by Ted Sanders
“How long was I in there?” he asked.
“Scarcely an hour,” said Falo. “You did well.”
“Where’s Mrs. Hapsteade?”
“Gone,” said a silky voice, rippling with sadness. Beautiful Teokas walked behind them, head hung low. Go’nesh loomed behind her, carrying Mr. Meister. The old man’s face was blank and pale, his eyes fixed on a faraway place. And then Horace noticed a bloody gash on Teokas’s arm.
“Gone,” Horace repeated, and only when he spoke the word aloud did he understand what it meant.
“The battle was hard,” Teokas said. “We lose even when we win. But win we did.”
Horace scanned the little group, searching desperately for other missing faces. “What about Dailen?” he said.
Teokas dropped her eyes. Go’nesh stared straight ahead.
Gabriel stabbed softly at the floor with his staff. “There are no more Dailens,” he said.
Horace looked past them, cold and hollow, at the Mothergate still standing among Falo’s weaves. It was an island of steady black, holding fast, a sleeping spider in the center of a marvelous golden web. A web that would stand for years. That was something. That was everything. It was all they had.
Only then did he remember the Fel’Daera. He reached for it in his mind, and it was there. Still there, though he could think nothing in particular he wanted to see. Nothing within his reach, anyway.
“It worked,” he said, mostly to himself, maybe for a comfort he wasn’t sure he could believe in. “We did it.”
“It worked,” April said. Arthur bobbed and nibbled at her hair.
They walked. They went back to Falo’s quarters. Most of the little group stayed behind as Falo carried Horace through the sitting room, and down the hall where hundreds of caged birds sang.
“The tunnel of birds,” he murmured.
Falo brought him to a thick bed that smelled of leaves. Such a strange smell, here in this place, and as Falo laid him down he had a sudden, aching urge to see the sun, to walk barefoot in the grass under open skies.
April was with them, and his mother too. Go’nesh came and went, laying Mr. Meister gently in a chair by the door.
“I’m sorry,” Horace said to him. When the old man didn’t reply, still staring at the floor, he said it again louder. “Mrs. Hapsteade . . . Dorothy. I’m sorry.”
Mr. Meister looked up, as if he’d thought he was alone. He took off his glasses and then bent slightly, as Horace had seen him do a hundred times before, clearly meaning to clean them on the corner of his vest. But there was no vest.
“I’m sorry,” Horace said for a third time.
Mr. Meister smiled, thin and aching. “I struggle to imagine what debt you could possibly owe me, Keeper,” he said. “I am the one who is sorry.”
Horace looked up at Falo. She looked pained, sallow. A sudden sweep of embarrassed horror swept over him as he remembered.
“Falo,” he said. “You’re severed. How are you . . .”
She shook her head kindly. “I am severed, yes. Or something like it. And this time Hiraethel will not return.”
So much lost, so fast. This was victory? He wanted to weep. “How long will you last?”
“Isn’t it funny how fixated on time the Keeper of the Fel’Daera is?” Falo took a hearty breath like she was considering a long walk outdoors. “It does not matter. It is good. It is good to be released in this way. Life has been long, and full of wonder. But my work is done. All our work is done.”
“But not for the new universe,” said April. “Wherever Chloe finds it, wherever she takes the Starlit Loom. Their work is just beginning.”
Falo shrugged, considering it. “And their wonder.”
Horace’s mother sat on the bed. She took his hand in hers. She was crying magnificently, her face and mouth smooth and bright and strong, tears pouring freely from her.
“Sometimes I wish I’d warned you,” she said. Her voice was strong, too.
“Warned me about what?”
“About everything. That first day you came home with the Fel’Daera—I knew so much, and you knew so little. And I didn’t tell you anything. I didn’t warn you. And now Chloe . . .”
He squeezed her hand, shook his head. “I can’t imagine a warning you could have given me that I wouldn’t have mostly ignored.”
