by Ted Sanders
Joshua held his breath. The Laithe shone at his side. Make right what went wrong. Here, at last, were words that made sense to him. All the sense in the world. He felt his muscles go slack, the sadness and pity that had numbed him sinking into his bones. An owl swooped past him, whistling frantically. So many wrongs, and most of them could not be undone. But there was one thing Joshua could do. One thing for these people who’d tried to be good to him.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”
Joshua reached for the Laithe. He found North America with ease, hardly knowing if he was even using his hands. He slid the rabbit around the meridian, and down he went, toward Illinois. He came in swiftly, toward the clawed hand of Horseshoe Lake.
Suddenly Mrs. Hapsteade was beside him, breathing hard. “Where are you taking us?” she asked, watching. The humour loomed so close now that Joshua felt as though he and the others were standing on the edge of existence, a hopeless black sea on one side and a sightless nothing on the other. But there was a way out.
“Someplace safe,” Joshua said. “Someplace you’ll find friends.”
He slid the rabbit onward, zooming in. The Mississippi River slid over the horizon. The strange mounds of Cahokia bloomed into sight.
Neptune shouted. A Ravid had materialized out of the humour and gotten past her. Mrs. Hapsteade fired the phalanx at it, but the creature hissed out of sight and instantly reappeared with a pop, not ten feet away. Its beady eyes darted across their little group, and then it sprang at April, teeth bared, long fingers reaching.
The soft whump of the phalanx sounded again. The Ravid lurched and jolted to a halt, immobilized. It snarled and spat at April and Joshua like a trapped animal. Mrs. Hapsteade spun away as two more Mordin appeared out of the humour.
Joshua stepped calmly clear from the Ravid and went back to the Laithe. It wasn’t Ravids he was worried about. He steered the Laithe’s view swiftly down onto a field between two thick arms of forest, closer and closer. At last the rabbit came full circle, back to the top of the meridian. He was close enough to see blades of grass now, and a scrubby thistle. He was there.
He gripped the meridian and looked over at Mrs. Hapsteade. “I’m ready,” he said. “But when I tear the meridian loose and open the portal, Dr. Jericho will come. He’ll feel it.”
Mrs. Hapsteade gave him a curt nod. “Neptune!” she called out. “Get Gabriel out and get to the Keystone. The time has—”
Before she could finish, a huge ripping sound tore through the cave. The Great Burrow suddenly reappeared, the humour gone. Something flew through the air and clattered to the ground at Joshua’s feet, gray and silver and long.
The Staff of Obro.
In the newly revealed swath where the humour had been, a small army of Riven howled and roared. Dr. Jericho stood in the middle of it, the golem rearing up behind him. Gabriel lay on the ground several feet in front of the Mordin, as if thrown there. He struggled to get to his feet, baring his teeth. Joshua saw blood.
“Ah,” sang Dr. Jericho. “Here they are, the little bunnies in their burrow.”
Terrifying as the Mordin was, Joshua hardly had eyes for him. Instead he scanned the horde frantically, looking for the Auditor he’d seen. An Auditor could wreck it all, maybe even stop Joshua from opening the portal in the first place. But he saw only Mordin and the twitchy Ravids, and the golem behind. Slowly he understood—Isabel must have stopped the Auditor, as only Isabel could.
And then he saw Neptune, high over the heads of the Riven. She was upside down, her feet planted on the ceiling at the very top of the arched passageway. She was tugging at a large, square knob of rock that stuck out conspicuously from the rest. The size of a chest, and chiseled smooth, the stone began to slide free. Neptune looked up—or down, rather—at Gabriel far below her. “Run,” she said clearly.
At Joshua’s side, April whispered softly to herself, staring at the huge rock slipping loose beneath Neptune’s hands. “The Keystone,” she said.
Gabriel found his feet and lurched into a staggering run. Dr. Jericho looked up just as Neptune gave a great tug and the Keystone came loose like a tooth from a mouth.
