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

by Jane Alvey Harris

  “Whirling jump attacks?” Uncle Ian asks.

  “Yeah, she’s got a black belt in the Art of Annoyance.” Jacob smirks.

  “What’s a whirling jump attack?” Gabe wants to know.

  “It’s when you’re sitting on the couch minding your own business watching TV or reading a book,” Jacob answers, “and your big sister walks by and launches herself at you out of the blue like an uncoordinated giraffe while yelling, ‘whirling jump attack!’”

  Gabe raises his eyebrows.

  “It looks really cool in my head,” I shrug.

  “It looks really lame in reality,” Jacob quips.

  “You boys need to treat your sister with more respect,” Uncle Ian admonishes. “She’s a young lady and needs to start acting like one.”

  “Oh, I totally agree.” I’m unwilling—at least right now—to let Ian’s judgment detract from this bond with my brothers. Jacob looks good, happy. “They’re totes lamesauce on my tacos.” I can’t keep a grin from my face. Even after all the bizarre stuff they’ve endured the last week, my brothers and sister are all right.

  “Come on, all of you. Meg will have breakfast ready.” Jacob and Aidan obediently follow Uncle Ian toward the house.

  “I’m just on my way to gather the eggs,” I say. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Gabe stands in his frayed jeans and T-shirt watching them go, his hands shoved in his front pockets just like they were the day I left him in the grocery store parking lot. He looks really, really...good.

  “How are you?” he asks quietly.

  A rush of gratitude for him envelops me. “Thank you,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “For always catching me when I fall.”

  He steps closer. I look at the ground. “You must think I’m crazy ridiculous,” I say.

  “Hey.” He lifts my chin with his finger. I’m too shy to look at him. “Hey.” He takes my face in his hands, bending his head until we’re eye to eye. “You listen to me. I think you’re crazy amazing.”

  Before I can say or do anything he kisses me gently on the lips. Just one short touch but I feel it to my toes.

  He leans back and glances over my shoulder. A boyish grin spreads across his face. “Cool,” is all he says before turning and following the others.

  “Cool what?” I glance over my shoulder as well. “Oh, lovely. That’s just lovely,” I grumble at the bright fuchsia blush emanating from my wings.

  Eighteen

  Picking climbing beans is backbreaking work. Leaves and whirling vines stick like glue to everything they touch. I’m plastered in bean plant. My arms itch from the clingy little hairs on the undersides of the leaves. And I swear I put on deodorant this morning, but the stink from my armpits is grossing me out, even though Claire says she can’t smell it.

  Our strategy is simple: I start at one end of the row and Claire at the other, scooting along in the dirt toward each other in the middle, picking the underside of the bushes and ignoring the higher-up beans. I know it’s not a great strategy. Aunt Meg will come out and check to make sure we’ve gotten every. Single. Bean. I can’t avoid the higher-up beans forever, but I’m cherishing this time on my butt in the shade, willing to risk her wrath to survive the present.

  Curling vines just above my head start to waggle as a cupped hand, holding a split peapod parts the leaves. “Behold…the magic BEANS.”

  Aidan. I grab his wrist, laughing. “You know these aren’t beans, right? They’re peas. You’re such a dork!”

  Aidan thrashes, hissing like a deranged snake. “It’s got me! The evil faerie woman wants my precious BEANS!”

  I tug on his arm like I’m going to pull him through the row. He pulls back, squawking louder, bringing Claire running to see what’s going on. As she gets close I suddenly let go of Aidan’s wrist. I can’t see him fall, but the crash on the other side of the climbing vines is extremely satisfying. Oh, glorious day, I love my brother. “Stop messing around, Aidan,” I fake-scold. “We have work to do.”

  “Yeah Aidan,” Claire says.

  “Here, Bug, try these peas.”

  “They aren’t peas, they’re BEANS!” Aidan’s voice is muffled.

  “Picking beans is boring.” Claire complains. “Why can’t the boys come work with us?”

