The Keepers #4

by Ted Sanders

  “I can run.”

  “Yeah. Well. Do your best impersonation, anyway.” She took a nervous, shuddering breath, looking all around. “How long now?”

  “Forty-five seconds. Let’s get ready.”

  They hurried back to the Mothergate. Horace took up his station, right where the Fel’Daera had told him he would be. He opened the box now, holding it out. Chloe fished the astrolabe out of her pocket, its lacy dials still spinning and flashing. She laid it in the box, atop the blue glass. Horace didn’t so much as look at it.

  She turned away, finding nothing to say. She went out into the mist of the Veil, where the Riven would soon be gathering. She searched until she found the tip of the first sock she’d placed, the tip of its toe barely glinting from the stone. She stood atop it. She heard distant voices now, and swift heavy footsteps. The sizzle and pop of Ravids.

  “Tell me when,” she said.

  Back at the Mothergate, Horace nodded. “Don’t forget to be awesome,” he said.

  “How could I ever?” she said.

  The Riven were coming closer. She turned and saw them, distant monstrous shapes speeding toward them. Chloe let go of the Alvalaithen. She took a deep breath, and grabbed hold of it again, its song swelling like a choir. It would all be over fast, one way or another, but if it was going to work she’d need all the energy she could muster.

  “Now,” Horace said.

  Chloe fell. She released every last shred of the bonds that kept her afloat, all at once. She dropped into the bottomless earth. She didn’t steer herself, didn’t fly. She just fell, keeping her body perfectly vertical, plummeting like a stone. When she thought she’d reached two hundred feet or so, she slowed herself and came to a halt. Her heart pounded, the molecules of her blood weaving through the bedrock.

  She waited. She counted down. She was no Horace, but she tried her best to keep track of the time—fifty-three seconds, Horace had told her. Fifty-three seconds until he would try to send the astrolabe.

  She tried to imagine what was happening above. She reminded herself that Horace was in no danger. Not yet. The Fel’Daera had told him so. The Riven were gathering, high above her. Isabel was there, waiting to weave her terrible flows. And directly above her—two hundred feet, straight up—Joshua ought to now be standing, the Laithe by his side, the hated Auditor just behind him.

  Twenty seconds. How fast would she need to be? Her fastest might be too fast. She didn’t want to hurt him. She forced herself not to think about the astrolabe, about Horace’s insane plan. Was it any less insane than hers? If both the Mothergates closed instantaneously, would she even feel it before she was severed, and her flesh went solid inside the earth?

  But no time to think of that. No point. Five seconds.

  Three.

  She launched herself.

  She rocketed up through the cold gritty ground. Not her fastest speed, no. Not quite. But fast. Up like a geyser.

  She shot out of the earth, into Joshua’s waiting body. He was so small, so frail. In the fraction of a second that she was inside him, she grabbed him, atom to atom, and brought him with her. He grunted, his breath leaving him. Somehow he managed to grab hold of the Laithe, and she let that come too. Faintly she thought she could feel the poisonous presence of the Auditor inside it.

  They rose high into the air, ten feet. A gasp and a roar went up with them. The Veil was gone now, and ahead she caught a clear glimpse of Horace, standing by the Mothergate, the open Fel’Daera in his hand.

  As she watched, he flicked the lid closed. His head rocked back violently.

  The Mothergate shuddered and rumbled. It seemed to crack. He’d done the impossible—he’d sent the astrolabe. Chloe fell, unable to see more, Joshua still in her arms, still in her chest.

  They went back into the earth, the dragonfly’s wings still whirring. Chloe willed them forward, toward Horace and the Mothergate, and beyond. She had no idea if her time was running out.

  Abruptly, another presence thrust its way into the Alvalaithen, groping and greedy, clutching at the Alvalaithen’s song. It tried to shoulder Chloe aside, to wrench control of the dragonfly. For a moment, Chloe’s grip slipped. The earth tore at her flesh. But the pain only fueled a welcome gout of rage, and she pushed back with all her might, forcing the Auditor out. The Alvalaithen was hers again. It would always be hers, until the end of everything.

