Riven: Young Adult Fantasy Novel (My Myth Trilogy Book 1)

by Jane Alvey Harris

  “Claire. We have other bathrooms.”

  “Ugh. But when are you coming out? You said you’d read to me and I’m tired. It’s way past my bedtime Emma.”

  I scramble to turn off the water and hunch into first one towel and then another. One more for good measure. I don’t know how long I’d been sleeping when the hot water ran out, but I’m chilled to the bone. I may never be warm again.

  “I’m sorry I took so long, Bug,” I say through the door. “I’ll hurry, okay? Brush your teeth and get in bed. I just need to comb my hair. I’ll be right there, I promise.”

  “My toothbrush is in there, though.”

  “Well, brush them extra good in the morning. Go get in bed. I’m coming.”

  Five

  It’s been two weeks since the day I kicked Gabe in the nose. Two weeks since I found the box. Two weeks since I took my last sleeping pill. Four weeks until junior year starts. Again.

  Ten days until Dad comes home.

  The brands on my arm have healed to puckered pale-pink ridges surrounded by low purple valleys. There are no new symbols to hide, thank God.

  I buried the box in the back of my closet. The woman’s voice in my head is right: I don’t have time for silly memories and make-believe now.

  I focus on acting like everything’s normal. We’re a normal family; I’m a normal seventeen-year old completely friendless girl who may or may not be losing her mind. Everything is super normal. Fake it till you make it, right?

  WRONG.

  Before, the problem was sleep deprivation. Now it’s the exact opposite. I can’t stay awake. And for all my resolve to focus on reality, the Seventh Kingdom invades the theatre of my mind as soon as I fall asleep, even when I don’t remember falling asleep. I’m re-living dreams I had as a little girl…the dreams I used to make into stories for the kids, until Mom made me stop.

  At first the dreams were pleasant, like Nissa’s tenth birthday, but they’ve changed. Now I wake drenched in sweat, my heart thumping to escape an unseen menace and half-remembered torture.

  At night I guzzle energy drinks to stay awake, but it only seems to make the dreams more intense.

  Xander and her twin sister, Twist, have come for me this time in their dragonfly-forms hovering above my bed in the air, inches from my nose. Their transparent wings buzz so fast they don’t seem to move at all.

  “Quickly, Emma. There isn’t much time.” Xander insists, speaking directly into my mind the way dragonflies do.

  I want to go with them, I really do, but I’m tangled up in my sheets. I wriggle and squirm but can’t break free.

  “She’s wasting time,” Twist complains, impatient. “Our Path won’t stay open forever. We’re going to have to leave without her.”

  “No!” I shout, but my mouth is sewn shut and no sound comes out. “Please,” I think as loud as I can, “please don’t leave without me.” I struggle harder but the bedding has hands. I’m trapped. A single silent tear slips from the corner of my eye.

  “We need you, Emma. He’ll be home soon and he’ll be furious. She’ll listen to you.”

  The dread Xander conveys kick-starts panic in my heart. My throat starts to close up when suddenly I remember Gabe’s words from that day in the parking lot: “Emily. Stop fighting. Breathe. It’s going to be okay.”

  I go limp. Make myself focus on the twins instead of what’s happening to my body. “What is it, Xander? Who will listen to me?”

  “There’s no time to explain. We’ll guide you. Our Path is just above the lamp.”

  Weightlessness envelops me. I’m wrapped in calm at the center of a rushing wind. I open my eyes in the Seventh Kingdom…

  …and immediately shut them again. It’s brighter than blue blazes, and puke…what’s that disgusting reek?

  Metal clangs on metal amidst impact grunts and the overpowering stench of B.O.

  “No way. Is that Nissa?” Scandal and horror mingle on my tongue.

  Covered in grime and dressed in her brothers’ too-large clothes, the princess attacks one of the Queen’s guards. She’s twelve now, and this isn’t play. She isn’t using practice weapons, either, I notice. Her sword hand brandishes a long gleaming dagger. A studded dragon-hide gauntlet protects her sword arm from elbow to wrist, the leather extending between her knuckles. She’s using the large circular shield on her left arm for defense, but also to smash with, and even though she’s beaten back again and again, each time she stumbles she regains her feet and charges.

