by Jodi Meadows
“They have the tent,” I said again, when Sam yawned.
He kept his voice level as we hiked up a small hill. “We’ll simply have to huddle in the same sleeping bag. For warmth. And so I don’t accidentally lose you to the wilderness.”
“You come up with the best plans.”
He smiled, and we kept walking. The roc was either far behind us now, or had given up trying to force its way through the woods. The trees were still thick, so it wouldn’t descend on us again, but I kept a wary eye on the sky as light bled between the trees and birds began singing to the dawn.
We walked parallel to the path, east and into the wilds outside Range. Small animals scurried through the forest, hiding as we passed, and everywhere there was evidence of larger mammals: tufts of fur on branches, fallen twigs, and piles of dung, which we managed to avoid, thanks to Sam’s caution.
Ice shone on every surface, hoarfrost and glittering icicles, the forest’s jewelry. I brushed my mittened fingers across ice crystals, listening to a few clink as they broke off. Winter, and talking about music with Sam, distracted me from my exhaustion for a while, but by midmorning, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. We sent a message to Stef and told her we were taking a break. Hopefully we’d meet up again soon.
Sam and I settled near a fast-moving stream. I rinsed blood and dirt off my face and arms, then scrubbed my skin dry before crawling into Sam’s sleeping bag with him.
The bag was warm relief after the frigid night and day. Sam had positioned the bag inside a shallow hollow among tree roots—an abandoned animal den, perhaps—so we were concealed on three sides. And Sam, being Sam, made sure he was between the exit and me, which meant that when he curled his body around mine, our burrow was deep and dark. His breathing was warmth on the back of my neck, and his hand rested on my hip.
“Are you comfortable?” he whispered.
“Yeah.” My feet were squished against our backpacks, and we were using the other sleeping bag as an awkward pillow. And though the cloth was thick and soft, a root dug at my shoulder. I shifted toward Sam, and his breath hitched. “Very. Aren’t you?”
His hand trailed up my side. “I wish we were at home.”
“Me too.” My hand slipped to my SED. “And I wish we had music, but I want to be able to hear in case anything happens.” Who knew what else might appear on us, now that we were beyond the safety of Range?
“You can listen if you want.” Sam kissed the back of my neck, making me shiver. It was amazing how he could make me want this huge and unnameable thing no matter where we were, and no matter the circumstances. “Listen if you want,” he said again. “I’ll let you know if anything happens outside. Just relax.”
Relaxing seemed unlikely, but when I pulled out my SED and earpieces and closed my eyes, there was only music.
Warm sounds of the piano pulsed through me. Heavy. Familiar. And with Sam’s presence behind me, soothing me, I drifted into dreamless sleep.
I jerked awake, darkness all around as the earth trembled.
Sam wasn’t behind me. I flailed inside the sleeping bag, discovering that one of the backpacks was gone and night had fallen.
“Sam!” I scrambled outside as the earth shuddered again and dirt rained into the hollow. My SED continued playing an old sonata, even as I ripped the earpieces away from me and shoved the whole thing into my pocket.
The forest was dark, quiet except for the thumping in the ground. It wasn’t like an earthquake—not this time—so it must have been something large moving nearby.
And I’d shouted.
I hunched, making myself smaller as I squinted in the darkness. Faint moonlight found its way through the forest canopy, but everything was still in shadows, and I couldn’t detect any movement.
The ground shuddered under my knees, under my palms when I touched the dirt. The movement was long and sustained, not like a troll plodding down the path. This was something else, maybe vehicles rumbling nearby. Our friends should have been far away, so if the shudder in the earth was vehicles, was it drones or people?
Either way, they wouldn’t be friendly.
I snatched the sleeping bags from the hollow and quickly rolled them up to fit over my backpack. There was no chance I’d find this tree again on my own.
But before I took off, I needed to find Sam. I called his SED, and he answered immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I shook my head and peered through the dark forest. “You’re not here. That’s what’s wrong. Where are you?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went to check on the path. The roc is gone. Flown off, I guess. I’m on my way back now. We can meet up with Stef and Whit soon.”
