by Ted Sanders
Whereas most owls were sort of catlike—sleepy one moment, alert and predatory the next—the owls of Vithra’s Eye reminded her more of turtles, their minds slow and unconcerned. She stood on the lakeshore, listening to them. They seemed as calm as ever. Bored, even. She assumed the eyes of one of them, its night vision lighting up the massive chamber—she saw herself, and the mysterious unwalkable walkway that ran across the water. There was a large, dark pit in the middle of it, she saw now, covered with a heavy, ornate grate. The owl circled closer to the opposite shore. She stared, holding her breath.
Nothing. No one.
“She said I’d know if something’s wrong,” April muttered to herself. “But I don’t know, so I guess nothing is?”
Could it be true? Could the Riven have learned the location of the Warren because of the Auditor, and Joshua’s open portal? She stayed by the water for another minute. The owls went on circling silently, untroubled.
April left them. She jogged back into the Great Burrow, between the towering trees of stone. Arthur joined her, gliding overhead. More than ever, the place felt like a forest to her, an elven forest lit with golden light and crowned with a canopy of stone. She was relieved she had felt no sign of danger from the owls. She’d had plenty of danger lately. This was just a scare, all Ingrid’s doing, getting Joshua worked up over nothing.
She kept repeating that to herself, again and again, all the way to Mr. Meister’s office.
Inside, Mrs. Hapsteade and Mr. Meister were waiting for her. Isabel stood next to Jessica, Horace’s mom. Joshua curled on the couch with the Laithe, his head buried in his arms.
“You’ve been to the lake,” Mr. Meister said. “And?”
“I didn’t see or see or hear anything,” said April. “The owls seem fine. Same as they always are.”
Mr. Meister didn’t exactly look relieved. More like he wanted to feel relieved. He pressed a finger to his upper lip, his bushy brow furrowing. “The Auditor was occupying the Laithe when Joshua returned here through the portal. He believes she was able to determine the location of the Warren.” He turned to Jessica and Isabel. “Tuners? Tell me what you think.”
The women looked at each other, surprised. April had a sudden, sadly sweet vision of them as girls, her own age or even younger, here in this very room, taking instruction from this very man. The image made April feel older. Or if not older, closer to who she might one day become. Still, she couldn’t imagine why Mr. Meister would care what Isabel had to say. April wouldn’t trust Isabel with a goldfish. Judging by the fiery look on Mrs. Hapsteade’s face, she seemed to feel the same way.
Isabel opened her mouth, but Jessica cut her off. “I’m sure I don’t know as much about the Laithe as Isabel. But none of us know as much about it as Joshua.”
Joshua sat up. “I felt what I felt,” he said sullenly.
“Henry,” Jessica said, “I know it’s hard to imagine that the Warren could ever be found—”
“It has been found before,” said Mr. Meister. Everyone except Mrs. Hapsteade looked shocked. “The Riven did discover our whereabouts once, long ago, in an act of treachery. The Warren’s final defenses weren’t breached. The attack was driven back, and secrecy restored.”
“And those defenses are the same ones we have today, right?” asked April.
Mr. Meister said nothing. He pinched at a little pile of sand on his desk, picking up grains and letting them fall again, watching intently as if he were counting a pile of gold.
“Right?” she said again, louder.
When he still didn’t answer, Jessica said softly, “Henry?”
Mr. Meister stood up. He swept the sand away and plucked the red-needled compass from his desk. He held it out to Mrs. Hapsteade. “Dorothy, you and Joshua stay with Isabel and Ingrid. I’ll send the others up to you, just as a precaution.”
Mrs. Hapsteade hesitated before taking the compass. “Should I be worried?” she asked him calmly.
“You should be strong, as always.” He bowed to April, and then to Jessica. “If you two would come with me, please? I need your insights.”
“Let me come,” Isabel pleaded, the first words she’d spoken. “Give me a harp. I can help. I helped at the meadow.”
Mrs. Hapsteade shot to her feet. “You will never hold another harp again. You throw a shovelful of dirt into a grave you dug us all, and call it help. No more.”
