DEDICATION
For everyone who’s stumbled
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
The Creed of Silence
Aaru
Part One: Without Sound
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Aaru
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Aaru
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Aaru
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Two: The World’s Power
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Aaru
Chapter Thirteen
Aaru
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Aaru
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Aaru
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Part Three: Follow the Light
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aaru
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aaru
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aaru
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aaru
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Part Four: Deny the Dark
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Aaru
Chapter Forty
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Jodi Meadows
Back Ads
Copyright
About the Publisher
THE CREED OF SILENCE
the final day
of the Hallowed Restoration
in the first year of the Fallen Gods
Holy are the silent—
Men who move without sound
Men who speak without voice
Men who live without intrusion
Holy are the silent—
Men who listen to the land
Men who hear the hum of light
Men who perceive the world’s power
Holy are the silent—
Men who confess their deeds
Men who obey without question
Men who follow the light
Holy are the silent—
Men who cast out the sinful
Men who abhor the wicked
Men who deny the dark
Strength through silence
Cela, cela.
Power demanded to be used.
And I had power.
AARU
Thirteen Years Ago
WHEN I WAS FOUR, I REALIZED THAT I WOULD NEVER be enough.
A strange man had come to my house all the way from Summerill, the capital of Idris. When the front door shut, blocking out only scraps of the storm’s rush and clatter, Mother performed her duties: offering towels to wipe off the rain, tea to warm the body, and a new reed mat on which to place his wet shoes. All this she did quietly, speaking only with looks and gestures. Aloud, Father apologized for her slowness. The man said slowness was expected when a woman could give birth at any moment; his annoyed tone, however, outweighed his polite words.
After all the proper welcome rituals were finished, Father introduced me. Not my sister, although she stood at my side, as still and soundless as a held breath. I lifted my chin, as expected of the boy of the house. But of course I spoke not a word. Today, of all days, I was meant to be silent.
More than silent.
The man strode toward me, his footfalls hidden under the rain that pattered endlessly against the house. The Isle of Silence had two seasons: the dry season and the wet season, and the wet season was always, always loud.
As the man peered at me, I stuffed down a whimper. A choke of worry. A breath that might be too loud. I pushed it all deep inside my stomach, locked away in an imaginary box that resided there, because I was certain he would be able to hear any noise I made, even with the rain beating the walls.
Strength through silence, I prayed, but the man’s scrutiny was like fingernails scraping my skin, harder when thoughts turned into words. So I put prayers in the box, too.
Perfect silence: unattainable by mortal men, but demanded nonetheless.
My heartbeat was thunder in my ears; he must have heard it, too, because abruptly he spun and his attention returned to Father. Freed of his sharp stare, I didn’t dare make a sound in relief. I just faded into the background with Korinah and wondered if that was all, or if there would be another test.
With the expression of a most obedient son on my face, and my hands twisted behind my back, I tapped ::Strength through silence:: over and over, as though Idris might look up from his bed in the sea and suddenly find me worthy.
Had the god of silence found the strange man’s companion worthy?
The man had a boy with him, just a year or two older than me, though besides their light-brown skin, the pair didn’t look anything alike. Where the man was round, the boy was narrow. And while the man’s facial features were all spread out, the boy’s were squished into the center.
Yes, I decided. The man must have gone to that boy’s home, squinted at his face, and deemed him not just satisfactory, but worthy. Silent enough to be taken.
But silence had little to do with manners, at least as far as the boy was concerned, because he prowled the edges of the room until his brown eyes settled on Korinah, who was still very small for a two-year-old. Then he smiled, his boredom and apathy transforming into keen interest.
Korinah tensed, and I quickly shook my head at the boy, hoping to warn him off.
But he pinched her.
My sister flinched, closing her eyes and swallowing hard, but she didn’t make a sound.
He pulled one of her curls.
She winced and sidled toward me, and I put myself between them, tapping in the quiet code for him to quit bothering her. But the other boy was bigger. He simply reached over me and tried to poke her left eye.
“Stop,” I hissed, underneath the thrum of rain.
Until that point, the entire exchange had been soundless. But at my word, all the adults looked over, deep frowns crossing their faces.
::He was trying to hurt her,:: I explained in hurried quiet code, but it was too late. I’d spoken aloud. In front of a guest. An adult guest.
It didn’t matter that the other boy had been cruel to my sister, or that I’d used my voice to stand up for her. It mattered only that I’d broken the first high law of Idris:
Strength through silence.
FIRST IT WAS the basement. Later would come the beating.
There, as close to Idris as I could possibly be, I learned about silence.
