The Harp and the Ravenvine

by Ted Sanders

  Isabel sighed. “If you’re severed for too long at one stretch—”

  “How long is too long?” April interrupted, steeling herself to hear the rest.

  “It’s different for everyone. Seconds for some, minutes for others. But at some point, the bond between Keeper and instrument dissolves. Permanently.”

  “I see,” April said serenely. “I feel like I ought to tell you that that terrifies the hell out of me.”

  “And it should, but—”

  “What if Joshua hadn’t been here just now? What if he hadn’t woken you up when he did?”

  “Very strong Keepers—stubborn Keepers—can survive being severed for a long time. An hour, maybe.”

  “So you’re saying I’m strong.”

  “I’m saying you’re something,” Isabel said with a cautious smile. “And I’ve never severed anyone for more than a few moments—not accidentally, anyway.”

  Now that she had Isabel talking, there were other things April wanted to know. “Back on the highway, by Ethel’s van, I felt something in Morla’s mind—it had to have been you. You did something to them, or at least you started to. It was ugly.”

  Isabel’s smile vanished so quickly it made April shudder. “I thought Ethel was my friend,” she said sulkily.

  “Maybe she’s thinking the same thing about you right now. What were you doing to them? You weren’t severing. It was . . . worse than that.”

  Joshua looked up at Isabel, clearly troubled. “What were you doing?”

  “Just a warning, that’s all,” Isabel said defensively. “I’d never actually have done it.”

  “Done what?” April pressed.

  Isabel seemed to consider her words. When she spoke, her voice was low and clear and serious. “The bond can dissolve slowly, but it can also be ripped apart by force. It’s called cleaving. I would never actually have done that to Ethel, though. I wouldn’t do that to a human, even by accident. It takes a lot of effort, and it’s cruel.”

  April swallowed. “You would do it to the Riven, though?”

  “Would and have,” Isabel said coldly. She got to her feet and shook out her hair. “But with the Riven, cleaving isn’t usually necessary. The Riven’s bonds are bone-deep. They can’t survive even a few moments of being severed. Take the Mordin, for example—when they promise themselves to their Tan’ji, and bind themselves the way they do, they can’t afford to lose that bond, even for a moment.” She tore a piece of bark from a tree and snapped it in two. “That’s why they’re afraid of me. It’s also why you’re safer with me than without me.”

  April took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching Isabel carefully and trying to decide what to do. She did her best to keep all her confusion and uncertainty confined to a single small fire in her belly. It occurred to her now, watching Isabel with her arms still wrapped around her legs like a child, that maybe Isabel was not the monster she sometimes seemed to be. She was searching for something, just like April was. And despite all her experience, in some ways she seemed in over her head just as deeply as April. Both of them broken, neither one of them completely Tan’ji.

  Joshua crawled toward April. He surprised her once again by lying down and putting his head in her lap. “I think we should stay together,” he said, as if he’d been reading April’s thoughts. “All of us.”

  April put an awkward hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You do, huh?”

  “Yes. I think everyone can help everyone.”

  “That’s right,” said Isabel, her voice hopeful. “I can help you. I can help you both.”

  April knew that much was true. At the very least, Isabel could protect them from the Riven. Joshua looked up at April. “What do you think?”

  “Oh, Joshua, I don’t know.” She squeezed his shoulder again. “I left home, you know. I left my family behind.”

  “Do your mommy and daddy worry about you?”

  For some reason, the innocence of the question and the way he put his words—mommy, daddy—stabbed April deep, in a way that she hadn’t felt in years. For a second all that old pain was raw and new again, and she blinked back a sudden push of tears. She caught sight of Isabel in the dark, and was surprised to see Isabel’s face thick with compassion, her eyes soft and warm and almost maternal.

  April nodded, her body rocking gently. “They would if they could,” she said.

