Keeper of Reign Read online

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  On the Handover bank, Holden, his mouth in an “O,” stared at the trunk as it plunged downriver. Jules, Ralston and Bitha seemed to have disappeared, perhaps swallowed by the river.

  How are we going to get back?” Holden whispered as he stared across to the Reign side.

  And Tst Tst and Tippy cried, “We want Jules!”

  28 - LOGS

  THE REDWOOD TRUNK, battered by the gushing current, wobbled and Jules balanced himself by grabbing to this and that as he made his way to the opening they came out from. He hoped Ralston and Bitha had fallen in there. But what if water had seeped in and filled the hollow trunk? Then eventually the trunk would sink lower.

  Water sloshed up to his ankle when he dropped in. He squinted into the dim tunnel. He’d passed his lantern to Holden, and now he regretted it.

  “Rals! Bitha! You in there?”

  He used the wall of the trunk to steady himself and took a few steps into the darkness. Sloshing sounds grew behind him.

  “Jules!” Ralston panted as he tapped Jules on the shoulder. The glow from the lantern revealed worry lines on Ralston’s forehead.

  “Where’s Bitha?”

  “I’m here.” Bitha poked her head over Ralston’s shoulder.

  Jules sighed. “The trunk’s sinking.”

  He looked at his knees, already covered with river water.

  They climbed back up and tottered on the swift moving log as it plunged and heaved up and down like a see-saw downriver.

  “Pass me the lantern,” Jules said.

  Bitha shoved the lantern at him. “What are we going to do?”

  “I was watching those three logs ahead of us.” Jules pointed to rows of woodsy trunks sliding parallel to one another. Their own trunk had reached a gentler and wider part of Brooke Beginning and at least the see-saw movement had slowed down.

  “Those logs don’t seem to be affected by the current,” Ralston said.

  “And they’re really close to the water surface.”

  “They’re floating toward the bank. If we get close enough we can hop down onto one.”

  Bitha squinted. “But why’s the current not bearing them downriver like us?”

  “Maybe they’re caught in some cross current. We must hurry. We’re almost close enough. At the count of three, we jump onto that bump on that first log.”

  Jules took something out of his cloak—the long ribbon that had secured Fiesty. He tied one end around his waist, the other around Bitha and told Ralston to hold onto the middle.

  “It wouldn’t do to separate again,” he explained.

  He edged down, clinging onto a branch trailing the water and cried,

  “Altogether, jump!” He and Ralston hit the bumpy surface of the log next to them, but Bitha missed and clung on to a protruding bumpy edge, legs trailing the water, until the boys heaved her up.

  “It’s a good thing you tied me,” she told Jules. “But these logs don’t even have a single twig jutting out of them.”

  “At the pace we’re floating we’ll soon reach the beach, so be ready to jump off.” Jules began untying the ribbon from himself and Bitha.

  “If the log turns downstream, we’re goners.”

  Ralston tugged at Jules’s cloak. “I know why—why there aren’t any branches poking out.”

  “Rals, concentrate, will you? Handoverans are infamous for their mines, so let’s be extra careful when we jump off, and the log may just turn and head downstream, too.”

  “But we’re not on a log?”

  “What?”

  One end of the log raised itself out of the water and splashed against the surface of the river with a loud Whap! Whap!

  “Hold tight!” Jules reached for Bitha just before she toppled as the log swayed from side to side. “We’re so light it doesn’t know we’re on it.”

  The alligator they were on continued its course toward the sandy embankment where alligators lay sunning. When they reached shore, its companion lunged toward the reptile they were on and nipped their ride’s snout. Jules and his sibling stayed paralyzed above the beast.

  “It’s not safe to get down,” he said as he scoured the area. About ten alligators lay around in a daze. “We need to distract them.”

  “Don’t look at me.” Ralston spun his head about frantically.

  “I have an idea. The good news is there’re obviously no mines here with those alligators around. Guess Handoverans are scared of alligators, too.”

  Ralston said, “Saul mentioned booby traps, too.”

  “Stop it. I can’t think.”

  It didn’t take long for Jules to come up with his plan. He slid his pouch from his cloak and chose the precious stones with the most jagged edges. One after another he hurled the gems at them, aiming for their eyes. The afflicted alligators snapped at each other, serrated teeth lining their gaping jaws. They trashed their tails left and right, trying to find the perpetrator Jules helped Bitha and Ralston slip down, and they stumbled to a nearby grove of brambles.