In a society that valued silence most of all, every book was next to holy. They possessed the ability to convey words and thoughts and meaning across time and space, without uttering a single sound. Books were for the wealthy, though, so my family had none—save The Book of Silence, of which every family owned at least one copy. The holiest book of all. Idris’s words, silently spread on sheets of paper so soft that they didn’t so much as whisper against one another when the pages were turned. Every evening, Father read the book’s stories and teachings aloud, while Mother tapped them in quiet code.
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The Book of Silence, as expected, had a lot to say on the subject of silence. Hand-copied pages were scattered on a table in the basement, with a pencil and pile of empty papers next to them. Waiting for me. Though I couldn’t yet read well, I could copy letters, and I knew what these pages were about.
Primarily, they instructed on reflective silence. In traditional music, the silence of every instrument was meant to allow the listener time to reflect on the note that just ended—to be joyful or frightened or worried. This silence heightened tension.
And they instructed on submissive silence—only one or two instruments playing while the others sat at rest. It forced the listener to focus on what was truly important in the moment, rather than the unendurable crush of unnecessary voices.
I sat at the table and copied letters one by one. I should have reflected, as The Book of Silence instructed. I should have surrendered my voice to the adults in the room. To the grown men.
Above, I could hear the man speaking: “Thank you, but he clearly doesn’t have the gift.”
“Please reconsider,” said my father.
“You embarrass yourself. But I should not be surprised. You have such a noisy little family.” Scorn filled the man’s tone. “I’ll take my leave now.”
I had shamed my family.
The sky went dark behind its ever-present shroud of storm clouds, and Mother came to get me. One hand curled around her belly, as though it had finally grown too big to stay up on its own.
“Are you finished praying?”
I hadn’t been praying at all. I supposed that meant I was finished.
I put down the pencil and nodded.
“Then come up and apologize to your father for humiliating him.” She turned and gripped the banister to haul herself back upstairs. Halfway there, she paused and looked back. Her voice was low, meant only for me. “I’m proud that you wanted to protect Korinah. But if you want a good life, learn how to do it silently, or don’t do it at all.”
PART ONE
WITHOUT SOUND
CHAPTER ONE
Mira
“RUN,” I WHISPERED.
Ilina, Hristo, and Aaru grew still, excitement forgotten. We’d only just escaped the Pit, but already warriors pursued us. Sounds echoed across the sunbaked field:
1.The cry of horns.
2.A clamor of shouts.
3.Boots beating the ground.
We had only minutes before they rounded a bend in the cliffside. Mounds of rubble blown out from the explosion offered us a little more cover, but it wouldn’t last long.
Escape did not mean freedom. We still had to fight for that.
“Run,” I said again, but this time I took off toward the thin forest that bordered the western side of the field, its edge too neat to be natural. Gerel would likely have been able to tell me how they sent trainees to cut back the growth using dinner knives or letter openers, but she and Chenda were somewhere else, securing more supplies.
I wished they were here.
On my shoulder, LaLa coiled into a tight ball of tiny dragon, then pushed herself into the air as I picked up speed. Her wingsister—Crystal—followed. I trusted them to keep up, to keep track of us. All dragons were excellent hunters, but Drakontos raptuses were the best at chasing scents and following movements.
Hristo and Ilina ran with me, and Aaru not far behind. Our four pairs of footfalls drummed against the ground, too loud to go unnoticed. Pain, exhaustion, and hunger weighed us down. Whatever I’d done in the Pit—that explosion of heat and power—was taking its toll; not that I’d ever been much of a runner before this, but now I felt in particular danger of slowing the group.
Even Hristo lagged, though, and under other circumstances that might have made me feel better. But if he couldn’t defend us, there was no hope of this escape lasting. We’d end up back in the Pit, our situations worse than ever. My identity was public now, and while some of my fellow first-level prisoners might not care, others did: a man called Hurrok had already made efforts to end me.
But he wasn’t a concern right now. The warriors were.
We stumbled toward the trees, so close that their heavy shadows fell over us.
“There!” I didn’t know the gruff voice, but I recognized the tone of a warrior. We’d been spotted.
I risked a glance over my shoulder to find three warriors closing in. We outnumbered them, and somewhere out here, there were at least four other escaped prisoners. But we were on Khulan, the Isle of Warriors, where the people’s god granted them immense strength. We didn’t stand a chance, even with three dragons.
Three dragons.
I stopped running. We were missing the third dragon: Kelsine.
When Ilina and Hristo came for Aaru and me, they’d said Kelsine was sleeping outside, waiting for us. But I’d been so consumed by seeing LaLa, my dragon, that I’d forgotten the Drakontos ignitus. And now we’d left her behind?
