Phoenix Overture
Author: Jodi Meadows
Date: 2013-09-03 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Young Adult; Novella; Short Stories; Dystopia; Romance; dragons; Fiction; Young Adult Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: In the wilds around the Community where Sam and his family have taken shelter, life is dangerous. Dragons, trolls, centaurs, and other monsters fill the world. The word comes from the council that everyone must leave and journey to rescue their leader, Janan, who has been abducted by a mysterious new enemy in the north. Faced with overwhelming threats that bring death and destruction, Sam and the others reach the northern Range and, reunited with Janan, are given an unimaginable opportunity. Although it would give them the privilege to live and learn and love without fear, the choice is not wi
Publisher: Katherine Tegen Books
Rights: Copyright © 2013 by Jodi Meadows

Dedication

For Kathleen,

Who asked for this.

For Jillian,

Who named Dossam.

And for Gabrielle,

Who’s been answering my music questions for three books and a novella now.

My love and thanks to all of you.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Excerpt from Incarnate

1 - Snow

2 - Water

About the Author

Back Ads

Copyright

About the Publisher

1

“YOU HAVE MUSIC in you, Dossam. Never forget that.”

My mother’s name was Lyric, our family name Harper, and I was born in the wrong time.

When I was small, she took me to a concert hall in the old city. It was remarkably well preserved, though the odor of age and decay hung over it, and the faded red chairs were molded and falling apart.

I drew away from her, farther down the aisle and quiet so my boots didn’t make a sound on the hardwood floor. Arched balconies rose up along the walls, their curtains long ago deteriorated into echoes. Gold paint flaked off the railings, and the marble facades were pockmarked and water-stained, but there were memories in this place, memories of music and longing and emotions that stirred my soul.

“Look on the stage,” Mother said.

The stage stood directly ahead, pitted with age, but strong enough to hold an immense glass curtain, shining iridescent in the light that shot through the colored skylights. And before that, a large black instrument on legs, with a bench that stood empty before the row of keys. Faded gold lettering shimmered on the side of the instrument, too worn for me to read.

“What is that?” I breathed, though I knew. I knew. My heart knew.

I scrambled up the stage, too impatient to bother with the stairs, ignoring Mother’s tiny cry—“Careful!”—and when I stood at last before the piano, chills swept over my body. I couldn’t wait to touch it. I couldn’t bear to risk damaging it, though. Everything here was so old and fragile.

“It’s all right.” Mother stood in the middle of the theater, rows of chairs around her. Light from the ceiling shone on her, making her curly black hair gleam. “Play something,” she said. “You won’t hurt it.”

My heart felt too big for my chest as I reached out and caressed a white key. Though it should have been filthy with grit and age, the key was smooth and clean. The bench was, too, and the rest of the piano wood had been rubbed to a shine, as though someone had prepared it for this moment.

I glanced at Mother, who just smiled mysteriously.

“Play something,” she said again.

A weightless sort of reverence filled me as I slipped onto the bench and let my fingers breeze along the smooth keys. How many people had sat here before me?

“Please never end,” I whispered to the moment, and played a solid, clear note that resounded off the high walls and ceiling. The glass curtain at the back of the stage caught the sound, bounced it back, and my heart felt so wild and free and fulfilled. Music filled me like food or water never would. It filled my soul.

I lost myself, letting my hands explore the keys in search of different notes and patterns and chords, things I only half understood by instinct and by the way they felt right or wrong. I learned my heart there, my hands on the piano, and music flowing all around me, so big and sacred and everything I’d ever wanted.

And when I fell out of the trance, Mother took me in her arms and squeezed. “You have music in your heart, Dossam. I wish this world appreciated that more.”

While I’d sat at the piano, caught in the silver chains of sound, I’d forgotten the outside world. But as we left the domed concert hall, that palace of music, I once again beheld the ruined city, the twisted heaps of metal and memories of another age.

There was music in me, but in this post-Cataclysm world, that didn’t matter very much.

“You’re useless, boy.”

Instinct urged me to duck or run as the belt flew toward my head, but I hardened myself and took the blow; I wasn’t a child anymore, and acting like one would make everything worse.

Thunder snapped in my ears as bright pain flared over my cheek, making my vision white-hot. The world swam around me, but I held myself upright, pushed my shoulders back. I clenched my jaw as Father’s belt retreated.

“Useless and good for nothing.”

I swallowed away the hint of bile in the back of my throat. I wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t show the way my face stung from the leather strap. Speaking would only make it worse, as I’d discovered years ago. Instead, I gave a shallow nod and kept my eyes down. His grunt indicated I’d done the right thing.

“Do you know what you did this time?”

I glanced at breakfast burning on the wood stove. Fat sizzled in the pan, and the faint scent of smoke lifted through the small kitchen.

“That’s right.” His voice was a growl. A rumble in the earth. “You know how hard I work. You know how the drought is killing everything. And that other people in the Community are starving. And still you have the nerve to burn our breakfast, which I paid for.”

I wanted to apologize, or beg for forgiveness, but I didn’t dare speak. The belt still hung in his grip, like a snake just waiting to strike.

“I work. Your brother works. But what do you do all day?”

Not that it made a difference to him, but I was trying to find a job. It was difficult, though, with the drought and plague and never-ending hunger. No one had anything to spare to hire untrained help, and I couldn’t get training without a job.

“There’s a call for warriors.” Father slipped his belt through the loops of his trousers once more, and I released a held breath. “I want you to go.”

To become a warrior? He didn’t know me at all.

“Janan is calling for the best warriors, which means you won’t be chosen to follow him on his quest, but I want you to volunteer anyway. If you’re not going to work with me, or scavenge like your brother, you need to do something useful.”

I wasn’t suited for repair work—a fact painfully obvious after I’d put a dozen new holes in a wall, trying to keep from hammering my fingers—and my brother never allowed me to go scavenging with him, saying it was too dangerous for me.

But of course, those facts meant nothing to Father.

All this was an excuse, anyway. My jobless state—and the still-burning breakfast—weren’t the real reasons he’d taken his belt to my face this morning.

Until a couple of weeks ago, Mother had kept the house spotless. Today there were dirt smears and handprints on the walls. After Father’s search for his ancient leather flask, cupboards hung open, revealing chipped plates, too few jars of canned vegetables and fruits, and a moldy hunk of cheese. The crooked table held piles of old books and scavenged parts, evidence of my brother’s presence somewhere near the house.

“Janan has done everything for this Community, right?” His tone left no room for argument. “He’s the one trying to feed people and stop attacks. If he says he has a plan, I want you to be part of that. Or at least try to be part of that. There’s no chance he’d pick you, but showing up might make you appear less lazy and selfish.”

“Yes, sir.” I twisted my hands behind my back, digging my fingernails into my skin to distract from the throbbing in my cheek.

“Noon, okay? That’s when he’s choosing warriors. If you don’t go and somehow make yourself useful, you’ll be sleeping on the streets tonight. People in this house work for the privilege of sleeping under a roof.”

“Yes, sir.” Sometimes, those felt like the only words I was allowed to say to him.

“Get this place cleaned up. No more cooking. You’re terrible at it and it’s too hot anyway.” Father yanked the frying pan off the stove and doused the fire. “Then go to the Center and volunteer. Maybe Janan can get you to do something besides hum to yourself all day. Or maybe we’ll get lucky and you’ll gut yourself with your own knife.” He stormed from the kitchen and slammed the front door.

The house rattled with his exit, and the quiet rang shrilly in my ears as I sank into a chair and touched my swollen cheek. It was tender and would bruise, but he hadn’t split the skin this time.

Maybe I’d gut myself with my own knife.

He’d never have dared say anything like that with Mother around, though the sentiment had always been there, hovering just beneath every word he spoke to me. The useless second son. Not strong like him, nor hardy enough to spend days at a time in the old city. Not coordinated enough to be a fighter. Not smart enough to be a scholar.

A year ago, I’d overheard him tell Mother, “If he’d been a girl, he’d at least have been useful for making children, but he hasn’t even got that.”

“No one will ever understand what Dossam has to offer,” Mother had replied, but her defense went unacknowledged. After all, what was music when there was food to grow, or water to collect, or fields to defend? What was music when humanity’s survival was a desperate hope, not a guarantee?

What was music in the face of imminent annihilation by trolls or chimeras or worse?

Useless.

Footfalls thumped on the floorboards, and I tensed, but it was just my brother, Fayden, clomping into the kitchen. He eyed my slumped posture and the blackened bacon smoking on the counter. “What happened this time?” His voice was deep with a note of uncertainty, like my new bruise might truly be my fault.

“He thought I hid the flask.” I heaved myself out of the creaking chair and began closing cupboard doors. “Thanks for warning me you’d done that.”

“You were asleep when I got in.” Fayden picked a slice of bacon from the pan and inspected it with disdain before he took a bite. “Sorry he blamed you.”

He wasn’t sorry. Not really. But I didn’t contradict him as I worked to straighten the kitchen. “He wants me to volunteer for Janan’s quest. If I don’t, he’s kicking me out.”

“What quest?” Fayden grabbed a plate off the counter and swept all the bacon onto it. Grease dripped onto the floor.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t hear the announcement. Father just said Janan wants warriors.”

Fayden barked a laugh. “And he thought you should volunteer? A skinny fifteen-year-old who can barely stand to see raw meat?”

It was laughable, so I didn’t say anything, just began scrubbing the handprints off the wall.

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Janan would never accept you, of course, but it would get Father off your back for a while.”

My rag fell to the floor with a wet plop as I glared at him. “Do you think so? Do you think that he wouldn’t punish me for being rejected for something he already knows I’m not suited to do?”

“Well, what are you suited for?” Fayden gestured around the kitchen. “Not cooking. Not cleaning. You refuse to go tend plague victims.”

“I don’t want to get the plague!” I scooped up my rag and threw it onto the counter.

“You’re not strong enough to haul water. Scavenging is too dangerous for you.” He slammed the filthy plate onto the counter. “And you couldn’t even—”

“Go ahead,” I growled. “Say it.”

He shoved away from the counter, rattling the plate, and marched from the kitchen. “You know what you couldn’t do, Dossam.”

I wanted to snarl back at him, but he was gone, his boots pounding through the house.

Anyway, he was right.

I knew what I couldn’t do.

2

EVERYTHING ENDED WITH death.

Death claimed entire civilizations, leaving wastelands and ruins, forever stretches of destruction and darkness.

Death claimed memories, the knowledge of what had come before, and promises of futures dreamt.

And death claimed mothers.

It was that loss that cut the deepest, that loss that would never heal. If Father or Fayden recognized the sucking grief inside of me, that consuming hollow that pulled me ever further from them, they never said. If I vanished from the world, would they even notice? Would they care?

They’d been able to continue with their lives, sadder, but no different. But for me, her absence meant I had nothing. She’d been the only person who’d seen the worth of my music, and now she was gone.

The rest of the world kept spinning, even though mine had stopped.

Father wanted to me to meet Janan in the Center at noon. Maybe I would. Or maybe he’d be disappointed in me once again. As I headed away from the Community, stretching my legs to reach the solitude of the woods more quickly, I honestly didn’t know whether I’d make it back.

If I thought I stood a chance on my own, against the rocs and trolls and griffons, I might never go back to the Community. The concert hall was quiet and hidden; there hadn’t been a day since Mother’s death that I didn’t dream about packing my belongings and staying there for the rest of my life.

But I barely survived with the Community. I wouldn’t make it a day on my own, especially not in the middle of the old city, without food or clean water.

Sunlight broke through the clouds and their false promise of rain. Insects droned lazily in the heat.

More than anything now, I wanted to be alone with the music of the forest: the wind sighing through the tall conifers, the rustle of feathers as birds took flight, and the bubble of shrinking streams in their rocky paths. The woods sang a dark and lovely melody that haunted my thoughts.

Grief was a chasm in my heart, unaffected by the beauty of the morning-clad woods. I pushed myself down the path. Walking nowhere was better than hanging about the Community, missing someone who could never come back.

A loud crack sounded above me, followed by the noise of crashing and cursing. A deep voice shouted from the trees. “Watch out!”

I jerked up just in time to see a metal beam swing toward me, bringing with it a shower of pine needles and cones.

I ducked to the left, but not quickly enough.

Sharp pain splintered down my right arm as the impact shoved me backward, leaving me sprawled over a log. The beam sailed back and forth, inches from my face, held by only a fraying rope.

Rust flaked off the iron and into my eyes as I clutched my shoulder and rolled off the log. “What—”

“Sorry!” The voice came again from above, but a moment later, boots thumped onto the ground next to me. The boy from the trees crouched, his dark eyebrows pulled inward. “Are you okay?”

“No.” My breath coming short and fast, I waved away the stranger’s extended hand and sat up. Conifer needles and cones cracked and dug at my knees, and fire raced down my arm and shoulder blade. My cheek and shoulder throbbed off tempo from each other, encouraging a headache that formed just behind my eyes. “I think you broke my shoulder. What were you doing up there?”

“Nonsense. If I’d broken it, you’d be a lot angrier with me.” The stranger gripped my arm in both hands and shoved. Bone crunched. An inferno ripped through my shoulder and back. But when he sat on his heels and smirked, the pain faded to something more manageable. “How’s that?”

“Better.” I reached around and massaged the muscles, vainly trying to ignore the pop and groan of the tree. A thread of the rope snapped, and the beam dropped lower; if I hadn’t moved, my face would now be a much flatter thing.

“Well. You’re welcome.” The boy nodded at my shoulder. “For fixing that.”

“It’s your fault it was hurt.” I blinked a few times and gathered my nerves before climbing to my feet. My head buzzed and my vision grayed, but—as nonchalantly as possible—I rested my hand on the metal beam that had nearly killed me. I took a few deep breaths. “Who are you?”

“Stef. Well, Stefan, but I like Stef better.” He wore his lean form and square jaw with confidence, and had roguishly narrowed eyes. It gave him the look of a troublemaker—the kind of person I tried to avoid.

This sort of near-death encounter was precisely the reason why, too.

“What were you doing up there?” I tipped my head toward the trees. The woods were quiet now, the birds all frightened off by Stef’s loud swearing and the thunderous falling objects.

Stef stood and brushed off his trousers. “I was setting a trap.”

“For what?” Only the occasional twig and spray of needles moved above, brown with thirst as the drought continued its slow assault on the world. “Random passersby?”

“How did you guess?” Stef thwapped my sore shoulder. “No, it’s a trap for trolls. Unless you somehow didn’t notice, they’ve been coming this way more often.”

“I have noticed.” I clenched my jaw and moved away from him, searching the high boughs for a sign of his trap.

“It’s not that I want to spend my days out here in the heat, sweating, getting leaves in my hair and down my trousers.” He pulled a brown-green sprig from his shirt and flicked it into the woods. “But I’m good at making things, and if I spent all my time sitting in my house hiding from what’s going on out here, I’d be no better than anyone else in the Community. I have useful skills. I need to use them.”

I kept my attention on the trees and tried to ignore the throbbing in my cheek, shoulder, and ego. “Is your trap invisible?” There was nothing I could see in the trees, and nothing on the ground—except for the beam still hanging suspended from its branch.

“That’s actually my problem. While normally I like my projects to be seamless, no troll is going to get caught in this.” Stef stood beside me and bumped my hurt shoulder again, ignoring the way I cringed. “Look right there. You can see the ropes and pulleys.”

Ah. Now that he’d pointed them out, I could see the rusted metal and crisscross of ropes. “Right. So what’s the problem?”

“It’s okay that the ropes and pulleys are invisible—mostly—but I need something to draw the trolls here.”

“And who says that has to be you?” He couldn’t have been much older than I was. But like he said, his skills were useful—maybe—which might have made a difference in his decision to take the initiative. After all, humming at a troll wouldn’t hurt it.

Stef sauntered over to a low branch and pulled himself up to sit on it. “No one said I have to do it.” He shrugged. “My aunts might kill me if they knew what I was doing, but I don’t live with them, and I bet they’ll think differently after I present the trap to the Council. I want the Council to hire me to build more traps, and maybe other useful things in the future.”

How ambitious.

“Anyway,” he went on, “we have to do something, right? The drought is driving the trolls toward the nearest source of fresh water, and that’s our springs and wells. They keep wandering into the Community when they smell food. There was a bad attack a few weeks ago—”

“I know.” I could still hear the screams from the last attack, the crash and bang of collapsing walls, and Mother’s cries as she urged me to flee. And I . . . I’d been rooted by fear. Unable to move. Unable to help. Only when the life had been squeezed from her and the troll slain by warriors did I jerk into a run, through the falling debris and rising dust. “I remember the attack.” I’d never forget it.

He squinted at me. “Right. Well. I want to test out this idea. If it works, the Council will let me put up more traps throughout the forest. Hopefully that will discourage them from coming closer to the Community.”

“What can I do to help?” The words were out before I realized. Troublemaker or no, Stef was doing something about the trolls. Or trying to.

Stef lifted an eyebrow. “What makes you think you’ll be any help?”

“You said you needed something to draw the trolls to the trap. A lure.”

Stef nodded.

“What about shiny pieces of metal?”

“They’re trolls, not raccoons. They don’t care about shiny pieces of metal. Though something shiny would help draw their attention.”

“What do they want, then?”

Stef threw up his hands. “How should I know? Do I look like a troll?”

“A little.”

He rolled his eyes.

“My brother is a scavenger. He can take us into the old city to look for something.” I pushed my sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes and glanced westward, but the crumbling towers weren’t visible through the dense forest.

“That sounds like your brother is useful, not you.”

Without another word, I turned and started deeper into the woods, back on the same aimless path as before. Footfalls thumped behind me, but I ignored Stef’s approach, even when his hand landed on my injured shoulder. I shook him off, keeping my face hard against the pain.

“Sorry.” Stef kept my pace. “I was joking. Can’t you take a joke?”

I stopped walking and balled up my fists, but I wouldn’t hit him. I’d never hit anyone in my life, and I wouldn’t let this obnoxious stranger be the first.

Stef glanced at my hands, though, and raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Calm down.”

“Only jerks blame their victim for not being able to handle a joke. Or tell them to calm down.” I was overreacting. Stef couldn’t possibly know this was a refrain I’d heard too often from Father and Fayden, but the words were out.

Stef held up his hands in surrender, his cocky smirk vanishing. “You’re sensitive.”

“Go lick a plague house.”

“Really sensitive.” He made a face. “I said I’m sorry. And I do mean it.”

I sucked in a breath of the hot, muggy air to clear my head. “I’ve had a bad day.” A bad life was more like it. And Mother’s death meant that it would only get worse. She’d liked my music. She’d understood it. Now she was gone.

Stef eyed my shoulder, then my cheek, and nodded. “Guess so.” I didn’t offer details, and—incredibly—he didn’t ask. “Well, do you think your brother would help?”

“He might.” The truth was, I hardly saw Fayden anymore. My encounter with him this morning had been unusual. “You said trolls come looking for water, right?”

He nodded. “As far as anyone’s been able to tell.”

I rubbed at my sore shoulder again, thinking. “What about colored glass? Blue glass, to trick them into thinking there’s water reflecting sunlight. But then they get too close, and wham.” I made a tiny explosion with my hands. “Or whatever your invention is supposed to do.”

Stef narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, that might work. I’d have to position the glass just right, so it would mimic running water. But where would we get blue glass? Neither of us can afford to buy anything like that.” He left an opening, but I didn’t tell him how I knew about it. “How many traps could we make from it?”

Where had that “we” come from? I ignored it. “I don’t know. Several.” I hesitated. “I can show you the glass.”

“Right now?” His eyes widened with delight.

I checked the sky; it was almost noon. Who knew how Father would react if I didn’t make it to Janan’s gathering today?

Humiliate myself, or help a potential new friend find a way to defend the Community against trolls?

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll go right now. It’s in the old city.”

“And your brother?”

I wished I’d never brought up Fayden. Older, stronger, more useful. “I think he’s already there, in the old city. I don’t know if we’ll see him. Anyway, I know where the glass is. You should be able to figure out whether it will work by looking at it, right?”

Stef nodded.

“Good. Then let’s go.” I waved him down the path, away from the Community.