  THE NEXT TIME April woke, it was to mid-morning sunshine, and to a noisy crowd of busy thoughts that weren’t her own. A gaggle of geese was drifting by just offshore, several adults and a multitude of adolescents. The adults were crabby and spoiling for a fight—even grumpier than usual because they were molting and couldn’t fly very well at the moment—but April lay there and listened to the youngsters, to the cacophony of optimism and confidence bubbling from them. Their first flight was still ahead of them. They were, she supposed, not so different from April herself, and the idea made her strangely happy. But then as the geese pulled out of range of the vine, a new thought came to her, this one all her own: she still could not sense the missing piece.

  She felt gingerly around the edges of the blind spot where the absence of the missing piece still hung. When she imagined her life spread out before her, that hole always there, year after year . . . she wouldn’t give up on it, not yet. She wasn’t about to go back home, but she didn’t know how to go forward, not without the missing piece.

  Arthur’s signal suddenly came through loudly, the way it did when he was thinking about her. He knew she was awake. He was proud, hungry, frustrated—working on something he wanted her to see. She rolled over and discovered that he’d gotten her backpack open—zipper and all—and had pulled out a wide strip of beef jerky. He was standing on it with both feet and tearing at it with his great beak.

  The raven saw her looking and bobbed his head.

  “You love that jerky, don’t you?” she asked him.

  “Dontchoo,” Arthur replied agreeably. “Dontchooo.” The jerky was tough, even for him, and he wanted assistance.

  “Let me get this straight—you steal food from me, and now you want my help eating it? I don’t think so.”

  Arthur cocked his head back and forth, not understanding her tone. “Dontchoo?” he asked hopefully.

  “I knew it,” said a voice suddenly. Joshua was propped up on one elbow, watching with wonder, his curly hair an adorable wreck. “You can talk to him.”

  April laughed. “I can say words at him, yes. So can you. That doesn’t mean he really understands us.”

  “But he answered you.”

  “He’s just imitating me, like a parrot. He knows I like it when he talks. He thinks if I’m impressed enough, I’ll help him with his food.”

  “I don’t know,” Joshua said slowly, his brow creased with importance. “I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said April, playing along even though she knew better. She was certainly the most qualified person in the world when it came to knowing what was and was not going on in Arthur’s brain. He was smart, yes—smarter than she’d realized animals could be. She knew from researching it that ravens had a kind of language of their own, both verbal and nonverbal, and through the vine she’d learned it was far more complicated than any other animal talk she’d yet encountered.

  But compared to the mighty forest of human language, raven language was as simple as a blade of grass. This was not Doctor Dolittle. She and Arthur were not going to be having any long conversations about feather grooming, or people food, or the shininess of various objects.

  But she could still understand him. And he was still completely amazing.

  Plus, when she found the missing piece—if she found it—she knew she would understand him even more. It was probably silly, but sometimes she imagined that if only the vine were whole again, she could actually become Arthur. That she could see and hear and feel and think everything that flowed through his fascinating mind. She watched the bird eat for a while,
imagining the strength in his beak, the powerful muscles in his neck as he tore at the jerky. For a moment she almost—almost—thought she could taste the surprising saltiness of the meat on the bird’s tongue.

  “Are you staying with us?” Joshua asked. “I want you to stay.”

  “I’m staying.”

  Joshua clasped his hands together and bounced on his knees. “Yes,” he hissed, making a celebratory little fist. “Will Arthur come, too?”

  “I think he’d better, don’t you?”

  “Dontchoo?” Arthur crowed, throwing his head back. “Dontchooo?”

  “I do,” Joshua said, nodding emphatically at the bird.

  Isabel was still asleep, so April and Joshua talked quietly for a while. They shared a breakfast of beef jerky, apples, and some gaudy but travel-worn Pop-Tarts. Arthur stayed close, and was rewarded when Joshua broke the crusts off his Pop-Tarts and tossed them to the bird. Joshua watched him eat, talking to him, trying to get him to say “Pop-Tart.” April couldn’t bring herself to explain to Joshua that Arthur didn’t like Pop-Tarts too much.

  “He doesn’t chew much, does he?” said Joshua, frowning as Arthur ate.

  “He doesn’t have any teeth,” April reminded him.