“What are you doing?” Ilina darted back toward me and grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
Before I could speak, she dragged me toward the woods again. My toes caught on tufts of grass and clumps of dirt, but I picked up my feet and ran. Ilina was right: stopping, even for a moment, could get us killed.
We plunged into the trees. A green veil dimmed the world as we moved deeper into the shade. Brush and brambles tugged at my dress, while birds called and bugs droned, their voices somehow adding to the oppressive heat. The air was heavy with humidity, making sweat form along my hairline and bead down my face.
Inside the fire-resistant jacket I’d stolen, it was getting hard to breathe. Plus, this was my second flat-out sprint of the day. I couldn’t keep this up. Not long enough to outrun a trio of warriors.
My legs burned as we careened through the woods, and pain stabbed at my side.
Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine.
I counted my strides, desperate to hold on to some measure of control.
My chest tightened, and even my hearing dulled to a low rush of air squeezing in and out of my lungs.
Seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven.
My vision faded, and it was all I could do to keep Hristo in my sight as he navigated between tall, dark shapes. Trees, but they looked more like shadow beasts now.
One hundred and three, one hundred and four, one hundred and five—
My foot dragged over a root, and I stumbled. Fell. Twigs and leaves scraped at my palms, but it hardly mattered. I wasn’t going to be able to get back up. Not if I had to keep running.
Aaru dropped next to me, his hand on my shoulder. He squeezed in a silent question. Was I hurt?
I couldn’t catch my breath well enough to speak, either aloud or in the quiet code, so I just shook my head and stared hard at the ground, willing color back into my vision. Grainy shades of gray stained the world, no matter how much air I gulped. Surely this was what dying felt like.
Ilina and Hristo grabbed me under my arms and hauled me to my feet, dislodging Aaru. “No time for a nap.” Her teasing words were forced, though, and also breathless. She glanced over my shoulder. “But you’re right; this isn’t going to work. We’re creating a trail.”
LaLa and Crystal landed on a huge branch, watching with wide eyes as they shifted their weight from side to side.
“The warriors know these woods,” Hristo conceded, wiping threads of sweat from his brow. “They’ll be able to track us.”
“We have to do something different. And fast.” Ilina kept her voice low and, when I signaled that she could release me, she stepped back. “They’re walking. They know they have us. They know we’re tired. There’s no need for them to run.”
A pitiful whimper escaped me.
Hristo put his arm around my shoulders, lending me strength. “Let’s split up to confuse the trails. Then we’ll meet at the cabin in three hours.” With his free hand, he motioned—northward, I guessed, but I couldn’t tell, thanks to all the trees. We’d taken so many twists and turns that I was compl
etely lost.
Earlier, he’d said the cabin was about an hour’s walk northwest, toward a pair of mountain peaks. At least, those had been the directions from the ruins. From here, I had no idea. Navigating through heavy foliage and zigzagging a trail would be even more confusing.
Hristo continued, “I’ll take Mira—”
“No.” Ilina hooked her arm with mine. “I’m not separating from her. Not again.”
Aaru stepped closer, too.
Hristo opened his mouth to argue, but Ilina had a history of winning, and the crash of warriors moving through the forest wasn’t that far off. “Fine. We’ll go together, but everyone must do as I say.”
We nodded.
“They’ll expect us to go downhill, toward the stream. We should create a false trail that way, but we don’t have time.”
Aaru lifted his hand. ::Will go.::
I interpreted.
Hristo nodded. “All right. The rest of us will head uphill, where we can hopefully get a better view of our surroundings.”
“Where is the stream?” Ilina asked. “I don’t hear anything but bugs.”
Aaru cocked his head, then pointed to the left.
“Leave a trail,” Hristo said, “but don’t be too obvious. When you double back, make sure you take the exact same path as before, or they’ll know.”
Aaru gave a swift nod.
“We’re going directly north. Up the mountain as far as we can. Are you sure you can find us? We can’t leave a trail for you to follow.”
This was starting to sound a lot like the original plan of separating, but instead of two and two, it was three and one. That was supremely unfair.
But before I could speak up, Aaru was slipping between the trees, toward the stream. He had the light step of a soft breeze, and he disappeared into the shadows quickly. It seemed unlikely that someone as quiet and careful as Aaru could leave enough of a trail for the warriors to follow. I should have volunteered.
“Come on.” Hristo touched my elbow and started north. “We have to hurry. Step where I step. Move how I move.”
I followed, with Ilina taking the rear. Obeying his instructions was harder than it sounded, because his strides were long and cautious. I had to clutch my dress up to my thighs to keep it from catching on brush, and that left my legs exposed for bugs and brambles.