Keeper of Reign

Keeper of Reign Page 8

by Emma Right

PARTING WHISTLE

  JULES COULDN’T STOP thinking about the Books and why his grandfather had sought Mosche when it would have made sense to simply inspect Saul’s. He’d seen Saul bend over that Book. Together, Saul and Grandpa could have deciphered many codes the Books might have to solve this issue. Yet Grandpa opted to seek Mosche, who’d moved to Handover, instead.

  Of course, to fully understand everything he’d need all five Books. Or at least four, since the fifth had disappeared centuries ago. What bigger secret was Grandpa hoping to uncover that required more than two Books? And to go to dangerous Handover?

  “I am no Keeper, Jules Blaze. But I’ve had friends who were. Keepers are a complex breed, and Leroy must have had good reason to visit your Mosche Falstaff. ”

  When Abel finally gave them the use of his squirrel, Jules was relieved, yet sad to say good-bye to this odd, old man. Would he meet him again? Even Abel couldn’t say.

  “I’ve been in this old squirrel’s nest, this drey, for so long. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.” But Abel didn’t sound convincing.

  Bitha tiptoed to hug Abel’s broad shoulders. “You’re quite acquainted with critters.”

  “It’s a side effect of having lived in the woods for—ahem—some period, shall we say?” He brought out an intricate wooden whistle from his cloak. “And this helps, too.”

  “You made that?” Bitha peered at the whistle in his grasp.

  It was carved out of hardwood with three holes on either end. An odd looking whistle!

  “In my spare time.” Abel handed it to her.

  Bitha examined it closely and passed it to Ralston.

  Ralston turned it this way and that in his hand. “Who gave you the design to follow?”

  “Many designs exist, but this one calls on squirrels and small—by the world standard, of course—mammals of the land. Various designs for the various animals.” He reached out and plucked the whistle out from Ralston’s fingers. “Would you like one?”

  Ralston glanced at Jules, who shook his head. “No. That’s okay.”

  “So you’ve always lived in trees?” Bitha said.

  “It’s the best way to live—especially for befriending squirrels.” He motioned for the squirrel to follow him, to a corner of the drey.

  “Thanks again for helping, Blaise.” Ralston reached into Blaise’s soft fuzz and rubbed it hard. Blaise chirruped.

  Abel said, “I have plenty of chums in the woods. If I see your Fiesty, I’d be sure to tell him to look for you. He might be able to hear one of my whistles. The sound reaches far.”

  Blaise pivoted on her hind legs away from Abel and Jules. Ralston and Bitha climbed on her back first.

  “Peace go with you!” Abel said. He whistled, and Blaise upped and leaped from branch to branch, bearing the three higher and higher, to the apex of the tree.

  Jules turned to Ralston. “Weren’t we supposed to get down to trace the River?”

  37 - WEB BRIDGE

  BLAISE RACED TO an overhang and, without warning, leapt across several boughs before bracing himself sure-footedly on a nearby offshoot.

  Several acrobatics later, Blaise deposited them, to their alarm, on a commanding lone evergreen of the cypress family. A webbed landing where arachnids had woven a bridge connected one tree to its adjacent neighbor.

  “That’s the web-bridge I told you about.” Ralston squeezed Jules’s arm. “When I was trying to free Bitha.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Jules said. He turned to Blaise, but before he could wave good-bye to the squirrel who’d saved him from the snake, she leapt away. “So Abel travels on these web bridges?”

  “Sometimes, but mostly he uses the animals,” Bitha said. “I wish he’d come with us.”

  “I’m sure he has his reasons not to leave his comfortable drey,” Jules said.

  “There’s no way we can identify the tree Abel’s home is in.” Bitha let out a long sigh as her eyes scanned the trees nearby.

  Jules patted her arm. “I guess that’s why he chose it for his home. It’s hard for his enemies, too. I get the feeling Abel’s not telling us all he knows.”

  Bitha nodded, face still glum.

  “You’ll feel better when we get to Tst Tst and Tippy,” Jules said. Through the leaves they saw the bits of blue that snaked north. Brooke Beginning.

  “We’d best be going. I’m anxious about the others and Mom.”

  “And Grandpa,” Ralston said.

  “I wonder,” Bitha said in a small voice, “if he made it to Mosche’s with Grandma. And we haven’t even heard from Dad for months. I feel so worried about him. What if something bad happened to him?”

  38 - NO ACCIDENT

  “I SEE YOU’VE made yourselves comfortable?” Tennesson raised his eyebrows at Holden and Tst Tst as they strode toward him at the bottom of the dim staircase. They managed to close the drawers just in time.

  “So are your guests still here? Who were they?” Holden said, hands in pockets.

  “They’re not Scorpents if that’s what concerns you. But they have bad news. Terrifying news, actually.”

  “What?” Tst Tst leaned closer toward Holden, holding Tippy’s hand.

  “I can’t explain it, too. And we’d never heard of such a thing—except maybe decades ago, before my time. My grandpa may have told me something similar.”

  “Well, what is it?” Tst Tst sounded impatient.

  Tennesson rubbed his chin. “Locusts. The guests were my informers— traders who roam the land buying and selling so they catch up with plenty of news. And even prophesies.”

  “Prophesies?”

  “We have tellers in the city Heritage who can forewarn you with omens of the future.” He shot Tst Tst an impatient glare. “About the locusts, sentries on guard on some of the highest treetops saw a swarm— maybe an acre or more—of a black cloud floating this way. They think it was locusts. So far the insects haven’t settled anywhere, which could mean bad news for us.”

  “Why?” Tst Tst asked.

  “Because it means they’d have to stop soon, and it could very well mean they’d pay their respects here where we’re at and ravage our vegetation, leaving patches, if not the whole forest, barren.”

  Tst Tst and Tippy gasped. Even Holden’s eyes popped wide open.

  “Of course they may not stop here. They could be on their way to

  Reign.”

  Tst Tst drew in a loud breath.

  “Nothing to worry about. We’ll just stay indoors and keep our shutters and doors closed. You can help me stuff rags in the door gaps.” Tennesson turned and went up the stairs.

  Once back in the living room they hurriedly tore strips to stuff under doors and cracks in window flaps.

  “Can they eat up your house?” Tst Tst said.

  “The coating on the house would make them sick if they tried, and we’d really be in trouble if we’re outside, especially if we were on one of those web bridges.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Web bridges? They’re everywhere up on the branches. They were spun by the spiders and have been there for as long as I remember. Useful, especially useful, when we want to avoid death pits, mines, and traps. Most Handoverans don’t know about their existence, and those of us who do like it that way.”

  “So that’s how you get to town?”

  “You mean to Heritage? I never go there. But I use the web bridges for other places. I was going to recommend you to get up there if you want to travel to places here in Handover, but after this, who knows if the locusts might destroy a lot of the bridges when they fly through.”

  Tst Tst wrung her hands. “I’m worried for Jules and Ralston and Bitha.” She tugged at Holden’s cloak as they busied themselves stuffing rags under a wide opening in a particular shutter.

  “They’ll know to hide.” Holden said.

  “But what if they’re up on the bridge?”

  “Jules will never get up there. He’s scared of heights.”

 
; “Acrophobic,” Tst Tst muttered.

  “What?”

  “Acrophobic—scared of heights. Mom said he got that way when a family friend dropped him when he was a kid—a baby, I think.”

  “Who did that?”

  Tst Tst shrugged. “Grandpa said it was an accident. But Jules never recovered. I’m still worried for them. How’d they hide if the locusts suddenly appear?”

  “Maybe it’s providential he’s afraid of heights.” Holden stole a glance at Tennesson and whispered to Tst Tst, “Do you remember if we mentioned Saul to Tennesson?”

  Tst Tst stopped her work and shook her head. “Why?”

  “Nothing,” Holden said. “We have to leave.”

  “But not till after the locusts.”

  “How do we know that’s even true? What if he just wants to trap us?”

  “Why’d you think that?”

  Holden slipped the envelope out of his pocket and shoved it toward Tst Tst. She read the name on it: Saul Turpentine, at Lower East Riverbank, Kingdom of Reign.

  “That’s our Saul!” Tst Tst said, almost too loudly.

  “What should we do?”

  “Let’s test him,” she whispered back.

  “Don’t do anything drastic,” Holden said.

  “How are things going?” Tennesson’s voice boomed.

  Tst Tst swiveled around and slipped the envelope into her cloak pocket.

  “Mr. Saul? I mean, Tennesson? Could Tippy take a short nap?” Holden asked.

  Tennesson stepped toward him and looked taller. “What did you call me?”

  39 - WRONG DECISIONS

  “HAVE YOU FIGURED how we’re going to get down from here?” Jules looked down the flimsy railing of silky threads that he’d clutched several times as the bridge swayed when they walked a bit too fast.

  Ralston scratched his forehead. “Same way I got up, I guess.” None of them had remembered to ask Abel for a suitable way to get down.

  “We don’t even have Saul’s map,” Ralston said. “How will we find our way around Handover?”

  “Abel’s map’s not too hot, but maybe once we get to that town Heritage we can find a better map,” Jules said.

  Bitha shielded her eyes from the gleaming sun. “What’s that black mass floating this way? Sure doesn’t look like a cloud. It’s shimmering.”

  Ralston went to her, unslung the pillowcase from his shoulder and rummaged within it. “I know I brought that spyglass. You didn’t lose it, right?”

  Bitha glared at him.

  “Here!” Ralston focused the spyglass over one eye. He gasped. “It is glittering.”

  Jules snatched the spyglass from him and studied the cloud. “I don’t like the looks of it.”

  The last he’d seen things in the sky it’d meant several things: first strange flashes, then ravens, then lightning bearing clouds. And they all spelled trouble. “Better hurry,” Jules said.

  They trudged on the web bridges for at least three hours, choosing always the fork that led them closest to the Brooke. They figured they must be close to the beach they’d last seen Holden and the girls. Assuming this was the same river they’d almost drowned in. Once they even came across an intricate webbing attached to a rope which seemed to lead to the ground.

  “That must be like another one of those booby traps that snagged Bitha,” Ralston said, examining it closely.

  “Try to unravel the webbing. It could come in handy. Maybe we could snag a Handoveran with one of their own traps.” Jules scoffed.

  The sun had reached its apex, and the air weighed heavy and humid. Even the lemony scent of the conifer didn’t help revive them from their sluggish mood.

  “It’s not that difficult to climb down,” Ralston said.

  After another half hour of trudging Ralston tugged a fraying spider line on the flimsy railing.

  Bitha said, “Do you mind not unraveling the bridge? Do you want us to—”

  Jules gasped.

  “What?” Ralston said.

  Jules clapped him on his back. “Rals, you’re a genius!”

  “What?” Ralston said.

  “Pass me that mirror shard.” Jules went over to the pillowcase still slung on Bitha and rummaged through it.

  “You carry it.” Bitha handed the case to Ralston. “I’ll take the lantern.”

  Shard in hand, Jules sawed a line from the railing with the sharp edge and unfurled the cut end from its main line. Bitha and Ralston stared at him as if he’d lost it.

  “I’ll start another one this side.” He pointed to the railing on the opposite end. “Bitha, you unravel this as I’ve done. Got it?”

  Bitha still looked confused, but she nodded.

  Ralston followed Jules to the other side. “You’re making something?”

  Jules explained that the web thread, though fine and silky, was tough.

  Tough enough to hold their weight, he ventured. “If we can twine a few strands together and make a rope long enough we can secure it up here and tie the other end as a harness. Then we can sort of rappel down the tree trunk. If we lose a footing we won’t crash to the ground.”

  “That’s impressive,” Ralston said.

  “Do you,” Bitha said in a small voice, “hear that?”

  A droning was now added to the swishing of the leaves swaying in the wind. It was barely perceptible, but if Jules strained his ears he could hear the whirring buzz. He took the spyglass to his eye again. “Oh, no! Insects! Their wings. Just cut off the length you’ve unraveled and let’s seek shelter— maybe in that bunch of thick leaves over yonder.” He pointed ahead, to where the bough met the main trunk.

  Ralston’s eyes grew round. “We mustn’t be in their way. They could devour us.”

  “Follow me,” Jules said, but he didn’t know if this was a good idea. Maybe their best bet was to use the length of spider twine and see how far down it got them. At their height, the insects would fly smack into them. If only they’d never been reduced to this helpless size. If only Falstaff had not lost that gift. If only.

  When they reached the section abundant with leaves, they parted the greenery in search of a suitable hiding spot. A hole in the trunk, or an unusually huge knot in the branch they could snuggle into would help. But even after running here and there and poking about behind this and that clump of leaves, they found nothing. The droning had heightened by now and drowned out the swishing of the swaying canopy.

  40 - LOCUSTS

  WHERE TO HIDE? Jules scanned the canopy above. Suddenly, a large furry animal bounded from behind them and landed almost on top of Jules.

  “Blaise!” Bitha said.

  “Wait!” Jules stayed her with outstretched arm. “We can’t be sure he’s Blaise. He could be a wild squirrel.”

  “It’s Blaise!” Ralston said. “I drew a picture of him while we waited for you to come around. I recognize his white markings under his chin.” He rushed toward the squirrel and buried his hand in its fur, rubbing its chest, and the squirrel chirped. “See?” Ralston said.

  A whizzing din shook the trees around them and the beating of millions of wings sent chills up their spines. Several trees away the locusts blanketed the sky and the entire forest dimmed considerably.

  “I hope,” Jules started to say, but then Blaise nudged Ralston, lifted him into the air and swerved his bushy tail, catching Ralston before he fell off the branch.

  “Whoa!” Ralston said, from his perch on Blaise.

  “C’mon!” Jules tugged at Bitha’s arm and gave her a leg up onto Blaise. “I hope he knows where to go.”

  Before they even had a good hold of Blaise’s fur, the squirrel upped and leaped from branch to branch, away from the throng of locusts which could not have been more than several trees behind them. With one lurch, Blaise lunged into a hollow of a trunk, dark and musty with the smell of stale nuts.

  “Quick, plug up the opening with those acorns.” Jules pointed at a stack of stale smelling acorns by the opening. With the lantern they could s
ee that this opening was once a drey. Probably an abandoned one. Bitha and Ralston helped Jules stack up the acorns but Blaise dug at his neck with his front paw and a scroll dropped from his neck. Ralston picked it up but before he even looked up, Blaise squeezed out the half-covered opening and leapt out onto the branch directly outside. An onslaught of locusts dashed into him.

  “Oh, no!” Ralston cried.

  The squirrel yelped and made a pitiful cry. By now they had almost closed up the opening entirely.

  “We have to pull him back in,” Bitha said.

  Between acorn slits they saw Blaise fighting off the locusts, as hundred dashed against the branches.

  “Please, Jules!” she pleaded.

  Jules reached his hand up as though he was going to take down an acorn, but hesitated. He bit down into his lower lip and pulled Bitha away.

  “What are you doing? You can’t….” She sobbed loudly.

  But Jules and Ralston blocked the stacked acorns from falling with their backs. The clamor of the locusts’ vibrating wings resounded in the trunk, and the Elfies stopped their ears as best they could with the heels of their palms. Jules thought he heard a faint scream coming from outside, and pressed down on his ears more.

  The buzzing of wings outside droned louder. A locust feeler poked through a crack in the opening. Jules sliced it off with the shard.

  “Blaise brought back Saul’s map.” Ralston handed Jules the scroll he’d picked up by Blaise’s feet. “Do you think Blaise…?” Ralston gulped and wiped his eyes.

  “Abel must have found the map and got Blaise to track us.” Jules shoved the map back into his cloak. “I wish he hadn’t done that.” He looked up and saw Bitha’s accusing eyes. “I’m sorry, Bitha.”

  She avoided his gaze. “Aren’t you going to look at the map?” She said between sobs.

  “Later. I feel so bad Blaise had to suffer on account of us.”

  “You think he survived?” Bitha asked in a small voice.

  Jules kept away the horrible visions of Blaise being attacked by the locusts. Suffering.

  It was so dark outside they couldn’t even make out Blaise’s outline, or even determine if he was still there. But the whirring had ebbed, and the tree had stopped vibrating.

  “Should we go out?” Ralston said, peeking between slits in the acorn stack.

  “I can’t see Blaise.” Jules removed a few of the acorns and poked his head and shoulders slowly out of their hiding.

  The plague of locusts that had covered the land like a massive blanket had moved on. Jules couldn’t guess where they planned to land. He hoped it wasn’t Reign. Locusts were infamous for obliterating whole plains and fields where they landed. Their powerful jaws usually ate everything green in their paths. Thankfully, these were only rumors passed down through the years, and no Elfie could vouch the insects ever terrorized Reign.

  “Do you see Blaise?” Bitha sounded hopeful.

  “Just shreds of leaves. I don’t know if it’s safe to even go out yet.”

  Jules plugged the hole back with the acorns, and scanned the drey. Lantern in hand, he walked to each corner of the den. “I can see why Abel would want to stay in something like this. Feels snug. Maybe we should go back to him and see if Blaise is fine.”

  “We don’t even know which tree Abel’s in,” Bitha said, wiping her eyes.

  “You’re right. We have to go find Tst Tst and the others. I hope Tippy’s listening to Holden.” He worried that the locusts might hurt them. Jules snatched up the pillowcase and handed it to Ralston after taking out the Handoveran trap webbing. He found the spider twine in his pocket. He unwound it carefully. “It’s time to test this.” He tugged at the twine with both hands as hard as he could.

  41 - HARNESS

  ONCE THEY’D CLEARED the acorns out of the opening, they stepped out onto the branch. The leaves were still intact. With ties they brought along, they secured the webbing to a twine and made a harness. Ralston volunteered to rappel down first. He peered over the web railing.

  “What happens if we don’t find them? Tst Tst and the rest. ”

  Jules shrugged. “We can’t even get back to Reign without that log bridge. And I don’t know what’ll happen. We’re supposed to find Mom, and Mrs. L and Grandpa and Grandma. And even Miranda. But instead we’re losing people.”

  Bitha sobbed. “I hope Mom brought her Book.”

  Ralston felt the harness secured to his waist, then tugged at the twine and edged over the branch. “What should I do if I see a snake?”

  “Run,” Jules said, and let the twine go a bit at a time.

  Jules had instructed that, once on the forest floor, Ralston would have to find twenty large stones and fit these into the webbing until it looked like a giant net filled with rocks. Ralston would use this as his anchor for the rappel system Jules and Bitha would come down on. He’d made a rope and pulley system before in their backyard. But this one would have to be strong enough to bear Jules’s and Bitha’s weight together. The brothers had worked out that twenty stones would suffice to counterbalance Bitha’s and Jules’s combined weight. If not, Jules and Bitha ran the risk of rappelling too fast, and crashing to their death.

  Jules wondered what was taking Ralston so long but he learned not to shout.

  Finally, Jules felt someone tug the line from below—the signal for Jules to start his way down using the upper end of the twine. Jules tied the mid-section of the rope twine around both his and Bitha’s waists and slung the free end down toward Ralston who would have to help add weight to their side in case the stones were too heavy.

  They eased themselves round the side of the branch opposite the line bearing the stones.

  “Ready, Bitha?”

  Bitha nodded.

  He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. If we fall, we fall together.”

  42 - BOXED

  EVEN THOUGH IT was late, Jules, Ralston, and Bitha continued trudging across grown brambles and tumbled logs. The rush of the River guided them toward the water. Despite several cuts and bruises, they made good time. Even their rappel down the tree went without incident.

  “Look out for suspicious logs.” Jules grinned at Bitha. He bared and snapped his teeth as he pretended to be an angry alligator.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

  “If I don’t, I’d go insane.”

  Ralston said, “Hope the locusts didn’t get Tst Tst and the others.”

  “By the dense greenery on these conifers it looks like the locusts had a different destination. But where? I don’t have a good feeling about it,” Jules said.

  Locusts never threatened Reign before but then neither had Scorpents, or those strange robberies. Odd things happen when Keepers invite Scorpents to Reign.

  Ralston nodded. “Did you find out about the flash that night?”

  “No. Nothing makes sense. We have to find a way to look for Mosche Falstaff. I get the feeling he’ll have some answers. At least his Book should help, provided he will help, of course.”

  “Shh!” Bitha said. “What’s that?”

  Below the growing whoosh whoosh of the River tiny tinkling sounded, faint but still audible. An owl flapped overhead and Ralston stepped back and stumbled on Bitha’s foot.

  “Sorry. Whoa!”

  “Rals!” Jules said, “Where are you?” Even with the dragonfly lantern, the dim lighting made it hard to see.

