Phoenix Overture

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.

“Those aren’t riders.” Whit stood at my side, gazing eastward. “Those are centaurs. Part human, part horse.”

I squinted. She was right. The human parts were so far forward, they couldn’t have been people sitting astride horses. Their bodies were long and slender, and their faces much narrower than a human’s. And as they drew nearer, they raised their weapons. At us.

All along the caravan, people shouted and pointed. Men took to their horses and kicked them toward the plains, where the centaurs began loosing their arrows.

“We’re under attack,” Whit breathed. She scrambled toward the front of the wagon, where Orrin drove the team of ponies. “Don’t stop the wagon. No matter what, keep going.”

I couldn’t hear Orrin’s response over the rush of wind as the wagon jerked faster. On the road ahead, everyone was moving more quickly, while the warriors who’d been riding alongside the caravan broke off, wielding swords as well as bows.

Fayden appeared on horseback, just below my perch on the edge of the wagon. “Protect our things, Dossam.”

“Me?” Before I could find out how I was supposed to do that, Fayden took off toward the centaurs, along with the warriors and people who were supposed to protect the caravan.

Arrows rained from the lines of centaurs, most landing in the ground, but a few—too many—hit their marks. Bodies rolled off their horses, onto the ground.

Desperately, I gathered up my sling and a few rocks that were scattered on the wagon roof. Whit was already back inside the wagon, and I wasn’t sure where Stef had gone. As the caravan moved faster, and the world came alive with shouts and screams and the sounds of people dying, I pressed my stomach to the roof and watched the battle, trying to find Fayden in the mess of people.

Everyone moved so quickly. Nothing made sense. Humans seemed to be winning, thanks to our greater numbers, but the centaurs were fast and frightening warriors.

A centaur slipped through the human ranks, coming right at my wagon.

Our eyes locked and he grinned as he drew back his bowstring. Someone from another wagon shot the centaur, but his arrow was already on its way, flying toward me.

I ducked and rolled away, gasping as I felt the thump of the arrow hitting the wagon right below where I’d been lying a moment before. My breath came ragged and short.

The wagon jerked beneath me, but I held myself still and small until the sounds of battle faded. Then, at last, the caravan paused. To take care of the dead, perhaps.

I lay on top of the wagon, catching my breath until Fayden’s voice sounded nearby. “Dossam? Sam?”

“Here!” I forced myself to sit up, in spite of my shaking limbs. Fayden was climbing atop the wagon, and he appeared unhurt, though sweat and dirt dripped down his face and neck. My whole body trembled with relief. Fayden was alive. “Where’s Stef?”

“I saw him a minute ago. He’s fine.” Fayden looked me over, and his eyes cut to the forgotten sling on the other side of the roof. “Were you hiding?”

“One tried to shoot me!”

Fayden scowled. “I told you to defend the wagon.”

I stared at him. “I almost died.” In spite of that truth, a tendril of guilt slithered through me. I’d been given one task. Just one. And I hadn’t been able to bring myself to even attempt it. I’d hidden, like a coward.

My brother threw his hands in the air. “So did I. So did others. And some did die. You’re not a child anymore, Dossam. You need to learn to fight.”

I shuddered, and the guilt turned into dread. “I can’t. I’m not a fighter.”

“You have to be.” He knelt next to me. The disappointment in his tone was unbearable, but even worse was the understanding. He knew why I’d hidden. “This isn’t the Community. We’re more vulnerable out here than ever. You need to learn to defend yourself, and the other people in this wagon.” With a sigh, he offered his hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. We’ve got to help bury the dead. Then we’ll work on getting you in shape to defend yourself.”

10

FAYDEN FORCED ME to throw rocks with him first thing the next morning.

“This isn’t hard.” He scooped up a few palm-sized stones. “Slip the loop around your fourth finger; hold the other end between your forefinger and thumb. Wind back and throw, releasing the loose end of the cord.”

He demonstrated, swinging the sling back and around so it made a figure eight in the air. He released. The rock whizzed through the air and struck a fallen sign a few dozen paces away. A loud whap echoed where the stone hit a line of faded numbers.

“Just like that.”

I heaved a sigh and attempted to follow his instructions. The loop went over my finger easily enough, and I grasped the other end as he showed me. But the jagged rock he gave me kept falling from the leather pouch before I ever managed to get it moving.

“It’s broken.” My rock clattered to the ground.

“Hold on to the rock through the pouch.” He showed me. “Drop it as you’re winding back. Let gravity help your momentum.”

“Okay.” Dubiousness colored my voice, but I did as he said. The rock stayed in place as I swung it back and up and around, just like I’d seen Fayden do—

Sharp pain crackled up my left shoulder. Swearing, I dropped everything and clutched my shoulder. “That hurt!”

Fayden laughed and shook his head. “That’s pathetic. You have to release the stone or of course it will swing back and hit you.”

“You’re the worst brother,” I muttered, gathering up my supplies.

“You know I’m the best.” Fayden jerked his head toward the sign he’d used as a target earlier. “Try again. Aim for the sign. It’s big enough, even you should be able to hit it.”

“Don’t be so sure.” I fitted the sling onto my hand again, loaded the rock as he’d shown me, and swung back and around. This time, I released the cord between my finger and thumb, and the stone whistled through the air —somewhere far to my left.

Fayden grinned. “Well. That’s closer to the target than your shoulder. Try again. Step into it this time.”

As dawn bled across the sky, I practiced hurling rock after rock. My arm grew sore, but after several dozen