  “Yeah, Aidan. Go get Jacob and come help us pick BEANS and then Claire and I will come help you guys pick PEAS when we’re done.”

  “Won’t Aunt Meg get mad?” Aidan asks through the plants. “I’m afraid of her. She made me scrub all the counters in the kitchen because I left the back door open and a fly flew in.”

  “She is kind of grumpy,” Claire agrees. “But she makes really good pancakes.”

  “Hurry up, Aidan,” I say. “I don’t think it matters as long as we finish the rows she gave us, right? I can tell more of the story while we pick,” Nancy’s encouragement has made me brave. The sun shines bright, chasing the shadows from my mind.

  “JACOB,” Aidan yells. “BRING YOUR BUCKET OVER TO THE BEANSTALKS!”

  “Nice, Aidan. I could have done that.”

  “I know,” he answers. “Why didn’t you?”

  We hear a distant, “WHERE?”

  I cup my hands around my mouth. “JUST PAST THE SUMMER SQUASH!”

  “Do you really think he knows what summer squash is?” Aidan scoffs.

  But before long Jacob’s head appears at the end of the row. We divide and conquer: boys on one side, girls on the other. I don’t even mind standing up. My fairytale beckons, eager to be told, and here in the Vineyard garden surrounded by my siblings, I’m brave enough to try again.

  “When the High King Ælfwig banished the surviving Fae to the Second Realm he sent them back in time a hundred years…” I start.

  “So now they’re time traveling faeries?” Aidan arches an eyebrow.

  “The High King wasn’t so much concerned with which time or reality he sent them to…he just wanted them gone. When the Fae found themselves on the wrong side of the Doorway they were disoriented. But mostly they were pissed…at each other. The elves blamed the maidens for the banishment because of the Queen’s disobedience and betrayal. The maidens blamed the elves for being controlling misogynists and for starting the riots after the Queen’s death. They split into two factions directly divided by gender. Civil war would have decimated them if the Ovate Drake hadn’t stepped in as their Mediator and organized a peace treaty.”

  The scene unfolds vividly in my mind, more like memory than imagination.

  “Even though both sides were suspicious of Drake, they all agreed that being Ovate gave him insight into both elf and maiden perspectives. Also, he was a lot stronger than the rest of them. See, the Second Realm is different than the First…energy vibrates more slowly here. The Fae are still ageless, but their powers are way weaker. The maidens’ wings shriveled up when they were banished. They only have access to the Blaze in their wings when they shrink down to insect-size, and even then it isn’t much. Elves still have Keen here. They can See the elements, but aren’t strong enough to manipulate them. Except for Drake. Nissa’s grandpa, the High King used the Blaze in Drake’s wings to seal the Doorway shut, so as long as Drake stays within twenty-five miles of the Door, he has access to his full powers.”

  “Then why didn’t he just use Magic to break the Seal so they could all go home?” Claire asks.

  “He couldn’t. It would be like attacking himself.”

  “So they decided just to live here and be happy?” she asks.

  “Nope. They couldn’t—wouldn’t—forgive each other. The maidens and elves each picked a delegate. Every year for almost a hundred years, Lady Quince and General Raidho travel to the Doorway to meet with Drake. He’s been looking for a way home for a century.”

  Jacob and Aidan wiggle through to our side of the aisle. They s
it cross-legged on the dirt with Claire in a semi-circle in front of me between two rows of climbing beans while I continue to pick. I pray Meg won’t notice the way they’ve butchered her beanstalks.

  “What about Princess Nissa? What happened to her?” Claire asks.

  “No one knows, Bug. Kaillen saw her for the last time on the afternoon the Queen died. He took Nissa to her rooms just as the riots began. Four guards stood watch outside her doors.”

  It’s happening again. Without the assistance of drugs or dragonflies, the Seventh Kingdom takes over, and either my imagination is exponentially stronger here in Cali than it was in Texas or I have completely lost my mind because WHOA.

  I’m pressed into a niche in the castle wall, watching Kaillen pace back and forth in the hallway outside Nissa’s chamber.