  Bitha’s panting became more pronounced. “Shouldn’t we be more careful about those boobytraps?”

  Jules said, “Reptiles have been sighted in these Rivers, but I never believed the reports.”

  “Maybe these are crocodiles?” Ralston said.

  Jules shook his head. “Alligator heads are shorter and wider like shovels. A crocodile has a narrower jaw and a more V-shaped skull that tapers at the snout. These are alligators.”

  “I’m worried about the others,” Bitha said. “Do you think they’re okay?”

  “We should find them,” Jules said. “According to Saul’s map, we’re way off course.”

  “Let’s not lose that map,” Bitha said.

  Ralston peered at the map in Jules’s grasp. “I never knew Handover had alligators. I thought they had snakes?”

  Jules looked at his brother. “Those, too.”

  29 - TENNESSON

  HOLDEN ORDERED TIPPY and Tst Tst to hurry but they continued inching, and they kept falling behind.

  “Just swing your leg forward like this,” Holden said. He showed them how to take the strides.

  “I want Jules,” Tippy said.

  “We can’t wait on the beach,” Holden said. “There’s not enough cover.”

  Tst Tst reached for Tippy’s arm and grasped it. “But we have the dragonfly lanterns. If we leave, how would Jules find us?”

  “The lanterns may not shield us from bad Handoverans, or their soldiers. Come on.”

  Holden stopped suddenly, and Tst Tst tripped and bumped into him.

  “You said to hurry,” she said.

  “Shh!” Holden pointed to what lay ahead of them.

  From behind a log in the forest, they spied a clearing with a strange tent. It could pass as a house except it was made of canvas. The shuttered windows made it difficult to see if any occupants remained within. A fire pit with a used spit at the front of the structure confirmed that the house at least had one resident.

  “From the size of the spit, I’d say not too may live here,” Holden said, in his lowest tones. “Could still be an enemy position.”

  “How long do we wait here?” Tst Tst whispered. “Tippy has to go to the bathroom.”

  Tippy moved from one foot to the next.

  “Why now?” Holden said.

  But they didn’t have to wait long.

  “And what exactly are you hoping to see?” a hoarse voice croaked from behind them.

  Holden gasped. Tippy and Tst Tst shrieked and squeezed their eyes shut.

  “Didn’t mean to spook you. But you are—ahem—on my grounds? Elfies, I presume? The usual greeting runs something like, ‘Friend or foe?’”

  The interrogator was a Handover Elf: a Handoveran. High forehead. Big nose. But he wasn’t as stocky as Handoverans were supposed to be. Still, he was a whole head taller than Holden! His thick accent, too, wasn’t what they were accustomed to.

  “Our sincerest apolo
gies,” Tst Tst said. “We’re friends, I hope.”

  “Trespassing is a crime with heavy penalties in Handover, especially for Elfies.” “We didn’t mean to trespass,” Holden said. “It’s just that we’re lost.”

  “So where was your destination?”

  Holden locked eyes with Tst Tst.

  “Right now, it’s the bathroom,” Tst Tst said.

  “Makes two of us.” The Handoveran smiled. He perked up and offered Holden his hand. “Tennesson is the name and tent making is my game!”

  Holden hesitated, then shook his large, callused hand.

  “Shall we hurry then?” He turned to Tst Tst and gestured at his tent.

  Holden stepped forward, as if to stop Tst Tst but she’d already pulled Tippy toward the tent. Too late!

  30 - CAMOUFLAGE

  THE TENT CONSISTED of several compartments, like rooms in an apartment. Layouts, diagrams, and schematics lay scattered on the many tables in the relatively simple and dim interior that smelled of freshly baked cakes.

  “Care to join me?” Tennesson said when they congregated in the kitchen.

  “You have a strange home,” Tippy said.

  “Believe it or not,” he announced flatly, “I designed it myself. Friends, and foes, come to me to have their tents designed, too. Although I must say I don’t get too many Elfies frequenting these parts requesting my services. At least not since the edict. Come, I’ll show you some of my most coveted prototypes.”

  They wanted to leave but didn’t want to appear rude. So they followed. Down a dim corridor, in another cubicle, he showed them albums with pictures of tents, tabernacles, and canopies of various sizes.

