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.
I chose Phoenix Symphony. Some of the sylph already knew it, and it was one of my favorites.
The first chords rushed from the speakers like a waterfall, and I let my voice fade beneath the powerful sounds of the piano, violins, and thunderous bass.
I pushed the volume as high as it would go, so that every sylph heard. They halted just before they reached the line of centaurs, and the incredible heat faded to something more bearable.
Behind me, the centaur boys scrambled to their feet. One touched my shoulder, and his gaze fell on the SED clutched in my hands. The light from the screen illuminated his face, scratched from our run and his fall to the ground. But he smiled when his hand passed through the SED glow, and he said something I could neither hear clearly over the music, nor understand.
My SED screen flashed; on the other side of the sylph swarm, Sam had synced his SED with mine. Phoenix Symphony played all around.
The boys needed to return to their people. The centaurs just wanted them back. That was why they were here. And surely the sylph wouldn’t let the centaurs hurt me, if they tried.
I put my SED in my pocket, speaker facing up so the music remained loud and clear, then reached up to take each centaur boy’s hand. Together, we walked around the sylph, which sang and danced along with the music, though still watchful, as though waiting for the centaurs to attack again.
We broke through the line of shadows and found the centaur herd almost motionless. Their eyes narrowed, but that was all.
One of the centaur women crashed through the herd, her arms wide. The boys leapt out into the thin strip of land between us and bounded to her, and sylph fanned around me, including me in their line as they sang melodies and countermelodies of the first movement of Phoenix Symphony.
The boys hugged the woman—their mother?—and the lead warriors of the herd seemed to look over my group. Four humans armed with only lasers and music, and dozens of sylph.
The shadows coiling around me must have been the deciding factor. One of the leaders turned and shouted some kind of order, and the herd began moving away, their hooves like thunder in the ground.
One of the centaur boys ran back, though. He stopped midway between our groups and called out something as he pointed southeast. Showing me where they were going. Then, in a high and eerily beautiful voice, he sang along with a measure of melody as it flowed from the SED, and from the sylph.
Only a moment later, he was gone, lost among the other centaurs.
The music swelled, and I turned back to Sam and the others. Sylph parted, forming a clear path.
As I headed for Sam at the other end of the dark tunnel, tendrils of shadow snaked out and wrapped around my wrist or touched my hair. But the tendrils were incorporeal. I felt nothing but warmth where they touched me.
Sylph song surrounded me, layers of harmony in otherworldly wailing and whispering. A few sylph swayed, as though lost in music.
“Are you okay?” Sam reached for me, and our SEDs were muffled as we hugged.
“I’m fine.” I pulled back, relieved to be reunited with my friends. “They were just scared children. They were new. Like me.” My smile felt forced as I gazed from Stef to Whit. These were my friends. They’d agreed to come on this incredible and possibly futile journey with me. But they were oldsouls. They’d never truly understand the connection I felt with other newsouls, even if the newsouls were centaurs.
“We’re just glad you’re safe.” Whit gazed beyond me at the sea of sylph still fluttering with the music, singing along with the parts they knew. “And I see you found the sylph.” His voice was raspy, wary.
I shook my head and lowered the volume of my SED, but didn’t turn off the music as the second movement began to play. “They found us.”
“They seem to really like you.” He frowned, and I tried to imagine how strange the whole situation must appear. Centaurs retreating in the background. Sylph curling up around me like shadowy cloaks. “Which one is”—he seemed to struggle with the memory and knowledge—“Cris?”
I glanced over my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell the sylph apart. They were all just pillars of darkness.
One sylph moved forward to stand beside me.
“Cris.”
He twitched a little, almost like a nod, and a black rose bloomed around him.
“Oh, Cris.” Stef reached out, and her voice broke.
I bit my lip. “That movement earlier. It was a nod?”
He did the same thing.
“And what means no?”
The shadow twisted, just the upper half. Like a head shake, only the smoke resettled and he hadn’t twisted back. Unnerving.