  They sped through the stone, just below the surface. Chloe found her top speed easily, pulling hard at every thread of the Medium she could muster, willing herself on. And the Medium was there. Thinner than it had been, yes, but still there. At least one of the Mothergates still held.

  She breached. The air was a fury of sound, like ships crashing. She was past the Mothergate already, but didn’t dare glance back. Horace should be running now. He’d better be running. She needed him; they all did. Up ahead, she glimpsed the limp beacon of the second sock.

  Back into the earth, she and Joshua both. The Alvalaithen and the Laithe. One more breach, and they were nearly there. She got her feet beneath her, riding the surface to stop, just where she’d meant to end up.

  She set Joshua down. “Portal. Now.”

  “Chloe,” Joshua said. He was shaking.

  Behind her, Horace was running toward them, taking great clumsy strides that somehow managed to close the distance with a speed she didn’t know he had. But the Mordin were coming too, Dr. Jericho and two other Mordin out in front, catching up fast. Far behind, she could see Isabel running too, raging, bolts of the Medium pouring from her hands.

  And the Mothergate. It had become a billowing cloud of stone, shutting itself down. It churned and grated, seeming to bloom into a mountain. It roared like a thousand golems, grinding and squealing, a steel avalanche in reverse.

  That way was closed now. Chloe had known it would be. There was only one way out.

  “Portal, Joshua,” she cried. “Get us out. Get us anywhere. They’re coming.”

  It wasn’t going to work. He was too startled, too shaken. It was all going to fail. Horace was nearly here, and the Mordin not far behind.

  But then Joshua astonished her. He fixed his eyes briefly on the globe, a deep and easy mastery shining in his eyes. She couldn’t see what he did—only the Keeper of the Laithe could see that—but in no time at all he’d pulled the meridian free, tossing it into the air. It blew open, becoming a round gateway as tall as a door. Through it, a rocky beach at sunset materialized—or maybe it was sunrise—with a silver sea stretching out beyond.

  Horace barreled into them, his eyes wide, his mouth as hard as stone. Before he could speak, Chloe grabbed him by the arm and pulled, whirling, using his own momentum to propel him through the portal. He went through, went hard to the ground there—wherever there was—and scrambled to his feet.

  Dr. Jericho roared, still coming. The bristling spines on his back had emerged, cutting through the air. A sinewy Mordin racing beside him leapt at Chloe and Joshua with a growl.

  Chloe leapt too, tackling Joshua, the now-yellow sphere of the Laithe sandwiched between them. Together they plunged into the portal, a tingle of electricity passing through Chloe’s flesh like a shiver. They landed painfully on the far side, Chloe’s elbow cracking against a flat stone. The air was humid and warm, a salty breeze washing over her.

  She rolled onto her back. On the far side of the portal, Dr. Jericho and the other Mordin flailed blindly. They couldn’t get through now, couldn’t even see, not with Joshua here on this side. Dr. Jericho roared at the portal, raging like a trapped tiger, baring teeth that were suddenly as sharp as knives. He pounded uselessly at the meridian with his great fists, hatred blazing in his beady eyes. Chloe found herself hoping he was thinking of Kathra, his brother, who’d tumbled through a portal just like this one to his death.

  Her eyes found Horace. “It worked,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “We’re still alive. Still Tan’ji. The Mothergate at Ka’hoka is still open.”

&nbs
p; “Yes,” he said flatly. He looked down at Joshua. “Close the portal, Keeper. Close it and get us home.”

  But Joshua shook his head. The portal remained open.

  Chloe’s heart froze. She’d made a terrible mistake. Joshua was going to betray them, to let the Riven through. He hadn’t even asked to come here—Chloe had all but forced him.

  And then she saw. Joshua wasn’t refusing. He was rigid with fear, his fists clenched with effort. He stared at the portal, but not through it. Chloe turned.

  Fingers of gold were creeping through the doorway from the other side, grasping at the meridian. Clutching weaves of the Medium, holding the portal open. Tiny tendrils slid into the copper rabbit atop the meridian, filling it. The portal shuddered.

  “Isabel is coming,” Joshua said.

  And now Chloe saw her, coming closer on the other side. Even Dr. Jericho stepped aside to make way. The Medium flowed like smoke from her hands, reaching through the portal.

