The Harp and the Ravenvine

by Ted Sanders

  “Beck took a detour,” Gabriel said now. “What happened?”

  “There were Mordin outside the academy,” Horace replied, wondering exactly how word of the detour had gotten to Gabriel.

  “I thought so. Lucky for us, Beck always knows where to go.” Gabriel stepped aside and gestured down the steps he’d just climbed. “After you.”

  They clambered down a set of steep metal steps into the darkness below. Horace’s claustrophobia squeezed him like a great black hand, but he kept his breathing steady. He tried not to think of the boiler. Strangely, the faint stink of sewage here seemed to help.

  “Tunnels with Gabriel,” Chloe said lightly as she climbed down. “That takes me back. Will we have to walk in the dark again? I would have brought my jithandra, but, it was confiscated in a crisis of faith.”

  “I’ve got it covered,” Gabriel said. He reached into his collar and pulled out a finger-sized crystal on a chain that immediately blazed to life. A jithandra, the calling card of the Wardens. Horace had often wondered if Gabriel even had a jithandra—the light it cast would be of no use to him, and he got around amazingly well in his constant darkness with the help of the Staff of Obro. But Gabriel’s jithandra was startlingly bright and colorless, gleaming with a sharp silver light. The crystal, as with all jithandras, was set in a cluster of curling silver flower petals.

  Horace’s own jithandra had been destroyed by Dr. Jericho in the nest. And he had a pretty good guess what Chloe meant when she said hers had been confiscated. The night of the rescue, Chloe had intentionally allowed herself to be captured by Dr. Jericho and taken back to the nest. The Wardens must have taken her jithandra from her beforehand. Chloe’s capture was a future Horace himself had seen through the Fel’Daera, and it had been the right path—the willed path—but apparently the Wardens hadn’t trusted Chloe enough to let her keep her jithandra. Not with the Alvalaithen lost to her in that moment, traveling through time.

  Gabriel stretched up and pulled the overhead doors closed, sealing them in. Horace let his eyes adjust and saw to his relief that they were in a large drainage tunnel, as wide as a car. Gabriel turned and began to lead them deeper into the passage. “Sorry about the detour,” he said, his voice echoing, “but it happens sometimes. The Mordin patrol this part of the city pretty regularly. It was pure chance they were nearby just as you arrived.”

  “I thought the Warren was supposed to be hidden,” Chloe said.

  “We can’t totally disguise its existence. Any time large numbers of Tanu are gathered together, the Mordin will be drawn to the area.”

  Horace said, “But you—we—have leestones that keep the Warren safe. I’ve seen them.”

  “Yes. Leestones, and more. Even the very structure of the Warren diffuses the signal of all those Tanu—and ourselves—over several city blocks. It’s highly unlikely that the Riven will ever find us. The academy is extremely well protected, and the Warren even more so.”

  “Very unlikely, you said,” Horace pointed out. “But not impossible.”

  “We’ve found it’s best not to speak in terms of the impossible,” Gabriel replied, and this struck Horace as such a good policy that he said no more.

  They walked on for a quarter mile or so, Gabriel moving surely through the dark tunnels. Horace wondered briefly if Gabriel had used the humour on his way out to meet them. Surely he had, with no one around to be troubled by it.

  They used another passkey—or rather, Horace and Gabriel did. At one intersection, Horace glanced down a side passage and thought he saw a narrow set of train tracks, far too small to belong to a normal-size train. He was about to ask about them when Chloe spoke.

  “Here’s what I’m wondering,” she said. “Why are we here?”

  Gabriel cocked his head back at her. “You mean, why do we exist?”

  “Ha ha. That’s hugely hilarious. No, I’m wondering what’s up, why Mr. Meister called us in.”

  Gabriel slowed to a stop and turned to an innocent-looking patch of wall. He felt around until his fingers sank into the stone. Another passkey. “I’m not sure why he called you in today,” he said. “He didn’t tell me.” And then he disappeared through the wall, leaving them in the utter dark.

