Harper and the Night Forest Read online

  “Hold on,” cried Nate, gripping the scarlet fabric with one hand and throwing the other arm around Smoke.

  Harper ducked down deeper, seizing the umbrella’s handle and clutching Midnight close. “It’s like being pulled through the sky by a speedboat.” She chuckled as they bumped through sunlight and rain. Then, beyond the trill of the propeller, came the powerful beat of shadowy wings. Harper peeked over the edge of the umbrella and felt her mouth fall open so widely she almost swallowed a patch of rainbow.

  She grabbed Nate’s hand so that he knew something terrifying or something extraordinary was about to happen. He leaned in close. “What can you see?”

  Inside the helicopter, Ferdie and Liesel peered out the open window. They had never been quite this high before, or flown this fast. The helicopter felt wiggly and wild, as if they were tumbling through the air in a craft made of thunder. It was a lot more exciting than Liesel had imagined, even if it meant she couldn’t travel by umbrella with her friends.

  Ferdie was loving every moment. He reached for the pencil that was tucked behind his ear, excited to scribble down his many poetic thoughts, but his hand froze halfway to the page. “Look!” he yelled, pointing at something far off in the clouds as a feeling of awe swept over him.

  Liesel sat still, her eyes glittering with glee. For peddling through the sky on a bicycle held afloat by a chorus of dark birds came the Wild Conductor, his dark satin coat swirling like a cape of night sky.

  The birds looked like doves cut from darkness. “Their feathers are the same shade as the Wild Conductor’s hair,” Harper whispered.

  Nate could just make out the shape of a man cycling through the air, a cloud of great wings surrounding him. It was a very odd sight indeed.

  The funniest thing about it was the birds themselves, for though they were proud and fierce, they squabbled like a pack of grumpy turkeys. A furious wind shrieked a shrill whistle and two of the biggest ravens started attacking each other. Beak by beak, every bird was pulled into a mid-air scuffle. The edentwine that bound them became dangerously tangled and the bicycle began twirling out of control.

  “The Wild Conductor’s in trouble,” gasped Harper. “The ravens aren’t used to flying in such strong wind.”

  Midnight scrabbled into the depths of the umbrella’s scarlet dome and tugged a small harp onto Harper’s lap. Nate could make out the harp’s golden gleam and he at once understood what the cat was trying to do. “Remember the time you got every bird in the central aviary to follow your music?” Nate bellowed. “See if you can do it again.”

  Slowly, Harper stood up. Smoke curled her soft body around Harper’s legs so she couldn’t wobble, while Midnight climbed onto Harper’s head, keeping her warm in the wind. Harper raised the golden harp into the air and waited for the notes to come to her. Then her fingers were moving of their own accord, playing a melody of dark feathers and brave flight, a song so wonderful that even the whistling wind picked up her tune and calmed the clouds.

  Storm, the little dove who had been sleeping in Harper’s pocket, awoke and soared into the air, her clear cry in harmony with the harp. The ravens eyed her angrily, but instead of swooping at her, they began to follow her until, at last, their wings beat in time and they moved through the sky like a great black balloon.

  The Wild Conductor tipped his hat to Harper, his eyes filled with the deepest respect. He watched the way his birds obeyed her every note and a dark smile spread across his face. “She is perfect for capturing an Ice Raven,” he muttered. Then he looked down and gave a delighted cough, for below them lay a city that was home to a thousand singing clocks.

  Chapter Four

  THE CITY OF SINGING CLOCKS

  Harper caught her breath as a fairy-tale city came into view on the edge of a looming forest. “What’s it like?” asked Nate, who could sense the black mass of land where the trees began.

  “Everything looks thousands of years old,” squealed Liesel from the helicopter.

  “There are steeples and turrets and towers of twisting staircases,” added Ferdie, already imagining the opening sentence of his fabulous first book.

  “There’s a fantastical castle and a river that’s far too blue,” said the Wild Conductor coolly, yet even he couldn’t help but be spellbound.

