Hawthorn by Carol Goodman
“The guns,” Raven said in a grim voice. “They’ve replaced them. Buzz died for nothing.”
That day set a pattern for the next day and the next . . . stretching into the next few weeks. The archers defended the walls with flaming pixie arrows while the Darklings bombed the guns and the undines drowned any soldier who strayed too close to the riverbank. Miss Sharp and Wren organized an infirmary for the increasing ranks of the wounded, helped by Manon’s grand-mère, Daisy, and Louisa, who turned out to be a surprisingly competent nurse and devoted to taking care of Marlin.
At night the Wievens and Aesinor flew patrol over the castle and Omar walked among the ghost soldiers trying to free them from their mental bonds. When he returned he and Professor Jager would sit up late until nearly dawn discussing how they could break the magic that van Drood used to control the soldiers.
“He ought to be controlling them through air magic,” I overheard Professor Jager saying one night as I headed up the stairs to check on Helen. “But if that were so we could break the bonds with earth magic using bells forged with blood.”
“I’ve tried that,” Omar replied. “I have a set of handbells forged in the Shalu Monastery in the mountains of Tibet that contain a drop of the Dalai Lama’s blood. I’ve rung them in front of the soldiers to no avail. Their bond with the Shadow Master cannot be broken with our earth magic. Perhaps because van Drood has forged a stronger bond.”
“Eisen und Blut,” Professor Jager muttered.
“Iron and blood?” Omar asked. “Is that not a slogan from Otto von Bismarck’s famous speech?”
“Yes, it’s all the Germans ever talked about. Eisen und Blut, Eisen und Blut . . . I wonder . . .”
I left them wondering. When I reached Helen’s room I found her murmuring the same phrase. Eisen und Blut, Eisen und Blut . . .
Whatever magic van Drood was using, it was working. Gus and Dolores flew back with news of the battles raging all around us. The French had retreated from Lorraine; the advancing German army had shot fifty civilians and burned to the ground the tiny village of Nomeny; north along the Sambre and Meuse rivers the forts at Namur fell to the siege guns and the French retreated from Charleroi; and all around us in the Ardennes, French and German troops blundered into each other in the fog letting loose a tumult of bullets and bayonets and soaking the forest floor with blood.
Eisen und Blut, Eisen und Blut . . .
When we heard the guns of battle, we Darklings flew out to usher the souls of the dying to the afterlife. The dead and dying lay in heaps, piled so high that many of the dead were still standing, their bodies propped up against the buttress of their fallen comrades. Unlike the German soldiers attacking Bouillon, these soldiers weren’t shadow-ridden, just helpless pawns of the inexorable war machine. Raven showed me how to reach inside for the soul of the dead soldier and how to comfort him as we flew together into the sky.
“Where exactly am I taking him?” I asked the first night, trying not to sound as scared as I was. Although I’d touched a dying soul once, I’d never ferried one to the afterlife and I didn’t really understand where human souls went. “I know that fairies go to Faerie, but you never talk about where humans go after they die.”
“It’s because we don’t really know,” Raven admitted. “We carry human souls up and then, when they’re ready, they fly free. You’ll see.”
The first soldier I carried was a German boy named Friedrich. He came from a village called Hamlin and he had a sister named Gerthe who was nine years old. He had promised her that he would come back and walk her to school on the first day of the fall term. “How will I do that now?” he asked.
I didn’t know how to answer—Raven hadn’t prepared me for this—but suddenly I saw Friedrich in my head, his blond hair cleansed of blood, his body whole and unbroken, walking along a village lane, holding a little girl’s hand.
“Ah!” Friedrich said. “I see!”
And then he broke free from me and soared upward, dissolving into pure light that cascaded around me like a waterfall, cleansing me of the blood and gore of the battlefield. “I really didn’t have to do anything,” I told Raven later. “He did all the work.”
“Yes,” Raven admitted. “We’re just there as a sort of conduit. The dead know what they want.”
