Phoenix Overture

not change. Your experiences will be engraved on your souls; there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. But you will not remember that hardship.

“See this as a second chance at life, this one unburdened by the pain and loss you’ve suffered. See this as a gift, a chance to pursue your dreams. You’ll be given dozens of lifetimes, and in the following ones you will retain your memories of those that came before. All of those lives will be enough to hone your skills in whatever you choose to do.”

The crowd was deathly quiet, but I was still shaking my head. Stef was, too. This wasn’t possible.

We would forget this night, the losses, and the long and dangerous journey. But not be free of it. If the experiences didn’t just go away, they could still haunt us for eternity. We just wouldn’t know why.

Assuming what he proposed was actually possible. Why did he need us to agree so badly? Why was this so important to him that he had to do everything in his power to convince us of the benefits?

I closed my eyes and breathed. I couldn’t imagine forgetting music, and the way it made my heart soar— made life bearable. Forgetting those moments in the concert hall with the piano, my mother encouraging me to play something. Forgetting the way my brother looked at me when he first heard my music, and the strange kindness he’d shown by taking an instrument for me to bring with us. So I wouldn’t be without music.

How could I agree to let go of those memories?

But to become new again? To forget? It might be a relief. I’d forget the pain of Mother’s loss, and Fayden’s death, and the terror of this short, brutal life. It could be worth it, being reincarnated. Having a chance to live without the burden of these haunting deaths.

If Janan told the truth, I’d have a second chance at life—more and more and more chances. And if Mother was right—if I did have music in my heart—surely I’d find my way back to it. I’d gain not just one lifetime of music, but a hundred. Maybe more.

And Stef . . . Stef might live.

“How?” The question was mine, like part of me thought Janan might actually be able to do this. “What is the cost?” I asked.

Good things always had a cost. My music meant Father hated me, even if he never knew about it. Growing close to my brother meant it hurt so much more when the dragon took him. Gaining a friend in Stef meant that if he died, I would have nothing left at all.

The cost for endless life had to be tremendous.

Janan leveled his gaze on me. His voice was somber. “There is a cost. You’re right. And it is a regrettable one. But you’ll never miss it. You’ll never know of its absence. When you die, I will hold on to your soul. I will ensure you are reborn. In exchange, I will take a new soul—a life never lived.”

My mouth fell open. “And what would you do with them? Those souls?”

Behind me, people shifted and muttered, but Janan raised his hand and the noises ceased. “I will . . . absorb their potential. Consume their power. And when I have enough power, I will return to you.”

He would eat them? How could anyone even think like that? Like it might be a good way to get anything done?

I wanted to be sick.

Stef shook his head, just slightly, and his voice was weak. When he whispered, I had to repeat his words: “This isn’t possible. None of it is. You’re talking about souls and magic, as if it’s anything we can actually touch.”

Janan spread his arms wide. “You live in a world with trolls and dragons and phoenixes—creatures that didn’t exist a hundred years ago. There is magic in the world. There’s magic right in front of you. This tower—that wall—wasn’t here until our enemies created it. This, what I am proposing, isn’t imaginary. It is real: an equal exchange of energy. Life for life.”

Silence flooded the area, thick and smothering. Undercurrents of fear threaded the crowd, with people shifting their weight, rubbing chills off their skin, and seeking out others’ gazes for comfort or support.

No. This wasn’t real. The imprisonment had driven him crazy. Horribly, disgustingly crazy.

“You must decide soon.” Janan glanced at the sky, and the moon dipping toward the horizon. Morning hovered beyond the snow-capped mountains.

Why was he rushing us?

“What happens if we say no?” The question came from far back in the crowd, barely audible. “What happens if we don’t agree to exchange new souls for ours?”

Janan’s smile was almost compassionate, almost understanding, but there was a hunger in his eyes that betrayed him. “You will not remember the exchange. Nor will the souls taken know what’s happening. They’ll be ignorant. After all, do you remember before you were born?”

I didn’t even remember being a baby, but I’d been alive then. My lack of memory of those years didn’t mean I hadn’t been aware of my own existence.

“But what happens if we say no?” the questioner asked again.

“You know what happens,” Li said, from where he stood on the outskirts of the assembly. “You were given a choice whether or not to leave the Community, those months ago. You all said yes. You took the challenge to come here. Those who did not . . .”

“They were killed.” My voice was heavy and stiff. “You killed them. You set the Community on fire.”

“We showed them mercy,” said Li. “They’d have died without us, but slower and more painfully. We made it quick so they would not suffer.”

“And anyone who says no now would receive the same merciful treatment?” I asked.

Someone sobbed. People whispered, “I don’t want to die,” and, “I just can’t.” Muttered debates broke out, filling the prison yard with fear and worry and guilt.

I looked at Stef, the way he slumped. Heat radiated off him, and sweat poured down his face and throat. He was barely conscious. “What do you think?” I asked.

He just groaned.

“Decide now,” shouted Janan. “Either embrace new life, or leave us.”

I straightened and peered across the crowd, watching as a few people walked away. I watched as Li and the other soldiers drew their swords and stabbed.

Screams erupted, but the guards shouted assurances: only those who tried to leave would be killed. Everyone else was safe.

As long as they said yes.

I should have walked away. I should have been that strong.

But I wasn’t. I’d seen the dangers of this world, the monsters both creature and human. I’d seen so much death. Didn’t I deserve a little bit of life now?

Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe we’d say yes and nothing would happen, and our lives would go back to the terrifying struggle for survival of before. But Janan and his people would allow us to live, because we’d said yes.

We wouldn’t be slaughtered like the few who walked away.

It felt awful, agreeing to something like this, even if it wasn’t real. Even if Janan couldn’t keep his promise, deciding we would allow that kind of horror was just as bad as the crime.

Just as I was about to ask Stef what to do—what he wanted to do—he collapsed. His hand slipped from my shoulder and the crutch went flying. I dropped, too, but too slow to catch him, and he looked up at me with such fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to die, Sam.”

I didn’t want to die, either. Not after I’d finally learned to enjoy life again.

Thunder broke through the cacophony of discussion, of sobbing and uncertainty, and as one, a million people looked to the stars.

Dragons.

They filled the sky with their immense wings.

People shouted and wept, and Janan raised his voice as a door appeared on the side of the tower—a door that hadn’t been there before. “Stay outside if you want to die. But if you want the chance to live, follow me into the tower. I will make you into something new. Something incredible. And all of this terror will be forgotten. Let