The Harp and the Ravenvine

by Ted Sanders

  Chloe pointed. “Hey,” she said. “Remember Rip?”

  “Never forget him,” Horace said with a smile. “Rip Van Twinkle, time-travel pioneer.”

  “I wonder . . . do you wonder if, after we let him go, he went and told his friends about his adventures?”

  Horace didn’t bother to tell her that there was a good chance Rip had already died of old age. Instead he told her, “He’s the most famous firefly now. He’s a legend.”

  But Chloe shook her head. “No,” she said. “He’s locked up, because of all the crazy things he says. No one believes a word. And I don’t blame them.” She looked over at Horace. “Do you?”

  Horace tried to think what to say. He shrugged. The lightning bug drifted out of sight over the cloister wall. “It’s crazy,” he agreed at last. “It’s crazy what we do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  How Long Nothing Lasts

  UNSURPRISINGLY—ALTHOUGH HER ARRIVAL STARTLED THEM both half to death—Neptune came looking for Horace and Chloe. She popped into the orange bird cloister with a crabby groan, yanked through in the instant Horace spotted her. She fell back onto her cloak, clutching her head, and said, “This is the real me, of course. Right?”

  “Of course,” said Horace. “Who else would you be?”

  “Fallen angel,” Neptune said dreamily. “I’ve been falling a lot lately. It’s not optimal.”

  The three of them sat in the cloister and talked, slowly finding themselves, finding their faith in the now. Eventually they would have to start back through the falkretes toward the Warren, but none of them was ready, least of all Neptune and Chloe. They’d made the journey three times already. Strangely, despite the fact that Neptune was far more experienced with falkrete travel than Horace and Chloe, she seemed the loopiest of the three. They kept her talking for a while, discussing the deeds of the night and the fates of the other Wardens—Mr. Meister, Gabriel, April. Not to mention Beck. Neptune seemed not at all concerned, convinced that Gabriel had gotten them all away safely.

  “Why do they try so hard?” Chloe said.

  “Who?” asked Horace.

  “The Riven. Why can’t they just leave us be? Is it really so awful if a few humans here and there are Tan’ji?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” said Neptune. “All wrong.” She took a great breath and let it out slow. “How much do you even know about the Riven?”

  Chloe shrugged. “The basics. They were the Makers. They want the Tanu because they think they’re the rightful owners.”

  “And do you think they are? Rightful, I mean?”

  The question startled Horace. “Do you?” he asked.

  “Not totally,” Neptune replied. “I can’t—I’m a legacy. My mom was the Keeper of the Devlin tourminda before me, and her dad before her, and so on. If anything, I’m proof the Tanu don’t all belong only to the Riven. Not totally.”

  The way Neptune talked, it sounded as if she felt the Riven had a rightful claim to at least some of the Tanu. “What do you mean, not totally?” Chloe demanded.

  “It’s not a simple matter of the Riven possessing the Tanu, you know,” Neptune explained. “Humans and the Riven—and the Altari, for that matter—have lived side by side for centuries without the kinds of conflicts we have now.” She shrugged. “Or so I’m told.”

  Horace was confused. “That’s not exactly how Mr. Meister described it.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “Yeah, well, what?” Chloe said.

  “There are secrets you haven’t earned yet.” She pointed her horrid pinkie at Horace. “Especially you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  Neptune propped herself up on one arm, looking straight at Horace. Her normally blank eyes were full of dark mischief. “Have you heard of the Mothergates?”

  Horace’s breath caught in his chest. “They’re the source of the Medium,” he said. “That’s where the power for our Tan’ji comes from.”

  “Close enough,” Neptune replied. “There are three of them, spread out around the world. But one of them is practically in our backyard. Would you be surprised if I told you I’d seen it? Up close and in person?”

  Horace remembered his mom saying that one of the Mothergates was only a couple hundred miles away. “What did it look like?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t tell you. Not one thing. You can’t see through the Veil.”

  The Veil. Horace’s mother had mentioned that too.

  And so had Dr. Jericho.

  “What is the Veil, exactly?” Chloe asked.

  “The Veil of Lura,” Neptune breathed. “It keeps the Mothergates hidden. It’s so beautiful, you guys. You have no idea.” She slid her hand through the air, wiggling her fingers. “It’s so beautiful that if you didn’t know better you’d never suspect—” Neptune stopped midgesture, staring at her hand. She balled it into a fist over and over again, watching her crooked pinkie carefully. “Hey. A few cloisters back, I was sure my finger had fallen off. It’s sort of a surprise to see it here now.” She paused and furrowed her brow. “It is here, isn’t it?”