  The main clock in the market square struck twelve and a hundred happy cuckoos burst from their painted wooden houses, singing in the hour, making the children cheer.

  Moments later, the helicopter touched down on a cobbled street in front of a breathtakingly grand, stony building, the University of Fine Literature. Liesel was almost speechless with joy. “It’s as if every stone holds a story,” she whispered.

  Ferdie was most impressed by his little sister’s wistful words, and quickly scribbled them down in his notebook. Nate could feel the stillness of the place, how it seemed to be steeped in history, with a hint of wonderment tingling in the air.

  “Can we go exploring?” Harper begged, untying the Scarlet Umbrella.

  “Indeed you can.” Peter grinned.

  Great Aunt Sassy gave Harper a warm hug. “Goodbye, my love,” she said. “I must go with the Dutch Opera House to finish forty-two magenta tutus. I shall miss you terribly, my darling.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” said Harper, giving her a kiss.

  “I’ll be back in two days to hear all about your adventures.” Sassy chuckled, and with a swish of lavender petticoats, she bundled herself back onto the helicopter, waving grandly as it rose into the clouds.

  “Leave your suitcases with me,” said Brigitte brightly, “and go explore the city. Don’t wander too far into the forest, though, and make sure you’re back in time for tea.”

  The children set off into the City of Singing Clocks. The Wild Conductor watched them go, his eyes as bright as those of the birds that surrounded him. “Tell me if you find the mythical Ice Raven,” he called, turning to tend to his flock. He longed to follow the four adventure-bound children into the mysterious woods, but he knew if he was to find to the Ice Raven, it was better to wait until nightfall.

  Harper, Ferdie, Liesel, and Nate ran hand in hand down tiny winding lanes, breathing in the blossom-sweet scent of the city. Suddenly, Smoke stopped and gave a low growl.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Ferdie, giving an accidental squeak on the button accordion. You see, wherever the children went, they brought their instruments so they could join in with Harper whenever they liked.

  Nate knelt down and listened. There it was. A gentle sighing, as if a few of the clocks were still softly singing.

  “I think I know what it is,” cried Liesel excitedly. “Some of the clocks are stopped at set times to mark the moments when different fairy tales first began.”

  The children quickly inspected a little singing clock and, sure enough, written beneath it in tiny silver letters that almost seemed to glow was the word GOLDILOCKS. Everyone smiled at this, and as they moved off through the narrow streets, they couldn’t help feeling as if they had stepped into the pages of a story.

  Though the city was full of lovely things, soon enough, they all felt the pull of the forest, like a lullaby sung in a voice of black leaves softly calling them closer. Together, they stood on the edge of the ebony trees and peered at the twilight air.

  “If anyone gets lost, play three sharp notes,” said Harper as the four friends crossed into eerie half-light. “Music is our secret signal.”

  She followed Midnight along a path that was lined with golden buttercups and beautiful black tulips. She marveled at the size of the toadstools and the way the blue sky was blotted out by dense branches, leaving no space for light. But after a while, she found she was alone. A little girl with a Scarlet Umbrella in a forest of darkening trees.

  Chapter Five

  INTO THE FOREST OF NIGHT

  Liesel was scurrying, scuttling, and skittering like a mouse pursued by an owl. So often had she dreamed of forests full of bears that now she willed them to appear. “Show your
self, beasts!” she bellowed, darting through the trees. But no matter how hard she ran, nothing exciting appeared.

  She stopped and kicked a nightcolored birch in annoyance. “Of course,” she huffed, “I’m being too brave. If I want to be found by something wicked, I’ll have to pretend to be lost.” And she tiptoed on with delicate toes, gently humming a tune.

  She wandered here and she wandered there, picking forget-me-nots, violets, and thistles, until the dark trees parted and Liesel’s heart danced high.

  Before her stood a cottage made entirely of gingerbread, its door carved from candy canes, its roof dusted with sugarplums, and its chimney crafted from honeycomb.

  “A real witch’s cottage!” she whispered, skipping over grass that smelled of peppermint before peering inside. But the windows were misted with icing, and all Liesel could see were strange silhouettes moving around the room.

