that even the trees and earth wanted to protect this sanctuary of music.
“This way.” I guided Stef and Fayden through the maze of junk. Metal poles with busted lightbulbs watched like blind sentinels. A dry fountain crumbled beneath the onslaught of nature and heat. Ancient sculptures of men riding winged horses rested on the ground, vines creeping around legs and outstretched arms.
Once, this place had been loved. Honored. Now, it was a decaying secret, one I was going to expose to people I wasn’t sure I could trust. My injured shoulder throbbed as I heaved open one of the doors, its hinges shrieking, and we stepped into the cool darkness of the lobby.
“What is this?” Fayden asked.
“It’s where Mother took me every time she said we were going foraging.”
I hadn’t come here since she died, and it felt like betrayal, bringing a stranger and my brother here now. The concert hall had meant so much to me over the years.
But I took them through the entry hall, past the collection of art and statues, which Mother and I hadn’t dared touch, lest we break something. Somehow, the portraits and murals and crystal lamps always looked clean, as though someone else came here for reflection or learning, and cared for the artifacts during their stay. Like Mother had taught me to care for the instruments, as well as play them.
“Some of this stuff could be useful,” muttered Stef. He turned his eyes up to the old lamps and faces carved into the marble.
“Or sold.” Fayden shook his head. “I can’t believe how well preserved everything is.”
“Leave it.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “That isn’t why I brought you here.”
Fayden and Stef exchanged wry smiles. “Testy,” Stef said.
“You should have seen him as a child. He wouldn’t eat meat for a whole year because he realized it was animals.”
Great. Now
My footfalls were silent as we moved through the lobby.
Now I was going to assist in the destruction of something we both loved: the glass curtain that stood on the back of the stage, miraculously spared from the violent earthquakes and rivers of flowing lava.
The auditorium looked as it always did, quiet and sagging, and heavy with the weight of centuries. And there on the stage, covered against dust and moisture, stood the piano before the glass curtain.
“I need you to promise me something.” I kept my voice low as I faced my brother, my back to the stage. “If you have any love for Mother, don’t scavenge this place. Don’t gut it like you do other buildings.”
Fayden just stared beyond me, his eyes filled with the glass.
“She kept it secret for a reason,” I said. “She’d want us to use the glass to save lives, but the rest of it needs to stay.”
“You don’t get to say what Mother would have wanted.” Fayden tore his gaze from the glass, and focused on me. His growl was low and menacing. “Not now.”
“You two can fight later.” Stef pushed his way through the hall, awe filling his voice as he approached the immense glass wall. “How did this survive?”
“I don’t know. Mother’s mother brought her here to teach her about music. Grandmother was a pianist before the Cataclysm. It happened during a performance, I guess.” I turned from my brother to face the shimmering brown-and-blue-and-green landscape depicted by the curtain. It showed the volcano south of here, though it was pre-Cataclysm and the crater looked different now. “It folds up, but I have no idea how.” I couldn’t imagine how heavy it was. “Grandmother and her friends must have left it for future generations.”
“Will it work for what you need?” Fayden asked.
“Yes, but it seems wrong to destroy it now.” Stef glanced at me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
It wasn’t my curtain. I had no right to make that decision. But what did I want more? The glass curtain and the continued sanctity of the only safe place I’d ever known, or to protect others from my mother’s fate?
If sacrificing a piece of something I loved so much would help save lives . . . “Let’s do it.”
“It won’t be easy getting the glass out.” Stef climbed onto the stage and walked by the covered piano without even noticing it. “The glass is in there really well.”
“I might be able to help,” said Fayden. “If
It wasn’t as though he’d listen to anything I said anyway. “Do you need my help for anything?” I asked Stef. “I’m not sure if there are tools for that, but you might be able to find something if you look around and don’t mind improvising.” The only tools I knew about were the ones for repairing and tuning instruments.
My eyes strayed toward the piano.
“No,” Stef said. “I don’t need you right now. Fayden and I can figure this out.”
I winced—still useless—but let myself be secretly relieved. I didn’t know how to dismantle the curtain, nor did I want to know.
When Stef and Fayden left the room in search of tools, I pulled off the piano cover, leaving it in a puddle of gray cloth on the stage, and sat on the piano bench. I dragged my fingers over the keys, not pressing any just yet. With my eyes closed and the heavy silence around me, I could almost pretend nothing had changed since the last time I’d been here.
This room was refreshingly quiet, as though the outside world didn’t exist. No mangy dogs roaming the streets. No drought slowly killing the land. No plague sweeping through the Community.
No trolls. No Janan with impossible quests. No Father.
When I sat on this bench, it was just Mother and me. With music.
“What is that?” Stef asked from a doorway on the side of the stage. He carried a small toolbox as he approached.
“A piano.”
“Is it useful?” He dropped the toolbox with a
“It isn’t.” Fayden came in from the other side of the stage. “It just makes noise. I’ve seen others in the city.”
Stef glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, but I just shook my head. Fayden wasn’t wrong. What use had music been against a troll? Or hunger? Or Father’s blows?
“Show us,” Stef said. “I want to hear.”
Play something? For them? They didn’t know anything about music. They didn’t care. And they wouldn’t understand why I did—why it meant everything to me. I didn’t know Stef well enough to predict his reaction, but Fayden would just mock me. Or worse: he’d tell Father and I’d somehow end up on Janan’s quest in spite of my absence today.
“Go on.” Fayden knelt and searched through the toolbox. “If you’re not going to help us figure out how to take this apart, you might as well give us something to listen to.”
I couldn’t come all the way here and not play. Even if it was just a little while. For people who couldn’t understand.
“Fine.” I opened the lid, then warmed up with a few scales. Fayden rolled his eyes at their simplicity, but I ignored that, and a few notes that sounded off. There wasn’t much I could do about it; though Mother and I—and her mother before her—had been caring for and tuning the piano as best we could over the years, the fluctuating temperature and humidity had taken a toll.
It was better than nothing, though.
While I ran through scales, Stef wandered over to watch the hammers and levers inside. “Interesting,” he muttered as I found the music I’d been working to learn the last time I came here.
First I played a simple phrase, a slow and thoughtful sound. A few measures later, a rolling chord joined the melody, lifting it. The music inhaled, exhaled, and the deeper chords shivered into my bones. With no more hesitation, the sound poured across the stage, rolled up the glass curtain, and fell in glorious showers along the marble walls and balconies. Music filled the theater like smoke, like water, like a mysterious force that held me in its thrall. I lost myself, swaying to the beat, hardly aware of the pages of music in front of me. The keys were extensions of my fingers, the piano another part of my body, and I was soaring.