  Ralston had disappeared.

  “Help!” this time it was Bitha. When she disappeared, the forest plunged into darkness because she took her lantern with her.

  “Bitha? Where are you?” Jules let his eyes adjust but stumbled forward. “Help!” It sounded muffled.

  “Rals?” Jules was afraid to take another step forward. It was late and the forest had suddenly blackened when Bitha disappeared with the lantern.

  “Here, here.” Ralston sounded winded.

  “Here? Where is here?” Jules could barely contain his frustration.<
br />
  “Below,” Bitha said. “If we can shine to the top we can see how to get out. Be caref—”

  Jules took a step forward and slipped. “Ouch!” The ground felt as if it had caved in under his weight.

  “Whoa!” Something brushed his arm.

  “It’s me,” Bitha was next to him. Her voice sounded hollow. “I think I broke the lantern.”

  Great! Where were they? Jules groped about. “You okay?”

  Amidst the gushing and whooshing of the tumbling river water in the background a soft rustling arose, as if runners had slid on the grass. Then even the rush of water quieted. Jules groped about as if blind, and his palms hit something hard. But it wasn’t packed earth as he’d imagined since it felt like he’d fallen into a hole. The texture, rough to his fingers, had the feel of the warp and weft of a weave, as if it was a thick blanket or a rug.

  “Jules?”

  It was Bitha. The dragonfly lantern turned on dimmer than before. But when Jules tilted his head up he saw only a woven sheet that had sealed them in. Even the trees and the sky had disappeared.

  “We’re in some sort of closed box.” Jules took Bitha’s lantern and shone the dim rays at the ceiling of their trap.

  “Let’s see what we have before our lantern goes off, again,” Ralston said. The light flickered on and off.

  They peered into the pillowcase sack, and Jules took the shard out. He read the message again : “—ook within.” What could that mean?

  “Something’s happening!” Bitha said. “Why is the box moving?”

  They held their breaths and waited.

  “Jules? Ralston?” An unfamiliar voice whispered from above.

  Jules cupped his hand over Ralston’s mouth.

  “It’s okay,” the voice continued. “Holden and the girls are at my place. I’m Tennesson, a friend, not a foe.”

  Bitha fell and sat on the lantern—crushing it, and now the box was pitch black.

  Tennesson said, “Don’t waste time. I’m risking my neck out here at night.” Something was thrown into the box now and with its top slightly ajar, a Handover face peered in, his lantern lighting the box, which wasn’t a box at all but a ditch with wall to wall carpet floor and tapestry rugs hung on four sides, with the top, also a rug, that slid to the side.

  “Is this your trap?” Jules accused.

  “Not a trap—my hide-out. One of many. Are we going or do you wish to discuss the uses of this contraption and wait for Gehzurolle’s forces to catch us? Because I will be implicated in aiding and abetting the enemies of Handover. And the Master of our Land.”

  “How do we know you haven’t trapped the others, as well?”

  “Your sister—Tst Tst—warned me you’ll put up resistance. She said to tell you the code—Something you all came up with. ‘XYZ’. Satisfied?”

  Jules hesitated. Saul had said to beware of all Handoverans. Deception ran in their veins. Yet who but Tst Tst would say something like that?

  Tennesson said, quite fiercely, “If you’d rather I left you for the Master of Evil himself, be my guests. My spies tell me he’s out roaming tonight.” Tennesson made as if he was leaving.

  “Wait!” Jules ran to the rope—which was what Tennesson had dropped earlier—and tugged at it. “Quick, Bitha!”

  Once out of the carpeted hide-out, Tennesson kept hurrying them on and looking up at the branches. A cold wind had stolen into the night, and Bitha wrapped her cloak about her shoulders tightly and stumbled a few times. No pleasantries along the way, Tennesson advised. No time. And too much noise for the night.

  But before they arrived at his tent home, the leaves above rustled, and Tennesson beckoned to hide under a rock. “Shh!” he motioned with forefinger to lips.

  Shadows moved before them. The hair on Jules’s neck rose, and he bit down into his lips even as he placed a step toward the figures. The crunchcrunch his feet made sounded abrasive. His mind clouded with images of Scorpents he’d heard of. Twisted faces, hardened with hate and eyes in pitted sockets like shallow graves.

  What was Tennesson taking them to? Was the Handoveran aware the meeting ahead was going to happen? Was this a trap after all? Who can I trust?

  43 - BETA

  A DENSE ACACIA bush was before the rock, and Jules willed himself to step into the bush for a peek. He might find out something that could help him with their search—about his mother, or Mosche. Tennesson tugged at his sleeve but Jules continued to crawl toward the tiny opening in the dense bush, as voices became audible.

  Within the bramble, he stared at a glimmer a stone’s throw away. In front of a Noble fir, a creature stood erect. They could not perceive the speaker’s face, but a luminous radiance emanated from his body. (This iridescent gleam enabled Jules to survey the meeting taking place in the inky forest.) The individual wore a black mantle. His long cloak flowed like liquid fabric. It absorbed any light from the stars above that dared to get near it, yet it didn’t swallow the gleam that shone forth from the individual’s body.

  Jules slowly shifted his gaze to Ralston behind him and put his forefinger to his lips as Ralston sidled next to him. Ralston had his hand covering his mouth and Jules noticed his brother shiver.

  The breeze changed course, rustled the leaves, and brought with it the conversation before them. The cloaked individual was addressing someone they couldn’t yet see. The voice from the glowering figure sounded smooth like silk, with a tinge of melody. But it was the contents of the dialogue which wafted to the hidden boys that froze them.

  “No one must know.” The voice was smooth as honey, sweet to the point of nausea. Like the faint smell about them.

  “Yesss, Masterrr,” a croaky tone answered. “And I almost have the gift for you. You will be most pleased.”

  “—sure, Whisperer?” the smooth voice continued. “—red crystal— fell—King Star—where is it?”

  “Beta will get it.”

  “I need proof the Keeper has fallen—”

  “Quite S-Sire. The Hanfiesss charged with the job-b-b—the last we heard they accomplished asss we hoped. Everything’s planned.” Wind wove through the leaves, and the broken bits of twigs and dirt swirled before the acacia plant.

  Jules held his breath. Was Beta going to steal for this Whisperer? Who was Beta? A red crystal that fell? And a Keeper who’d fallen? Dead? Bile crept up his throat, and he swallowed several times. Surely the Keeper couldn’t mean his own Grandpa? Or his mother? What if it was Mosche? And the King Star was related to this?

  The snippets of exchange continued in intermittent spurts. If only the wind didn’t blow the words away.

  “I am not particularly fond of your informant. That is your business.

  Progress with the next task. Are the soldiers back?”

  “Yes, S-Sire. They took-k—”

  “When will Beta complete the project?”

  “That Book’sss—raiding party already waiting there. Made necce—ssary arrangements.”

  “I don’t deal with Elfies—”

  “But Beta is—no ordinary—”

  “Really—where is my red—?”

  “Beta has located the carrier—”

  “—once you’re done—get rid of B–,” came the icy reply. But now another individual in a charcoal cloak swooped in. The shadow dived in without a sound. It landed but a few paces in front of the velvety voiced individual. Jules and Ralston jerked back.

  “I apologize for my delay and interruption, my honorable Master,” the intruder heaved out in a great huff. His voice contrasted with the croaky whisper. It sounded almost like the ‘whoosh’ of the wind. “But I have news of significant interest.”

  “Yes, Rage? We’ve been contemplating your quest, or rather its lack.” The silky voice held not the slightest hint of anger, yet a foreboding tone exuded in his delivery.

  Whisperer mocked: “Finally you’re here? Late as us-sualll? How difficult—to capture—unsuspecting kii—?” Once again the wind shifted its direction. “Your cont
act deserves-ss—”

  The boys couldn’t see the individuals speaking with this prominent figure but they wanted to get away. The words “intention,” “weather,” “storm,” “swarm,” drifted to them. Was this the swarm of locusts? Or was it “swam?”

  Jules couldn’t identify this individual but who were they planning to capture? “Kii—”as in Keepers? Or “Kii—” as in kids? The questions swirled in his mind. And how to extricate themselves from this delicate situation? It was a mystery no twig snapped under their feet, or rustling of leaves exposed them so far.

  He scoured his brain, wondering what to do. What if these conspirators discovered them? They couldn’t even be sure the lantern still worked, or that Tennesson would not sell them off. And who was Beta? An Elfie Gehzurolle eventually wants to rid? Was B, Bitha? Or Beta? He cast a look behind him at his sister behind the rock, her cloak barely visible.

  44 - LAND OF THE DEAD

  OF ALL THE problems surrounding them, the fallen Keeper worried Jules most. Who was this? Five Keeper families supposedly survived the curse—his own through Grandpa Leroy, Saul Turpentine, and possibly Mosche Falstaff. Who were the other two?

  The wind altered its course even more, and the sentences drifted away, sounding muted and unclear. Jules straightened himself so he could hear better. His uncomfortable stance left his back as stiff as a board. As he scrunched his shoulder blades together, his back cracked. He shuddered and stood still, not daring to breathe.

  “The smell of the Elfies is overpowering here,” the tall figure said.

  “The ones-ss on the bridge should be dead,” Whisperer said. “And my spies located the others. They are not far away.” Whisperer stopped and whirled on the spot and moved closer to the acacia bush. “You only smell the dead, S-sire. From weeks back. The Handoverans performed an excellent job-bb. I have a lessss offensive meeting place….”

  Again the wind blew away the rest of their words.

  The company of three lifted their black cloaks above their heads and vanished.

  Jules and Ralston turned, and their eyes locked.

  Later as they continued trudging toward Tennesson’s home, or so Jules hoped, Jules grasped Ralston’s arm and asked in a hoarse, panting voice, “What do you think? Who is Beta?”

  “Did you smell something there, too? That pungent smell—almost sweet?”

  “If I have to put a word to it, I’d say it smelt of ‘hate.’” Jules didn’t know what he meant exactly, but the word “hate” popped into his mind. “I thought I smelled it before.”

  “At our home, when we first walked in,” Ralston said.

  They’d ask Tennesson what he thought of this meeting but strangely he’d only heard murmurs and had neither seen the figures, nor could he confirm their identity but he was afraid. Was he blind? The murmurings sounded like the rumblings of thunder, he’d said.

  Should we believe him? Jules discussed with Ralston and Bitha as they lagged behind Tennesson.

  Bitha said, “I hope Tennesson’s house is safe for Tst Tst and the others.” And she cast a furtive glance at Tennesson trudging ahead.

  “That Whisperer seemed to think we, or some other Elfies, are not far from here,” Jules said.

  They found Holden and the girls safe, albeit upset. Tennesson had restrained them with rope and bound them to their chairs.

  “Afraid they’d sneak off again,” Tennesson added amiably as he untied them.

  Jules determined it best they rested for the night and set off before dawn. Tennesson had never heard of Mosche, but when Jules mentioned the waterfall Mosche was rumored to have hidden himself through the ages he advised them to visit a merchant of antiques he’d dealt with.

  “I can draw the map to get there, but it’s too dangerous for you to go to Heritage now. My informants said Gehzurolle has left Euruliaf and was roaming the streets.”

  Jules thought of the cloaked figure. “We have to find Mosche, no matter what. My mother’s and grandparents’ lives depend on it.”

  Tennesson said quietly, “The dealer’s name is Starkies, and he might have answers for you. But be careful. Like I said, I don’t know where Starkies stands. He could be a friend.” Tennesson lifted one eyebrow and added slowly, “Or a foe.”

  “It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

  “If you have something he’s interested in, he might trade that for information.”

  Jules thought of Tippy’s sardius and wondered if this was the red crystal referred to. He’d checked his pouch and had not found it. He hoped Tippy still had it on her. But other matters pressed for his time. Who did Whisperer say was not far from there?

  “Is this the fastest way?” Jules pointed to the route on the map.

  “The fastest way is to cut through the cemetery—Land of the Dead.” Tennesson said. “Are you sure you want to take that route?”

  Holden and Ralston stared at Jules but he looked away.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Jules said. “It’ll be daytime.” He comforted them and watched Tst Tst’s and Tippy’s faces.

  Their eyes were wide discs.

  Jules’s heart sank thinking about what he’d have to do. “Could the girls stay with you, Tennesson? It’s only till we find Mosche. Maybe you can hide them somewhere safe, and I’ll pick them up on our return.”

  “Do you think Handover is a walk in the park, boy?” Tennesson threw up his hands. “I’m sorry, but the penalties are too extreme for me. I’ve already risked enough, you realize?”

  Jules stared glumly at nothing in particular. If something happened to his sisters in the Land of the Dead what would he do? But what choice did he have? His mind strayed to the red crystal, and he wondered which Keeper died. He needed to check with Tippy to be sure she still kept the red stone but Tennesson afforded them no privacy.

  “Rest now, for the walk would take you the entire day, and you don’t want to stay outside when darkness covers Handover, even with your lanterns.” Tennesson jerked his chin at the dragonfly lanterns set side by side on the dining table.

  Jules hoped the lanterns still worked.

  45 - HOLDEN’S SECRET

  BEFORE THE SUN awoke the morning glories in the land, Jules and his company plodded toward Heritage dressed in Handover merchant attire, courtesy of Tennesson.

  They passed Woodsbury, the last subdivision before the cemetery that bordered the copse before Heritage, the capital of Handover. Everyone looked uneasy. Shadows loomed large and ominous in this part, and every now and then wisps of thin strands seemed to touch their arms and faces.

  “It’s just forgotten webs. Nobody visits these parts,” Jules said to them.

  Not a sound could be heard, as if even the woodland animals avoided the burial area. A broken-down signboard with faded words read, “Let the Dead bury the Dead.”

  Jules pointed at the signboard. “I heard of that saying before.”

  “Me too!” Holden said.

  “Wait up,” Jules said. “Who told you?”

  But Holden sped up, swinging the lantern he was carrying.

  “How’d you know about that saying—bury the dead? That’s not common knowledge.”

  “Don’t know.” Holden shrugged and hurried ahead.

  “Why are you avoiding me? Only Keepers heard of the saying?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Why so secretive?”

  “Because I don’t know who we can trust anymore.”

  “What’d you mean?”

  “You said that dark figure mentioned Beta is helping this Whisperer?”

  “So?”

  Holden continued trudging, steps so fast he stumbled over the overgrown roots and twigs. He mumbled something under his breath.

  “What?” Jules hollered at him, and immediately regretted his volume. What if there were Scorpents nearby?

  “I said, ‘I know who Beta is.’”

  Ralston and the girls quickened their steps toward Holden.

  “Explain.” Jules grab
bed Holden’s arm.

  “I have secrets, too.”

  Jules narrowed his eyes at Holden. Was Holden Beta? When they were little they’d been close friends, but as Holden became more reserved they’d drifted apart, and Jules always felt Holden kept to himself. Then when they turned fifteen and both showed much interest for Miranda, their friendship dipped below the freezing point. Especially since Miranda preferred visiting Holden to Jules.

  “Is it safe to spill secrets here?” Holden asked.

  Jules shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

  “Let’s keep walking.” Holden looked about the branches. “I’m sorry we’re not friends. Ever since I turned twelve my mom told me something, and it became hard for me to talk to you lest I accidentally broke my promise to my mom.”

  “And you want to break the promise now?”

  “I don’t even know if my mom is alive. Or my dad.”

  “We’re in the same boat there.” Jules looked to the ground.

  Holden’s shoulders drooped. “But you have your siblings, and I have no one. Except maybe Miranda. She knows my secret, you know.”

  “I’m not surprised. She likes you.”

  “I liked her, too. Until ...”

  “Until?” Tst Tst chimed in.

  Holden drew a deep breath. “She told them about my mother.”

  “Told who what?” Tst Tst said.

  Holden shook his head at her and smirked. “Told whoever took my mother that she’s a Keeper.”

  “Keeper?” Jules reached out and stopped Holden from walking. “Your mother’s a Keeper?”

  Holden nodded.

  “So you’re a Keeper family, too. I can’t believe there’re three Keepers in the same region of Reign.”

  “A long time ago all the Keepers came from one family. But they separated. So my great grandfather followed the directions in our Book and built the house I live in now. The Book must have wanted us Keeper families to live close together.”

  “Are there directions in your Book?”

  “Our Ancient Book specializes in Maps and Symbols. It’s always helped us find Paths, but sometimes the codes and symbols are not explained. I think Beta stole our Book to find the way around Handover. Which means my mother is wandering around without her Book, or the enemy’s already got rid of her.”

  “So who’s Beta?” Jules felt sad. Fear of Gehzurolle had kept each

  Keeper family to themselves. Maybe if they’d known Jessie Lacework was a

  Keeper Grandpa could have gone to her for help.

  “Miranda’s Beta,” Holden said flatly. “I just put it together when you mentioned the name Beta. She always joked that I was Alpha and she was Beta. She must have never guessed I’d get to hear about it. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. She sold my mother. For what?” He threw his hands in the air.

  “Remember, Saul said Miranda’s looking for her mother?” Jules said.

  “She’s desperate. Anything to get her mother back. I think she sold my mom, too.”

  Ralston tugged at his arm. “Why’d you think that?”

  “It’s strange she knew we were going to have potato soup for supper,” Jules said. “As if she’d already been to our place. Then that pot with the word Lacework written on the bottom?”

  “What about it?” Ralston said.

  “That was not there before we left. Mom would never have cooked another pot if she’d already had one from Mrs. L. Miranda’d brought it to our place—maybe as an excuse to see Mom. That’s why I thought it was a message. I thought Mom wrote it and put the soup in for me to find. But maybe Miranda did it. She set us up.”

  “You mean she wanted us dead?” Ralston’s eyes widened. “She tried to get us to the Laceworks’ knowing we’d get blown up by that lightning?” He sounded incredulous.

  “I can’t believe it, either,” Holden said. “We were having potato soup when she came. She said it smelled so good she was sure Mrs. Blaze would like some.” Holden paused and rubbed his eyes. “I’m kinda glad we might never see her again. One more thing.…”

  “What?” Jules eyed Holden suspiciously. What else could he have to tell?

  “About my muttering you asked about?”

  “When you were crossing the Brooke?” Who’d have thought Jules would learn so much about his neighbor of sixteen years in Handover, right after they walked through the Land of the Dead, too!

  Holden’s eyes flitted about. “I was afraid, but I didn’t want you to think I was a coward.”

  “Confession time: I was cowardly, too.”

  “I was repeating, ‘Perfect love casts out all fear.’ Mom taught me from the Ancient Book.”

  Jules barked a short laugh. “High five! I was saying that very verse, too!”

  46 - HERITAGE

  JULES STOOD AND cast his gaze about the leaves above. The wind whistled through the boughs, and suddenly he shivered. “If Whisperer gets to Miranda before we warn her, we’ll probably never see her again.”

  Ralston turned his head and looked over his shoulder. “You mean if Whisperer takes her out?” Holden and Jules locked eyes.

  “We can’t let him get her,” Ralston said. “We’d better look for her. She’s our friend.”

  They were so engrossed with the conversation that they had not kept alert. From between the tall blades of grass, Handover soldiers approached. Their trudging march grew louder and more determined with each step.

  “Quick, the lamps.” Jules postured himself before Tst Tst and Tippy and jerked the light into their faces to expose them even more. Ralston reached out for Bitha as Holden cuddled them both.

  They were uncertain as to the extent of the lamps’ ability to shield them from the Lord of Shadows, or the Scorpents, or even the Handover enemies. They tried them on Tennesson, and he’d still seen them. Hardly daring to breathe, they waited for the soldiers. But the sentries trudged on, as though the Elfies were invisible.

  “We better hurry,” Jules urged after the soldiers’ footsteps faded into the darkness.

  At the outskirts of Heritage, the Town Square came into view. From a knoll before the Town Arch, the official entry point into the Handover Capital, they detected the avenues crisscrossing the urban sprawl. Each dwelling and edifice in that sophisticated province sat atop rocks or sawn off tree stumps, meticulously ordered into neat rows. Elaborately trimmed shrubs and bushes bordered the promenades.

  Even in the twilight, the weary travelers spied the profusion of hues thanks to vibrant street lights and the bejeweled lamps that hung at regular intervals from brightly tinted poles. Plants lodged in walnut shells boasted of blooming flowers in a spectrum of colors. The flowered shells hung from lamp poles in front of every structure and perfumed the night air. The ground was paved with colorful pebbles whose rough edges had been smoothed out and colors muted by the constant tread of traders and residents of that country.