  “Who needs teeth when you have claws?” a thick sleepy voice said. Isabel was awake. Her face looked drawn and even paler than usual.

  “Didn’t sleep well?” asked April.

  “Tried not to sleep at all. I was up until dawn. What time is it?”

  “Elevenish, I think,” April said. She assumed Isabel had tried to stay awake to avoid more accidents, and she appreciated the gesture. A thank-you didn’t seem quite appropriate, but because April had made up her mind about sticking with Isabel—for now, anyway—she wanted to keep things as civil as she could. And because she was not a good liar, she cast about for something honest to say. Not just honest, though—earnest. “I have nightmares sometimes, too, you know.”

  “Oh?” Isabel said. “What about?”

  “Different stuff. Usually something to do with being alone. Like really uncorrectably alone, forever. Huge empty spaces, like abandoned malls. Falling through space.” She sighed. “Losing important things I’ll never find again.”

  Isabel looked at her hard. “You’ve made up your mind.”

  April nodded. “I’m coming.”

  “We’ll have to walk. It’ll take hours to get where we’re going.”

  “If that’s what it takes. Maybe by the time we get there, I’ll feel the missing piece again.”

  “Yes,” Isabel said, avoiding the word maybe. “Yes.”

  They packed up their little camp. Before they left, April took her backpack and slipped off to a private spot to change her clothes—a new set of clothes for a new day. She didn’t smell too great, but the way she figured it, none of them did. And she had bigger concerns right now.

  They crossed the secluded island and came back to the dam. On the opposite shore, the park was now filled with activity—joggers and cyclists, boats on the water. The three of them started across the slippery dam, April in front and Isabel bringing up the rear.

  Just as April had nearly reached the far side, she heard a shout and a splash. She turned and saw Joshua flailing in the shallow water. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” he cried.

  Isabel rushed across the narrow dam like a cat along a fence. When she got to Joshua, she lifted her skirt and stepped into the water, sinking in up to her knees. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Joshua grimaced. “My ankle.”

  Isabel helped him clamber back onto the dam, and he crawled the rest of the way across, flopping onto the shore. He was soaked through, his ankle beginning to swell like a balloon.

  “It’s broken,” he said flatly.

  Isabel reached out and pressed along his leg above his ankle. “Does it hurt here?”

  “No,” said Joshua tentatively.

  “Can you put any weight on it?” said Isabel. “Try to take a step.”

  Squeezing April’s arm so hard she thought it would pop off, Joshua stood and managed a single, limping step. Then another. “It’s definitely broken,” he said.

  But Isabel shook her head. “No, just sprained. Here. Let’s sit.” She and April helped Joshua hobble over to a nearby bench. As they sat down, Arthur swooped in and started strutting around in the grass along the shoreline, immediately starting a shouting match with a crow farther down the bank.

  Isabel dug into her bag and pulled out a long, thin scarf. She proceeded to wrap Joshua’s ankle in it. “Walking’s out of the question now,” she said. “Any ideas?”

  “Um . . . we could call Ethel again. I’m sure she’d love to see us.”

  Isabel knit her brows, unamused. “Let’s call that Plan B.”

  Joshua held up his hand as if he was in school. “I have an idea,” he said, and pointed out into the lagoon. A hundred yards off, two people were paddling a silver canoe across the glassy water.

  “Wait, is that even possible?” April said. “How close could we get to the city in a canoe?”

  “All the way,” Joshua said. “Right into the city. And it’s all downstream.” He started to carve shapes in the air with his hands, seemingly drawing the map from memory. “These lagoons go into the Skokie River, which meets up with the North Branch of the Chicago River. Then the North Shore Channel. Goose Island. Chicago River.” He said this last one with an air of finality, making a lopsided Y with his hands. “That’s downtown. Right in the direction you said you felt your missing piece.”

  Isabel leaned over and wrapped the boy in a hug. “It’s perfect,” she said. “You’re perfect.”

  “I don’t know how to drive a canoe, though,” Joshua said through her curly red hair.

  “That’s okay,” Isabel said, releasing him. “I do.”

