One of the best ways to achieve peace is to first define the parameters of the conflict in such a way as to ensure victory. Therefore, Approved Lexicon was an inspired invention of our Supreme Executive. In the wars against Hate, we lost ground due to the ill-advised use of forbidden language. Haters were able to turn our words against us and use them to cast aspersions on the very heart of our great mission. It was an unfortunate necessity that our beloved leaders had to remove certain terms from collective memory.
(Elite Watcher Training Manual, 51st edition, page 54)
“It’s like this,” Hodge says when I’m seated comfortably in Akela’s bunker office. “A Siren is a part of the Composer’s symphony. No, even closer. A Siren is part of his family. Loved. Get it?”
“He wouldn’t want me, though.” My fingers twist around each other. “I’ve done . . . things.”
“Look at me, Cadence,” Hodge says gently. When I look up, his expression is soft. “The phrase ‘I’ve done . . . things’ is something all of us can say.”
“Not as bad as me,” I choke out. “I . . . I report people to be arrested. I get them killed. I mean, . . . my own mother, for Love’s sake.”
The cacophony in my head gets worse, like a thousand instruments rioting. But it’s not a thousand instruments. It’s a thousand layered memories. My own thoughts and actions accuse me at every turn, dragging me toward a pit of despair so deep I could drown. I cup my hands over my ears, even though it’s a futile gesture.
Hodge grimaces. “I heard that too.”
“You have no idea how much I—wait. What?” I say. I point at my left ear. “You can hear this mess in my head right now?”
“No.” His smile is rueful. “But I know the kind of thing you’re hearing. It means you’re aware. You’ve woken up to your own music now that the Collective’s memory block is gone.”
An ache throbs in my chest. I knew it. “My own music? This hateful noise is . . . is me?”
“It’s a good thing,” Hodge assures me. “Most Collective citizens go on with their lives while that plays below their range of hearing. They might get a vague sense of something being wrong every now and then. But they just put the app in front of their faces to forget.”
“How can I stop being aware?” I plead.
“You can’t.”
“But—”
Hodge leans back against Akela’s desk. “You could try and run. Drown it out with the Collective soundscapes. Keep yourself busy with all the tasks they give you, and whatnot. But it won’t fix your inner music.”
As if to reinforce the point, it crashes loudly again into my ears. “Help me,” I gasp.
“I can’t help. But Lyric can.”
“He won’t help me.” I’m trying not to cry. “I’m not in his family.”
“You can be.” Hodge’s voice is full of emotion.
“What makes you so sure?” I say, shocked to see his eyes are wet.
Clearing his throat, he begins singing in a beautifully deep voice. The melody is simple, and Hodge’s words bounce in hollow echoes across the concrete. But as the song flows from his lips, a strange thing begins to happen.
The walls of my inner defences begin to falter. Like a river, the crystal clear music cuts a path towards my soul. The avalanche of discordant memories slows to a trickle. As I begin to calm and my heartbeat slows, a face hovers in my mind, his eyes warm and full of love.
Lyric.
“Cadence, I came to make you clean,” he says again, and my heart aches to hear it.
Hodge finishes his song and the image fades with the echoes.
I stare at him, unable to speak. Does he know what he just did to me?
“Lyric takes your broken melody and replaces it with his own. That’s how you become a Siren,” he says.
Me? A Siren? Ridiculous. All those people downstairs are nice. As soon as they find out what I have done, they’ll throw me out, for sure. I could never be one of them.
Viola’s song replays through my head then, competing with the off-key mess that is my own internal music. Lyric’s face reappears in my thoughts, too, pushing back the onslaught of noise. As the image of his face grows clearer, a yearning grips me with a fierce hunger.
Dare I give in? Dare I let Lyric take over my music and fix it? Can I really find peace and get rid of this riot in my head?
“I-I’m not sure,” I stammer, and as if I invited it, the off-key music blares loudly. I wince.
“Lyric doesn’t force you to follow him,” Hodge says softly. “You can stay as you are.”
I let out a bitter laugh, pointing at my ears. “No one would want this.”
“Then what do you want?” Hodge asks.
I don’t have to think about that answer. “I want to be me again.”
“Then ask Lyric to heal your music. Then you can be who the Composer made you to be.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, searching for the answer. Why am I so reluctant? I feel exposed and broken. It seems impossible that I could ever get away from this horrible noise.
Downstairs, though. Down in that room with the Sirens, they welcomed me and they sang in a way that made my heart ache. It was so new and yet so familiar at the same time. I could have been in my parents’ secret meeting, sitting on Mumma’s lap while Dadda sang the songs.
“It’s home,” I say, suddenly realising exactly what I’ve needed all along. “I want Lyric to be my home.”
“Then ask him,” Hodge says.
So I do. The moment the words leave my mouth, everything changes. An inner burst of light burns away all the pain and guilt. The broken music that had been coating my thoughts the way an oil slick coats the river is washed away by a melody as clear as the purest spring water.
I search my memories, but it’s as if the broken tones never existed. The music singing through them all now is alive. He has a name.