  Nothing was consistent with the Elfies’ concept of a home. In one rendition a canvas home made especially for deception required the owner to dig a trench and use the covering to conceal the opening. Unsuspecting individuals treading above would never have guessed someone’s hideout lay below. The finely woven tapestry covering the trench matched the textures and hues of the forest floor so precisely.

  “Most of these homes look like they’re for camouflage,” Tst Tst said.

  “In Handover you never know who the enemy is so it’s best to stay hidden. That’s what I tell my clients.”

  Another model, Holden’s favorite, simulated a canopy of greenery, like the foliage of the forest. The user was to arrange the camouflaged invention overhead, securing the tapestry onto several boughs with strong twine. With a few of these woven rugs overlapping on top, the area under the tents remained dry even during the worst downpour.

  Another pattern showed how a hollowed out upright tree trunk with an overhang affixed on top transformed the recess into a concealed hideout, indistinguishable except by the keenest eyes.

  “My brother would love to see your drawings,” Tst Tst said.

  “And where might he be? This brother?”

  “We don’t know. Downriver, maybe.”

  “You’re not the only foolish Elfie who’d tried to cross the River during a storm.”

  Holden leaned forward and stopped munching his cookie. “What do you mean?”

  “There’ve been wrecks—Elfie boats, knickknacks, all come floating to our side of the beach. Makes good profit for some who sell to collectors. I come across all sorts of things living near the River.”

  “Those other wrecks had any survivors?”

  Even Tippy and Tst Tst stopped munching.

  “Hard to say. Never found anyone myself, but it’s possible. Although with all the Scorpents around they’d better have some coverage. Too many Handoverans would love to sell an Elfie off for a few goodies.”

  Tst Tst heaved a deep sob.

  “What’s with her?”

  Holden told Tennesson about Leroy and Bonnie’s trip and that they might have lost their lives. “But we have hope. Some say they might have gone to visit a friend up north.”

  “Who’s that? That friend?” Tennesson leaned in.

  “Jules has the details, which is why we need to find him—among other reasons.”

  Tst Tst said, “Holden can’t handle us.”

  “You children don’t seem to realize how dangerous it is for you here, do you?”

  “We can keep away from the Scorpents. We have this.” Tst Tst brought up the lantern.

  Tennesson raised one eyebrow. “And how about the snakes? There are even alligators in some parts of the River. And Elfie-eating insects?”

  Holden scratched his chin and looked at the girls. “Maybe I can leave the girls with you and look for them myself.”

  “No need to be in a hurry,” Tennesson said. “Give me news of the old country. There was a time I got news of it often.”

  “We need to get to Jules,” Holden said.

  “I don’t live too far from this bridge you came on. If this Jules has any brains he’ll make his way here—provided he hasn’t—“

  “Hasn’t?”

  “I have contacts. Maybe they have news about your friends’ escapade.” Tennesson stalked over to a closet where streams of ropes hung in different colors, widths and thicknesses. His fingers ran over the first few and settled on a thick, velvet, red cord. He pulled it.

  Tst Tst and Tippy wandered about the room looking at old portraits faded with time.

  “Who’s this?” Tst Tst pointed to a lady dressed in white with a veil over her face. The lady in the picture had wide-set eyes so deep blue they pierced through the veil. Her light honey- colored hair was pulled back in a pony tail, with loose wisps cascading and fringing her face in soft tendrils.

  “My wife, Luella. But she’s gone.” Tennesson stepped in front of the hanging portrait.

  “I’m sorry,” Holden said.

  “Happened years back.”

  “What happened?”

  “Gehzurolle rounded up Elfies living here—the edict I mentioned. He killed them all.”

  Holden and Tst Tst locked eyes. He was one of those who married an Elfie? Would that make him more trustworthy?

  “In a few minutes,” Tennesson said, “we’ll see if anyone sighted any of your friends downstream. If we don’t get a reply it could mean either good news or bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?” Holden asked.

  “They’d not been spotted by some eager for money types.”

  “And the bad news?” Tst Tst asked.

  “They didn’t make it.”

  31 - BOOK OF REMEMBRANCES

  BEFORE HOLDEN COULD ask how they could avoid these Handoverans eager to sell Elfies for a bit of gain, a brassy clanging sounded in the room.

  “Is that your doorbell?” Tst Tst said.