The sun beat through the thinning canopy, making sweat drip down my face and neck. Insects buzzed and birds called; the woods grew noisy with thirsty wildlife as we walked. Just before we broke through the woods, Stef stopped and faced me, his expression twisted with amusement.

“It finally occurred to me,” he said. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“You didn’t ask.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m asking now.”

“My name is Dossam.”

“Sam.”

“No, it’s Dossam.”

Stef shook his head. “Well, I like Sam better.”

“Well, it’s not your name.”

“I’m the one who has to say it.”

“And I’m the one who has to answer to it.” I bumped his shoulder with mine, cringing as a burst of pain flared. But I smiled, too, because he was smiling.

“I think we’re going to be great friends, Sam.”

In spite of the way my day had started—and the wreck of the last couple of weeks—I believed him.

3

MOUNTAINS REACHED IN the distance, cradling the sky in their curves and crests. The volcano spewed smoke into the air, but everyone said it would be ages before it erupted again. Maybe so. Still, the smoke and ash that poured from the crater every day was certainly ominous.

Stef and I trudged into the old city, its ruins heaps of twisted metal and burned rubble. Since the Cataclysm and the volcano eruption a generation past, only shreds of the city were left, but still, every day, people like Fayden went to scavenge for anything that might be useful.

It was well after noon by the time we took to one of the cleared roads, and I began leading him down the familiar path to the concert hall.

“What do you think happened here?” The cracked pavement crunched under Stef’s boots.

Great walls of rubble rose on either side, no doubt carefully sifted through during some early scavenger’s quest for valuable, useful items. Now there were only unidentifiable pieces of plastic, wires, and palm-sized bits of metal with glass screens—though most of the unbroken bits of glass and metal had been torn off and repurposed.

“What do I think happened where?” I couldn’t see the domed peaks of the concert hall yet, not with the crumbling steel towers and collapsed bridges in the way.

“Here.” He gestured around the falling city. “During the Cataclysm.”

I shrugged. “I think the same thing everyone thinks: earthquakes, floods, volcanic eruptions. It’s not a stretch. Just look around. Buildings shook apart. There’s a seam of volcanic rock running through the lower areas of the city.”

“Right, but what made the Cataclysm?”

“I don’t know. Trolls?” A troll had certainly ended my world.

“And how did humans build all of this if they had to compete with so many large predators?”

“Are you saying there weren’t trolls before the Cataclysm?” Didn’t he ever stop thinking and questioning things? As far as I could tell, our lives were short, brutal, and would never have enough music. Knowing the past wouldn’t change our present, and our time would be better spent surviving our reality.

Stef shrugged. “If there were, humans had a much better way of dealing with them than we do.”

“They had electricity.” Fayden’s voice behind us stopped us both, and I cursed the chatter that had distracted me from hearing his approach. “Dossam, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

I turned to face my brother. “I’m not going.”

“Ah.” My brother glanced toward the Community, hidden beyond the heavy veil of trees. Streaks of dirt ran across his face and throat, staining the collar of his shirt brownish gray. He carried a knife in his belt, and a sling; sometimes, wild animals and worse ventured into the old city. “What brings you here,” he asked, “besides pointless questions about the old world?”

I crossed my arms and did my best to avoid looking in the direction of the concert hall, toward the center of the city. “Our own business.”

Stef glanced between us for only a heartbeat. “Sam is going to help me find something.”

“Sam?” Fayden swiped at a trickle of sweat coursing down his temple. “Who’s Sam?”

“Dossam. He wants to be called Sam.”

“I do not—”

Stef waved away my protest. “Here’s the short version: I almost crushed Sam to death with my troll trap, and then he offered to lead me to some colored glass to help draw trolls toward it.”

Fayden’s jaw went slack and he turned on me. “You know where there’s colored glass?”

I heaved a sigh and glared at the cloudless sky. “Can you just leave us alone?”

“Not until you tell me why you’re not in the Center right now volunteering for Janan’s quest.”

“Why would I want to go on Janan’s quest?”

“Because he’s our leader? Because he trained hundreds of warriors to protect the Community? Because he made this valley safe enough to grow crops and families?”

I let sarcasm flood my snarl. “Great job he’s done, too.” The valley wasn’t that safe. Mother and a dozen others were proof of that.

“Janan can’t help the drought, or hunger and plague that come after that. It’s not his fault.”

No, it wasn’t. But still. “How many quests has he been on now, with promises that everything would change when he returned? Four? Five? Whatever he’s looking for, it doesn’t exist.”

Fayden threw his hands into the air. “You’re insufferable. Is this what you do all day? Complain about Janan and come up with ways to shirk your duties?”

“So I’m guessing you must be the brother.” Stef put on that smirk I was coming to know, and he studied us. “You don’t look alike.”

No, we didn’t. Fayden looked like someone who worked with his hands, trekked through the forest, and braved the most dangerous areas of the old city. I was considerably softer, with untamable curls on top of my head, rather than my brother’s—and my father’s—cropped haircuts. The only thing Fayden and I had in common was our brown complexion, inherited from Mother.

Stef let out a long breath. “Maybe we should go, Sam.”

I didn’t break my glare from Fayden.

“So where’s this glass?” Fayden asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence. He’d kept my gaze. Neither of us could look away.

“We’re not selling it.”

Fayden cocked an eyebrow. “If you knew about that kind of glass, you could sell it and move away from Father.”

“It’s for my trap,” Stef reminded him. “We’re catching—and killing—trolls.”

My brother grew quiet, his features softer. He broke our stare to look at Stef. “Will it work? The trap?”

“Maybe if I get the glass.” Stef motioned down the road. “Can we go?”

Fayden faced me again, his expression a mask of curiosity. “You don’t want the glass for yourself?”

Why couldn’t he understand that I thought stopping trolls from hurting more families was more important than my personal wealth?

Because Fayden was like Father: hard, practical, and he didn’t let sentimentality get in his way.

“We’re not selling it,” I said again, and turned on my heel. If he followed, then he followed.

“So what’s your name?” Stef asked as they started along behind me.

“Fayden.”

“Great. Fay.”

“No. It’s Fayden.”

Amusement colored Stef’s tone. “I suppose we could call you Den.”

“Is Dossam letting you call him Sam?”

“He will.”

“That seems unlikely.” But Fayden chuckled and they began chatting about junk they found on the side of the road. Stef was more than eager to talk about old pieces of technology, water systems, and how people could communicate across the world without delay. “Everything was instantaneous.”

Stef whistled. “Sounds incredible. Maybe one day, we’ll be able to have that back.”

Speaking of unlikely things.

We’d all be dead before that kind of technology came back to the world. There was no time to work on that sort of thing; we were too busy just trying to survive.

“There are enormous piles of mysteries,” Fayden said. “Scavengers keep it in pits around the city, because most of it doesn’t work anymore, and never will again. I’d be happy to show it to you, though.”

“You know what all of it was used for?”

“Some.” Fayden’s tone was all casual superiority. He’d been scavenging for three years now, hearing stories from those who’d been doing it longer. “There are handheld devices with cracked screens, round bulbs that used to emit light, and stoves that cooked using only a metal coil to heat pans.”

The best things didn’t need electricity to power them, though. Musical instruments, tiny boxes that played music when the knob was twisted, and books.

I let their discussion become white noise as we rounded a corner, and instead stretched my hearing to catch the edges of other voices around the city: scavengers working, animals skittering through trash, and buildings creaking in the wind. Soon, maybe they’d just fall into the ground and be swallowed up.

Low growling ahead made me pause. I held up a hand, and the other two fell silent behind me.

Another growl came from across the road, behind a wrecked vehicle, its windows smashed out long ago. Then a third growl.

“Dogs,” Fayden breathed. “There’s a pack of feral dogs around here.”

Three lanky beasts slinked out from behind rusted signs fallen to the earth and from behind that vehicle. They were all big dogs, with patchy black fur that had matted around their legs and scruffs. Ribs stuck out like shelves, and ears had been nipped. One of them limped.

“They’re hungry,” Fayden said. “And there aren’t as many as before.”

They were starving and desperate. They’d never have approached three humans otherwise.

I glanced at Stef, who shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I don’t deal with wild animals. Unless you want to trap one.” He took three long steps backward. “I’ll just be over here if you need me to drag your corpses off the road.”

“I’ve never met anyone so brave,” I muttered, and stayed put.

“It won’t come to corpse-dragging.” Fayden moved forward, making one dog bare a set of broken, yellowed teeth. My brother pulled out his sling and snatched up a fragment of shattered pavement. “These guys are supper. Ours, or someone else’s.”

My stomach turned over, and I stopped just short of touching my brother’s arm. “Don’t kill them.”

“They’re going to die anyway.” He loaded the sling and gave it a few turns as he stepped closer to the dogs. The one with broken teeth prowled forward, deepening its growl.

“But we don’t have to kill them. There’s nothing on them anyway. You couldn’t sell their bodies.” My heart pounded as I watched the other two dogs shift behind their leader. Dust coated their fur, and they were all so painfully skinny. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. “Just scare them away and let’s go.”

“They’d bite you if they had the chance.” Fayden’s eyes flashed toward me. “They’d tear open your throat and eat you.”

I said nothing.

Fayden swore. “Fine.” He loosed the pavement shard and aimed just before the lead dog.

The beast barked and lurched toward us, but the other two dogs crouched and ducked their tails between their legs as my brother grabbed a handful of rocks and pebbles.

“Get!” He released a spray of pebbles at the first dog. “Get out!” When he stomped and waved his hands, all three dogs scampered off.

I exhaled relief. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” Fayden put away his sling. “The dogs hadn’t been that hungry, or a few rocks and some waving wouldn’t have scared them.”

“They looked plenty hungry to me.” Stef frowned in the direction the dogs had fled.

“They are hungry,” said Fayden. “But you saw the scratches. The mangy looks. And I told you: the pack is smaller now. I’ll give you one guess as to why.”

I wanted to be sick as we continued to the concert hall. Maybe they’d find something else to eat. Then again, maybe it would have been kinder to kill them quickly, like Fayden had wanted. They wouldn’t bring much meat or money, but they wouldn’t suffer any longer, either.

I didn’t know anymore. There were too many things I just didn’t know.

4

MY CHEST FELT weird and heavy as we continued through the old city. I couldn’t stop thinking of those dogs, that sad hunger in their eyes, and what Fayden had said about the pack growing smaller. And why.

I guided the others through the wreckage of the old city, down the only paths of this place that were familiar to me. This part of the old city had been devastated during the Cataclysm. Buildings toppled over. Vehicles had piled atop one another, creating walls of crumpled metal and shattered glass. Shredded rubber dripped from the wheels of overturned vehicles.

“How did I never know this was here?” Fayden said as we rounded a corner, and a white edge of the building shone in the sunlight.

I gestured at all the rubble surrounding the building. “So much of this part of the city is gone. It’s a miracle this place survived. There’s no reason it should have.”

Not only that, but there was a park next to the concert hall, which had mostly overgrown and concealed the building from outside view. The trees and brush were brown with summer and drought now, but I had sharp memories of coming here as a child, when everything had been covered in a hundred shades of green.

Though I knew that nature was simply reclaiming the land, it had seemed to me, when I was very young, that even the trees and earth wanted to protect this sanctuary of music.

“This way.” I guided Stef and Fayden through the maze of junk. Metal poles with busted lightbulbs watched like blind sentinels. A dry fountain crumbled beneath the onslaught of nature and heat. Ancient sculptures of men riding winged horses rested on the ground, vines creeping around legs and outstretched arms.

Once, this place had been loved. Honored. Now, it was a decaying secret, one I was going to expose to people I wasn’t sure I could trust. My injured shoulder throbbed as I heaved open one of the doors, its hinges shrieking, and we stepped into the cool darkness of the lobby.

“What is this?” Fayden asked.

“It’s where Mother took me every time she said we were going foraging.”

I hadn’t come here since she died, and it felt like betrayal, bringing a stranger and my brother here now. The concert hall had meant so much to me over the years.

But I took them through the entry hall, past the collection of art and statues, which Mother and I hadn’t dared touch, lest we break something. Somehow, the portraits and murals and crystal lamps always looked clean, as though someone else came here for reflection or learning, and cared for the artifacts during their stay. Like Mother had taught me to care for the instruments, as well as play them.

“Some of this stuff could be useful,” muttered Stef. He turned his eyes up to the old lamps and faces carved into the marble.

“Or sold.” Fayden shook his head. “I can’t believe how well preserved everything is.”

“Leave it.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “That isn’t why I brought you here.”

Fayden and Stef exchanged wry smiles. “Testy,” Stef said.

“You should have seen him as a child. He wouldn’t eat meat for a whole year because he realized it was animals.”

Great. Now they were friends and could spend all their time coming up with new ways to mock me.

My footfalls were silent as we moved through the lobby. Unconscious reverence, Mother had said when she noticed it, and now I stepped quietly for her memory, and all the things about her that I missed. Her warmth, understanding, and love: I missed those the most.

Now I was going to assist in the destruction of something we both loved: the glass curtain that stood on the back of the stage, miraculously spared from the violent earthquakes and rivers of flowing lava.

The auditorium looked as it always did, quiet and sagging, and heavy with the weight of centuries. And there on the stage, covered against dust and moisture, stood the piano before the glass curtain.

“I need you to promise me something.” I kept my voice low as I faced my brother, my back to the stage. “If you have any love for Mother, don’t scavenge this place. Don’t gut it like you do other buildings.”

Fayden just stared beyond me, his eyes filled with the glass.

“She kept it secret for a reason,” I said. “She’d want us to use the glass to save lives, but the rest of it needs to stay.”

“You don’t get to say what Mother would have wanted.” Fayden tore his gaze from the glass, and focused on me. His growl was low and menacing. “Not now.”

“You two can fight later.” Stef pushed his way through the hall, awe filling his voice as he approached the immense glass wall. “How did this survive?”

“I don’t know. Mother’s mother brought her here to teach her about music. Grandmother was a pianist before the Cataclysm. It happened during a performance, I guess.” I turned from my brother to face the shimmering brown-and-blue-and-green landscape depicted by the curtain. It showed the volcano south of here, though it was pre-Cataclysm and the crater looked different now. “It folds up, but I have no idea how.” I couldn’t imagine how heavy it was. “Grandmother and her friends must have left it for future generations.”

“Will it work for what you need?” Fayden asked.

“Yes, but it seems wrong to destroy it now.” Stef glanced at me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

It wasn’t my curtain. I had no right to make that decision. But what did I want more? The glass curtain and the continued sanctity of the only safe place I’d ever known, or to protect others from my mother’s fate?

If sacrificing a piece of something I loved so much would help save lives . . . “Let’s do it.”

“It won’t be easy getting the glass out.” Stef climbed onto the stage and walked by the covered piano without even noticing it. “The glass is in there really well.”

“I might be able to help,” said Fayden. “If Sam doesn’t mind.”

It wasn’t as though he’d listen to anything I said anyway. “Do you need my help for anything?” I asked Stef. “I’m not sure if there are tools for that, but you might be able to find something if you look around and don’t mind improvising.” The only tools I knew about were the ones for repairing and tuning instruments.

My eyes strayed toward the piano.

“No,” Stef said. “I don’t need you right now. Fayden and I can figure this out.”

I winced—still useless—but let myself be secretly relieved. I didn’t know how to dismantle the curtain, nor did I want to know.

When Stef and Fayden left the room in search of tools, I pulled off the piano cover, leaving it in a puddle of gray cloth on the stage, and sat on the piano bench. I dragged my fingers over the keys, not pressing any just yet. With my eyes closed and the heavy silence around me, I could almost pretend nothing had changed since the last time I’d been here.

This room was refreshingly quiet, as though the outside world didn’t exist. No mangy dogs roaming the streets. No drought slowly killing the land. No plague sweeping through the Community.

No trolls. No Janan with impossible quests. No Father.

When I sat on this bench, it was just Mother and me. With music.

“What is that?” Stef asked from a doorway on the side of the stage. He carried a small toolbox as he approached.

“A piano.”

“Is it useful?” He dropped the toolbox with a thunk, scratching the stage and ignoring my flinch.

“It isn’t.” Fayden came in from the other side of the stage. “It just makes noise. I’ve seen others in the city.”

Stef glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, but I just shook my head. Fayden wasn’t wrong. What use had music been against a troll? Or hunger? Or Father’s blows?

“Show us,” Stef said. “I want to hear.”

Play something? For them? They didn’t know anything about music. They didn’t care. And they wouldn’t understand why I did—why it meant everything to me. I didn’t know Stef well enough to predict his reaction, but Fayden would just mock me. Or worse: he’d tell Father and I’d somehow end up on Janan’s quest in spite of my absence today.

“Go on.” Fayden knelt and searched through the toolbox. “If you’re not going to help us figure out how to take this apart, you might as well give us something to listen to.”

I couldn’t come all the way here and not play. Even if it was just a little while. For people who couldn’t understand.

“Fine.” I opened the lid, then warmed up with a few scales. Fayden rolled his eyes at their simplicity, but I ignored that, and a few notes that sounded off. There wasn’t much I could do about it; though Mother and I—and her mother before her—had been caring for and tuning the piano as best we could over the years, the fluctuating temperature and humidity had taken a toll.

It was better than nothing, though.

While I ran through scales, Stef wandered over to watch the hammers and levers inside. “Interesting,” he muttered as I found the music I’d been working to learn the last time I came here.

First I played a simple phrase, a slow and thoughtful sound. A few measures later, a rolling chord joined the melody, lifting it. The music inhaled, exhaled, and the deeper chords shivered into my bones. With no more hesitation, the sound poured across the stage, rolled up the glass curtain, and fell in glorious showers along the marble walls and balconies. Music filled the theater like smoke, like water, like a mysterious force that held me in its thrall. I lost myself, swaying to the beat, hardly aware of the pages of music in front of me. The keys were extensions of my fingers, the piano another part of my body, and I was soaring.

I felt weightless, relieved of all my burdens. I felt right. Whole. Like I’d been starving ever since Mother—

My hands fell still on the keys, dead things.

“What happened?” Stef jerked up from where he’d been inspecting the piano’s inner workings. Fayden hadn’t moved from his place by the curtain, and he looked . . . surprised.

I slipped off the bench and stepped away. “Nothing.” Everything.

Fayden’s mouth pressed in a line as he studied me, studied the piano. “That was good,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know anything about music, but—I liked it.”

He liked it? Really?

My voice abandoned me.

“How long have you been practicing?” Stef asked.

“Years.” I glanced at the piano. “It’s not enough. I feel like I’ve improved enough to start seeing just how much work I need. But the piano needs repairs, I couldn’t always get here, and Mother was afraid someone would follow us and find it.”

“Did she teach you?” Fayden asked. She’d been his mother longer than she’d been mine, and there were things he was just now learning about her. “Did she know how to play, too?”

I nodded. “She knew. Her mother taught her. She had learned before the Cataclysm. Grandmother knew just enough about other instruments to pass that knowledge along, too, but what she really knew was the piano.”

Since the Cataclysm had happened during a performance, instruments that wouldn’t normally be here had been abandoned by their owners. Flutes. Clarinets. Violins. I wanted nothing more than to live long enough to learn to play them all, though it seemed unlikely they’d work anymore.

“So the piano was what Mother knew, too.” Fayden stared at the piano for a few long moments, while Stef hung back with his arms crossed. Wind howled outside, and sunlight slanted through the skylight. My brother shifted his weight to one hip. “I won’t tell Father about this. And I won’t tell other scavengers about the building. Your secret goes no further than the three of us.”

My heart pounded with relief. “Thank you.”

He shrugged away my gratitude. “You can thank me by playing something else.”

5

FATHER WASN’T HAPPY when I came home, realizing I hadn’t obeyed him by going to join Janan’s warriors, but amazingly, Fayden covered for me, saying we’d been out scavenging together, and that he and I would be working together from now on.

It was sort of true.

And it meant Father wasn’t going to kick me out for being completely useless—at least not right away.

Summer wore on, with ever-increasing heat that refused to break. The flies grew worse, and the Council, worried that disease would spread, moved plague victims out of the Community altogether. Now, they were quarantined in the old city, trapped in some forgotten building.

Every day Stef, Fayden, and I ventured into the old city to remove plates of glass from the curtain at the back of the theater. Rather, they worked, and I sat at the piano and played, my fingers dancing over the black and white keys.

