“My mother outfitted the baby with a mutt Singer to avoid suspicion,” Terra continued, her voice muffled by the dull roar in Ronja’s ears. “She knew the baby would be treated as a mutt, since her Singer would emit the same signal, but at least she wouldn’t die a slow, painful death. The next morning, my mother sent them to live in the outer ring under a new name. It all seemed fine, until a nurse ratted on my mother.”
Terra was crying. Tears were leaking down her suntanned cheeks, bubbling over a thin, white scar on her cheekbone. She did not seem to notice them.
“She was killed in front of me,” Terra whispered. “They used The Quiet Song, nice and slow. It lasted hours. Westervelt was there. Didn’t bat an eye. They dumped me off in the outer ring. That’s where Ito found me. I never saw the baby or the mother again, until Roark brought you in.”
Ronja was disconnected. She heard the echoes of Terra’s story distantly, as if through a tunnel. She was floating far above the room, far outside the airship, somewhere deep in the tangle of sun-dyed clouds.
“I knew it was you the moment I saw you,” Terra said. “Your eyes were exactly the same, but I had to be sure. I dug your Singer out of the garbage. It was a mutt’s . . . and right then I wanted you gone.
“You are the reason I lost my mother,” Terra said, her voice cracking. “I know you didn’t mean it, I know it wasn’t your fault, but you were the reason. You reminded me of what I lost, and I wanted you gone. I hoped I could scare you away by calling you a mutt, but it didn’t work.”
The words were pouring from Terra now, coins tumbling from a purse and rolling away into the gutter.
“When I heard you and Roark were going to Red Bay, I knew it was suicide for the both of you. I wanted you gone, but I couldn’t risk Roark.”
Terra flicked her pleading eyes to the boy, who looked down at his knees, his expression inscrutable. She took a shuddering breath, withdrew her gaze, and went on.
“I . . . I told Wilcox that I’d found your Singer. That you were a new type of mutt, one that didn’t bear the physical markers. That you had tricked Roark and were probably some sort of mole.”
“He tried to kill me,” Ronja rasped, her hands quivering at her sides. “He might have helped me get my family if he’d known I wasn’t a mutt, if you’d just told the goddamn truth.”
“You can’t know that,” Terra replied unsteadily. “You can’t—”
“All this time, you knew,” Ronja choked.
She stepped toward Terra, who in turn stumbled backward.
“My mother saved you,” Terra sobbed. “She saved you, and she left me.”
“You got Henry killed! You got my mother killed!” Ronja roared. “Because you couldn’t tell Wilcox the truth! Couldn’t tell me the truth!”
“I was selfish. Weak. I’m so sorry. I told Ito what I had done minutes after you left, and we came after you. To save Roark and the others, but also so I could make amends.”
“Amends?” Ronja laughed hysterically. She put her hands over her eyes, ran her fingers down her bruised cheeks. Her face was wet. She had not realized that she too was crying.
Ronja sank into her place on the sofa and put her head in her hands. She viewed the world through the bars of her fingers. For a long moment, she simply breathed. The roar in her ear diminished like an auto rolling away.
Finally, she dropped her hands and looked up at Terra, who had wiped away her tears. She still trembled.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Ronja said in a low voice. “And I’m grateful for what she did for me. I understand why you did what you did, but I can’t forgive you.”
Terra swallowed, braced her jaw, then nodded firmly. She spun on her heel and strode away, her back as straight as a pin, her hands curled into fists.
For a long moment, silence reigned.
“Terra wasn’t lying,” Ito broke the hush. “She realized the error in her ways and sought redemption.”
Ronja nodded wordlessly. Roark placed a reassuring hand on her back, but did not offer her any words of comfort. There was nothing to say.
“There is a place for you in our ranks, if you still want it,” Ito continued. “If what Roark says is true, that your voice can counteract The Music, you would be our most valuable weapon.”
Ronja rose again. Roark lifted his hand from her back, watching her with a ghost of a smile.
“I will be your weapon,” Ronja said.
Ito held out her hand. Ronja grasped it firmly, her eyes ablaze and her blood searing.
“Welcome to the Anthem, singer.”
Epilogue: The Psychologist
Terra
The brig was adjacent to the engine room. The air trembled with heat, which the tiny slit of a window did little to alleviate. Terra sweated profusely as she stood before the metal cage, her bare arms crossed over her tank top.