  Silently, she climbed the gingerbread walls, crawled across the sugarplum rooftop, and peered down the honeycombed chimney. The smell of molasses tickled her throat, and she began coughing and spluttering and wobbling dangerously.

  Liesel threw her arms wide to catch her balance, but her violin knocked against her toe, pushing her foot into the air. For a moment, she seemed to hover like a bird of prey, and then Liesel found herself falling, lightly as a paper doll, headfirst into the chimney and down to the darkness below.

  You might think that falling into a witch’s chimney pot would be frightening. Not for Liesel. So often had she hoped to meet an evil wizard or cruel-hearted grandmother that, as she tumbled softly down, her face was aglow with smiles. Down she fell, down and down, until she landed with a gentle thud on a rocking chair piled with feathery cushions.

  Liesel stared around in surprise. She had fallen into a room of the most mysterious folk she had ever seen. Their skin was the color of night and their hair was spun from gold. They weren’t witches or wizards—they were something far more special. “Who are you?” Liesel gasped in hushed astonishment.

  The eldest of them, a granddad with a long golden beard, glared at Liesel fiercely. “No,” he snapped, “who are you?”

  Down a dark, twisted pathway, Ferdie was strolling his most serious poet’s stroll. It involved long strides and lots of frowning and pausing to think while gazing at the trees. He adored the dark, foreboding woods and the sense of mystery that hung in the air.

  As dead leaves crunched beneath his feet, he gave his scarf a serious fling, knocking the pencil from behind his ear and into a tangle of branches. Ferdie stopped mid-stride in a sort of lunge. All good poets needed a pencil—without it, he was simply a dreamer.

  He gave a long sigh and crouched down to find it. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Ferdie saw something quite wonderful. On each of the black trees, words had been carved into the trunk. Though the bark itself was darker than midnight, the soul of the tree was silver. So the words faintly glowed, as if they’d been etched in fairy dust.

  Ferdie leaned closer and found it was a story. He forgot all about his pencil and followed a trail of words: the story of “The Lone Wolf and the Ice Raven.” It was incredible! Ferdie was just getting to a really great part when the bark became too old and faded to read.

  He stumbled on, wishing that there were some way of understanding the crumbling words. Then all thoughts of lost words disappeared, for before him was a cottage straight out of one of his mother’s storybooks. A cottage made entirely from gingerbread.

  He was just in time to see a small, mouse-like figure with a tangle of blonde hair topple headfirst into the chimney. His sister! Ferdie’s heart pounded a warning, and he charged toward the cottage door.

  Chapter Six

  A BEAST AMONG THE TREES

  A short way from the gingerbread cottage, Nate was moving easily through the midnight woods. So used to darkness was he that the forest at once felt familiar. And yet it was unlike any other place Nate had ever known.

  Darkness in the City of Clouds was always full of sound, but here in the trees there was a rhythm of silence. “It’s as if the forest is breathing,” Nate murmured to Smoke.

  Smoke seemed to hardly hear him. She was different in the forest, too. Her eyes darted like fireflies and her movements became slow and sleek as a hunter’s.

  A deep and sorrowful growl cut through the dark. The boy and the wolf both froze. Something wild was lurking in the trees.

  With a sickening snarl, Smoke leaped, bounding away from Nate like a streak of silver lightning, losing herself in the dark. “Smoke!” called Nate, a tremble of worry creeping into his voice, but no reply came.

  In all the years they’d been together, Smoke had never before left Nate’s side. For the first time, Nate felt fearful. Not frightened of the lightless air or the strange beast that had growled. Afraid that his wolf might leave him for a call of the wild woods. “Come back, girl!” he yelled, but all that drifted back was an echo, empty and strange on the breeze. Nate dropped to his knees. How was he ever going to find her?