She laughed, blinking up at the ceiling. “Dammit, Horace, that makes me so furious and proud.”
“Mostly, I said.”
“I thought you were going to die, you know,” his mother said. “From that very first day, I had to prepare myself for the worst.”
“I know. But the worst didn’t happen.”
“No. You saved us. You and Chloe both.”
“We did what we had to,” Horace said. “We all did. But what happens now?”
She stroked his forehead gently. “What a question for the Keeper of the Fel’Daera to ask,” she said. “But the answer is always the same. Life, Horace. Life happens now.” She laughed again, jostling loose a sprinkle of tears. “Life even with all we lose.”
He nodded, crying now too. “And find,” he said.
Epilogue
The Boy Who Knew Tomorrow
SHE CAME TO HIM IN THE PARK ONE DAY. NOT JUST ANY PARK. Not just any day.
This was the park with the wobble horses, near his childhood home, where no one Horace knew lived anymore. The wobble horses were long gone. There was a tedious plastic playground here now, like the sterile dream of a machine. This was the park he’d chased her to that first night. Two nights, really—at least for Horace. One on each side of the glass. This right here was the tree she’d buried herself in, hiding from Dr. Jericho until Horace had lured him away. Which night had that been, again? And maybe after all it was that tree, there. Horace frowned. Maybe the tree was gone by now too. It was hard to say how long things lived.
Catching her hadn’t been easy. How could it be? Chloe had been the girl who walked through walls. But Horace had been the boy who knew tomorrow. She couldn’t escape him. She still hadn’t escaped him. He knew it, just like he knew that he hadn’t really saved her. Not that night or any night. Not any of the thousands of nights since. Seven thousand three hundred and eighty-nine. But who was counting?
He held the Fel’Daera in his hands, turning it over and over. How small it was, how simple. It was hard to imagine it had always been so small. He didn’t bother to hide it now as he sat on the bench, waiting. There was no one to keep it from, and nothing to hide. It was just a box. It had been becoming just a box for twenty years now, bit by bit and day by day, and he had been becoming . . . what? A boy who did not know tomorrow. A man who knew the future only as a tangle of tasks to manage, aspirations to move toward, changes to tackle or embrace.
Horace realized that he had been imagining—not consciously, but playing the image out in some poorly lit, youthful corner of his mind—that Chloe would step out of a tree. This one or that one.
But she didn’t. She stepped out of a cab.
She wore a plaid woolen coat. The hood of a green sweatshirt hung over the back collar. She looked like Isabel looked when last Horace saw her—the same small frame, the same wary-cat posture, the chin held high. And Chloe was about that same age now, he realized. But her hair was black and straight, and long, as long as it had been before the fire, strands of it lifting in the wind.
She’d seen him already. He started toward her, waved at her. She rolled her eyes at the wave. She just stood there, bouncing atop bent knees, like her feet were melded to the ground.
He understood. He would close the distance now. She’d come so far.
She was crying. So was he. She looked beautiful and tired and wise in a way he did not know a human could be. She waited for him, her throat working, her shoulders seizing, her eyes as fierce as fires.
He stepped into her. He pressed his foot against hers. “It’s you,” he said.
She nodded. Then her mouth broke into an anguished frown and she shook h
er head desperately, her eyes thick with wet. She pressed her foot hard against his. She grabbed his jacket and let it go. Her coat fell open. The Alvalaithen wasn’t there. She nodded again, smiling, shrugging. Horace thought his chest would break apart. He had felt this before.
“I missed you,” he said.
Chloe opened her mouth. She let out a great, ragged breath. She blinked into the blue sky, clouds in her eyes. The faint scars around her throat were faded now, had become whispers.
“Yeah, well,” she said, “who wouldn’t?”
They walked then. They didn’t know to where. The world turned beneath them, becoming whatever worlds it would. Horace left the Fel’Daera behind, sitting on the bench. He did not know that he had done this. He would not realize it until tomorrow.
