Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Read online

  Without warning, a piercing scream shot through the darkness and snapped Nadja back to attention. She swung around, raising her lantern just in time to catch a flash of white swoop down a few steps to her left. She let out a cry as she stumbled backwards, losing her balance and falling to the ground. The lantern flew from her hands. It landed on its side just out of reach, and its contents spilled out over the damp grass. She looked up and saw the owl ascending into the starry sky, a plump, wriggling mouse clutched in its talons. The steady beat of its wings kept time in the night as the lantern faded to nothingness.

  Nadja froze, listening to the sound of the owl disappear into the dark. Once it was out of earshot, a thick silence settled on her shoulders, giving her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She reached out and pawed the ground around her, finally landing on the broken lantern. She silently cursed herself for not packing something to use to start a fire. With no moon and no fire to light her way, finding somewhere to settle in for the night would be next to impossible. Planting one end of her blowpipe in the ground, she pulled herself up to standing and adjusted her pack. She strained her eyes to see anything which might give her a clue about what to do next. Thankfully, the night was clear. And, while the stars didn’t cast enough glow to illuminate the surrounding area, she could see the outlines of the few lonely trees against the night sky. Thinking it would be safer to spend the night in one of those trees rather than on the ground, she pointed her feet at the closest one and began dragging herself towards it.

  After a few steps, the anxious twitch in Nadja’s stomach began to nag her. It was probably just a culmination of the entire night’s events coupled with the fact she was now without light or fire. But the more steps she took, the more anxious she became.

  And then, she realized why. Ever since her encounter with the owl, the prairie had gone silent. Not just back to its restful tranquility, but completely silent. No scuttling feet of nocturnal vermin. No far off calls of other birds of prey. Even the wind was still.

  The sweat returned to Nadja’s neck, and fear tickled the nerves in her spine. The silhouette of the tree in the distance grew larger as she got closer, and she focused her sight on it. She picked up her pace, her feet following the new tempo of her heartbeat.

  Then quietly, from the darkness some distance behind her, she heard a faint howl.

  Alarm bells rang in her head as she moved faster, her legs burning, somewhere between a walk and a run. Another howl, closer this time, caused every hair on her body to stand on end. Was it the same creature or another one? She dared not look back to find out. It was too dark to see anything that wasn’t right on top of her. And it didn’t matter, anyway. She recognized the sound of those howls.

  Wolves.

  It might be one or one hundred, the outcome would be the same for her. Nadja was proficient in many skills: diving, fishing, gathering, and hunting small game. But nothing which might be defined as “fighting off large wild animals” was in her repertoire. When her fight-or-fight response cued, there was only one option. Run.

  Nadja shot forward, her foot slipping on the damp grass. She tripped, but caught herself, and picked up speed. A growl echoed through the darkness, breaking the silence behind her as the wolf pack seemed to match her movements. She could tell from the different origins of the sounds there were at least three or four of them.

  The tree was just ahead of her now, and a tiny glimmer of hope lit within her heart. She was close enough to see individual limbs, so if she could make it to the tree, she wouldn’t have to climb blindly.

  The wolves were closing in on her. She put on another burst of speed, racing towards the safety of the tree.

  She got there with no time to spare. Running at full speed, she dropped her blowpipe and leapt upward, grabbing the lowest branch with both hands. Using her momentum to gain height, she hooked one leg over the branch to pull herself up.

  Her body jerked as she was snatched back with a snarl. One of the wolves had his teeth buried deep in her pack and was bringing her down along with it. She wrapped her arms and leg around the branch, holding on for her life. Knowing she didn’t have the strength to win this tug-of-war, Nadja let go with her right arm long enough for her pack to slip away into the waiting swarm.

  The wolves interest in her pack bought her enough time to strengthen her grip on the branch and pull herself up on top of it. The tree was rough and its jagged bark cut into her hands as she scrambled her way up and out of the reach of the wolves. When the branches got thinner and smaller, she anchored her feet as best as she could and hugged the leader limb to her chest.