  Chloe looked over at Horace. He refused to meet her gaze. What was Neptune saying? “You’d never suspect” . . . what? Had Dr. Jericho been telling the truth about the Mothergates? If the Mothergates were dying, surely that meant the Tanu would die too. But that couldn’t be. The thought was impossible. Not even Mr. Meister would keep a secret like that.

  “I’m sorry,” Neptune said. “I shouldn’t be saying these things. I haven’t found my head yet. Seventeen jumps in one night! It’s funny though—I suppose that means that there’s a different path upon which I told you everything.” She looked Horace firmly in the eye again and smiled disconcertingly. “Everything.”

  Horace held up his hands. Were they shaking? “I think you’ve said plenty for now. I don’t really want to hear any more. If Mr. Meister hasn’t told us, then . . .” He trailed off, unable find the right excuses. Again he felt Chloe’s eyes on him. The Alvalaithen gleamed at her throat. So pure and white and bursting with power.

  “You don’t want to hear more,” Neptune said. “That’s fine. Also dandy, of course. But you know how it goes, Keeper—tick tock, tick tock. And if Mr. Meister has a flaw, it’s an excess of patience. He practices patience on a geological scale.”

  “Okay, so don’t tell Horace,” Chloe said suddenly. “Tell me.”

  “Chloe—” Horace began, but Neptune interrupted him with a laugh.

  “You’re kidding, right?” she said. “You guys are like two halves of the same bun. I’d be willing to take a kick to the face for every secret you two keep from each other.”

  “You might be surprised by how much you get kicked, then,” Chloe said stubbornly.

  “I tell you what,” Neptune said. She grasped her tourminda in her good hand and began to hover a few inches in the air. She paddled at the ground and drifted toward them, crossing her legs while airborne, a wide-eyed genie. “No secrets, just a riddle. Surely Mr. Meister wouldn’t object to that. Everyone likes riddles. Don’t you?”

  “We like riddles, yes,” said Chloe, before Horace could stop her. “Heck, Horace eats riddles for breakfast.”

  Horace held his breath.

  “Okay then, here goes,” Neptune said, still floating. She leaned over them conspiratorially. “Do you know how long nothing lasts?”

  Chloe shook her head, transfixed. “How long?”

  Neptune spread herself wide—her arms, her eyes, her smile. Her tourminda glinted darkly between the fingers of her fist. “Forever,” she whispered gleefully. And then she dropped to the ground, fell back laughing, and promptly—shockingly—went to sleep.

  Horace still couldn’t take a breath. Chloe whirled around to glare at him, the dragonfly swinging wide on its cord as if it were alive. “Nothing lasts forever,” she said. “What kind of riddle is that?”

  Horace shook his head to say he didn’t know—but he did know. He knew it with a certainty he could scarcely stomach
. He reached down and cradled the Fel’Daera in his hand as if it were his own racing heart, his own drowning hope.

  There were no riddles here. Only secrets buried deep underground, miserable truths hidden beneath lie upon lie.

  The Mothergates were dying.

  And Mr. Meister knew it.

  GLOSSARY

  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

  Auditor a type of Riven; though not Tan’ji, they can imitate the powers of nearby instruments

  breach the gap in time across which the Fel’Daera sees into the future

  cleave to forcibly and permanently rip apart the bond between a Keeper and his or her Tan’ji

  cloister one of the small safe havens of the Wardens, usually a walled garden containing a leestone and a falkrete circle

  daktan (dock-TAHN) a piece broken off a Tan’ji, usually through deliberate sabotage

  dispossessed term for a Keeper who is permanently cut off from his or her instrument, usually by cleaving or being severed for too long

  doba small stone buildings in the Great Burrow; living quarters

  dumin (DOO-min) a spherical shield of force through which almost nothing can pass; a dumin is created by crushing a small glass ball called a dumindar

  empath a Keeper who can read the minds of nonhuman animals

  falkrete the strangely shaped stones found in cloisters; usually arranged in a circle, only a few of these stones possess the power they once did

  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 masters his or her instrument

  Great Burrow the uppermost chamber of the Warren

  harp an instrument used by Tuners; only Tuners can use a harp, but harps are not Tan’ji

  jithandra (jih-THAHN-drah) a small, personalized Tan’kindi used by the Wardens for illumination, identification, and entry into the Warren

