Author: Jodi Meadows

They must not have taken earthquake swarms into account, though, because several times, we had to stop and kick through piles of dirt where the pipe had cracked open. The air grew musty and hard to breathe, and my hair stuck to my head uncomfortably. Sweat pooled in my collarbone, snaking down my chest, down my spine. The sylph at the rear didn’t help the heat, but at least they were quiet. The echo of their songs probably would have driven me to catch them all in sylph eggs.

“Is there water in the city?” I kept my voice low to keep it from carrying. Even so, the sound made me wince. “Since the lake is dry?”

“Yes.” Stef’s voice rasped against the walls of the pipe. “There are cisterns for rainwater and snow. The city is built for siege. Even with the lake drained, the population can live comfortably for five months. Much longer if we ration carefully.”

That was good to know. I might get a shower after all.

Light grew ahead, off to one side. “This is it. Looks like Sarit already opened the hatch for us.” After we climbed a small incline, Stef turned off her lantern and fastened it to her backpack. “Let’s get out of here.”

Cool air rushed in as she pushed the grate the rest of the way open, and at last we stepped into a small, dim room with powered-down labor drones sitting on shelves along the far side, and a handful of pipes crisscrossing the room with hatches leading in. The sylph hung back in the pipe, deep in the darkness. They’d come out when we reminded Sarit they were our army.

“Finally!” Sarit exploded from around the corner and stopped just short of hugging me. “You smell terrible.”

“I feel disgusting, too.”

She looked good, though, except for the dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the way her smile didn’t quite fit right. After losing Armande, she’d been alone. For a few weeks, she hadn’t even had me, since the SED signal didn’t reach as far north as we’d gone.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” Tears glimmered in Sarit’s eyes as she smiled at everyone. “I can’t say how much I missed you. But I’m not going to hug you until after you’ve all washed up. I have standards, you know.”

“We missed you, too.” I peeled hair off my forehead and gazed around the small room. It was good to be back inside solid walls, though the circumstances of our return could have been so much better. “Where have you been staying? How soon until I can shower?”

“Twenty minutes, if you run and get to the shower first. I’ve been rotating darksoul houses and industrial buildings. We’re in the middle of the industrial quarter right now, in one of the few buildings still standing after they razed a bunch of warehouses and things. This one is still necessary.” She shrugged. “I’m taking you to the textile mill. I had to pretend like I was Stef in order to rig some of the pipes into a shower, but it’ll do if you’re desperate.”

“And we are.” Whit laughed and headed for the door, but as soon as he pulled it open, a blue light shot in. Whit dropped over.

He was dead.

24

LOSS

I SCREAMED.

Sam and Stef drew their pistols and pushed their way to the door, keeping to the sides.

Another blue light shot in, but before Sam or Stef could duck outside, blackness surged from the pipe where we’d just come from, keening so loud my ears ached.

The sylph passed over Whit’s body in the doorway, hotter as they moved outside. Though he’d been killed by a laser, leaving only a small hole in his forehead, the heat of sylph scorched his skin darker and darker, burning his clothes and hair and eyelashes.

Sarit screamed, her voice raw. Sam and Stef moved back as the sylph streamed outside, and within heartbeats, men and women cried out in pain. The stench of burning flesh flooded the room, mixing with the reek we’d carried in from the aqueduct and days of travel. Acid pushed up my throat; I doubled over and threw up.

Before I could spit and wipe my mouth, Sam grabbed my wrist and hauled me after him. Stef had Sarit.

“Let’s go.” Stef guided us over Whit’s body.

His body.

He’d been alive a minute ago.

Now he was a charred husk.

“Come on!” Sam jerked me outside. It was dark, but there were enough lights in this quarter that I couldn’t ignore the smoking bodies on the ground. Four of them, all burned to death by sylph.

I stumbled after Sam, my feet tripping over each other, over the hard ground.

Stef passed Sarit to Sam. “Get them to the mill. I’ll take care of this.”

Take care of this? There were bodies. Whit.

“Is that safe?” Sam asked.

“I’ll make it safe.” Stef’s eyes were hard, angry.

Tears blinded me as I staggered after Sam, bumping against Sarit, who seemed just as disoriented and confused. Sylph flew around us, only half their usual number. The others must have stayed with Stef.

“This way.” Sam’s voice was rough as he dragged us behind buildings to wait, listen, though I couldn’t hear anything over the thud of my heartbeat, the hitch in my breath, and the gasp of Sarit’s weeping.

For what seemed like hours, we started and stopped, hiding behind buildings, though the ragged sound of my breathing would surely give us away. Sylph pushed ahead and around, though only one knew the way to the textile mill, and I couldn’t tell if Cris had stayed with us or Stef.

Or Whit.

He’d been killed, then burned up.

A door slammed, and after a sweep of the flashlight, Sam turned on the lights. Heavy curtains blocked the windows, keeping any passersby from noticing a glow.

“Shower?” Sam asked.

Sarit pointed across the main floor, toward a dark hall. Her voice was low, monotone. “Where they wash the wool. Just after—”

“I know where that is.” Sam led me around a maze of machines, down the lit hallway, and entered a room with giant tubs. “Come on,” he murmured, helping me remove my backpack, my flute case, and my coat.