  When the tumult below her subsided, Nadja relaxed her grip on the tree and settled into a V where two larger limbs met. An occasional noise from below signaled the wolves were still there. She would have to wait them out. She tightened her cloak around her and tried to get comfortable.

  There, the shock of the night dissipated, and the weight of everything she had been through hit her like a blow to the head. And now, with her meager supplies being looted by a pack of wolves, she truly had nothing and no one. To return to her tribe was suicide and continuing on her journey meant almost certain death. Nadja’s heart broke, and she wept as one mourning the loss of a loved one. But for her, it was the loss of everyone she had ever loved. Her body racked with sobs, and she stuffed the edge of her cloak into her mouth in a feeble attempt to muffle the noise. She cried until exhaustion overcame her and swept her away into a fitful slumber.

  Nadja crossed into the Forest of Kithira and removed her cloak, soaking in the coolness of the shade. Still wearing her green dress, it had been necessary to keep her bare skin protected underneath her cloak as she finished her journey through the steppes. The heavy cloak was both a blessing and a curse as it protected her from sunburn but gave her body heat no means of escape.

  Daybreak had come too early and brought with it another blistering day. Nadja awoke, stiff and dehydrated, in the safety of her tree, her eyes matted with the crusted remnants of dried tears. The wolves had given up hope of enjoying her for dinner during the night, probably because they had filled their bellies with the rations from her pack, leaving her with nothing to eat. Thankfully, her canteen remained intact. But, after walking all day on an empty stomach, the water was almost gone. Finding water was her first priority. Food was a close second.

  The forest stretched out tall and dense before her. Setting her pack on the ground, she took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes and tuning her ears to the sounds of the forest.

  A soft breeze rustled to her right, coming in from the northwest, and swooping and shushing through the high treetops. The corners of her mouth twitched upward as a puff of air broke through the canopy and swirled around her, ruffling the tatters of her skirt and cooling her sun-baked face. She detected a light rhythmic thumping as if someone was tapping out a pattern of lazy beats on a fluffy pillow. She angled her ears towards the cadence and followed it from right to left as the formation of hawks passed overhead and deeper into the forest. Opening her eyes, she shouldered her pack and followed suit.

  The ground gradually grew soft and moist, and after an hour of picking her way through the trees, Nadja came to the banks of a small bubbling stream. She knelt at the water’s edge and gulped the elixir, relishing its restorative properties as it relieved her parched lips and throat. Once she had drunk to her limit and filled her canteen, she peeled off her dress and shoes and sank into the stream with a sigh, enjoying the brief reprieve. The water was only about knee deep, and Nadja laid her head back, reveling in the swirls and eddies which massaged her tired and aching body. Her scalp tingled in response to her fingers as she scrubbed the debris from her hair. After a time all too brief, the muscles in her swollen and blistered feet began to cramp from the cold, and she begrudgingly dragged herself from the water.

  Nadja pulled on a clean white shirt and long tan skirt. Though skirts were standard dress for Wanderer women, they were not without
any sense of utility. Some tasks were simply too difficult to do in a long skirt. She reached between her legs and grasped the back hem, finding the little loop sewn there. Pulling the hem back up through her legs, she fastened it to a button hidden in her waistband. She pulled on her soft leather slippers, now worn thin with days of walking. They were a perfect choice for her betrothal celebration, but Nadja lamented not changing into a pair of sturdy boots before fleeing camp. Then, she turned her thoughts to supper.

  The sun was setting, and since she had neither light nor fire, she would need to work fast if she wanted to eat before morning. Grabbing a few sharp stones, she made quick work of a branch from a nearby young tree. She positioned herself on a stone outcrop over the stream with her makeshift spear and waited. While the stream was a boon for water and a bath, it lacked for food. After a half hour, it became clear the single small trout she’d managed to spear early on was her only food for the night. Using the sharp stones and her fingers, she gutted the fish and rinsed it in the stream as the sun was setting. She devoured the meat, picking through the bones and trying not to waste a single piece. The trout lessened her hunger pains, but did not fill her belly.