The stone fell, tumbling. With a roar like a thousand golems, the mouth of the Great Burrow began to collapse with it, down into the horde of Riven below. Neptune shot free as the passageway crumbled in a shower of stone and grit and dust. The Riven cried and shouted and fell back. Mighty stones, some as big as cars, fell among them. Gabriel narrowly escaped being struck by one as he ran toward the Wardens. Some of the Riven weren’t so lucky.
The avalanche went on and on. Arthur, who’d launched himself into the air as the tunnel began to crumble, squawked raucously overhead. Stones bounced and skittered all the way to Joshua’s feet. Angry, piercing howls of dismay echoed from across Vithra’s Eye. Neptune landed beside April just as Gabriel reached them, and they turned back to look.
The earth stopped quaking. Dust hung in the air, but as it settled, Joshua could see that a monstrous pile of freshly jagged boulders and rocky debris had completely sealed off the Great Burrow. The entrance to the Warren was in ruin.
“Did we kill them?” Brian asked, his voice high and hopeful. “Did we do it?”
Mrs. Hapsteade shook her head. “We’ve only delayed the inevitable,” she said. As if to prove her point, Dr. Jericho’s raging voice crept through the towering heap of rubble. And then the sound of boulders shifting, rocks being tossed aside by a mighty hand—the golem was already at work, coming after them still.
Mrs. Hapsteade turned to Joshua, but he didn’t need to hear or see any more. He tore the meridian free from the Laithe and hung it in the air. The Laithe became a golden moon, smooth and glowing. Atop the meridian, the blue-eyed rabbit sat up and began to run. The portal swiftly opened. Everyone gathered around, watching and waiting. The tunnel of shapes tumbled briefly, and then—
Blue, early evening skies. A curving stretch of summer trees. And in the distance, a square-sided grassy mound, rising high into the sky.
“Ka’hoka,” Mrs. Hapsteade breathed.
The rabbit stopped running. The portal was wide open.
“Go,” said Joshua. “Everyone out.”
No one moved. No one wanted to leave him, he could see that on their faces. But they would all have to leave him. That’s how the portal worked, yes, but also—this was what had to happen. For the good of everyone.
Joshua bent over and picked up the Staff of Obro lying at his feet. Gabriel’s head snapped around, and Neptune gasped. The staff was much heavier than Joshua could ever have imagined, heavy as iron. It threatened to slip from his grasp. “Go,” he said again, and with all his might he heaved the staff through the open portal. It slid through and bounced onto the grass, two hundred and fifty miles away.
Gabriel grunted as if punched. “Joshua!” April cried.
More grinding thumps from the other side of the cave-in, more muted voices, slashing and furious. “You have to leave me, you know you do,” Joshua said.
Neptune took Gabriel’s hand. She walked him over to the portal, frowning worriedly at Joshua. “We’ll wait for you, of course,” she said, and together the two of them stepped through the portal and into the sunshine. Gabriel bent and picked up his Tan’ji at once.
Brian went next, and then Jessica, both without a word. On the other side, they turned and looked back, but there was nothing for them to see. The portal was only open for the Laithe, and the Laithe was here.
The mound of collapsed stone shifted, and a rock the size of a watermelon bounced down the slope as the golem’s powerful digging continued. Mrs. Hapsteade stepped up to Joshua and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve done well, Keeper,” she said gently. Joshua looked away. “When we are safely underground together in Ka’hoka,” she went on, “we will speak more.”
“When we’re safe,” he said.
She frowned at him faintly, and then stepped out of the Warren and into the shimmering green field.
And now just April. April and Arthur. The raven drifted down and landed on her shoulder. Two pairs of eyes gazed intently at Joshua, one hazel, one jet black.
“You’re not coming,” April said quietly.
It was pointless to pretend. “No,” said Joshua.
“The Riven will take you. They’ll have the Laithe.”
Whatever stays behind here tonight belongs to the Riven. That’s what Mrs. Hapsteade had said. But not everything had to stay behind. “I may be a Lostling, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to join them.”
“No one ever said that,” April insisted. “No one ever thought that.”
“Yes they did. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why doesn’t it matter? Why are you doing this? Because you made a mistake?” April bit her lip, as if she wished she could take the words back.