  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) a mysterious Tanu, a spinning globe, in Mr. Meister’s possession

  leestone a Tan’kindi that provides some protection against the Riven

  Loomdaughters the first Tan’ji made with the Starlit Loom; there were nine in total

  Maw the great chasm at the back of the Great Burrow

  Mazzoleni Academy the boarding school beneath which the Warren lies

  Medium, the the energy that powers all Tanu

  Mordin Riven who are particularly skilled at hunting down Tan’ji

  Mothergates mysterious in nature, the three Mothergates are the 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 Tan’ji; Nevrens protect the Wardens’ strongholds

  oublimort a Tanu within the Warren meant to confound unprepared visitors

  oraculum a Tan’ji belonging to Mr. Meister, a lens that allows him to see the Medium

  passkey a Tan’kindi that allows passage through certain walls

  Perilous Stairs the cliffside staircase that leads down into the Maw in the Warren

  raven’s eye a weak and portable kind of leestone, a Tan’kindi

  Riven the secretive race of beings who hunger to claim all the Tanu for their own; they call themselves the Kesh’kiri

  San’ska (sahn-SKA) the home cloister, the haven nearest to the Warren; its leestone is a magpie

  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 the very first Tanu; a Tan’ji that gives its Keeper the power to make new Tanu

  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)

  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 (raven’s eye, dumindar, etc.) that will work for anyone; unlike Tan’ji, Tan’kindi do not require a special talent or a bond

  Tan’layn (tahn-LAIN) the term for Tan’ji that do not currently have a Keeper; the unspoken

  Tinker a Kesh’kiri word for ordinary humans

  tourminda (tour-MIN-dah) a fairly common kind of Tan’ji that allows its Keeper to defy gravity; such Keepers—like Neptune—are called tourmindala

  Tuner though not Tan’ji, Tuners can use instruments called harps to cleanse and tune other Tanu

  Tunraden (toon-RAH-den) Brian’s Tan’ji, a Loomdaughter

  Vithra’s Eye the name of the Nevren that guards the Warren; very powerful

  Vora Mrs. Hapsteade’s Tan’ji, the quill and ink; it is used to determine the abilitites of potential new Keepers

  Wardens the secret group of Keepers devoted to protecting the Tanu from the Riven

  Warren the Wardens’ headquarters beneath the city, deep underground

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ONCE AGAIN, THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE TO THANK FOR MAKING this book a reality.

  A big thank-you to all the folks at HarperCollins for all their patience and support, especially to my editor, Toni Markiet, who probably had more than one vacation ruined on my behalf. Much gratitude to you for all your great insights. You say the things that have to be said.

  To Miriam Altshuler, for your generosity and guidance, and for tirelessly advocating for The Keepers.

  Thanks also to Abbe Goldberg, Reiko Davis, Gina Rizzo, for everything you do.

  Thanks to all who responded so positively to the first book in the series, and who gave it so much support, including Matt Mulholland, Becky Anderson, Michele Whisenhunt, Ksenya Kouzminova, Jeff and Rosita Durbin, Jason Mierek, Mathew Green, Brian Delambre, and Randy Lynn.

  To Matt Minicucci, for making me leave the house once in a while.

  To Laura Koritz, for keeping still. I have you to thank for April.

  Thank you to my son, Rowan, for getting better at proving me wrong, and to my stepdaughter, Bridget, for helping to keep me young. I need more of both of those things in my life.

  And finally, above all, to my wife, Jodee. More than ever, so much would not have happened without you. Thank you for almost never saying no when I said, “Can I ask you a book question?” Thank you for all the reading, and talking, and arguing, and for helping this project find a way to betterness. Thank you for being the sane one, and for sometimes not. Thank you above all for our family. I love you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo by Jodee Stanley

  TED SANDERS is the author of the short-story collection No Animals We Could Name, winner of the 2011 Bakeless Prize for fiction. His stories and essays have appeared in publications such as the Georgia Review, the Gettysburg Review, and The PEN/O. Henry Prize Stories anthology. A recipient of a 2012 National Endowment for the Arts literature fellowship, he lives with his family in Urbana, Illinois, and teaches at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. The Box and the Dragonfly was his first book for younger readers. You can visit him online at www.tedsanders.net.

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  CREDITS

  Cover art © 2016 by Iacopo Bruno

  Cover design by Amy Ryan

  COPYRIGHT

  THE KEEPERS: THE HARP AND THE RAVENVIN
E. Text copyright © 2016 by Ted Sanders. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Iacopo Bruno. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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  ISBN 978-0-06-227585-1

  EPub Edition © February 2016 ISBN 9780062275875

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