Daughter of the Wind

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  Praise for Michael Cadnum

  “Not since the debut of Robert Cormier has such a major talent emerged in adolescent literature.” —The Horn Book

  “A writer who just gets better with every book.” —Kirkus Reviews

  “Cadnum is a master.” —Kirkus Reviews

  Blood Gold

  “A gripping adventure set during the 1849 California gold rush. Complementing the historical insight is an expertly crafted, fast-paced, engrossing adventure story full of fascinating characters. This is historical fiction that boys in particular will find irresistible.” —Booklist, starred review

  “This novel is fast paced.… The well-realized settings, which range from remote wildernesses to sprawling cities, create colorful backdrops for Willie’s adventure. An enticing read.” —School Library Journal

  “The prose is lively.… A spirited introduction to the gold rush for older readers.” —Kirkus Reviews

  Breaking the Fall

  Edgar Award Nominee

  “Tension hums beneath the surface.… Riveting.” —Booklist

  “Eerie, suspense-laden prose powerfully depicts the frustrating, overwhelming and often painful process of traveling from youth toward adulthood.” —Publishers Weekly

  Calling Home

  An Edgar Award Nominee

  “An exquisitely crafted work … of devastating impact.” —The Horn Book

  “Probably the truest portrait of a teenaged alcoholic we’ve had in young adult fiction.” —The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books

  “Readers … will never forget the experience.” —Wilson Library Bulletin

  “[Readers] will relate to the teen problems that lead to Peter’s substance abuse and the death of his best friend.” —Children’s Book Review Service

  “Through the prism of descriptive poetic images, Peter reveals the dark details of his sleepwalking life.… An intriguing novel.” —School Library Journal

  Daughter of the Wind

  “Readers will enjoy the sensation of being swept to another time and place in this thrill-a-minute historical drama.” —Publishers Weekly

  Edge

  “Mesmerizing … This haunting, life-affirming novel further burnishes Cadnum’s reputation as an outstanding novelist.” —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

  “A thought-provoking story full of rich, well-developed characters.” —School Library Journal

  “Devastating.” —Booklist

  “A psychologically intense tale of inner struggle in the face of tragedy.” —The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books

  Forbidden Forest

  “Cadnum succeeds admirably in capturing the squalor and casual brutality of the times.” —Kirkus Reviews

  Heat

  “In this gripping look at family relationships Cadnum finds painful shades of gray for Bonnie to face for the first time; in her will to grasp the manner and timing of her healing is evidence that she is one of Cadnum’s most complex and enigmatic characters.” —Kirkus Reviews

  “Compelling. Adopting the laconic style that gives so much of his writing its tough edge and adult flavor, Cadnum challenges readers with hard questions about the nature of fear and of betrayal.” —Publishers Weekly

  In a Dark Wood

  Los Angeles Times Book Prize Finalist

  “A beautiful evocation of a dangerous age … Readers who lose themselves in medieval Sherwood Forest with Cadnum will have found a treasure.” —San Francisco Chronicle

  “In a Dark Wood is a stunning tour de force, beautifully written, in which Michael Cadnum turns the legend of Robin Hood inside out. Cadnum’s shimmering prose is poetry with muscle, capturing both the beauty and brutality of life in Nottinghamshire. In a Dark Wood may well become that rare thing—an enduring piece of literature.” —Robert Cormier, author of The Chocolate War

  “[T]his imaginative reexamination of the Robin Hood legend from the point of view of the Sheriff of Nottingham is not only beautifully written but is also thematically rich and peopled with memorable multidimensional characters.” —Booklist

  “Cadnum’s blend of dry humor, human conflict and historical details proves a winning combination in this refreshing twist on the Robin Hood tale.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

  “A complex, many-layered novel that does not shirk in its description of [the period], and offers an unusually subtle character study and a plot full of surprises.” —The Horn Book

