by Jodi Meadows
I certainly didn’t feel like a child.
Sam spoke so quietly I almost didn’t hear. “There are a million things she can teach us, simply by virtue of being new and seeing things differently.”
“Like Templedark?”
His voice was a razor. “Ana rescued both of us that night. And hundreds more. Everything else was Menehem. You know that. Ana is no more responsible for his actions than you.”
“You’re really hopeless about this, aren’t you?” Stef gave a long sigh, and her tone turned to steel. “Listen, Dossam. People are talking about your relationship with her. Whatever you’ve done with her? Inappropriate. Whatever you want to do with her? Inappropriate. She’s five thousand years younger than you, and even if she doesn’t know better, you should.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, glad I was on the stairs where no one noticed me. More than anything I wanted to march over and tell her to mind her own business, but there were still so many people around, all chatting and having a nice time.
“People don’t know anything about it. One day,” he growled, “you’re going to have to accept it. I don’t care if she’s eighteen or eighteen hundred. I love her more than—”
“What?” Stef’s voice was low and dangerous. “More than music? More than me? More than everyone you’ve known for the last five millennia?” She paused, and the silence was heavy like the moments between a lightning strike and a roll of thunder. “More than all the darksouls?”
I gripped the rose stem so tightly it cracked. Did Sam love me like that? Was that kind of love even possible?
“Yes.” His word was barely a breath. “More than all that.”
Relief and horror poured through me. Stef had listed herself in there.
“It’s unfair to ask me to rank feelings,” Sam muttered.
Then Cris was back with a glass of water, still much taller even when he sat a step lower. “Were you just listening to them down there?” He kept his voice soft, and when I shrugged, he leaned on his elbow toward me. “Don’t let it get to you. She’s probably hearing a lot of cruel gossip—probably more than you or Sam, since she’s been his friend so long and people know…”
“She loves him,” I whispered into my water.
Cris lowered his eyes and nodded. “It makes people do strange things sometimes.”
“It’s fine.” I put down the rose I’d been holding and took a long drink of water, trying to think of a way out of this. Cris was nice, and I’d have to remember to talk to him about the symbols from the books, but right now, I just wanted to make it through the night. “Thanks for the water. I’m going to see if anyone wants to play some music.”
Cris unfolded himself to rise, then offered a hand to help me up. I headed downstairs with him and took my flute off its stand.
That was enough to draw looks. Sam and Stef first, both dark-faced from their fight. Then the hum of conversations drained, and others began to claim instruments or find stands. Most, as far as I knew, played at least a few instruments. They were Sam’s friends, after all.
When everyone had chosen, Whit and Armande ran upstairs to the music library and returned with appropriate music for each instrument. Sam adjusted the lights so everyone could read.
We started with scales to warm up, then moved on to a few pieces we all knew. At first I thought they’d chosen simple songs because I was new, but after a few squeaks from Lorin on the oboe, I realized they weren’t going easy on me.
As unlikely as it was, I was a better player than a few of these people; I practiced several hours a day, while they practiced when they felt like it and when Sam scheduled a group performance.
Of course, as soon as Moriah, Orrin, and Whit played a dizzying reel on a cello, violin, and clarinet, my pride vanished. They practiced every day. Someday, I would be as good as them. Better.
Sarit sang a ballad to Stef’s piano. Others moved in with duets, trios, their favorite pieces. They made lots of trips to the music library upstairs, and I had a brief surge of worry that they’d stumble into my room and find the temple books hidden all over, but no one was gone long enough for that. Anyway, Sam would have heard someone walking into the wrong room.
My heart swelled as we played more group pieces, broke off into more small ensembles. How did I get this lucky? Friends—surely they all counted as friends now—who were willing to help with the newsouls, and play music with me? It was too incredible. Too wonderful.
Music swirled around the parlor, bringing the room to life. I struggled not to grin around my embouchure as we came to the coda of a waltz.