One day, Fayden dropped a pile of folders and slim books on top of the piano.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Music. I think.” He flicked the pages I’d left sitting on the piano before. “They looked like those.”

I studied the sheets of fading music he’d brought; after so much practice, reading music was like reading words. Some of them were pieces for other instruments, but many of them were marked “piano.”

“Thanks.” I glanced up at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen these pieces before. They’ll be fun to play.”

“I just wanted to hear something new.” Fayden shrugged. “There are a few more places I know where there’s more of this. I can get it for you, if you want. None of the other scavengers want it except for burning in the winter.”

My jaw dropped. “Burning music?”

“It’s a legitimate fuel source.”

I shook my head. “Please rescue it, if you can.”

“Sure.” He patted the piano’s lid. “Just keep playing. It’s . . . nice to listen to.”

I didn’t know what to say.

We’d been so distant since we were children, but now, he asked me to play specific pieces over others, showed me how to duck into the house without encountering Father, and taught me how to cook—sort of. There wasn’t much to cook, and he wasn’t particularly skilled at it himself. But we made do.

And a couple of times, Stef halted my playing to make repairs to the piano. I’d taught him what I knew about its inner workings, and how to tune it, and he’d picked up on the skills with alarming speed and understanding. He refelted some of the hammers where the felt had worn thin. He helped retune the piano, making adjustments while I listened and guided him to hit the right pitch. Soon, the piano sounded better than ever.

The improvements allowed me to play a wider range of music than before, without worrying so much about which keys needed to be avoided.

In the weeks immediately following Mother’s death, I hadn’t imagined I’d ever enjoy life again. But with Stef and Fayden working together, their mocking and encouragement, and the way our grins became easier around one another, it seemed, for the first time in what felt like ages, that I might actually be happy.

After hours of dismantling the glass curtain and organizing the bits of glass by color, we carried the blue shards in boxes into the woods, where Stef’s trap waited. The other colors would sit in the theater until we had a need for them.

Fayden and I sat at the base of an avocado tree, watching Stef shimmy up and down the tree, judging various pieces of glass against the surrounding foliage, hunting for just the angle to imitate the glimmer of sunlight on water.

Fayden cut an avocado in half, tossed the pit, and handed one side to me. Flies swarmed as if from nowhere; we swatted them away.

“Thanks.” The fruit had very little taste, thanks to the drought, but any food was a blessing. We’d all lost weight over the summer. Hunger was a constant low-grade sensation, something we were used to and didn’t even complain about anymore.

“How does it look up there?” Fayden called, startling a few nearby birds into silence.

Stef peered down from the browning leaves and grinned. “Cloudy.”

I scrambled to my feet. “Really?”

“What kind of clouds?” Fayden stood, too, and turned his face to the sky.

Only clear blue shone between the trees here, but Stef had a better view. “The kind that make rain. And they’re coming this way.”

“The trap—”

“Will have to wait.” Stef climbed down several branches, and jumped the last bit. “The glass that’s up there will stay through the storm—I think—but I won’t be able to do the rest of this in the rain.”

“But your meeting with the Council is this afternoon. What will you show them?”

Stef laughed and lifted his face as a cool wind pushed through the forest. “Nothing. I’ll tell them what I have so far, explain how it will work, show the diagrams—but there won’t be anything to see today.”

I glanced at the trees, the invisible trap hidden somewhere in the high boughs.

Stef sobered and bumped my arm. “Don’t worry. The trap is functional. If a troll comes through in the rain, it’s dead. And then we have an even better demonstration for the Council.”

“Oh, good.” Relieved, I helped pack away the bits of glass, placing them carefully between tattered shirts and strips of cloth.

Wind picked up as we hefted the boxes and headed back toward the Community, bringing an ominous hush to the woods. “We can stop by our house on the way to the Center and drop off the glass.” Father would still be out for the day, working to build up homes and shops with better walls or more level floors; most of the Community lived in sad accommodations.

Wind whipped the trees, and shrieks and shouts came from the Community ahead.

Our homes were but a large collection of hovels surrounding the far more useful building that was the Center. Once, the Center had been a domed field, meant for observing games of some kind. But legend was that the Center had been open only a month when the Cataclysm struck. It had been full, and thousands—maybe millions—of people were trapped inside. The Center had survived, and when the volcanic eruptions and earthquakes were over and the people came out to find their city in ruins, they sorted themselves by skills and began building the Community around the place that had saved their lives. Gradually, others found their way to the Community, too, like Grandmother.

At least, that was what Mother had told me.

Clouds darkened on the horizon, heralded by heavy wind and the squawk of birds flying to their nests. Outside their huts, children pointed at the sky and the promise of rain. The air pressure dropped; everything was sticky and warm, and insects droned.

We headed through the maze of houses and tiny gardens, most barely surviving the drought. My house was dim with the oncoming storm, but Fayden and I had lived here all our lives and we could navigate it in the dark. We kicked open doors and carried the boxes of glass to hide in his room; Father wouldn’t look there.

A faint creaking in the kitchen stilled me.

“What is it?” Stef asked. The three of us paused in the hallway, caught between bedroom doors and the washroom.

“Someone’s here.” I kept my voice low, but there was no point. A moment later, Father slammed his way into the hall and flicked his glare from me to the box I held, and back to me.

“What is this?” He reached inside the box; the hall was too narrow for me to move out of the way. His breath smelled sharp and sour, as though he’d been drinking. Indeed, the leather flask hung off his belt. “Glass? Where did you get this?”

I pressed my mouth in a line. The silence came over me, a familiar armor.

Father’s voice deepened and grew raspy. “You’ve been scavenging with your brother? And you’ve been hiding glass?” He placed the glass back inside the box, careful of such wealth even in his anger, and turned on Fayden.

My brother stared at me, but he didn’t say anything. Behind him, Stef looked as though he wanted to disappear into the wall, but I couldn’t help his discomfort. I couldn’t even help myself.

The air in the hall grew stuffy and hot as Father shoved himself toward Fayden. Too close. Too close. And yet, a pathetic sense of relief welled up inside me—relief he wasn’t that close to me.

“You’ve both been hiding this from me?” Father shouted. “No wonder you’ve been such brothers lately. Were you going to take it and move out? Leave me here to starve on my own?”

Fayden put on his most patient tone. “No, Father—”

“And now you deny it?” Father drew back and hit Fayden with a loud whap, almost lost beneath the sudden roll of thunder.

The box of glass slipped in my hands, but I tightened my grip and glanced at Stef. His expression was a mask of uncertainty and shock.

Thunder rumbled again, but the sound was distant, muted, like even the world held its breath.

“We have to go.” My voice came as a hollow rasping. “Our friend needs our help.”

Father’s eyes cut to Stef, and the stench of alcohol on his breath filled the hall as he huffed out a laugh. “Friend? Dossam, you don’t have friends.”

Stef’s jaw clenched when he swallowed. “With respect, sir, I get to decide whether Sam is my friend. Not you.”

Even as my heart swelled at the words, I gaped at Stef. Wasn’t he afraid? He’d seen what happened when someone contradicted Father. I waited for Father to strike Stef, too.

But Father had something worse in mind. He lowered his voice, and his eyes became mere slits. “You don’t want to be friends with a boy who killed his own mother.”

My breath came short and rattled. “We should go.” I edged out of the hall, but Father slammed his palm to the wall and blocked me in.

“Leave the glass.” A strange note pushed into his voice. Hunger. Greed. Probably calculating how much whiskey all this glass would buy.

I glanced at Stef, who shook his head. “We’ll take it to my house.”

“You will not.” Father grabbed the box from me, glass clinking inside, and tossed it into the washroom. Glass clattered—had it broken?—and he shoved past me to seize Stef’s box, too. “Get out of my house.” He faced Fayden and me. His knuckles were white as he gripped the box. “All of you. Out of my house. Thieves. Traitors. Mother-killers. I don’t ever want to see any of you again.”

Fayden sounded placating. “Father—”

“Get out!” Father hit Fayden square in the jaw. “Get out!” He whipped his hand back and hit me in the temple, making sparks flare in my vision and sending my head thudding against the wall.

Before he could go after Stef, I scrambled from the hallway, moving toward the front door. Fayden and Stef weren’t far behind. But our glass was gone.

6

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Stef asked as we hurried through the Community, all the little houses like teeth around us.

Children gaped outside, dancing barefoot as the first drops of rain blew in from the storm. Women placed buckets and jars and plastic tubs out to collect water. Animals scurried over rooftops and under eaves. Everywhere I looked, people and creatures radiated excitement. Even the trees hissed and groaned as black clouds rolled in.

But my temple and the back of my head throbbed, and my eyes weren’t focusing quite right; the whole world had a faint shimmer that shouldn’t have been there. Fayden hunched his shoulders and grit his teeth, though mostly he just looked confused.

Stef trotted to keep up with us, asking again, “What happened back there?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I couldn’t believe it. We’d been kicked out. Stolen from. Well, I could believe it had happened to me, but to Fayden? Father loved Fayden, always treated him like an equal.

Until Fayden had covered for me after I’d skipped going on Janan’s quest—or volunteering to be humiliated by trying for it. Fayden hadn’t been equal since then. Because of me.

“I have to get the glass back.” Stef took several long strides and kept pace with me. “I need to finish the trap.”

“Is that all you care about?” I stopped walking and shoved my hands into my pockets. “Your trap? Didn’t you see what happened? Didn’t you hear it?”

Stef went quiet. People around us bumped into our shoulders and elbows, but they didn’t acknowledge us.

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he said after a moment. “I guess—I saw what happened.” His gaze cut to my temple, where a trickle of warmth leaked down my cheekbone. “And heard.”

“So why did you ask?” My throat was raw with restraint. My eyes ached and I had an uncomfortable urge to shove him out of my way. Not that I knew where I was going. Or what I’d do now.

Fayden lurked a few paces away, his arms crossed as he glared at the ground.

Maybe I could go live in the concert hall.

Stef inclined his head toward the Center. “Let me talk to the Council about the trap. You and Fayden cool down. Then I’ll find you somewhere to stay for the night. Maybe your father will change his mind when you don’t come home.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“Then you’ll stay with me as long as you need.” He shifted his weight. “I can cook, and my aunts live next door. They can help us get whatever you need.”

“Why?” My voice caught. I didn’t deserve anything like that. “Why would you do that for me?”

Stef blinked and pulled back a hair. “Because you’re my friend.”

In spite of what I’d done? What I hadn’t done?

The sky opened and thunder cracked. Rain poured from the clouds and a cold wind whipped through the Community. Children shrieked and lifted their faces to the sky, delight shining. Mothers pulled them into houses, but they, too, were smiling, because the heat had finally broken and the drought was over.

“Hey.” Stef rested his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t believe what he said you did. About your mother.”

Rain dripped from my hair, into my eyes. I swiped away the black strands. “He wasn’t lying.”

Stef raised an eyebrow.

“There was a troll, just two weeks before we met. I didn’t stop it. I didn’t even try.” The rain chopped my words. “I was too afraid to move.”

Fayden came closer, still silent, and put his hand on my other shoulder. The weight of their hands made me feel like I might sink into the ground, but they were trying to be supportive and I couldn’t stand to disappoint them by edging away.

“Nothing will change what I didn’t do.” I could hardly hear my words under the clatter of rain and thrash of wind. We were the only people in the street now; only pots and jars and buckets stood out here with us, gathering water as the street turned to mud.

“You have the chance to act now,” said Stef. “Help me stop it from happening to anyone else.”

Shivering at the cold slap of rain, I nodded and followed them to the Center. Stef’s acceptance—and Fayden’s forgiveness—didn’t fix anything. Mother was still gone, Father hated me worse than ever, and suddenly I had no home.

I wasn’t a brave person. This only highlighted my faults, this inability to resist their attempts to accept my past as past. But I wanted them to accept me. So I’d let them believe they were helping.

The Center was cool and dry. Rain beat a staccato tempo on the roof, dulled by the sound of voices and breathing and people rushing through the long, curved hall to relay some message or other. Maybe they, too, were excited about the storm.

Stef knew where he was going, so Fayden and I trailed behind. I wanted to ask Fayden what he thought about Stef’s offer, if it seemed weird that Stef was inviting us to live with him. But I couldn’t make my voice work. I didn’t want to risk Fayden taking back the silent support he’d offered earlier.

Footsteps echoed in the halls, and shoes squeaked on the cracked tiles. Faces, some friendly and some frowning, peered at us from under wide-brimmed hats that dripped rainwater.

Tap tap tap. The world was alive with sound, but my thoughts dulled, their edges fuzzy as I went after Stef and Fayden.

We rounded a corner and arrived at the Council chamber. Stef knocked, and an old man pushed open the door. “Welcome.” He glanced over the three of us. “Which one of you is Stefan?”

“I am.” Stef pulled his folded papers from his pocket. “I know I’m a little early—”

“That’s quite all right,” said the old man. “The previous appointment was canceled because of the storm. I’m Sine. Come in.” He eyed Fayden and me, then motioned to a metal bench just outside the room. “Please wait for your friend here. If you’re needed, we will call on you.”

I slouched over to the bench and leaned against the wall, shivering as the temperature in the building dropped and the rainwater cooled on my skin. Fayden sat next to me, his arms crossed and a tight expression on his face.

“We’ll have to get back the glass.” He spoke to the empty hall. “If the Council finds out he doesn’t have it, they might not approve him to install the traps throughout the forest. He might not get the rest of the supplies he needs.”

“Surely the Council could persuade Father to turn over the glass to them.” I wiped away a trickle of water leaking from my hair. The cut on my temple stung, and red tinged the water when it fell onto my forearm. “The trap will work. Stef knows what he’s doing, and the Council would be fools to turn down his project.”

“You have a lot of confidence in his work.”

I shrugged.

Minutes dripped by. Inside the Council chamber, voices rose and fell. Mostly Stef’s. Even with the drive of rain obscuring the words, I could hear Stef’s passion and enthusiasm in his tone. Hopefully they were reacting well, even though he hadn’t had a chance to test the prototype.

Would they have the same angry response as Father when they found out about the glass? Maybe Stef wouldn’t tell them where he’d gotten it.

Fayden glanced at me. “He’ll forgive us.”

“Who? Father?”

“Yeah.”

I shook my head. “I don’t care if he does or not.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He hesitated. “I’ve known you your whole life. I know what you look like when you’re lying.”

“Why would I care if he forgives us?” If Father forgave anyone, it would be Fayden. That could happen pretty easily, if only Fayden stopped caring what happened to me. And the truth I was barely willing to admit: part of me still waited for Fayden to turn back to Father. One summer of brotherhood didn’t change an entire lifetime of unhappy experiences.

“If you didn’t care, you’d have left when Mother died.”

And gone where? Done what? I’d wanted to leave, but I hadn’t, because I wasn’t brave enough. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He sat back and rubbed his jaw, expression thoughtful. “I’m sorry, Dossam.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“For not understanding. For assuming you were lazy and useless, like Father said. I couldn’t understand why Mother thought so highly of you. . . .”

And now she was dead. Because I hadn’t been able to save her. Had she thought so highly of me in those last minutes?

“I didn’t understand that you were keeping such a big part of yourself secret from Father—that you had to. He wouldn’t understand. Until I heard you play and saw the way it affected you, I wouldn’t have understood.” Fayden sighed. “I still didn’t understand your resentment toward him until today. He’d never hit me before.”

I closed my eyes and pulled in the sound of rain on the rooftop, voices echoing in the hall, and my brother’s breathing next to me. “He won’t forgive us. He might forgive you, but no matter what anyone else thinks, he’s been waiting for the chance to force me out. He blames me for what happened to Mother.”

“Do you blame yourself?”

Loud thumping down the hall saved me from having to answer his question. Fayden and I sat up to watch a young man come hurtling through the Center, water streaming behind him. Everyone moved out of his way.

“Is that Meuric?” Fayden asked.

“I think so.” I didn’t know many of the Councilors by sight. We all knew Janan, of course; he’d been the leader of the Community since before I was born. Before him, his father had been the leader, the one who led everyone out of the Center and assembled them into a new society after the old had vanished. He’d appointed the Council to rule under him, as well. Over the years, many groups had come from other parts of the world to join their Community; all had to be approved by the Council—and mostly by Janan.

Meuric, from what little I knew about the Council, was Janan’s assistant. Best friend. Willing slave. Something.

And now, panic distorting his features, Meuric threw himself into the Council chamber without knocking. The door hung open a moment, letting his words into the hall: “I need everyone’s attention immediately!”

The door swung shut, muting the sudden cacophony of voices for a heartbeat before someone opened the door again and shoved Stef out. Papers fluttered in his wake, falling to the floor like afterthoughts.

“What’s going on?” Fayden surged up from the bench, his eyes on the closed door. “Did they like your trap? Are they going to let you make more?”

“I think so. I was only able to get through part of my presentation before Meuric came in and everyone jumped. He’s really scared about something.” Stef pressed his ear against the shut door. “Let’s listen. You too, Sam.”

I heaved myself up and leaned toward the door. Thumps, rustling papers, and raised voices came from within; the latter were mostly attempts to calm Meuric.

“They have him.” Even through the door we could hear the panic that edged Meuric’s words. “They took everyone.”

“Who?” asked one of the other Councilors. “What happened?”

“Janan and every warrior. They’ve been captured.”

“By whom?”

“By our new enemy.”

I held my breath, but if Meuric elaborated on the enemy, then the words were lost beneath the deafening bang of thunder. The entire Center trembled under the sound.

“What do we do?” asked a Councilor. Sine, maybe. The one from earlier. “Where did they take him?”

“I don’t know where they took the others, but Janan was taken north. Far, far to the north.” Meuric coughed, and someone comforted him. “Janan sought to deliver us from death. We must go after him.”

7

ONLY MOMENTS AFTER that declaration, someone opened the Council chamber door and shooed us away. The three of us retreated to Stef’s house, through the wind and rain.

By the time we reached Stef’s house, a small and worn thing, we were all soaked to the bone, shivering. We headed into the kitchen, where Stef lit the woodstove and grabbed towels from a cupboard.

“Do I want to know why you keep your towels there?” I asked.

Stef hurled a towel at my face. “Don’t judge if you want to get dry.”

I snatched the towel and scrubbed my face, hair, and arms as more towels flew across the room. We were quiet for a few minutes, all of us drying off while the rain pounded harder, drowning out all other noises. Stef’s house was an island.

“You live all by yourself?” Fayden asked.

Stef nodded and tossed his towel into a corner. “My aunts are next door. That’s all the supervision I can handle.”

“Ah.” Fayden eyed the kitchen table and chairs, all piled with parts and gadgets in various states of disassembly. “Can I move this stuff?”

Stef sighed and began rearranging his belongings. “This is why I live alone.”

“So you can cover every surface with your junk?” Fayden rolled his eyes and threw his towel into the same corner Stef had.

“Will they really go after Janan?” I shook my head and dropped into the newly empty chair Stef offered.

“You said Meuric sounded serious.” Stef shoved another empty chair at Fayden, who immediately sat and leaned back, front two legs popping off the floor. Stef shot him a frown.

Fayden’s chair thunked as the front two legs hit the floor again, and he looked at me. “I guess you think it’s a bad idea?”

I shrugged. “Janan has gone on lots of quests. People die every time. It just seems like sending more people on a quest to recover him—” I shook my head. “I don’t know. Never mind.”

Rain tapped on the woodstove chimney, filling the heartbeats of silence between the three of us.

The rain lasted through the night and next morning. Not until the afternoon did the sun finally peek from behind the heavy black clouds, illuminating the rain-glazed world so streets and houses and puddles glowed golden bright.

Bells clanged, summoning the Community to the Center, and within an hour, bodies flooded into the immense building. I stuck close to Fayden and Stef as we climbed the tiered seats, our footsteps ringing on the metal. Hundreds of thousands of people in the Community—save those working in fields, tending to the young, or infected with plague—crammed into the Center. When the seats were filled and all the aisles and overhead boxes occupied, they poured onto the field of unnaturally bright green grass, leaving only a narrow strip of ground between the front row and the stage.

The stage, worn and streaked with decades of dirt and shoes and memories, waited in the center of the field. Meuric and the other Councilors climbed the rickety stairs and waited for the roar of the crowd to dwindle.