  The King’s Arrow

  “The King’s Arrow is an adventure story full of color and romance, as resonant as a fable, told in clear, clean, swift prose. A wonderful read.” —Dean Koontz

  Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice

  “Cadnum (Starfall: Phaeton and the Chariot of the Sun) once again breathes life into classic mythological figures.… Skillfully creating a complex, multidimensional portrait of Orpheus (as well as of other members of the supporting cast, including Persephone and Sisyphus), Cadnum brings new meaning to an ancient romance.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Another excellent retelling of one of Ovid’s mythical tales. This well-written version is a much fuller retelling than that found either in Mary Pope Osborne’s Favorite Greek Myths or Jacqueline Morley’s Greek Myths. The story is a powerful one, delivered in comprehensible yet elevated language, and is sure to resonate with adolescents and give them fodder for discussion.” —School Library Journal

  Raven of the Waves

  “[A] swashbuckling … adventure set in the eighth century, Cadnum (In a Dark Wood) shows how a clash of cultures profoundly affects two distant enemies: a young Viking warrior and a monk’s apprentice.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Convey[s] a sense of what life might have been like in a world where danger and mystery lurked in the nearest woods; where cruelty was as casual as it was pervasive; where mercy was real but rare; and where the ability to sing, or joke—or even just express a coherent thought—was regarded as a rare and valuable quality … Valuable historical insight, but it’s definitely not for the squeamish.” —Booklist

  “Hard to read because of the gruesome scenes and hard to put down, this book provokes strong emotions and raises many fascinating questions.” —School Library Journal

  Rundown

  “Deep, dark, and moving, this is a model tale of adolescent uneasiness set amid the roiling emotions of modern life.” —Kirkus Review

  “Cadnum demonstrates his usual mastery of mood and characterization in this acutely observed portrait.” —Booklist

  Ship of Fire

  “Brimming with historical detail and ambience, this fact-paced maritime adventure will surely please devotees of the genre.” —School Library Journal

  Starfall: Phaeton and the Chariot of the Sun

  “Cadnum (In a Dark Wood) once again displays his expertise as a storyteller as he refashions sections of Ovid’s Metamorphoses into a trilogy of enchanting tales. Readers will feel Phaeton’s trepidation as he journeys to meet his father for the first time, and they will understand the hero’s mixture of excitement and dread as he loses control of the horses. [Cadnum] humanize[es] classical figures and transform[s] lofty language into accessible, lyrical prose; he may well prompt enthusiasts to seek the original source.” —Publishers Weekly

  Taking It

  “Cadnum keeps readers on the edge of their seats.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

  “Cadnum stretches the literary boundaries of the YA problem novel. This one should not be missed.” —Booklist, starred review

  Zero at the Bone

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bsp; “Riveting … [an] intense psychological drama.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

  “Much more frightening than a generic horror tale.” —Booklist, starred review

  “A painful subject, mercilessly explored.” —Kirkus Reviews

  Daughter of the Wind

  Michael Cadnum

  For Sherina

  Snow falling

  into the sky

  One

  There was a bear on the ice.

  Gauk was pleased to see Snorri’s signal that he had found tracks, waving and leaping up and down, pointing and making running motions with his arms so there could be no mistaking the message.

  Gauk couldn’t keep from laughing as he waved in return. But at the same time, the young hunter was suddenly thankful for the spear in his grip, aware that it was not too late to turn back to the boat, and to safety.

  Gauk climbed to a ridge, his steps squeaking and crunching on the sun-weakened crust. He shielded his eyes and tried to see the creature. He could make out only ice and sky.

  Snorri waved again. He was a bulky figure far across the immense floe, his leather cloak so stuffed with fleece that he looked like a much more heavyset man. Even at this distance Gauk could catch the flash of sunlight off Snorri’s teeth as he smiled, gesturing excitedly, Come look!