  Dark clouds blacken the afternoon. When the first lightning bolt strikes I nearly jump out of my skin. Kaillen shoves past the guards into Nissa’s room and I’m right behind him. He knows as well as I do how much she hates thunder. But her chambers are empty. We race through the corridors shouting her name, desperate to find our princess.

  She’s not anywhere in the palace. My anxiety spikes. Where could she be? We race outside to the courtyard, searching everywhere.

  Another lightning bolt strikes and I glimpse Nissa’s slight figure in a narrow alley between two dwellings just beyond the palace gates. Kaillen sees her too. He runs toward her, screaming her name. Lightning strikes again and the ground lurches, knocking me off balance and tossing Kaillen to his knees. By the time we recover she’s gone.

  We scour the streets, but guards have arrived. They’re dragging Kaillen back to his father, General Raidho. They’re organizing a search party of men still loyal to the Crown, but with a sinking in my heart I already know: they won’t find a trace of Nissa.

  “She’s not dead, though. I know she’s not dead. Right, Emma?” Claire tugs on my arm, yanking me abruptly back to the reality of the garden.

  My own breath is too loud in my ears. “I hope not, Bug.”

  “They haven’t found any way of getting back to the First Realm in a hundred years?” Jacob asks. “Is Drake really even trying?”

  “Drake is obsessed with returning home.” I’m not sure where this knowing comes from, but I’m certain what I’m saying is true. It’s almost like I have a tangible connection with Drake…I can’t see him, even in my vision his face is obscured…but his obsession reverberates through me. I shudder. It feels bad. “Three weeks ago, Drake summoned Lady Quince and General Raidho to an unscheduled meeting. He showed them a vision he received.”

  “Are you talking about three weeks ago as in the year of our Lady Gaga two-thousand and sixteen?” Aidan asks.

  “Yep.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Emma, you forgot to tell the boys about where the Fae live now!” Claire squeals.

  “You tell them, Bug.”

  “In the redwoods,” she points past the goat shed. “Over there!”

  Jacob whistles. “Way to keep it real, Sis. By the way, it’s freaky but cool when you go all zombie and tell it like you’re watching it happen or something. You should be an actor.”

  “Will you guys shut up already?” Aidan asks. “I want to hear about the vision.”

  I wish I’d known before that they like it when I go all ‘zombie’—not that I can really help it—but it’s a monumental relief not having to be so worried about maintaining a semblance of normalcy. Now my biggest fear is that the story will suck me in somehow and I’ll get stuck in some delusional part of my brain. But Nancy said my imagination is good, so I take a deep breath, sit down in the dirt in front of my brothers and sister, and prepare to let my freak-flag fly.

  For this performance, I’ll be the narrator and act out the final scene with the different voices, too.

  Narrator: When Lady Quince saw the vision, all she could do was stare in wonder, the General, too.

  Drake: Tell me what you see.

  Lady Quince: Determination. And Power. Incredible Power.

  General Raidho: I see unspeakable fear.

  Drake: You are both correct. This situation is extremely complex. I need you to go deeper and tell me exactly what you See.

  Narrator: Lady Quince connects with the vision again, breathing deep and diving beneath the surface. She speaks as if in a trance:

  Lady Quince: Darkness descends early, spreading a frosted hush over the horizon.

  Silence covers the pavement as brittle leaves blanket the frozen ground.

  Slender naked branches stretch toward the moon.

  The maiden is alone.

  Damp fog shrouds her head,

  Her pale uncovered shoulders tremble as Night whispers flattery

  Along the bare curve of her Neck,

  Slips sighing to curl in the hollow of her throat:

  A cold, heavy, glittering gem clasped in wintry silver.

  Desperate, she reaches in and up

  Grasping the edges of the sky.

  With frigid fingers she gathers silky corners, pulling them down around her.

  She wears Night as a cloak,

  A sapphire shawl trimmed in deepest indigo,

  Shot through with brilliant diamond stars.

  Narrator: Quince severs the connection with the vision and speaking to the General.