Joshua began to cry. Mr. Meister left the room without looking back. Frightened and fighting to stay steady, April followed him, with Horace’s mom in tow, the satchel holding her harp slung over her shoulder. Behind them, Mrs. Hapsteade began to murmur soothingly to Joshua.
Mr. Meister led them down the Perilous Stairs without a word. Arthur, watching April closely, flew out into the Maw and circled on the rising breeze. At the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Meister told them to wait, and he hustled down the hall to Brian’s workshop. April stood on the ledge with Jessica, wondering how much more the woman knew—if anything—about what they were doing.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said April.
“That’d be a bad bargain at the moment, I’m afraid.”
“Because you don’t know what your thoughts are, or because your thoughts are unpleasant?”
Jessica smiled. “I do so love Horace’s friends.” Then her smile faltered and she said, “My thoughts were: change swallows everything.”
April was almost sorry she asked. “Mr. Meister wants our insights. He’s taking us somewhere.”
“He’s worried. There’s a chink in the armor of this place. He wants to reassure himself.”
Before April had a chance to ask more, Mr. Meister returned with all three of the other Wardens. April gaped at Brian. He looked like a prisoner, hauling Tunraden between his knees, his hands buried to the wrists in it.
“Now you see my true form,” he declared glumly to April, nodding at Tunraden.
Of all the people she might have blamed for everything that had gone wrong tonight, Brian was the one she truly couldn’t hold a grudge against. Not with what he’d done for her. “I’ve already seen your true form,” April said. She turned her head and tucked back her hair, showing him the Ravenvine, and the little black flower he’d repaired.
He nodded gratefully, then stuck out his chest. “You must have read my shirt.” The shirt said:
WRONG TREE.
PLEASE DO NOT BARK.
“Gabriel, take Brian and his shirt upstairs,” said Mr. Meister. “Wait there with the others. Neptune, you’ll be with us. And April, can you bring the bird?”
Arthur was still circling high overhead, enjoying himself.
“He generally does what he wants,” she said.
“I hope he will want to come with us, then.”
April had never traveled in the direction Mr. Meister led them now. The bridge across the Maw was first, a precarious journey through a buffeting wind that blasted up from below, growing stronger as they went. Neptune had it easiest, going high into the air and leaping across, her cloak fluttering magnificently. She dropped back down on the far side ahead of them, where the wind faded abruptly to nothing. To April’s surprise, Arthur followed her, thrilled to have an airborne companion. And when April reached the sheltered balcony opposite Brian’s workshop, the raven settled in neatly on her shoulder again. Mr. Meister grunted with satisfaction.
They entered a long dark hallway. Neptune went first, lighting the way with her purple jithandra. Twice a door appeared along the walls, materializing out of nowhere as her light fell across them. April glanced behind at Mr. Meister bringing up the rear, his white jithandra shining. To her shock, door after door sprouted out of nothing as he passed, doors that couldn’t be seen by Neptune’s light alone.
“The Gallery,” he said to her, apparently not intending to explain any further. “One of the wonders of the Warren.”
They went on for another hundred feet, until Mr. Meister called for them to stop. He slid past April and Jessica, and as his jithandra illu
minated the wall in front of them, a thick wooden door suddenly appeared. They went through it and found themselves at the bottom of a tall, wide shaft. Arthur took flight. He circled up the shaft, and through his eyes April noticed that an intimidating series of iron rungs were embedded in the rock face, leading up to a ledge high above. Arthur landed there, strutting proudly, feeling wild. He let loose three triumphant squawks that echoed down around them.
Mr. Meister craned his neck. “If only we all had it so easy. Neptune, perhaps you can take April?”
April stepped back. “I can climb.”
Mr. Meister put a hand on her shoulder. “Let us not waste energy where we don’t need to. Go with Neptune. Jessica, you’ve made this climb before, I believe.”
“Only a hundred times,” Jessica said, gazing up at the metal rungs. “I never thought I’d be here for number one oh one.”
“Nor I,” said Mr. Meister, and then he started to climb, with astonishing speed. Jessica followed him, not nearly as fast, but faster than April could have managed.
