He wasn’t sorry. Not really. But I didn’t contradict him as I worked to straighten the kitchen. “He wants me to volunteer for Janan’s quest. If I don’t, he’s kicking me out.”
“What quest?” Fayden grabbed a plate off the counter and swept all the bacon onto it. Grease dripped onto the floor.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t hear the announcement. Father just said Janan wants warriors.”
Fayden barked a laugh. “And he thought you should volunteer? A skinny fifteen-year-old who can barely stand to see raw meat?”
It was laughable, so I didn’t say anything, just began scrubbing the handprints off the wall.
“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Janan would never accept you, of course, but it would get Father off your back for a while.”
My rag fell to the floor with a wet plop as I glared at him. “Do you think so? Do you think that he wouldn’t punish me for being rejected for something he already knows I’m not suited to do?”
“Well, what are you suited for?” Fayden gestured around the kitchen. “Not cooking. Not cleaning. You refuse to go tend plague victims.”
“I don’t want to get the plague!” I scooped up my rag and threw it onto the counter.
“You’re not strong enough to haul water. Scavenging is too dangerous for you.” He slammed the filthy plate onto the counter. “And you couldn’t even—”
“Go ahead,” I growled. “Say it.”
He shoved away from the counter, rattling the plate, and marched from the kitchen. “You know what you couldn’t do, Dossam.”
I wanted to snarl back at him, but he was gone, his boots pounding through the house.
Anyway, he was right.
I knew what I couldn’t do.
2
EVERYTHING ENDED WITH death.
Death claimed entire civilizations, leaving wastelands and ruins, forever stretches of destruction and darkness.
Death claimed memories, the knowledge of what had come before, and promises of futures dreamt.
And death claimed mothers.
It was that loss that cut the deepest, that loss that would never heal. If Father or Fayden recognized the sucking grief inside of me, that consuming hollow that pulled me ever further from them, they never said. If I vanished from the world, would they even notice? Would they care?
They’d been able to continue with their lives, sadder, but no different. But for me, her absence meant I had nothing. She’d been the only person who’d seen the worth of my music, and now she was gone.
The rest of the world kept spinning, even though mine had stopped.
Father wanted to me to meet Janan in the Center at noon. Maybe I would. Or maybe he’d be disappointed in me once again. As I headed away from the Community, stretching my legs to reach the solitude of the woods more quickly, I honestly didn’t know whether I’d make it back.
If I thought I stood a chance on my own, against the rocs and trolls and griffons, I might never go back to the Community. The concert hall was quiet and hidden; there hadn’t been a day since Mother’s death that I didn’t dream about packing my belongings and staying there for the rest of my life.
But I barely survived with the Community. I wouldn’t make it a day on my own, especially not in the middle of the old city, without food or clean water.
Sunlight broke through the clouds and their false promise of rain. Insects droned lazily in the heat.
More than anything now, I wanted to be alone with the music of the forest: the wind sighing through the tall conifers, the rustle of feathers as birds took flight, and the bubble of shrinking streams in their rocky paths. The woods sang a dark and lovely melody that haunted my thoughts.
Grief was a chasm in my heart, unaffected by the beauty of the morning-clad woods. I pushed myself down the path. Walking nowhere was better than hanging about the Community, missing someone who could never come back.
A loud crack sounded above me, followed by the noise of crashing and cursing. A deep voice shouted from the trees. “Watch out!”
I jerked up just in time to see a metal beam swing toward me, bringing with it a shower of pine needles and cones.
I ducked to the left, but not quickly enough.
Sharp pain splintered down my right arm as the impact shoved me backward, leaving me sprawled over a log. The beam sailed back and forth, inches from my face, held by only a fraying rope.
Rust flaked off the iron and into my eyes as I clutched my shoulder and rolled off the log. “What—”
“Sorry!” The voice came again from above, but a moment later, boots thumped onto the ground next to me. The boy from the trees crouched, his dark eyebrows pulled inward. “Are you okay?”