I am the Muse, the spring water sings to me in crystal tones.
I stare at Hodge with wide-eyed joy. “It’s gone! H-how can it just happen?”
Hodge shakes his head. “It wasn’t easy for Lyric. But his sacrifice means you can enjoy this as the Composer’s gift.”
In the silence of the secret bunker, I let the Muse sing to me. A small whisper at first, it grows on the wings of the pure crystal song, carrying the Composer’s words into my heart:
You are loved.
You are mine.
Understanding is like a star exploding into existence. I’m not Kerr Flick anymore, Memory Freak and mother-killer. I have become a Siren, a follower of Lyric. Beloved by the Composer. Companion of the Muse.
I am Cadence.
Dear friends, love comes from the Composer
So let us love like him. . .
I wake the next morning, music soaring through my mind in such sweet notes that I feel more fully alive than I ever thought possible.
Composer’s children sing as one.
From death brought back to life.
The fragment trails off. Why can’t I remember more? I must know more of this music. I must find as much of the Song as I can, or I will explode.
Lyric said, “Love your enemies,
And do good to those who curse you . . .”
Sitting up in my bunk, I lift my infotab from its charging station and immediately load up the Siren app. A torrent of conversations and messages scroll down the rudimentary screen, and I devour them hungrily.
A few names I recognize: Harper, Allegra, Viola. Akela, too. Under her Siren codename, Akela has been reaching out to me. But I had been too stubborn to pay attention.
Not anymore. I type the message as quickly as my fingers will allow:
Dear Zed,
I am so sorry I ignored you. I know now what I was missing. Forgive me?
—Cadence
If I could, I would wait for a reply, but my day has to start. So I reluctantly log off and get ready for a day of Watcher exercises.
At the end of the day, I log back on and find the reply:
All is forgiven. Talk soon. Zed.
It’s another few days before Akela can make time to meet with me. By the time our predawn meeting arrives, I’m so impatient that I don’t even wait until the bunker door closes behind us.
“I have questions.” I burst in.
Akela leans back in her chair, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her for a long time. “Yes?”
“Lyric.”
“That’s a name, not a question.”
“I need to know everything.”
Akela listens to me for an hour, patiently answering with wise and careful words. At the end, she delights me by teaching me another fragment of the Song.
“Is there any more?” I ask.
Akela’s smile fades a little. “Oh yes, yet much of it has been scattered. But I will teach you all that I know, if you are willing.”
“Please,” I reply, eyes shining.
She pulls out a small white object from her desk drawer. “Do you think you’d be able to listen to this now?”
It’s the antique music player, the one I flung across the bunker floor. Sheepishly, I reach out for it. “I’m sorry about that,” I say, afraid to meet her eyes.
“I apologize for trying to make you listen too soon,” she replies. “Just don’t throw it again, okay?”
I laugh and uncoil the cord.
“You’ll have no problem remembering it all, so listen once, then leave it back here.” She taps the drawer of her desk, then glances at her fitness tracker. “We’ll meet each week for lessons, if I can make it. Look for my invitations in the app. I’ll have to keep the times irregular to avoid suspicion.”
“Yes, Dorm—I mean, Zed.”
Akela’s mouth twitches. “It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”
It’s hard going back to the Watcher Dorm, trying to act as if nothing has happened. I want to laugh and sing and dance. But little prompts from the Muse help me along. Even so, it’s impossible not to smile. Akela’s lesson has filled me with a warmth I don’t think I’ve ever felt.
“Lyric loves you . . .”
It’s much later in the day when I get a chance to check my infotab. There’s a message from Wil.
C. Can we talk?
I ignore that one and spend a little time on the Siren chat. My silence only seems to infuriate Wil, and a torrent of messages follows in the space of half an hour.
You need to let me talk to you.
I’m sorry.
Can we talk?
Need to talk to you C.
Stop ignoring me.
I know you’re reading these messages.
Look, I don’t know how many times I need to say it, but I’m sorry.
Can’t we just talk about it and move on?
Cadence. I’m sorry.
I know I shouldn’t have said what I said. I didn’t mean it.
I get a guilty pleasure watching those messages trickle down the screen. Wil—confident, popular, center-of-the-universe Wil—is unsettled.
Cadence, are you listening?
I’m sorry Cadence. Please.
CADENCE TALK TO ME.
I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN.
SOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
“He’s probably never been ignored before,” I snort, going back to check the messages one more time.
Cadence, you are a truly extraordinary person, and—oh, forget it.
Sorry.
Really.
A final message drains away the smug feelings I had been enjoying, leaving me with a nervous thrill:
I’ll be waiting for you at the tree.
“You’ll be waiting a long time.” Disgusted, I throw my infotab down on my bed and storm out of the room. Trust Wil to ruin my fun with actual plans. But when I stomp into the living area, I stop dead. He’s not at the tree, he’s standing two meters from my door.
“We need to talk,” he says, pinning me on the spot with the force of his green eyes. And disgustingly, despicably, infuriatingly, I nod. Almost as if I’m out of my body watching from a distance.