“Warm enough?” she asked, raising her voice over the thrum of the engine.
Maxwell smiled tightly from his seat on the floor. He had shed his white coat, shirt, shoes, and socks. His wan skin was slick with perspiration, his dark hair was plastered to his forehead. He had removed his glasses, which were hopelessly fogged.
“I prefer the cold,” Maxwell replied easily, as if they were acquaintances discussing the weather. “How are the children?”
“There’s something that’s been bothering me,” Terra said, slipping her hands in the back pockets of her trousers.
Maxwell reclined against the gridded metal of his cell, an eyebrow arched inquiringly.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said.
“Oh, I know you can be,” Terra said, prowling toward the cage. She stopped a breath from the iron bars and glared down at the prisoner with calculating eyes. “I’d like you to tell me why I didn’t have to kill you.”
“Contrary to popular belief, psychologists cannot read minds,” Maxwell said with a rueful smile.
“Psychologist,” Terra said, bobbing her head. “That suits you.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Maxwell’s smile widened. His gold tooth snagged the dim light. “I sense your question was rhetorical,” he said.
Terra did not reply right away. She leaned forward and wrapped her damp fingers around the rusted slats of metal, which were warm to the touch.
“I intended to kill you as soon as you rolled into The Quiet,” Terra said. “You gave us information. You helped us free six prisoners. You should have gone under, but you didn’t.”
Maxwell sighed wearily. He reached up with his lanky arms and gripped the rods that crisscrossed the ceiling, then got to his feet with a groan. Terra watched with narrowed eyes as he rolled the kinks from his neck slowly, luxuriously.
“I helped save you, the filthy rebels, despite The Music in my ear that bid me not to,” he finally said, padding toward her on the balls of his bare feet. Terra raised her chin to hold eye contact as he came to a halt three inches from her face. His eyes were bizarrely flat and dull, but their shape was familiar. Before Terra could place them, Maxwell spoke again. “What does that tell you?”
“I’m asking the questions,” Terra growled.
“You already know the answer,” the psychologist replied softly.
Terra did not reply. Maxwell breathed a laugh.
“Come on, Terra,” he drawled, splaying his hands invitingly. “You’re a smart girl. I saw the way you led your comrades. You’re being groomed for command, I’m sure. I never had the luxury of being in charge myself, but I know a leader when I see one. So tell me,” Maxwell pressed his face to the bars with a wicked grin. “Why didn’t you have to put me out of my misery?”
“Because you were appeasing The Music,” Terra whispered. “You wanted us to take you.”
Maxwell jerked away from the bars and released a howling whoop, clapping his hands together gleefully. Terra took a step back, her hand on her stinger.
“Of course I did,” Maxwell confirmed, abruptl
y toneless. “I knew you were Anthem as soon as you stormed in, I could smell your ego a mile away, no matter you were all Singerless.”
“You’re a spy.”
“Psychologist,” Maxwell corrected smoothly. “And I’m here to learn all about your pretty little heads for our Exalted Conductor. I had no idea I would get such a rare treat when I woke up this morning, but when you started waving that gun around I just couldn’t resist tagging along.”
“I’m not in the mood to play games,” Terra said in a low voice, her fingers tightening around the weapon at her hip. “So unless you have any other secrets to spill, I’ll just put your lights out now.”
Maxwell clucked his tongue, waggling a long finger. “I wouldn’t do that, lovely girl,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
“Why?” Terra snorted, unsheathing her stinger and flicking it to life. The power hummed through her fingertips. She wanted more than anything to plunge it into his smug face.
“Oh, I suppose I forgot to mention,” Maxwell said, tapping his skull with a little laugh. “I say I have perfect recall, but this heat must be overheating my circuits.”
“Mention. What.”
“That The Conductor will probably be missing his favorite, bastard son.”
Acknowledgements:
There are so many people to thank. I could go on for pages, but I’ll try to keep this short and sweet.
Mom, you are my primary editor and biggest supporter. You read draft after draft of this story. You poured just as much of your soul into it as I did. We shared so many laughs combing through my early drafts. I still can’t write about airships without laughing. There is no way I could have done this without you. You are the strongest woman I know, and I could not be prouder to be your daughter.
Dad, you are my most logical critic. Science fiction is not your cup of tea, which makes your attentiveness to this project even more meaningful. You were always there to help when I needed to test out a tricky concept. You always listened, even when you didn’t understand, even when you had other things that required your attention. That means more than I can say.