  All I can think is that she’s lost her mind.

  “Xander! What is she doing? Where’s the Queen? The King will murder them both!”

  Xander and Twist, dressed in matching lavender gossamer which accents their wings, point to the edge of the practice field where the Queen stands next to her most trusted councilor, the Ovate Drake.

  Shivers breed across my neck like they always do when I see him. “When did he get back?”

  “You always ask when, Emma,” scorns Twist. “Like you understand the flow of Time here. Two weeks in the your realm could be two months here, or two years.”

  Why is Twist such a Grade A bitch? She makes me feel like pond scum.

  “Never mind about when, Emma,” Xander says. “The point is he’s returned, and King Foster is gone.”

  “Thank goodness the King is gone! Has everyone gone mad? It’s absolutely forbidden for maidens to study the Art of Combat, let alone train. Even I know that, and I don’t live here!”

  “Things have changed since you visited last.” Xander says quietly.

  My open-mouthed stare swings from one sister to the other. “Are you telling me that the King, who’s own mother—the High Queen—perished on a Great Hunt while fighting a Dragon of Legend has suddenly repealed his own decree and is on board with his daughter—the Princess—learning to fight?

  “Not exactly.”

  I’ve started pacing in a distraught little circle, my bare feet churning up a haze of dust. “I don’t understand why the Queen is allowing this to happen.”

  “It’s complicated,” Xander begins. “The Queen is not herself these days…”

  “How complicated can it be?” I’m pissed. “Nissa could get hurt! She’s not even thirteen years old! This is exactly why maidens aren’t allowed to train as warriors. She realizes that, doesn’t she?”

  “That’s why we need you, Emma.”

  The cacophony of battle ceases behind me. I turn to see the guard bend on one knee in the dirt, ceding victory to Nissa. That can’t possibly be right, can it?

  Everything’s upside down.

  I survey the handful of other spectators and notice something odd…

  “Hey. There are only maidens here. Where are all the elves?”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you, if you’d ever shut up,” Twist scowls.

  “Drake brought disturbing news back from the High Palace,” Xander explains, her face pale. “There have been crimbal attacks on three of the other kingdoms’ borders.”

  “Crimbal?” I’m stunned. My Fae friends have always spoken of the wicked goblin-like creatures as things of nightmares…bedtime stories to frighten children. “I didn’t think they were real.”

  “They’re real,” Twist says. For once, concern eclipses sarcasm in her voice.

  “Foster and his army of elves left three month ago on a scouting party…” Xander begins.

  “The minute the city gates closed, the Queen summoned Drake…”

  “They holed up in her chambers for days…”

  “As soon as they came out, they started Nissa’s training.”

  My thoughts whirl while Xander and Twist talk over each other, eager to tell what they know.

  “The Queen is afraid for Nissa,” Xander continues. “No one’s let her do anything for herself her whole life…”

>   “They tell her where to sit, what to eat, what to wear, even what to think…”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I interrupt. “She has a badass bodyguard and an entire army to protect her!”

  “Do you even have a brain in that big head of yours?”

  I’m sorry. What, now?

  “Twist, be nice.”

  “But listen to her, Xander. She sounds just like one of those idiot elves!”

  “Emma, no one knows where the crimbal have come from or who their Master is,” Xander says. “The King went off like it’s a lark, but Drake says there are hundreds and hundreds of them. Foster left an entire kingdom of women and children with only the Queen’s Ovate guard to protect us. We are defenseless.”

  Twist turns on me. “Do you understand, yet? By order of the King, it’s against the law for maidens to defend ourselves. Is that what you’d want for your sister Claire? To be a pretty, helpless little plaything, completely dependent on men who come and go as they please?”