Not all passings were as peaceful as Friedrich’s. Some fought me, insisting it wasn’t their time yet; some clung to me, refusing to fly free. There was a French boy I had to fly all the way back to his village on the outskirts of Paris to sit by his father’s bedside while he told his father a long complicated story about some stolen sausages. Only when his father rose from his bed, lit a candle, and picked up his son’s photograph from his night table and kissed it did his son let go.
When I flew back that morning I saw with alarm how close the Germans were to Paris. The future I had seen in Mr. Bellows’s classroom was coming true and the vessel hadn’t even been broken yet. Once it was broken—once those shadows spilled out and joined the shadows already riding with the German army—the future would belong to the shadows.
I flew over the blasted woods of the Ardennes, which only a few weeks ago had been lush and verdant and had harbored the lumignon and lutins. Now all the fairies of the woods had retreated to the castle.
When I saw the castle of Bouillon my heart sank further. It was surrounded on all sides by an immense shadow army. When the soldiers who were shadow-ridden died they rose again as ghost soldiers and joined the ranks laying siege to the castle. Watching them rise made me feel ill. They didn’t move like men, they jerked and stuttered like machines. And as I flew over them I heard a whisper passing through the ranks of the ghost soldiers—a rattling sound like the gears of a great machine clanking together. Today we make the big push! They whispered. Today we take Bouillon!
As soon as I landed in the courtyard I went into the great hall to tell Mr. Bellows what I’d heard. I found him sitting at the war table with my father, Professor Jager, Omar, Kid Marvel, Miss Sharp, Miss Corey, Dolores, and Gus. Their faces were grim as they studied the maps. Dolores and Gus were pointing out where the newest troops were camped and where the guns were stationed.
“They’re planning to make a big push today,” I said. “I heard them as I flew over.”
They all lifted their heads—except for Mr. Bellows, whose eyes were glued on the map. “Ava, you look like you’ve been through the wringer,” Miss Sharp said. “Let me get you some tea with sugar.”
“For shock?” I asked, laughing. “I rather think I’m past being shocked.”
“That’s good,” Miss Corey said, “because we ran out of tea and sugar three days ago. Here, have some brandy. It works rather better.” She passed me a dusty bottle with a label that read “Armagnac,” and I took a swig. It burned my throat, but it made me feel warm for the first time all night.
“Did you hear what I said?” I asked after I’d taken another swallow of the Armagnac. “They’re going to attack today. What are we going to do about it?”
“We’re going to do what we always do,” Mr. Bellows said, pushing his hand through his hair. I noticed a bit of gray in it that I don’t think had been there when the siege began. “We’re going to fight to the last man standing . . . or”—he summoned a wan smile for Miss Sharp—“to the last woman, Darkling, or fairy standing.”
32
THE ATTACK BEGAN at dawn. A thousand shadow soldiers swarmed over the walls. The archery brigade stood on the battlements behind a shield wall, shooting flaming arrows at the enemy. Omar dealt with the shadow snakes that made it over the wall by mesmerizing them. We Darklings dropped bombs on the guns. Kid Marvel and the lutins dug under the battleground and dragged shadow soldiers into their trenches, burying them alive—or what passed for alive for ghost soldiers—in the mud. Aesinor flew over the battlefield spraying fire at the shadows, incinerating whole swaths of ghost soldiers. But still they ke
“I’m afraid van Drood has found the answer to modern warfare,” Raven remarked when we paused on top of the tower to scout out the lay of the land. “Enlist the dead. You’ll never run out of fresh recruits.”
At noon Mr. Bellows called a council to discuss surrender terms.
“There are no surrender terms for van Drood,” Miss Corey objected. “He’ll break the vessel and kill us all.”
“Or worse, make us his shadow puppets,” Miss Sharp said. “I’d rather die. If it comes to that, Lil”—she reached a hand over to grab Miss Corey’s—“will you kill me?”
“I did not call this meeting to plan our suicides!” Mr. Bellows roared, getting to his feet. I’d never seen him so angry. “We will not all die. Ava saw into the future—some of us were alive, weren’t we, Ava?”