  Like most young Norsemen, both of them were trained at spear, sword, and knife. The two companions had hunted other large prey, even the bull walrus, on other spring days like this one. Walrus were great snorting, lunging creatures, exhaling geysers of vapor, and it took skill and a stout heart to kill one. But neither of the two young men had hunted bear before, and Gauk wondered once again how wise they were to take on this most dangerous quarry.

  Their home village of Spjothof was famous as a proud place but poor, a village of brave men and beautiful women. But just a few weeks before, three warships, Raven of the Waves, Crane, and the legendary Landwaster, had returned laden with treasure from lands far to the west. The three ships had left again after a celebratory feast, eager to transform the newfound gold and silver into horses and sheep, and to spread the word of their success to villages up and down the fjord-cut coast.

  Gauk and Snorri were proud of the three ships, but quietly chafed against their own lack of glory and wealth. Gauk had seen seventeen summers, and Snorri eighteen, and both felt spurred to win silver of their own. They had traveled here to the far north, past the taunts of pirates and drifting icebergs, hoping to track a bear on one of the vast floes. A cub would earn good coin from a Frankish nobleman—bears were prized in the fighting pits of the kingdoms of the south. A bear too big to net and cage could be killed for its valuable pelt. Such furs were prized because no land creature was as big, or as fierce, as a bear, and there was no telling how many hunters had died in its pursuit.

  Before Gauk could reach his friend, a sky-splitting crack rang out across the ice.

  He stopped his progress across the crust, breathing hard. Floes like this were liable to sudden fissures and sinkholes. Even now the surface was trembling, and another report, softer, like a cow’s calving groan, filled the air.

  Snorri waved him on, Hurry!

  The reindeer-fur soles of his boots kept Gauk from slipping as he ran once again, clumsily fastening his garment. By the time Gauk panted up to the icy hummock where Snorri was waiting, his friend had given up his mocking posture and was kneeling, examining a series of paw prints, blue in the glittering surface.

  They were huge.

  Everyone knew the story of Egil the Stout—a yearling bear had clawed him to death on the drift-ice some ten years earlier, within sight of Egil’s yelling, helpless companions. But this was a mature bear, very large, heading steadily north.

  “Does he know we’re after him?” asked Snorri.

  “He’s in a hurry,” answered Gauk, still breathing hard with exertion and excitement.

  “He must be running from you,” said Snorri with a laugh. “Gauk, the great hunter. He’s heard of you.”

  Gauk laughed quietly, and sniffed the cold air. Was it his imagination, or could he smell bear-kill—seal flesh—somewhere on the ice?

  Snorri put a hand to his own breast, whispering a prayer. He carried a little silver hammer in a pouch against his breast so Thor would bless their hunt. But Gauk suspected that the god most likely to lend support to an eager pair of hunters was Thor’s father, the one-eyed Odin. The enigmatic god often took on the guise of such a great bear when he traveled the earth. Sometimes he rewarded an especially brave hunter with bear-spirit, giving the spearman a supernatural gift of fighting prowess.

  Gauk breathed a silent prayer of his own. Only a short prayer—he wanted Odin’s help, if he could spare it, but not his full attention. The wily divinity was known to speak to humans through animals. Gauk had never heard a beast talk, although he admired men like Thorsten, the village berserkir, a warrior who had been rewarded by Odin for some brave deed in the past.

  To Gauk, such a man seemed the essence of manliness, and represented the freedom to engage in violent adventures. Not everyone admired such folk. Like many berserkirs, Thorsten was feared as a fighter, but not necessarily respected as a neighbor by householders and farmers. Berserkers lacked that essential element of self-control, so prized among the Norse.

  Gauk had secret hopes of someday becoming a dreaded berserker himself, but he had not confessed this to anyone, even to Snorri. Gauk cared a great deal what his neighbors thought of him, and he was not sure that the power to annihilate opponents was worth the sideways glances a berserker received.

