Author: Jodi Meadows

9

LAKE

I’D BEEN RIGHT about the shift in Heart over the next couple of weeks.

Twice, when I went out on my own, someone threw rocks at me. People jeered and called me names. At the market, people refused to sell things to me without one of my friends there. Strange calls came on my SED, just loud breathing. Stef traced them for me and blocked them from calling again. Then Sam started getting calls.

I tried to ignore it. The rock throwing and SED calling were new, but all in all it wasn’t much different from when I’d first arrived in Heart. The fear and anger were the same.

Every morning, Sam and I had music lessons and practice. I took Council-required lessons in the afternoon—they’d kick me out of the city if I didn’t—and my monthly progress report was coming up. After my long trip to Purple Rose with Sam, I should have been trying to squeeze in more study to make up for time lost, but Lidea called and asked if Sam and I wanted to go to the lake with some friends.

Absolutely.

“What about your paper on the history of geothermal energy?” Sam asked, not quite hiding his smirk as we walked to Lidea’s house.

“I’m sure you can see how devastated I am about going to the lake on the last warm day of the year. Spending time with you, with friends—Ugh. I don’t know how I’ll make it through the afternoon.” I grinned and slipped my hand into his.

With Lidea, Wend, Anid, and a handful of other friends in tow, we headed out the Southern Arch, toward Midrange Lake. It was the biggest lake in Range, and mostly used for the city’s fish and water supply, but there were a few beaches set aside for enjoyment. Sam and I had gone a couple of times over the summer.

Geyser steam wafted across the barren land between the city wall and the forest, reeking of sulfur. I wrinkled my nose until the wind shifted to blow the stink away from the path.

I held on to Sam’s hand, listening while Stef and Orrin inquired about the baby’s health, and Whit and Armande discussed the effort to rebuild sections of Heart that had been destroyed during Templedark.

“The Council isn’t even trying,” Armande complained. “Have you noticed the statues by the Councilhouse? And the relief over the front? Not to mention the stairs.”

“Those things are hardly as important as rebuilding the mills and agricultural areas.” Whit shook his head. “Lots of private gardens and livestock were destroyed, if not by sylph or dragon acid, then by drone fire and neutralizing chemicals. Even with sharing and appropriating supplies from”—his voice caught—“the darksouls, it’s going to be a hard winter.”

“Because the Council stored food in buildings that won’t stand up to dragon acid.”

“Armande,” Whit said gently, “even if they’d put everything in the Councilhouse, it could have been destroyed just as easily. Templedark, remember? The walls were useless.”

The white stone had repaired itself when Janan awakened, so some people preferred to believe the cracked temple had been only a nightmare.

“Anyway,” Whit continued, “you’ve completely changed the subject. You’re upset about the statues and stairs, but don’t you think that’s a little shallow, considering all the things that need to be repaired?”

Armande snorted. “Maybe so, but I’m the one who has to look at them every day.”

“You don’t have to set up your stall. Let people make their own pastries if it’s so difficult to look at pockmarked statues.”

Armande pressed his palm to his chest. “You’re condemning even more people to starvation. Or, at the very least, bad breakfast. Besides, our art is a testament to our society. It’s a symbol of our achievements, like your library and Sam’s music. It’s something to be proud of, and we should take care of it.”

I thought about that as we stepped into the shade of fir trees and headed down a smooth path that thumped solidly beneath my boots. We were off the thinnest part of the caldera.

Sam held aside a low-hanging branch for me, then ducked under after.

“Thanks.” I glanced back; the branch was as big as my arm. “If you’d left it, we could have had matching bruises on our foreheads.”

He laughed. “That’s not as romantic as matching hats or belts.”

“And that’s not romantic at all. Did anyone really do that?”

“Some did. About a thousand years ago.” He rolled his eyes, but his grin widened. “I don’t think I was ever so happy to see a fashion pass. The hats got worse every year. Taller, bigger feathers, ridiculous shapes. It was terrible.”

“Did you ever wear matching”—I couldn’t believe it was a real thing—“hats or belts?”

He shot a look that said I’d wasted my breath asking. Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t even like attending the rededication of souls.

My tone slipped toward mocking. “I should have known not to question your sense of fashion.”

Sam squeezed my hand, his smile full of mischief. “If you asked, I’d probably find us matching hats.”

“You’re such a tease.”

Another ten minutes and we arrived at the beach, all sand and frothy gray water, veiled by evergreen trees on three sides. Immense snow-blanketed mountains stood on the horizon like walls, shaded blue and gray in this weather. These walls, unlike the one around the city, made me feel safe. Protected.

“The beach looks bigger today,” Sam said, as we came off the narrow path, the only access to the beach.

Orrin glanced southward and scowled. “It is. The water line is lower.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Nothing, probably.” Orrin and Whit exchanged looks, and Orrin shrugged. “We’ve had a lot of small earthquakes. Nothing you would have felt, and earthquake swarms don’t necessarily mean anything. They’re just part of living on the caldera.”

I knew that. “But would a tiny earthquake change the level of the lake?”