Whispers of speculation ceased as Meuric began: “Weeks ago, Janan gathered his warriors on a quest to deliver our people from death. We all know someone who’s died from plague or attack or hunger. We all know the fear of wondering whether we’re going to be next—that any moment could be our last.

“We inherited this world where fearsome creatures draw ever nearer. They invade our forests, threaten our Community, and destroy what’s left of the old city—and our hopes of one day resurrecting what was taken from us during the Cataclysm.” The other Councilors nodded at Meuric’s statement, and a low hum of agreement swept through the hundreds of thousands of people. The heat of all the bodies crammed into one building made my head swim. I felt sweat pour down the back of my neck, and I wasn’t the only one. The sour stench of hot, fearful bodies filled the Center.

The Center held only a quarter of the Community. There was no safe place for us all.

As though he sensed my thoughts, Meuric spoke up again. “Since the Cataclysm, humanity has grown scarcer and scarcer. If we don’t fight back, soon we will cease to exist altogether.”

Mutters rippled through the audience, carried by an undercurrent of fear. I shivered, too. I couldn’t help it.

“Indeed, many of you came from other Communities—from cities that are now gone forever.” Meuric lifted his voice to shout over the echoing whispers, shifting, and sniffing. “Humans used to be the strongest of creatures, the most feared, because we have superior minds. But now we are so few, and the creatures who hunt us have abilities we have no hope of combating.”

Someone nearby was sobbing. Next to me, Stef and Fayden wore hard, unreadable looks.

“Janan is tired of burying our people,” cried Meuric. “And so am I. I’m finished hiding from our enemies, quietly rebuilding after they’ve gone. I’m finished being hunted. I’m ready to fight back. That is what Janan wants for our Community. That is what he left to pursue on his quest.”

The assembly grew utterly quiet. This was what they’d been waiting to hear: where Janan was. What Fayden, Stef, and I already knew.

“Janan took his best warriors on his quest to deliver us from death. But when he was close to success, our enemies swooped down and seized him—and the rest of his warriors. Janan: our leader and our deliverer. Janan wants so much for us—and has risked so much for us—but now he needs our help. All of our help.”

In the immense chamber filled with people packed shoulder against shoulder, squeezed into small spaces, and pressed against walls—there was not a sound above the rustle of breath and clothing, and the creak of metal benches and stands.

Tension grew thick, palpable. Every eye was trained on Meuric.

“Janan is being held alive. I know that much.” Meuric gazed all around the Center, as though he could meet everyone’s eyes. “He will be kept alive, according to what I’ve learned. That gives us some time. And the upper hand. The enemy believes we will not pursue, but we’re about to shock them: we’re going to free Janan. All of us.”

There was a collective gasp, and Meuric had to shout over the flurry of whispers.

“Pack what you can carry. This will not be an easy journey, so prepare yourself for anything—everything. In one month, we will leave this place and travel north into unknown lands. In one month, we travel toward new life.”

8

NOT EVERYONE WAS willing to leave the outskirts of the city.

Riots erupted throughout the Community, sending people to the Center to be treated for injuries. Plague victims were quarantined even more fiercely—taken to forgotten quarters of the old city and left with food and water and a handful of barely trained medics to treat hundreds of people.

People began stealing food and supplies from one another, and scavengers were in even more demand, sent to retrieve necessities in the old city. Stef’s trap was abandoned, and the three of us hardly saw the inside of the concert hall. Instead, Stef and I accompanied Fayden on his scavenging missions, both for provisions for the three of us, and for what other people sent him to find.

It was hard work, made even more difficult by the dilapidated state of the buildings. We braved rotting floors and roofs that shuddered in the faintest of winds. Where homes and towers had slumped sideways after earthquakes, we had to secure ourselves with rope and slide or rappel into treacherous areas; all the easy marks had been looted long ago.

Animals prowled the ruins, hunting for food. When it was my turn to stand guard, Fayden armed me with a lit torch and ordered me to shoo away anything that drew too near. Feral cats and dogs slinked around the edges of whatever area we searched, while snakes, spiders, and insects filled the cracks and crevices of this ancient city.

Conditions in the Community deteriorated. Fayden and I saw Father only once, days after we’d sneaked into his house and stolen our belongings. We stayed with Stef, hidden in his parent-free house whenever we had to return to the Community. Some nights, we just stayed in the old city like Fayden used to do.

In some ways, it was the freest I’d ever been, with no Father to threaten me.

One night, when the three of us were laying out our sleeping bags atop a high-rise building, Stef asked, “We’re going, right? With the rest of the Community?”

“I don’t really want to go. I like this. Here.” Fayden motioned across the dark city and glanced at me. “But I guess we don’t have much of a choice. What do you think, Sam?”

I shrugged. “It seems ridiculous to take everyone. That’s over two million people. Why do we all have to go? What can a bunch of farmers and scavengers do to rescue Janan?”

“I know, but you wouldn’t stay here, would you?” Fayden scowled. “You’d go with the rest of the Community, right?”

I looked at Stef, who was slicing a wedge of cheese for our dinner. He wore a thoughtful expression. “What about your trap?” I asked.

He lowered the cheese and knife. “If we’re somewhere else, we won’t need the trap.”

“You won’t ever know if they’d have approved it for wider use.”

“There will be other opportunities to petition them for work. I’m sure they’ll come up with lots of reasons to need my services while we travel. Whenever we get where we’re going.”

“But the glass. The trolls.” The revenge I needed.

The last was mere thought, but Stef looked at me as though he understood. “The world is full of monsters. Be angry about what happened. Fight back when you can. But don’t let that anger and fight consume your life. You deserve to live, too.”

Was that why I was so resistant to go? Because I couldn’t see beyond my own pain?

Certainly that was part of it, but I didn’t think I was wrong about Meuric’s declaration that we would all go to rescue Janan. If he was such a great warrior, and he’d taken all the best warriors with him, why couldn’t he rescue himself? What could the rest of us do? We had numbers, certainly, but with the drought and hunger and plague, population wouldn’t be on our side for long. Especially since—as Stef said—the world was full of monsters.

How many would die on this journey north?

Would I even survive it?

Fayden and Stef would look out for me. And I couldn’t abandon them, either.

“I still think it’s a dumb idea.”

“No one’s arguing that.” Stef flashed a grin. “It’s a Meuric idea, though. He’s absolutely certain that we all worship Janan just as much as he does, so to him, this is a reasonable demand. We all go.”

What about the people who couldn’t?

Well, unless music could help them make the journey, I was useless to them.

“If you’re both going, then I’m going.” I said it with a smile, but I knew neither of them bought it. “Besides, someone has to keep you two out of trouble.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Fayden grabbed a bit of cheese, ignoring Stef’s scowling. “We have to stick together, all three of us.”

And that was the truth. I’d already lost my mother. I couldn’t lose my brother and best friend, too.

“What’s going to happen to the people who stay behind?” I asked. From this rooftop, I could just spot the fires of the plague quarantine area. “What about the people who are sick, who won’t be able to make the journey Meuric is proposing?”

“You want the truth?” Fayden raised an eyebrow.

I nodded.

“I don’t think they’re going to survive anyway, but especially not without the Community.” His voice turned lower, sadder. “I think they’re all going to die here, stuck in the memories of a city that’s crumbling to nothing.”

Those words haunted me all through the night, and rang through my thoughts as sunlight poured across the city. Maybe it was guilt, or some repressed sense of obligation, but after Stef, Fayden, and I ate a quick breakfast, I announced that I wanted to go back to the Community. I wanted to see Father.

“You want to see him?” Stef’s face twisted in disbelief. “After what he did to you?”

“I want to find out whether he’s going.” I looked at my hands. “I know what he did to me. And I don’t want to travel with him. I just . . . need to know, I guess.” It felt presumptuous to say, but: “Mother would want someone to check on him.”

“Do you think this is a smart idea?” Fayden scowled and finished loading his backpack.

“I don’t know. Maybe not.” Still, I had to try.

That afternoon, the three of us headed back to the Community—Stef to his aunts’ house, where he was helping pack the wagon we’d all be sharing, and Fayden and me to our father’s house at the far edge of the Community.

The walks would take longer than usual, because we had to go around areas that were consumed with riots. Even from here, I could hear the crackle and scream of fire, and smell the acrid smoke.

“Don’t be upset,” Fayden said, after a few minutes of walking in charged silence.

“Discussions that start like that never lead anywhere good.” I shoved my hands into my pockets as we ducked around a gaggle of children carrying baskets of supplies. With the riots not far off, it was incredible their parents would let them out. Unless they had fathers like Fayden and I did, who didn’t care at all.

My brother hesitated. “I’ve been wondering why Mother chose you. For music, I mean. Why did you get to see that part of her, but not me? And did Father know? Was I the only one who didn’t?”

I pressed my mouth into a line and shrugged. “I don’t know. She never told me whether anyone else knew. Her mother did, obviously. But I don’t know if her friends knew. I’ve never been able to bring myself to ask, in case they didn’t. In case they decided that selling the instruments for parts was more important than preserving them.”

“Preserving them for what?”

“For everyone?” I kept my eyes on the ground. “I guess— I guess there’s always been a part of me that’s wanted to share music. When you and Stef started listening to my playing, that was amazing. And just think about the fact that there’s a concert hall in the city, where people used to come from all over to hear music performed. Our grandmother was a performer. Mother said music was Grandmother’s job.”

“I can’t even imagine what her world must have been like.” Fayden shook his head.

I could, a little. The music parts, anyway. “I guess,” I went on, “there’s a piece of me that’s always hoped to do the same. To be like her—that one day the Community wouldn’t be focused solely on survival. That one day the Community would be able to take in something more. Like music.”

“That’s not a bad dream.” My brother smiled a little.

“Mother had the same dream, she said once.” I hesitated. “When I told her I wanted to be like Grandmother, she said she wanted the same thing. For me. For her.”

Tense silence stretched between us as we rounded a corner.

“I don’t think she chose me,” I said at last. “I think she saw me roaming through the forest one day, mimicking birdsongs. Or I saw her doing it, and copied. I’m not sure. I only remember a little of that day. She actually did take me foraging then, because I was too young to leave alone.”

Fayden nodded.

I’d never told anyone this before, except Mother: “I remember hearing this overwhelming sound, and it just filled me up. Like my heart was too big for my chest. I asked about it, why the forest sounds made me feel like that.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘You have music in you.’”

Fayden lowered his eyes. “I was always jealous that she took you foraging, that she spent time with you and never seemed to care that you didn’t come home with much food. I didn’t realize what was actually happening, which makes me feel incredibly stupid.”

I released a weak chuckle. “I was always jealous that Father actually liked you, and that Mother didn’t have to make weekly appeals for your life.”

He scowled. “Was it that bad?”

“Seems like it.”

“And yet you want to make sure he comes with us?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think he should be left behind. He doesn’t deserve to die.” And I couldn’t stop thinking about what Fayden had said, that grim proclamation that everyone left here would die without the Community.

“All right.” He didn’t say whether he agreed, though I wished he would. His expression stayed thoughtful the remainder of the walk, and too soon, we stood before Father’s house.

Heart pounding, I knocked on the door.

It took several minutes before he answered, and he clutched the doorknob as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. He listed to one side, eyelids drooping, and his mouth pulled into a sneer when he recognized us.

“What are you doing here?” His words slurred, and his breath reeked of alcohol, enough to make me want to stagger back.

Fayden was a pillar of strength beside me, though when he spoke, his words were clipped and his eyes were hard. “We came to find out whether you’re going with the rest of the Community to find Janan.”

Father’s slowly shifting expression was the hush before a thunderstorm.

“And,” I added quickly, “whether we can help you pack or . . . or if you need anything.”

With a withering look, Father took a shaking step toward us. “What I’m going to do is no longer your business. You abandoned me here. First your mother left, and now you.” He turned on me. “And you! Why would I want your help with anything? You useless boy.”

I steeled myself and tried to keep my voice steady, but the edges cracked like glass. “Father, we need to know. Are you going with the rest of the Community?”

“No.” He spat a brown glob that landed at my feet. “No, I’m not going with the rest of the Community.”

I glanced at Fayden, but his jaw was set and his fists curled behind his back.

“Why won’t you go?” I’d always thought Father was as devoted to Janan as anyone else, what with him wanting to send me on Janan’s quest. If I’d gone, I’d be one of those warriors no one cared about—as long as the Community found Janan.

Father’s tone grew savage and raw. “What care do I have for the Community? My wife is gone because someone let her die. My only son abandoned me when I needed him. He abandoned me for a murderer, a boy who’d just as soon let everyone around him die, as long as it meant he could stay safe.”

“I didn’t—”

Fayden jerked my arm, making me stumble backward just as Father’s fist flew through the air where my head had been a moment before.

“You did let her die!” Father’s rage crescendoed, drawing looks from neighbors and passersby. “You did nothing when you could have saved her. Her death is your fault, you stupid, selfish, useless boy. I wish it had been you who died.”

I staggered back as my brother stepped in front of me. “Don’t talk that way, Father,” Fayden said. “He’s still your son.”

“Neither of you are my sons.” The door slammed shut, and rattled in its frame.

I clenched my jaw so hard that my eyes watered.

“Come on,” said Fayden. “If he wants to stay, we can’t force him.”

“But he’s our father,” I whispered.

My brother shook his head. “We don’t have a father anymore. We have each other.”

9

WHEN STEF FOUND out what Father had said to Fayden and me, he’d wanted to march right over and—

But of course we all knew that none of us could change Father or his decision. It was enough to know that Stef was my friend, and Fayden was on my side. As long as I had the two of them, I wasn’t alone.

Fayden and I spent the remainder of the month with Stef, and Whit and Orrin—his aunts—next door, the five of us packing our wagon with everything we might need. Whit and Orrin loaded their side with book after book, most taken from libraries in the old city, while Stef struggled to find room for his gadgets-in-progress, and Fayden and I wondered where we would put the food.

There was a strange, uncomfortable, yet hopeful undercurrent that last day. Disgust that we were leaving so many behind, but excitement at the prospect of an adventure. Or, perhaps, fear of what would happen if they didn’t go.

“The exodus begins tomorrow,” said Whit, or Orrin, over dinner with the five of us. Stef’s aunts were twins, and I hadn’t yet learned how to tell them apart. “The scouts Meuric sent out after the meeting in the Center have returned. Sounds like it was dangerous, too. Rumor has it there were fewer who came back than left.” She shook her head.

The other aunt—Orrin, I guessed—looked over the three of us. “Glad you boys weren’t part of Janan’s or Meuric’s groups. You’d think the Council didn’t value life at all, the way they keep throwing people into the wilderness.”

“Keep throwing?” I asked. “Have there been others, besides Janan’s warriors and the scouts?”

Orrin nodded. “At least two other groups that haven’t come back yet.”

When everyone finished dinner, Fayden brought an old plastic box from the other room, and placed it in front of me. It was an instrument case, with two rusty metal clasps, and a handle that hung at an unfortunate angle.

“What is this?” But I knew what it was. I knew all the instruments kept in the concert hall.

“I know it’s not the piano, but we can’t fit a piano in the wagon. This was the smallest instrument we could find.” He flipped open the lid, revealing a disassembled flute, and nodded at Stef. “He cleaned it up and fixed the cracked pads on the keys. This way you can entertain us on the long journey.”

“With a flute?” I couldn’t stop my smile. “You know I barely know how to play this, right?”

“Better get practicing.”

“I—” I wanted to thank him, but he thwapped the back of my head and grinned.

“It’s not a big deal, so don’t start gushing. Just make it worth all the trouble we went through to find it and clean it. We need some kind of entertainment on this journey, right?”

I spent the rest of the night trapped in a sort of awe. My brother knew how hard it was for me to leave behind music, so he’d found a way for music to come with me.

Dawn broke over the valley, illuminating the immense road paved centuries ago, now cracked with age and weather and the forest reclaiming what land was stolen from it. The road was a black river, flowing north to lands unknown.

Fayden, Stef, and I watched from the rooftops as scouts spurred their horses ahead, just ten or twelve riders vanishing against the brightening horizon. They followed the wagons, departing district by district. People, livestock, and trailers loaded with building supplies rolled down the black river, while guards and warriors lined up along the road, herding everyone north.

Since Stef lived in the last district to be evacuated, we had a perfect view from the roof of his house. We could see the crumbling towers of the old city peeking just above the conifer trees of the forest, and the mountains rising like a wall in the west. The road cut alongside those mountains, giving the impression it was safe and protected. But trolls and other creatures lived in those mountains. Everyone in the Community had been armed with bows and arrows, knives, or spears.

Not that I knew how to use the weapons I’d been given.

With the steady stream of people moving along the black, the road seemed truly a river. Over the course of the day, we saw a few disruptions to the line, and some people fled to the old city as though it could save them, but most—when it was their district’s turn—just snapped the horses’ reins and began walking.

The evacuations took all day, and paused when dusk fell. After another long morning of watching groups heave their wagons onto the road, it was finally our turn. Whit and Orrin sat on the front seat of the wagon, big hats shading their faces while they drove. Meanwhile, Fayden took a horse and rode alongside our wagon, and Stef and I stood on the roof, scanning the landscape for danger of any kind.

We weren’t the only ones with that idea. All along the caravan, boys and girls balanced on wagon rooftops, tasked with lookout duty. They were messengers, too, shouting information over the clatter of hooves and wheels.

“Here.” Stef tossed a torn strip of cloth at me. “Tie this over your nose and mouth so you don’t breathe in the dust.” He was already tying a faded blue piece of cloth over his face.

Sure enough, dust from the wagons and herds of livestock ahead of us filled the air. As soon as my cloth was in place, my nose and mouth felt less gritty.

“Being at the end of the line is the worst,” he said, leaning on the spear he’d been assigned.

“Not necessarily. If the front of the line runs into something terrible, we’ll be able to flee quickly.” I’d been given a sling with which to defend our wagon from creatures prowling this wide-open land. Since I didn’t know how to use the sling, Fayden had agreed to teach me. Sometime.

As we headed away from home, I glanced back at the remnants of the Community one last time, at the people who hadn’t left.

Hundreds—maybe thousands—of people were still there. What would happen to them? Would they survive their first winter alone?

The sky dimmed with night. In our first half day of travel, we hadn’t even left sight of the Community. In the not-so-distance, the Center curved into the sky, a single egglike dome. I was lying on the roof of the wagon with the other boys, both of them already snoring, when orange light flickered near the Center, and smoke obscured the stars.

“What’s that?” I whispered. But the others were asleep. I nudged Stef with my elbow. “Look there.”

He gave a huge yawn and started to roll over, but I elbowed him again until he sat up. “What?”

“Look.” I could smell it now, the faint odor of acrid smoke. “It’s on fire.”

“What’s burning?” Stef rubbed his face and scanned the horizon until he saw what I did. His eyes grew wide and he swatted at the motionless body next to him. “Fay, wake up.”

“That’s not my name,” Fayden muttered as he brushed sleep from his eyes.

But a minute later, we were all standing on the wagon—careful to make as little noise as possible so we didn’t wake the sisters sleeping below—and staring south down the dark road. “Is it the Center?”

“I think it’s the houses,” Stef said. “It’s the Community around the Center.”

“Was it a lightning strike? More riots?” Even as the words left my lips, I knew they were pathetic hopefulness. We hadn’t left the Community just in time to avoid some sort of natural disaster. It wasn’t anything like that.

Even now, I could hear the clip-clop of horseshoes on cracked pavement as people rode up from the burning Community.

“Get down,” I hissed, and the three of us scrambled to press our bellies to the wagon roof.

Minutes stretched longer as the ring of iron on pavement increased in volume, and silhouettes appeared against the lit horizon. As they grew nearer and their forms clearer, I recognized Li, one of Janan and Meuric’s warriors who policed the streets of the Community sometimes; everyone, even Father, was afraid of him, and of the permanent frown he wore like armor.

I recognized the others by sight only: one balding man, and one with the most impressive mustache I’d seen in my whole life.

Stef, Fayden, and I stayed low as the men rode up on their horses, coming into the glow cast by torches and lamps hanging off wagons. Dark spots colored their sleeves and the hems of their trousers.

Blood.

