The tree walls didn't seem so black now, but more like a rich green. Just as I noticed that, though, I came to a low, arched door, from which Kerka's voice was coming.

I ducked under the arch and through the door into a small dark room, which my glow instantly lit. It was filled with sticks and shiny blackbird feathers—a giant bird's nest. And there, tangled in the sticks, was Kerka.

“Birdie, help me get out of here!” said Kerka, her hair in spiky tufts around her face.

I nodded, and kept singing, as I climbed into the nest. The sticks poked at me, but I was now so
covered with scratches and scrapes I hardly noticed. I put the stone half in my pocket so I could pull at the sticks that were holding Kerka. While I yanked away at them, I motioned for Kerka to sing with me.

At first she shook her head (maybe she didn't think her voice was good—as if the tree cared!), but then she sang, at first softly, and then loudly and strongly as I knew she could. The sticks turned into dust as I pulled at them, so I got her out pretty quickly.

We both climbed out of the nest, and then Kerka hugged me. It felt silly singing and hugging, but there was no way I was stopping! I was about to walk out through the archway, figuring that we'd just walk all around inside the tree, singing, when Kerka stopped me. I turned to face her, and she held out her hand.

“I found this in the nest,” she sang, and unfurled her fingers like they were a flower blooming.

In her palm rested the other half of the Singing Stone.

I took my half of the stone out of my pocket. We held up the two halves and pressed them together, singing “The Green Song.” The crack sealed, and the stone glowed much brighter than I did.

Kerka let go of her half of the stone, and I held
a complete Singing Stone. We had both stopped singing and were just staring at the Singing Stone.

Then I noticed that the
tree
was glowing now, all on its own, bright and green.

“Play the Singing Stone,” Kerka said.

I put my lips to the etching and blew. The most incredible sound came out—as if the stone were a harp, a flute, and a violin all at the same time. Now the Singing Stone's music played “The Green Song,” and things started to happen very quickly.

The tree walls were closing in, fresh healthy wood filling in the spaces.

“Come on!” Kerka said. I nearly stopped playing the Singing Stone to laugh—Kerka was back, and as sure of herself as ever!

We quickly ducked under the arch, and the room disappeared behind us. I guess I could have stopped playing the Singing Stone and the tree might have stopped healing so quickly, but it didn't seem fair to make the tree wait. Kerka and I ran down the staircase as fast as we could. No longer was there black ooze on the stairs, just clean, green wood.

We ran out the door just in time, for the tree filled up right behind us. Kerka and I both sat on the ground to catch our breath. I stopped playing the
Singing Stone for a moment. The hum of “The Green Song” continued through everything, so I just held the stone in my hand and watched this new world with wonder.

The air was clear and clean, and the most refreshing rain ever was sprinkling down, washing away the dust and dirt and ooze. The sky was the bright gray of rain clouds backlit by sunshine. All around us, plants were sprouting up and turning green. The knife-ferns had disappeared, replaced by riotous daisies that pushed out of the ground and bloomed as we watched. Overhead, in the tree, buds appeared and leaves opened up.