  “Okay, so . . . we boat it,” said April. “But where do we get a canoe?”

  Isabel gestured off to the left, where another silver canoe was rounding the corner. “There must be someplace that rents them nearby. I’ll find out.” And then with an abruptness that startled April, she stood and stalked off determinedly, without another word. If nothing else, April thought, at least she was decisive.

  While Isabel was gone, April helped Joshua get to a nearby restroom so he could change. They laid his clothes out in the bright sun to dry. Arthur left them for a while. Joshua seemed more worried about his absence than Isabel’s. April wasn’t worried, however, and not surprised in the least when the bird returned twenty minutes later. He was full. Satisfied. She tried not to think too hard about what he might have eaten, or whether it was dead or alive when he found it. Ravens, she knew, would eat just about anything.

  They waited for Isabel. Joshua kept apologizing to April for spraining his ankle, saying he’d messed everything up. April tried to reassure him, and eventually found him a walking stick. Once he’d practiced hopping around with it a bit, he seemed to feel better. Occasionally a passing adult would stop and ask if they needed help, not just because of the hopping, but also because of Joshua’s wet clothes conspicuously laid out on the grass. Each time Joshua said simply, “No, thanks, my ride will be here soon,” as if he’d said it a thousand times before.

  At last, after an hour, Isabel returned. She looked furious, her face as red as her hair. “I found a place, but they’re no good. They wouldn’t give me a canoe without an ID or a credit card.”

  April stared. “And . . . you don’t you have those things?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “I just turned thirteen. I don’t even have a wallet yet.” April had never heard of an adult who didn’t have a credit card, much less some form of ID. Even Derek had a credit card. She started to wonder how it was Isabel managed to survive, how she made her way in the world. “So what do we do?”

  “We wait. We wait until tonight, when the boat rental place closes. Then we help ourselves.”

  It took April a moment to understand. “We’re going to steal a canoe?”
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br />   “You’re not opposed to a little stealing, I hear,” said Isabel. “When it matters.”

  “When I have to,” April clarified.

  “I suppose we could take a train instead, but . . .” Isabel glanced meaningfully at Arthur, who was busying himself moving pebbles around on the shore, concentrating hard on some birdly task.

  “No,” April said at once. She wasn’t leaving Arthur, especially not when she couldn’t even feel the missing piece anymore. But then she looked at Joshua’s worried face. If she stubbornly refused to take the train now, was she putting them in danger from the Riven? “The canoe is fine,” she told Isabel, “as long as you think it’s safe to stay here today.”

  “It’s never going to be safe with a wound like yours,” Isabel said. “But I’d be surprised if the Riven find us before nightfall. And by then, we’ll be sailing downstream.”

  In a stolen canoe. April could hardly even believe she cared about that, but she did. “Fine. We’ll wait here and take a canoe. But I have seventeen dollars, and I’m leaving it when we go. We’re not stealing. Deal?”

  Isabel nodded. “Deal.”

  “Deal,” said Joshua.

  “The boat place doesn’t close until eight,” Isabel said. She squinted into the sky, where the early afternoon sun was still heating up overhead. “And it’s going to be a hot day. That can only mean one thing.”

  “What’s that?” April asked, sure that the answer was going to be some new trial, some fresh danger Isabel had neglected to mention.

  But instead the woman only grinned at them both. “Ice cream,” she said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Chaperone

  HORACE WATCHED AS THE DAKTAN MATERIALIZED OUT OF THIN air at exactly 8:31 on Wednesday evening, arriving with a pop and tumbling onto Mr. Meister’s desk. The little flower bounced slightly and rolled to a stop.

  All the Wardens were crowded into Mr. Meister’s office for the daktan’s return. For Horace, it was a strange gathering—it was the first time all seven of them had been together at once. Brian wore his GO TEAM! shirt, leaning against the desk, eyes bright and fascinated. Neptune was sitting—if that was even the word—cross-legged in the air above the others, trying to get a better view. Gabriel cocked his head alertly at the sound of the daktan’s arrival.