Chills snaked through me. Li and his men hadn’t just set fire to the Community—they’d slaughtered everyone who’d chosen to stay, including Father.

Months ago, a troll had killed Mother. Now, my own people had killed Father. The world was full of monsters, Stef had said before. I hadn’t realized sometimes those monsters could look like people.

“Father is dead.” Saying it out loud didn’t make the turmoil of my emotions any clearer, though. No matter what he’d done to me, he’d still been my father.

“He died bitter and angry,” Fayden muttered. “Just like he lived.”

“He died alone, believing the worst of us.”

Stef swore under his breath. “Everything is going to burn. Everything we ever knew will be gone.”

Fayden had thought they’d die without the Community.

In a way, they had.

“You know what this means?” I whispered, watching the blaze rise higher.

“What’s that?” asked my brother.

“We’re never going back. Wherever Meuric is taking us, that’s where we’re staying for the rest of our lives.”

We’d been traveling for a week before I finally had a chance to try the flute. Since it wasn’t an instrument Mother or Grandmother had played, I knew very little about it, but Stef’s aunts—collectors of every book they could find—had discovered some beginner practice books in their possession. They’d given the books to me only after Stef had promised them I’d learn how to play something incredible for them.

With that in mind, I was sitting on top of the wagon practicing breathing across the mouth plate when I spotted the riders in the distance.

“Hey!” I lifted my flute into the air and waved for the neighboring wagons. “Riders!”

Along the line of wagons, other lookouts stood and peered into the distance. The riders were still a ways off, but their horses covered the distance between us quickly. There were a lot of them, and while Meuric and the Council regularly sent scouts in different directions, I’d never seen this many people returning at once. There had to be a hundred or more.

Maybe they were other people—people from another Community that had survived the Cataclysm.

Quickly, I disassembled my flute and dropped into the wagon to put it away.

“Hey, watch out.” Whit ducked out of my way as I found my feet. She eyed my flute. “You didn’t practice long.”

“There are people out there. Coming from the plains.”

Her eyebrows rose beneath her heavy black bangs. “Really?” She climbed onto the roof while I shoved my flute into its spot. “Oh, Sam.”

I scurried up the hatch after her, and hauled myself onto the roof. The riders were closer now. There were more than I had originally thought. Two hundred, at least; maybe more. They were armed with bows and spears, and just under the pounding of hooves, I could hear the roar of their yelling.

“Those aren’t riders.” Whit stood at my side, gazing eastward. “Those are centaurs. Part human, part horse.”

I squinted. She was right. The human parts were so far forward, they couldn’t have been people sitting astride horses. Their bodies were long and slender, and their faces much narrower than a human’s. And as they drew nearer, they raised their weapons. At us.

All along the caravan, people shouted and pointed. Men took to their horses and kicked them toward the plains, where the centaurs began loosing their arrows.

“We’re under attack,” Whit breathed. She scrambled toward the front of the wagon, where Orrin drove the team of ponies. “Don’t stop the wagon. No matter what, keep going.”

I couldn’t hear Orrin’s response over the rush of wind as the wagon jerked faster. On the road ahead, everyone was moving more quickly, while the warriors who’d been riding alongside the caravan broke off, wielding swords as well as bows.

Fayden appeared on horseback, just below my perch on the edge of the wagon. “Protect our things, Dossam.”

“Me?” Before I could find out how I was supposed to do that, Fayden took off toward the centaurs, along with the warriors and people who were supposed to protect the caravan.

Arrows rained from the lines of centaurs, most landing in the ground, but a few—too many—hit their marks. Bodies rolled off their horses, onto the ground.

Desperately, I gathered up my sling and a few rocks that were scattered on the wagon roof. Whit was already back inside the wagon, and I wasn’t sure where Stef had gone. As the caravan moved faster, and the world came alive with shouts and screams and the sounds of people dying, I pressed my stomach to the roof and watched the battle, trying to find Fayden in the mess of people.

Everyone moved so quickly. Nothing made sense. Humans seemed to be winning, thanks to our greater numbers, but the centaurs were fast and frightening warriors.

A centaur slipped through the human ranks, coming right at my wagon.

Our eyes locked and he grinned as he drew back his bowstring. Someone from another wagon shot the centaur, but his arrow was already on its way, flying toward me.

I ducked and rolled away, gasping as I felt the thump of the arrow hitting the wagon right below where I’d been lying a moment before. My breath came ragged and short.

The wagon jerked beneath me, but I held myself still and small until the sounds of battle faded. Then, at last, the caravan paused. To take care of the dead, perhaps.

I lay on top of the wagon, catching my breath until Fayden’s voice sounded nearby. “Dossam? Sam?”

“Here!” I forced myself to sit up, in spite of my shaking limbs. Fayden was climbing atop the wagon, and he appeared unhurt, though sweat and dirt dripped down his face and neck. My whole body trembled with relief. Fayden was alive. “Where’s Stef?”

“I saw him a minute ago. He’s fine.” Fayden looked me over, and his eyes cut to the forgotten sling on the other side of the roof. “Were you hiding?”

“One tried to shoot me!”

Fayden scowled. “I told you to defend the wagon.”

I stared at him. “I almost died.” In spite of that truth, a tendril of guilt slithered through me. I’d been given one task. Just one. And I hadn’t been able to bring myself to even attempt it. I’d hidden, like a coward.

My brother threw his hands in the air. “So did I. So did others. And some did die. You’re not a child anymore, Dossam. You need to learn to fight.”

I shuddered, and the guilt turned into dread. “I can’t. I’m not a fighter.”

“You have to be.” He knelt next to me. The disappointment in his tone was unbearable, but even worse was the understanding. He knew why I’d hidden. “This isn’t the Community. We’re more vulnerable out here than ever. You need to learn to defend yourself, and the other people in this wagon.” With a sigh, he offered his hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. We’ve got to help bury the dead. Then we’ll work on getting you in shape to defend yourself.”

10

FAYDEN FORCED ME to throw rocks with him first thing the next morning.

“This isn’t hard.” He scooped up a few palm-sized stones. “Slip the loop around your fourth finger; hold the other end between your forefinger and thumb. Wind back and throw, releasing the loose end of the cord.”

He demonstrated, swinging the sling back and around so it made a figure eight in the air. He released. The rock whizzed through the air and struck a fallen sign a few dozen paces away. A loud whap echoed where the stone hit a line of faded numbers.

“Just like that.”

I heaved a sigh and attempted to follow his instructions. The loop went over my finger easily enough, and I grasped the other end as he showed me. But the jagged rock he gave me kept falling from the leather pouch before I ever managed to get it moving.

“It’s broken.” My rock clattered to the ground.

“Hold on to the rock through the pouch.” He showed me. “Drop it as you’re winding back. Let gravity help your momentum.”

“Okay.” Dubiousness colored my voice, but I did as he said. The rock stayed in place as I swung it back and up and around, just like I’d seen Fayden do—

Sharp pain crackled up my left shoulder. Swearing, I dropped everything and clutched my shoulder. “That hurt!”

Fayden laughed and shook his head. “That’s pathetic. You have to release the stone or of course it will swing back and hit you.”

“You’re the worst brother,” I muttered, gathering up my supplies.

“You know I’m the best.” Fayden jerked his head toward the sign he’d used as a target earlier. “Try again. Aim for the sign. It’s big enough, even you should be able to hit it.”

“Don’t be so sure.” I fitted the sling onto my hand again, loaded the rock as he’d shown me, and swung back and around. This time, I released the cord between my finger and thumb, and the stone whistled through the air—somewhere far to my left.

Fayden grinned. “Well. That’s closer to the target than your shoulder. Try again. Step into it this time.”

As dawn bled across the sky, I practiced hurling rock after rock. My arm grew sore, but after several dozen tries, I finally managed to land a stone sort of near the sign. It clanged against the enormous metal pole that had once held the numbered sign high above the road.

“Well done!” Fayden clapped my back, making me stagger forward. He wore a wide grin. “Soon you’ll be out hunting for supper with me.”

I doubted that. Not if they wanted to actually catch supper. But I smiled, too, because I was improving.

“Once more.” He glanced over his shoulder at the caravan where everyone was waking and beginning to prepare for departure. “Then we’ll grab some breakfast.”

“Okay.” Rock waiting in the sling pouch, I sucked in a deep breath, let it drop back and around. I stepped forward and released, and a whine sounded from air cutting across the ridges.

The rock smacked against the sign, a small thunderclap echoing around the caravan. A number five fell to the ground.

I laughed and threw my hands into the air. The sling cord dangled in my face. Fayden was laughing, too.

“Now,” he said, “you may practice your music. We’ll work on this more when we stop tonight.”

Buoyed by his praise and pride, I helped with breakfast and soon the caravan was on the move.

We trundled past decaying wooden shacks, fallen metal towers, and miles and miles of half-buried black wires. Earthquakes and storms during the Cataclysm had claimed so much of the previous civilization. Was there anyone else out there? Other children of the survivors?

Or were we all alone in the world?

After my morning duties were taken care of, I climbed onto the roof of the wagon with my flute. I knew only the basics of the instrument—how to blow across the hole, where to put my fingers, and to keep my posture straight to achieve a better sound—but I hadn’t had the opportunity to learn much more.

Now, I pinned my music book open with a pair of rocks, studied the fingering charts, and began with simple scales. One octave. Two. I learned how to adjust my mouth and throat to the pitch, where to turn the flute in or out to stay in tune, and how to make my breath last as long as possible.

Stef popped his head out from inside the wagon and rested his elbows on the roof. “Didn’t you just start learning that?”

My sling arm ached as I lowered the flute. “I know. I have a lot of work to do.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, you’re really good at it already. It’s a little scary.”

I inspected the flute, how the silver shone in the hot sunlight. “I wouldn’t say really good, but I guess . . . it just makes sense to me. Music just makes sense. Like you understand machines and”—I waved a hand—“stuff I don’t.”

Stef nodded. “Well, play a song.”

“Songs have words.” But I turned a few pages in the music book and found something that looked simple enough. I studied it for a few minutes, silently finding the notes on my flute before I risked playing it aloud. On the tops of the neighboring wagons, people peered over curiously. More people than there usually were.

Stef followed my glances. “You can do this,” he muttered. “You’ve played for Fay and me a million times. Just forget they’re there.”

“Then I was playing an instrument I had more experience with.”

“Only one way to get experience with this one.” Stef winked and pulled himself the rest of the way onto the roof. When he was reclining against the edge, he motioned toward the flute. “If you please.”

Annoyed and grateful to him at once, I lifted my flute.

A long, silver sound poured across the landscape as I began to play. Knots of worry and uncertainty untangled in my heart, and the whole world faded until all I could hear was the flute’s piercing voice, the bass of wheels rumbling over the crumbling road, and the percussion of Stef thumping his palm on the wagon roof.

Music lifted and carried me. It wasn’t great; I could hear all the imperfections and the limitations imposed by my own lack of skill—but I’d practice. I’d practice for the rest of my life if it meant I could feel like this.

When I finished, people atop the neighboring wagons clapped. “Play it again!” someone called, and I felt my face pull into an awe-filled grin.

People did like music. And maybe now, more than ever, they needed it.

I wasn’t so useless after all.

The caravan moved slowly. We traveled alongside the range of immense mountains for over a month before we reached an enormous, fast-moving river, and were forced to trust ancient, pre-Cataclysm bridges to allow us safe passage. It took three days for the entire group to cross, made more miserable because of a sudden rainstorm.

The weather stayed humid and hot for days, and the looming mountains in the west seemed like an impenetrable wall, but sometimes I spotted ruined roads winding around the sharp curves. Night came earlier and earlier as the weeks turned into months and the weather cooled. Autumn browned the trees and land, and it seemed our lives had always been this: rising early, preparing the wagon, gathering fresh water and food before the call to push off.

Our days had always been bartering with others—with Stef fixing wagons, Fayden running errands for anyone who could pay with food, and me standing atop the wagon in constant search of danger. Sunlight baked my shoulders and arms, faded my black hair to brown, and made my eyes water every time we neared a river or lake; the reflection of sunlight on water made it hard to see.

Dust was the worst. It crept into everything, especially my clothes. My skin itched from the moment I awoke to the second I finally fell to sleep. Nothing helped.

Several times, I spotted crumbling cities, most smaller than the one we’d left. One thing they all had in common, however, was the slow creeping of nature, trees and brush and grass steadily destroying what humans had built centuries ago. It was a constant reminder that nothing was permanent, least of all us.

We were all temporary.

I lost track of days.

There’d been several more attacks after that first one, most too far ahead of this end of the caravan for us to have time to help; the centaurs—it was usually centaurs—had too few numbers to engage us in a battle that lasted longer than a half hour. But we heard about the skirmishes, the small raids and attempts to creep in during the night. Security around the caravan grew tighter as the months passed us by.

Then, quite suddenly, the world grew cold, and the caravan shifted, moving not alongside the mountains, but aiming through them. The caravan fore curved ahead of us, moving up and over crumbling roads. And high above them, the mountaintops turned bare and white.

I had no clue how Meuric knew where to go, but he must have, because every day we set out with a purpose. Though here at the end of the line, our purpose was mostly keeping up with the rest of the travelers. And not freezing to death.

The cold snaked into everything, like a living force. My throat and eyes ached from the frigid, dry air, and when I took off the cloth protecting my mouth and nose from dust, I could see my breath misting before me.

“Do you think Janan is worth all this?” I asked Fayden as the wagons rumbled through the mountains. The road here was treacherous and narrow—too narrow for him to ride his horse next to us. Below, Stef cursed at whatever he was building. Some kind of defensive device.

“All this what? Ages of travel?” Fayden sat opposite me, his voice not quite lost beneath the wind and grumble of our passage. Other voices echoed above and around us.

I nodded. “Yes. That. But also the Community burning. Abandoning the old city, and the plague victims quarantined inside.” A blast of frigid wind sent us both shivering, and I wrapped my arms around my middle. I already wore almost all the clothes I owned—plus new wool items we’d traded for—but even so, I’d never been so cold in my life. “Being here, too. In this place.” I gestured around, toward the mountains rising all around us. With so much strength and height, it seemed they were holding up the sky. “This place is alien. We don’t belong here. It’s so cold and different. Do any of us even know how to survive here?”

Fayden shrugged and pulled his jacket tighter over his shoulders. Like everyone else, he wore a cloth over his nose and mouth, and a knitted hat drawn down to his eyebrows. Only his eyes were uncovered, and they were narrowed against the stinging cold.

It was hard to believe we’d ever been warm, or longed for a day of cooler weather.

“We’ve lost even more people to plague and sickness on this journey.” I slumped and massaged my temples. “This place is going to kill us. If not the attacks, it’ll be because we all froze to death.”

My brother glanced downward. “I know.” We’d both helped bury some of the bodies.

“And everything Meuric does just seems so suspicious.” I peered north, but I couldn’t see the beginnings of the caravan around the winding mountain road. “I keep seeing riders around his wagon.”

“He is our acting leader. He has a lot of people to order around.”

I shook my head. “Sometimes they leave the caravan altogether, and I never see them again.”

“You’re not always watching for them, are you? Maybe you don’t see their return. Or maybe they die.”

“But why? Where are they going? What are they doing?” I tugged off my hat and ran my fingers through my dust-stiff hair. “What could be killing them?”

“More centaurs? I don’t know.” Fayden braced himself against the roof and repositioned himself. “He swears we’ll be there soon, though.”

“Where?” I gazed north, but all I could see were endless mountains dusted white with snow. Golden sunlight caught the knifelike ridges, making heavy shadows contrast the glow. “Where are we going?”

“To rescue Janan.”

And I still couldn’t understand why.

Why all of us? What had Janan been doing in the first place? Maybe there was a good reason for everything, but we hadn’t been told enough. We’d been expected to follow. And those who hadn’t had been punished.

Killed.

Meuric was acting so harshly in Janan’s name. Was that how Janan had ruled, and we’d just never noticed? How did we know that we were doing the right thing by following?

I couldn’t be sure anymore. I didn’t know what was right. Or if it even mattered.

We were all going to die one day anyway.

The wagon followed a long curve around the mountain and I saw it: our destination.

How I knew, I couldn’t say, but something deep within my soul shifted and I had no doubts.

“Look,” I breathed. Mist fell from my lips.

Fayden stood and followed my gaze.

In the distance, a white column pierced the sky. From so far away, it looked reed thin and frighteningly lonely in the gold and red and russet foliage, but it must have been so, so strong. I couldn’t find the top of it, even though the sky was clear and blue. It was like a beam of light shot into the sky, infinite and unearthly. It sang to me, calling me closer. For the first time since we’d left the old city, something like music stirred inside of me.

“It must be enormous,” said Fayden. “To be visible from this distance.”

Before and behind us, wagons rolled to a stop as everyone climbed onto the roofs to stare.

A white wall ran around the soaring tower, surrounded by a thick forest, all vibrant with coming winter. I’d never seen such an array of autumn shades by the old city, but here the trees shone copper in the sunlight. Everything down there looked so perfect and still, like a painting.

Mist or steam floated near the wall, a ghostly sight that made me shiver. Just as I was about to ask where the vapor came from, water shot into the sky, shattering the stillness. I imagined the eruption of water was loud, but from this distance, it was all silent.

“What is this place?” Fayden whispered.

“This is it,” came the voices from ahead. “This is where Janan is being held.”

I stared at the white tower, struggling against the tide of awe that washed through me. What had captured Janan? What had imprisoned him in that? Janan must have done something truly terrible to earn this fate.

Slowly, the wagons wound down the old road. Mountains rose like jagged teeth around us.

From this high point of the road, I could see the first wagons reaching a forested plateau. They headed toward the white wall, which looked immense even from so far away. The wagons looked so tiny underneath its shadow.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” said Fayden. “What do you think will happen?”

What made him think I had any idea? But I just shook my head and called Stef up to look, and the three of us stood atop the wagon together, watching our future grow ever nearer as we descended the mountain.

It took all day for the last of the wagons to reach the plateau, and purple dusk crept over the sky as the sun vanished beneath the high mountain peaks. The roads here had been worn away long ago—if there ever had been roads here—and the forest made navigating in the wagons difficult.

Wolves howled in the distance, and birds squawked at our passage. Though it was cold and everyone was exhausted, we pushed through the woods, trampling undergrowth. Everything was flattened by the time my wagon reached it.

Only a full, heavy moon illuminated the landscape; it was too closed in for torches. Scouts and guards vanished in and out of the woods, calling instructions and locations. In spite of the unfamiliar surroundings, everyone seemed in good cheer. We’d arrived.

And above everything, the white tower rose, a pale shadow on the sky, visible only because of the moonlight.

“Everyone thinks that’s where he’s being kept,” said Fayden.

“Everyone?” I rolled my eyes. As if he’d had a chance to poll the entire Community and ask what they thought about the tower. But it seemed likely; it was the only structure here. It didn’t appear old enough to be pre-Cataclysm, and if the enemy Meuric kept talking about was as powerful as he’d said, no doubt they could have constructed this tower . . . this prison.

The wagons ahead of us began to slow as the Council’s warriors waved them into spaces. “Here! Put your wagon here!”

In a wide field near the shining lake I’d seen from the mountains, the warriors organized everyone into ranks. Everyone had a tiny amount of land to spread out for the night, to put out their tents or sleeping pallets.

Stef climbed off the wagon and vanished inside to help his aunts. “Want to see if we can find someone who knows what’s going on?” I asked, stripping off the cloth covering half my face. “It’ll be a little while before supper is ready.”

“Sure.” Fayden poked his head into the wagon to let Stef and his aunts know where we were going, and then we headed deeper into the camp.

Everywhere people bustled back and forth, gossiping and pointing at the tower rising in the distance.

“What do you think is in there?” a man asked.

“What built it is a better question.” His wife stared upward, mouth dropped open. “Was it already here when they trapped Janan inside of it? Or did they build it specifically for him?” She shook her head. “It’s incredible.”

They were good questions—and I couldn’t even guess the answers.

“There are holes that shoot water out of them,” said another person as we passed.

“The ground is really thin in some places. I could feel the hollowness when I stepped. We should make sure no one puts their wagons there.”

Lively talk filled the camp like music. Fayden, who seemed to know everyone, waved and grinned at people, promising we’d join them for a meal soon. “This is my brother, Dossam,” he said a few times. “You probably heard his music on the way here.”