  With the setting sun, the air turned crisp. Nadja pulled on her cloak and put together a makeshift camp. A large elm tree a short distance from the stream marked the edge of a small clearing in the trees. The base of the elm was carpeted with moss. A few colorful flowering plants peppered the ground, taking advantage of the break in the canopy and stretching up towards the sun’s window. Nadja relaxed onto the soft and dank moss, resting her back against the elm. With nightfall at hand, and nothing to do until morning, she was left with nothing to distract her from her own thoughts.

  It was hard to believe just a day earlier she had been laughing and dancing at her betrothal celebration, preparing to marry Luca and begin her new life as a wife and mother. How could so much to change over the course of just a few hours? One moment, she was celebrating a new life, and the next she was fighting just to stay alive.

  Nadja stood up and crossed over to where she’d tossed her dress. Scooping it up, she walked back to the tree and resumed her seat. She looked at the once vibrant green dress, now a shade of sickly gray in the moonlight. She ran her hands along the intricate pattern of beads her mother had lovingly and diligently hand-stitched and let the streamers of skirt slip through her fingers. Bringing the fabric up to her cheek, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to take her back home, if but for a moment. She felt her mother’s embrace and the warmth of conversation and laughter with Kizzy. She breathed in the aroma of a delicious boar roasting over the cooking pit and felt the freedom of diving in the sea. She snuggled into the comfort and safety of her people, the tribe and way of life she knew. She felt the heat of the sun and remembered a time when figuring out the puzzle of Luca was her biggest worry.

  Nadja opened her eyes and gazed down at the dress, a reminder of the life which was no longer hers. It was of no use to her now, but she could not bring herself to part with it. Instead, she folded it carefully and tucked it into her pack.

  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but they would not come. Shaping her pack into something resembling a pillow, Nadja laid next to the protective elm. Her heart was full and heavy, in stark contrast to the evening before when she had stood before the celebrating crowd and sung with determination and joy. Tonight her song was different.

  Nadja parted her lips, and a quiet, doleful tune issued forth, carrying with it her sadness and loss. The minor melody gave vent to her aching heart, and as she keened her way through the song, her grief flowed from her like the ignorant stream dancing just a few feet away. It was to this eerie lullaby she finally fell asleep.

  Hearken to me and heed my song

  For time is close at hand, at hand

  Till sleep descends on me at last

  With its final command

  When darkness comes to close my eyes

  And stillness rests on me, on me

  And mists surround my body there

  How grateful will I be

  Weep not for me, for when I sleep

  In peace I find reprieve, reprieve

  And no more sorrows shall I keep

  And no more heart to grieve

  Dawn broke, and Nadja awoke, her nostrils filled with scent of dirt and decay. She was facedown in the moss, her cheek scratchy and damp, and she realized she must have rolled off of her pack during the night. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Blinking them into focus, she froze.

  A pit formed in her stomach as she took in her surroundings.

  The clearing, which had been home to a sweet collection of verdant leaves and bright flowers, was now a dried bed of brown, dead vegetation. Once proud and colorful blooms now hung their heads in drab shame, and the grass stood sharp like thousands of little pikes. The destruction stretched out about eight feet in all directions, creating an almost perfect circle of wasted earth.

  Nadja’s legs trembled as she stood and picked up her pack. Her eyes traced a path up the trunk of the old oak. Overhead brown and brittle leaves, made almost golden in the early-morning sun, rustled ominously in the breeze.

  Nadja backed away, her shoes crunching in the devastation underfoot. What could cause something like this? A disease? But what kind of disease worked so quickly? The clearing had been full of life only hours before.

  Something wasn’t right. This was unnatural.

  Nadja’s feet finally found soft ground as she stepped out of the circle, and relief washed over her. Turning and heading towards the stream, she cast one last puzzled glance over her shoulder. That was a mystery which would have to remain one. She still had a long way to go.

