Author: Jodi Meadows

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!”