  “Hey! Look at those trees.” Jules pointed to the shrubs.

  A grove of unfamiliar-looking trees with branches laden with deep red fruits stood in the middle of the Square. Everything looked uncommon, but what stunned them most was the fruits.

  “Where have I seen them?” Jules said.

  After two more wrong turns, they stood before a cluster of multi-hued tents above a cluster of fallen logs.

  “Looks like Tennesson’s sketches,” Holden said.

  The uppermost pavilion, which formed the front portico, was constructed out of a vertical striped canvas of blue, white, and yellow with multi-colored ribbon streamers flowing from the top. Each of the canopies held a flourish of gold trimmings.

  Jules paused, took a deep breath and knocked on the doorpost.

  “Who’s there disturbing my peace at this ridiculous hour!” a gruff voice said.

  47 - FRIEND OR FOE

  TENNESSON HAD TRAINED them on what to say. In two minutes, a tall Handoveran with a wide forehead and thick, dark eyebrows flung the entrance flap open. He could have been handsome in his younger days, b
ut his gaunt cheeks told a story of trials, and the corners of his mouth drooped down giving his face a sad look.

  “So Tennesson sent you? He speaks of me after all?” Starkies surveyed the streets beyond with darting eyes. “Come in, quick.”

  The visitors stumbled into the abode. All sorts of knickknacks, and ancient artifacts spilled from bookcases and cramped table tops. It was apparent Starkies wasn’t one for orderly housekeeping. And it looked like his residence and store shared the same address.

  “Follow me, quick. You shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous for you. And now, for me, too,” the graying Handoveran spoke between gritted teeth. He gestured for them to descend a flight of narrow spiral stairs concealed behind a sizeable painting of a country cottage with a woman Elfie by its front door. The face and figure looked faded with time.

  Starkies gestured for them to sit on the stools in the underground room which held chests of drawers and some stools around a square dining table. “So what brings you here?”

  Jules unfolded the story leaving out parts he felt should be kept secret. “So have you heard of a Mosche Falstaff who lives by the waterfall?” he finally asked.

  Starkies rubbed his chin. “I have heard of all sorts of things, and I may have heard of him.” He cast a glance at the dragonfly lanterns. “But everything comes with a price. What do you have in exchange? I’ve already risked much having you here. Handoverans do not like to do business with anyone partial to Elfies, and I have a reputation to upkeep.”

  Jules groped for his pouch in his cloak, hefted the velvety sack in one hand and laid it on the table. But Starkies reached out and snatched a dragonfly lantern Bitha was holding. “This will do nicely, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry, but the lanterns aren’t for trade.”

  “And why not? I thought this Mosche was pertinent to your search— was it your grandpa you said whose life depended on your quest? Surely your grandpa means more than a couple of lanterns.” He now held the other lantern he’d snatched from Tst Tst in his other hand, and his eyes drank in the cut glass pieces of the lantern held together by lacy ironwork as though inspecting for breakages.

  Jules kept his voice calm though his heart threatened to explode. “I have rare gems in the pouch. You can’t find these in Handover.” What if Starkies stole their lanterns and sold them to the soldiers, or worse, the Scorpents? But as he spilled the glittery contents of the pouch, and spread them on the table top, Starkies set the lanterns back on the floor, by his feet, and leaned toward the gems. They glittered as they caught the light of the dim candles on the wall sconces.

  “Impressive,” Starkies breathed out. “I have heard of one looking for red crystals. Not only red, but sometimes blue, or purple. But red is the color of the month it seems. A hefty prize is promised to the bounty hunter who locates it.”

  “What,” Jules began slowly, “exactly is this red crystal?” He was so occupied with getting to Heritage and surviving that he never had the chance to see if Tippy still had the sardius with her. Surely, Tippy’s stone couldn’t have been the red crystal? And why all the fuss about a stone? Wasn’t Saul even mesmerized by it? Did it have hypnotic powers?

  “Some traders from up north near Gehzurolle’s city of Euruliaf dropped by, poking around my displays and asking for it. They said it was last seen in Reign. Rumor has it that Gehzurolle collects crystals when they rain from the sky, from the giant star, and they don’t come very often, usually one at a time, and at most, once every twenty years or so. A rarity.”

  Jules covered his gems with his spread fingers. “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently this phenomenon occurs when an important Elfie, from a rare Elfie group, dies. Gehzurolle rejoices when his spies tell him of its arrival, and if it makes the master happy, he makes life easier for us in Handover. Anything for peace. I’m sure you agree.”

  Jules wasn’t sure he agreed, but he swallowed a lump thick in his throat. “Any idea who this rare Elfie was who died?”

  “One important Elfie. One of many. I don’t care for details. What’s it to me? I hear of Elfie deaths often, especially those who come to our land. Better, I even inherit their relics on rare occasions.” Starkies stared at their faces and smiled. “One cannot complain.”

  “Their relics?”

  “Sure. When an Elfie dies here with no heirs, nothing, the roamers come across their goods and sell these to me for a few bucks. They win, I win. Everybody’s happy.”

  “Except the dead.”

  “Once dead, always dead.”

  But this was not what Jules had heard. Dead Elfies just changed realms, Grandpa had said. And they left a token behind to show they were still alive. Was that what that red crystal was? It was explained in the Book somewhere, but Jules had never read it for himself. A token left behind by an important Elfie? A Keeper? Which one? But Jules had a mission now: locate Mosche and see what he had to say about his grandparents and his mother. And Mrs. L, too.

  “I might be able to get this red crystal,” Jules said. “Imagine the favors Gehzurolle would grant you if you passed it to him.”

  “Really?” Starkies leaned into Jules’s face, and Jules stepped back.

  “Where’s the waterfall? Tell me. I will hand you the red crystal when I get back. I promise.” Jules locked eyes with Tippy for a second and knew what she was thinking. But he wasn’t betraying her. What’s a crystal worth compared to his mother’s and grandparents’ lives? But Tippy’s eyes spoke of hurt.

  “You don’t have it on you?”

  “No.” It wasn’t a lie.

  “Done!” Starkies’s boom jolted Jules. “But you will leave me your siblings as collateral, so I’m assured of your return?”

  “My siblings are not part of the bargain. I’ll give you all the gems in my pouch. And my word—the red crystal is yours when I return.”

  Starkies turned around and walked to a chest, a feather duster now in hand. With his back to Jules, he said, “No deal. They stay with me. I’ve been fooled too many times, especially by Elfies. So much for their word.”

  Ralston reached out and touched Jules’s arm. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of the girls here. I won’t let anything happen to them. It might be safer here, too, if he hides us.”

  But could Jules risk it? Scorpents had taken over the command of the Handover Army. Several prominent Handover generals of the various regiments who objected to Scorpents in the past had conveniently disappeared, and Scorpents have ransacked habitation in Heritage and other neighboring Handover Cities, too. Tennesson had warned them. What if the Scorpents searched Starkies’s place and found them?

  Jules turned to Starkies. “Promise me you’ll keep them well hidden? Somewhere Scorpents can’t smell them out.” Starkies nodded. “Naturally. I wouldn’t want to be accused of harboring Elfies. Think of my reputation. ” He swept Jules’s hands away from the gems and meticulously picked and dropped each gem, one by one, into the velvety pouch. Click, click, click. The gems hit each other as he dropped them into the pouch.

  There goes the last of my connection with Grandpa, Jules mused. His shoulders sagged.

  “No one can find them if I hide them in this secret cell,” Starkies said. “I’ll provide sustenance. I live alone, so at least they won’t be bothered.” He drew out a paper from a drawer and sketched on it. “This map will get you to the Slippery Slope, which runs close to Roaring Waterfall. I heard an old Elfie family lived in that vicinity for decades. Maybe even centuries. Scorpents have been searching for their abode for just as long, my grandpa told me.”

  Jules studied the rudimentary map. “But where exactly is the home?”

  “Near the waterfall. Somewhere. If it was easy to locate, the Scorpents would have accessed it. And speaking of Scorpents, you’ll have to travel through Slippery Slope.”

  “Why’d they call it Slippery Slope?” Ralston asked.

  “The grade there is so steep anyone on it will have a hard time staying up. But the Scorpents roam the
area much, and they seem perfectly able to handle it, so it can’t be that bad.”

  48 - LEGEND

  THAT NIGHT AS they slept in Starkies’s cellar, Jules tossed and turned until a faint song awoke him. It wafted in from somewhere in the corner of the cellar, but Jules couldn’t be sure. The singer’s voice sounded feminine, but before he could dwell on it further, sleep enveloped her warm embrace upon him again and, finally, overcome by fatigue, Jules dozed off. Or so he thought.

  Legends of old boasted of tales regarding dreams. Some said it was the subconscious mind acting out what one couldn’t make sense of when awake. Others said dreams contained myriads of confused thoughts rearranging themselves when the mind had no other distractions. The Ancient Books said in the not too distant future a generation of Fairy Elves would see visions and dream dreams. But some also warned it wasn’t always possible to awake from such a state.

  Jules sat up when he heard the barely perceptible singing again. How can anyone get any sleep like this? At first he thought it was his mother. She’d come to get his assistance which was her custom, especially when he was napping. It was a feminine pitch like hers. But this was impossible since he was in Starkies’s cellar that smelled of mold and old furniture. His snoozing companions didn’t appear aware of any music. He strained his ears to hear the words but the lyrics eluded him.

  Where was it coming from?

  Stealthily, he tiptoed out of the cellar, fumbling up the staircase. There was barely light to see beyond his stride. Only one candle remained burning on the wall sconce. Up and up, round and round the steps spiraled. He didn’t recall the cellar being so abysmal. He even forgot about the lantern. Finally, he popped up at the top of the staircase. Once in the living room, he saw the tapestry hanging that acted as the front door flap of Starkies’s home. The song was coming from outside.

  Would he dare venture into the wilderness of Handover? Where was the tune taking him to?

  As the draw of the vocalist grew stronger, Jules lifted the tapestry flap and breathed the fresh air. The day just broke, and mist rose from the dewy grass. From his roost on Starkies’s porch he perceived a silvery blue glistening between the pine trees in the distance. He shook his head vigorously to clear his mind. Maybe he should go back in? But the melody beckoned to him, again. And this time, he obeyed its call.

  He skipped down the steps and ran away from the front door and into the vast span called the Wildering Woods. The enchantment drew him on. It wasn‘t getting any louder, but the words became more audible. Something else besides the voice accompanied the singing. A harp.

  By now he was standing at the edge of the River, sprays hitting his cloak. Only minutes ago the River seemed deep in the woods. Odd. He was also no longer afraid of Brooke Beginning and all the tales affiliated with it, or even of Handover.

  Is this Brooke Beginning? If I reach my hand out toward the water, will I fall in, or drown? After all, everyone knows Elfies cannot swim.

  But his acute thirst needed quenching. He must steal a drink. Even if it’s just one gulp.

  49 - ARNETT

  THE WATER BABBLING in the river seemed crystal clear and inviting. Jules treaded to the brink of the ledge that separated the dry ground from the swiftly flowing waters beneath. Would he really lose his memory if he took a gulp of the water?

  As he cupped his hands together and knelt to take his sip, he scanned his surroundings just in case. Then he realized where the tune was coming from. When his gaze wandered to the spot a gasp escaped his lips.

  How could that be?

  Inside the surging current stood a lady staring at him. She held a harp in her left hand. She was submerged in the waters but Jules could clearly see her gazing up as if he was looking in a mirror, except the reflection wasn’t his own. She didn’t look the least bit wet.

  Framing her pale face, her hair, red like tongues of fire, flowed freely as though caught in a breeze. Jules leaned forward and reached out for the lady’s outstretched arm, her fingers slender and open toward him. Subsequently, her pale, pristine hand broke out of the water, and without hesitation, Jules stooped over more and grasped it. The beautiful nymph tightened her grip and dragged Jules toward her. The water splashed onto him and swallowed him whole.

  “Arnett? It’s Arnett isn’t it?” Jules whispered, overwhelmed by her beauty and the splendor of her presence.

  “Welcome, Jules. I have been considering you,” she said in a soft voice.

  Some legends of Arnett insinuated she was nothing but a figment of one’s imagination. Others swore they’d seen her. Nothing specific, but the accounts had corroborated. Jules always listened to these stories with awe. Sometimes he speculated that Arnett must just be a ghost, since some could see her, while others couldn’t.

  “Where am I?”

  “You are in a secret cavern under the river, Jules.”

  “Brooke Beginning?”

  “Many Elfies lie buried there, their wealth hidden in drawers.”

  Hidden in drawers? Jules opened his mouth to say something, but she cut in.

  “I see you are thirsty and hungry. It has been hours since you partook of your last meal. Come!” She turned and floated away, as though she had no need for feet, even though her white satiny shoes peeked from under her robe.

  Jules tilted his chin up to look beyond her. He followed closely, careful not to tread on her trailing gossamer gown. A glow radiated from her body, and he felt drawn to her light. He spotted a table prepared with glass goblets filled to the brim with scarlet juice and numerous silver trays laden with fruits and delicacies he didn’t recognize. The food looked delectable and smelled sweet and savory; of honey, lemon cakes, cinnamon apples and delicious mince pies. Deep purple fruit bursting with juice, ruby red pommes he wouldn’t mind sinking his teeth into, freshly baked goods dripping with what must have been creamy butter he’d gladly devour lay on the dazzling white tablecloth.

  Arnett moved aside and Jules found himself before the fare. Instinctively, he picked up a golden chalice. He handled it gingerly between finger and thumb and studied its ruby red content, swirling it around inside. When he placed the surprisingly warm golden goblet to his lips the juice was tepid. Still he gulped the sweet extract to the last drop.

  “Jules, it would please me if you would take a bite of the cake I have for you.”

  On a silver plate lay a slice of chocolate cake frosted with dark pink crystalline sugar.

  “Treat yourself.” She prompted him with tender tones.

  He took the slice and shoved the moist cake into his mouth, savoring the chocolate and raspberry taste that swirled on his tongue. Staring at her, he asked, “Why did you bring me here? What is it that you require me to do?”

  “There is nothing you can do for me that I cannot perform for myself.

  I am here to help you overcome.”

  “Overcome?”

  “You don’t understand now, but later you will.”

  “Oh?” It suddenly dawned on him that he must be inside the Brooke. Did I drown? Like Grandpa? He shivered.

  Arnett asked gently. “Tell me what is troubling you, Jules, son of Jon Blaze?”

  “My grandparents and mother are missing. I hope to find them. My mother’s Book, too. And my father. Can you help?”

  “Is that all?”

  “We need to get to Mosche Falstaff’s hide-out near Roaring Falls, and persuade him to return to Reign. And there, Miranda….” His words trailed.

  “Shh! Keep your heart at rest.” Arnett leaned over and stretched out her unnaturally pale fingers to grab his hand.

  She cast a gaze at the spread. “Have you dined to your heart’s content? Is that all you desire to partake of my table?”

  Jules merely shook his head slowly. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her face.

  “It is time for you to preview.” Her tone remained melodious although urgent. “It is a lighted path of things to come. Focus on the light in the darkness, and swim toward the light. I will h
elp you overcome. Behold the image in the mirror! Some things you need to forget. Some things you need to remember. Your Kingdom needs you.”

  Jules was certain he didn’t understand Arnett’s instructions, but he followed her gaze. Before him a gilded mirror was suspended in midair. A mirror? He peered into the shimmering reflection. In the background Arnett was strumming her harp and singing the song that had attracted him from the start. Now, he heard the words.

  “There was a fire stark and bright,

  That cast out shadows in the night,

  That roared and danced, sparks alighted;

  It soared and pranced, the demons chided.

  The fire so wondrously flared,

  Its heat with all nature shared.

  Where did it come from? No one knew,

  But one certain thing for sure is true.

  That fire came from something small,

  Then slowly grew, consuming all.

  At times it faltered, almost failing,

  But then returned with flames unwavering.

  Until it grew so vast and strong,

  That nothing challenged it for long.

  You have been made just like that flame,

  No matter beaten, broken, shamed.

  Overcome you will as your flames soar,

  Until you too can flare and roar.

  And be a fire shining out,

  Devoured not, no fear, no doubt.

  50 - NOTE

  WHEN JULES AWOKE abruptly, he sat up and found himself back in the cellar. He rubbed the sleep out of his face and surveyed the room.

  Why was his hair soaked? And why was he feeling full? And stuffed?

  He wasn’t sure who or what he’d encountered. Perhaps his worry about locating this waterfall had seeped into his dream. But something kindled in his spirit. He wished he could recall what it was Arnett had showed him in the dream. The image lingered in a small corner of his mind, but tried as he might he couldn’t bring up the image.

  “Jules!” The harsh whisper startled him. It was Tst Tst.

  “What is it?”

  “Look what I found.”

  Jules got up and tiptoed to his sister who stood with her back to him, both her arms in a deep drawer moving left to right, her hands obviously groping. Even in the dimness he could make out the outline of the item she eventually pulled out. It looked bent and one winged portion was missing, but Jules didn’t doubt what it was.

  A dragonfly lantern. Crafted by an artisan rumored to live in the eastern hills of Handover called Extreme. The full powers locked within these lamps were hardly understood, and though each bore similarities to its sisters, the craftsman made each unique.

  Jules wasn’t even sure the craftsman still lived, or that anyone else in the Kingdom owned one. But he was sure of one thing, this tattered lantern was their grandpa’s. The very one the old man had taken with him on his fateful trip.

  Jules fingered the broken frame of the lantern lightly.

  Tst Tst stared at him. “How come it’s here?”

  “Starkies isn’t telling us everything.” Jules groped deeper into the drawer and searched for something—what exactly, he knew not. But as he was about to give up a latch at the drawer’s rear end caught his groping finger. He tugged it. The entire back came loose. He peered into the drawer, but it was dark. “Bring our lantern.”

  A piece of white poked out from a slot in the rear, like a secret pocket meant to hide letters, or notes. He yanked it out and a tiny corner caught the edge and tore, but for the most part, the paper was intact. He unfolded the paper. It was water stained and crinkled, and when he read it, he gasped.

  “What?” Tst Tst pulled his arm.

  “Wait!” It was a short note in a vaguely familiar handwriting, but he couldn’t pinpoint where he might have seen the writing. It was addressed to Leroy Priestley, although it only began with LP. He read it to Tst Tst.

  “LP, your father and mine knew one another way back. I write to urge you to visit me. I know Handover is an unlikely place to visit, but as a fellow Keeper I entreat you to come. I have news that relates to your family. All may not be lost if I am correct in the reading of my Book. I live in the waterfall. I cannot risk detailing my precise location, but if you go to your Book, my precise location is stipulated. It’s best you visit me when darkness reigns.

  MF”

  So that was why Grandpa left in a hurry. And he asked Mother for the Book that night. Could Grandpa have brought the Book with him? But alas, Jules didn’t possess the Book and MF’s location must remain a mystery to him. He must assume MF to mean Mosche Falstaff.

  Someone had given this letter to Starkies, possibly at the same time the trader obtained the lantern. What could that mean for Grandpa Leroy? Did they steal it from him? Surely he still stood a chance to survive Handover if his Book was with him. But did Grandpa bring his Book?

  Jules folded the letter back upon its creases and pocketed it.

  Tst Tst tugged at his sleeve. “Jules, I’m scared for Grandpa and Grandma.”

  “I’m scared, too. That’s why I must find Mosche.” He replaced the broken lantern back and gave Tst Tst a quick hug. He missed hearing her big words. “Maybe they’re with him.” But Jules knew he didn’t sound convincing.

  51 - PIT FALLS

  “BEWARE OF THE pits!” Starkies had warned them before Jules and Holden slipped out in the cover of the mists early that morning, even before dawn.

  “What pit was Starkies whispering about?” Jules turned to Holden.

  Holden shrugged and adjusted the lantern in the crook of his arm.

  They never asked Starkies about Leroy’s broken lantern. Jules insisted on it. There was no point in antagonizing the trader, and besides, if they angered him, he might even call in the soldiers on them. Best to feign ignorance, at least for the moment. And Jules kept the letter to himself, making Tst Tst promise not to say anything. It only confirmed what he already knew—that Mosche lived “in” the waterfall. He’d have chosen a different preposition— maybe “at” the waterfall, or “by” the waterfall. But he’d have to scout the area to see how anyone could live “in” a waterfall.

  Jules said, “What pit?”

  “You have to wake up from this stupor,” Holden said. “Starkies warned us about these dangerous pits.”