“That was you?” replied one woman as she pressed her palm to her chest. “The best parts of my day were when you played.”

A few others hugged me in response to Fayden’s introduction, and I felt it, the thing I had wanted all along: for a few people, my music had become real and valuable and important. To these people, my music had been useful—and might always have been, if I hadn’t hidden it out of fear that someone might take it away.

In spite of the cool wind whipping around wagons and trees, the air grew warmer as people built fires and pulled out pots to cook in. Others worked by the lake, catching fish and hauling water to trade.

The music of voices and life flowed about the camp, tempting me into a smile. I hadn’t wanted to come on this quest to find a leader I didn’t care about, but for the first time, I was glad I was here—and not just because I was relieved not to have been killed back at the old Community.

The mountains all around were strong and sheltering, casting the sensation of safety over the plateau. The woods, while cold and unfamiliar, seemed peaceful enough, and they were beautiful.

This was an area I could learn to love, even with the strange wall and tower rising just to the north.

Besides, I had my brother and best friend with me. As long as I had them, I had everything I needed.

At last, a voice filled with authority sounded, and I dragged Fayden to where Meuric stood atop his wagon—a much grander affair than ours.

“The scouts have informed me of archways in the white wall. In the morning, we will enter the structure and set Janan free!”

People cheered.

“He’s not wasting any time,” I muttered to Fayden.

He chuckled. “Would you, if your favorite person were in there, perhaps unjustly?”

If it were Fayden or Stef? “No. I’d do anything to save them.”

We lingered for a little while before turning toward to the outskirts of camp. We made it only a few paces.

That was when we heard the noise.

Though the sky was clear, with the moon shining brightly and the stars scattered like sparks across the blackness, thunder cracked the night.

11

“WHAT IS THAT?” I searched the sky, but there was nothing. Just moonlight and stars, faintly obscured by cook fires and smoke, as a moment before. “It sounded like thunder.”

My brother was pale, wide-eyed. “I don’t know.” We were still in the thick of the camp, where Meuric had been speaking minutes ago, but now everyone had returned to their duties and the Councilor was nowhere in sight.

As the strange thunder came again, a hush fell over the entire camp. The crackle of fires and susurrus of wind became the only sounds as everyone looked to the sky.

Movement caught my eye, near the immense tower that pierced the heavens. Something long and sinuous twisted through the air, and as thunder clapped again, a long stretch of darkness blacked out the stars.

Others followed my gaze, some pointing, some rooted to their places, as though fear had rendered them immobile.

If fear were sound, it’d be a low humming and the quick tempo of an accelerating heartbeat, punctuated by gasps. It’d be ringing. Deafening. Paralyzing.

More snakelike shapes slithered across the sky, wide wings making the sky black. A dozen of the flying creatures followed that first one, all of them in formation, like birds or . . . or an army.

The winged beasts dipped and adjusted their path through the air, flying straight toward our camp. Panic surged, contagious and violent as the plague: screams and shouts and trampling to reach the perceived safety of the wagons.

But as the beasts drew back their wings and dove, even I knew the wagons wouldn’t provide any safe form of shelter. The wagons would become tombs.

“Warriors! Protect the perimeter!” Meuric called, though the din of screams and feet pounding the ground swallowed the sound of his voice. No one paid him any heed. Many fled toward the forest.

While I had no doubts those enormous creatures could snatch people out of the woods, the trees would provide some coverage.

“Come on!” I grabbed the collar of Fayden’s jacket. “We have to make sure Stef and his aunts get to the forest, too.”

We ran, cutting between wagons and people, trying not to shove them aside, even as people jostled us to get wherever they were going.

At the edge of camp, horses stomped and whinnied, while cattle and other livestock scattered as the beasts dove.

I dodged and ducked as a sharp and horrible scent filled the air. As I glanced up, a dragon spat something brilliant green onto a wagon. People fled the structure, screaming as the wood began to dissolve from top to bottom. The odor of burning filled my nose as Fayden yanked my wrist and pulled me onward.

“What was that?” I shouted. But Fayden didn’t hear me, or couldn’t answer. In the wan light, his face was pale and etched with terror.

Ahead of us, the ground shuddered as one of the beasts dropped to four legs.

It was huge—the biggest creature I’d ever seen. Its fangs were as long as my forearm. The serpentine body stretched into the trees, and wings held just aloft were big enough to throw a shadow over the entire camp. A thick talon gouged a trench in the earth.

I scrambled to a stop, and stared. Giant eyes met mine, and there was a moment when it seemed to look through me. My heart beat double-time as I urged my legs to move, but my whole body felt heavier. I couldn’t do anything.

The beast’s head pulled back, and a faint, glowing green came from within its mouth. Its jaws opened wider, and that sharp, burning scent filled the space between us.

“Dossam, come on!” Fayden snatched my hair and dragged me away from the beast, just as the green stuff spilled across the earth, shining with an unearthly glow.

I staggered after my brother, head jerked at an awkward angle until he released my hair; bits still clung to his sweat-dampened fingers, and then floated toward the green stuff.

The strands sizzled and burned up.

It was acid.

The beasts spat acid.

Quickly, I was off and running behind Fayden, ducking and dodging as other people flailed.

Fayden was just ahead of me, his tall form rising above many of the others. Every so often, he glanced back to make sure I was following. I pushed myself faster to keep up as he raced toward the wagon we shared with Stef and his aunts.

Nothing looked familiar, though. We’d been here for only an hour before everything fell apart, and with the beasts, the panic, and the uncertain light, nothing looked remotely like it had earlier.

Immense wings blocked moonlight, but the world suddenly flickered bright. A fire bloomed toward the center of camp, and the screams crescendoed.

“Fayden! Sam!” Orrin waved to us from beside our wagon, which had fallen in and glowed eerie green on one corner. Bit by bit, the wood crumbled. The horses were gone. “Whit and Stef are trapped inside.”

I glanced at Fayden for orders.

“Check on them,” he said. “I’ll find help.”

Relieved to be told what to do, I surged forward, and with Orrin’s help, began lifting away pieces of wood.

“Careful of the green stuff,” I shouted over the crackle of flame and chaos.

She glanced up at the wagon being eaten away, and nodded.

“What are those things?” Splintering wood pierced my hands as I hurled debris out of the way.

“Dragons.” She jumped back as the wheels collapsed, and the wagon dropped all the way to the ground. Shouts came from within. “They’re dragons.”

Boards and debris that dripped acid jammed the door to the wagon, keeping it from fully opening. No matter how I pulled on the door, it refused to open more than a handspan. I couldn’t remove the debris, and there wasn’t time to wait for the acid to eat away the wood and loosen everything.

I peered into the dark wagon. “Stef! Can you push from inside?”

Whit’s face appeared in the gap instead. “Stef is hurt. His leg.”

I checked around, but Fayden wasn’t back, and the dragons were prowling around the edges of camp, huge and deadly guards.

This was up to me.

“Do you see my flute?” I glanced upward; the hole growing from the acid was larger now. Enough to let firelight shine in?

Whit scrambled around the wagon for a moment. “Yes, I found it.”

“Quickly, put it together. We’ll use it as a lever.”

The seconds seemed so long, and I could hear her grunts of frustration from within; she’d never put together my flute before. I should have had her pass it out to me.

But finally, the metal head joint appeared and I fumbled until I found a position with good leverage. “Orrin, help them out. I’ll hold this open.” I hoped.

Fayden still wasn’t back. He’d be better at this—he was stronger—but Stef was my best friend, and I couldn’t let him die because of my fear. Not after everything else that had happened.

I braced myself against the wagon and pulled on the flute, hard enough to widen the gap.

“More!” Orrin had her shoulders in, reaching for Stef or Whit, but the sisters were small; Stef needed more room to escape.

I rearranged my grip, one hand closing over a few keys. Metal pierced my palm, but the strain in my muscles hurt worse. My arms trembled as I forced the gap open wider. “Hurry.” But the word was just a huff of air, lost beneath the crackling blaze in the center of camp, and the thump of dragons landing. My vision went fluttery around the edges until I could only dimly see Orrin helping Stef through the hole.

He was taking forever. I couldn’t hold the gap open much longer, and soon the acid would eat away the rest of the wagon. They’d be crushed—or trapped again—if they didn’t hurry.

Another pair of hands closed around the flute, between mine. Fayden took the weight of leverage and grunted, “Good job. Now help Stef.”

Blinking to clear my vision, I released the flute a little at a time until Fayden had everything. Fire surged through my palm and blood dripped from where the keys had pierced my skin. I staggered over to Stef, who was limping from the wagon. Orrin released him and turned back for her sister.

“What happened?” I could hardly lift my arms to support Stef, but I forced myself to take as much of his weight as I could; the way he favored his left leg hinted that something was very wrong.

“It’s broken. A shelf fell on me when the wagon wheel collapsed.” He checked over his shoulder. “They’re both out now. Where are we going?”

I scanned the area, but it was so hard to see anything with the smoke and chaos. “I think people are heading into the woods.” Both of us gasping, I guided him away from the collapsing structure. “Can you make it?”

“I think so.” Stef coughed and reached for his aunts as they came to help support him.

I didn’t see dragons toward the trees where people were running. The beasts had once again taken to the sky—most of them anyway—and were circling as though searching for escapees. As I watched, one of the dragons spat a glob of acid on the far side of the camp; new screams erupted.

“We have to hurry. Where’s Fayden?”

“Here.” He appeared at my side and handed me the ruined flute; keys had been stripped off, while the tube was bent and beyond repair. Congealing blood dripped off the metal. “Sorry about that.”

“Using it was my idea. I knew what would happen.” I waved the flute toward the woods. “We’re going there.”

Fayden turned to Whit and Orrin. “Go ahead. We’ll get Stef there as quickly as we can. Find someone who can set his leg. Rin, maybe.”

Orrin gave a terse nod, while Whit touched Stef’s shoulder. “No stopping to build a catapult or any of your usual nonsense.”

“I’ll be good.” Stef flashed a pained smile.

When the sisters took off toward the forest, Fayden grabbed Stef’s other side, and the two of us half carried him through the rubble-strewn camp. I kept the flute in my belt; I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away just yet.

“So, dragons.” Fayden shook his head. “Yet another thing that wants to kill us.”

Stef nodded. “My aunts think we stumbled into their territory. Their hunting grounds, maybe. I guess they didn’t hear that Meuric was planning on us living here.”

“Maybe they did and that’s the problem.” I staggered when my knee gave under the strain of Stef’s additional weight, but I caught myself before we fell. “We’re almost there,” I rasped. A lie. Whit and Orrin, who’d been running, were just now reaching the tree line. We weren’t halfway there.

But others were. Ahead, hundreds of people fled into the woods—toward safety, I hoped. Others came from behind us, burned and bruised, most limping or pressing their hands against bleeding injuries.

And overhead, the dragons seemed to be leaving. Maybe this was a warning, but up they flew, north again until they were beyond the wall and tower.

We were safe. I hoped. Without the supplies we’d packed in our burning wagons, we’d probably all die, but if the dragons were leaving, we had a chance.

“Watch out!” Someone screamed from the trees, just as a heavy thud behind me made the earth jump. Stef, Fayden, and I all went sprawling facedown to the ground.

I scrambled to my feet and spun around to face a dragon—the same one that had looked at me earlier, though I couldn’t tell how I knew. There was just something about those blue eyes, deeper than the sky.

And now it was looking at me again, as though it saw through to my soul, and it hated me.

The familiar rooting feeling began within me, that paralyzing fear that had kept me from acting when my mother’s life was at stake, or when the centaurs attacked the caravan. I couldn’t let that happen again.

I shook myself free of the terror and pivoted to help Stef to his feet. “Come on,” I rasped. “Start limping.”

Fayden flashed a proud grin as we worked together to help Stef, but when I glanced over my shoulder, the dragon’s mouth had opened, revealing those incredible teeth and the faint glow of green from within.

It was going to spit acid.

It was going to kill us.

“Get Stef to safety.” I left Stef’s side and ran toward the dragon. A feral cry tore from my throat as I drew my ruined flute.

“Sam!” Stef cried.

“Let’s go!”

The dragon snarled, revealing the acid glowing on its tongue.

I hefted my flute high and thrust it into the beast’s nostril. It roared, and acid spilled from its mouth as I darted away.

It hadn’t had time to aim. It hadn’t been able to spit the volley of acid on Fayden and Stef.

I didn’t have time to check on them, though. I’d taken only two steps to the side of the growing pool of acid when I hit the ground, jarring my shoulder and elbow. My head struck a rock and the world blurred.

Thunder ripped as the dragon took to the sky.

I rolled and clambered to my feet, my whole body shaking with adrenaline. I’d done it. I’d saved them and sent the dragon away.

“Fayden! Stef!” The names ripped from my throat, lost beneath the rush and wind of the dragon’s wings flapping. Droplets of acid sprayed from the pool, stinging where they touched my face.

Desperately, I swiped my sleeves over my skin, but the burning only spread. My eyes and face itched as I shucked off my jacket; the reek or burned wool seared my nose.

“Fayden?” I blinked through the tears that obscured my vision.

There, beyond the pool of glowing green. Stef was pushing himself up to sit. Behind him, Fayden was on the ground, motionless. Acid covered his legs, and had splashed all across his back. It was too shadowy to see what kind of damage the acid had done already, but he wasn’t moving.

My head spun as I rushed for them. The reek of the acid made my thoughts reel and forced me to breathe shallowly.

Groaning, Stef scooted away from the acid, dragging his broken foot behind him. Over and over, he swore as he grabbed for his boot and began untying it.

Stef was alive.

But Fayden? His legs were covered in green.

I dropped next to my brother’s head, just shy of the pool of acid. He didn’t move—didn’t even seem to realize I was there. “Fayden?” Panic leeched through me as I grabbed his shoulders and dragged him away from the green goo.

His legs did not come with him.

I gagged and wanted to look away, but even as I started to turn my head, the whites of his eyes flashed in the wan light.

“Sam.” His voice was nothing more than a breath; I had to lean close to hear him. “Help Stef. Be brave.”

“I—”

But the life faded from his eyes, and I didn’t know what I’d been about to say anyway. My chest ached and I couldn’t breathe. Dimly, over the roaring in my ears, I heard Stef screaming for me to look up.

A thunderclap overhead drew my gaze. It was the dragon, circling around to attack again.

Blind with tears and horror, I released my brother’s shoulders and grabbed Stef.

I hauled him up and dragged him several steps, him gasping and sobbing every second of it. A glob of acid exploded behind us, and pinpricks of burning dotted the back of my head and neck. With my bleeding hands and still-shaking arms, I adjusted my grip on Stef and dragged him toward the forest.

“Where’s Fayden?” His voice was rough with pain and fear as we entered the shelter of the forest and fell into his aunts’ arms. “What happened to Fayden?”

The words choked me. “My brother is dead.”

12

MY MOTHER.

My father.

And now my brother.

Everyone was gone.

Numb. That was what I was.

I could hardly feel the hands that grabbed me, or hear the voices that shouted my name. I was limp as people tugged off my shirt and dragged me toward the lake to dunk me underwater and wash away the acid. My bleeding hand was cleaned and bound, but I didn’t remember by whom.

Stef was there, his broken leg set and braced, and he was given a smooth branch to use as a crutch. Together we approached the decimated camp as firelight exposed the true horror of the battle.

Smoke drifted over the ruins of our camp. Everything was blackened, almost unrecognizable. Fire and acid had burned through the wagons completely; there would be nothing useful scavenged from the wreckage.

Slowly, acid ate away at everything. There’d be nothing left of this battle by morning.

I stood at the edge of the forest, near where Stef’s aunts had found us, and watched as people emerged from the woods, just a few at a time. They wore dazed expressions, looking as lost as I felt.

People formed small groups, huddled together with the same desperation our ancestors must have felt after the Cataclysm. This was our Cataclysm, wrought by dragons.

We’d brought everything we owned here, and the Council had burned everything we’d left behind. That left us here in a strange, cold land, with fewer people, and defenseless against our enemies.

There were more of us than I expected, though. Thousands—tens and hundreds of thousands—had escaped what should have been a massacre.

Maybe the dragons hadn’t intended to destroy us at all. Maybe they’d simply meant to trap us—as their food?

“We’re trapped here forever,” I muttered. “Until we die, too.”

Stef was uncharacteristically still next to me. “I don’t think that will be very long. For me, at least.”

“What do you mean?” When I looked at him, that cocky, self-assured expression he so often wore was gone, replaced by grim resignation.

“If you hadn’t pushed us. If you hadn’t shoved the dragon aside.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. I’d never seen Stef look scared, but he did now. “The acid would have splashed right onto us. We’d have been dead instantly.”

I’d lost my brother at only a slightly slower pace, but lost him just the same. Stef was alive, though.

“You saved me,” he said. “But my foot lay in the acid for a second too long. I got my boot off and they threw us in the water quickly enough to save most of my foot, but there’s no way to treat it. They said it’s already infected, and it’s just going to get worse.”

“What does that mean?” I whispered.

Stef clenched his jaw and shook his head.

He was dying, was what he couldn’t bear to say aloud. I’d lost my brother, and soon I would lose my best friend.

“What do we do now?” someone asked as more groups emerged from the forest.

“We do what we came to do.” Meuric strode forward and paused near a body that was slowly dissolving into nothing. He swept his hands upward, toward the wall and tower rising in the north. “We release Janan.”

We’d come all this way to rescue one person, only to lose thousands along the way—and everything else we had ever known.

That was Meuric’s fault, and as far as I cared, Janan could stay locked in that tower forever.

“I hope he’s dead in there,” I muttered.

Stef shot me a look. “What?”

“Janan.” I glared at the tower. “I hope he’s dead in there.”

Stef hesitated, nodded, and didn’t need to ask why I felt that way. “Yeah. I get that.” Grief roughened his voice. “I hope he isn’t, though.”

“Why?”

“I want him to see what he’s done to us. I want him to see what we’ve been through for him.” Stef lifted his eyes to the white prison tower. “What kind of leader allows this to happen to his people? I guess— I guess I feel like he owes us.”

“Well, let’s go see if he’s alive.”

The walk into the prison was excruciating.

Meuric, curiously unhurt after the battle, hurried toward the prison with a small escort of warriors and Councilors, leaving the rest of us to trail behind. There were so many of us, most injured and some unconscious.

In spite of Stef’s broken leg and ruined foot, he and I were among the first to reach the white wall that circled the prison. A giant archway granted entrance.

The wall was thick, heavy enough that not even a dragon or troll would be able to get through, although the archways were certainly big enough to allow their passage. But I pushed those thoughts away as we came through to the other side.

The space was immense.

There were trees and brush, but also large fields of open land that dipped and crested. It was dark here already, thanks to the high walls, but torches had been placed in a line straight to the tower in the center. It seemed far away from here.

“Can you make it?” I asked Stef.

In the dancing firelight, he looked pale. His breath came short and choppy, but he gave a clipped nod and said, “I need to do this.”

Sick with grief, I helped him along, struggling to find a pace he could maintain, but that would keep us from getting trampled, as well. There were only a few dozen people ahead of us, and so many behind.

Even with my help, he was gasping and dripping sweat by the time we reached the base of the tower, a huge cylindrical building made of seamless white stone. It looked big enough to hold the entire Center inside it, and more.

When I dropped my head back, I couldn’t see the top.

“Boys.” A familiar Councilor appeared around the long curve of the tower. Sine. I remembered him from the Center. His gaze flickered to the crutch before settling on Stef’s face. “The inventor, right?”

Stef leaned his weight heavily on me. “And my best friend, Dossam.”

Sine beckoned us back the way he’d come. “This way.”

We started to follow, others close behind. Firelight illuminated the growing crowd of exhausted, injured people. Some were being carried, while others crawled along. The night smelled sharp with blood and rotting and lingering acid.

“We’ve been speaking with Janan,” Sine said.

Had it taken us that long to reach the tower? Maybe. Stef leaned all his weight on the crutch and me; his good foot barely touched the ground, except when we stopped.

“Janan’s alive?” Stef shot me a wary glance.

“He is alive, and he’s been working on our behalf ever since his capture.” Sine led us to a cluster of men and women, all of them with subservient postures as they paid attention to one man.

