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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

  “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

  Forbidden Forest

  The Story of Little John and Robin Hood

  Michael Cadnum

  For Sherina

  At last

  the heron

  and its shadow

  Part One

  JOHN LITTLE

  Chapter 1

  Flood spread out over the fields.

  Gusts of wind blew cold across plow land silver with water. This was the first sunny day in weeks, and the mud hens swam across the pastures.

  A mole tried to make its way across a puddle, flushed from its underground hiding place. Instead of paws, the earth dweller—a soft-furred, eyeless creature—had dark, glovelike appendages, and it struggled, floundering silently in the brown water.

  John Little knelt and picked up the struggling animal, no bigger than his thumb. The snouty, helpless creature lifted its head, its heart thrumming wildly in John’s palm. In the dark earth, John knew, the animal had a silent, undisturbed kingdom. Here in daylight it was easy prey for fox and cat.

  John gently tucked the mole into a mound of turf.

  “Hide safely, friend,” he said as the mole vanished, tufts of wet soil kicking up in its wake.

  A step splashed beside John as he surveyed the wide river. A merchant with two gold rings on his sword hand paused on the sodden bank. “Is it safe to ferry across the river this day?” he asked.

  John straightened and looked the merchant up and down. A wool man, by the look of him, garbed in a blue mantle, his kid-leather leggings spotted with mud. John was much taller than the merchant, who drew himself to his full height and looked around for his companions.

  “My master and I,” said John, “gamble our lives on the river with every crossing.”

  The current churned. Stones rumbled deep within the river. The angle of a peasant’s roof, narrow skeletal timbers, tossed and spun as the river carried it past. A fisher had drowned upriver some three days past, his body stuck in the branches of a drift tree that had carried him by this very bank. John had watched him float by, ravens struggling over his body.

  “We’ll wait,” said the wool man, “for the river to go down.”

  “It won’t go down until Easter,” chortled Simon the ferryman, John’s master; the holy day was still weeks away. “Come aboard, my lords, all of you.”

  The travelers hesitated—wisely, John thought. There were four merchants and a sturdily built knight, as well as their horses, placid, stalwart cobs. Months of winter and late winter rains had forced merchants to keep within city walls. Now that spring was here, such men hurried toward London, carrying gold and heavily armed.

  Simon chuckled. “We won’t let you feel a drop.”

  The travelers stepped onto the ferry, clinging to their horses and eyeing the tumbling river. At the last moment, as John pushed the ferry away from the bank, another passenger hurried breathlessly onto the vessel.

  He was a leathery, quick-moving man with a scar along his neck.

  John poled the loaded ferry away from the wharf into the afternoon sunlight. Only a young man of strength could have propelled the vessel forward so steadily. A branch swirled and bobbed in the current. John hefted the pole free of the muddy bottom and plunged it in again, levering the ferry into the middle of the river. This was far more dangerous than any of the well-muscled merchants could guess—one slip, one instant of inattention, and the current would wrestle the ferry downriver.

  “Speed, John, right speed or I’ll rake a leather strap to your back,” said Simon in a cheerful voice.

  John gave a nod and sank the ferry pole deep. Simon always threatened dire discipline when passengers were present. But as payment for John’s labor, Simon let him sleep in the cottage corner on a rush pallet each night, with broth of eel, river fish, and warm loaves of bread to sup upon, as much as John could want. The ferryman knew rhymes, danced to pipe and song, and could steal the buckle from a burgher’s belt while wishing him good day.

  John used his strength to propel the ferry forward, closer to the opposite bank, still a far-off gathering of low cottages with thatched roofs, cooking smoke sifting out across the river. It took a strong will and a deft eye to keep the ferry angling toward the staithe, a wharf along the water. The ferry groaned and shrugged as it floated over a half-submerged log, and John set his teeth at the rumble that ran through the vessel.

  “John’s a hearty lad, but he needs a stout kick to keep him wide awake,” said Simon with a laugh, looking at the ferry passengers around him. The merchants chuckled without humor, eager to be free of this lurching ferry.

  No other vessel was crossing during this wet, windy season, the rains heavy and the standing water deep, the dairymaids hiking skirts and wading after their herds in the pastures. Only men with a great need to be on the road would be traveling in this early spring wet, and these were men of coin, their sword sheaths chased with silver.

  “A right proud gang of rich folk, aren’t they?” said Simon in John’s ear.