The pile of rubble groaned and began to collapse under the grinding pressure of the golem. The voices of the Riven reached them clearly now. Dr. Jericho was barking orders. They were almost through.
“I am a mistake,” Joshua said. And it wasn’t even sad. It was just the truth. “You have to go. I’ll make it so they can’t find you.”
April squinted her eyes, confused and suspicious. “What are you planning?”
“Just go, please. Tell everyone I’m sorry.” He stepped back, suddenly wary of the look on April’s face. “Don’t try to force me, April. If you do, I’ll close the portal down before you can drag me through.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” April said sadly. She stepped up to the portal. Arthur, eyeing the open fields beyond, flapped his great wings and took flight, flying through the portal and out over the heads of the worried Wardens gathered in the grass. “I was wondering,” said April, “if I could make you stop believing that you aren’t who you are. But only you can do that.”
Joshua closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt her go. A ripple, a pulse, and she was safely through into the green grass of Cahokia.
It was all for the best.
The ground trembled beneath him as the golem dug at the caved-in passage. He had to act now—had April known? Had she guessed what he was planning?
He opened his eyes, looking down at the golden sphere of the Laithe in his hand. The portal was only open for the Keeper of the Laithe, Isabel had told him. But he didn’t believe that was really true. He believed it was open for the Laithe itself—and no matter what April thought, he was not a true Keeper. Just a pretender. He had the talent, but not the right. And so yes, he would fix it so that the Riven couldn’t find the others. But he wouldn’t let the Riven get the Laithe, either.
Instead, he would send the shining globe through the portal. Alone.
He would send the Laithe to Cahokia while he himself remained behind. The one-way door would flip-flop, so that the Riven couldn’t get through. And then he would close the portal from here—he was sure he could do it, making the rabbit run. He would toss the meridian into the deeps of the lake.
After that, it would be over. The Riven could do what they wanted with him.
He stepped up to the portal. On the far side, April was standing silently apart from the others, not saying a word, but they had obviously figured out he wasn’t coming with them. Mrs. Hapsteade faced the gateway—just a giant hollow ring on her side—and shouted pointless words he couldn’t hear.
In just a few moments, she would understand.
Joshua heaved back with the Laithe. He swung his arm hard as he could and threw the little globe into the portal, his gut clenching as he let it go.
The Laithe bounced off the portal with a hollow, resonant thung, like a rock striking off a sheet of metal. It rebounded and drifted right back to him. Startled, he snatched it from the air and tried again.
Thung!
It wouldn’t go.
Joshua heard a pop and a screech behind him. A Ravid had made it through the collapsed rubble and was coming for him. And now another. Panicking, he tried to shove the shining globe through the portal, but it wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t go through, no more than a rock could go through metal.
It wouldn’t go without him.
One of the Ravids grabbed him ferociously by the ankle, yanking his feet out from under him and dropping him to the ground. The other popped into existence right in front of the portal. In the same instant, the caved-in pile of rock burst open with a boom and a crunch, and the golem poured out. A flood of Riven came behind it, Dr. Jericho out in front.
In shock, hardly able to let himself think, Joshua focused on the blue-eyed rabbit atop the meridian. He asked it to run—as swift as a real rabbit in full flight. The meridian spun madly, closing all the way down in barely two blinks of an eye. The Wardens on the other side scarcely had time to flinch before they were gone. Joshua kicked at the Ravid that held him, making it squeal, and he scrambled to his knees just long enough to wrench the meridian from the air. He dropped it back onto the Laithe.
The little globe dimmed into soft blue and whites. The portal was gone, the destination erased.
A cold, stony grip wrapped around his legs from foot to belly, lifting him, hauling the breath out of him. The golem hoisted him into the air as Dr. Jericho stalked forward. The Mordin was holding one forearm stiffly against his belly, and dimly Joshua remembered the crack of bone, back on the roof of April’s house when Neptune had crashed down onto him. Joshua clung to the Laithe, his plan in ruins. His thoughts were scrambled and mad and useless, flickering across every possibility at once. His friends were safe, his friends were stranded and in danger, his friends were not his friends. He was the Keeper of the Laithe because the Laithe wouldn’t leave him, he was a Lostling because he hadn’t known what the Laithe wouldn’t do.