And when he did remember it, he would be sitting on the train to St. Louis with this most fantastic friend, a friend who had returned to this place in flesh and blood after all this time, all this life, the girl who saved everyone, the girl who had promised him. He would remember the box then, yes.
But he would not go back.
Glossary
Aerary
a small chamber in Falo’s quarters where she works with the Starlit Loom
Altari (all-TAR-ee)
the Makers of the Tanu, and the ancestors of the Riven
Alvalaithen (al-vuh-LAYTH-en)
Chloe’s Tan’ji, the dragonfly, the Earthwing; with it, she can become incorporeal
Aored (a-OAR-ed)
Grooma’s Tan’ji, a Loomdaughter
Auditor
a type of Riven; though not Tan’ji, Auditors can imitate the powers of nearby instruments
backjack
a small silver Tan’kindi whose location can be tracked with a paired, compass-like device
breach
the gap in time across which the Fel’Daera sees the future
cleave
to forcibly and permanently rip apart the bond between a Keeper and his or her Tan’ji
dispossessed
term for a Keeper who is permanently cut off from his or her instrument, usually by cleaving or being severed for too long
Dorvala (dor-VAH-la)
a Maker
dumin (DOO-min)
a shield of force through which almost nothing can pass; created using a dumindar
empath
a Keeper whose power is listening to the thoughts of animals and others
Fairfrost Blade
a Tan’ji belonging to Go’nesh; this weapon carves nearly impenetrable swaths of frozen blue through the air
Fel’Daera (fel-DARE-ah)
Horace’s Tan’ji, the Box of Promises; with it, he can see a short distance into the future
Find, the
the solitary period during which a new Keeper discovers and then masters his or her instrument
Floriel
Dailen’s Tan’ji, granting him the power to create multiple versions of himself
Gallery, the
a corridor deep in the Warren whose doorways will only appear by the light of certain jithandras
golem
a massive swarm of moving stones, a powerful Tan’kindi controlled by the Riven
golm’ruun (golm-RUNE)
a ring that allows the wearer to control the golem
harps
instruments used by Tuners to alter the Medium; only Tuners can operate them, but they are not Tan’ji
Hiraethel (hih-RAY-thul)
the Starlit Loom
humour, the
the blinding, invisible cloud of gray Gabriel releases from the Staff of Obro
jithandra (jih-THAHN-drah)
small Tan’kindi used for light, identification, and entry into the Wardens’ sanctuaries
Ka’hoka (kah-HO-kah)
a major sanctuary of the Altari, at Cahokia Mounds in western Illinois
kaitan (ky-TAHN)
a device used to bind two potential Keepers together, turning them into Tuners instead
Keeper
one who has bonded with an instrument, thus becoming Tan’ji
Kesh’kiri (kesh-KEER-ee)
the name the Riven use for themselves (see “Riven”)
Laithe of Teneves (TEN-eevs)
Joshua’s Tan’ji, a miniature globe that grants the power to open portals anywhere on earth
Loomdaughters
the first Tan’ji made with the Starlit Loom; there were nine in total
mal’gama (mahl-GAH-ma)
similar to the golem, a Tan’kindi comprised of thousands of green stones, capable of flight
Medium, the
the energy that flows from the Mothergates and powers all Tanu
Mordin
tall, ferocious Riven who are particularly skilled at hunting down Tan’ji
Mothergates
the three enigmatic structures through which the Medium flows before reaching out to power all Tanu in the world
Nevren
a field of influence that temporarily severs the bond between a Keeper and his or her Tan’ji; Nevrens protect the Wardens’ strongholds
Nlon’ka (n-LAWN-ka)
an abandoned Altari stronghold in Crete; home to a Mothergate
nul’duna (nul-DOO-nah)
a Keeper who is rendered expendable because another potential Keeper for his or her Tan’ji has been found