“What about”—Stef hmmed—“Blue Rose Serenade? Did anyone see the lute?”
“Um.” Sam glanced at Cris as awkward silence fluttered through the room. People glanced at me, at Sam, at Cris, at the roses all around. “One of the strings snapped. I haven’t replaced it yet.”
“Maybe whatever you and Ana are working on?” Cris lowered the clarinet he’d been playing.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. We’d been practicing flute duets, and Sarit and Stef had listened a few times, but more people?
“Come on.” Sarit batted her eyes. “Let everyone hear.”
Sam gave me a look like it was up to me, so I nodded, mostly to stop the awkwardness. He had never mentioned Blue Rose Serenade before. He’d probably forgotten about it when he’d given me the code to add all his music to my SED.
Later, I vowed, I’d ask what had happened between them.
Sam warmed up on the other flute while I found our music, and my heart thudded at the weight of everyone watching. Listening.
But as soon as he met my eyes and silently counted off, my fear evaporated. I stood up straighter, rolled the flute in where my high notes tended to go sharp, and played like I never had before. Every time I glanced at Sam for a fermata or tempo change, he looked as though he wanted to smile.
Before I was ready, we came to the last note and held it until Sam nodded, and our duet ended.
When everyone left, I shut the door and locked it, and Sam and I cleaned up, talking about who needed to practice their favorite instruments more. I wanted to ask him about his fight with Stef, but how did one even open a conversation like that?
“What’s this?” Sam bent to retrieve something from the floor. He pinched a tiny wire between his fingers. “From a flute?”
“Ugh.” I checked mine. Sure enough, the wire was a spring that had popped out. A set of keys flopped pitifully. “Lorin was messing with it earlier. Guess she got a little enthusiastic when she was pretending she knew how to play.”
Sam smirked and handed me the spring. “She’s banned from holding flutes from now on. Will you take this upstairs? I’ll show you how to fix it tomorrow.”
I nodded and carried the flute and spring to the workroom, which held a dozen instruments in various stages of repair, as well as tools to fix them. Building and repairing instruments wasn’t Sam’s job, but he insisted it was important for every musician to know the basics. All this looked like more than basics to me, though.
I left my flute on the workbench and headed back downstairs. Just as I reached the last step, thunder tore in the north, and the ground rippled. “Was that an earthquake?” Range was constantly shifting, but most earthquakes were too tiny to feel.
“No.” Sam was pale, staring northward with wide eyes. “I think it was an explosion.”
I raced for my coat and then into the cold. Nearby, an orange glow raged against the dark sky.
Sam followed me out, a water bottle in his pocket and his SED pressed to his ear. “Alert all the guards and medics. Hurry.”
We ran down the walkway as secondary explosions shattered the night. Crashes and bangs, pops and screeching. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. Sam raced across the street ahead, not waiting.
From the fiery glow beyond a line of trees, smoke poured into the black sky, obscuring the moon and stars. The acrid reek burned through my nose and throat, caught in my lungs. The sting ma
de my eyes water, and we hadn’t yet come in sight of the fire, except where its light shot between trees.
The roar of flame covered the sound of my footfalls beating the ground—I could only feel the heavy thud, thud travel up my legs—and the shaking in my breath from icy air.
Hot brilliance blinded me as we broke through the trees, reaching the house. Dark and light. I couldn’t see because my eyes didn’t know how to adjust.
I crashed into Sam. He held his sleeve over his face, using his free hand to press a wet cloth into my hands. I wondered where he’d gotten the water, but then remembered the bottle stuffed into his pocket.
“Put this over your nose and mouth.” The fire tried to consume his words. The rush and groan were louder now that we stood in the yard. Heat billowed toward us, bringing smoke and sparks. In spite of the inferno, I was glad for my coat to protect my skin. I’d already experienced enough burns to last several lifetimes.
“We have to help whoever’s inside the house.” I squinted at the trees silhouetted between bands of firelight. “Who lives here?”