  “There’s a pit that goes into the center of our world's core. Molten rocks and all sorts of unpleasant stuff there. That sort of pit?”

  Holden turned to him. “No, this is a more ghastly kind. I’ve heard of them. People say Gehzurolle throws his own servants in these pits. My mom showed me the map of Handover once with pits everywhere.”

  “Did the servants commit crimes? Break his laws?”

  “She never said. But I sure wish we had her Book.”

  The wind rustled the leaves above, and a morning lark sang a lonesome tune. “We-ware—we-ware…,” it seemed to say.

  “Your mom read you anything else about pits?”

  Holden nodded as he continued trudging. They hadn’t even left Heritage yet, but still he looked furtively at the homes on tree logs before them. Fingers of mists wound their way in and out of the tree stumps, hiding some homes almost entirely.

  “Once she read about someone being brought up out of a horrible pit,” Holden said. “But I don’t remember much.”

  “I don’t remember much of our Book, either. We better watch our steps.” They halted beside a clump of dense bushes and Jules straightened the map Starkies had drawn. It was rudimentary—mere lines and crosses to signify landmarks. “It says to head north once we get to the City Square.”

  “You think those web bridges are up there?” Holden jerked his head at the boughs overhead. “We could see if there’s a way up there. At least bypass soldiers or pits.”

  “Let’s just get to the Square first.”

  But even as they turned one corner then another, the rows of Handover homes upon the logs began to look too similar, all the same, until they realized t
hey had circled the same street thrice and were lost.

  “This fog doesn’t help,” Holden said.

  “We must remain quiet,” Jules whispered into Holden’ ear. “It’s almost daylight."

  “Let’s just talk with hand signals.”

  “If you wish.”

  “Maybe we should climb up and scout the area from above.”

  “Let’s re-start from there,” Jules pointed to a corner between two avenues lined with trees of ruby red fruits. “Those fruits look familiar. Maybe they’ll take us to the City Square.”

  For a moment they stood with their backs against a redwood, fumbling. Even though a breeze wafted in a steady stream from a lake nearby, the boys sweated profusely. Beads of perspiration pooled above their foreheads and on their temples before dripping down their faces and into their eyes, blurring their vision.

  With hearts pounding, they scanned the map. A few stray fireflies afforded them some light in that darkest hour before dawn. Jules reached out and swiftly nabbed an ill-fated fly. He lodged it in one of his many pockets. He’d decide its fate later.

  “We can’t wait here, studying this forever.” Jules waved the map about. “By the time we find Mosche, everyone could be dead.”

  “Since you’re so smart, you decide.” Holden shot him a glare.

  “Let’s just go, okay?”

  They hid behind some brambles at the edge of the City Square. Several groupings of Handoverans huddled together deep in discussion. Some warmed their hands in nearby fire pits, in the dusky air.

  “That group over there seems riled up.” Jules gestured for Holden to follow. “Let’s get closer so we can hear.”

  They dodged in and out of branches, their steps making loud scrunches as they crushed the dry leaves under their boots for Starkies said their sandals would never survive Slippery Slide. They avoided the streets where possible till they came to a grove with short trees arranged in a square. The City Square, Jules thought with relief.

  “In here.” Jules shoved Holden into the underbrush.

  “What type of plant is this?”

  Jules shot him a glare.”There’s no time for botany lessons.” He slipped in after Holden.

  “Did you see the Scorpent soldiers here earlier?” A larger than normal Handoveran walked toward their direction and asked of his companion. His voice low and rough.

  “They found an Elfie, eh?”

  “There’s a reward for their capture.”

  Even in the early hours the City Center thronged with Handoverans. People quarreled in loud voices. Some gestured wildly with their hands. What was up? Several larger shapes, Scorpent shapes, scattered here and there in a far side. They seemed to be moving away which was just as well.

  Jules and Holden edged closer. If they turned the lantern on, the Scorpents wouldn’t see them, but then the Handoverans might. Better just keep them turned off and hide in the shade, Jules advised as he pulled Holden under the mass of ragweed.

  “…the Scorpents think it best for us if Elfies didn’t exist.”

  “As long as Gehzurolle’s happy we can abide in peace—”

  “And harmony.”

  Holden nudged Jules and Jules put a finger to his lips.

  Another with a thick accent said, “It’s a pity the spy was caught. Now Gehzurolle will surely not get the Books he was after.”

  “If you want to please the Master, best keep an eye out for Elfies. They’ve gotten braver, and must be eradicated. They have no business in our Land.”

  It was then that the worst possible thing happened. Holden sneezed. Continuously.

  52 - TAKEN

  “ACHOOH! ACHOOH!”

  THE Handoverans gaped at each other, faces bewildered, but the largest one must have had an exceptional knack for tracking sounds, for despite the mist, he rushed toward the ragweed and parted the branches and leaves.

  “Quick!” Jules reached for the lantern and turned it on. Too late. A pair of large hands, like overstuffed pillows with claws, grabbed Holden.

  “Well, what do we have here?” The Handoveran’s voice boomed. “I smell Elfie meat. You're the cause for our troubles, eh?”

  “Look, we don’t mean any harm.” Holden wiped his nose with his sleeves.

  Very soon a horde of onlookers surrounded them, questioning glares upon their faces. The multitude peered upon the cowering boys, their intimidating scowls deepening with each minute.

  “We’re friends!” Holden pleaded timidly. “Truly! We don’t mean any harm.”

  Jules’s stomach turned and his heart pounded so loudly in his ears he feared his eardrums might burst, but he didn’t say a word. Holden must have not realized Jules remained undetected.

  But even as Holden tried to placate the Handoverans, they weren’t interested in clarifications. They didn’t want justification. They didn’t want a solution. The anger within them festered and turned to hatred. They lashed out with words, and a few even smacked him on the head. Their anger was like the fury in a tornado, destroying any order that stood in its way.

  But still Jules didn’t say a word. The light prevailed. Before being dragged away Holden had stood a few feet from him and was not in the light of the lantern Jules held in his hand. When the large hands dragged Holden, his lantern was thrust toward Jules and now lay by Jules’s feet. Jules wondered what he should do. Will they see him if he moved?

  “I know!” another heavy accented Handoveran voice boomed out. “We can give him up to the Scorpents and claim a prize.”

  Low rumbles of sinister laughter and hails of affirmations bellowed forth.

  “I humbly seek your pardon. Epic Elfie apology.” Holden backed away, but a hand shoved his back, hurtling him forward from the rear. “Jules? Jules?” he cried.

  “Who is this Rules? Jules? Who’s he seeking?” a taunting voice sounded. Several of the Handoverans looked about and even parted the ragweed further.

  But burly arms scooped Holden up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten and everyone’s attention re-focused on Holden.

  In a quiet voice, someone said, “I think it’s a stroke of genius to orchestrate a claim. The Scorpents might buy our treasure. He’s fodder for our Master.”

  The strong Handoveran lifted Holden and maneuvered his steps away from the City Square, out a pair of large iron gates that held heads of crickets topping the pillars on each side. Toward the direction of the forest the burly Handoveran and his followers, an assembly of Handover natives, some attired smartly with official badges, pressed on making a raucous, with jabbering and ranting.

  53 - DOWN TRODDEN

  NOW, WITH TWO lighted lanterns in one hand, Jules followed the procession a stone’s throw away. The Handoverans’ lengthy strides made it difficult for him to keep up, but he tried anyway.

  They kept a swift pace and Jules lagged further and further behind until the congregation became a small mass in the distance, and he hardly heard their loud scolding. Birds chirped and swooped about, but the voices of the Handoverans ceased. Would he even find his way back to Starkies’s at this rate? Would he lose Holden?

  The mist had lifted, but here in the forest it was dark. Just when he felt certain he’d lost them, between the swaying grasses and twigs, he saw the quivering flames from their torches further ahead. They were under a massive oak with widespread branches. A ruckus followed as Handoverans shouted here and there and Jules realized the reason as he came close enough to see.

  Scorpents! These looked massive, larger than the ones at the City Square, Jules was sure. Shoulders bulked and hulking over too-small waists, and they wore gray metal vests that gleamed even in the dim morning sun. Their voices sounded like wheezing: hot breath forced through a narrow larynx came out in dark puffs around the nostrils.

  More vivid descriptions of Scorpents swam around in Jules’s mind. The Ancient Books explained that no blood coursed through these savages’ veins, and a scrutiny of the Scorpents’ vulgar faces revealed eyes hooded beneath scales of hatred. Rum
ors claimed that Gehzurolle, their master, had sliced off their ears. Jules didn’t know exactly why. Jules stepped closer to the wheezing, curious to see the truth for himself. Surely the lanterns would protect him; they had so far.

  But as Jules took another step away from the shadow of the tall stalks of grass and into the clearing, the wind brought something to his ears.

  “—the girl is already there.” The wheezy voice rasped out. The Scorpent voice.

  Somehow Jules knew they meant Miranda. Beta! But where was she? And how was he to help Holden? Could he squeeze through and get to Holden, bathe him in the light of the lanterns, both of which blazed bright in his grasp, and made Jules invisible?

  It happened so fast, Jules didn’t know what hit him. Next thing, feet trampled over him—heavy feet in heavy boots and thick-soled shoes. Some even had spikes. Jules rolled on the ground to avoid the trampling, but someone’s metal toed boots crushed his forehead. It felt like his temple was caving in, and then everything went black.

  54 - BY HOOKS OR BY CROOK

  “HOLDEN?” JULES RUBBED a sore spot on his temple and felt a scab above his brow.

  “Sleeping Beauty is up?” The voice sounded rough, but held not the accent of the Handoverans who shouted and captured Holden. Nor did it sound raspy like a Scorpent voice.

  “Who are you?” Jules peered at the dim setting from his bed. Vague shapes in shadows resembled furniture, maybe a desk, and some chairs. The speaker stood over him with the dragonfly lantern in his hand. With the glare from the lantern Jules couldn’t make out details of the individual. Just that he was slender and towered over him.

  “Did you save Holden?”

  “By Holden you mean that foolish Elfie boy they caught?”

  Jules sat up and groaned. The room spun like the eye of a tornado. “My friend.”

  “They have him—the Scorpents. I don’t normally make it my business to check out their prisoners, but I have to say, I couldn’t believe they found another Elfie. Two in a day in Heritage is quite an achievement for them.”

  An assortment of shapes that looked like hooks of various sizes hung from the walls about the room.

  “Did you see who the other Elfie was?”

  “A lad with long untidy hair. Slender and a real squealer.”

  “A lad?”

  “Looked like it. But what are these lanterns you have? They’re unique.”

  “My Grandpa gave them to me, to us, my family.” Jules reached out and snatched the one at the foot of the bed by his ankle. They looked somewhat mangled. He turned one on and off. Then the other.

  “Is it broken?”

  Jules shrugged. “Can you see me?”

  “Do I look blind?” The older man leaned over and stared at Jules’s face.

  “I’m Jules.” He reached his hand toward the stranger.

  “Rude of me, but with all the excitement—I am Hooks, the fisherman.” His face was round and his thick lips reminded Jules of a fish’s but still there was something kind about him. Hooks gestured at the hooks on display on the walls. “Like my décor?”

  Jules drew a deep breath and told Hooks he needed to get Holden back for his search of the waterfall.

  “I don’t know if it’s possible or wise to look for Holden. You’d better cut your losses, and go on your own. Know what I mean?”

  “I can’t just leave him.”

  “Might not have a choice. From what I’d heard, they threw him in the pit.”

  “Pit?” His words sounded stupid to his own ears. Was Holden gone? Dead, maybe, like Mrs. Lacework? A Keeper family annihilated in a week? How many annihilated in a week? His own, too, maybe? His grandparents? His mother? Don’t panic.

  Hooks snapped his fingers in front of Jules’s face. “The death pits. Most of them are scattered on the way to Blood Ridge. The closest is a day’s run from here.”

  “Blood Ridge?”

  “You an ignoramus? Blood Ridge is Gehzurolle’s Headquarters in Euruliaf. Do you often travel without a map?”

  55 - BLOOD RIDGE

  JULES DUG INTO his different pockets and came upon the map Saul drew and Abel miraculously found. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He must have lost the rudimentary one Starkies drew. He remembered he waved it about. Maybe Holden had it when the Handoverans snatched him. And he’d thought they were in a bind then.

  As Jules straightened the creases to show Hooks the map, a scrawl on one side of the map caught his eye. A note from Abel? He felt like kicking himself for not checking the map earlier when the squirrel brought it to him. In the dim light, he strained and read the short message.

  “Behind the waterfall.” Abel wrote and drew an arrow to a spot on the map. Under this first message, Abel continued, “If this Falstaff is of old, his Book holds your answers.”

  How would Abel know?

  And below that message, in even smaller print, so small Jules had to squint and slant the paper to the light, was written: “I placed a whistle in your cloak in case you needed a critter.”

  Jules fumbled about in his pockets, patting each part of his cloak until he found a whistle in his inside pocket. Except he’d never have thought that was what the curious wooden object with multiple holes was. He brought it to his lips, but then stopped. What strange critter might come if he blew now?

  “What is that?” Hooks took a step closer, his eyes large.

  “A gift from a friend.” He handed the map to Hooks. “Maybe you can tell me where we are on this map and how I can find Holden.”

  Hooks crinkled his nose while studying the map. “Slippery Slide is the long route to the waterfall. Did your map maker tell you that?”

  Jules shook his head.

  Hooks cleared his throat. “But this is the good news. If you can call it good. It will get you to some of the pits because it’s the only way to Blood Ridge. But still I’d avoid it if I were you.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” Reign only had four Keepers Jules knew about—his family, Saul’s family, the Laceworks, and possibly Mosche Falstaff. And the way Keeper families were disappearing, how many would be left by the time his journey ended?

  Maybe his family was already doomed, like Reign would be, once all the Keepers were annihilated.

  “Most Handoverans,” Hooks said, “are afraid of Blood Ridge. They’d avoid any path that could lead there like the plague, which is why the Scorpents dig their pits there—fewer prying eyes.”

  “Can I be sure I’ll find Holden there?”

  “Nothing is for sure, mi-lad.”

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “All approaches to Blood Ridge are fraught with peril,” Hooks said. “Merchants have some horrific tales regarding that trail. And I must warn you, I’ve heard if you encounter a Scorpent encampment, you’ll find your pit for sure.”

  “Hooks!” A shrill voice came from somewhere beyond the doorway of the bedroom.

  Hooks gave a start and swiveled around. “Coming, Dear!” To Jules he whispered, “It’s the wife. She doesn’t know you’re here, so be quiet, and turn that light on or something. Quick.” He winked and smiled.

  A swollen figure appeared in the doorway. “Who were you chattering to? Not to yourself I hope.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was quarreling with myself.”

  “And I’ll be quarreling with you if you don’t catch me the fish you said you’d come home with.”

  “I caught a fish, but not the sort you’d like. And by now, you know, they don’t bite so late in the evening, Dear.”

  Jules could not tell that he’d lain unconscious for the better part of the day. How late was it, and where was Holden by now? He lay quietly by the bed, both lanterns on his lap. Hooks could still see him but the other Handoveran could not. Why? Jules could not fathom, but clearly, the lanterns clouded Mrs. Hook’s vision. Was Hooks a Hanfie? Was that what separated Hooks from other Handoverans? He was rather short for a Handoveran.

  Jules planned to leave the instant he ha
d the chance. Slippery Slide or not, he must find the pit, even if it was one of many. He couldn’t leave Holden to die. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he recalled Grandpa Leroy’s warning: At least five Keepers must remain or their Kingdom of Reign would be cursed forever. If Holden was the remaining heir to the Lacework Book, Jules meant to save him, unless it was too late. But Mrs. Hooks still stood, arms crossed rigidly over her ample chest, guarding his bedroom door.

  Hooks gathered things from about the room—fishing rods, tackle boxes, and two or three sizes of giant hooks he carefully wrapped in thick blankets and placed in his sack. With his wife still eyeing him from the doorway, he said, “If I went to the lake, I could possibly get quite close to the pit. At least, one of them.”

  “Are you threatening me, Hooks?” his wife said in a shrill voice, obviously confused by Hooks’s words. “If you fall into a pit it’s your fault. But don’t think you can escape me. I’d find you for sure if you don’t get me that fish. By hook or by crook.” She gave a snotty cackle and stormed out the door, obviously thrilled by her own joke.

  Jules almost chuckled, but he felt sorry for Hooks who seemed helpful, and helpless.

  As quick as June bugs, Jules scurried and gathered his things by his feet. “If you point me to a pit, I’ll help you catch your fish.”

  Hooks practically shoved him out the door. He was afraid of his wife’s detecting Jules.

  “You cannot imagine who she’ll take you to, and I won’t be able to help one bit. You know the price we pay for helping Elfies?”

  56 - SLIPPERY SLIDE

  BUT HOOKS WAS good to his promise. His house, a ramshackle tent-like structure atop a lightning struck stub of a trunk, sat by the edge of the City Square, a stone’s throw from the forest called Wildering Wild. Hooks led him to it and up to the top of a steep incline.

  Hours later when they arrived at the top of Slippery Slide, Jules’s heart sank lower. Before them lay a steep slant with the gravel and loose earth— the sandy expanse they had to conquer. The decline was worse than he’d imagined.

  “Will your lanterns hide me from the Scorpents, too?”

  Jules shrugged. “We must stick together.” He remembered how the Handoverans had seen Holden and dragged him away despite Jules’s light a few feet away.

  “I will get you to the bottom, so you can see the path the Scorpents take to Blood Ridge. The pits should be dotted all over. Maybe we can find a fresh trail.”

  “But how will I get you your fish? Is there a lake nearby?” Jules hoped to use his whistle. It was a long shot but if it summoned squirrels, maybe it worked on fish, too. He fumbled in his cloak and brought the whistle to his lips. But no sound came forth. And nothing happened. Was it destroyed when the Handoverans trampled him?

  Hooks mussed Jules hair, even though Jules stood as tall as him. “Kid, don’t worry about the fish. Or me, for that matter. You have more troubles than I, and that’s a comforting thought to me somehow.” He grinned.

  Much bungling, skidding and tripping proceeded. Slippery Slide didn’t earn its name for nothing. The steep grade afforded little foothold for those clambering up or down the sandy slopes. The route also failed to offer any shelter due to the scant vegetation, so Hooks and Jules stood out like two figures in a bald terrain.

  One section plummeted into a ravine which eventually plunged into a watery gorge, Hooks explained between quick breaths. “So be extra careful!”

  When they were partway down, Hooks heaved out, “We have to take a breather. It’s too steep for my short legs.”

  “How will you get back up?”

  “My hooks serve many purposes.” He patted the bulging sack under his arm. But the glare from the lanterns, together with the reflection from moon on the sandy expanse, made it hard to see. “Maybe we can turn off the light for a few minutes.”

  Jules looked about and nodded. There was nothing the Scorpents could really be hidden behind or under. Several hundred yards down, the map which Hooks provided chartered a ravine. They slowed their pace, then halted.

  “Maybe I can use my spider twine to guide us?” Jules said.

  He tied one end of the twine around his waist and secured another end to one of the protruding roots.

  Hooks held on to the line midway, slightly above Jules. Darkness enveloped the land as clouds floated across the moon, and the sallow glow over the sand dimmed.

  Jules and Hooks struggled to hold on to the swaying twine. They inched their way down. Jules felt they must have been on the slope for at least one life span, but, he was thankful for Hooks’s company. He realized it was a ways for Hooks to walk back home.

  Then, before he knew what was happening, an unpleasant accent rattled him.

  57 - OFF COURSE

  TYPICALLY, SCORPENTS WERE loud and detectable with their wheezing. But this particular bunch approached silently. Before Jules even had the opportunity to turn on his dragonfly lanterns, the Scorpents spotted them.

  “Elfie smell!” a guttural voice barked out. The speaker lunged at Hooks.

  Hooks narrowly missed the Scorpent’s grasp.

  “Run, Jules!”

  Very close behind Hooks, vile threats filled with filthy words rang from the Scorpents’ lips.

  Jules grabbed Hooks’s cloak with one arm, let go the spider twine and tumbled into the darkness. Please, not the ravine, Jules thought as they continued rolling down head over heels, lanterns bashing him on the head. He landed on Hooks.

  “Get off! Get off—” Hooks finally spat out his words between gritted teeth.

  “Sorry, sorry,” whispered Jules. “Have we reached the bottom?” He surveyed the dark grounds around him with his left foot and left hand, his mind on the ravine and gorge.