Janan.

He was small, solidly built, with wild hair that would have earned mockery if he hadn’t been so intimidating. There was just something about him, a way he held himself that made him the leader of this group—of everyone here and everyone who’d lived in the Community before.

Janan turned his eyes on Stef and me, sizing us up in an instant: my hunched shoulders, Stef’s broken leg and acid-eaten foot, and the way both of us kept checking the sky. “Hello, boys. You’ll be among the first to hear the good news.” He surveyed the approaching crowd and turned to Meuric. “Everyone is coming? Even the wounded?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Have the warriors conduct a census.”

“Where did you come from?” Stef asked. “I don’t see a door.”

“There isn’t one. And inside, it is so, so empty.” The way Janan grinned was predatory, like a troll or dragon, and gave me the almost desperate need to run; but I wouldn’t abandon Stef. “I didn’t summon you all to discuss my imprisonment. I summoned you to tell you that I succeeded in my original quest: I have found a way to overcome death.”

13

“SO YOU DIDN’T need to be freed?” I asked.

“I did.” Janan glanced at Meuric, who tucked a small silver box into his pocket. “Meuric obtained what was needed to free me. And I am sure you think he could have brought a smaller group here, to accomplish that. But I wanted everyone here.”

“How did you know what Janan wanted, Meuric?” I glanced at the young man, but he just smiled.

“I’ll explain everything when everyone else arrives.” And he did make us wait. Instead of answering our questions, Janan asked about our journey here.

Unable to contain my anger, I snarled, “We lost people. Hundreds. Thousands.” My fists were shaking at my side. “We traveled for months, and people died during that journey. People died as soon as we got here. My brother—”

I gasped for breath, struggling against the swarm of dizziness that filled my head. My heart wanted to curl and crumble under the weight of memories.

“I see,” Janan said. “Go on.”

“And now Stef is injured.” I blinked to clear my vision. “We’re all losing people. Because of this. Because of you.”

Stef flashed a wary look my way, a reminder that I was speaking to Janan. But our leader just nodded, like he cared how deeply we’d all been hurt.

When the crowd began to fill in, I put myself between them and Stef. He was quiet, and breathing hard even though we were standing still.

Help Stef. Be brave, my brother had said.

The trickle of people began to slow. The numbers had gone from hundreds to thousands, and then so many my mind couldn’t begin to comprehend. Guards pushed through the crowd, dividing people into groups of a hundred so they could be counted. Others placed lit torches all around the area, casting flickering light over the assembly.

Meuric nodded at Stef and me. “In you go, boys. That group.”

With Janan watching from atop a platform someone had constructed for him, Stef and I moved into a crowd of other teenagers. I recognized Cris and Sarit, two girls slightly older than I was, and a girl named Julid who Stef thought was pretty.

“What’s going on?” whispered Julid.

“Everything is about to change,” I answered, because Stef was focused on standing; his fingers dug into my shoulder.

At last, the guards and Councilors finished their census. “A million,” reported Meuric. “There are just over a million of us.”

That was half the number we’d begun with in the Community months ago. Had we really lost so many people?

Janan nodded. “That will do.” He straightened himself on the platform and lifted his voice. “I need everyone to be silent. I need all of you to hear.”

The place within the white walls grew quiet, with only the wind in the trees, and the clap and spew of a geyser beyond the wall. No one moved. I doubted anyone even breathed.

“I left the Community,” Janan began, “to seek eternal life. And I found it. I found a way. But before I could return to you with this knowledge, I was stopped. Captured. Trapped here. Because our enemy does not want us to possess this knowledge.”

The crowd was so quiet.

“Now that you are here, however, we can defy death. While I’ve been trapped here by our enemies, I’ve had time to fully comprehend their secrets. Phoenixes live and die and then live again. They exist in a cycle of perpetual reincarnation—rebirth. I’ve learned the truth about immortality and how I can use their magic to make you like phoenixes.” Janan drew a long knife from his belt. It was steel, but in the flickering lights, it looked as though it had been dipped in gold. “And so you will be.”

“We’ll be reincarnated forever?” someone asked. “Like phoenixes?”

Janan shook his head. “Not forever. While you all live your lives, gain knowledge and experience, I will be working on something better. True immortality.”

That was impossible. Stef and I exchanged glances, both of us scowling. We lived, we suffered, and we died. That was the truth of our existence.

Still, a sliver of hope pierced me. Stef was dying. We both knew it. If reincarnation were possible . . .

“I see your doubts,” Janan went on. “Your uncertainty. So I’ll tell you more: when you’re reborn, you will forget everything from this lifetime.” He gazed around the ragged assembly. “From family to friends to work, you will forget it all. You will have to relearn skills, such as farming and building and fighting. There is no other way. But I beg you: do not look at this as a curse or punishment. See this as an opportunity. You will be new again. You’ll still be yourselves. Your experiences will still be part of you. What you went through to get here—that will not change. Your experiences will be engraved on your souls; there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. But you will not remember that hardship.

“See this as a second chance at life, this one unburdened by the pain and loss you’ve suffered. See this as a gift, a chance to pursue your dreams. You’ll be given dozens of lifetimes, and in the following ones you will retain your memories of those that came before. All of those lives will be enough to hone your skills in whatever you choose to do.”

The crowd was deathly quiet, but I was still shaking my head. Stef was, too. This wasn’t possible.

We would forget this night, the losses, and the long and dangerous journey. But not be free of it. If the experiences didn’t just go away, they could still haunt us for eternity. We just wouldn’t know why.

Assuming what he proposed was actually possible. Why did he need us to agree so badly? Why was this so important to him that he had to do everything in his power to convince us of the benefits?

I closed my eyes and breathed. I couldn’t imagine forgetting music, and the way it made my heart soar—made life bearable. Forgetting those moments in the concert hall with the piano, my mother encouraging me to play something. Forgetting the way my brother looked at me when he first heard my music, and the strange kindness he’d shown by taking an instrument for me to bring with us. So I wouldn’t be without music.

How could I agree to let go of those memories?

But to become new again? To forget? It might be a relief. I’d forget the pain of Mother’s loss, and Fayden’s death, and the terror of this short, brutal life. It could be worth it, being reincarnated. Having a chance to live without the burden of these haunting deaths.

If Janan told the truth, I’d have a second chance at life—more and more and more chances. And if Mother was right—if I did have music in my heart—surely I’d find my way back to it. I’d gain not just one lifetime of music, but a hundred. Maybe more.

And Stef . . . Stef might live.

“How?” The question was mine, like part of me thought Janan might actually be able to do this. “What is the cost?” I asked.

Good things always had a cost. My music meant Father hated me, even if he never knew about it. Growing close to my brother meant it hurt so much more when the dragon took him. Gaining a friend in Stef meant that if he died, I would have nothing left at all.

The cost for endless life had to be tremendous.

Janan leveled his gaze on me. His voice was somber. “There is a cost. You’re right. And it is a regrettable one. But you’ll never miss it. You’ll never know of its absence. When you die, I will hold on to your soul. I will ensure you are reborn. In exchange, I will take a new soul—a life never lived.”

My mouth fell open. “And what would you do with them? Those souls?”

Behind me, people shifted and muttered, but Janan raised his hand and the noises ceased. “I will . . . absorb their potential. Consume their power. And when I have enough power, I will return to you.”

He would eat them? How could anyone even think like that? Like it might be a good way to get anything done?

I wanted to be sick.

Stef shook his head, just slightly, and his voice was weak. When he whispered, I had to repeat his words: “This isn’t possible. None of it is. You’re talking about souls and magic, as if it’s anything we can actually touch.”

Janan spread his arms wide. “You live in a world with trolls and dragons and phoenixes—creatures that didn’t exist a hundred years ago. There is magic in the world. There’s magic right in front of you. This tower—that wall—wasn’t here until our enemies created it. This, what I am proposing, isn’t imaginary. It is real: an equal exchange of energy. Life for life.”

Silence flooded the area, thick and smothering. Undercurrents of fear threaded the crowd, with people shifting their weight, rubbing chills off their skin, and seeking out others’ gazes for comfort or support.

No. This wasn’t real. The imprisonment had driven him crazy. Horribly, disgustingly crazy.

“You must decide soon.” Janan glanced at the sky, and the moon dipping toward the horizon. Morning hovered beyond the snow-capped mountains.

Why was he rushing us?

“What happens if we say no?” The question came from far back in the crowd, barely audible. “What happens if we don’t agree to exchange new souls for ours?”

Janan’s smile was almost compassionate, almost understanding, but there was a hunger in his eyes that betrayed him. “You will not remember the exchange. Nor will the souls taken know what’s happening. They’ll be ignorant. After all, do you remember before you were born?”

I didn’t even remember being a baby, but I’d been alive then. My lack of memory of those years didn’t mean I hadn’t been aware of my own existence.

“But what happens if we say no?” the questioner asked again.

“You know what happens,” Li said, from where he stood on the outskirts of the assembly. “You were given a choice whether or not to leave the Community, those months ago. You all said yes. You took the challenge to come here. Those who did not . . .”

“They were killed.” My voice was heavy and stiff. “You killed them. You set the Community on fire.”

“We showed them mercy,” said Li. “They’d have died without us, but slower and more painfully. We made it quick so they would not suffer.”

“And anyone who says no now would receive the same merciful treatment?” I asked.

Someone sobbed. People whispered, “I don’t want to die,” and, “I just can’t.” Muttered debates broke out, filling the prison yard with fear and worry and guilt.

I looked at Stef, the way he slumped. Heat radiated off him, and sweat poured down his face and throat. He was barely conscious. “What do you think?” I asked.

He just groaned.

“Decide now,” shouted Janan. “Either embrace new life, or leave us.”

I straightened and peered across the crowd, watching as a few people walked away. I watched as Li and the other soldiers drew their swords and stabbed.

Screams erupted, but the guards shouted assurances: only those who tried to leave would be killed. Everyone else was safe.

As long as they said yes.

I should have walked away. I should have been that strong.

But I wasn’t. I’d seen the dangers of this world, the monsters both creature and human. I’d seen so much death. Didn’t I deserve a little bit of life now?

Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe we’d say yes and nothing would happen, and our lives would go back to the terrifying struggle for survival of before. But Janan and his people would allow us to live, because we’d said yes.

We wouldn’t be slaughtered like the few who walked away.

It felt awful, agreeing to something like this, even if it wasn’t real. Even if Janan couldn’t keep his promise, deciding we would allow that kind of horror was just as bad as the crime.

Just as I was about to ask Stef what to do—what he wanted to do—he collapsed. His hand slipped from my shoulder and the crutch went flying. I dropped, too, but too slow to catch him, and he looked up at me with such fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to die, Sam.”

I didn’t want to die, either. Not after I’d finally learned to enjoy life again.

Thunder broke through the cacophony of discussion, of sobbing and uncertainty, and as one, a million people looked to the stars.

Dragons.

They filled the sky with their immense wings.

People shouted and wept, and Janan raised his voice as a door appeared on the side of the tower—a door that hadn’t been there before. “Stay outside if you want to die. But if you want the chance to live, follow me into the tower. I will make you into something new. Something incredible. And all of this terror will be forgotten. Let death be the beginning of new life!”

Some people pushed forward immediately, surging through the small door without a second thought.

Dragon thunder sounded again.

I’d been left behind enough to know the pain of abandonment—to know the all-consuming sorrow of loved ones dying. After everything he’d taken from us, Janan owed us a chance to survive.

People were rushing all around me. The crutch was gone, and Stef was barely conscious.

“Hang on,” I breathed, hating myself for what I was agreeing to. But I couldn’t lose Stef. Not if there was a chance to keep my best friend. My heart thrummed as I steeled myself and wrapped my arms around his torso. He screamed when I started to drag him, but I wasn’t strong enough to lift him completely. “I’m sorry.” The words were lost under the din of terror and dragon thunder as I wedged us into the crowd of people trying to get through the door. “I’m sorry.”

Together, Stef and I went into the tower.

Excerpt from Incarnate

DISCOVER WHAT HAPPENS TO THE REINCARNATED SOULS FIVE MILLENNIA LATER . . . WHEN A NEW SOUL IS BORN.

1

SNOW

I WASN’T REBORN.

I was five when I first realized how different that made me. It was the spring equinox in the Year of Souls: Soul Night, when others traded stories about things they’d done three lifetimes ago. Ten lives. Twenty. Battles against dragons, developing the first laser pistol, and Cris’s four-life quest to grow a perfect blue rose, only for everyone to declare it was purple.

No one bothered talking with me, so I’d never said a word—not ever—but I knew how to listen. They’d all lived before, had memories to share, had lives to look forward to. They danced around the trees and fire, drank until they fell over laughing, and when the time came to sing gratitude for immortality, a few glanced at me, and the clearing was so eerie quiet you could hear the waterfall crashing on rocks a league south.

Li took me home, and the next day I collected all the words I knew and made a sentence. Everyone else remembered a hundred lifetimes before this one. I had to know why I couldn’t.

“Who am I?” My first spoken words.

“No one,” she said. “Nosoul.”

I was leaving.

It was my eighteenth birthday, only a few weeks after the turning of the year. Li said, “Safe journey, Ana,” but her expression was stony, and I doubted she meant it with any sincerity.

The Year of Drought had been the worst of my life, filled with accumulated anger and resentment. The Year of Hunger hadn’t started much better, but now it was my birthday and I had a backpack filled with food and supplies, and a mission to find out who I was, why I existed. The chance to escape my mother’s hostile glares was a happy benefit.

I glanced over my shoulder at Purple Rose Cottage, Li standing tall and slender in the doorway, and snow spiraling between us. “Good-bye, Li.” My farewell misted in the frigid air, lingering when I straightened and hitched my backpack. It was time to leave this isolated cottage and meet . . . everyone. Save the rare visitor, I knew no one but my snake-hearted mother. The rest of the population lived in the city of Heart.

The garden path twisted down the hill, between frost-covered tomato vines and squash. I shivered deeper into my wool coat as I began the march away from the woman who used to starve me for days as punishment for doing chores incorrectly. I wouldn’t complain if this was the last time I ever saw her.

My boots crunched gravel and slivers of ice, which had fallen from trees as morning peeked between mountains. I kept my fists in my pockets, safe in tattered mittens, and clenched my jaw against the cold. Li’s glare stalked me all the way down the hill, sharp as the icicles hanging from the roof. Didn’t matter. I was free now.

At the foot of the hill, I turned toward Heart. I’d find my answers in the city.

“Ana!” From the front step, Li waved a small metal object. “You forgot a compass.”

I heaved a sigh and trudged back up. She wouldn’t bring it to me, and it was no surprise she’d waited until I got all the way down before reminding me. The day I’d gotten my first menstruation, I’d run from the washroom shouting about my insides bleeding out. She’d laughed and laughed until she realized I actually had thought I was dying. That made her guffaw.

“Thank you.” The compass filled my palm, and then my front pocket.

“Heart is four days north. Six in this weather. Try not to get lost, because I won’t go looking for you.” She slammed the door on me, cutting off the flow of warm air from the heater.

Hidden from her sight, I stuck my tongue out at her, then touched the rose carved into the oak door. This was the only home I’d ever known. After I was born, Menehem, Li’s lover, left beyond the borders of Range. He’d been too humiliated about his nosoul daughter to stay, and Li blamed me for . . . everything. The only reason she’d taken care of me—sort of—was because the Council had made her.

After that, still stinging from Menehem’s disappearance, she’d taken us to Purple Rose Cottage, which Cris, the gardener, had abandoned and Li had given a mocking name when no one thought the roses were blue. As soon as I was old enough, I spent hours coaxing those roses back to life so they’d bloom all summer. My hands still bore scars from their thorns, but I knew why they guarded themselves so fiercely.

Again I turned away, tromped down the hill. In Heart, I would beg the Council for time in the great library. There had to be a reason why, after five thousand years of the same souls being reincarnated, I’d been born.

Morning wore on, but the chill hardly eased. Snowdrifts lined the cobblestone road, and my boots flattened the film of white that developed over the day. Every so often, chipmunks and squirrels rustled iced twigs or darted up fir trees, but mostly there was silence. Even the bull elk nosing aside snow didn’t make a sound. I might have been the only person in Range.

I should have left before my quindec, my fifteenth birthday and—for normal people—the day of physical adulthood. Normal people left their parents to celebrate that birthday with friends, but I didn’t have those, and I’d thought I needed more time to learn the skills everyone else had known for thousands of years. Served me right for believing every time Li said how stupid I was.

She’d never have that chance again. When the cottage road ended, I checked my compass and took the fork that led north.

The mountain woods of southern Range were familiar and safe; bears and other large mammals never bothered me, but I didn’t bother them, either. I’d spent my youth collecting shiny rocks and shells that had wormed to the surface after centuries. According to books, a thousand years ago, Rangedge Lake flooded this far north in rainy seasons, so now there were always treasures to hunt.

I didn’t break to eat, just nibbled on cellar-wrinkled apples while I walked, leaving a trail of cores for lucky critters to find. Stomach sated, I tugged my shirt collar over my nose, making breath crawl across my lips and cheeks. With my throat and chest full of warm air, I sang nonsense about freedom and nature. My footfalls kept cadence, and an eagle cried harmony.

I’d never had formal music training, but I’d stolen theory books from the cottage library and, a few times, recordings of the most celebrated musician in Range: Dossam. I’d memorized his—sometimes her—songs so I’d have them after Li discovered my theft; the beatings had been worth it.

Gradually, the cloud-diffused sunlight sank toward the horizon, silhouetting the snowy peaks on my right. Odd, because I was going north, so the sun should have set on my left.

Perhaps the road had snaked around a hill and I hadn’t noticed. The mountains were filled with tricky paths that looked promising until they stopped at a small lake or canyon. When plotting roads through the wilderness, engineers had been careful to avoid those things, but they still had to be mindful of steep hills and mountains. Curves, both sharp and shallow, were to be expected.

But when I left my backpack on the cobblestones and climbed a cottonwood to get a better view, I couldn’t find a place where the road turned back. As far as I could see through the twilight gloom, the road carved a path through firs and pines, straight past Rangedge Lake, which marked the southern boundary of Range.

Li had tricked me.

“I hate you!” I hurled the compass to the ground and squeezed my eyes tight, not even sure who I should be angry at. Li, who’d given me a bad compass, or myself, for trusting her to offer even that much kindness.

I’d wasted an entire day of walking, but at least I’d noticed before passing beyond Range. The last thing I needed was to run into a centaur—quite possible this far south—or sylph, which haunted the edges of Range. They didn’t usually come in, thanks to heat-detecting traps placed throughout the forest, but I’d often dreamt of them as a child, and I wasn’t always convinced the shadows and warmth were nightmares.

Whatever. Li would never know about her victory if I didn’t tell her.

Full dark settled as I climbed off the cottonwood; only thin moonlight penetrated the clouds. I fished through my backpack until my hand closed around the flashlight, gave the tube a few sharp twists, and set up camp by that white glow. There was a fast-running stream just off the road, and thick conifers sheltered a clearing barely big enough for my sleeping bag.

I swept snow out of my way and laid the bag on the ground. It was large enough to zip over my head and leave sprawling room. I didn’t have a tent, or need one; it’d take too long to warm up, since Li hadn’t given me a heater. Not that I’d expected such decency. Still, when I crawled inside, I quickly grew as toasty as if I’d been in the cottage.

Maybe, once I learned where I’d come from and whether I’d be reborn, I could live in the wilderness of Range forever. I didn’t need anyone else.

As the flashlight grew dim, I hummed the melody of my favorite sonata, sound muffled against my ears. The bag was stuffy, but it was better than waking up with a mouthful of snow. My eyelids grew heavy.

“Shh.”

I snapped awake and stiffened, clutching at my flashlight, not ready to turn it on, not ready to dismiss the idea.

“Hushhh.”

A deep groan came from across the stream. No twigs cracked under footfalls, however, and no branches rustled. All was quiet, except water tumbling from rocks. And the whispers.

The murmurs continued; someone else had decided to make their camp here, and somehow missed seeing my sleeping bag.