  Horace followed behind, groping for the passkey clumsily and emerging into a much smaller tunnel that sloped steeply downward. Chloe came through last again, beginning to talk even before she had fully emerged, her voice erupting bizarrely as her throat cleared the stone. “—ntell you? I thought the old man told you everything.”

  Gabriel rubbed a thumb over the dragonlike head of his cane. “Why would you think that? All I know is that Brian has made a discovery.”

  “‘Something long asleep has awakened,’” Chloe recited.

  “Yes.”

  Horace remembered the pale, ponytailed boy he’d glimpsed twice before in the Great Burrow. Brian was twelve or thirteen—about the same age as Horace. “Brian is a Warden, right?” he asked.

  “Yes. And a friend.”

  “Well, if he’s a friend,” Chloe said, “he probably told you what he discovered.”

  Gabriel didn’t respond.

  Chloe pounced on Gabriel’s silence. “He did tell you. You’re not a total Boy Scout after all.”

  “Or maybe I am,” Gabriel said smoothly. “Maybe I like to be prepared.”

  “So what did he tell you?”

  “He told me company is coming.”

  “What kind of company?” Chloe insisted.

  But before Gabriel could answer—or more likely, refuse to answer—they came through an arched opening into a large space Horace recognized at once. They were at the opening of Vithra’s Eye, the underground lake that served as the entrance to the Warren. Horace could smell the water, see its smooth dark surface glistening ahead. On the far shore, he knew, lay the tunnel that led to the Great Burrow. A brick walkway led straight across the lake, but that path was unusable for Keepers.

  Along the near shore, meanwhile, there were three more archways to their right, one of which led up to the Mazzoleni Academy—the way they would have come were it not for the detour. Horace couldn’t help wondering how many ways into the Warren there were, and how safe and hidden those entrances could be. But of course, they hadn’t quite reached the Warren yet. There was one more obstacle in front of them.

  The Nevren was here in Vithra’s Eye, powerful and wide, emanating from a source somewhere along the brick path that bisected the lake. The Nevren here was so strong that no one wielding a Tan’ji could hope to pass close to its source and survive, which was why that path was unusable. To cross the lake, one had to walk atop the water itself, along the weak outer edge of the Nevren, and the only way to walk atop the water was with a jithandra. Jithandras were specially made to work in the presence of the Nevren, but only here in Vithra’s Eye. They were like keys to the Warren, and no one but a Warden could be enstrusted with them. Horace couldn’t really blame Mr. Meister for taking Chloe’s away from her before she went out on her risky mission that night.

  Gabriel moved to the lake’s edge, far from the brick walkway and the source of the Nevren. He undid the chain around his neck, dangling it to its full length, so that the jithandra slid to the bottom. He held it out, letting the crystal hover an inch above its own reflection in the water. Gripping the Staff of Obro firmly in his other hand, he said, “Let’s go.”

  Horace and Chloe knew the drill, of course. They lined up tight behind him. One of the chamber’s owls swooped in low over their heads, black and silent. Gabriel dipped his jithandra into the dark water, making barely a ripple. With a great crackling sound that echoed through the chamber, the water around the crystal seemed to gather itself. It pooled toward the jithandra, growing lighter and lifting slightly—becoming solid.

  Gabriel stepped onto the charcoal-colored patch, still holding the jithandra out in front, where more water continued to crackle and gather and become firm. Horace followed cautiously behind, with Chloe in the rear. The newly for
med walkway was smooth like ice, but neither cold nor slick. They eased out onto the water, keeping close to the outer edge of the lake, where the Nevren would be the weakest. The sheer stone wall of the chamber rose high on their left.

  Once they’d gone twenty feet or so, the gray trail behind them began to dissolve, returning to liquid again with a soft hiss. They would have to keep moving along this temporary path or sink into the murky depths, an experience they’d been assured they did not want to have.