  “God NO.” I take a step back. Except, I wouldn’t want her fighting, either, she’s ten…little girls shouldn’t have to fight monsters.

  “The elves are on their way back, Emma. If the King finds out what Nissa has been up to…” Xander shudders.

  Dizziness pierces my inner ear. Each motivation makes sense to me. Each leads to almost certain disaster.

  Silently I watch Drake and the Queen cross the training field to Nissa.

  I’m not proud of it, but the sight of wings protruding through Drake’s swirling black cloak has always weirded me out. They aren’t nearly as large or elaborate as a maiden’s, but they emanate dark opalescent light, casting surreal shadows around him on the ground. He glides instead of walking.

  The Queen wipes grime from Nissa’s face with a dainty white handkerchief. “Perhaps we’re pushing her a bit too hard, Drake. Nissa, darling, you look exhausted…and filthy…”

  “Nonsense, she’s magnificent.” Drake’s abrupt tone to the Queen raises my hackles, as does the way she defers to him with downcast eyes. When did he start treating her this way? When did she start allowing it?

  I’m not a fan of the way he appraises Nissa from head to toe, either, like she’s something he owns.

  “You wonderful child,” he purrs. “I’ve always known you were special, of course, but you have exceeded my expectations. In three months you have mastered what it takes most young elves three years to learn, and your wings haven’t even begun to grow. Tell me, how do the weapons we fashioned together for you feel? Is the shield too heavy? The dagger too unwieldy? The gauntlet too tight?”

  “They’re perfect,” Nissa gushes, practically glowing with pleasure at his praise. “I can’t wait to show Father the progress I’ve made.”

  “Darling,” the Queen objects. “I don’t think it would be a very good idea to tell your father. At least not straight away…”

  “You’re being dramatic, Rhyannon,” Drake rests his hand possessively on Nissa’s shoulder. “Foster adores you above all else, my Pet. Tell me, has he ever denied you any request? How could he? You are so vastly different from the other simple maidens. You are mature, beautiful, intelligent, skilled. Why, if you weren’t still a child I’d claim you for myself.” He laughs lightly, but his eyes shine with greed and his red-red mouth is moist and hungry.

  Queasiness encircles my legs, climbing up the backs of my thighs. They itch to run, to pull the princess away from Drake’s grip. “Why isn’t the Queen saying anything?” I whisper through clenched teeth to the twins. “The King will not be okay with this.”

  “You say something, Emma. You’re the only one Nissa listens to besides Kaillen.”

  I want to. I need to.

  But I can’t. Not now. Not with Drake here. The truth is, he terrifies me.

  “Emma!” Xander gasps. She’s staring at a spot just above my lips.

  Oozy wet creeps from my nose. I probe with my fingers, pulling them away dark with blood.

  “She’s stayed too long, Xander,” says Twist. “The Path. It’s closing.”

  Stricken, Xander leans in quickly, placing a funny kiss at the corner of my eye.

  Weightlessness surrounds me again. Stillness shelters me within a maelstrom.

  I wake upright on my mattress. The bedclothes lie in a twisted heap on the floor. For several dizzy moments I can’t remember which Realm I’m in or how old I am…seven or seventeen?

  My face is damp and sticky, but when I turn on the lamp I find my cheeks are only wet with tears, not blood.

  Six

  One week left before Dad gets home and I am not all right.

  My insomnia is back in full force. I started breaking up Ambien and taking them in bits. Maybe that’s why bizarre scenes have been seeping from my subconscious into the world around me even when I’m fully awake. I startle at shrieks only I can hear, swat at sharp-toothed shadows only I can see.

  Yesterday when I took the trash to the curb I caught myself zoning out, trying to send telepathic messages to a dragonfly.

  My skin stings…like there’s too much blood in my veins…like I’m trapped in my body.

  Something terrifying is coming. I can smell it.

  I push the door to Mom’s room open with my shoulder, holding the silverware and cup in place on the tray so they won’t rattle and wake her if she’s asleep. It’s dim and stuffy inside. White noise blocks all sound of the afternoon beyond the windows.