  “My warning system—trespassers, like you were. They’re not close by the sound of the bell. But, still, you’d better hide.”

  Tennesson glanced toward the front hallway, his forehead furrowed with worry lines.

  “How can you tell someone’s coming?” Holden asked as they rushed down the hallway with Tennesson.

  “I’ve dug shallow trenches all over, and I covered them with my camouflaged rugs. Similar to the one that resembled the forest floor tapestry you saw in those sketches. I connected bells underneath the rugs. The different jingle for the different routes tells me which direction the visitors are approaching.”

  “So that’s how you knew we were here?” Tst Tst said.

  Tennesson nodded.

  Another series of bells rang—this time tingling. “The visitors are arriving.”

  Tennesson whipped away a rug near the front entrance, and opened the trap door on the floor. The dug-out he pushed them into was small and cramped and smelled of stale onions.

  Knock, knock, knock!

  The raps sounded loud and jarring upon the doorpost. But that was all their straining ears heard from their hiding place.

  Tst Tst groped about the wall like a blind person getting her bearings, and her hand came upon what seemed like a rope hanging down from the ceiling. She grabbed the rough hemp rope with both hands and tug
ged. Light spilled into the room. The lamp was a contraption whereby two liquids in separate jars, when mixed, one liquid spilling into the jar of the other when the rope was pulled, came alight.

  “Shouldn’t have done that,” Holden whispered. “What if those visitors can see the light through the cracks?”

  “There’s a chest of drawers here.” Tst Tst pulled Tippy toward her and brought her sister to the chest.

  “Don’t!” Holden said.

  Too late. Tst Tst was already opening up the first drawer and peering in. And she gasped.

  “What?” Holden strode over after a quick glance at the trap door they entered through.

  “Book of Remembrances.”

  Bound volumes were stacked one atop the other in a neat manner in the drawer. Holden took one and flipped the pages quietly. A cross between an album and a diary, a Book of Remembrances also held scraps of letters, sketches, pressed flowers, and such articles like trinkets or tokens from a person’s life. Numerous portraits of Tennesson and a lady Elfie— presumably his wife, Luella—filled the pages. Sometimes the pictures were of them in front of or inside the house, but the dwelling looked different from Tennesson’s current home. Artwork lined one wall of the home in the pictures and neatly shelved books covered the other walls. It seemed that Tennesson had a different life when his wife was alive.

  Tippy looked at the pictures closely, and pried one of them off. “Pretty.”

  When Holden took another book out and passed this to Tst Tst, a piece of paper slipped out and floated to the ground. It looked like an envelope. He quickly picked it up, but not before he saw the name on the top corner. “Saul Turpentine,” it read.

  He slid the envelope into his cloak and shut the drawers as the trap door creaked open.

  32 - NOT ALONE

  BITHA HUNG UPSIDE down swinging from side to side, narrowly missing the tree trunk. She’d stepped into a trap and the net had caught her up and had borne her, within seconds, to a high branch of the birch.

  Below, Jules studied the height of the branch from which the net hung. The Handoveran booby trap looked rudimentary, but it still annoyed him. Why did it have to be so high up? “It’s okay, don’t struggle. Ralston’s going to climb up and figure out the knots.”

  “Why me?” Ralston narrowed his eyes at Jules.

  “You know I’m not the mechanical one.”

  Ralston sighed and set the dragonfly lantern next to Jules. Birch trees are not supposed to be that tall but this one towered over the rest of its relations nearby.

  “Notice the spaces between the bark on the trunk? You can use them as footholds to climb. And don’t shout when you’re up there. Anyone could be listening in these parts.”

  Ralston glared at him.

  “What are you going to do to get her out once you’re up there?” Jules persisted.

  “I’ll figure something out—I’m the mechanical one, remember?” He stalked to the tree and grasped the woodsy bark. Like a lizard climbing a tree, slowly, he moved his hands and his feet up along the footholds on the trunk. Whoever set up the trap must have nicked the footholds for climbing. Ralston made his way up the trunk, higher and higher, never looking down. Jules thought it took him an eternity to get to the branch where the net was holding Bitha.

  Two pairs of eyes, hidden between the golden and rusty fall leaves, watched Ralston as he edged his way toward Bitha in the net.

  “It’s too heavy,” Ralston said. “I can’t pull you up the branch.”

  “I have something in here, but I can’t reach it. If I move the net tightens.