oraculum
a Tan’ji belonging to Mr. Meister, a lens that allows him to see the Medium
phalanx
a small Tan’kindi, made from the fingerbone of a Mordin; it fires a blast of energy that pins Tan’ji in place
polymath’s ring
a Tan’kindi that allows its wearer to bond with more than one Tan’ji; shaped like a Möbius strip
Ravenvine
April’s Tan’ji, a silver vine she wears around her left ear; it grants her the power to empathically absorb the thoughts of nearby animals
Ravids
small, quick Riven with the ability to teleport short distances
Riven
a hidden race of beings who hunger to reclaim all the Tanu for their own; they call themselves the Kesh’kiri
sa’halvasa (sah-hahl-VAH-sah)
related to the golem, a swarm of tiny insect-like Tanu with razor-sharp wings
Sanguine Hall
the back entrance to the Warren, once home to the sa’halvasa
sever
to temporarily cut a Keeper off from his or her Tan’ji
Staff of Obro
Gabriel’s Tan’ji, a wooden staff with a silver tip; it releases the humour, which blinds others but gives him an acute awareness of his surroundings
Starlit Loom
Hiraethel, the very first Tanu, a Tan’ji that gives its Keeper the power to make new Tanu; Sil’falo Teneves (sil-FAY-lo TEN-eevs), called Falo (FAY-lo), is its Keeper
Tan’ji (tahn-JEE)
a special class of Tanu that will only work when bonded with a Keeper who has a specific talent; Tan’ji also describes the Keeper himself or herself as well as the state of that bond—a kind of belonging or being
Tan’kindi (tahn-KIN-dee)
a simpler category of Tanu that will work for anyone, without requiring a special talent or a bond (raven’s eyes, dumindars, etc.)
Tanu (TAH-noo)
the universal term for all of the mysterious devices created by the Makers; the function of these instruments is all but unknown to most (two main kinds of Tanu are Tan’ji and Tan’kindi)
Thailadun (thail-a-DOON)
the Moondoor, a Tan’ji controlled by Teokas; it has a limited ability to freeze time
tourminda (tour-MIN-dah)
a fairly common kind of Tan’ji that allows its Keeper to defy gravity; Neptune is the Keeper of the Devlin tourminda
Tuner
though not Tan’ji, Tuners can use instruments called harps to cleanse and tune other Tanu
Tunraden (toon-RAH-den)
B
rian’s Tan’ji, a Loomdaughter; with it, he can create and repair Tanu
Ulu’ru (ul-OO-roo)
an abandoned Altari stronghold in Australia; home to a Mothergate
Uroboros (oo-RO-bur-ose)
an ancient and mysterious fishlike creature trapped in a glass cylinder
Veil of Lura (LOOR-ah)
a shimmering curtain of light that hides and protects the Mothergates
Vithra’s Eye
the name of the Nevren that guards the Warren
Wardens
the secret group of Keepers devoted to protecting the Tanu from the Riven
Warren
the Wardens’ headquarters beneath the streets of Chicago, deep underground
Well of Giving
Goth en’Sethra, the massively powerful Nevren at Ka’hoka
Acknowledgments
THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE TO THANK, NOW THAT The Keepers has come to an end.
Toni Markiet, my editor, who has been with this project since the beginning and has worked harder than anyone ought to have to. Thank you, Toni, for all your guidance. Also everyone else at HarperCollins, past and present, who helped get these books out into the world: Jenny Sheridan, Phoebe Yeh, Abbe Goldberg, Megan Ilnitzki, Amy Ryan, Tessa Meischeid, Gina Rizzo, and many others. And of course Kate Morgan Jackson and Suzanne Murphy for seeing this project through to the end.
Miriam Altshuler, my agent, who has been so steady and strong through the years, and who never lets me get lost. I’m so grateful for your presence. And also Reiko Davis, for all her competence and assistance.