  “Shh!” Hooks said. “We don’t want the Scorpents knowing our location. There might be others.”

  “I have the lanterns on.” Miraculously he’d held onto both despite the tumble.

  Crunch, crunch.

  “Someone’s coming,” Jules whispered as he edged closer to Hooks.

  Loud guffawing filled the night air. “—Rage said to use fire, and that’s what we’ll do.”

  “The trader will never—”

  The Scorpents must have moved fast, as their words dissipated with the night as they rounded to the other side of the hill.

  When they felt sure no more Scorpents lurked by, Jules spoke. “What fire were they talking about?”

  “They use fire to scare Elfies out of their hiding all the time. Maybe they located others. There was a time decades ago when they purged Elfies, but even then some still insist on coming over. Let’s not get sidetracked. We need to get our bearings.”

  Jules thought of Ralston and his sisters. Had he done right by leaving them with an untrustworthy Handoveran? What if Starkies traded them for some antique that took his fancy? “How far away is this ravine?”

  “It should not be far off.” They groped about in the dimness as the darkness seemed to swallow even the light from their dragonfly lanterns.

  Hooks said after a while, “I could have sworn the ravine was here.”

  “What do you mean?” Unlike the near-bare slope they’d rolled down from, here, tall grasses sprung out from the pebbly ground. As the breeze cut through the swaying grasses a high pitched whistle filled the night air, like someone playing a flute, a song melancholic and mournful. Now and then crickets chirped.

  Hooks squinted at the map in his hand. “We’ve fallen off course. This is not the route on that map. I’m sure we’re lost!”

  58 - ATTACK

  THAT NIGHT THEY rested in a nook under a burnt oak tree. Better get some rest while they could, Hooks advised. He seemed to have forgotten about Mrs. Hooks and his fish. But he did tell stories of how he’d always wanted to have a son. He winked at Jules and dozed off.

  While trekking the next morning, always taking the turn that led northward, something like missiles pelted toward them out of the tall wild flowers and sweeping grasses. The
volley of arrows rained down in a steady stream, coming closer with each barrage.

  “Get cover!” Jules cried out. An arrow narrowly grazed his arm. “We’re under attack.”

  Quick as a flash, they shot off in different directions: Hooks to the nearest boulder, Jules behind the most convenient stump. As quickly as the aggression began, it stopped.

  For a few heart pounding minutes, Jules waited breathlessly and peered from behind the stump. He spun around when someone tapped lightly on his right shoulder, and he saw it was a white rabbit. The huge bunny—a dwarf specie—persisted in scrutinizing him with its large, soft brown eyes. Its nose wiggled as it sniffed the air to determine if Jules qualified as “friend or foe.”

  “Nice bunny,” Jules said, hesitantly. Where was Hooks?

  After some minutes of silence with Jules and the bunny eyeballing each other, he peered at the long grasses that rustled up ahead. Their attackers were hiding. Scorpents wouldn’t hide like this. They were evil, obnoxious, and vile. But Scorpents were never craven.

  Jules decided to give it a shot. “Who’s there? Friend or foe?”

  The gruff answer came. “Who are you?”

  From the cadence and inflection it was obvious the accent belonged to an Elfie, but not one native to the specific regions Jules was familiar with. Elfies from diverse districts of Reign and the surrounding areas spoke with slightly varied articulations. In some parts they even spoke with their own unique vocabulary and practiced manners Jules considered offensive.

  “I am Jules Blazes, and my friend is Hooks.” Where was Hooks?

  “Avaline, Arnold and Aloof, here!” the nervous voice said. “We’ve mistaken you for foes. We’ll stop shooting now. We need help. Our friend is badly hurt, and in need of urgent care.”

  Jules was uncertain of what to make of this. He was never exposed to any military training. But he was unconvinced he should trust them even if they were Elfies. What if they worked for enemy Handoverans? Or were Gehzurolle’s spies? But what else could he do? “Come out and—and— show yourselves, first.” Where was Hooks? Did the arrow hurt him?

  The three attackers came out of their hiding place from behind a log. They were attired for war. Bits of twigs and leaves poked out of their helmets and intertwined in their dark green camo garments with the typical, but tattered, elfish cloak draped over. One appeared badly hurt. His two comrades propped him on either side.

  “He’s bleeding!” one of the Elfie soldiers said.

  The red soaked front of the soldier’s garment made Jules queasy. Gird yourself up, he reminded himself, not for the first time. He still had an uneasy feeling about these strangers. He focused his attention on the three as they approached, partially hidden by a swaying blade of grass.

  “What happened to him?” Jules yelled from behind the stump.

  “Aloof’s been shot by a Handover soldier. He’s lost a lot of blood.

  We’ve been running for days.”

  “Where from?” Jules dragged himself out of his shelter. He eyed them suspiciously from afar. Something’s odd about them, or maybe I’m becoming paranoid!

  Both Avaline and Arnold answered simultaneously, “We deserted.”

  “Please!” Avaline said, pleading. “Don’t report us. We couldn’t take the killing anymore. So we ran away when Aloof got shot, and they ordered us to carry him to the Injury House. We’ve been running, walking, for days.”

  An Injury House was a term for the hospital Elfie soldiers used. Jules didn’t think Elfie regiments had invaded Handover.

  “Yeah!” said Arnold, the shorter one, but he did not sound as confident.

  “Yeah?” Jules said. “How did that fancy arrow propeller you used land in your lap? S’pose they handed the weapon to you before you took your vacation?”

  “Oh, this?” Avaline set the weapon by his foot. “We needed to protect ourselves from the wilderness. And Handoverans. Honest.”

  “We’ve been helping Aloof stay alive,” Arnold said. “We’ve made poultices and fed him with all the useful herbs we could get our hands on, but his bleeding won’t stop.”

  “He’s not going to heal.” Hooks stepped out from behind a shrub.

  “What with the shuttling around. Maybe he’s developed an infection.”

  The two soldiers unanimously conceded to finding a suitable refuge for the victim, Aloof. His face was a pale ash and dark, bluish semi-circles underlined his lower lids. His gray-tattered camo garment held deep russet stains all over.

  “I may have the spot.” Jules turned and eyed the white bunny several steps behind. It was scurrying into a burrow. “What infantry are you in? I wasn’t aware Elfie soldiers have broken into Handover.” He thought of his dad.

  Avaline with the wide forehead said, “Only one Elfie force managed to maneuver the Brooke. We lost many to the storms getting here, and the beach was riddled with traps, but we came here a fortnight ago and set up camp.”

  “Where?” Hope surged within Jules. Maybe he could get their help.

  “We’re not taking you there. They’d skin us for running away.”

  “And what makes you think I won’t do the same?” Jules grabbed the sack by Hooks’s feet and snatched a giant hook from it. The blanket fell off to reveal a gleaming claw, sharp and pointed at the ends. He stepped forward and swung it at Avaline.

  “Whoa!” Hooks said.

  “I don’t have time for games and lies. Lives are at stake, and I’m not allowing three craven Elfies to determine my fate. Tell me where the Elfie camp is.”

  “Up River. Three days’ hike. But you’ll waste your time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re mostly dead—I’m sure. We were attacked. Some brown crickets devoured everything. We ran because we begged our captain to get away but he refused.”

  Jules ran his hand over his face. Their story didn’t add up, but why lie? At least the crickets, assuming these were the locusts, made sense. They must have run away when the attack came. “Do you know a Captain Blaze?”

  Avaline shook his head, but stepped toward Jules. “Please. Aloof here will join the dead if you don’t help him.”

  “My friend will join the dead, too, if I don’t come across a certain death pit soon.”

  “Help us, and we’ll help you find your death pit.”

  59 - VANISH

  THE BURROW WAS cramped, but at least Jules felt certain Scorpents could not get to them as he considered how to proceed. He offered the rabbit some sprigs of parsley, and the rabbit hopped away peaceably to another shaft at the far end of the burrow.

  After positioning the now unconscious Aloof in the burrow, Jules jetted off to forage for the herbs Hooks felt sure were growing wild nearby. This allowed Jules to scout the area on his own. He wondered where Jon Blaze’s regiment might have gone to. If anyone survived the brown cricket in that camp, would they know of his father’s location? And what of Cori Lacework? But his heart sank when Holden’s grinning face came to mind.

  The two soldiers slumped into a corner to regain their strength, whispering, while Hooks prepared the poultices and medicinal food for the patient using the herbs Jules collected. Soon Aloof regained consciousness, and his pale cheeks gained tinges of pink.

  “The broth was more than satisfactory,” Avaline said.

  “Thanks for the poultices—” Aloof whispered.

  Avaline cut in. “We can discuss how to handle tomorrow after some rest.”

  Jules felt he’d rested enough, so he just grunted.

  “You traveling alone? Just the two of you? Aren’t you afraid of Scorpents?” His eyes flickered to Jules’s meager belongings of a filled pillowcase, and Hook’s sack dumped in the corner.

  “We have our lanterns...,” Jules’s voice trailed as he caught Avaline’s gaze.

  “Pretty lanterns.” Avaline’s eyes lingered on the lamps.

  Jules refused to rest even as the tired soldiers started snoring.

  “Hooks.” He shook Hooks out of
his drowsiness. “I saw something when I was scouting outside for the herbs. Come up for a bit.”

  When they stood outside the burrow, the sky had turned a burnished red, and the light was enough to illuminate the grassy plains. Jules pointed to a solitary redwood.

  “Someone could climb up that tree so we can at least have an idea what the terrain is like,” Jules suggested.

  “And that someone would be…me?” Hooks squinted at Jules.

  “I don’t trust those soldiers—especially that Avaline. I can fight him off better than you if he tries anything funny.”

  Hooks shook his head at Jules and handed Jules his sack.

  “You take a lantern. But I’ll walk there with you, just in case.”

  Hooks strode towards it with sure, lengthy steps. And then, “Help! Help!”

  Jules ran toward the tree. “Hooks? Hooks? Where are you?”

  For Hooks had vanished. Lantern and all.

  “I’ve fallen into a ditch of some sort,” came his reply. Seconds later, his agonizing cry came. “Oh, no. No. No!” Horror resounded in Hooks’s voice.

  “What’s wrong?” Jules rushed toward the voice. Before he could complete his question he stumbled upon the answers for himself. He almost made the same mistake as Hooks. The ditch Jules’s feet tottered on the edge of was no ordinary trench. It was a death pit no longer in use. The Scorpents had filled it full. The camouflaged covering on it had rotted. But the good news was that Hooks was close to the surface.

  Jules stared into the cavity and witnessed the evidence of the Scorpents’ evil. The dragonfly lantern still in Hooks’s clenched fist revealed the atrocities the Scorpents were guilty of under Gehzurolle’s reign through the centuries. Ever since the curse. Even the Handoverans hadn’t been spared.

  Jules gulped and forced himself to gaze around the pit. These gnarled wretched bodies were Handoverans. His eyes locked with Hooks, and he saw tears in the old man’s eyes.

  “Quick. Reach out to me.” Jules dropped to his knees and strained his arm out to Hooks, but still he couldn’t get to him. Jules reached for his pillowcase sack, took the twine, fixed it about his waist and let the other end down to Hooks.

  “Grab that, and I’ll try to haul you up.” He braced his legs against a nearby stone as he felt Hooks tug.

  The stench of rotten vegetables and meat wafted up to Jules. Dead Handoverans. As swiftly as he could, he pulled Hooks up, but the twine slipped, and Hooks almost dragged Jules into the pit twice, instead.

  “Hurry! I hear some movements in the rushes behind me.”

  Jules reached down and grabbed the lantern from Hooks to free his other hand. Finally, Hooks reached the edge and pulled himself out.

  “You’re fit for an old man.”

  “It’s the Handoveran blood, my mamma used to say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My mamma was an Elfie like you. But that was ages ago. Bless her eternal rest. She told me on her death bed, ‘Me Lad, you cannot follow me now, but thanks to your Elfie blood I’ll see you again, some day.’ I sure miss her.”

  “You’re a Hanfie, too! Just like those three soldiers—I knew they couldn’t be pure Elfies. I can tell the slight differences now.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Must be your Elfie blood. That’s why you could see through the lantern’s light.”

  “Speaking of which, we better gather the lanterns and get going to the top of that tree. It’s getting dark so quickly.” He smelled his cloak, and crinkled his nose. “Phew! Now I really need to get to a lake. Even a Scorpent might smell me a mile away.”

  Jules rolled the twine into a ball. “Why do you think they killed all those Handoverans in that pit?”

  Hooks shrugged and shuddered. “I don’t want to know. I just want to stay away from those beasts.”

  “Wait! I can’t find the lanterns.” Jules looked about and parted the blades around him. “They were right here.”

  “Must be hidden behind one of these tall stalks.”

  But even though they located the pillowcase and the sack with Hooks’s belongings, they could not find the lanterns. Jules stubbed his toe on a stone and started hopping. “Aww!”

  “Who could have them?”

  “Let’s get back to the burrow and ask those Hanfies to help. It’s the least they can do.”

  They trudged toward the burrow as the last of the evening light faded into the distance.

  “Avaline?” Jules called out when they dropped down into the dark burrow. But all was dark and silent. The earlier snoring was gone.

  Jules rushed to the corner where he knew they had slept, but all their belongings were gone, too.

  Hooks laid a hand on Jules’s shoulder. “They must have stolen the lanterns and split.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Jules slumped onto a stone they’d used as a seat and groped inside his cloak.

  His mother always made them carry the light stick, which he’d always thought so unnecessary. Ralston made a ton of these. He snapped the light stick in two, and the chemicals mixed. Light came forth. It was dim, but at least they could see better now that darkness shrouded the land outside.

  Hooks laid a hand on Jules’s shoulder. “I suggest we sleep and then go up that tree with the first light. There’s no reason to wallow in regret.”

  Jules stumbled over another stone, and yelped again.

  60 - TRAITOR

  “I CAN SEE for leagues and leagues,” Hooks shouted as he jumped down the last few feet to the ground. “And guess what? The ravine’s to the south. You should’ve climbed. Now I’m all stiff.”

  They poured over Saul’s map and compared it with Hooks’s.

  “Let’s veer right,” Hooks said.

  “We must look for a route with some cover in case we run into Scorpents.”

  Hooks said it was a good thing and a bad thing if and when they spotted Scorpents. It could mean another pit, and possibly a recent one. Scorpents won’t go off their route to dig pits. That’s too much work for them, Hooks explained. But if they found Holden’s pit, would he even be alive? It had been three days since they kidnapped him. They didn’t have to go far before they heard gruff voices.

  “Stop! You’re making a mistake. I work for Gehzurolle!”

  Jules and Hooks stopped in their tracks and dropped to the ground. Jules motioned for Hooks to stay as he crawled on elbows and knees to check on the commotion less than a stone’s throw away. That’s the problem with these long grasses, you never know who’s behind the next blade until they’re practically running into you. There was a time of the King when the Elfies rode tall on horses and commanded even the winds to obey. A lost time, Jules thought. The mud smeared and stuck to his pants and sleeves as he inched his way to the tussle ahead.

  Wheezing told him that Scorpents were there. Will they smell him?

  “If Whisperer finds out, he will feed you to the Ridge.”

  Miranda!

  The Scorpents let out a low rumble of guffaws, and soon, the scratchy rustle of twigs and leaves drifted through the air.

  What is happening? Jules strained his ears to hear better. A leaf cutter ant stood in his path and looked him eyeball-to-eyeball. Jules let the ant, which reached to his knee when he was standing, scurry pass on six black legs, feelers quivering.

  “No! Stop!” Miranda cried, and then silence, except for the wheezing of the Scorpents.

  Their words sounded garbled, and then the same rustling of leaves and twigs. By now Jules could see what they were up to. Two Scorpents stood bent over something, then one straightened up and sniffed the air, said something garbled again, and they both roared like lions. Jules held his breath and lay flat on the muddy earth. Minutes passed and when he parted the spears of grass again, the Scorpents had left. Or so he hoped.

  “What’s up?” Hooks said when he found him.

  “They had Miranda, but she’s gone now.”

  “Do you want to go after them?”

&nb
sp; “Hooks, you don’t have to do this. Your wife must be ever worried for you and the fish.”

  “A little dieting won’t hurt her.” Hooks grinned despite their situation.

  Jules nudged him and grinned back. “I think it’s safe to come out to see what they were bending over right there.” He pointed.

  “Shh! What’s that clicking, wheezing sound?”

  61 - COUNTED AS DEAD

  “DOESN’T SOUND LIKE Scorpents.” The sunlight streamed to the ground, but the blades of grass cast shadows and patches of darkness that swayed here and there. When Jules squinted, he realized the patches were not formed by the grasses swaying in the breeze but by moving objects. Insects. Roaches, to be precise.

  Jules pulled at Hooks’s cloak. “Hissing cockroaches.”

  “What?”

  “They can force air through their breathing holes in their abdomen and make the wheezing sounds. Sounds like a Scorpent. Almost.”

  “Wonderful science lesson, Jules.”

  “They’re crawling in and out of the covering over there.”

  “Why do you think there are so many here?”

  “Let’s see.” He made to move toward the dense shadows that turned out to be the hard backs of roaches skittering.

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Kid. Roaches bite.”

  “Only if you’re very still, or very dead.”

  Hooks wrinkled his nose. “And they stink, too!”

  “They’ll camouflage our smell. Someone’s crying! Hear that?” Jules walked closer to the roaches and then, whoosh he slipped and dropped several feet down onto something soft, mushy, and nauseating with stench. The stench reminded him of his recent experience hauling Hooks out of the pit, and he started retching.

  “Jules!” Hooks was calling from above. “I guess it’s your turn. I’ll see how I can help.” Hooks peered through the opening Jules had fallen through and coughed continuously.

  “Jules?” Miranda’s voice came from somewhere in the pit, muffled and strained.

  In the pitch darkness, Jules felt a quivering hand grope for his arm, and as he grasped it, he quaked out a hoarse whisper, "Miranda, don’t move. I think we've been dumped on top of somebody—or rather some— bodies.”

  “We’re going to die like them, Jules,” she said between belabored breath and sobbing. Jules didn’t know if she sobbed because of remorse or because the stench made them both gag every few seconds. “Like those…bodies.”

  Jules grabbed about his cloak, and produced the last of his light wands. He snapped it into two, and the dim light displayed the pit they stood in. They were in a mass grave—a mountain of carcasses piled high atop one another. Living beings that once breathed, talked and walked, now lay extinguished like slaughtered animals. Only the semblance of rotting flesh and broken bones remained of them. Their essence oozed out thick. Jules tasted the decay in his mouth and gagged more. The heavy air clung to his skin like cold fingers. This pit was worse than the one Hooks stumbled into. That one held bones and skulls. This one, rotting flesh.

  “Miranda? Juu-les?”

  Jules was sure one of the carcasses had come back to life. A ghost awakened from a disturbed slumber? The muffled moaning flowed from somewhere underneath them. No! It came from their right side, closer to Miranda. She clutched Jules’s arm and dug her nails into his skin further. Her grip was painful, but he let her cling on. He struggled to keep down what morsel of food he had left in his stomach, that bit of bite with the Hanfies who stole from him.

  “Jules?” Hooks cried from above. “Find a way to pass me your twine.”

  Jules hugged the pillowcase with the twine to his body. It held the means for escape.

  “Jules? Miranda?” the voice from the pit, grew stronger. Familiar almost.

  “Holden?” Jules murmured. “Holden! Are you badly hurt?”

  “I knew you’d come. I broke my leg.”

  Jules waved his lighted wand across the pit. A huddled form shifted on the far side against the wall. “Can you move your leg?”

  “I can’t stand or walk. I think I’ll have to die here. But I wanted to give you something before I–”

  “Don’t be crazy. I came all the way for you, and I’m getting you out. You and Miranda.”

  “Don’t trust Miranda,” Holden said.

  Miranda let out a gasp. “Please, Jules, I never thought it’d come to this.

  You don’t know what it’s like living with Saul.”

  “Don’t believe a word,” Holden pleaded between sobs.

  “Please, Jules, I did it for my mother. I meant to right everything.”

  “She’s a fake!”

  “Shut up! Both of you. I have to think.” Jules yanked his arm away from Miranda, waved his dimming light stick about and studied the wall of the pit.

  Scores of hissing roaches crawling in and out on the rim of the pit became visible. Many trudged up and down the sides of the shaft waving their antennas back and forth like scraggly swords flashing above their tiny heads. Their beady eyes stared straight ahead with intense concentration. A few marched close, their feelers just above Jules’s head. He cast them a glance and shuddered.