I dropped onto the edge of a tub, vision blurring with tears. Sam tugged off my mud-caked boots and tossed them aside. They thumped loudly on the wooden floor. Then he pulled around a makeshift curtain and turned on the water. Hot and cold poured from holes in two different pipes above, pounding on the bottom of the tub.

“Time to get undressed.” Sam helped me peel away a few layers of clothes, until I wore only my sweaty, stiff camisole and leggings. “In you go.” He held my hand as I stepped, shaking, into the tub, and water thudded around me, hot and cold and hard from a pair of pipes in the ceiling.

I closed my eyes and let the water soak through me.

Whit was dead.

I’d seen him die.

We’d been laughing.

And then he was gone.

Deborl’s people had been waiting for us.

They knew we were back.

When I opened my eyes, water still poured over my skin. Steam filled the room, and I couldn’t tell how long I’d been standing under the broken pipes. A long time.

I found shampoo and soap on the edge of the tub, a washcloth. Other showerlike things. Sarit must have liked this place. It had water, and lots of soft things to nest in.

Still shaking, I peeled off my underclothes, clutching a pipe to keep from falling. Silk plopped at the bottom of the tub, where dirt and grime had turned to mud around the drain. I nudged the mud with my toes until it fell through.

I scrubbed as hard as I could, feeling like I’d never been so filthy in my life. My skin burned, raw and red by the time I stopped the water and stood dripping.

Sam had left the room a while ago, taking my backpack and flute with him, but a pile of fresh towels and clothes waited. I dried and dressed, fumbling to clean my mess so the next person to shower wouldn’t have to. Sam still needed one. And Stef. And Whit. . . .

Not Whit.

I choked back a sob as I hurled my filthy clothes into another tub where Sarit must have been doing laundry; a heap of clothes already waited there.

When my hair was combed and braided and I caught a glimpse of myself in a fogged mirror, I looked skinny and pale. My cheeks were hollow and my collarbone jutted sharply, knifelike. The way short strands of hair clung to my forehead didn’t help.

I chafed my towel over my skin one more time, then threw it in the laundry tub.

The hall was cool and dim. Low voices came from another room of the mill. I followed them past a storage room, another holding enormous machines with a wide conveyer and rollers at one end, with sharp pins sticking out of all the surfaces. Carders.

One room had machines with spindly arms and bobbins filled with spun yarn. Tufts of carded wool had long ago settled on the floor like snow. Synthetic silk glimmered in the lights coming from the hall.

I found Sam and Sarit sitting on a bench in the weaving room, the giant looms half-warped with thread. Crates of fabric were stacked along the walls, some cloths dyed in brilliant hues, others in more subtle colors. None of these things looked like the smaller textile manufacturing machines I’d seen before. These were far less friendly, meant for production, but the whole building bore age and abandonment like a shroud.

As I entered, Sam looked up, dark and weary. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Thirsty.” I walked around a loom and sat between him and Sarit. If Whit were here, he’d have teased me, asking how I could possibly be thirsty after all the water I’d just soaked up. But he wasn’t. Whit would never be here again.

Sam handed me a bottle of water. The outside door opened, and he nodded at Stef as she walked inside, shadows trickling after her. “Want to shower next?”

She dropped her backpack and sleeping bag, then headed to the washroom without comment.

I leaned over my knees and tried not to think. A slender arm wrapped around me, and Sarit rested her cheek on my shoulder. “I know,” she whispered. “I know it hurts.”

Did she remember about Janan? That no one was getting reincarnated? Or could a death still carve out a hole in your heart, even if you thought they were coming back?

It had to hurt, no matter what. That was why Stef had once saved Sam’s hat, after a dragon had killed him. And why Sam had saved me from drowning in Rangedge Lake. That was why people crowded into the rebirth room to welcome back old friends or lovers.

That was why the days after Templedark, and the memorial held in the north, had been so somber. They knew temporary loss, temporary death, and how it ached.

With Templedark, they knew permanent loss as well.

I leaned into Sarit’s arms, grateful for her comfort. And deeply guilty for not being here when she lost Armande. Not that I could have magically transported myself to her side.

Soft moans came from around the room, and heat followed. Sylph.

Sarit tensed, but forced herself to relax after a moment.

“I’ve explained about the sylph,” Sam said. “Cris is here. He and the others want to apologize for—You know.”

For burning up Whit as they passed. I knew.

“And for what happened outside.”

For leaving charred, smoking bodies. “They saved the rest of us.” My voice was dry, aching.

“They swore to protect you,” Sam said quietly. “They’ll do anything it takes.”

Because they thought I could stop Janan and redeem them, put an end to the punishment phoenixes had placed on them five thousand years ago. I knew that, too.

“What now?” I asked.

“I’ll call Orrin and tell him about Whit. They’ve been best friends . . . forever.”

“He needs to know,” I agreed.

“And we do whatever it takes to stop Janan’s ascension.”

We had five days until Soul Night. That time was a gift.

“Maybe we can find allies,” Sam continued. “We should start with Deborl’s prisoners and find a way to free them.” He kept his voice gentle. “Now that Sarit’s not alone anymore, perhaps she can get some sleep.”