The rumble in the earth was fading. “Did you see anything? I heard something. Like thunder, but—”
“I heard it.” Sam paused, seeming to focus on something else—walking or climbing, probably—and dragged in a long breath. “I heard it, but I don’t know what it was.”
“Okay. Raise your flashlight in my direction. Maybe I can see it and start walking to you.”
“Just a second.”
While he was quiet, I peered through the forest. Faint light glimmered in the north. I secured my backpack and the sleeping bags and began picking my way around trees.
“Did you see it?” he asked.
“Yep.” I ducked around trees and crumbling boulders and clicked off so I could use my SED as a flashlight; mine was in my backpack, and I didn’t want to stop and remove it. Not with something out there. Frozen pine needles rustled and twigs snapped as we approached each other. “Next time,” I said, huffing, “wake me up to tell me you’re leaving. As far as I knew, something came by and ate you.”
“Sorry.” Sam hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Let’s head this way. There’s a pond not far off. Stef and Whit are waiting for us there.”
I nodded and crept through the woods with him. Being outside Range made me jumpy. It seemed like anything could happen. There were no traps in these woods, meant to capture or deter other dominant species, and no drone patrols. This place was strange and wild, though hauntingly similar to the forests of Range.
Vibrations traveled through the ground again, low and steady. An odd scent rode the air, like animal sweat mixed with pine and dirt. “Sam.”
His nod was barely perceptible in the darkness, but it was enough. He sensed it, too.
Maybe it was only a herd of deer or bison. There were lots of large animals in and around Range. But as Sam and I approached the pond he’d spoken of, the rumbling grew louder, and a deep murmur filtered through the woods. Like voices.
Hundreds of voices.
Sam and I glanced at each other. “The pond is just ahead,” he murmured.
Lights danced through the trees, uneven and orange-red, like fire. Chills prickled up my spine as we crept forward.
Sam turned off the flashlight so the glow wouldn’t attract attention, and a few minutes later, we halted on a small ridge overlooking a valley where the pond waited. And there, we saw the source of the lights.
The roar of voices rolled across the water, where ripples glinted in the flickering illumination of hundreds of torches, revealing a thousand bodies. At first, I thought they were people on horseback. Then, as my eyes adjusted the dark figures resolved into more coherent shapes, I realized the people were too far in front of the horses to be riding them. And the “horses” had no heads.
“Centaurs.” The word came out a breath, but Sam nodded. Even in the dim light, he looked pale.
“Stef said she and Whit are there.” He pointed across the pond, toward a break in the trees where trolls had carved the path. “So we’ll have to go around the herd.”
This was what I’d felt in the ground earlier: a thousand centaurs heading toward the pond. They’d probably cut through the forest within sight of where I’d been sleeping. And I’d shouted Sam’s name. I was unbelievably lucky they hadn’t heard me.
“Do they really make clothes out of pe
ople’s skin?” I whispered.
Sam just shuddered and guided me back into the forest.
“Maybe Stef and Whit could come here instead of us going there.”
“We’re heading that way anyway.” Sam kept his voice low and consulted the map on his SED.
We were only heading that way because it was away from Heart, not because that way necessarily had answers, or clues about where to find the sylph.
“I really want to know why all those centaurs are this far from their territory. Perhaps they’ve broken away from the main herd or they’re picking a battle with trolls. . . .”
“Maybe they can sense the caldera is unstable.” My SED showed at least five new earthquakes since the last time I’d checked. None of them were as large as the first, but some were sizable enough that people would notice. Centaurs’ territory was south of Range, so they’d probably felt the big earthquake as the Year of Souls began.
“That seems likely.” Sam pointed at the map. “We’ll go down the hill this way, keeping to the woods. With luck, the wind won’t shift. Centaurs have a powerful sense of smell.” He glanced toward the herd and wrinkled his nose. “And powerful smells.”
