The companionship I’d been missing over the last weeks built around me, built inside me.
A year ago—it felt like a thousand years ago—I’d trapped a sylph inside an egg and burned my hands. When they healed, the rose thorn scars I’d worn most of my life had vanished. The scars never would have healed without the sylph fire. Only the ruin had allowed new, healthy skin to grow over.
Like a phoenix bursting into flame and a rain of sparks before being reborn in its own ashes, it had taken burning up in my own misery for me to realize I didn’t need other people to believe in me before I could do something.
I had to believe in myself.
Hopefully I would see my friends again and be able to explain that.
The singing faded and sylph burned around me, happier than I’d seen them in weeks. Shadows caressed my hands and arms, and Cris said, -Thank you,- as we continued on our journey.
I’d been so lost in my own ragged emotions, I hadn’t even noticed their sadness. They’d missed the music, too.
I wouldn’t ignore them again.
The sylph led me through the woods, melting snow where they thought I might have trouble finding traction. We crept through the forest for hours, strains of melody fluttering around like butterflies or leaves in autumn. Though exhausted, I felt oddly peaceful, considering I was in a dark and unfamiliar forest with a dozen burning shadows.
Only as morning light bled through the forest did I realize I’d been walking all night. My muscles ached, and my stomach felt hollow. I gathered up a handful of fresh snow and ate it, but it only helped a little.
One of the sylph flew off to find something for me to eat, and a few minutes later I was picking scorched feathers off a pigeon. It wasn’t ideal, but a few bites too hot to taste, along with snow, helped immensely.
I was just about to sit and rest when morning reflected off white stone just through the trees.
A broken section of the wall.
I’d arrived.
18
RINGING
YESTERDAY THE DRAGONS had come in the morning. If I wanted to attract their attention, I needed to time everything perfectly.
Preferably after they’d found something to eat.
I tightened my backpack straps and tucked my flute case into my coat. A pile of rubble made a sort of stair; I scrambled up the steep incline, careful of slick spots and snow. When I reached a gap with too many loose rocks, I stretched for a low-hanging branch and climbed a spruce tree until I reached another decent section of the wall.
It took forever, and sylph kept stopping me so they could dry my way, but at last I reached the top of the wall.
Snow made the sky misty gray, but from up here, I could see everything. Trees encroached on the prison, pushing through piles of weather-smoothed stone broken off the wall. I stood above them, the pines and spruces and maples, for a moment feeling like the tallest person in the world.
There was the cliff I’d found yesterday. It seemed awfully far away now, though it was probably only an hour’s walk. I’d had to take the long way around, coming down the mountain in the dark.
Sam and the others would be waking soon, if they weren’t already. I tried not to imagine their reaction to my letter.
Cold wind streaked across the wall, but sylph huddled around me, warming the air and absorbing the force of the wind to keep it from hitting so hard. The wall was plenty wide, but I couldn’t risk falling. There were a few holes here and there; this wall—and the tower inside—didn’t have Janan keeping it intact. The stone was ice cold and crumbling, with no heartbeat inside.
When I had a clear view of the frost-crusted forest, I drew my flute from its case and blew hot air into the mouthpiece to warm the metal. I wanted to remove the case and my backpack, since they were heavy and awkward, but I couldn’t risk losing them. It seemed like if I put them down, they’d be gone. The sylph weren’t corporeal; they were useless for carrying things.
I hadn’t heard dragon thunder yet, but the gray clouds spat snow. A dragon could be hiding up there, easily.
My heart thudded against my ribs. What if they didn’t come? What if they did?
“I don’t know, Cris.” My voice shook as I lifted my flute. “This is seeming too big again.”
Cris hummed comfortingly, and shadows touched my hands, my cheeks.
Sylph formed a horseshoe around me, leaving everything ahead of me visible. I needed to be able to see and listen.
Wing beats cracked in the east, and I shivered.
Clouds rippled with serpentine bodies pushing closer. I breathed hot air into my flute, keeping the metal warm, getting my lungs used to the effort. I wouldn’t have time to warm up like normal. Not unless dragons were impressed by scales and rhythm exercises.