“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say. Great, we could ask yes and no questions, but I didn’t want to ask if he was miserable like this, if he hurt, or if he blamed me. I didn’t want to know the answers in case they were yes.
“These other sylph won’t harm us?” Whit asked.
Cris shook his head, even as the rest of the swarm circled us, radiating heat to ward off the cold night. They’d stopped singing.
“Now that we’ve joined with the sylph,” Whit said, gazing around at the ring of darkness, “what do we do?”
I wasn’t sure. I’d wanted to find them, be able to ask questions. And now I could. But I hadn’t thought about much beyond that. I had goals, but no idea how to complete them. “First thing,” I said, turning to Cris. “We need somewhere safe to hide. Most of the Council has been killed. Deborl is in control of the city. He’s searching for us. Sarit and Armande stayed behind to keep us informed.” My heart ached at the thought of Sarit, but I’d call her later. She’d never believe it when I told her about tonight.
Cris nodded.
“Second thing.” I glanced southeast. “We sent a group of about forty people that way, to get them away from Deborl and an eruption. That way they have a chance.”
Cris nodded again, and the other sylph all leaned in, listening.
“Can a few of you catch up with them and protect them? We’ll call and make sure they know you’re coming, so they won’t try to trap you. But they don’t have much in the way of protection. A few sylph would help a lot.”
The sylph hummed and sang among themselves for a minute, and then four broke away and darted southeast. They were frighteningly quick, almost like real shadows when someone turned on a light.
“Thank you,” I whispered as the sylph closed the circle in tighter, and my friends pressed closer together. “The third thing is this: I need to learn, and I was hoping you would be able to help. We have only a short time, so the sooner I figure out how to read these books and understand what happened five thousand years ago, the sooner I can get started on my plan.”
The sylph waited, undulating darkly under the moonlight.
I made my voice strong. “I want to stop Janan from ascending.”
Night shattered as every sylph cried out in triumph.
The sylph led us to a cave at the base of a mountain, with a stream running through its center. Wind blew in, and the stone was cold and hard, but when sylph lined up around the perimeter, warmth radiated through the walls and ground.
With lamps brightening the gloom and our sleeping bags folded up to sit on, the cave wasn’t so bad.
“I bet the stream floods in the spring,” Stef said, looking up from her SED. “Not that we’ll be here that long. I have an update from Armande, by the way.”
We all leaned in, and one of the sylph broke away from the others.
“Cris.” I scooted closer to Sam to make room between Whit and me, and though Whit’s smile was more strained than welcoming, he edged toward Stef and patted the place beside him. “Sit with us,” I said.
Cris hesitated, seeming to look between the other sylph and us, all gathered around a bright lamp and things we’d brought from Heart. He wasn’t sure what to do. Sit with people who’d hated sylph for five thousand years, or stay with his new people. Suddenly, I felt rotten for asking him to choose.
The others were all waiting, too, watching Cris to see what he’d do.
“Why don’t you all come closer?”
Stef and Whit cringed, even as they nodded, and Sam went pale. It was hard to accept that while sylph were frightening, they wouldn’t hurt us.
But what about the sylph that had chased me on my birthday last year? Or burned my hands?
I’d have to ask Cris later.
None of the sylph moved to accept my invitation. “Come on,” I said. “We’re allies. We have friends in common. We have goals in common.” At least, it seemed like the sylph wanted me to stop Janan, if their singing earlier was any indication.
Gradually, the sylph eased toward us, keeping their heat low and their songs quiet. They left a good distance between us, but this was an improvement. I tried to smile at them.
Stef cleared her throat, and everyone’s attention shifted back to her. “Armande reports the curfew is tighter than ever. Several people have been imprisoned for disobeying. Even more have been imprisoned for skipping morning gatherings around the temple. Deborl insists they make amends for centuries of ignoring Janan. They’ve started building something inside the city, as well, but no one is sure what it is, just that they’re all to contribute. Some people have been sent to mine or refine more materials.”