  62 - ROACHES UP CLOSE

  “HEY, JULES!” HOOKS called out. “We’d better hurry. The roaches are coming toward me.”

  “I have an idea. They’re here to feast on the bodies beneath us.” Jules said, quietly.

  Some of the scavengers regarded Jules and Miranda with interest, as though considering if they could qualify as a tasty supper. After all, roaches devour all sorts of meat.

  “When a couple comes close enough as they crawl back up the wall I will lasso them with my twine.” He handed Miranda his pillowcase and rummaged through it as she held it open for him. He also took out the mirror shard and used its sharp edge to cut the twine into sections he tied together into a harness. He noosed the other end into a lasso. “My light’s fading.”

  “Jules,” Holden croaked. “The Scorpents may come again.”

  “I’m moving as fast as I can. Miranda, place your leg in this loop.” He shoved the harness to her.

  “You can’t be serious.” Miranda moaned. “You’re totally insane. I detest roaches.”

  “Normally Blatarrias, as roaches are called scientifically, bite, but the hissing species won’t attack unless provoked, or if they think you’re food. Try not to qualify for either category.”

  Miranda snatched the harness and placed her foot through one loop.

  “Now what?”

  Jules swung the other end round and round above his head and aimed the lasso at a Blatarria marching up. But he missed. It was too dim.

  “Wait!” He fumbled within his cloak, patting here and there. Several pockets later, he fished out the firefly he’d pocketed when they first entered Heritage. It had dwindled to a semi-comatose state! “You handle this.” He shoved the firefly at Miranda.

  “Ee-ew! I’m not fond of insects.” Miranda grudgingly grasped the firefly with both hands.

  “And I’m not fond of traitors.” He shot her a glare.

  “What do I do with this—thing?”

  “Hold it up so I can see where I’m aiming if you want to get out.” Then Jules gestured at Hooks who appeared to be widening the opening with his hook. “When Miranda gets there, hook her to something. We don’t want our prisoner escaping!”

  “Prisoner? Look, I can explain everything.”

  “Save your sales pitch!” And he started lassoing again.

  It took him many throws and careful maneuvering before he eventually fastened the flimsy silk threads to a hardy roach. Miranda’s mount pulled her up the slimy wall of the pit.

  Getting Holden harnessed and up the wall was harder. Several times Holden cried out in pain and told Jules to just leave him there.

  Jules almost lost his temper.

  “You are one of the last Keepers of Reign. Our Kingdom will forever remain cursed once all Keepers are lost. How can you only think of your pain?”
>
  After many trials, and Hooks using his different hooks to guide the roach, Holden was finally over the mouth of the pit. In a few minutes, Jules was out, too. He felt a cool draft ruffling his hair. The air smelt lighter, more refreshing. He wriggled out of his harness and told Hooks to gather the twine.

  “It stinks worse than rotten fish,” Hooks said. “Disgusting,”

  Jules agreed. “Leave it, then.”

  He rushed to Miranda and stood before her small figure huddled next to a stone. She was sitting on her haunches, hugging her knees. A giant hook secured the twine around her waist to the ground and trapped her.

  “Where’s my mother?” Jules said. “And don’t bother lying.” “I don’t know where she is.” “I said don’t bother to lie.” “I’m not lying. She was there. In your house when I went to see her. And, yes, I lied and told her you needed help outside so I could search your home. Not to hurt her. I never saw her again.”

  “And you brought Holden’s soup pot there to trick me, so we’d get to the Laceworks’ and you could do what? Blow us up by lightning?”

  “I—I brought the soup pot, as an excuse to visit your mother, yes, but I didn’t know about the lightning.”

  “What did you do with Mrs. Lacework? How could you do it, Miranda? How could you sell her out like that? She was like a mother to you.”

  “Like a mother, but not my own. I need to find my mother.”

  “That’s no excuse. Besides, your mother is dead.”

  “I have a mother. Alive. Here, in Handover. And she needs me.”

  “She’s a Keeper’s heir,” Jules said. “No way she could’ve survived in Handover all those years. And no matter what, it doesn’t give you a reason to hurt people.”

  “I never meant for Mrs. L to get hurt. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.”

  Hooks had helped Holden hobble to Miranda.

  “What way?” Hooks said as he eased Holden down to sit.

  “Whisperer told me if I could get the red crystal to him he’d tell me where my mother was last seen.”

  “Miranda, if Whisperer knows where your mother is, he’d have delivered her to Gehzurolle himself. There’s a price for the head of every Keeper heir. He wants every Keeper and anyone in a Keeper household. Dead, so there’d be no heir, and no hope for Reign. Your mother’s without her Book to protect her, I might add.”

  Miranda flicked at dirt on her soiled cloak, and brought the hood on her cloak up to cover her head. “You’re wrong. You don’t know anything. My mother has her Book! That’s why they can’t get her. And why she’s alive, and I mean to find her not matter what.”

  Jules and Holden locked eyes. Impossible. He and Holden witnessed Saul read a large antique-looking tome. It had a red cover with an ancient motif and golden edges. Was that not the Turpentine Ancient Book?

  63 - UNFAITHFUL SERVANTS

  BUT HOW COULD Jules be sure Miranda wasn’t lying, now? “How’d you know your mother has her Book?” He stepped toward her. “Or that she’s even alive?”

  “Whisperer told me,” Miranda said.

  “Hah! Whisperer? Whisperer is Gehzurolle’s agent. He’d lie for anything.

  All of Gehzurolle’s agents live on lies. Thrive on lies. For a smart girl,

  you can be so blind.”

  Hooks laid a hand on Jules’s shoulder. “We’d better leave. Maybe find a lake to wash off that stench. I heard Scorpents are attracted to foul smells.”

  “Let’s take our cloaks off, too.”

  “How about the frost at night,” Holden said. “We’ll need our cloaks.”

  “Hooks has a point,” Jules said. “The stench will attract the Scorpents. Better to freeze than have them upon us. We don’t have our lanterns.” Jules told Holden about the soldiers robbing them.

  “We can wash the cloaks,” Hooks said. “I know of ways to get rid of rotten smells.”

  Jules felt thankful for Hooks’s company. But when he saw Miranda eyeing him, he scowled.

  Hooks pointed to Miranda. “What to do with her?”

  “Let me go. I know where my mother’s house is.” She rummaged in her cloak despite her wrists secured together in front of her, and brought out a folded sheet. “If I can get to Glennora I can find her.”

  Jules snatched the map from her. “You’re coming with us, and we don’t have time to go on your wild goose chase.” He glanced at it quickly.

  “It’s no wild goose chase. They caught me because I came that close to finding her,” Miranda said, making a gesture with her fingers. “If I find her, I can convince her to return to Reign with her Book.”

  “You’re our prisoner. I don’t trust you one iota. Hooks, loosen her feet, and we’ll get going.” Jules turned to Hooks. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. You’re not so bad for a Hanfie. Please, maybe it’ll be safer for you to return home. Back to your wife.”

  “To be skinned alive? You’re not ridding me so easily, Jules. This adventure pumps fresh blood into my veins! I’ve never felt so alive.”

  Jules shook his head. He knew Hooks worried for their safety even though the fisherman didn’t say it.

  Miranda told them that the trees ahead had web bridges on them. She’d traveled most of her way around Handover using them. She didn’t think the Scorpents knew of them. So, after they took a dip in a large pond to wash off the smell of death, Jules decided to risk it and believe her words about the bridges. That proved to be true. He was the last to reach the branch with the web, even after the hobbling Holden, who had only sprained his ankles. The restrained Miranda kept chuckling at him.

  Holden nudged him when they rested on a fork in the bridge. “Heights making you queasy still?”

  “Nothing can rival the pit.” He locked eyes with Miranda. “Correction. Nothing can rival betrayal.” And he hopped up and slung his pillowcase sack over his shoulder.

  From the arc of the sun, they determined where north lay. Hooks said this would take them to the Roaring Waterfall. It was the largest in Handover. Stories of death and despair were connected with it. Supposedly when Gehzurolle attempted to cleanse Handover of every Fairy Elf who’d migrated there centuries ago, his Scorpents urged every captured Elfie up the ridge that led to the peak, and from there, the Scorpents pushed every prisoner over the edge. Whether Falstaff’s family already resided in that vicinity during this heinous crime, nobody knew.

  “You don’t even have the exact location of this Mosche’s home?” Miranda jerked her head toward Jules, as if challenging him.

  “Maybe we should shut your mouth, too.”

  “Tell him, Hooks,” Miranda said. “He doesn’t realize how huge this waterfall is. We could wander for days and never find his Mosche. And for what? What if his grandpa’s not there? What if Mosche’s not there? I have a better plan.”

  “Do we have a rag or something, Holden?”

  “Don’t drag me into this.” Holden hurried his steps, his hobbling less awkward now, and the web bridge swung wildly as he thumped past Jules and Miranda.

  “She might’ve gotten your mother killed, and you don’t want to be dragged into this?”

  “I just don’t want to have anything to do with her.”

  “How long should we continue on the bridges, Hooks?”

  “The map says to continue till Crick Hollow. That should flow further north, and it cuts Brooke Beginning almost perpendicular.”

  Despite the lemony scent of pine needles around him, Jules still felt nauseated, as if the smell of death clung to his pores. Or perhaps it was the wind rocking the bridge to and fro. A mountain higher than any other in Handover peeked between the foliage, spewing thick, black smoke. Palms sweaty, Jules gripped an overhang and hoisted himself up a branch.

  “What’s that summit over there? Looks like it’s on fire.” Jules pointed to the East.

  “You must mean Blood Ridge. It’s a volcano.” Hooks didn’t even climb up to see what Jules was talking about.

  “How come we didn�
��t notice it before?”

  “Legend says it’s always covered behind thick clouds, but on a clear day like today you can see it if you’re high enough as we are now.”

  “Know of anyone who’s been there?”

  “It’s not a place you want to get near, not that it’s easy to get there,” Hooks said. “I don’t think any Handoverans have ever made it there and back alive.”

  “That’s where Gehzurolle throws in his traitors?” Miranda said.

  Jules hopped back down and shot her a glare. “And his servants.” They locked eyes, and she quickly looked away.

  64 - GIFT

  THE BRIDGE BROUGHT them to the upper reaches, where the foliage grew densest and the crisp wind came in drifts and swayed the boughs in a rhythmic wave. On and on, they stumbled and scampered until they saw a wooden landing between two stout tree limbs. When Jules saw the large figure perched on the branch just above the landing he drew in his breath, not believing his eyes.

  “Fiesty?”

  If it wasn’t for a blue ribbon dangling from one of his six legs he wouldn’t have thought it possible. Even Miranda’s eyes were large as saucers.

  The dragonfly dipped his head as Jules reached out and touched one of its wings. The fly’s multi-facetted eyes glimmered in the afternoon sun. It was obvious this was not the same Feisty that Tst Tst found as a nymph and raised as their pet. His gossamer wings were bedraggled, and he had lost a leg! Yet the blue ribbon was clearly one of those used to attach Fiesty.

  “What happened, Fiesty?” Jules shook his head sadly at him.

  “How’d he even find us?” Miranda came up and stood next to Jules.

  “It’s not like we’re in your backyard or something.”

  Jules stared at Fiesty’s stub where his leg was missing, then turned to Miranda. “Did you send the ravens to eat us? Did you do this to him? Did you?”

  She shrank back. “Maybe if you’re a little nicer, I’ll tell you a secret.”

  Jules stared at his feet and counted to ten in his head. He even recited verses his Grandpa Leroy taught him. Grandpa told him the ancient verses could help. Could it take away the utter contempt he now felt for Miranda? How could his feelings turn against her so quickly? How could he have liked a deceiver? How could Miranda have deceived him?

  Fiesty still perched on the branch. It was unlike him to not flit about. Jules turned to him and motioned with his fingers. “Tst Tst and Tippy would be glad to see you, Fiesty. How’d you find me?” He reached into his pocket and felt Abel’s whistle. Could that have summoned Fiesty? Then he noticed the knot on the blue ribbon, and something white poking from within it.

  Paper? Fingers trembling, he loosened the knot and slipped out the note. He recognized the swirly loops of the p’s and g’s. It was his mother’s writing—no mistaking it. When Jules read the message, he didn’t know what to do.

  Dear J, any of my dear children, or any Elfie who can help:

  I hope Fiesty has found you. The enemies have Mrs. L and I as prisoners, and although we are safe for now, I don’t know how long we will remain here before they transport us elsewhere. The little I overheard points to Handover, possibly Euruliaf. Gehzurolle wants us. He is looking for the five Keepers and our Books. Our captors have our Books—Mrs. L’s and mine. They have only allowed us possession once. They (and we don’t know who they are but they are not Scorpents, maybe they’re Hanfies) promise to reunite us with our Books at the end of our journey.

  I don’t know if I am in Reign or Handover. I was unconscious when they brought me here, as was Mrs. L, and when we regained consciousness, we found ourselves together in a dungeon under a tree with a tiny gape at the very top to let sunlight in. That’s when I saw Fiesty. J, trust no one. A traitor is in our midst. You must find his/her identity for you need to warn the other Keepers. I overheard that only three are left. Tell them to stay away and not be deceived by the charms of this traitor.

  Gehzurolle plans for us five to gather together to decipher the codes within our Books to find something long lost. He is also gathering crystals to assemble the last gift. I cannot say it here, but I found out what the gift was when Mrs. L and I read our Books together last night. All these years and I knew so little.

  J, hide R and the girls. They are looking for something in our home, but I don’t know what. Run. Hide. And if you can, find the remaining Keepers and warn them.

  Mrs. L hopes H is with you.

  Find Dad, and warn him. I heard his name mentioned and worry he is in trouble. They might desire to annihilate the entire Blaze household because of me. I must stop writing now. I hear them coming.

  No matter what happens, I love you all.

  Mom (E B–L)

  E B–L is Erin Blaze-Leroy.

  Jules stared at the paper for a few moments. Gift?

  Different rumors had circulated about what it could have been, but when the ancient Keeper Falstaff left Reign centuries ago, he brought the gift with him, and the secret died with him.

  Jules slumped his shoulders and wondered about the other Keepers. One must be Saul. Mosche could be the fourth. But who was the fifth? And how could Jules find out?

  Holden nudged him. “What is it?” He peered over at the open note still in Jules’s grasp.

  “Read it aloud!” Jules shoved the note at Holden and cast a glance at Miranda. Was she the traitor his mother was referring to? She betrayed Mrs. L to whatever force it was that kidnapped her. And whoever it was also kidnapped his mother. Was it Whisperer? Would Miranda even tell the truth if asked? His heart sank.

  His mother must not be with Mosche. Unless Mosche was in it, too. Did Mosche lure Grandpa Leroy as well? But if Mosche was a Keeper he’d never make a pact with the Enemy. Or would he? Miranda did, and maybe even her mother before her, if she’d survived this long in Handover without her Book. Was the captor a Hanfie—a half-breed?

  Miranda touched his arm, and Jules jerked back.

  “I’m not the traitor,” she said.

  “And I’m not a fool.”

  “This gift—I know something that can help,” Miranda said. “It’s a chest in my mother’s house. I think it has pieces of the gift. Help me find it. Her cottage is in the pomegranate grove. You’re wasting your time looking for this Mosche.”

  They locked eyes for a long moment. Her blue eyes turned green and sparkled like emeralds. Her soft hair flopped over one eye, and Jules almost brushed it aside for her as he’d done so many times when they talked by the tree stump in his backyard.

  Jules pressed his lips together and swallowed. “This grove—is it near the waterfall?”

  “It’s in Glennora. Let me see your map. I can say if we’re close.” She smiled and edged toward him.

  Jules looked up and noticed Hooks studying him. He thought Hooks shook his head slightly.

  “What chest?” Jules handed her the map.

  “My mother carried our family heirloom to Handover. Grandpa Saul said she stole some ancient pieces from him when she snuck away a long time ago. I think this must be it.”

  “How can this chest, or this gift, whatever it is, help me?”

  Miranda glanced at the foliage above and drew closer to Jules. “The forest has ears. But,” she leaned towards Jules’s ear. “Gehzurolle would be willing to trade the gift for anything. For your mother’s life and mine and Mrs. L’s.”

  “And you know this because?”

  “I overheard, when I snuck into Euruliaf. I almost got away, too, but they caught up in Heritage and caught me, and said I knew too much.”

  Hooks stepped toward them and coughed. “I’ve heard of Glennora. I don’t think we want to go there. It’s too close to Euruliaf, and if the Scorpents want to ambush us that would be a perfect place to overcome us.”

  “Precisely. That’s why my mother chose it. They’d never guess she lived so close,” Miranda said. “It’s a day’s walk to Euruliaf. I’ve never been to Glenorra, but I heard it’s beautiful.”

  Hooks cleared hi
s throat loudly. “And if the Scorpents want to trap us, Glennora has numerous ideal spots for a surprise attack. I have heard stories of Scorpents boasting of the area.”

  “Jules, Hooks has a point,” Holden said.

  Jules ran his hand through his blonde hair that had grown shaggy during the past few weeks. It felt sticky with sweat and grime. The dip in the pond hadn’t been sufficient. A long bath infused with lavender and heather flowers might take away the smell.

  “Let’s get to Roaring Falls first. I need to think this through,” Jules said.

  Miranda stood up, kicked at a stone and skulked away. She turned and looked at Jules. “If you think you’ll find your Grandpa Leroy with Mosche, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  65 - FATAL FALL

  IT TOOK ALL of him to not slap her. Jules held his breath and spun Miranda around. “What d’ya mean by ‘sorely disappointed?’”

  “Leave her be, Jules,” Holden said. “She’s upset she’s not getting her way as she’s used to.”

  “Think what you like,” Miranda said. “But you’ll be sorry you ignored me.”

  “What do you mean, Miranda?” Hooks said.

  “His grandparents are dead! Dead! Drowned. Happy?”

  Jules dashed toward her and shoved her shoulder so hard she fell backwards.

  “Enough!” Hooks rushed to Miranda and gave her a helping hand. “You sure understand the art of provoking, Elfie girl. These are your friends.”

  “Friends? They are no friends.”

  “You are blind, girl,” Hooks said, softly. “You don’t know the value of a friend. How can you be so cold about it—even if it’s true?”

  “It is true.” Miranda was crying, now. “And I would have said it sooner, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it because I knew it would hurt him.”

  Jules grabbed his sack. “Don’t believe a liar. Let’s go, Holden.” But his heart felt like it had been torn out of his chest. The broken lantern, the water-stained letter in Starkies’ drawer, they must speak of Grandpa’s doom. Jules stalked to Miranda and tightened the bind around her wrists.

  “Ouch! It’s hurting me.”

  “A stone heart cannot feel pain.”

  “Jules, look!” Holden pulled himself up to the branch and stood next to Fiesty. “Fire!”

  Fiesty took off from his perch and flitted above Holden’s head.

  “How far is it?” Jules asked.

  “Can’t tell. Lots of black smoke.”

  “Is it coming this way?” Hooks, too, hauled himself and stood next to Holden. “It’s east of us. Could be from Heritage. I hope it’s not near my place. Doesn’t look like it’s coming our way.”

  “Where’s Fiesty?” Jules looked about.

  But Fiesty was gone.

  “The last time Fiesty acted strange, ravens attacked us.”

  Holden and Hooks slid and jumped down from the branch.

  “You don’t say,” Holden said.

  “We’d better get going,” Jules said.

  But a buzz of wings alerted him and he scanned the upper reaches. Just as he motioned for Miranda to start walking, a dark cloud overshadowed the platform they stood on and Fiesty landed next to them. But not just Fiesty. He arrived with four of the largest dragonflies Jules had ever seen. What could this mean? Fiesty hobbled toward Jules on his five legs, his gait unsteady.

  “If I didn’t know better I’d say he wants us to ride his friends,” Miranda spoke for the first time since her fight with Jules.

  “We can’t ride them!” Jules said. “It’s safer to walk the bridges. Don’t think I’ll loosen your bindings even if we’re riding them.” To Fiesty, he said,

  “Follow us with your friends.”

  But Fiesty nudged him just like he did on that afternoon before the ravens appeared. Back then they thought Fiesty was insane.

  Now Jules and the others trudged a few steps, but Fiesty didn’t make an effort to follow. His winged friends stood erect on the platform, too, as though waiting for instructions. Their bluish-green wings caught the rays.