  Try and get to me or something and maybe you can get it.”

  “But the rope may not hold both our weight. We’ll both fall.”

  Ralston stood on his tiptoes. “It’s a fantastic view from here.” He scanned the adjacent branches: a few were still full of green leaves but most of the other trees had turned to the burnt orange colors of fall, while still others had lost their greenery altogether. Something caught his eye. Strange.

  “There’s a bridge of some sort up here.”

  “What?” Bitha shouted back.

  “A web bridge.”

  “Are you going to help me?”

  Ralston dipped his head lower, over the edge of the branch, toward the swinging net. “I think I can climb down the branch. Part way.”

  “Careful!”

  “Not so loud. Jules said we must work quietly.”

  Head down, Ralston lowered himself along the curve of the branch toward the lead line that secured Bitha’s net to the bough. He stopped when he got as far as he could go without toppling head first to the ground. With his free hand he examined the knot that secured the net to the branch.

  If he could untie the knot he could free the net. Except that would mean Bitha would fall to her death. He tugged at the knot and, in the net, Bitha pendulummed.

  “Stop! What are you doing?” she shouted.

  Ralston stopped.

  Bitha said, “I can reach it.”

  “What?”

  “This!” Bitha brought out a familiar fabric bundling something within.

  “Jules passed it to me. It was in the pillowcase. Take it. Don’t unwrap it, yet.”

  Ralston extended his arm and his fingertips touched the bundle. Something hard and sharp lay in it. “I can almost reach it.”

  Bitha strained her arm out even more.

  “Got it.” Ralston placed the bundle between his teeth and labored his way back up.

  When he sat on the branch, he unraveled the wrap. The mirror shard Jules found in the mantel hiding place gleamed in his grasp. He read the message behind it—“ook within.” What could that mean? But how could he cut the rope? Bitha could crash to her death. What did Jules expect him to do? He needed Jules up there. Maybe they could pull the lead rope up and haul Bitha up to the branch.

  “I have to get Jules!” He shouted back down to Bitha. When he looked up he noticed a mist, like wisps of white vines that twined themselves between the branches and the leaves. It slithered toward him like a snake. When did the fog come in?

  “Bitha!” But no answer came.

  The mist felt denser now, like when he’d one day smashed into a cobweb and entangled himself in the soft, dense spider’s snare. Perhaps the fog prevented Bitha from hearing him. He slipped the shard back into the wrap and bundled it hurriedly, slipping it into his cloak.

  I hope I don’t pierce myself with it. He reached out his arm trying to steady himself, and his fingers found a soft fuzz an arm’s length away.

  33 - VIPER

  “RALSTON! BITHA!”

  Jules had no choice but to shout. His breath labored as he thought of the climb to that awful height. A sort of heaviness fell over the forest and all around things seemed quieter. Less acute. As if the forest had fallen asleep.

  He marched to the tree trunk and felt its scratchy surface. If he could just bring himself to get up there. It shouldn’t be too hard. Especially since Ralston made it. Or had he?

  All Jules could see were leaves, and the mist. He stared at the mist like ribbons twirling between branches and tree trunks. Was the mist there before? And what was that rotten smell, like soggy cucumbers, and that hissing sound?

  Sss, like air seeping out of a balloon. Or a snake.

  Ssss….

  Jules swiveled around and came eyeball to eyeball with the yellow irises that thinned into slits. Unblinking, the elliptical cat-like glare wasn’t the worse of it. The forked tongue flicked left to right nimbly. A pit between the nostrils and each eye on this beast’s triangular head confirmed its identity: a viper.

  When confronted with a venomous snake, the best form of defense would be, believe it or not, to run for your life. Jules knew that much. Yet, he couldn’t move a muscle. He stood transformed into a pillar. The yellow irises entranced him.

  His glazed eyes locked into the hypnotic draw of the serpent. He was unable to move. So this is how it’ll end. Whose smart idea was it to come
to Handover? And what had happened to Bitha and Ralston? By now the mist had turned into a thick fog. Before Jules knew it, everything turned black, and he huddled into a ball.

  34 - ABEL SEACREST, ESQUIRE

  WHEN JULES CAME to, he looked around at the dim hole he was in. It smelled musty. Where was he? And Ralston? And Bitha? He tried to sit up and felt a cold pack on his forehead.