  “With purses ready to be lightened,” said John in a low voice, accustomed to his master’s habits.

  “I’ll ease that load for them quickly enough,” said Simon.

  The ferry master coughed richly, pursed his lips, and spat well into the wind so that the morsel of phlegm kissed river current away from any of his passengers. The cautious men huddled together mid-ferry, feet planted solidly, trying to look more confident than they were. John and Simon fell silent at the knight’s approach.

  John knew what it was like to be far from home, and he could not help feeling a grudging compassion for Simon’s patrons. John knew, too, how rough and hard he himself must appear to these soft-handed city men. John was broad shouldered and very tall, with a short, sandy-colored young man’s beard and close-cropped mud-blond hair. He was called John Little, with the same logic that had his drinking companions call Simon, who was entirely bald, Simon le Hair.

  If John still lived in York, folk would know him as John Edwardson, or John Tannerson, or even John Hide, after either his father’s Christian name or his trade. His father had been an honest man, dead of a fever three summers past. John had never known his mother, buried in the Fishergate churchyard eighteen winters ago. Now John was a wanderer and a cutpurse, robbing when he was hungry, learning thief-craft from experienced men.

  The Crusades in the Holy Land had taken the best knights and squires for many years now, leaving castle hirelings like these travelers. Some were capable gate men or aging squires, but many were mere house servants hastily trained to wear a sword.

  The knight stood close to John as the big youth poled the ferry, and although this man was a head shorter, John could feel the traveler’s weight shift the ferry. John pulled the ferry pole from the current and plunged it deep again.

  “It takes an iron arm to fight such a flood,” said the man-at-arms.

  This swordsman had tarried with men of quality, by the sound of it, and had picked up some of the lilting, courteous speech of a castle. John did not like the arrogance and vanity that made men learn gentle accents.

  “I could do it easily enough myself,” said the man-at-arms agreeably. “But most folk would not be strong enough.”

  Simon shouldered his way through his passengers, bumped one with a quiet apology, nudged another. Then the ferryman winked at John. The wink was a signal and meant that Simon had already pinched a purse or two, and John clenched his jaw, wishing that Simon had waited until they were closer to the opposite bank before stealing from his passengers.

  “You could serve a crusader, ferryman,” the knight was saying, making his position in society clear. Only a knight would address another man with this well-intended disdain. “A strong youth like you could surely carry a lance or saddle a horse.”


  The words gave John a moment of pleasure and pride. Sometimes he had thought that he might have made a good fighting man, given the chance. But John knew that he was destined to be a robber, and little more.

  Danger.

  He glanced up at the empty blue. Then he hunched forward and peered across the simmering, stone-dark surface of the water. Unhap, it was called, an accident woven into the warp of events. You could feel it coming, even when you couldn’t guess what it was.

  And then he saw it.

  A great tree bristled out of the brown river.

  It was a huge thing, dark, with the spiky stumps of lopped branches among the growth of new green. It was evidently the work of a sawyer who had hoped to trim and haul this grandfather oak, but lost it to the flood. The surging giant shot out of the muscular river, and John hurried forward, ferry pole ready and gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  John tried to tell himself that this was just another bit of drift timber spun along the river by weeks of rain. But he felt his pulse quicken as it coursed closer.

  “Saints save us,” prayed one of the merchants.

  John caught the monster as it leaped from the water, and thrust the ferry pole into the branches, fending the tree away from the vessel. The force of the struggle drove the ferry sideways, and all John’s effort could not shove the giant wide. The huge tree rode up, free of the gleaming ferry pole and lifting high, casting a spiked shadow down over the travelers. Even Simon, a veteran of the river, began the first syllables of a prayer.

  John swung the massive ferry pole up and held it across his body. The drift tree fell, and he caught it on the staff, but with a sharp and sickening sound the pole broke in two.

  The oak giant fell upon John.

  Chapter 2

  The wool men shrank back, retreating to the far side of the vessel.

  Simon stepped forward, one arm out, uttering a further prayer. Only the knight stayed where he was, feet planted wide against the bucking motion of the craft.

  John’s knees buckled, but he remained standing. His arms embraced the oak, although the girth of the tree was too wide for an encircling hug. John closed his eyes, his cheek pressed flat against the tree. He stood there, silently bearing the weight that pressed all air from his lungs.