  It began to get cold. The already cool air became bitter and still. Horace prepared himself, but still he gasped as the bone-cold grip of the Nevren swept over him. The box vanished from his mind. Even though he was braced for it, the loss was crippling. The world faded around him, freezing and numb. He felt his limbs begin to sag. He shuffled forward, knowing there was a far side, trying to believe it. An endless stretch of time passed, seconds he could not count, an eternity without the box, and then, suddenly—

  Dawn broke explosively inside his head. He was through the Nevren. The box was with him. It had never left him, of course, but now he could feel it again. He was Horace, Keeper of the Fel’Daera. Behind him, he heard Chloe growl appreciatively as the Alvalaithen returned to her.

  Horace could see the far side now. Two small figures stood there, one in a dark, prim dress and the other in a bright red vest beneath a tangle of white hair. Horace stumbled a bit at the sight of Mr. Meister, reminded of the startling secret the old man had been keeping from him all this time. His own mother—here in the Warren, years before. In a strange way, the thought comforted him. He belonged here. He had a history here. But he could not understand why that history had been kept from him.

  As they stepped onto dry land, Mrs. Hapsteade swept forward to greet them, small and shadowy. Dark hair, dark dress, dark face—even the jithandra that shone around her neck was dark, casting an eerie bluish-black light. “Keepers,” she said. Before anyone could reply, she held up a finger and dug into her front pocket with her other hand. “First things first. These are unmistakably yours.” She pulled out two dark crystal pendants, one red and one blue, each set in the mouth of a curling silver flower.

  Horace took his jithandra gratefully. Immediately it began to glow a deep electric blue. Chloe brought her gleaming scarlet crystal so close to her face that her eyes crossed.

  “I would’ve given yours back to you sooner, Chloe,” Mrs. Hapsteade told her. “But a new one had to be made for Horace, and we thought it best to wait.”

  So apparently it had been Mrs. Hapsteade who had confiscated the jithandra. Chloe eyed her warily. “Is that an apology?”

  Mrs. Hapsteade smiled thinly. “Are you saying you deserve one? That it was wrong for me to take it, under the circumstances?”

  Chloe opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Just checking,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you’re not getting soft.”

  “Only in the flesh,” Mrs. Hapsteade sighed.

  Mr. Meister ambled forward. His bloodred, many-pocketed vest gleamed in the dim light. His watery eyes loomed hugely behind his glasses—especially the left eye. The left lens of his glasses was actually a Tan’ji called an oraculum, which allowed him to see Tanu in a way others could not—in fact, Horace now realized, it must allow him to see the Medium.

  Mr. Meister gave one of his little bows. “Thank you for coming, Horace,” he said warmly. “It is good to see you again.”

  For a moment, Horace thought the words might barrel out of his mouth right now—You knew my mother? But instead he mumbled, “Yeah. Good to see you.”

  “You are well, I trust?” Mr. Meister asked. “The Fel’Daera is well?”

  “Yes, I . . . haven’t been using it much.”

  “As you should not, if you have no need,” Mr. Meister said. “But soon we may have need indeed.” He straightened and turned, jerking his head for them to follow. “Come.”

  They followed him down the trail and into the Great Burrow, the topmost level of the Warren. If seeing Mr. Meister again hadn’t exactly stirred Horace’s sense of adventure, the Great Burrow did. Here, huge rough columns, twenty feet wide and twice as high, rose haphazardly throughout the massive chamber, like an underground forest of stone. Most of the barrel-shaped columns had doors and windows, with crude living spaces inside. Dobas, they were called, and though nearly all of them were deserted now, Horace could easily imagine that the cavernous hall had once been filled with Keepers.

  Halfway through the Great Burrow, Gabriel and Mrs. Hapsteade peeled off, waving good-byes and going their own way. Mr. Meister trekked on, leading Horace and Chloe on past his own massive doba to the very back of the chamber. Here, a tall, dark gap opened up between the final two dobas. The trio stepped out onto a ledge overlooking a deep chasm that sank out of sight. At their feet, a steep staircase wound down the sheer face of the cliff, on into darkness.

  “As you may have heard by now,” said Mr. Meister, “one of our fellow Wardens has made a discovery I want you to see. I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced to Brian, but we’ll find him below. We must descend into the Maw.” He started down the precarious steps, then turned and said, “I am sure I do not need to tell you to watch your step.” He pointed to the rock wall, where crooked words were engraved deeply in the stone:

  THE PERILOUS STAIRS

  Swallow up your fear,

  or be swallowed up yourself.