  “Abel Seacrest, Esquire, at your service.” The voice startled Jules.

  Abel Seacrest? Could it be true that he was none other than the Abel Seacrest, the noted and renowned Fairy Elf legends spoke of?

  Jules’s mind swirled with things he’d heard. Uncountable stories abounded regarding Abel Seacrest. Aside from rumors that he was extremely old (which in itself was an achievement as far as he was concerned since no one lived past a hundred in Reign, what with the hazards of being so unacceptably small,) a famous lore linked the historical figure to the Ancient Books. Supposedly, Abel had learnt most of the Literature and could recite whole Passages from the Books off the bat. At least that was the rumor.

  “Where am I?” Jules said.

  “Not in a snake’s pit, and you should be thankful for that.”

  That Abel Seacrest was believed to have the ability to fly. To fly? Jules craned his neck but the room was too dim. He couldn’t see any wings sprouting from this Abel’s back. Besides, he was undeniably hefty! And don’t birds have hollow bones? Surely he’d need powerful wings to bear his weight.

  “My sisters and brother. They’re lost. I need to—”

  “Everything in its own time,” Abel said.

  The tale of Abel implicated that he’d resorted to a forest life when the Kingdom of Reign became accursed. Some even blamed him for the losses their Kingdom suffered. But he couldn’t be the old Abel Seacrest? That happened eons ago.

  Jules clutched Abel’s cloak as he walked by. “But did you see them— my brother and sisters? A boy and three Elfie girls?”

  “Jules!” Bitha suddenly appeared at the open doorway. She carried a tray with brown bowls made of acorns and cups on saucers. “Abel said the candle will heal you. The snake bit you on the forehead.”

  Next to her, Ralston said, “Good thing he missed your eye!”

  Jules felt the lump on his forehead, beneath the icepack, and felt nauseous.

  Abel stepped toward him and held out a candle with three flames flickering on the tips of its wick. “Look at the flames, Jules.”

  Each of the three flames had a distinct color. One was blue, the middle blood red and, on the extreme right, the purest white, almost blinding. Intrigued and forgetting his queasiness, Jules leaned forward to study the strange flames and gasped.

  “How’d you do that? How come I see my reflection in the red flame?” Jules asked, fascinated.

  “What’s important is how you feel now. Still ill? ”

  “I feel…fabulous.”

  “Precisely! Those who gaze into the flames will instantly feel ‘fabulous’— as you put it.”

  “That’s a valuable candle. It could cure sick people.”

  “If it was used properly.”

  “But how does it work, exactly?”

  “It makes you, or rather your body, forget things. But enough of this.

  Promise not to breathe a word to anyone. I can’t afford to share this.” Abel tapped the candle with his finger and turned to face Ralston and Bitha with a grim look in his eyes.

  All three nodded, but they continued to stare dazedly into the flickering flames as if something was drawing them to look.

  “Are you the genuine Abel we study in history lessons?” Bitha said.

  “It depends on what they teach in those history lessons these days,” he said. “But what, pray tell, are you doing in my quarters?”

  “First off, where are we in Handover, exactly?” Jules sat up and rummaged within his cloak.

  Typical Elfie attire comprised of numerous pockets. Some boast as many as fifteen or twenty even thirty, pockets. These weren’t the usual ones sewn in the breast of a jacket, or on the rear seats of pants. A secret pocket could be within another secret pocket. Pockets: in belts, in blankets, even in undergarments. But though Jules brought out pouches, and even items he’d forgotten he had and laid them side by side on the rough homespun bed sheet, he did not come across the map Saul had drawn.

  “It’s gone! The map’s gone!”

  35 - TO TRUST OR NOT TO TRUST

  ABEL WALKED OVER and peered at Jules. “What are you looking for?”

  Ralston and Bitha told him of their need to locate Holden, Tst Tst, and Tippy, but they never said anything more. And certainly not about the map.

  “We need to get to a ‘Mosche Falstaff,’” Jules said. Half of him regretted mentioning the name. Saul had said not to trust anyone in Handover.

  “Ahh!” Abel rubbed his chin as if knowing some secret.

  “You know him?”

  “Of him.”

  “Look, if you can’t help us, that’s okay. We need to follow the curve of the river, and I’m sure we’ll come across Holden and my little sisters. Holden’s smart enough not to go gallivanting.”

  Jules swung his legs to the edge of the bed and stood up.