Fine. I’d leave. I wasn’t ready to deal with anyone so soon after Li. She’d always said people wouldn’t like me because of what I was, and I didn’t want to explain to anyone why I was on the very edge of Range. Leagues and leagues of human territory, most people holed up in Heart, and someone had to stop here of all places.

The intruders’ tones never changed as I slipped my arms into coat sleeves and pushed my belongings inside my backpack. Years of avoiding Li’s notice had been useful for something after all. Frigid air snaked in as I unzipped the bag and crawled out.

Someone moaned. Now I really wanted to leave.

I rolled the sleeping bag, stashed it away in my backpack, and crept toward the road by snow-reflected moonlight, just bright enough that I could make out trees and underbrush. No tracks from my visitors, though. I must have slept for a little while, because the sky was clear and black, with a dusting of stars like snow. Wind rattled tree limbs.

“Shh.” The whispers followed my retreat.

Heart speeding, I twisted my flashlight on and swung the beam toward the burble of water on rocks. Snow, dirt, and shadows. Nothing unusual, except disembodied voices.

As far as I knew, only one creature moved without touching the world. Sylph.

I fled down the road, snow crunching under my boots and icy air shivering into my lungs. Moans became shrieks and laughter. While the heat on the back of my neck might have been terror-fueled imagination, the sylph were gaining. I’d survive a graze of their burning touch, but anything more would kill me.

There were ways to capture them long enough to send them far into the wilderness, but I didn’t have the tools. There was no way to kill a shadow.

I ducked into the woods. Branches slapped my face and caught on my coat. I tore myself free every time, pushing deeper into the forest. Only hissing hinted how close the sylph were.

Freezing air stung my eyes, and the flashlight was already dimming; it had been Li’s spare because it was old. My chest burned with cold and fear, and a cramp jabbed at my side. Sylph keened like wind whistling in a storm, closer and closer. A tongue of invisible flame landed on my exposed cheek. I yelped and pushed harder, only for my bag to snag on a tangle of pines. No amount of yanking freed it.

Sylph melted snow as they formed a dark circle of cacophony and wind. Tendrils of blackness coiled toward me, and the burn on my cheek stung.

I slipped my arms from my backpack and darted between the shadow creatures, a rush of heat on my face like leaning into an oven. They shrieked and pursued, but I could move in tighter quarters now that I was unencumbered. Trees, brush, fallen logs. I dodged and jumped, fighting to keep my thoughts together, focused on getting past the next obstacle rather than the snow and cold, or the fiery death that chased me.

Perhaps I could lead them to one of the sylph traps. But I didn’t know where they were. I didn’t know where I was.

My flashlight went dark. I thumped the butt and twisted the tube until weak light revealed bright snow and trees.

Sylph moaned and wept, closing in as I avoided a snow-covered fir. Heat billowed on the back of my neck. I hurtled over a log and skidded at the edge of a cliff overlooking the lake. Snow slipped under my boots as I threw myself to my knees to stop before falling over the rim. My flashlight wasn’t so lucky. It clattered from my mittened hands and plummeted into the lake with a splash. Three seconds. A long drop.

Wind gusted up from the water as I climbed to my feet. Sylph floated by the woods, seven or eight of them, creatures twice my height made of shadows and smoke. They glided forward, melting snow as they trapped me between them and a cliff over Rangedge Lake.

Their cries were of anger and hopelessness, ever-burning fire.

I glanced over my shoulder, the lake a stretch of darkness and nothing behind me. If there were rocks or chunks of ice, I couldn’t see them. Drowning would be a better end than burning in sylph fire for weeks or months.

“You won’t have me.” I spun and leaped off the cliff. Death would be fast and cold; I wouldn’t feel a thing.

2

WATER

A SCREAM ECHOED. Mine.

I inhaled and slapped my hands over my mouth and nose. Water slammed into my boots and up my sides, covering my face. Pressure swept the air from my chest and throat in a flurry of bubbles. Cold soaked my coat, dragging me deep.

Mittens didn’t work like fins, and my boots were too heavy to let me kick. With the numbing cold, I barely felt the chunks of ice that thumped against my flailing limbs as I scrambled to the surface. Gravity felt the same in all directions underwater, but even as I thought I’d gotten turned around, icy wind stung my face.

I spit water and gasped. I tried to push myself to the nearest shore, but my arms were too heavy to lift with my clothes all waterlogged. The weight drew me under again, leaving only seconds for me to fill my lungs.

No matter how I struggled, I couldn’t find my way back to the surface. I grabbed on to a lump of ice and tried to haul myself up, but it sent me spinning instead. A glow drew my gaze: the flashlight, drifting to the bottom I couldn’t see.

I kept my mouth sealed shut, but my chest spasmed as my lungs yearned for fresh air where there was none. If the freezing temperature didn’t kill me first, the water would. I couldn’t move.

My thoughts grew icy and splintered. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, slowing under cold and depth and lack of oxygen. No matter how I tried to reach up, I couldn’t find up, and I couldn’t convince my arms to move. The water became darker as I followed my flashlight to the bottom of Rangedge Lake.

All the air I’d trapped in my lungs escaped, bubble after bubble.

Water gurgled next to me, swirling where it should have been still. As my toes tapped the bottom, light drifted beyond my eyelids and something wrapped around my middle. I shot upward. The grip on my waist tightened and dragged me through black water.

The slow thud of my heart grew ever more distant. My chest jumped, as if that would trick me into inhaling. I couldn’t keep holding my breath. My lungs would explode if I didn’t let something in to ease the pressure.

I couldn’t stop myself. I breathed water and gave in to the cold.

Time drifted in an icy haze. Water moved around me, inside me, and everything grew obsidian-smooth and dark.

I was on my back.

Something pounded on my chest. A rock. A fist. Anger. Chill and wet pressed on my mouth, and heat blew in. The beating on my chest resumed and a bubble formed inside me, grew, and forced its way up.

A dark and dripping face floated in my vision a heartbeat before I choked up lake water. It seared my throat like fire, but I coughed and spit until my mouth was dry. I fell to my back again as the shivers came, rattling through me like the cottage windowpanes in a storm.

I was alive. The freezing wind was colder than the lake, but I could breathe. Someone else’s air filled me. I forced my eyes open, hardly able to believe anyone would bother to rescue me.

The ice and encroaching blackness must have damaged my vision, because I saw a boy’s concerned expression shift to relief. Maybe it was my fading consciousness that made him appear to smile. At me.

Then I was gone, lost in dreams.

Wool blankets brushed my face. My bulky coat and boots were gone, and I was dry, lying on my side. My toes and fingers tingled as the numbness retreated. Already I was sore from my impact with the water, but the only thing that really hurt was the graze on my cheek. Blankets trapped me in a pocket of warm air. Foggy thoughts trapped me in this dream of safety.

Something solid pressed against my back. A body breathed in time with me, steady in and out, until I broke the unity by thinking about it. An arm was slung over my ribs, and a palm rested on my heart as if to make sure it continued beating, or to ensure that it didn’t fall out. Breath warmed the back of my neck, rustling hairs across my skin.

Just as I began to drowse further into my dream, a deep voice behind me said, “Hi.”

I held my breath, waiting for the dream to change.

“It’s been, what, four thousand years since anyone thought midwinter swimming was a good idea? It’s an awful way to go. Did you just want to see if that had changed?”

My eyes snapped open as my situation crystalized. I jumped, legs tangled in the blanket, and my elbow bumped a small heater. The tent seemed to close around me. Only a tiny lamp illuminated the space, but it was enough to show me the zipped door. I lunged for it.

The boy caught my waist and pulled. I dropped to my butt, dragging the zipper with me. Winter air poured inside as I wiggled from his grasp and threw myself into the waiting night. Snow sparkled in moonlight, deceptively peaceful with its smothering silence.

Wool socks protected my feet until I got to a line of trees across a clearing, and then pine needles and pebbles stabbed through the snow. I didn’t care. Didn’t stop. I ran anywhere, as long as it was away from sylph and the strange young man. There was no telling what he wanted, but if he was anything like Li, it wouldn’t be good.

Winter caught up with me as I rounded a tower of boulders and stubby trees. Goose bumps crawled up my bare arms. I wore only a thin shirt and too-big trousers—neither were mine.

Freezing air hit the back of my throat with each ragged breath. I stumbled down a staircase of rocks and packed dirt, intent on running again, but the lake stretched wide under moonlight, right in front of me. Wavelets glinted as they lapped the shore and my toes.

I staggered backward, images of ice and a dimming flashlight on the backs of my eyelids every time I blinked. The cliff where I’d fallen—no, jumped—hung over the lake a ways to my right, silhouetted against bright starlight and snowy mountains. I should have died.

Maybe Li had paid that boy to rescue me. It wouldn’t be the first time she used me like a cat playing with a mouse until it nearly died of fright.

Pine needles rustled and snow swished underfoot. Light bled across the waves in front of my feet. I spun around. The boy held a lamp shoulder high, his gaze beyond me. “After I worked so hard saving you, I’d appreciate if you didn’t try to kill yourself again.”

I clenched my jaw against chattering teeth. Tremors racked through me as I searched for escape, but he was blocking the only path. I could try beating him up, or swimming to another shore where he couldn’t follow. Both were unlikely to work, especially since getting back in the freezing lake was the last thing I wanted. He’d probably just save me again.

He must have been strong, dragging me from the bottom like that. Stubble darkened his chin and he towered over me, but he looked my age. Tan skin, wide-set eyes, and shaggy, shadowed hair. Those must have been his arms around me underwater, and his breath that filled me when I had none of my own.

“You might as well come back.” He offered his free hand, long fingers slightly curled in welcome. “I won’t hurt you, and you’re shivering. I’ll make tea.” He didn’t quite hide his shivers, either; no coat or gloves meant he hadn’t taken the extra time to dress for cold before following me. Perhaps his concern was genuine, though I’d thought Li sincere when she reminded me about bringing a compass. “Please?”

My other option was freezing to death, which seemed less appealing now that I was definitely alive. I would watch him, though, and if he did anything Li-like, I’d escape. He couldn’t make me stay.

I followed him through the woods. Didn’t take his hand, just hugged myself and was glad he’d brought that lantern, and that he’d paid attention to where I’d run.

The forest was black with shadows and white with snowdrifts. Fir and pine trees shuddered under the weight of a million snowflakes. I jumped at noises, straining to hear the whispers and moans that had driven me into the lake to begin with.

My cheek still throbbed where the sylph had touched me and was hot to my bare fingers. It didn’t feel blistered, though; doubtful it would kill me. I was lucky it hadn’t gotten me more than that. Large sylph burns were said to grow and consume the entire body over time. Li had warned me it was a painful way to die.

We reached the tent. Outside, a small horse snorted and eyed us from underneath half a dozen blankets. When we didn’t do anything alarming, he tucked his head down to sleep.

My rescuer held open the tent for me. Our boots and coats hung by the door, still damp. Blankets on the left, a small solar battery heater in the center, and his bags on the other side. There was just enough room for one person to stretch out, two if they were friendly . . . or staving off hypothermia. He’d known exactly how to save my life, while I would have panicked in his position. I’d panicked enough in my position.

“Sit.” He nodded at the blankets and heater.

I didn’t lower myself gracefully so much as collapse into a trembling heap. My entire body ached. From cold, from hitting the water. From the fiery shadows chasing me through the woods.

If he’d known I was the nosoul, he wouldn’t have knelt and helped me sit up. He wouldn’t have pulled a blanket tight around my shoulders and scowled at the burn on my cheek. But he didn’t know, so he did. Which meant maybe he wasn’t one of Li’s friends after all. “Sylph?”

I cupped my hand over the burn. If it was obvious, why was he asking?

He retreated to his bags, filled a portable water heater, and flipped the switch. When bubbles rose from the bottom of the glass, he produced a small box. “Do you like tea?”

I forced a nod and, when he wasn’t looking, held my hands toward the space heater. Hot waves prickled across my skin, but the cold burrowed deeper than that. In my feet especially, from running outside. The wool socks—which must have been his, because I could have fit my hands in there too—were damp with snow.

He poured two mugs of boiling water and dropped in tea leaves. “Here.” He offered one. “Give it a minute to finish steeping.”

Nothing he did was threatening. Maybe he had saved me out of the goodness of his heart, though he’d probably regret it if he knew what I was. And now I felt stupid for dragging both of us into the cold night again.

I took the offered tea. The ceramic mug was dimpled from either long use or poor craftsmanship, and a choir of painted songbirds decorated the side. It was nothing like Li’s stark, serviceable belongings. I wrapped my hands around the mug to soak up the warmth, breathing in steam that tasted like herbs. It scalded my tongue, but I closed my eyes and waited for my insides to stop shivering.

“I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Hi.” If not for the risk of melting my insides to puddles, I’d have gulped down the tea all at once.

He peered at me, searching for . . . something. “You’re not going to tell me who you are?”

I frowned. If I admitted to being the nosoul, the thing born instead of someone named Ciana, he’d take my tea and kick me out of the tent. This wasn’t my life, Li had sometimes told me. She hadn’t revealed Ciana’s name then, but I knew I’d replaced someone. I’d overheard her gossiping about it once. Every breath I took should have belonged to someone whom everyone had known for five thousand years. The guilt was crushing.

I couldn’t tell this boy what I was.

“You didn’t have to chase me outside. I’d have been fine.”

He scowled, shadowed lines between his eyes. “Like you were fine in the lake?”

“That was different. Maybe I wanted to be out there.” Stupid mouth. He was going to know if I couldn’t control my stupid mouth.

“If you say so.” He wiped the inside of the water heater dry and stuffed it back in its bag. “I doubt you wanted to die. I was filling my canteens when I saw you jump. You screamed, and I saw thrashing as if you were trying to swim. When you reached the lake a little while ago, you startled like a mouse realizing there was a cat in the room. What were you doing in the woods? How did you run into sylph?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I scooted closer to the heater.

“So you aren’t going to tell me your name.” A statement, not a question. He’d start guessing soon. He could rule out all the people who I definitely didn’t behave like, all the people reborn in the wrong time to be eighteen right now, and all the people my age he’d seen in the last few years. “I can’t remember offending anyone so much they wouldn’t trust me with their name. At least not recently.”

“You don’t know me.”

“That’s what I said. Did you get water in your brain?” It only half sounded like a joke.

I didn’t know of a Sam, but considering the meager collection of books in the cottage library, that wasn’t a surprise. I didn’t know about a lot of people.

I gulped the rest of my tea and lowered the empty mug, mumbling, “I’m Ana.” My insides were warm now, and I wasn’t drowning. When he kicked me out, I’d be no worse off than before, as long as I could find my backpack.

“Ana.”

Shivers crawled up my spine when he said my name. And what a name. When I’d gotten the nerve to ask Li why they chose that, she said it was part of an old word that meant “alone” or “empty.” It was also part of Ciana’s name, symbolizing what I’d taken from her. It meant I was a nosoul. A girl who fell in lakes and got rescued by Sam.

I kept my face down and watched him through my eyelashes. His skin was flushed in the warm tent, with steam from the tea. He still had the full cheeks of his apparent age—close to mine—but the way he spoke held authority, knowledge. It was deceptive, the way he looked like someone I could have grown up with, but he’d actually lived thousands of years. Hair fell like shadows across his eyes, hiding whatever he thought while he studied me in return.

“You’re not—” He cocked his head and frowned. I must have been as easy to read as a sky full of rain clouds. “Oh, you’re that Ana.”

My stomach twisted as I pushed off the blanket, torn between anger and humiliation. That Ana. Like a disease. “I’ll get out of your way now. Thank you for the tea. And for saving me.” I moved for the door, but he held his arm across the zipper.

“That’s not necessary.” He jerked his head toward the blanket again, no room for argument in his tone. “Rest.”

I bit my lip and tried to decide if, as soon as I fell asleep, he would contact Li, tell her he’d found me in a lake, and I wasn’t capable of caring for myself yet.

I couldn’t go back to her. Couldn’t.

His tone gentled, like I was a spooked horse. “It’s all right, Ana. Please stay.”

“Okay.” Gaze never straying from his, I lowered myself again, back under the blanket. That Ana. Nosoul. Ana who shouldn’t have been born. “Thank you. I’ll repay your generosity.”

“How?” He was motionless, hands on his lap and eyes locked on mine. “Do you have any skills?”

Nerves caught in my throat. This was one of the few things Li had explained, and she’d explained often. There were a million souls in Range. There’d always been a million souls, and every one of them pulled their weight in order to ensure society continued to improve. Everyone had necessary talents or skills, be it a head for numbers or words, imagination for inventions, the ability to lead, or simply the desire to farm and raise food so no one would starve. For thousands of years, they’d earned the right to have a good life.

I hadn’t earned anything. I was the nosoul who’d taken eighteen of Li’s years, her food and skills, pestered her with questions and all my needs. Most people left their current parents when they were thirteen years old. Fourteen at most. By then they were usually big and strong enough to make it wherever they wanted to go. I’d stayed five extra years.

I had nothing unique to offer Sam. I lowered my eyes. “Only what Li taught me.”

“And that was?” When I didn’t speak, he said, “Not how to swim, obviously.”

What did that mean? I’d figured out how to tread water when I was younger, but everything was different in the winter. In the dark. I frowned; maybe it had been a joke. I decided to ignore it. “Housecleaning, gardening, cooking. That sort of thing.”

He nodded, as if encouraging me to go on.

I shrugged.

“She must have helped you learn to speak.” Again, I shrugged, and he chuckled. “Or not.”

Laughing at me. Just like Li.

I met his eyes and made my voice like stone. “Maybe she taught me when not to speak.”

Sam jerked straight. “And how to be defensive when no offense was intended.” He cut me off before I could apologize, though my mouth had dropped open to do so; I didn’t really want to leave the warm tent, especially now that the herbs and overall exhaustion were taking effect. I grew drowsy. “Do you know anything about the world? How you fit in?”

“I know I’m different.” My throat closed, and my voice squeaked. “And I was hoping to find out how I fit in.”

“By running through Range in your socked feet?” One corner of his mouth tugged upward when I glared. “A joke.”

“Sylph chased me and I lost my backpack. I planned on walking to Heart to search the library for any hint of why I was born.” There had to be a reason I’d replaced Ciana. Surely I wasn’t a mistake, a big oops that cost someone her immortality and buried everyone else under the pain of her loss. Knowing wouldn’t help the guilt, but it might reveal what I was supposed to do with my stolen life.

“From what you’ve said, I’m surprised Li bothered teaching you to read.”

“I figured it out.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You taught yourself to read.”

The tent was too hot, his surprised stare too probing. I licked my lips and eyed the door again, just to remind myself it was still there. My coat, too. I could escape if I needed to. “It’s not like I created the written word or composed the first sonata. I just made sense of what someone else had already done.”

“Considering how other people’s logic and decisions are rarely comprehensible to anyone else, I’d say that’s impressive.”

“Or a testament to their skills, if even I can figure out how to read.”

He gathered the empty mugs and put them away. “And the sonata? You figured that out as well?”

“Especially that.” I covered my mouth to yawn. “I wanted something to fall asleep to, even if it’s only in my head.”

“Hmm.” He dimmed the lamp and shifted bags around the tent. “I’ll think about repayment, Ana. Get some rest for now. If you want to find your bag and go to Heart, you’ll need all your strength.”

I glanced at the blankets and sleeping bag, wary in spite of exhaustion. “Like before?”

“Janan, no! I’m sorry. I thought we knew each other. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay.” He was probably wondering how he’d managed to find the only nosoul in the world when chances were so much higher of him rescuing someone he already knew. He was showing me more kindness than anyone ever had, though; I should try to reciprocate. “There isn’t much space. I’ll face the wall if you’ll face the other way. That way neither of us is cold.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll face the wall.” He motioned me closer to the heater. “We’ll discuss other issues in the morning, and that’s”—he checked a small device—“in three hours. Get some rest. It sounds like you’ve had a difficult day.”

If only he knew.

About the Author

JODI MEADOWS lives and writes in the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, with her husband, a cat, and an alarming number of ferrets. She is a confessed book addict and has wanted to be a writer ever since she decided against becoming an astronaut. You can visit her online at www.jodimeadows.com.

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Copyright

Copyright © 2013 by Jodi Meadows

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPUB Edition AUGUST 2013 ISBN 9780062315588

ISBN: 978-0-06-231558-8

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