I would not have felt remotely comfortable sharing this book with the world without the guidance of my fabulous editor Katherine Catmull of Yellow Bird Editors. Kat, you polished this book with candor and warmth. You always went above and beyond. I am so lucky I found you.
Despite the old admonishment, nearly everyone judges a book by its cover. For that reason, I would like to thank Marta Bevacqua for selling me the picture that would become the cover of this novel. Seriously guys, trust me, check out her work. She is an artist of rare skill.
My beautiful betas. Maya. Ella. Lauren. Zoe. Katie. You five are golden. You slogged through hundreds of pages of questionable grammar, awkward dialogue, and wonky spacing only to turn around and encourage me. I could not have asked for more.
I could not have asked for a better mentor than Heather Gudenkauf. Heather, you have supported me in my creative endeavors since I was fourteen. You were the first person outside my family to take my writing seriously. Thank you so much for believing in me.
Allie (A.K.A. Katherine with a K), we have been through so much together. I am so lucky to have a friend like you, and cannot wait to spend the next three and a half years together in the city that never sleeps.
Mackenzie, you brought Little Wars to life. It was more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined. Keep creating, keep singing, keep writing. You are incredible.
Grandpa Tom, Grandma Wanda, Grandpa Wayne, Grandma Sharon, Lisa, Tony, Jack, Aban, Darlene, Dani, Mica, Scout, Cameron, Bo, Arthur, Jim, Sam, Maria, Masha, Jeffrey, Nate, Rachel, Madeline, Jiaming, Annmarie, Zoe, Ashley, Patty, Margaret, Iyal, Aliyah, Sylvie, Lili Mae, Yeso, Marina, Emily, Caroline, and so many more. Thank you for supporting me, for listening to me, and for putting up with me. Thank you for loving me. You are my family, my friends, and I love you with all my heart.
To all my followers on Tumblr who have been there with me since before this book even hit the market, I love you.
And of course, I want to thank my readers. I love you all. Thank you for taking a chance on this little book.
Lastly, shout out to Diet Coke for keeping me propped up when my head was sagging into my keyboard.
Thank you all, and may your song guide you home,
Sophia
About the Author
Sophia has been writing novels, short stories, and poems since she was still losing her baby teeth. Throughout her high school career she amassed an impressive 35 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards including two National Gold Medals for science fiction short stories. As a Scholastic alumnus, she joins the ranks of many great authors including Truman Capote, Sylvia Plath, and Joyce Carol Oates. Sophia has twice been accepted for publication in international young writer journals (Polyphony HS and The Claremont Review). She now resides in New York City as a student at her dream school, NYU. Sophia grew up in Iowa with two dogs and two fantastic parents. She is a 2015 graduate of Lake Forest Academy boarding school in Illinois. She loves dogs, books, and thunderstorms and hates racists, homophobes, and cantaloupe. She has a cactus named Nao because her dorm prohibits pets. Learn more at www.calidaluxpulishing.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/calidaluxpublishing.
Table of Contents
Title Page
VINYL
Prologue: The Devil is in the Details
1: The Tunneler
2: Cut
3: The Gap
4: Spiked
5: Home
6: Sapped
7: Balance
8: The Voice of Reason
9: Pressure Points
10: Split
11: Ashes
12: Quiet
13: Warped
14: Compensation
15: Knots
16: Two Cities
17: A History Lesson
18: Stifled
19: Oxygen
20: Smash
21: Hard From the Past
22: War Paint
23: The Jam
24: Skin Deep
25: Spilled Milk
26: Snapshot
27: Too Far Gone
28: Doppelgänger
29: Ruse
30: Traitor
31: Ties
32: Through
33: Crickets
34: Twenty on Three
35: Morphed
36: The Moor
37: Vinyl
38: Responsibilities
39: Dead Lights
40: Berik
41: The Old Methods
42: The Impossible
43: Rush
44: Lost
45: Linger
46: Scorched
47: Snuffed
48: Violent Light
49: Walk
50: Unscathed
51: Inconsequential
52: Headphones
53: The New Methods
54: Sightless
55: Surreal
56: Frequencies
57: On Three
58: There and Back
59: On the Mend
60: Could Have
61: The Weight
62: Sedated
63: Antidote
64: Singer
Epilogue: The Psychologist
Acknowledgements:
About the Author
Vinyl: Book One of the Vinyl Trilogy Page 33