“Maybe.” He gazed toward the water, probably wishing Rahel—the soul who’d been responsible for monitoring these things—were still alive. “A crack might have opened in the bottom of the lake. We’re on such a thin crust of land here. But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you say so.” People used the lake for water and fish, so if the level dropped, surely that would have an impact on life in Heart. But I didn’t want to get into an argument on such a nice day. When the group stopped in the middle of the beach, I helped Sam spread out a blanket and then squatted by the basket of snacks. Surely Armande had packed honey-glazed buns.

“Don’t worry about the caldera,” Orrin said, crouching next to me. “Whit and I are taking up some of Rahel’s work. If you’re interested, you’re welcome to join us when you have time.”

“Thanks. I might.”

He smiled and peered into the basket. “Have you seen muffins?”

Soon everyone was chatting, laughing, listening to waves brush sand. A few cranes and herons braved the day, but most waterfowl had already migrated south. The baby cried, but Lidea held him close, wrapped up in soft wool blankets, threaded with cinnamon-colored buffalo yarn for extra warmth.

Wend flirted with Lidea, while the others talked about their projects or music they were hoping to play together. After admiring Anid’s tiny fingers and nose and ears—all pointed out by Lidea, as if I couldn’t figure it out myself—I mostly lay on the blanket for hours, writing in my secret notebook and taking in the afternoon’s thin near-winter sunlight and the happy sound of friends’ voices.

The voices stopped.

Suddenly conscious of the change, I looked over my shoulder to follow everyone’s stares.

By the forest, shadows twisted toward sunlight. Five sylph. Ten. They emerged from the forest, silent across the sand.

Dread rushed through me, chased by fear. How had they gotten here? What did they want?

“Do we have sylph eggs?” Stef whispered, reaching for the nearest bag.

“No.” I didn’t have to look. Why would we have sylph eggs when we were so close to Heart? Midrange Lake should have been safe. There had to be a hundred sylph traps all through the forest between here and Menehem’s laboratory.

No sylph eggs. What did we have?

“Protect Anid,” I said, standing. “When you can get him out of here, do it.” The sylph on the edges of Range hadn’t done anything more threatening than sing at us, but here, with more people? With Anid?

I couldn’t take the chance of them hurting him.

“What are you doing?” Armande asked, even as everyone stood and made a protective circle around Lidea and Anid. As if that would stop sylph.

No sylph eggs. My jacket pocket held my knife, the temple key, and my SED.

Unearthly cries shivered across the beach as I drew the SED from my pocket and sent a quick message to Councilor Sine, asking for guards and sylph eggs at the lake. Then I shifted to the music player.

“Get behind me.” My voice quivered, and my heart beat too fast, but toward the forest the sylph had stopped, and they were looking at me. “When they’re distracted, head toward the path. Don’t run or they’ll chase. They’re predators. They can’t help but chase.” No one knew whether sylph somehow ate what they burned, but they would chase.

“Don’t be stupid,” Stef said. “No one’s leaving you.”

“Please.” I shot her a desperate look. “Please just trust me.” Maybe these were the same sylph. Maybe they weren’t. I had to try.

“I’m staying with you.” Sam touched my shoulder, looking uncertain about my plan but determined to remain at my side.

Grateful for his presence, I set my SED volume on high, and strains of a nocturne floated on the air.

The sylph, which had all been curious before, snapped to alertness. All ten focused on me as I stepped to the right, away from the path. Away from my friends.

The breeze picked at the melody, sweeping it across the beach and toward the sylph. They followed the sound bit by bit, edging closer to me like they were afraid I’d take the music away.

The SED had good speakers for its size—Stef had designed everything, consulting Sam for sound quality—so the music was loud and clear as I lured the sylph away from the group. The line of shadows followed me, entranced by the long chords and arpeggios.

“Go.” I tried to keep my voice level, hoping Stef, Lidea, and the others would hear me. “While they’re distracted.”

Orrin and Armande motioned for Lidea and the baby to go first, toward the path off the beach. Pine boughs rustled, but the sylph didn’t turn. They watched me, slipping closer as I bent and placed the SED on the ground. I backed away, and they writhed toward the device, seeming to stare down at it.

Their cries were like wind over canyons: hollow, melancholy, eerie. Heat rolled off them in waves, reeking of ash and death. Any sane creature made of flesh and bone knew to stay away from sylph.

That was my plan as well. Soon my friends would be on the path to the city, and then Sam and I would follow. I’d have to leave the SED to keep the sylph distracted, but surely the Council would replace it. But how would I explain this? Call it an accident? Stef and everyone else had seen me pull out my SED with a purpose.

While my friends escaped, sylph swirled around the device as though dancing. Their moans carried across the graying beach, and then one of their cries hit a high note at the same time as the nocturne. The cacophony snapped, a sensation like walking into a crowded room—and suddenly understanding individual voices and words. One mournful wail became the melody, while another sang countermelody. They all chose parts, like they were members of one of Sam’s orchestras.

Near the path, Stef—the last to escape—turned around, her mouth hanging open. I motioned for her to hurry, and she turned back to the path.