  “Close it,” said Chloe, barely breathing.

  “I can’t!” Joshua cried.

  Horace got onto his knees before Joshua. “You can do this,” he said kindly, slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. “You are the rightful Keeper of the Laithe of Teneves. Falo told me so herself.”

  Joshua pulled his gaze away from the portal, searching Horace’s face. “She did?”

  “Yes,” Horace said. “You are Tan’ji. Your instrument is you. Do not ask it to close. Just . . . close.”

  “But Isabel . . .”

  “Isabel is nothing,” said Horace. “You think because she helped you Find the Laithe, she has some power over you? Over it?”

  Isabel’s woven fingers began to spread and thicken. They reached out into the air now, slinking toward the golden sphere of the Laithe in Joshua’s arms. Briefly Chloe considered wresting the Laithe from Joshua’s arms, burying it forever in the stony ground here. She could do it, easily. It would be fast.

  “Isabel gave you power, Joshua,” Horace was saying. “Don’t you see? A power she herself will never have.”

  Joshua looked up at Chloe. “You saved me,” he said. It sounded like he was describing a miracle.

  Shame flooded her. For thinking what she’d been thinking. For not having rescued Joshua before now. For the very fact of her mother at all.

  “No,” she said. “You saved us. And now it’s time to finish.” She pointed back at the portal, where Isabel’s wild face was lit with glee. Her mother almost seemed to see her, finding her across the miles, through a doorway that should not exist. “Get this woman out of your business, Keeper,” Chloe said. “She’s got no right to anything at all.”

  Joshua furrowed his tiny brow. Little fires sparked in his eyes. The tendrils of the Medium were grasping at him now, circling the Laithe, but he paid them no mind. He glared at Isabel through the portal. He opened his mouth.

  “Get out!” he shouted.

  And the rabbit began to run. It shed drops of the Medium as its legs became a blur. The portal shrank smoothly, closing like a circular guillotine, slicing through Isabel’s weaves. The grasping fingers scattered and vanished like smoke, Isabel herself winking out of sight as the portal went blank. The meridian closed all the way with a hollow clang Chloe felt in her chest.

  They were free. They were out.

  They stood there, finding their breath. Joshua plucked the meridian out of the air and looped it back around the Laithe. The Laithe faded from gold back to blues and greens. Chloe hadn’t gotten a good look at the Laithe close up before, and it took her breath away now—a true tiny earth, luminous and alive.

  “You did it, Joshua,” Horace said. “You did it.”

  “Thank you,” he said politely. “But I should have done it already. I should have left with Mr. Meister.” He looked up at them both, his lip trembling. “They’re doing bad things.”

  “Yes,” said Horace. “They are. But we’re stopping them.”

  Chloe nodded at Horace, marveling at all he’d just done. All he was still doing. He grinned back at her as if he’d done nothing at all. A seagull circled over their heads, keening softly, and she tipped her head back to watch it. Out to sea, the sun was a bit higher now. Rising to make morning.

  “Where the heck are we?” she asked.

  “Crete,” said Joshua. “I’m sorry. It was all I could think of.” He pointed over the water, where a rocky island seemed to float nearby, a round, ancient-looking fortress rising from its hills. “That’s Nlon’ka right there.”

  Horace laughed. “Wow,” he said. “I feel like we were just here.”

  Chloe squatted in front of Joshua. “You did good. Now can you get us home?”

  “Home,” Joshua said, as if the word wasn’t even a word.

  “To Ka’hoka,” Horace said. “To April and Gabriel. And Mrs. Hapsteade. And I know Sil’falo Teneves will want to meet you.”

  “Is Arthur there?” Joshua asked hopefully.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Chloe. “Not to brag, but he’s bunking with us.”

  Joshua looked down at the Laithe, looking dubious. “And you’re sure they’ll want me,” he said.

  Chloe put a hand on his shoulder. Her throat worked painfully. “Tell you what. If anyone gives you any trouble, you just tell them . . . you’re with me.”

  Part Three

  The Sending

  Chapter Eighteen

  Uroboros

  APRIL SAT ON THE FLOOR IN THE HALLWAY OF FALO’S QUARTERS, listening to the birds.