They all turned to me. I was hearing Gillie’s voice. Rupert Bellows fallen at the Somme, Miss Sharp burned by a fire attack, all those boys from Hawthorn on the list in Mr. Bellows’s room . . . How could I tell them all that?
I was spared from telling them anything by the frantic entrance of Beatrice. “There’s something you all have to see!” she cried.
“What now?” Mr. Bellows grumbled, wiping a tear from his eye. “What infernal machination has van Drood gotten up to now?”
“No, it’s not that. The shadow army has stopped shelling the castle. They’re retreating.”
“Retreating?” We all echoed. “But why?”
“I’m not sure but I can hear shouts and gunfire coming from the northwest. I think another army is attacking van Drood’s rear—” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean . . .”
“We get it Bea,” Dolores said. “But what army?”
Raven pushed past Bea, his hair and wings singed from flying close to mortar fire, his face blackened with smoke. “It’s . . .” He coughed and spit. I handed him a glass of water, but he waved it away. “It’s the Brits,” he said. “Come to save our bacon.”
I flew out with Raven to see for myself. Another army was attacking the rear flank of van Drood’s shadow army—an army in khaki. “Do they know what they’re getting into?” I shouted at Raven over the roar of gunfire. “Should we warn them they’re fighting ghost soldiers?”
“They seem to know,” Raven answered. “Their bullets and bayonets are laced with pixie dust . . . look!”
I watched a troop of British soldiers charge a cluster of shadow soldiers. When they shot or bayoneted one of the enemy the shadow soldier burst into flames. “How did they know to use pixie dust and where did they get it?”
“Look at the badge on their caps—isn’t that a hawthorn tree?”
I flew closer to inspect a private’s uniform. The badge on his cap did indeed have a flowering hawthorn tree sewn on it.
“Gorblimey!” the soldier cried, staring up at me. “Is it Ava?”
“Collie?” I cried, only now recognizing him beneath the soot on his face. “Are these all Hawthorn boys?”
“Right you are! This here is the Hawthorn Fusiliers, led by Cap—” An explosion shook the ground. “No time to talk. We’re going over the top now.” He pointed to the hill that rose in front of us. “And then on to the castle. See you on the other side!”
He saluted me and then dashed into battle, crying, “For Hawthorn and England!” I watched the company of Hawthorn Fusiliers storm up the hill, singing the Hawthorn school song.
True to the Bell and Feather
We’ll march all day and night.
Hawthorn boys forever
We put up a bloody good fight!
The hill they were storming was the Giant’s Tomb. The Hawthorn Fusiliers routed the shadow soldiers led by a captain in khaki uniform and cap who waved his sword in the air crying, “Into the breach, lads, for Hawthorn and England!” The voice was familiar.
“We should go back and tell the archers to give these lads cover,” Raven said. “I’ll get Gus and the Darklings to come fight with them.”
“Yes,” I shouted back. “You go on ahead! I’m going to stay and help out.”
I provided what aerial artillery I could as the brave boys in khaki charged up the hill and the shadows fell before them. But there were more shadow soldiers swarming over the hill. I thought the Hawthorn Fusiliers would give way in the face of such overwhelming numbers, but their captain rallied them again and again, always taking the lead and putting himself at the greatest risk. When the captain reached the top of the hill he cried, “Now, Bottom! Blow your heart out!” His subaltern, a stocky private in an ill-fitting uniform, pulled a bugle out of his pack and proceeded to blow a stirring charge.
“What’s he doing?” I asked Collie.
“Calling the Giant,” Collie said. “That’s why we got to take this hill.”
“But that’s only a story, Collie, and even if there is a giant under the hill—” I was about to say that even if the giant existed how did we know it would fight on our side, when the hill began to shake.
“Take cover, lads,” the captain cried. “She’s going to blow!”
The top of the hill didn’t so much “blow” as vaporize. Dirt and tree limbs flew past us. An enormous creature was rising up out of the dust. It was covered in mud—much the same color as the British uniforms.
“He’s got on khaki,” one of the soldiers cried. “He must be one of us!”