  Jules turned and motioned to Fiesty.

  “Maybe he’s warning you, like the last time,” Miranda said.

  “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask,” Jules said. “Thank you very much.”

  “If my life wasn’t at stake, I wouldn’t suggest it. But I don’t want to end up dead on account of your stupidity.”

  Hooks hurried to catch up with the boys and said, “Maybe we should look into Miranda’s suggestion.”

  “I’m grateful for your help so far,” Jules said to Hooks. “But this is our burden—mine and Holden’s.” He pointed to Miranda. “She’s the reason our families’ lives are at stake, so I’ll handle this my way.” He stalked off, shoving the small of Miranda’s back. “Let’s go!”

  What happened next went so fast nobody had time to react. The web bridge shook violently, and the branch the bridge was secured to gave way with a loud crack! Whack!

  Jules grabbed for the railing of the bridge, but that gave way, too, and he found himself free falling, one hand grasping his sack, the other grasping the severed railing. Where was Holden? He turned and saw Holden, further up, clinging to the railing like himself. But Miranda and Hooks must have fallen all the way down. He saw no trace of them. The thrust of the falling branch broke the web bridge in half. Jules and Holden were on the upper half still connected to the platform they’d been on. But Miranda and Hooks, who’d stood a little ahead, dropped with the branch to the forest below.

  66 - GIVE UP

  “HOOKS! MIRANDA!” JULES transferred the sack to his teeth. With his now free hand, he grasped the twine, realizing that the only way to safety for him and Holden was to make their way up the swaying twine back toward the platform between the branches that were still secured to the tree.

  Holden already started the slow climb using his knees to clench the rope and pulling himself up using the knots on the web twine as footholds.

  Jules followed suit. He didn’t think he’d ever make it to the platform but, after what felt like hours, he heaved himself up and, sitting on the platform, he panted and peered at the ground. Beside him, Holden rubbed his red knees and rope-burnt hands.

  “I slipped a few times,” Holden confessed.

  “Me too.”

  “Do you think Hooks and Miranda made it down safely?’

  Jules gulped and avoided Holden’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know.” He wished Holden would stop asking. He didn’t want to be the leader anymore. Didn’t want the mission. Didn’t want to think.

  He sat there like a stone.

  “Hey, don’t space out on me.”

  Jules didn’t answer.

  “Jules! You can’t do this.”

  “It’s my fault they fell.” Jules’s voice was flat and barely above a whisper.

  “Look!” Holden pointed.

  When Jules looked up he saw Fiesty hovering above him. Fiesty’s four friends flitted about between the foliage. But Jules still didn’t respond.

  “Let see if they’ll come to us. We can ride them.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “If you’re not going to say or do anything, I have no choice but to act for the both of us.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Jules, grow up. Stop thinking about yourself. Isn’t that what you told me? This is not about you. Or me. Our moms’ lives are at stake. Maybe even Ralston’s and Tippy’s and Tst Tst’s and Bitha’s. Maybe even Mosche’s. Reign needs us. We should act like Keepers—not just say we are.”

  “I never asked to be born a Keeper.”

  “Well, me neither. But facts are facts.”

  “You go, Holden. You ride Fiesty. Or his friend. I just want to sit here and wait.”

  “For what? For Gehzurolle and his forces to get you? That’s it? Give up?”

  “Miranda was right. My grandparents are dead. I guess I sorta knew.


  But I didn’t want to accept it. Why are we going to Mosche? What good can we do?”

  “Didn’t you read your mother’s letter? If he’s a Keeper we need to warn him—even if your mom or mine are not there.”

  “Mosche’s lived decades without our help. His family lived centuries without our help—”

  “But he wrote to your Grandpa. Don’t let your Grandpa die in vain. Something good must surely come of all this!” Holden waved his hand at the foliage above. Fiesty swooped down and landed next to Jules, wings spread open.

  Jules stroked the dragonfly’s wing. Delicate like lace. What possessed the King to breed this giant specie? He’d tried riding Fiesty before. In their backyard. In secret, of course. He’d straddled Fiesty, his legs on either side as he sat right behind his pet’s head. They’d flown high enough to know it could be done. He turned to Holden.

  “I’d known my grandpa must have drowned since Abel told me about the sardius. That red crystal Tippy found—that flash I saw that night—they were related. Grandpa Leroy was the important Elfie who died. And I was a fool not to put two and two together.”

  “You’d be a bigger fool to sit here and rot. Miranda was right about you.”

  “What she say?”

  “Forget it. We’re wasting time. I’m looking for Miranda and Hooks, and leaving you to weep like the willows.”

  “Hey!”

  But Holden had already grabbed his meager belongings in his satchel and approached a dragonfly perched next to Fiesty. He touched the dragonfly’s back, the part just behind its bulbous head.

  “It’s too bristly,” Jules said. “You’d need to lay something on it or you’d scratch your thighs bad.”

  Holden cast him a sidewise glance.

  “I rode Fiesty before,” Jules said.

  “I thought you were afraid of heights.”

  “We didn’t get high. In fact, we’re a lot higher on these trees now.” Holden pulled a spare pillowcase from his sack and laid it on the spot he planned to sit on.

  “Wait!” Jules said.

  “If I don’t go now they could die, or maybe I’m already too late.” Holden heaved himself onto the dragonfly’s neck.

  “What did Miranda say about me?”

  “That you’re too in love with yourself to notice her.” And he shoved his heel into the dragonfly’s flank. “I’ll call you Bristles.” He patted his ride’s head between its green-blue eyes.

  Jules wrapped his palms over the crown of his head. Too in love with myself to notice her? What could possess her to say that? A tear dripped from the tip of his nose, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. What’s the point of crying? I’m probably too late. For Miranda, for Hooks, for Mother, and definitely, for Grandpa and Grandma. And who knew how Dad was faring?

  “It’s never too late, Jules.” a melodic voice said.

  Jules swiveled his head left and right. Who said that? The voice seemed vaguely familiar. But no one was there. Even Holden had taken off with all the dragonflies.

  “Who’s there?”

  But only the wind answered as it whistled through the leaves in the upper reaches. Jules laid prostrate on the platform, resting his weight on his elbows and leaning over the platform to look for Holden.

  It was a long way down. The sunlight filtered through the leaves and flickered like golden ballerinas twirling all about him. Even if Holden was in his line of sight, he’d never be able to discern him with how the light played tricks on his eyes. If one of the dragonflies returned, would he even dare to ride it all the way down?

  Jules could see why Miranda preferred Holden to him. For all of Holden’s plainness he’d proved himself reliable and trustworthy. And brave. Jules tried to make the right choices, the difficult choices. But Miranda’s words cut too deep. He should have listened to her. They should have left on those dragonflies, instead of relying on his pigheadedness. And now Miranda and Hooks had to pay the price for his poor decision. His pride.

  Jules leaned over the platform and squinted. Surely he must be able to sight the glint of a dragonfly wing or something. But the sunlight dazzled his eyes, and the glitter neither confirmed nor denied that Holden was still flying on his dragonfly steed.

  Jules sat back up and hugged his knees to his chest. In a million years, he never imagined he’d sit alone in the middle of a forest—in Handover, no less—bereft of family, friends, and even a pet.

  A cold wind blew and a chill ran up his spine. Jules wrapped his still stinky cloak tightly about him, and that was when he felt the lump in his pocket. He drew it out. The whistle Abel gave him. The soundless one that didn’t even squeak.

  He blew into it since there was nothing left to lose and nothing to do but blow his rage into the useless piece of wood. Blow and blow until his lungs felt like deflated balloons and the muscles in his cheeks ached. Blow until there was no breath left in him. He clutched the whistle so hard it left grooves in his fingers.

  And he would have gone on blowing until he passed out except a violent gust shook the platform, rattled it and almost swept Jules off. Alarmed, Jules looked up. It looked like night had suddenly cloaked the land, and he was plunged into darkness.

  67 - KING STAR

  HAD A RAIN cloud propelled itself toward this part of the forest? Jules looked about. It was suddenly dark. Was this a natural occurrence? Was it a storm? But more than gusts, the flapping of a million wings, or so it seemed, resounded all about Jules.

  He squinted and saw what looked like butterflies, by the thousands, storming into his midst, their wings, even in the dimness, shimmering like magic. Jules gasped. Dust from their wings swirled about him.

  The largest butterfly he’d ever seen swooped and landed next to him, wings pumping. That was when Jules remembered the wooden whistle still clutched tightly in his fist.

  He studied it and shifted his gaze to the butterfly. Could it have summoned this cloud of butterflies? And maybe even Fiesty and his friends when he’d blown it when he was with Hooks? Winged animals of giant species?

  Was that what this whistle called forth?

  Jules cautiously slipped the whistle into his pocket and grabbed his sack. From it he drew out a twine and, amidst the batting of wings circling above, he edged toward the sole butterfly eyeing him with large bulbous eyes of green and black pattern, fringed with short feathery protrusions. He’d never seen a butterfly so up close. From the markings, he gathered this was a monarch, albeit a giant one. Monarchs were known for their ability to fly hundreds of miles without stopping.

  He expected the monarch to jerk back or maybe even dip its head ferociously toward him as he inched his arm out slowly to it, but the insect remained as still as marble. He wasn’t sure how he was to harness the butterfly’s spindly body with his web twine but figured if he didn’t secure himself to it he might fall to his doom once they flew. For now Jules was certain he must fly. But if his experience of maneuvering a dragonfly was slim, his expertise with butterflies ran even slimmer.

  When he determined he couldn’t quite reach around its neck, or what seemed like a neck, he placed a firm hand on its bodice and hitched himself up onto the crook between the head and the body where the forewings attached. Just as he leaned forward to secure the twine, one hand grasping his sack, the butterfly thrust its wings upward and Jules toppled backward. Before he knew it, they were airborne. And all the other butterflies were swarming behind them.

  How to steer this thing?

  Jules balanced himself as best he could and shut his lids tight, until he realized it wouldn’t matter if he fell with his eyes closed or opened. A fall was a fall. At least butterflies didn’t flit as speedily as dragonflies would have done. Jules’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the forest as evening came, and he leaned forward and scoured the forest floor as the butterfly dipped and glided over the lower bushes and undergrowth. Behind them, trailing in a single file, the butterflies of varied hues and sizes aligned themselves as they flapped their colorful wings.

/>   If Jules hadn’t been so worried he’d have enjoyed the sight. Where was Holden? Had he located Miranda and Hooks? If only he’d insisted on Hooks returning to his wife.

  Night was fast approaching. Between the foliage the stars above twinkled happily as though no trouble existed in the world. How could they be so cheerful?

  His mind flitted to the story of the King and the star. It seemed a longtime ago when Grandpa Leroy read about the King who’d created their Race. And of how, when the King had completed his Book with his own blood that late night, he’d returned to his home in the sky and was birthed into a star.

  Early that morning their Kingdom’s astronomers detected that star and named it “King Star.” It twinkled brighter than all others. Was that why the King never returned?

  Lost travelers used that prominent King Star as a guide to find their way. It always appeared west of the moon. Jules rummaged in his cloak and took out Abel’s crude map. If he couldn’t locate Holden maybe he could still find Mosche. If he could identify his location using the stars maybe he’d know where the waterfall lay.

  The other butterflies must have flown away as he found himself alone with his ride who insisted on soaring higher now instead of taking them aground. Jules studied the sky and identified the different constellations—the Lion, the Eagle, the Bear, the Woman—easily enough, but not that bright star that could guide him.

  Where was the King Star? Jules had wondered how the King Star was related to the red crystal. Now he knew. And it made sense. All the pieces fitted together. At least he understood the flash-in-the-sky mystery—the King Star had given birth to the red crystal as a token to commemorate the passing of a Keeper. And Gehzurolle found it satisfying to gloat on this, hence his insatiable desire to collect each token as a memento of his hatred of Elfies. Particularly Keepers. Ever since the King entrusted them with the Books, and especially, the gift.

  As he kept looking up Jules thought he saw a shooting star but wasn’t sure—was this a good omen? Of hope? When there seemed to be none?

  In the quiet, the bubbling of a river jolted him. Jules craned his neck and twisted his torso to identify the gurgling source. A silver patch peeked between a few lone cypresses ahead.

  Brooke Beginning? Or was this some other river? Crick Hollow? Or River Run? Although those were supposed to snake deeper into Handover, encroaching Euruliaf, Gehzurolle’s capital.

  If I landed I might get a reference point.

  A rustling of leaves made him swivel his head at the boughs behind him, but nothing became apparent. Was someone following him? Eventually, he managed to persuade the monarch to fly him to the river’s edge and to sail down onto a log on the bank.

  Where to now?

  But a nagging uneasiness bugged him. He slipped off the monarch and stood on the log, his hand gripping the map.

  If the River was Brooke Beginning he could follow it north and find the rivulet to the waterfall. He might even be able to hear its roar.

  To his horror, when he turned to climb back onto the monarch he found the butterfly gone.

  I’m in the middle of nowhere.

  Jules was just about to jump off the log when the log moved.

  Oh, no! Not again. He wanted to slap himself for not having learnt his lesson. An alligator. And a speedy one at that. Something must have scared the reptile as it burst into the water with a ferocious spurt and submerged its head. Jules clung with all his might to the rough scaly back but he lost his grip and toppled into the fast flowing water.

  68 - UNDER WATER

  WHEN JULES WAS absolutely certain he was dead, he opened his eyes underwater. It was dark and murky, filled with lots of woody pieces floating here and there.

  I need to breathe!

  His lungs felt like bursting but even with all the kicking he couldn’t rise to gulp air. He looked up and saw the underbelly of the alligator. Maybe he stood a better chance staying below. His mind flitted to his grandparents.

  When he thought of them he forgot he was afraid of the Brooke.

  The current bore him to the far right, where a pinpoint of light shone. He scissor-kicked his legs as best he could and used his arms to push the water to get to the top. He never thought he could swim, but he actually made some progress. But the current, too strong, sucked him in another direction.

  When his head smacked into something hard, he groped about hoping to grab something he could use to pull himself up and out of the water, his sense of direction gone haywire. Soon his fingers found a ledge above the waterline. He thought about the possibility of some evil waiting for him there, but by now his lungs felt like bursting. He grabbed the ledge and hauled his weight up with all his strength. After the scramble up he lay on the ledge, flat on his back, chest heaving. He held his sides and took measured breaths. His lungs ached. His head felt light.

  When he sat up and glanced about, he noticed two torches enclosed in an onion shaped crystal cover lighting the cave. Were these the lights he’d spotted? What was this cave? He sloshed toward a torch, his boots wet and heavy, and on tiptoes tried to reach for the torch but it was too high up the wall. The underwater cave was damp, but at least it wasn’t submerged. Did someone live here?

  I can’t stay here forever like a river rat!

  Something about the light reminded him of Arnett, the nymph of the Brooke, and what she’d showed him. Was this that underwater cave? He recognized the onion shape of the torch covers. Made of hexagonal-cut crystals, like miniature honeycombs, the covers threw light in a hundred different directions in the cave. Each torch turned out to be a single taper burning bright. When Jules stepped farther into the cave he noticed more taper torches hung at intervals and leading into a dim tunnel.

  Had Arnett created this tunnel? Was this a dream? Slowly he walked up the dim passage, following the lighted path, until the gurgling of rushing water attracted him. Minutes later, the dimly lit tunnel dead ended at an underground channel of water.

  Now what? How did I get myself into this?

  Water flowed from one side of the opening on the cave wall into another in the opposite side. The water, some kind of underwater spring, must be coming from a source high in the mountain and flowing down to this cave.

  Jules bent his knees and poked his head into one of the openings of the underwater stream but the crawlspace on both sides wasn’t big enough for him to crouch or squeeze into. Only a small gap spanned the rapid current and the ceiling of both tunnels.

  Sharp stones will shred me to pieces if I swam in there. I was lucky I didn’t drown the first time.

  He sighed and slumped onto the stone floor, except the stony ground didn’t feel hard and wet the way stone floors should. Something soft and springy lay beneath him. He rolled the springy substance to the nearest torch, stared at the padded object, and scratched his head.

  It was a large cocoon; intact, except for a hole at the very tip. And not just any cocoon either. If his entomological studies proved correct, this was an abandoned overwinter cocoon, which meant one thing about its casing. It should be waterproof. But there would be only one way to prove this.

  Rummaging about his soaked cloak he found the mirror shard with the ‘—ook within’ message. He slit the cocoon lengthwise near the top. It was light. He hoisted it to the edge of the swift waters of the underground stream, slithered, feet first, into the opening he’d made, and with eyes squeezed shut, sank deeper into the casing. Once inside, he pulled the opening closed and wiggled the cocoon closer to the water’s edge. The rushing water was right next to him now. He rolled off the edge and splashed into the stream. In the water, the cocoon bobbed before hurtling down stream.

  I hope I don’t drown!

  69 - SURPRISE VISIT

  FAR AWAY, NEAR the bank of Brooke Beginning, Tennesson lingered over his freshly brewed tea—ground chrysanthemum petals steeped in boiling water. Scalding, just the way he liked it. He hoped it would take away the migraine. Where were those kids?

  “Enjoying it
piping hot, even after so many years?” The voice was soft, melodious, yet Tennesson jerked up as though an arrow had pierced his heart.

  He squinted at the figure by his doorway and blinked a few times. His breathing slowed until he forgot to breathe altogether.

  “How did you?” He heard his voice, hollow. “Who are you?” A million other questions stabbed him, but he just gaped at the slender figure in the gray green cloak by his door, standing as still as alabaster with a face almost as pale.

  “I’d imagined this meeting a thousand times over but it never quite went this way. I guess life always has an extra something that can throw one off course.”

  “Are you real?” Tennesson sucked in his breath and started breathing again. How had he not heard the warning bells?

  As though reading his mind, the visitor said, “I’ve known about your bell system for a while. Each time I get close I wonder if seeing you again was best. But I have no choice now and desperately need your help.”

  Tennesson rubbed his eyes. Something he felt he should have done from the beginning. Ghosts were not real.

  Again, as though knowing his every wave of thought, “You think I’m an apparition?” The figure reached out her pale arm, lithe but sinewy, from beneath the gray cloak. “Touch and see. Although I realize once you find the truth you might never forgive me. Or want to see me.”

  Tennesson took three steps forward and touched the pale limb. He gasped. “But it cannot be.” “I’m sorry.” She nodded. “I did it for you and for our baby.”

  “Baby?”

  “I have much to explain, but we don’t have time. Our baby—she, she’s sixteen actually, and she’s in terrible danger.”

  “Wait. Sixteen? Who? We have a child together?” Tennesson’s voice grew harder with each word. “Luella, I thought you were dead.”

  “And in some ways I have been. I had to make them, and you, believe I was dead. It was for your own good.”

  “Don’t tell me what’s for my own good. Living in misery was for my own good? Why did you leave me? Deceive me?”

  Luella glided to the dining chair, still the same one she was used to before she had up and left, and made it seem the Scorpents had whisked her away. She sat on its edge. She patted the dining table top lightly. “Sit for a bit. I cannot excuse my deception, but if you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll explain why I left.”

  Tennesson eyed her hands and noticed the ring still on her fourth finger. He sat opposite her.

  “Remember the day Gehzurolle sent the edict for Scorpents to get us?”

  “I couldn’t forget if I tried. And I’ve tried.”

  70 - WHAT HAPPENED

  “I WAS TENDING the butterflies in our garden when I overheard Scorpents lurking. I guess I have feelers for them or something. I meant to leave you a message, but I didn’t have time, so I thought I’d return later. But I must have passed out in the hole I was hiding in.

  “When I came to, someone had moved me to his home. An elderly Elfie who lived in a tree. He made me look at his candles and it cured me, at least temporarily, until I started to feel queasy again and again. Even watching the candle all day and all night didn’t help. I didn’t know I was going to have a baby.”

  “Our baby?” Tennesson straightened in his chair.

  Luella nodded and wrung her hands. “By that time I knew our baby would never be safe in Handover. The Elfie—Abel’s his name—helped me with the baby till she was strong enough for me to take her to my childhood home in Reign. I meant to leave her there and return home to you, except….” She looked at her fingernails as though studying them with care. “I have a secret that could endanger you by my coming home.”

  “Yet it’s all right to lie to me?”

  She shook her head slightly and avoided his eyes. “There’s something I should have told you from the beginning. When I left Reign, it wasn’t just my father I was running from. I was running away from my inheritance.”

  “Most people run toward their inheritance.”