  Besides, thought the young hunter, if Odin ever spoke to me in the guise of a bear, I would die of fright.

  “How fresh are the tracks?” Snorri was asking, fingering the cub net tied to his hip, useless against an adult bear. Perhaps Snorri, too, was having second thoughts, and beginning to hope that this bear-spoor was not recent.

  “Very fresh,” replied Gauk, trying to disguise the strain in his voice, and the two friends laughed at their own nervousness.

  “Do you think he’ll turn and come back?” asked Snorri, careful to face away from the gentle north wind so his speech would not carry. Gauk had a reputation for foretelling weather and judging where the submerged whale would surface. He had a strong arm, too, and older men let Gauk make the first harpoon thrust when a bull walrus charged across the ice.

  Gauk considered. He had heard the saga masters, fueled by ale, sing of bear hunts, and he had seen the scars of the sun-darkened men who had tried cub-snatching, and given it up.

  “Maybe,” Gauk guessed, his voice a bare whisper, “when he reaches the edge of the ice, he’ll turn around and test us.”

  The animal’s tracks were deep—he was traveling fast, into the eye of the wind—but bears were, by reputation, much like men: restless, proud, and curious. And however vast the floe might be, the island of ice did not stretch forever.

  It was not too late for the two hunters to change their minds—a short walk south and they would reach their skip, the small sailing boat, shake out the white, homespun sail, and begin the long voyage home.

  Then Gauk felt ashamed of himself, aware that he was demonstrating a lack of true courage. Snorri wanted a bear, and Gauk could not blame his friend for his ambition or high spirits.

  Everyone could recite the brief saga of Atli, a legendary fighter, who tracked a she-bear three days and three nights, until he roared out “The Tracker’s Challenge.” This was one of the Spjotfolks’ favorite songs, one that inspired hunters to greater endurance and charmed prey into helplessness. The bear responded to the song somewhat unexpectedly, turned around, and chased Atli all the way to his ship. The story was considered amusing, but in every important respect true.

  “If he comes back to take a look at us—” Snorri made a plunging motion with his spear, as though the kill would be as easy and natural as breaking flatbread and passing it around. They had heard the gray-haired hunters describe how two hunters, with paired, an
gled thrusts, were more likely to slay a bear. Four hunters would do even better—or eight.

  Gauk could not shake off his dread.

  The thunder from below startled both of them. Snorri made an expression of exaggerated fear as the great floe rocked underfoot, but Gauk could not laugh.

  The ice was breaking up, frost-smoke rising up in the distance.

  The floe trembled for what seemed a long time.

  Snorri stopped sporting and leaned on his spear, using it as a staff. The ice desert shivered underfoot once more, and then at last it was still.

  “Calm down,” said Snorri, speaking to the frozen surface around them. He knelt and gave the glittering crust a pat. “You nearly frightened poor Gauk.” His voice was steady but husky, his fear badly disguised.

  “I can swim better than you can,” said Gauk, for the moment slightly resenting his friend’s ability to turn everything into an attempt at humor. Gauk could name several hunters who had disappeared through rotten ice in the history of their village, or who had vanished into a sudden ice-fog never to be seen again. Gauk could swim, after a fashion, but the cold water would kill any man in very little time.

  Snorri began to chant, as loudly as he could.

  He recited the ancient challenge.

  Redden no more

  the ice with your tread—

  weary creature, come home to my spear.

  The soul-stirring tune was lost in the cold air. The chant reminded Gauk so much of long nights around the ale fire, voices joined in poetry, that he was silenced by a stab of longing for home.

  Gauk joined in, their two voices strong, now, warming to the song.

  Two

  They fell silent at the end of the ancestral chant.

  The two friends shielded their eyes against the ice loom—the glare of the white surface reflected in the sky—searching the horizon.

  “See anything?” asked Snorri.

  Gauk, whose eyes were admired for their acuity, did not respond. He did not want to give voice to disappointing news.