I stifled a panicked giggle. “Yes.”
“Once we’re off this ridge, we’ll head toward the troll path here. We’ll be visible when we’re crossing, but if we keep far enough back, they shouldn’t notice us. It looks like they’re getting ready to stop for the night, and they can only see as well as humans in the dark.”
“So no flashlights.”
He nodded. “But once we’re across the path, we’ll be fine. The rest of the way seems to have enough foliage to cover us.”
“Okay, we’d better get going.”
We picked our way down the ridge as quietly as possible, cringing every time a branch cracked or evergreen needles rustled. But if the centaurs noticed movement in the woods, they must have assumed we were one of the many nocturnal creatures that lived here.
Our progress was slow, especially without light, but we had time to be cautious, so we took it. Two hours later, we reached the path.
It was wide enough for two vehicles to drive side by side. That hadn’t seemed so wide when we’d been walking on it yesterday, but now that we had to cross in full view of a herd of centaurs, we might as well have been crossing the Range caldera.
Sam tested the wind. It still carried the centaurs’ stink and fractured voices. I couldn’t make out their words, but it seemed unlikely they’d speak our language, anyway.
“We should crawl,” I whispered. “So they don’t see two tall creatures go walking by.”
“One tall and one unusually short.” He said it with a smile, but his humor was strained. “You’re right. We’ll crawl.” He sighed and flexed his injured hand.
We adjusted our belongings and lowered ourselves to the ground. Frosty grass reached up to my elbows, blocking too much of my view—and not blocking enough. Though we were far back on the trail, around a bend to keep out of view, by the time we reached the center of the path, I could see the centaurs’ fires and their silhouettes as they moved about the field. There were so many. They wouldn’t have to worry about rocs swooping down on them.
The ground trembled under my palms, vibrations from all the movement to the east. Faintly, I saw startlingly graceful movements as a group of centaurs chased one another. They called out and laughed, their hooves beating the ground in rhythm.
They’d seemed awkward at first, so forward-heavy with their human halves in the front, but firelight glistened off muscular horse halves and sturdy legs. A pair of centaurs embraced. One reared up and spread his arms to the stars and moon and sky.
None of them looked like they were wearing human skin as clothing.
We’d been wrong about the sylph. Sort of. They had attacked people for thousands of years. They’d attacked me on my birthday last year, too. But there was something about them. They loved music. And now Cris was one.
What if we’d been wrong about centaurs?
Hoofbeats pounded on the ground, coming closer. Sam twisted to look back at me, and in the darkness, his eyes were wide. “Go,” he mouthed. “Fast.”
I scrambled across the path as quickly as I could, aching to get up and use my legs. But if they were coming our way, I didn’t want to be seen.
The hoofbeats thumped and a high, thin voice shrieked.
I jerked my face up to find a young centaur staring down at me, wearing a shocked expression. Another stopped next to the first. They both screamed.
I screamed.
Sam reached back and grabbed my wrist, and together we lurched for the other side of the path, but the centaurs were following—
And then the ground shuddered. Not from the herd. No, this was from the opposite direction. One solid thud followed by another.
The young centaurs stared past Sam and me, and the herd went quiet.
A hush fell over the entire area as the thuds came louder, faster. Then Sam climbed all the way to his feet—making the young centaurs jump back—and dragged me into the woods.
“Troll!”
At once, the area turned loud with centaurs shouting and metal clashing. And when I glanced over my shoulder, the young centaurs were just standing in the middle of the path, staring up with their mouths wide open as a human-shaped beast three times my size came roaring toward the field. Ice and branches flew away from the troll’s destructive passage.
“Wait!” I shook myself away from Sam and darted back to the path. The young centaurs—colts? children?—both snapped their attention to me. “Come on!” I had no idea if they understood me, but when I reached for them, one of the boys clasped his hand around my damp mitten, and we raced into the woods just as the troll thundered into the place where they’d been standing.