  Lady Quince: We must find her. She is Ovate. With Nissa’s weapons she is strong enough to open the Door.

  General Raidho: We cannot afford to hate or blame each other any longer. We have work to do. The fate of our people depends on it.

  I shiver, breaking a small clump of dirt between my thumb and fingers, grinding it to dust. Jacob, Aidan, and Claire are quiet, too. Could they see the scene as vividly as I could? Do they sense the escalating urgency of the Fae closing in around them like I can? Or have they finally started to question my sanity?

  “You know,” a voice too close behind me says, “It wasn’t nice to tell more of the story without me.”

  Scrambling to my feet I grab the bean-bucket, my heart pounding a wild rhythm. “Gabe!” I turn to find him sitting in the dirt looking up at me, admiration in his eyes.

  My face flames. He’s not alone.

  Kaillen sits on a planter box a few feet away. His deep brown eyes glitter with warmth that steals my breath.

  Is that look for me?

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Oh. My. GOD.

  “Wait for me next time, okay?” Gabe stands up, taking the bean bucket from my hand.

  “You didn’t miss anything,” Jacob says. “You got here when Nissa disappeared, right?”

  “They’ve been here this whole time and you said nothing?” I glare at Jacob, Aidan and Claire. “You are so dead to me.”

  “What?” Aidan’s voice is innocent. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

  “Emma, that face though!” Claire laughs hysterically. She’ll probably start snort-farting any minute. She has very little control over her bodily functions. The boys grin obnoxiously.

  “Thanks a lot, guys.”

  “Meg sent us to tell you it’s time for lunch,” Kaillen says. “You’re supposed to take your shoes off before you go inside, and wash your hands in the back bathroom only. Food’s on the porch.”

  My pulse sprints a three-minute mile as I make myself meet his bold appraising eyes.

  “It’s too bad Kaillen couldn’t find the princess,” Kaillen says. “He sounds like an amazing person.”

  Oh hells bells.

  My shoulder bumps against Gabe as I walk stiffly down the narrow dirt path through the garden. I hate boys.

  “Wait,” Jacob says from a couple paces ahead. “Gabe, I should mention that the Fae’s powers don’t work in the Second Realm like they do in the First. The elves can still See the elements, but not mani
pulate them, and the maidens only have wings and power when they shrink to insect size. Drake lost his wings, but he can still use his powers if he stays within twenty-five miles of the Doorway, which is why he needs Lady Quince and the General to go find the girl in the vision. Any questions?”

  “Just one,” Gabe says. “Does the girl in the vision happen to have hair the color of marigolds?”

  A bean smacks the back of my head. “Yeah, Emily,” Aidan says behind me. “Does she?”

  I stop short. Aidan collides into me but I hardly even notice him or Gabe or Kaillen or anything else. A thrill of dread flutters through me as the fog shrouding the girl in the vision disperses. I gasp as she looks up at me with my own eyes.

  “Yes.” I want to deny it but I can’t.

  “I knew it!” Claire’s fist pumps the air.

  My thoughts spin. Gabe bends his head down and whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to hear what happens next.”

  Nineteen

  At lunch Aunt Meg announces we’ll be driving into town to meet Dad tomorrow. I can’t wrap my head around it. He’s out of prison. Less than 25 miles away from the Vineyard. I need to be alone or I swear I’ll go mad. I escape the house as soon as I can and head for my secret place. The one I discovered when I was a little girl.

  “Emily!” Aidan’s shout draws me up short as I walk along the dirt path. “Wait up!”

  He’s jogging across the field of tall grass toward me, his blond hair flopping with every step.

  “What’s up, French-iest Fry?” Feigning normalcy is my new norm these days.

  As Aidan gets closer my plan to sweep his leg with a stealthy roundhouse kick evaporates, replaced with concern. Dark shadows gather under his eyes and tight lines surround his mouth.

  “I’ve been having this recurring dream,” he says. “It’s freaking me out.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before, dork? This morning you said you liked it here and you were doing good.”