  It was a welcome respite, so different from the roiling flood that surged out of the Mothergate—the last remaining Mothergate, now the only outlet for the Medium. The Mothergate had become a savage cannon of story and power and song, so loud that April could still hear it even in the farthest reaches of Ka’hoka.

  She tried not to listen. She tried not to think about the Riven, either. The events in Ulu’ru, April knew, had bought the Wardens some time, trapping Isabel and Dr. Jericho in Australia with no easy way back. But eventually—soon—they would return. It definitely did her no good to think too hard about that.

  She listened to the birds instead. She had no idea what kinds of birds they were; she wasn’t sure they existed in the world above. Something like sparrows, or wrens. But they were even smaller than wrens, and brightly colored. And unlike wrens—or most very small creatures, in April’s experience—they were strikingly, soothingly calm. Unnaturally calm, she might have thought, on any other day in any other place. But here in Ka’hoka, on the cusp of the death of the last remaining Mothergate, their tranquility seemed utterly natural.

  Falo had hundreds of the tiny birds, caged here in the hallway, and April was listening to them all, her mind open to theirs. She’d left Arthur with Horace and Chloe so that she’d be able to hear them better. There was a kind of flock intelligence at work among the little beings—not like ants, or bees, but more like a peaceable crowd of individuals, all of the same spirit. A kind of community, but without the drones. Their thoughts were simple, for the most part.

  Food. Feather. Mate. Friend.

  But every once in a while—and this was why she was listening—something brighter and more complicated emerged, something worth aspiring to, or being.

  Joy. Yesterday. Exploration. Elsewhere.

  Not that they were thinking these words, exactly. Especially that last one. It was a complicated idea, the notion that something could be different from what it was. A form of imagination, or aspiration, or longing. A kind of hope, tinted with sadness. A song of change.

  And change, as April well knew, was in the air. In fact, certain things had already changed—things she wasn’t sure anybody knew about but her.

  And maybe Falo.

  But Falo wasn’t talking.

  She’d hardly talked to Falo at all, not since Horace and Chloe had gone to Ulu’ru the night before last. That night, April had wanted to stay beside the Mothergate here in Ka’hoka—to hear what she could hear, to learn what she could lear
n about whatever her friends might manage to do in that faraway place. But Falo had sent her away. The Altari had stayed alone by the Mothergate’s side, offering no explanation whatsoever.

  And Falo still hadn’t explained. It was a small mystery, but a perplexing one, and April didn’t like to feel perplexed. She hadn’t been back to the Mothergate since.

  There were other mysteries too, or maybe one big mystery with many small parts, parts that April simply couldn’t piece together. She knew all about what Horace had done in Ulu’ru, sending the unsendable astrolabe into the future. She’d spent hours with Horace and Chloe since their return—and Joshua too—hearing their stories. Incredible stories, astonishing deeds. But in all their talk, April had told them nothing about the change she felt through the Ravenvine now. A change in the story that barreled from the Mothergate.

  It was hard to put into words, but when Horace had sent the astrolabe, he had . . . awakened something in the multiverse. Something April couldn’t name, neither good nor bad. Before that moment, the Mothergates had been closing almost as a matter of course, like a tree growing slowly away from shade into sunlight, reshaping itself in the process. But sending the astrolabe had set in motion . . . an awareness. A kind of watching. A knowing. By bringing the tangled streams of the multiverse so blatantly into this world, the Wardens’ efforts to ensure the closing of the Mothergates had suddenly become a vital part of the Mothergates’ own song. The story that poured from it now was rich with those efforts. The Wardens’ story, in other words, was becoming the story.

  The story would still end, of course. It was always going to end. But whereas at first that end was simply unraveling, like a ball of yarn rolling down an inevitable hill, now that end was being forged.

  She’d talked to no one about the change she’d sensed, not even Falo, but there was one clear thought she’d taken away from all the turbulent tides that had poured from the Mothergate these last two days.

  The multiverse was watching. It was waiting.

  Waiting for them to act.

  If they didn’t act, nature would follow its course, and the last Mothergate would close. The tangled universes would untangle themselves and all would be well.