  Setting the tray down on the ottoman I study the rhythm of her breathing as her chest rises and falls. She’s so young, so beautiful. An ageless princess caught out of time in a magic spell.

  I wonder what she’s dreaming about.

  There’s fresh color in her cheeks tonight. She was happy this morning. When I came in to collect the laundry I found her humming to herself, towel-drying her hair after a shower.

  My chest tightens with unexpected anger at her artless sleep. I want to shake her, to slap her awake. I can’t do this anymore. I need her. The optimistic eagerness in her step the last few days hurts more than her strung-out binge-sleeping ever has. It means that she’s forgotten everything. It means that it will all happen again.

  I don’t want it to happen again, Emma. Please don’t let it happen again.

  Quiet you pathetic little girl. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

  The cup on the tray clatters slightly with my sudden realization.

  The voices. The little girl who loves make-believe and the woman who is always upset with me. They started talking around the same time we got the release letter from Dad’s Correctional Officer a month ago. They’re almost never quiet anymore, always lobbying to be heard. But I feel removed from both of them right now, numb. It doesn’t matter what anybody says anymore. It’s too late. He’s coming home and no one can stop it.

  Maybe it will be different this time? Maybe he will be different. Maybe we can start over like Mom wants, like Nancy says.

  A slow tear streaks a path to my chin as I turn to leave. “I hate you,” I whisper without knowing who I’m talking to. Everyone, probably.

  “Emily?” Mom’s voice is soft but vivid.

  I wipe the tear away before I face her. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”

  “That’s okay, Honey. I’m thirsty, what did you bring for me?”

  “It’s just lemonade and a peanut butter sandwich. Claire made it.”

  “My sweet girls. Maybe I’ll come downstairs and eat with you tonight. How does that sound?”

  I stare. She hasn’t been downstairs since the school year ended and she lost her teaching job.

  “Will you open the shades, Emily? It’s so dark in here.”

  In a daze I open the blinds. Mom blinks in the sudden sunlight. “That’s much better. Come sit down for a minute. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.�
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  Obedient I sit on the edge of the coverlet at the bottom of her bed. She reaches for my hand, pulling me closer.

  Her skin is smooth. She smells like spring. Ever since I can remember I’ve been her flower-garden assistant. I’ve always associated her with the tender late-May purple-evening scent of crushed lilac blossoms.

  I look at our hands clasped together. When did my fingers grow longer than hers?

  She hands me a prescription bottle from the nightstand. “I’d like you to throw these out for me. I’m feeling much better. I don’t think I’ll need pain pills anymore.”

  I don’t trust my voice.

  Mom sits up, adjusting the covers shyly before smiling and looking me in the eye. “You look so grown up, Emma. So pretty. You’ve been such a help since I got sick last semester. Before that, too. Since we moved here and I started teaching. I know... I’ve been struggling for a long time.” She flattens miniscule wrinkles in the sheets again and again with restless fingers. “I’m sorry I’ve had to rely on you so much.”

  It’s weird. While I’m listening to her I can see my thoughts and what the two voices in my head are saying instead of hearing them, like I’m reading from a script:

  Emily: This doesn’t mean anything. Just because she’s saying the right words doesn’t mean they’re real. It doesn’t mean she remembers how it was before he left.

  Little Girl in Emily’s Head: It might be real. Ask her. Ask her if she remembers, Emma. Please.

  Woman in Emily’s Head: NO. Don’t you DARE. Can’t you see she’s happy? Don’t you dare upset her.

  “Honey? Did you hear what I said? Thank you. Thank you for taking care of everything while I’ve been sick. What if tomorrow we all go see a movie? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  I nod and look down at the bed.

  “It’s going to be different now, Emma.” Her voice is low, serious. “We all have some healing to do. I’m not asking you to forget what your father did, but I am asking you to forgive.”

  I raise my head, allowing tiny hopeful grubs to crawl across the moat I dug around my heart to protect me from her neglect long ago.