Jodi Meadows: Phoenix Overture

Since Stef lived in the last district to be evacuated, we had a perfect view from the roof of his house. We could see the crumbling towers of the old city peeking just above the conifer trees of the forest, and the mountains rising like a wall in the west. The road cut alongside those mountains, giving the impression it was safe and protected. But trolls and other creatures lived in those mountains. Everyone in the Community had been armed with bows and arrows, knives, or spears.

Not that I knew how to use the weapons I’d been given.

With the steady stream of people moving along the black, the road seemed truly a river. Over the course of the day, we saw a few disruptions to the line, and some people fled to the old city as though it could save them, but most—when it was their district’s turn—just snapped the horses’ reins and began walking.

The evacuations took all day, and paused when dusk fell. After another long morning of watching groups heave their wagons onto the road, it was finally our turn. Whit and Orrin sat on the front seat of the wagon, big hats shading their faces while they drove. Meanwhile, Fayden took a horse and rode alongside our wagon, and Stef and I stood on the roof, scanning the landscape for danger of any kind.

We weren’t the only ones with that idea. All along the caravan, boys and girls balanced on wagon rooftops, tasked with lookout duty. They were messengers, too, shouting information over the clatter of hooves and wheels.

“Here.” Stef tossed a torn strip of cloth at me. “Tie this over your nose and mouth so you don’t breathe in the dust.” He was already tying a faded blue piece of cloth over his face.

Sure enough, dust from the wagons and herds of livestock ahead of us filled the air. As soon as my cloth was in place, my nose and mouth felt less gritty.

“Being at the end of the line is the worst,” he said, leaning on the spear he’d been assigned.

“Not necessarily. If the front of the line runs into something terrible, we’ll be able to flee quickly.” I’d been given a sling with which to defend our wagon from creatures prowling this wide-open land. Since I didn’t know how to use the sling, Fayden had agreed to teach me. Sometime.

As we headed away from home, I glanced back at the remnants of the Community one last time, at the people who hadn’t left.

Hundreds—maybe thousands—of people were still there. What would happen to them? Would they survive their first winter alone?

The sky dimmed with night. In our first half day of travel, we hadn’t even left sight of the Community. In the not-so-distance, the Center curved into the sky, a single egglike dome. I was lying on the roof of the wagon with the other boys, both of them already snoring, when orange light flickered near the Center, and smoke obscured the stars.

“What’s that?” I whispered. But the others were asleep. I nudged Stef with my elbow. “Look there.”

He gave a huge yawn and started to roll over, but I elbowed him again until he sat up. “What?”

“Look.” I could smell it now, the faint odor of acrid smoke. “It’s on fire.”

“What’s burning?” Stef rubbed his face and scanned the horizon until he saw what I did. His eyes grew wide and he swatted at the motionless body next to him. “Fay, wake up.”

“That’s not my name,” Fayden muttered as he brushed sleep from his eyes.

But a minute later, we were all standing on the wagon—careful to make as little noise as possible so we didn’t wake the sisters sleeping below—and staring south down the dark road. “Is it the Center?”

“I think it’s the houses,” Stef said. “It’s the Community around the Center.”

“Was it a lightning strike? More riots?” Even as the words left my lips, I knew they were pathetic hopefulness. We hadn’t left the Community just in time to avoid some sort of natural disaster. It wasn’t anything like that.

Even now, I could hear the clip-clop of horseshoes on cracked pavement as people rode up from the burning Community.

“Get down,” I hissed, and the three of us scrambled to press our bellies to the wagon roof.

Minutes stretched longer as the ring of iron on pavement increased in volume, and silhouettes appeared against the lit horizon. As they grew nearer and their forms clearer, I recognized Li, one of Janan and Meuric’s warriors who policed the streets of the Community sometimes; everyone, even Father, was afraid of him, and of the permanent frown he wore like armor.

I recognized the others by sight only: one balding man, and one with the most impressive mustache I’d seen in my whole life.

Stef, Fayden, and I stayed low as the men rode up on their horses, coming into the glow cast by torches and lamps hanging off wagons. Dark spots colored their sleeves and the hems of their trousers.

Blood.

Chills snaked through me. Li and his men hadn’t just set fire to the Community—they’d slaughtered everyone who’d chosen to stay, including Father.

Months ago, a troll had killed Mother. Now, my own people had killed Father. The world was full of monsters, Stef had said before. I hadn’t realized sometimes those monsters could look like people.

“Father is dead.” Saying it out loud didn’t make the turmoil of my emotions any clearer, though. No matter what he’d done to me, he’d still been my father.

“He died bitter and angry,” Fayden muttered. “Just like he lived.”

“He died alone, believing the worst of us.”

Stef swore under his breath. “Everything is going to burn. Everything we ever knew will be gone.”

Fayden had thought they’d die without the Community.

In a way, they had.

“You know what this means?” I whispered, watching the blaze rise higher.

“What’s that?” asked my brother.

“We’re never going back. Wherever Meuric is taking us, that’s where we’re staying for the rest of our lives.”

We’d been traveling for a week before I finally had a chance to try the flute. Since it wasn’t an instrument Mother or Grandmother had played, I knew very little about it, but Stef’s aunts—collectors of every book they could find—had discovered some beginner practice books in their possession. They’d given the books to me only after Stef had promised them I’d learn how to play something incredible for them.

With that in mind, I was sitting on top of the wagon practicing breathing across the mouth plate when I spotted the riders in the distance.

“Hey!” I lifted my flute into the air and waved for the neighboring wagons. “Riders!”

Along the line of wagons, other lookouts stood and peered into the distance. The riders were still a ways off, but their horses covered the distance between us quickly. There were a lot of them, and while Meuric and the Council regularly sent scouts in different directions, I’d never seen this many people returning at once. There had to be a hundred or more.

Maybe they were other people—people from another Community that had survived the Cataclysm.

Quickly, I disassembled my flute and dropped into the wagon to put it away.

“Hey, watch out.” Whit ducked out of my way as I found my feet. She eyed my flute. “You didn’t practice long.”

“There are people out there. Coming from the plains.”

Her eyebrows rose beneath her heavy black bangs. “Really?” She climbed onto the roof while I shoved my flute into its spot. “Oh, Sam.”

I scurried up the hatch after her, and hauled myself onto the roof. The riders were closer now. There were more than I had originally thought. Two hundred, at least; maybe more. They were armed with bows and spears, and just under the pounding of hooves, I could hear the roar of their yelling.