Asunder

“Did you ever wear matching”—I couldn’t believe it was a real thing—“hats or belts?”

He shot a look that said I’d wasted my breath asking. Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t even like attending the rededication of souls.

My tone slipped toward mocking. “I should have known not to question your sense of fashion.”

Sam squeezed my hand, his smile full of mischief. “If you asked, I’d probably find us matching hats.”

“You’re such a tease.”

Another ten minutes and we arrived at the beach, all sand and frothy gray water, veiled by evergreen trees on three sides. Immense snow-blanketed mountains stood on the horizon like walls, shaded blue and gray in this weather. These walls, unlike the one around the city, made me feel safe. Protected.

“The beach looks bigger today,” Sam said, as we came off the narrow path, the only access to the beach.

Orrin glanced southward and scowled. “It is. The water line is lower.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Nothing, probably.” Orrin and Whit exchanged looks, and Orrin shrugged. “We’ve had a lot of small earthquakes. Nothing you would have felt, and earthquake swarms don’t necessarily mean anything.

They’re just part of living on the caldera.”

I knew that. “But would a tiny earthquake change the level of the lake?”

“Maybe.” He gazed toward the water, probably wishing Rahel—the soul who’d been responsible for monitoring these things—were still alive. “A crack might have opened in the bottom of the lake. We’re on such a thin crust of land here. But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you say so.” People used the lake for water and fish, so if the level dropped, surely that would have an impact on life in Heart. But I didn’t want to get into an argument on such a nice day. When the group stopped in the middle of the beach, I helped Sam spread out a blanket and then squatted by the basket of snacks. Surely Armande had packed honey-glazed buns.

“Don’t worry about the caldera,” Orrin said, crouching next to me. “Whit and I are taking up some of Rahel’s work. If you’re interested, you’re welcome to join us when you have time.”

“Thanks. I might.”

He smiled and peered into the basket. “Have you seen muffins?”

Soon everyone was chatting, laughing, listening to waves brush sand. A few cranes and herons braved the day, but most waterfowl had already migrated south. The baby cried, but Lidea held him close, wrapped up in soft wool blankets, threaded with cinnamon-colored buffalo yarn for extra warmth.

Wend flirted with Lidea, while the others talked about their projects or music they were hoping to play together. After admiring Anid’s tiny fingers and nose and ears—all pointed out by Lidea, as if I couldn’t figure it out myself—I mostly lay on the blanket for hours, writing in my secret notebook and taking in the afternoon’s thin near-winter sunlight and the happy sound of friends’ voices.

The voices stopped.

Suddenly conscious of the change, I looked over my shoulder to follow everyone’s stares.

By the forest, shadows twisted toward sunlight. Five sylph. Ten. They emerged from the forest, silent across the sand.

Dread rushed through me, chased by fear. How had they gotten here? What did they want?

“Do we have sylph eggs?” Stef whispered, reaching for the nearest bag.

“No.” I didn’t have to look. Why would we have sylph eggs when we were so close to Heart?

Midrange Lake should have been safe. There had to be a hundred sylph traps all through the forest between here and Menehem’s laboratory.

No sylph eggs. What did we have?

“Protect Anid,” I said, standing. “When you can get him out of here, do it.” The sylph on the edges of Range hadn’t done anything more threatening than sing at us, but here, with more people? With Anid?

I couldn’t take the chance of them hurting him.

“What are you doing?” Armande asked, even as everyone stood and made a protective circle around Lidea and Anid. As if that would stop sylph.

No sylph eggs. My jacket pocket held my knife, the temple key, and my SED.

Unearthly cries shivered across the beach as I drew the SED from my pocket and sent a quick message to Councilor Sine, asking for guards and sylph eggs at the lake. Then I shifted to the music player.

“Get behind me.” My voice quivered, and my heart beat too fast, but toward the forest the sylph had stopped, and they were looking at me. “When they’re distracted, head toward the path. Don’t run or they’ll chase. They’re predators. They can’t help but chase.” No one knew whether sylph somehow ate what they burned, but they would chase.

“Don’t be stupid,” Stef said. “No one’s leaving you.”

“Please.” I shot her a desperate look. “Please just trust me.” Maybe these were the same sylph. Maybe they weren’t. I had to try.

“I’m staying with you.” Sam touched my shoulder, looking uncertain about my plan but determined to remain at my side.

Grateful for his presence, I set my SED volume on high, and strains of a nocturne floated on the air.

The sylph, which had all been curious before, snapped to alertness. All ten focused on me as I stepped to the right, away from the path. Away from my friends.

The breeze picked at the melody, sweeping it across the beach and toward the sylph. They followed the sound bit by bit, edging closer to me like they were afraid I’d take the music away.

The SED had good speakers for its size—Stef had designed everything, consulting Sam for sound quality—so the music was loud and clear as I lured the sylph away from the group. The line of shadows followed me, entranced by the long chords and arpeggios.

“Go.” I tried to keep my voice level, hoping Stef, Lidea, and the others would hear me. “While they’re distracted.”

Orrin and Armande motioned for Lidea and the baby to go first, toward the path off the beach. Pine boughs rustled, but the sylph didn’t turn. They watched me, slipping closer as I bent and placed the SED on the ground. I backed away, and they writhed toward the device, seeming to stare down at it.

Their cries were like wind over canyons: hollow, melancholy, eerie. Heat rolled off them in waves, reeking of ash and death. Any sane creature made of flesh and bone knew to stay away from sylph.

That was my plan as well. Soon my friends would be on the path to the city, and then Sam and I would follow. I’d have to leave the SED to keep the sylph distracted, but surely the Council would replace it.

But how would I explain this? Call it an accident? Stef and everyone else had seen me pull out my SED with a purpose.

While my friends escaped, sylph swirled around the device as though dancing. Their moans carried across the graying beach, and then one of their cries hit a high note at the same time as the nocturne. The cacophony snapped, a sensation like walking into a crowded room—and suddenly understanding individual voices and words. One mournful wail became the melody, while another sang countermelody.

They all chose parts, like they were members of one of Sam’s orchestras.

Near the path, Stef—the last to escape—turned around, her mouth hanging open. I motioned for her to hurry, and she turned back to the path.

The nocturne swirled around the beach, above the swish of waves and alongside the rustling of pine boughs. It was beautiful, all of them singing. Part of me wanted to lose myself in the haunting sound, but I knew better.

The nocturne ended.

Sylph fluttered around the SED, waiting. A tendril of shadow hovered over the small device, but nothing happened.

I glanced over my shoulder. Stef and the others were still visible between trees, and if anyone from the guard station was coming, I couldn’t hear them.

Sam and I weren’t nearly close enough to the path off the beach. Not that reaching the path would magically