Freeglader (20 page)

In the corner, the Mire Pirate stared at the Ghost of Screetown as Mother Bluegizzard flapped towards him, a beaker of woodgrog in her claws.

Outside on the busy street, Rook Barkwater found himself being encircled by the group of oakelves, all chanting softly once more as they made their way slowly through the town. Down the bustling side-alleys they went, towards North Lake. Being so much taller than the oakelf brothers, he could see all round. They were surrounded still by the vast celebrating crowds of goblins, trogs, trolls and waifs, all dancing, singing, laughing and joking – and yet, as he continued, Rook noticed something strange.

Although he could see the revellers' lips moving, he could hear neither their song nor their laughter; their whoops, their yells, their happy cries. Only the low, ullulating chant of the oakelves reached his ears, filling his head with its deep, dark sounds.

‘Ooh-maah, oomalaah. Ooh-maah, oomalaah. Ooh-maah, oomalaah…’

He paused for a moment where he stood, and shook his head, trying to clear it of the hypnotic chant – only to be gently urged on by the ring of oakelves around him. Down to the water's edge they went, turning right onto a lamp-lined path that hugged the lake, the dark, slightly
ruffled surface of the water to his side. Past the jetties they continued, lines of pink and yellow lanterns strung out along them; past the fishing cabins and reed-stalls; past reunited families and friends, and couples strolling arm in arm along the waterside promenade.

And gradually, as they continued, the twinkling lights of New Undertown receded behind them. In their place, reflected in the water – sometimes crystal clear, sometimes blurred and fuzzy, as the wind rose and fell – was a sprinkling of stars and the huge, silver face of the full moon. The number of individuals out walking diminished and the amount of woodland and shrubbery increased until the empty path, no more than a small track now, disappeared into the trees.

Dark and overgrown, with the moonlight blocked out by the dense overhead canopy, the only light in the forest came from the circle of oakelves' robes as they glowed about him, a soft, luminous turquoise. And still the oakelves went on, picking their way
through the woods, before cutting down through the undergrowth to the lake.

Rook was entranced. The soft chanting, the fragrance of the incense and delicate blue-green shade all seemed to wash over him, through him, outside and inside. And as they approached the water's edge, the full moon laid out across its velvety black surface like a huge piece of silver, Rook realized that he was growing increasingly sleepy. His legs felt like lead and he could barely keep his eyes open.

‘Step lightly, Master Rook,’ said the oakelf with the swaying censer. ‘I shall hold the side steady for you.’

For a moment Rook was confused. Then, looking down, he saw the small coracle which had been lashed to a twist of knotted root just above the surface of the water. The bobbing vessel was small, almost round, made of a plaited frame of woodwillow and sallowdrop, and clad in pitch-sealed tilderskin.

Once he, the largest of the group, had stepped across and settled himself down on the bench at the blunt end of the coracle, the others climbed in after him. It was a tight fit, and Rook was aware of the warmth of the bodies pressed in about him as the oakelves picked up their paddles, pushed off from the bank, and began propelling the little boat slowly across the moonlit lake.

The water splashed softly, the coracle dipped and swayed, and all the while the oakelves kept up their low, sonorous chanting. It was only as they drew close to Lullabee Island that Rook realized it wasn't the only music he could hear. Ahead of him, coming from

somewhere in the centre of the island, was more music – similar to that of the chanting oakelves, though a thousand times sweeter.

Rook's eyes closed and his head began to nod.

‘Not yet, Rook Barkwater,’ Grailsooth's voice sounded in his ear. ‘Not just yet.’

Suddenly he heard a grating noise as the bottom of the coracle scraped against the loose gravel below them. He shook his head groggily and stifled a yawn. The oakelves abruptly stopped their chanting, and six of them jumped down into the water and began dragging the little boat up onto the shore.

Grailsooth took Rook gently by the arm. ‘This way, Rook Barkwater,’ he said.

Together, they headed away from the banks of the lake. The undergrowth grew thicker, the number of trees increased and between the trunks and branches, Rook noticed a pale turquoise light glowing in the distance and lightening the sky.

‘Not far now,’ Grailsooth murmured, turning and smiling at him.

Rook smiled sleepily. As he went further into the woods, the sapwoods and various willows began to give way to lullabee trees – massive specimens, with broad, bulbous trunks, spreading branches and huge leaves. Music filled the air – plangent chords and interweaving harmonies – as a warm wind passed lightly through the air. And, as the full moon shone down upon them, the leaves gave off a fine, glowing mist that cast the whole forest in a pool of deepest turquoise.

‘It's so … so beautiful,’ Rook murmured softly.

‘It is welcoming us,’ said Grailsooth.

‘Welcoming us?’

‘The lullabee groves are the most ancient and mysterious places in all the Deepwoods,’ he said. ‘And the grove here on Lullabee Island is the most ancient and most mysterious of them all.’ He smiled and placed a hand on the young librarian knight's shoulder. ‘And it is welcoming you, Rook Barkwater, for here you shall find rest.’

‘But … but why
me
?’ Rook muttered, as all round him, the music switched to soft glissandos, which rippled through the shifting shades of turquoise light.