“You’re not going anywhere until you put that over your face.” He pressed the handkerchief over my nose. Breathing turned wet and heavy, more difficult than inhaling smoke. He wasn’t wearing a wet handkerchief.
“But you—” I bit off my words when I saw his expression, like pieces of him were being ripped out and hurled into the flames.
“I can’t stop you from going in,” he said, probably at a normal volume, but the fire made his words soft. “I can only try to help you make it out alive.”
I pinned the handkerchief against my face and gave a curt nod. We dashed toward the house.
Outbuildings had collapsed in the initial wave, but the white stone remained solid. Janan’s doing. At least the entire structure wouldn’t fall in on us, though there was still furniture to dodge inside.
And the fire.
We went in. All the doors and windows had blown out—glass crunched under my boots—and tables and chairs were nigh unrecognizable. Everything was black and red, blazing hot. I didn’t even have time to sweat beneath my wool coat; the dry air sucked the moisture out of me, and out of my handkerchief as I searched through the terrible heat and burning remains of someone’s home.
The fire roared and rushed. It seemed impossible I’d be able to hear anything else, but I caught the ragged sound of coughing. Metals clattered against stone.
Smoke and fire. Debris piled up. I couldn’t find the source of the noise.
There, between a fallen bookcase and the remains of a large stringed instrument, lay a woman on her side, facing away from me.
At my approach, she rolled over. Her stomach bulged like Lidea’s had while she’d been pregnant. Geral. I’d taken lessons from her, about building roads and constructing outbuildings.
I rushed for her, screaming her name, and as I jumped over the wreckage I lost track of Sam.
“Geral!” Smoke suffocated my voice as I reached her, but her face twisted with confusion. “I’m here to help.”
Her eyes focused as I pressed the mostly dry handkerchief over her nose and mouth. It took some maneuvering and shifting her weight, but finally I got her arm around my shoulders and used every muscle in my legs and back to haul her up. By my ear, her breath came shallow and weak from inhaling smoke.
We turned toward the direction I thought I’d come, but the room had changed. Beams had fallen, burning brightly. Blackening rubble blocked our path. And where was Sam?
I coughed at the smoke singeing my lungs, and shielded my face with my free arm like Sam had. It didn’t help.
“This way.” Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to talk, but it helped me focus through the dizzying heat, and she relaxed—only slightly.
Windows and doors were in the same place on every house, and there was some kind of opening on every wall. Any direction was better than standing still. I guided Geral, both of us coughing. Only the fact that the upper level had collapsed on the other side of the house saved us from suffering worse; the smoke had somewhere to go.
I hoped Sam wasn’t over there.
Our journey to the wall was unbearably hot. My eyes watered, and Geral was too heavy for me to carry, but that wouldn’t stop me. We stumbled again and again.
I reminded myself—maybe out loud—that I’d endured worse, with my hands inside a sylph. But this was everywhere, and I wasn’t alone. Geral counted on me to get her to safety.
The world swam with blackness. I staggered, Geral heavy on my shoulders, but as my knees hit the ground, a cool mist bathed my face.
Someone lifted Geral away from me.
I tried to watch where they took her, but I was blind now that I’d left the too-bright house. No matter how much I blinked, my vision wouldn’t work right after peering through smoke and heat. Maybe my eyes had boiled out.
Cold pressed against my face, then air. Fresh air. I inhaled as deeply as my lungs would allow, like I’d never get another clean breath again.
Strong arms encircled me, picked me up, and I was carried away from the heat and roaring fire. My skin cooled when I sat on the ground, and at last my vision fizzled toward normal. A youthful face floated before me.
“Sam?” Was that my voice sounding so wispy? I sucked on air from the mask again. Coughed. Breathed.
Sandy hair and sharp features. Cris shook his head and smiled. “Wrong admirer. Sam is over there with Stef. He got Orrin out.”
