Escape From Riddler's Pass by Amy Green

front of a dwelling set into the stone wall. Jesse noticed it was a distance away from all of the others. “Much different than what you’re used to, of course,” he said, turning to them, “but it’s home.”
    â€œSo you’re the History Keeper,” Jesse said thoughtfully, looking him over. He seemed much like the other Roarics. Same rags, same pale skin, same squinty eyes…. But no. The eyes are not the same, somehow.
    â€œYes,” the History Keeper said, “that is my title. But you may call me Noa.” He sighed and looked away briefly. “It would be nice if someone did.”
    Jesse blurted out what he was thinking. “I expected someone…older.”
    â€œAn ancient relic hunched over faded manuscripts, no doubt,” Noa said, laughing. “No, although the History Keeper before me, my father, came close to that description.” He waved them in through the door. “Come in, please.”
    â€œNot yet,” Silas said, planting his feet firmly and crossing his arms. “First tell us why you stood up for us at the meeting.”
    Noa turned his squinting eyes to Silas, looking up at him without judgment. That’s when Jesse realized what was different about his eyes. They have something behind them .
    â€œYou are right to be cautious,” Noa said at last. “But, believe me, I mean you no harm. I simply do not trust the ruling clan to make a wise decision about you.”
    Rae grunted. “No wonder. That Kasha woman would have imprisoned us here for the rest of our lives!”
    â€œBecause her own life is built on fear,” Noa said. “All these years, my father tried to get the other Roarics to see that, but they would not believe him. Sometimes, I wonder if they were even listening.” He shook his head. “I am sorry. We do not need to stand here and talk. Come inside.”
    This time, even Silas followed, although reluctantly. Noa’s dwelling was brighter inside than the dim streets of New Urad, and Jesse blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust before looking around. When he did, he was surprised at what he saw.
    One wall was made entirely of the glowing stones that provided the cavern’s light. A solitary bench stood on one side of the room, and a makeshift desk on the other, crowded with ancient-looking books. A ragged blanket roll lay beside it.
    But what caught Jesse’s eyes most of all were the paintings—rows of parchments attached to the wooden wall with iron nails. Each seemed to bear a different, intricate design. He stepped toward them to get a better look in the dim light. The lines were dark and smooth, with shades of color here and there. “These are beautiful,” he breathed, tracing one of the outlines.
    â€œThey are the histories of Urad,” Noa said simply.
    â€œThen you can tell us what happened,” Jesse said eagerly, turning to him.
    Noa just stared at him, and for a moment, Jesse was afraid he was wrong, or that he had misspoken in some way. “You really want to know?” Noa said at last.
    â€œYes.”
    The smile lighting Noa’s face was grateful and sad at the same time. “None of the Roarics care to hear the histories,” he explained. “Really, they don’t care to talk to me at all, shunning me as they did my father before me. But at least my father had me. He told me the histories almost every night.”
    For a moment, Noa’s face showed deep sadness. Jesse thought he understood. Even though he didn’t know if his parents were alive or not, he knew what it was like to lose a father.
    â€œNow that he is gone,” Noa continued, “the histories have gone untold for two years.”
    â€œUntil now,” Jesse pointed out.
    â€œUntil now.”
    Rae and Silas sat down on the bench to listen, but Jesse stood transfixed, as Noa pointed to each painting and described what happened in each.
    When he reached the