“Whoa,” said April.
“We’ll get there first,” said Neptune. She looked April up and down, examining her, considering it. “Do you know how much you weigh?”
“I don’t believe in weighing myself.”
“I won’t tell you then,” said Neptune. “You’re just under my limit, so we’re good. Here, put your arms around my neck.”
Awkwardly, April wrapped her arms around Neptune’s neck. The older girl scooped her up beneath her knees and her shoulders, lifting her easily. As easily as a pillow. And now April felt the power of the tourminda in her own body—a blissful kind of peace, the earth’s gravity gone from every cell in her body. Her hair began to lift.
“Oh, wow,” said April. “How are you not doing this constantly?”
“Sometimes I am,” said Neptune. “But I’ve got to keep my legs strong. Now hold on tight—if you fall, fixing you won’t be easy.”
Neptune squatted low, and with a powerful thrust of her long legs, launched them both into the air. It was a bizarre sensation, a jump that seemed to have no end. They rocketed quickly past Jessica and Mr. Meister, headed for Arthur high above. April hugged Neptune tight. Up and up they went.
Gradually, air resistance slowed them. They drifted to a stop just a few feet below the ledge. Neptune stretched for a fingerhold on the wall of the shaft and pulled them up the last little bit. Arthur danced back and forth, chuckling, delighted. April stepped cautiously onto the ledge beside him. Her knees nearly gave way as she released Neptune and her weight returned to her.
“Kind of a bummer getting it all back, isn’t it?” said Neptune, still hovering.
April didn’t ordinarily believe in escaping from the realities of the world, but it was hard not to deny the thrill of being weightless.
Soon Mr. Meister joined them on the ledge, much more quickly than April would have believed possible. Jessica followed soon after. Incredibly, neither of them seemed short of breath.
April glanced down at the rungs stretching out far below them. “That’s not an ordinary ladder, is it?”
“This is the Warren,” Mr. Meister said simply. “Now make way, make way.” He squeezed past them along the rock wall. Arthur flapped out into the shaft and swung back, landing on April’s shoulder once more. Mr. Meister stopped in front of a small section of bricks in the natural stone wall. He pulled a glass Tan’kindi from a vest pocket, a kind of crystal key with a bristling end. He touched the tip against the brick wall, pushing. It slid in easily. He gave it three swift twists, and then turned to them all.
“We are about to enter Sanguine Hall. Jessica, you’ll be fine, but April and Neptune—do not wander. Stay close to the wall.”
“And what, exactly, is Sanguine Hall?” April asked, not happy about the implication that if she wandered, she might not be fine. “Is this where you took Horace last night?”
Jessica grunted, but didn’t say anything.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Meister. “This is the Warren’s back exit. A second way out . . . and in.”
“You’re worried the Riven might come in this way,” April said. “But isn’t there a Nevren?”
Mr. Meister didn’t answer that, seeming to avoid Jessica’s steady gaze. April’s heart got suddenly heavy, as if all the weight Neptune had taken from her before had found its way there.
Mr. Meister’s big gray eyes shifted to Arthur. “Bring the bird,” he said, and he stepped through the wall, vanishing. Neptune went after him.
“Why does he want me to bring Arthur so bad?” April asked Jessica.
“Birds get keyed up around the Riven. They hate them. And being in a protected place—being around leestones—exaggerates the effect. That’s why they keep the owls in Vithra’s Eye.”
“So Arthur’s supposed to be the canary in the coal mine, then. Or I guess . . . the raven in the Riven pit.”
“Yes, though I’m not sure I see the point.”
“But aren’t you worried?”
“Yes.”
“So, you do think it’s true. You think the Riven really might have figured out where the Warren is.”
Jessica opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I think Joshua knows what he knows. I think we should have left already.” Seeing April’s frightened face, she smiled ruefully. “Do you want your penny back?”
“No. I want to find out what’s going on.”
“Then let’s go. Let’s see.”
Unsure how to get Arthur through the wall, April did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed his head gently, covering his eyes, and immediately plunged through the bricks.