  Perilous. Abruptly Horace remembered the last words Dr. Jericho had said to him during their first encounter: “Curiosity is a walk fraught with peril.” Since then, Horace had been surprised to learn how much of the peril he faced seemed to come from the Wardens themselves.

  He peeked over the edge into the black abyss—the Maw. A cold, dry draft rose out of the depths, ruffling his shaggy hair. He tried not to imagine a bottom covered with jagged rocks—not that it would matter, at this height.

  Chloe started down the Perilous Stairs after Mr. Meister gracefully, surefooted as always. Horace brought up the rear, descending more cautiously. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but the steps were steep and narrow, and his big frame wasn’t exactly designed for nimble work like this.

  “So . . . what does Brian do, exactly?” Horace asked as he eased his way down. The last time he’d seen Brian, the boy had been descending these very stairs. What was he doing down below? What was his power?

  “You will see. I have given him permission to share everything with you.” Mr. Meister faltered on the next step and cocked his head as though reconsidering. “‘Permission’ is a strong word. He does not need my permission. Let us say I have given him my blessing.”

  “If he’s a Warden,” Chloe asked, “how come he didn’t help us when we raided the nest?”

  “That is not his function.”

  Chloe glanced back at Horace. “Function?” she mouthed.

  Mr. Meister almost seemed aware of the gesture, tipping his head thoughtfully again as they cornered a sharp bend on the stairs. “I am not explaining this well. I sometimes get flustered when it comes to Brian.”

  Horace and Chloe exchanged another surprised look. Hearing Mr. Meister say he sometimes got flustered was kind of like hearing a rainbow say it sometimes got depressed.

  As they rounded another switchback, Mr. Meister paused. “Brian is an exceptional Keeper, in more ways than one. I hope he will not . . . how can I put it?” He looked pointedly at Chloe. “Rub you the wrong way.”

  Chloe glared back at Mr. Meister. “I’m not a cat, you know,” she said, looking for all the world exactly like one.

  “Nonetheless,” Mr. Meister said simply.

  At last they reached the bottom of the Perilous Stairs. The Maw still yawned into darkness below, but a great bridge stretched across the chasm to what looked like a wide-open balcony on the far side. Mr. Meister, however, ignored the bridge, turning instead toward the cliff face. There, a large, square-cornered tunnel cut back beneath the Great Burrow far above. Bizarrely, just ten feet in, this passage narrowed
to the size of an ordinary doorway, and within that space the path disappeared instantly into complete darkness—a slab of black so utterly deep and blank that no natural phenomenon could explain it. Horace knew at once that some Tanu had to be at work.

  “Brian’s workshop is just through here,” Mr. Meister said. “But there is a trick to getting there, as you can see.”

  “You say that like sometimes there isn’t a trick,” Chloe said.

  Mr. Meister raised an eyebrow at her. “We do our best to make ourselves comfortable, but do not forget that above all, the Warren is a stronghold. We have many secrets that must remain protected.” He gestured at the unforgiving darkness. “This is an oublimort, perhaps the last of its kind. It is a confounding but harmless device. Let me demonstrate for you the worst that can happen.” Mr. Meister stepped into the doorway made of shadow. He vanished immediately, as if swallowed, but no sooner had he gone than he reappeared, headed back toward them—so instantaneously that he seemed to be finishing the same step he had taken going in.

  “Whoa,” Horace said.

  “Wicked,” Chloe agreed. “So how do we get through?”

  “It’s quite simple, once you know the secret,” Mr. Meister said, and then checked himself. “Well . . . simple to describe, not so simple to do. All you must do is close your eyes.”

  “Close our eyes,” Chloe said skeptically. “That’s it.”

  “Yes, and do not reach out for the walls.”

  “And why is that not simple?”

  “When you step into the oublimort, you will feel no ground beneath your feet. You will feel that you are falling. You will want to open your eyes, to reach out to catch yourself. But you must do neither. You must simply keep walking. Otherwise, you will end up back where you started.”