He was a Warden, he was a faker, he was just a boy. He had been brave, cowardly, lucky, doomed.
He would survive whatever came next.
He would not.
Dr. Jericho came up close, his face inches from Joshua’s own. The golem squeezed Joshua so tight he wondered whether his legs might break.
“Well now,” Dr. Jericho sang. “I can’t tell you how often I discover what the Wardens have lost. Tell me, Tinker, are you lost?” He leaned in closer, his mad grin widening, the Laithe reflected in his glassy black eyes. A bitter cloud of brimstone rolled off him. “Or are you found?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
If Not Ourselves
THE PROVING ROOM AGAIN. BUT THIS TIME NO PROOF WAS ASKED for, or offered.
Instead, a shocking and terrible tale.
Horace listened, aghast, as the words crept from the mouths of the six new arrivals. April and Brian. Gabriel and Neptune. Mrs. Hapsteade, and Horace’s own mother. They were here in Ka’hoka, facing the grim and silent Council, pouring out their impossible story like an apology, like a dirge.
The Warren had fallen.
Horace ached to hear the dreadful story again, a thousand times more. He longed to hear something that would confirm the guilty burn that curled in his chest, something that would help him understand once and for all just where he had gone wrong. He hadn’t set these events in motion, no, but he had steered them wildly, blindly, trusting in the Fel’Daera. He had traveled alone to the meadow to face Dr. Jericho and the golem, choosing not to tell the Wardens who followed him that they would not escape. He hadn’t bothered to consider the rescue that would of course come after. He hadn’t thought to wonder whether that rescue could have led to the unmasking of the Warren’s location. He hadn’t seen far enough, considered all the players, imagined all the consequences.
He and Chloe sat in the shadows along the wall of the Proving Room, like forgotten spectators. Out in the center of the room, Neptune did most of the talking, her voice dull and flat, as Brula and the other Council members listened. Sometimes April clarified or agreed—many hunting packs of Mordin, dozens of the frightful-sounding Ravids—but her eyes were as hazy and wounded as Neptune’s voice.
Mr. Meister, injured and captured. Isa
bel, taking a fearless last stand and never seen again. The Keystone and the cave-in at the mouth of the Great Burrow. Joshua, staying behind when he could have easily escaped.
It was April who told this last bit, and Horace wasn’t sure he understood her. Had Joshua thought he was being brave? Had he thought he wasn’t wanted? Had he turned? April herself seemed broken and sad and strangely, achingly pretty as she spoke, obviously distracted by knowledge and memories no one else in the room possessed. Or so it seemed to Horace. Arthur the raven plucked at her shoelaces and cooed up at her, but she didn’t react.
Mal’brula Kintares asked question after question. About Isabel, about the sa’halvasa, about Joshua. About the Fel’Daera, and whatever role it might have played, or failed to play, in the disaster that had just unfolded. Why Brula was asking these six about the box, and not Horace himself, he couldn’t understand. Mrs. Hapsteade—somewhat to Horace’s surprise, since she’d always been wary of the box—swatted the questions aside impatiently. It was clear that she and the Altari knew each other, and that there was no love lost between them.
At last Sil’falo Teneves swept forward from her silent stance at the back of the room, interrupting Brula. “That is enough for now,” she said. “These are friends and allies, come to us in an hour of great need. They owe us no explanation.”
“A vital sanctuary is lost,” Brula growled. “A great trove of Tanu has fallen into the hands of the Kesh’kiri.” He spat out the Altari word for the Riven with a venom that caught Horace by surprise. The heat of his hatred was palpable.
“I destroyed some of what the Warren held, Brula,” Mrs. Hapsteade said briskly. “And some of it is buried safe, where it’s unlikely to be found.”
“Some,” Brula grunted. “But not all. And we have reason to believe that you and the Taxonomer have been hoarding more than we ever suspected.”
Falo rounded on Brula, lifting her graceful eyebrows. “Have you a solution for us, Brula? Have you the means to go back and undo what has been done this day? If so, I am sure the Council—and the brave survivors that stand before you—would be most grateful to hear it.”