Sam opened his mouth, but shook his head and began running through the forest as cacophony erupted by the pond. Screams and roars spurred us through the woods. The children surged ahead, shoving branches and bushes out of the way. Sam and I hurried to keep up, but the dark forest was only brokenly lit with torches on the battlefield.
My SED buzzed in my pocket, but I couldn’t answer it. I focused on jumping over the tangle of roots the centaurs jumped over. On ducking ice-white limbs. On putting one leg in front of the other.
Shouts filled the area. Then a thundering growl. And the world thudded hard as something dropped. I stumbled, but one of the centaur children reached back and took my arm until I was balanced and running on my own again.
“Ana! Sam!” Stef’s voice came from just ahead. “There you are! I—”
Blue lights flared, targeting the young centaurs as we broke out into the open. The rest of the herd was far to our right, gathered around the fallen troll, so now it was just four humans and two scared centaur kids.
One of the boys screamed. The herd’s attention shifted.
“No, don’t!” I moved in front of the boys and held out my hands. They tried, unsuccessfully, to hide behind me. They were both much bigger than I was. “Don’t shoot. They’re just kids.”
“They’re centaurs.” Whit kept his weapon up. No one else moved, either.
Sam stayed off to the side, looking between us. “Don’t shoot Ana.”
“They’re just kids,” I said again.
The herd of centaurs rumbled closer, swords and spears lifted and glinting with blood in torchlight. Suddenly, we were surrounded. All of us humans. The young centaurs.
Stef swung her laser pistol toward the approaching army, but there was no way she’d overcome a thousand centaurs.
One targeting light still aimed at the young centaurs. I didn’t move from my position guarding them. And the other centaurs were deadly quiet as they appraised the situation.
No one moved. I could hardly breathe.
And then shadows appeared in the forest, falling toward the torchlight as they abandoned natural shadows. These were tall and thin, not attached to anything. They hmmed quietly, singing
among themselves.
Gradually, the centaurs’ attention shifted from us to the shadows approaching from the other side. Heat billowed across the cool space as one shadow pushed forward, ahead of the others. It paused near me, a slender black rose blossoming inside one of its tendrils before it shivered apart.
The sylph had come.
11
REUNION
HOPE KINDLED INSIDE me, then was smothered when, as one, the herd of centaurs lifted their weapons and screamed their rage to the sky. Ground shook under their pounding hooves as they ran to meet the sylph.
The sylph keened: awful, dissonant wailing. Shadows surged forth, sending waves of heat throughout the gathered humans and centaurs. What had been a midwinter night now became like summer as the sylph songs morphed into terrible cacophony.
The two young centaurs sobbed and dropped to the ground, clutching each other, clutching my legs. I tumbled down with them.
Sam and my friends cried out, but an insubstantial wall of shadows forced itself between us, carefully not burning delicate human flesh. But they were going straight for the centaurs, who just wanted their children back.
“Stop!” I pulled myself up from the tangle of limbs.
When I tried to throw myself into the mass of shadows, one of the centaur boys grabbed my wrist and shook his head, a panicked look on his face.
I used my free hand to cover his knobby knuckles, sharp with the strength of his grip, and smiled a little. “It’s okay.” No idea if he understood, but when he released me, I turned and shouted, “Stop!” again.
The sylph and centaurs kept moving toward one another, and the centaurs were about to be boiled alive—
I sang one long, sustained note. The pitch fell, and my voice cracked with winter and nerves. Though Sam had given me a few tips on how to best project my voice, we’d never arranged real lessons. There’d never been time.
But the sylph nearest me shifted and turned at the sound of my voice, peeling itself from the mass of shadows. It hovered around me, waiting, matching my note.
If music were water, this would have been a ripple. The angry keening dropped, and the sylph all seemed to gasp and face me. They watched me, though they had no eyes, no faces. They were but tall shadows, with tendrils that flickered toward the sky as I fumbled to free my hands of mittens, then found my SED and searched through the music function.