The giant opened his mouth and roared, revealing a mouth full of enormous teeth and expelling a hot and pungent gust. Undeterred, the captain approached the giant and saluted him. “Sorry to wake you, sir, but these shadows are destroying your woods. Would you mind taking care of them so we can join our friends at the castle?”
It was a brave speech, but I doubted the giant understood a word of it. What he was beginning to understand, I thought, was what had happened to his woods. He looked around at the blasted trees, the blood-soaked mud, and the bodies of the dead. A cloud of lumignon clustered around his head, blowing their pixie dust on him. He grunted back at them and then fixed his heavy-lidded eyes on the shadow soldiers.
They had dragged one of the guns to the base of the hill. The giant wrenched a tree from the ground and used it to swat the gun. Then he used the tree to sweep away the rest of the shadow soldiers. The Hawthorn Fusiliers cheered. Their captain raised his sword and cried, “Meet you at the castle, lads, where I’m sure they’ll have a spot o’ tea for us!”
Then he charged into the breach, mopping up whatever stragglers the giant left behind him. A biplane swooped in and strafed the enemy with gunfire. I flew by the cockpit and recognized Cam at the helm. Raven and the other Darklings flew in her wake, shooting flaming arrows into the shadow soldiers. I heard one of the Hawthorn Fusiliers cry out, “It’s Saint George and his Agincourt bowmen come to save us Brits!” I heard the story repeated down the line until they were crying that “the Angel of Bouillon” had saved them.
By nightfall the Hawthorn Fusiliers had cleared a path to the drawbridge. The giant sat down in front of the castle, his back to the battlements, resting his tree club on his knees and glaring out at the river as if daring anyone to cross it. I flew over the walls and shouted for Gus and Dolores to raise the portcullis to let the British troops in. The captain led his company into the courtyard, where they were greeted by cheers and shouts of “Vive les Anglais!” by the Belgian villagers. A flock of lumignon crowned the captain with a floral wreath. He stood in the center of the cheering crowd, looking dazed. Then he took off his cap to wipe his face and I finally recognized him.
“It’s Nathan!” Daisy cried. “Oh, I knew we hadn’t lost you! You’ve come back a hero.”
Nathan shook his head and pointed to Bottom, Collie, and Jinks, who were gathered around their captain beaming with pride. “These lads are the heroes. They found me when I was feeling sorry for myself and we all joined up together
“But how did you know we needed help?” I asked.
“Helen told me,” Nathan replied.
I stared at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. “But Helen’s here,” I said.
“I know,” Nathan replied. “She found me in my dreams. Just like she always found me when we played hide-and-seek when we were children. She told me I had to come and rescue the castle—and she says she knows how to stop van Drood’s army.”
Nathan insisted I take him to Helen right away. “You should prepare yourself,” I told him as we climbed up the stairs. “She’s been lying in bed for nearly a month senseless—”
“Not senseless,” Nathan corrected me. “She’s been traveling in van Drood’s head, trying to find a way to stop him.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, stopping outside her door. “I’ve been in her dreams, too, and it seems to me she’s been wandering in Blythewood reliving her childhood when she visited you there.”
“That’s how she’s been getting by him,” Nathan said, “by pretending that she’s lost in childish fantasies, but really all along she’s been looking for—”
“Nathan?” The door across from Helen’s opened onto the room where Marlin was recuperating. Louisa stood on the threshold.
“Louisa!” Nathan cried, embracing his sister. “I’m glad you made it here. You look . . . better than when I saw you last.”
“I’m a nurse now!” she said. “It’s ever so much more interesting than playing cards.”
“Good for you, Louisa. I’ll come see you when I’ve visited Helen.”
“Of course,” she said. “She’s been calling for you. I have to go back to my patient now.”
“Who—?” Nathan began.
Not sure how Nathan would react to his sister nursing his archrival, I interrupted. “How will we learn van Drood’s weakness from Helen? She hasn’t uttered a sensible word in weeks.”
“Easy,” he said, opening Helen’s door. “We’ll go into her dream world with her. We’ll help her find van Drood’s weakness and destroy him.”