‘The Brotherhood dreamed of you,’ said Grailsooth. ‘You have suffered much.’

‘The sepia storm?’ said Rook, frowning, as the memories came back to him. ‘In the Edgelands?’

‘That, too, was in our dreams,’ Grailsooth nodded. ‘You were touched by the passing storm, as others have been touched before you…’

‘And you can help me?’ asked Rook, a tremor of unease tingling inside his skull.

The oakelf glanced round at him. ‘That, Rook Barkwater, is for you to discover,’ he said.

They continued through the lullabee grove towards the centre, where the oakelves gathered in a circle. Rook looked round him at the curious clearing in the trees. High above his head, the leaves glowed and hummed, filling the air with the most glorious chorus of musical sounds. And there, as the wind parted the great leaves,
he saw several dusty-grey sacklike objects hanging from the branches, glittering slightly, dangling down into the misty turquoise air, and turning slowly. Although he had never seen one before in real life, he recognized them at once from his studies in the Great Library of the underground sewers.

‘Caterbird cocoons,’ he gasped.

‘Indeed,’ said Grailsooth. ‘The caterbirds have been hatching here for longer than any of us can imagine. Why, some of these cocoons are thousands of years old. While others,’ he added, and pointed to a cocoon dangling from a branch to his left, ‘are still to hatch.’

Rook's jaw dropped in amazement. ‘You mean, that's a caterbird about to hatch?’ he said.

‘Perhaps,’ said Grail-sooth. ‘But probably not in
my lifetime or, who knows? Not in yours either…’ He shook his head sagely. ‘A caterbird hatching is a rare thing indeed, Rook Barkwater, witnessed but once in a hundred years, perhaps longer. And yet, in this place, as you can see, it has occurred many, many times.’

Rook looked about him, awestruck. There was so much to take in; the entrancing music, the unearthly light, the sparkling cocoons which had been added to, one after the other, down the centuries.

The branches and the huge leaves glowed a shimmering turquoise and swayed gently to and fro as if in a breeze, yet to Rook, the air seemed unnaturally still. Grailsooth's huge dark eyes followed Rook's gaze, and he smiled.

‘The caterworms are feeding on the lullabee leaves, filling the grove with their music,’ he said.

Rook frowned. ‘Caterworms? Where?’

‘They are in the trees – all around us, Rook Barkwater. They are glisters. You see them only as light. It is they who weave themselves into cocoons and emerge as…’

‘Caterbirds!’ breathed Rook.

‘Indeed,’ said Grailsooth, and nodded to his companions, who melted away into the trees. ‘And now, the time has come…’

All around, the music of the lullabee trees grew to a rousing crescendo.

The time for what? Rook wondered, suddenly feeling the weariness overwhelm him once more.

As if reading his thoughts, Grailsooth took him by the arm and pointed up into the trees to one of the caterbird
cocoons. ‘Time,’ he said, ‘to sleep in a cocoon. You will dream the dreams of the all-knowing caterbirds. You will see yourself through their eyes and, Sky willing, find peace…’

Rook realized he was trembling. See himself? Find peace?

‘Go now,’ said Grailsooth gently. ‘Climb the lullabee and crawl into the caterbird cocoon. There, sleep will come to you and you will rest.’

As Grailsooth looked on, Rook did as he was told. He climbed the great knobbly trunk of the lullabee tree, shinned his way along a broad branch and lowered himself into the cocoon. It was soft and downy, giving slightly beneath his weight as he curled up inside it. Within seconds, he felt his arms and legs relax and his breathing became regular and heavy.

His eyes flickered for a moment as he realized that he was about to fall asleep in the cocoon of a caterbird. How strange, and yet how natural it felt. His eyes flickered again before shutting completely.

A soft, rasping snore mingled with the music of the glade as Rook drifted into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

• CHAPTER ELEVEN •
COCOON DREAMS

R
ook was standing in a magnificent chamber, its walls decorated with murals and rich tapestries; the floor, a swirl of delicate mosaics. There was a fire roaring in the grate. Huge ironwood logs, nestling in a crimson bed of glowing embers, crackled and hissed as the yellow and lilac-white flames danced over them. And as they burned, so they shifted, and bright orange ash showered down.

Before the fireplace, the firelight flickering in their faces, were four boys. They had short, dark, wavy hair. One wore glasses. All of them shared the same fine, angular features and bright, darting eyes. They were laughing. The youngest was telling the others of some exploit or other, while they gently teased him.

As Rook watched them, his heart seemed to effervesce with happiness, as though thousands of tiny bubbles were filtering through it. So this was what it felt like to be part of a large family, surrounded by brothers.

There were two other boys in the chamber – older and
taller – practising their sword skills with tipped foils. A woman in an ornate gown and lace collar sat in an armchair to the right of the fireplace, the expression on her face as she surveyed her brood a mixture of amusement and pride; while on the far side of the room, a tall, dark-haired sky pirate stood by the window staring out. His beard was plaited and his moustache waxed. He wore a breast-plate of gleaming black, and a heavy sabre hung at his side. How imposing he looked, Rook thought – and strangely familiar, as if he'd seen him somewhere before.