  *

  Then there came a thunderclap of howling, as if the forest was being split in half by noise. Nate was sure he heard the snapping of jaws. All at once, Smoke was back beside Nate, nuzzling him gently into a thicket of berry bushes, standing in front of him, shielding him from the other beast. He heaved a huge breath of relief. Smoke hadn’t deserted him—she had defended him. As Nate scrambled into the berry bushes, Smoke stood at her full height, her eyes like two burning moons, and howled.

  There came another low, sad growl and the plod of heavy paws as the beast among the trees retreated.

  Nate threw his arms around his wolf and Smoke’s rough tongue licked his cheek. “Come on, girl,” he whispered, “let’s warn the others about the beast.” Together they moved off through the gnarled trees, a pack once again.

  In a clearing of black leaves, Harper stepped cautiously forward. She had never been so grateful for Storm, who flitted brightly from tree to tree, and her precious cat Midnight, who galloped back and forth, his white-tipped tail like a candle against the deepening dark.

  In the middle of the clearing, Midnight did a most curious thing; he stopped still, curled up in a sleepy ball, and began to purr loudly.

  “Okay, we can rest here for a while.” Harper smiled, opening up the Scarlet Umbrella and propping it over Midnight like a little red tent.

  You see, Midnight was a most unusual cat. Whenever something wondrous was about to happen, he would always appear, as if he could pick up the scent of adventure, or smell magic with his small pink nose.

  Harper perched on top of the umbrella as if it were a large red toadstool, pulled her piccolo flute out of her pocket, and raised it to her lips, letting the whispers of the forest speak to her. Soon, she was playing a tune of tumbling leaves and midsummer melodies. As the notes wove their way into the wild woods, very slowly the branches above Harper untwined. Fragments of sunlight fell across the clearing, and she caught a glimpse of sky. Harper found herself thinking once again of her dream and the mysterious instrument sewn from silver-lined cloud.

  Suddenly, Storm gave a shrill shriek and shot into Harper’s hands like an arrow. A dazzling white shape like a shooting star burned through the trees, singeing the air. It was the wings of a beautiful bird. A bird with feathers paler than ice and a beak made for singing.

  “The Ice Raven,” Harper whispered, remembering the Wild Conductor’s wish to have it lead his orchestra.

  At once, she was on her feet, seizing the Scarlet Umbrella and spinning it upside down with Midnight still asleep inside. She leaped in, popped Storm into her pocket, and, with a silent thought, sent the umbrella into the air. But the trees were tightly twisted and Harper had to use every ounce of concentration to steer the umbrella through spindle-like branches without getting stuck.

  Two odd yellow lights twinkled at Harper from below, and she gripped Midnight close as a strange, bright-eyed beast emerged from the trees.

  Chapter Seven

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bsp; THE FAIRY-TALE KEEPERS’ COTTAGE

  “What’s wrong, girl?” came a quiet voice. In the thick darkness, Harper wilted with relief. The beast in the trees was Smoke.

  “Nate, it’s us,” she called, lowering the Scarlet Umbrella and holding out her hand.

  Nate grabbed it and climbed in, instantly signaling for Harper to hush. “There’s something wild in the woods,” he whispered.

  “What do you mean?” Harper asked.

  “Some sort of beast in the trees,” Nate explained, clicking his fingers as Smoke bounded up beside him. Midnight awoke and gave a big yawn. As the wolf and the cat snuggled up, Harper suddenly felt hugely thankful that they could fly.

  “I think I saw the Ice Raven,” she told Nate, “but there’s no sign of her now.”

  Nate gripped Harper’s hand. “These woods are strange. I think we’d better get out of here.”

  Smoke raised her nose and sniffed the air. The children did the same and caught the far-off scent of gingerbread. “Do you think you can follow it?” asked Nate.

  Harper focused her mind on tracing her way through the spiky trees. “I think so,” she whispered, trying to keep the umbrella upright and flying in the dark.

  For a while, the forest seemed to get denser, and the overlapping branches grew thicker until Harper felt as if they were trapped in a tunnel of never-ending darkness and leaves. She leaned out of the umbrella and used her hands to pull them all from tree to tangled tree until the smell grew stronger and Harper gave a gasp.

  “What it is it?” asked Nate.