He squawked and struggled, but it only took a second, and on the far side of the cold wall she let him go. He flapped away, offended, and landed twenty feet off.
Beyond him, the mysterious Sanguine Hall stretched into the distance. The walls were high, the ceiling a dark cloud. The place seemed totally empty.
Neptune and Mr. Meister stood just there, beside her. Jessica came through last, and sighed at the sight of the gloomy hall. She must have been here before, traveling in and out of the Warren, doing the Wardens’ work. April tried to picture it.
“He seems fine,” said Neptune, watching Arthur.
“Yes,” April reported. “He’s annoyed with me a little, but he’s fine.”
“Can we make him go farther?” Mr. Meister asked.
Neptune reached into her pocket, pulling out a little handful of dog food. “We could see if he’ll fetch,” she said.
Arthur was already watching Neptune with his sharp eyes. “Do it,” said April.
Neptune heaved the kibble far down the hall. It sailed over Arthur’s head. He was airborne before it landed, tracking each individual piece. The kibble skittered across the stone floor far beyond him, halfway down the hall.
Arthur dropped to the ground and began collecting it all, one piece at a time. April was so intent on him she didn’t even bother masking his sense of taste. Dry spicy powder seemed to flood her mouth, scratch down her throat.
“All seems well,” said Mr. Meister.
“He’s good,” said April. Arthur went farther, chasing down the last couple of pieces. Through him, she could see the far end of the hall now, a jumble of collapsed stone. “He’s happy. He’s not—”
And then rage flooded her.
At first she didn’t even know where it was coming from. But the raven skittered away from the last piece of kibble, flapping his wings and croaking shrilly, his eyes trained down the hall. Bad. Hate. Claw. She’d never felt such intensity of emotion from him.
“What’s happening?” Neptune asked. “That’s just a happy food cry, right?”
Mr. Meister laid a hand on April’s shoulder. “Tell us, Keeper.”
“He’s mad. He wants to attack. He—”
Far in the distance, a shadow moved. April could never have seen it in a thousand years, but it filled Arthur’s sight, his mind. A stealthy dark fo
rm emerged from the rubble at the opposite end of the hall, materializing out of the stone just the way she and the others had come through the bricks behind her.
A Mordin.
Arthur went on fuming, his calls echoing down the hall as a second Mordin appeared. And then a third.
“They found us,” April whispered.
Neptune inhaled sharply. Jessica pulled her harp from her bag. Mr. Meister stood utterly still for a moment, as if in shock, and then bustled the group into the corner, thick into the shadows.
“How many?” he asked.
“A hunting pack of Mordin,” April said. “They’re coming.”
The three Mordin crept stealthily closer. They seemed nervous, unsure of their surroundings. They’d seen and heard Arthur, of course; she could see their eyes. The raven threw one more loud challenge their way, and then took wing. He flew halfway back to April before alighting again, strutting furiously.
“We need to get him out of here,” April said. “We all need to get out.”
“Wait,” said Mr. Meister. “Let us see.”
The Mordin were close enough to be seen now, and heard, nearly halfway down the long corridor. One of them was laughing, a hissing crackle that slid across the stone floor of the hall.
“They’ll see us,” April hissed.
And then, out in the hall, it began to snow. No, not snow—a blizzard. A slow but blinding cloud, pouring down from the darkness high over the Mordin’s heads. The Mordin stopped, looking up, shouting in their own language.
“What is that?” April whispered, terrified for reasons she couldn’t begin to guess.
“Sa’halvasa,” Mr. Meister replied quietly, gazing. “It has come to feed.”
April took Arthur’s eyes, trying to make sense of it. These weren’t snowflakes at all. They were tiny shining blades, a countless multitude on the wing. They swarmed down and started to land on the Mordin, gathering on their shoulders and backs. The Mordin bellowed, dancing and swatting at the cloud, and the drifting horde immediately flared into a frenzy. The swarm thickened, seeming to roar and buzz. The little blades kept coming, swirling around the struggling Mordin like an unstoppable tide around stranded swimmers.