  “Thank you for your hospitality. If you could point us the way to the Brooke?”

  He walked to the doorway and noticed an opening where the sun shone through. The exit!

  “Gather our things, Rals. And thanks.” He gave Abel a small salute. It seemed appropriate somehow.

  “Jules, wait!” Bitha said, hurrying toward him, as he stepped to the opening. She reached out and pulled him back in, just before he fell to his death. Abel’s home was a hole high on a coniferous tree.

  “Whoa!” Jules said, and he swayed.

  Abel came over, and steadied him. “No need to zip about at lightning speed.”

  “How did I—we—get up here?” Jules looked from Ralston to Bitha to Abel.

  Abel pointed to a branch out the entry opening where a bushy-tailed squirrel stood eating a nut of sorts. “That’s Blaise, my pet. And your transport.”

  Jules stared at him wide eyed. “Is there another way down?” Could this Abel have flown up here?

  “I am intimately acquainted with some of the local inhabitants. Care to meet one of my pals? One of them would be happy to assist.”

  “Was the snake your pal, too?”

  Abel shuddered. “Your ignorance annoys me, boy. No Elfie befriends a snake, no matter how long they’ve lived in Handover.”

  “You don’t understand, my mother’s in danger!” Jules blurted out. “And now possibly my sisters, too. Not to mention my—my friends. We need to go.”

  Abel snatched the strange candle he’d placed on the table and brought it to Jules. The flames swirled before his eyes. Three colors twined into one. Jules wanted to turn his gaze away, but he couldn’t. In a second, Jules spilled the story of their plight and their search for his grandparents. He went so far as to even tell Abel of his Keeper ancestry.

  “So you see, if my mother didn’t take her Book along, and she came here, she’d be dead meat. My Grandpa swore her in as Keeper before he left.”

  Abel grunted knowingly, the candle flickering still before Jules’s face.

  Its light cast moving shadows all around them. “So your Grandpa knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  Abel just nodded. “What spurred your Grandpa to leave?”

  “It was all my fault.” Jules trudged to a nearby chair made of twigs and fastened with twines of many colors. He slumped into it. Suddenly he felt tired and rested his head in his palms. “My grandpa argued with my mother one night. He didn’t understand why she could have had five children when all Keepers only had one. I should never have spied on them.”

  “And your grandpa found out you spied?”

  Jules shook his head. “I went to him and begged him to find out why. I thought maybe only one of us was a real Blaze, that the rest of us…were adopted. But which
one? Me? After all, the Ancient Book never lies, right? It says a Keeper family is entitled to only one child—the heir to the Book.”

  Abel nodded again. “And you’ve read your Ancient Book?”

  “Parts. Somewhat.”

  “Most of it?”

  “Some. Okay, a bit.”

  Abel nodded, again. Jules felt intimidated by all his nodding.

  “There was a time Keepers knew their Books,” Abel said.

  “But what good did that do us? We were still cursed. We still became small.”

  Centuries ago, before the curse, the Elfies of Reign stood tall and stately. But since the Keeper Falstaff lost the King’s gift, and hence broke the oath that bound him and his fellow Elfies to the Majesty, the entire Elfie race was reduced to their puny size. For centuries Keepers have searched for the gift, but, for the most part, these efforts were futile since no one even remembered what the gift was. Their only consolation was that when the curse was activated Gehzurolle, his agents, the Scorpents and the Handoverans, were reduced, too. But still, the Elfies became the smallest of the lot. So much for being the King’s favorite.

  Abel held his arm. “But all need not remain lost. Destiny still lies in the hands of the Keepers. You want to be a Keeper, Jules?”

  “I just want my family back, and for things the way they were before Gramps left.”

  “No grand scheme wafting through your head about how to restore us Fairy Elves to our former size?”

  Jules stared at the ground. “There’s something else.”

  Abel went to a chair and sat next to Jules at the rickety dining table as Jules explained.

  “Grandpa went to Mosche. To find answers about our family. You know how the Books have to work together in synergy, and Gramps only had the one he inherited.” Like a jigsaw puzzle each Book contained details and clues the others did not. To truly understand matters a Keeper would have to seek his fellow Keepers and together the five Books would unravel mysteries and explain the most worrisome of controversies.

  “But why didn’t your grandpa ask Saul? He’s a Keeper? He’d have a Book?”

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