  “Not this one. At least that was what I felt then. But things are different now. It’s been different for a while, and I’m trying to right my wrongs.” She reached out and grasped Tennesson’s wrist on the table. “My father is a Keeper. Which makes me his heir.”

  Tennesson shifted in his seat. Suddenly, he felt inundated with Keepers. “And is that so bad? Being a Keeper?”

  “Bad—that was what I felt. Scorpents killed my mother because she wasn’t careful and had roamed to Handover looking for herbs. If she wasn’t from a Keeper family she wouldn’t have been such a target.”

  “Is that why you roamed to Handover too? To become a target?”

  “I came here for a better life. I thought I’d be safer here if nobody knew I was Keeper material. But you can never really escape who you are, you know. My mother shouldn’t have come here, especially without the Book.”

  “But you came without your—Book?”

  “Yes, but when I delivered my daughter, our daughter, to my father for safekeeping, I stole his Book and returned to Handover. I figured he was smart enough not to leave Reign without it. Anyway, the Book’s why I was able to survive all these years. The Book and a lot of hiding kept me alive.”

  “So, you came back to Handover to return to me except you had to wait sixteen years to do so?” Tennesson sipped his cooled tea.

  “I have my reasons for leaving Reign.”

  “And so why is our daughter in danger now? Gehzurolle found out she’s Book-less, so to speak?”

  “Worse. She’s in Handover—searching for me. Or so Abel said. And Scorpents have sent her to a death pit. You know what that means?” Her voice broke.

  “Everyone with a brain knows what those pits mean. But are you sure?”

  Luella reached into her cloak and brought out a paper. She unfolded it and laid it on the table. “Abel drew me this map. His friends told him the possible sites.”

  “If Abel has so many friends, why didn’t you ask them for help?”

  “They’re not Elfies, or even Hanfies—”

  “Handoverans? He can’t trust them? So, maybe they lied—”

  “Not even Handoverans. They didn’t lie—couldn’t lie. They’re squirrels.”

  Tennesson’s eyes grew wide, and he pushed the map back toward Luella. “Perhaps your life of deception has affected you more than you realize.”

  “Just because you can’t understand doesn’t mean it’s not real, or true, Tene. Abel talks with them with whistles—I don’t comprehend it all, myself.

  ”She looked about the room. “There’s something else I lied about.”

  Tennesson swiveled his head and glanced at the front flap door. “Don’t tell me—you’re working for Gehzurolle.”

  She stood and stuffed the map back into her cloak. “I guess it was a mistake coming here, hoping you’d help. I don’t blame you, but, no, I would never work for Gehzurolle.”

  “Luella?” He locked eyes with her.

  She chewed her lower lip. “That’s just it. I’m not Luella.”

  Tennesson’s eyes narrowed.

  “Ahh, you’re an imposter? I could live better with that.”

  “Luella’s not my real name. I’m Chrystle, daughter of Saul Turpentine, whom you know is a Keeper.”

  “Saul? Saul Turpentine?” Tennesson said the name as if he was in a trance. “I know that name!” He stood and his chair almost toppled. “Those Elfie kids who were here.” He stared at Chrystle as though she’d gone mad. Before she could interrupt he told her of Jules and his siblings. “I was just thinking, worrying, for them, when I saw you at the door.”

  “Tene, we must help them. Abel said she could be with them. Maybe they’re caught, too. Help her, our daughter.”

  “What—what’s her name?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. Miranda.”

  Tennesson stared at the ground for a long time. “Miranda,” he muttered.

  “You know the terrain better than anyone.
If anyone can find the pits it’s you. The Scorpents threw her in there yesterday, or the day before.

  Please.”

  “I’m too old for traipsing around, Lu—I mean, Chrystle, or whatever your name is.”

  “If you can’t do it for me, do it for her. Because if you don’t….”

  “Where would we even start, assuming you’re telling the truth?”

  “I know the Scorpents who took her. I heard where they’re heading. If we catch up with them they might clue us in—maybe I can spy on them. But I can’t do this alone. And I have no one else. Abel refuses to leave his drey.”

  “Show me that map.” Tennesson reached his arms toward her. “I can’t promise anything. But I’d like to help those Elfie kids, too. They asked me before, but for some reason I felt I should stay here.” He looked at Chrystle.

  71 -SCORPENT VISIT

  BACK AT STARKIES’S home, Ralston pulled Bitha aside and whispered, “We better hide. I overheard something awful.”

  With eyes round like the moon she’d just been staring at, Bitha turned to Ralston. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Shh!” Ralston pointed to Tst Tst and Tippy playing with two strange wooden toys that looked like life-sized dolls with yellow yarn hair. Tippy even dressed one with her cloak pretending it was her twin. Starkies had passed the toys to them to keep them quiet as Ralston worked on his drawing for Starkies, and Bitha dusted the furniture. “Let’s move so Starkies can’t hear.”

  They sidled to a long counter in the corner filled with antiques and artifacts Ralston couldn’t put names to and squatted behind the counter, Ralston always turning his head to eye Starkies.

  “Those visitors Starkies had, well, they weren’t traders or even customers. They were informers, maybe spies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ralston pulled Bitha closer to him and into her ear said, “They were warning Starkies that soldiers or Scorpents are on their way here. That’s why Starkies shouted at Tippy. I think he’s scared, too.”

  “Did he mention us to them?”

  “They talked in low voices. The only reason I heard was because I was fiddling with Grandpa’s broken lamp and I must have turned it on and was walking by, but Starkies didn’t see me. Neither did his informers.”

  “You fixed it?”

  “I guess so. And there’s something else. Something terrible.”

  Bitha stared at him with big eyes. “What?”

  “The spies, they had two dragonfly lanterns with them—looked just like ours.”

  “You mean?” She stared at him with knowing eyes.

  Ralston nodded. “Jules’s. But let’s not tell the girls.” Ralston jerked his head to where Tippy and Tst Tst sat playing. “I hid the lantern I’d mended in the cellar.”

  “That’s stealing!” She wagged her finger at him.

  “It’s self protection. We don’t know that Starkies won’t sell us off to Scorpents if he’s threatened. Sure, he wants the crystal Jules promised, but surely not at the expense of his life.”

  Bitha’s brows twisted with worry lines. “You think Jules got to Mosche’s safely? I had a bad dream about him.”

  “It doesn’t look good if they’d lost the lanterns. We must make a plan in case Jules gets delayed or if he’s—”

  A loud rap on the counter jolted Bitha and Ralston.

  “Where,” Starkies said, “are you, Ralston? Am I keeping a free boarding house here, with no one bothering with expenses? Where’s that portrait I need?”

  Ralston held his breath and wondered if they should just pop out from behind the counter. He scanned the long surface cluttered with items and noticed some artwork lying against a wall at the one end of the counter. If he could crawl there alone he could pretend he was in deep thought gazing at the art. It wouldn’t do to raise Starkies’s suspicion that he was plotting anything with Bitha. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he pacified himself. He brought his finger to his lip and gestured for Bitha to stay while he crawled quietly to the stacks of artwork.

  “Ralston!” Starkies boomed out.

  Tippy and Tst Tst shrieked and jerked their heads toward the angry Starkies. He turned to them. “Do you know where your brother is?”

  They shook their heads, but then Tippy said, “There!” She pointed to Ralston, who’d stood up near the end of the counter, away from Bitha.

  “Why didn’t you answer, boy?”

  “I was—” Ralston brought out a framed portrait of a woman by his side. She looked familiar. “Who’s this?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

  “Never mind that. I need you kids to stay in the cellar this evening. I’m expecting company, and it wouldn’t do to have Elfie smells around.”

  Ralston nodded.

  After a quick dinner of dried bread and even drier fruit pieces that tasted bitter and a cup of thin soup that tasted like dishwater, at least in Tst Tst’s opinion, Starkies rushed them downstairs. “Hurry!”

  “How long will your guests be here?” Ralston said.

  But then loud knocks were heard.

  “Stay here,” Starkies hissed and took three steps at a time back up to the living area before they could even say yes. A loud click told them he’d locked them in.

  Bitha tugged at Ralston’s cloak. “What if he brings the Scorpents down here?”

  72 - TRICKED

  THE SECRET CELL was still as miserable as ever, smelling even stronger of mothballs and mold, but somehow Ralston felt hopeful. Of course, Starkies mustn’t come back down or his scheme would be ruined.

  “I have a plan. Where’s Tippy?” Ralston glanced at Tst Tst.

  “It’s as you instructed, mi-lord!” Tst Tst bowed deeply.

  Bitha gave Ralston a glare. “What exactly is your plan? Where is Tippy?”

  Tst Tst held up the wooden life sized doll, still wearing Tippy’s cloak.

  Bitha shrieked.

  “Shh!” Tst Tst said.

  “We,” Ralston began, “didn’t have a chance to explain, but Tippy’s upstairs, probably behind the counter, still.”

  “Ralston, are you insane?” Bitha stalked to the doll, yanked the cloak off its wooden shoulder, and, gripping the cloak in one hand, trudged to the top of the stairs and jiggled the door knob with her other. “Scorpents could be coming to this house, and they could take Tippy away. They can smell her. That’s why Starkies placed us down here!”

  Ralston had never seen Bitha’s face so flushed. “She has the lantern I fixed. And she’s going to let us out.” He climbed the stairs and bent to speak into the keyhole. “Tippy, are you there?”

  But even after several minutes no reply came.

  Bitha pushed him aside and tried to coax Tippy. Still no reply. She faced Ralston. “Now you really bungled things.”

  “I don’t get it,” Ralston said. “She’s supposed to come to the door and let us out. I need to hear what those visitors are up to. I don’t trust Starkies.”

  “And so you kindly left Tippy to him? To the Scorpents?”

  “Tippy!” he whispered again and jiggled the doorknob some more.

  But no reply came.

  73 - FIRE

  BEHIND THE COUNTER Tippy fell asleep with the lantern lighted and still in her grasp. And she would have gone on sleeping except a shout startled her. Someone was quarreling. Who? It sounded like Mr. Starkies with some others with rough voices. And wheezing breaths. Stuffy noses?

  Tippy stood and stretched her legs. Her knees gave a crack. That was an uncomfortable position to sleep in. And cold, without her cloak. At least the doll was feeling warm. The top of her head reached just the top of the counter, so she tiptoed to see where Starkies was. Three bulky forms had their backs to her and Starkies faced them, small and not his usual fierce self at all. The bulky guests didn’t smell very good, like rotten fish, or something.

  Suddenly, Tippy remembered she was supposed to get to the door to the cellar and let Ralston out. She dug into her pants pockets and final
ly found the key Ralston had given her. He’d made it himself. Her brother was good at those sorts of things.

  The shouting grew louder.

  “—you promised,” one of the bulky guests said.

  Starkies coughed. “The elder one is away, but once he returns I promise to deliver them all to the master at once.”

  “Tell us where they are now, and you will not be penalized.”

  “Penalized? You promised payments, first for the crystal, then for the hostages.”

  Tippy wondered what “hostages” meant. She dug one hand deep into a pocket and felt the smooth red crystal she’d buried right at the bottom of that pocket. It gave her comfort. It reminded her of Jules and the troubles he’d helped them through. It also reminded her of Grandpa and his old smell. She missed that smell: like tweed and the peppermint her grandpa loved to suck on. Must get to Ralston. He might scold her. Or worse, hurt her doll.

  Lantern in hand she sidled toward the door, the wall to her back. “—why do you have Elfie smell in your home if you claim they’re not here?”

  “It’s an old smell, my Lord Lucius,” Starkies said.“From when the boy was here. I told you, he’d gone to the waterfall. Roaring Falls. But he’ll be back and then I can—”

  Tippy kept watch of the bulky forms as she edged her way, the wall cold on her back. She could still hear them quarreling, but less clearly now that she’d rounded the corner and entered the room with the dining table. The cellar door lay behind that tapestry hanging of a cottage set on a tree stump with boughs heavy with red fruits. Tippy halted and cocked her head to one side. Only bits of words from the smelly guests reached her ears.

  “—tie him up—”

  “—light the fire.”

  Tippy heard Ralston from the other side of the door and whispered to him.

  “Hello! How’s my doll?”

  “Where were you?” Ralston asked.

  She started to tell him of the quarrel.

  “Never mind what you heard, just use the key and open the door.”

  She jiggled the wiry key Ralston had created and moved it around in the keyhole, but nothing happened. “It’s broken.”

  “It can’t be,” Ralston hissed at her.

  “Oh-oh,” she whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “Some steps.”

  Tippy slipped out from behind the tapestry and crawled to hide under the dining table.

  Three pairs of black boots trudged back and forth before her. And belabored wheezing.

  “Nobody’s here.”

  A gruff voice said, “Sure smells suspicious.”

  Tippy thought they smelled suspicious all right.

  “What do we do with the traitor?”

  “Burn him! Burn the whole house. He lied to us.”

  A body was dumped right in front of Tippy and she clapped her palm to her mouth. Mustn’t scream. It was Starkies. They must have been carrying him! His eyes were closed, his skin pale, and his wrists were tied behind his back, but what struck Tippy was the way his neck was bent at a strange angle. She wanted to touch him, open his eyes for him, but stopped herself.

  One pair of legs trudged toward the kitchen door and Tippy caught another smell besides the rotting fish scent as the guest walked by. A strong pungent smell not unlike when her mother poured liquid fire into the clay pot she used as a stove. Then just like that the three pairs of legs stormed past her table and out the room. Tippy crawled to Starkies and held her forefinger under his nose. She’d seen Jules do this to test if some mouse they’d found lying stiff near their house was still alive. She then laid her ears on Starkies’s chest. Nothing. But she couldn’t be sure. A whoosh caught her attention and she felt the house quite hot suddenly. A glow came from the kitchen area.

  Perhaps Ralston would know what to do. But if she went back to the cellar door he was sure to scold her for not trying hard enough to open it.

  But she really couldn’t and she’d tried so hard. Then an idea struck her. She reached into Starkies’s cloak pockets, first one then the other. And she felt it. A ring with about twenty different keys. She didn’t know there were that many locks in the house. She flew to the cellar door and banged on it.

  “Where have you been?” Ralston asked.

  “I found keys.” She proceeded to try one after another. She decided to start with the smallest.

  “Tippy, where are the guests?” Ralston said.

  “They left.”

  “Where’s Starkies?”

  “Resting.”

  “Hurry. It’s growing hot down here.”

  “It’s hot here, too.”

  “Tippy, how’d—”

  But the lock clicked and Tippy pulled it open.

  Ralston felt a gush of hot breeze whoosh past him into the cellar, and he heard the crackling of things. What?

  “Girls, hurry!” He pulled Tst Tst and Tippy in each hand, while Bitha grabbed the mended lantern. “Where’s Starkies?” He turned to Tippy. But bits of the roof caved in before them and a piece hit Tippy’s head. She fell backward and Ralston was able to lurch her away right before she hit her face on a table corner.

  The doorway was already ablaze.

  “Over there!” Tst Tst pointed to a window still open and unblocked by falling debris.

  “But,” Tippy said, “we must help Mr. Starkies.”

  74 - STAR GAZER

  JULES GULPED AS water seeped in through the top of the cocoon. Like a leaf borne by currents the cocoon skiffed and dipped into the icy underground river. The waterway must have coursed a journey under the mountain as it emerged on the other side of the slope into a swift river. Few trees and vegetation lined the bank.

  By the time Jules climbed out of his dwindling cocoon after his underground rapids ride, he’d swallowed gallons of water—he’d swear by it. Soaking and trembling from cold, he collapsed by the bank and checked his arms and legs. He must be alive since his limbs ached with cuts and bruises and his head throbbed as if about to explode with a constant thump of what seemed like a war drum. And his stomach churned with river water.

  Shivering, he sat on his haunches and tilted his head to the side. With his right hand he pummelled the ear above. But the water in his ear canal refused to flow out. He gave up after a while and decided to tolerate the constant gushing sound.

  What should he do next? Where was he?

  If he followed the course of the water, where would it lead him? The night sky was filled with a million stars and provided some light. He’d lost Abel’s map. He searched his pockets and found Saul’s soaking one— practically useless now since he had no bearing. Still he looked at it with the dim light of the stars. He reread his mother’s note and the letter Mosche had sent Leroy—both also drenched. Perhaps he should seek shelter. How would he even get back to Starkies’s to retrieve his siblings? He crawled on cut hands and knees slowly to the nearest bramble. Afraid he might fall asleep and freeze to death, Jules kept rubbing his cheeks and arms to keep his blood circulating.

  Then he heard it.

  Muffled and gruff voices of individuals arguing came from his far right. His ears felt so blocked by water he couldn’t make any words out. A constant roar persisted in his head, even after he tried to drain the water out by shaking his head vigorously.

  He crawled closer toward the voices and hid behind a boulder, careful not to snap a twig, even though his frozen brains warned him he was on the verge of hypothermia.

  Were those Scorpent voices?

  On bruised knees he crawled until he saw the shadows when he peered between two large oak leaves. The light of the full moon outlined a band of what looked like Handoveran soldiers with their crested helmets fraternizing with Scorpents, heavily garbed for war. Someone mentioned “attack,” and maybe even the name “Mosche” and “Keeper,” but he couldn’t be sure.

  If only his ears would stop roaring like a lion. What were they searching for? Or maybe who were they searching for, since it looked like they were
searching for someone. He hoped it wasn’t him.

  Had someone alerted Gehzurolle he was on his way to Mosche’s area? He could have been sighted. And the web bridge may not have broken accidentally. How did a branch just crack and drop like that? Where were his friends?

  Jules shuddered as a chill ran up his spine. Mustn’t sneeze, he reminded himself.

  One of the Scorpents hauled a sack from behind a bush. It was wriggling like a jumping bean. The Scorpent dumped the sack on the ground and the wriggling stopped.

  Who was in there? Was it Mosche? And were they ready to take him to the same place they kept his mother and Mrs. L captive? Would the Scorpents lead him to his mother?

  If he tried to free the captive he might get caught. But Jules didn’t ponder much longer for a cold hand clamped over his mouth

  “Shout and you’re dead,” the voice whispered in his ear.

  75 - CHAOS

  THE HEAT WAS getting to Ralston as the fire blazed within the rooms. Starkies lay unconscious near the counter.

  “He’s too heavy to move.” Ralston pulled one leg as Tst Tst and Bitha pulled the other foot so hard Starkies’s boot came off.

  Tst Tst, sweat pouring down her chin, heaved again and pulled. “I don’t think we can move him.”

  A beam crashed behind her, and she coughed and slumped on the floor.

  Bitha said, “Look at Tippy!”

  Tippy had collapsed next to Starkies, her body a rag.

  “But we can’t leave him,” Ralston said, his arm over his mouth.

  Bitha dropped Starkies’s leg. “We don’t even know if he’s alive.” Eyes tearing, she covered her face with a sleeve and edged toward Tippy. “I’m taking her out.” She cradled Tippy’s head and jerked her own chin to the window.

  Tst Tst helped her carry Tippy to a window.

  “Where’s Ralston?” Bitha turned to Tst Tst.

  “There!” Tst Tst pointed to Ralston, who was doubled over behind them and carrying three lanterns and heaving. He’d found Jules’s lanterns.

  The girls dropped out the window and limped away from the black smoke and the crackling of burning wood.

  “Hurry, Ralston!” Tst Tst turned to Ralston and sighed when she saw him sprint away just as the blaze licked out the front door. He held the lanterns in front of him and tossed two to Tst Tst and Bitha. The fire consumed the home faster and faster until the whole tree stump it rested on burst into flames.

  “We need to go farther away. Remember Holden’s house?”

  The sisters nodded and pulled Tippy, who limped along. Several onlookers, Handoverans in night clothes and disheveled hair, had gathered about gawking at the disaster. None came forward to help.

  Ralston said, “There could be Scorpents about. Turn the lanterns on.”

  And true enough three Scorpents lunged out of the shadows of nearby trees and grabbed Ralston before he could turn his on.

  “Run, girls!” Ralston shouted.

  The Scorpents lifted their noses toward the starry night sky and one sniffed the ground by Ralston’s feet. He shoved Ralston to his companion, who picked up the boy between his forefinger and his thumb as if he was a bug. “What girls?” it wheezed out. Even with their thick accent and gruff voice their words were plain as day. It was the same voice Ralston had heard at Starkies’s.

  Ralston fumbled with his lantern but accidentally dropped it. Too late. He shut his eyes and cringed as the iron grip released him into a dank, mold-smelling sack. He hoped the girls made their escape.

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