Orrin had been here? My head pounded, and I tried to focus. Sam was okay. Cris had given me air. I was sitting on the hard, cold ground.
“I thought you’d be across the city by now.” My voice sounded like a toad. That wasn’t much of an improvement.
“I stayed to visit with Orrin and Geral. A little after I left, I heard the explosion.” He gazed around the ruins. “Good thing you and Sam got here so quickly.”
“Will she be okay?” I couldn’t find her in the mass of people around the house. They aimed hoses at the building, spraying the same mist I’d stumbled into.
His tone was gentle, and so was the way he wiped a cloth over my face; it came away soot-black. “I don’t know.”
I appreciated his honesty.
The fire died, leaving only electric emergency lamps to light the ruins. Smoke still rose like giant sylph as people shouted orders, darted around. Their silhouettes were strange and long in the illumination, but I saw Councilors Deborl and Sine speaking. Arguing? I couldn’t tell from where I stood.
When I lowered the mask—I’d forgotten I still held it to my face—I caught a familiar shape across the yard, sitting near a tangle of fallen and blackened pine trees. Sam.
Stef crouched over him, hands on his shoulders. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but Stef glanced my way, darkness obscuring her expression.
She was in love with him. Cris probably was too. I could only think of maybe six people who wouldn’t be.
Gravity dragged at me, but Cris caught my elbows and kept me from slumping over. The mask wasn’t so lucky. It bounced when it hit the dirt.
The reek of smoke permeated the air, but everything seemed so quiet now that the fire was out. The roaring, blaring, consuming fire. All around, people were still gathered in groups, talking and pointing at various places on the house.
Strange that the white stone remained as if nothing had happened. I hadn’t expected anything less from Janan, though. I’d seen the temple mend itself after Templedark, and other structures of white stone withstand onslaughts they shouldn’t. It was wrong. Creepy.
“Can you stand up?” Cris held my shoulders.
“I don’t know.” But I gave it a try, climbing to my feet, using Cris’s shoulder for balance. Across the yard, Sam got up, too, and started toward me, leaving Stef to trail after him. “Thank you for helping me.” I was always too slow with politeness, but at least I’d remembered this time.
“Of course.” Cris smiled. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, you especially. I can’t let y
ou go around with smoky lungs when market day is so close.”
Lights shone in a mobile medical vehicle. Geral was probably in there. “I hope she and the baby are okay.”
“They have a chance because of you.”
I wasn’t sure how that was supposed to make me feel. Good? Proud? Mostly I felt overwhelmed and exhausted.
“Ana.” Sam’s deep voice filled me, sweeter than smoke, sweeter than the burst of fresh air from the mask. Soot and ash stained his face and clothes.
I stepped forward into his arms, relieved just to touch him. Warm. Solid. Real. Neither of us had gotten burned up.
He swayed, but stayed upright as my weight settled against him. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into my hair. “I lost track of you in the smoke. I was worried.” Hands pressed hard on the small of my back.
“Any idea what caused the explosion?” Cris asked behind me. I’d forgotten he was here.
Sam shook his head. “Let’s not bother Geral about it, but Orrin is over there. We can ask if they were doing anything unusual.”
“Should I walk Ana back to your house, Sam?” That was Stef. I’d forgotten she was here, too. “No need to burden her with this, and she looks like she could use some rest.”
I peeled myself off Sam. “I’m fine. Besides, Stef, I’m sure your scientific mind will be more useful here than taking me home.”
She looked ready to argue—probably that I was so young and shouldn’t be exposed to such horrors—but just then light bloomed on the far side of the city. The ground trembled.
“Was that—” she started, but seemed incapable of completing the thought. Like it was too terrible to comprehend.
The words were ash in my mouth. “Another one.”
This was not an accident.
21
SMOKE
THERE WERE THREE more explosions, each an hour after the one before. Stef tried to send me home every time, but I refused. Sam and Cris never backed her up, and her annoyance devolved into a glower.