  Chapter 5

  Nadja followed the stream for a day or so until it turned and headed east. Still with no light or fire, she survived on fish and what she could forage. Her Aunt Pili married into a family of gatherers, so Nadja had gleaned rudimentary knowledge of some wild edible plants from Kizzy.

  Parting ways with the meandering stream, Nadja settled on a direct southwesterly route. She was learning the forest a little more every day—which trees made for the best shelter, where small and edible animals preferred to make their homes. She practiced a few minutes each day with her blowpipe because, though she had no fire source at present, she needed to vary her diet once she solved that problem.

  At her current pace she was still about nine day’s journey from Cantio. Though she had left the stream behind, finding a new source of fresh water was still top priority, which was why the darkening afternoon sky was a welcome sight. A rumble of thunder in the distance drew her attention back over her right shoulder.

  That’s when she saw it.

  An enormous tree rose out of the ground like it was trying to pull the earth up along with it. Its serpentine branches wound around in every direction. The bottom ones were low enough for her to reach and as big around as some of the other mature trees standing near it. The trunk was so large Nadja reckoned it would take at least twenty men standing hand in hand to reach around it. Roughly textured bark of gray speckled with white mottled with patches of smooth burnt umber. It was bumpy and knobby and gnarled, looking as though it had borne the trials of the last thousand years. A large indentation along the side of the trunk could have been the thumbprint of some fairytale giant of long ago. The smallest of the smooth, pale green leaves was as big as her hand and sprouted out in chaotic bunches. Like the unruly wild child among his well-mannered peers, the tree looked completely out of place.

  Nadja marveled at the ancient hardwood. Never had she seen anything like it. She approached reverently, her hand outstretched, and ran her fingers over the exquisitely painted bark.

  A sudden boom of thunder, this time only a few minutes away, broke the spell and pulled her back to the task at hand. Determining she could take shelter in the thumbprint, she grabbed one of the low branches and climbed. Once her pack was stowed, she set to work twisting and setting the leaves
to funnel the rainwater into her canteen. The air was still, and Nadja hoped her setup would hold through the storm. No sooner had the thought floated through her mind than the tree rocked with a sudden blast of air, followed by a thunderous downpour. The canteen flew through the air, landing who-knows-where, and Nadja backed as far into the huge thumbprint as possible. With two feet of space between her body and the edge of the opening, Nadja settled in as best as she could. The branches of the old tree creaked and moaned, protesting the gusting winds. But the hardwood stood firm. Occasionally a shifting wind blew the rain sideways, peppering Nadja with cold, needly droplets. But, for the most part, she remained safe and dry in her hiding place. Bunching up her pack, she leaned against it, trying to get comfortable. It would be a long night.

  The storm subsided while she slept. The hot morning sun mixed with the storm’s soggy aftermath, creating a heavy, sticky layer of humidity which was difficult to breathe. Nadja’s half-hour search of the surrounding woods produced her canteen, which was indeed filled—with mud. With a sigh, she left the shelter of her tree and continued towards Cantio.

  By the afternoon, she’d traced another water source. The forest grew denser and darker by the minute. She heard the bubbling before she saw it, and followed the sound to its origin. It was a small but deep spring, a little wider than the span of her blowpipe and twice in length. Vegetation grew lush and thick along the bank opposite her, and a few persistent rays of afternoon sun pierced the branches overhead, giving the pool a welcoming glow amidst the darkness surrounding it. After a day’s walking with no water, and a handful of berries to eat, she dropped her belongings and knelt at the water’s edge with relief. She cupped her hands and dipped them into the spring, breaking its mirrorlike quality and rippling the surface. After washing and refilling her canteen, she took a deep breath and leaned over, dunking her head into the water to escape the heat and humidity of the day, if only from the neck up. The minutes ticked by as her lungs, trained by a lifetime of diving, held strong. When she could hold her breath no longer, she came up for air, flipping her now wet hair behind her. She wiped the water from her eyes with her sleeve and leaned down to take another sip.