“Fine,” I say.
The atrium is alive with people. A group of Elites precariously balance on ladders around the room, erecting long banners and brightly colored bunting. I spot Pim in the distance, holding a large bundle of glittery streamers under a sign that reads, “Triumph of Love Forever” in giant, silvery letters. She spots me walking and goes to wave but nearly drops her streamers and has to madly try and rescue them from unravelling all over the floor.
Sunlight slants through the windows with the bright glow of midmorning. I glance at my fitness tracker. Lunch is an hour away.
“This is ridiculous,” I say to myself. “I have work to finish.”
I spin on my heels, ready to walk back to my room and disappear into VR. But Wil is suddenly beside me, propelling me forward with a guiding hand on my elbow. I try to dislodge it, but his grip is firm.
“Smile for the cameras, Flick,” he says under his breath.
“You’re not helping your cause,” I spit back at him through my gritted teeth.
Instead of replying, he flashes me a bright, friendly smile. I turn my head away from him, unable to change my direction without making a public scene.
He marches me along leaf-strewn paths, heading below the tree canopy to where the obstacle course entrance looms. Birds chirp above our heads. I want to slow down and pay attention to their music, but Wil leads me in.
“I bet I can beat your obstacle course time!” His tone is so flamingly plastic I’m amazed he isn’t melting. I manage to dislodge my elbow from his grip and take off, searching overhead for the birds and their chirping.
“Flick,” Wil calls. “Wait.”
Reluctantly I turn. “This better be good.”
Wil attempts a dashing smile, then sees the look on my face and thinks better of it. “Can we go down and talk? I don’t want to be standing here in case—”
“Here is just fine.”
“I was hoping to explain.”
“What is there to explain? I obviously got the wrong impression, so—” I don’t get any further because Wil is bending low, baring his neck at me.
“What are you doing?” I snap, looking down at the back of his head.
“Hit me.”
Surprise drains the heat out of my anger. “What?”
“I deserve it. Hit me. It’ll make you feel better.”
“No.” I back away from him confused. “I wouldn’t—”
He straightens back into an upright position, looking miserable. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re too good.”
Wil comes so close that his face is nearly on mine. His hand gently brushes against my cheek, and my thoughts evaporate under the warm tingling of his skin. I know I should be upset, but against my will, my body reacts to him. For a moment all I know is explosive sensations going off all over me.
Then surprisingly, shockingly, he draws me into a hug. Nestled against Wil’s chest I feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the strength of the arms that encircle my back. I hear the solid, regular thump of his heartbeat. Smell the clean scent of his uniform mixed with the smell of his skin. His chin rests on my head.
My mind is dazed, and my heart is pounding.
Wil draws away so that he can glance down at me. “Forget what I said back in our room that night. I couldn’t be honest in front of the cameras. This—” With the gentlest of touches, he caresses my cheek with his thumb. “This is how I really feel about you.”
My head is still swimming. “But you said . . . I mean, it was . . .”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he mutters. “But you know how the Collective is. If they thought that two Watcher Apprentices were fraternizing outside Triumph season, well . . . we wouldn’t be Watchers anymore, would we?”
“I-I guess not,” I say reluctantly.
“Believe me. It was hard for me to treat you like that.” His voice deepens. “I almost didn’t go through with it.”
My head is spinning. Part of me is rejoicing. After all, this is all I’ve wanted since those lonely days in the bunker. But another part of me is feeling hurt and confused. Unbidden, two opposing memories rise into view: Wil’s face hovering close to mine, and then his scowl in the Watcher Dorm, aloof and dismissive.
I step backward. “How can I believe you? Maybe you’re just pretending now.”
“There are no cameras here, Kerr.”
A strain of song wafts through my memory then, reminding me of the sweet sensation I had in the Sirens meeting. My whole being is filled with a sudden longing to go back and surround myself with the safe little Sirens group. Back there I felt known and loved. Back there felt . . . safe. None of this mind-boggling confusion Wil is making me feel right now.
“No.” With determination, I pull myself away from him and look back in the direction of the Academy building. Somewhere out there, beyond the trees that hide us from view, Apprentices are no doubt still erecting the Triumph festival decorations.
“Wil, this is wrong. We could be Realigned. I-I need to go.” Somewhere are the cameras that will protect me from any more of his advances. Hodge and Akela are out there somewhere, too, with more of the Song to teach me.
“Please.” The pleading in his voice draws my gaze back to his face. His green eyes bore into mine. Once again, my heart starts beating wildly. Wil closes in again. “I never . . . I’ve never met anyone with your memory before. You keep surprising me with . . .”
The daze of tumultuous emotions builds inside my head, and my thoughts are reduced to fragments. Fraternizing. We can’t fraternize. But he likes me. But back in the dorm he said . . . but then he . . . he hugged me . . . and now his eyes . . . and his lips . . .
“Stop,” I put a hand up to halt my thoughts more than anything. “No more. I can’t deal with this.”
Wil moves back, still gazing at me. To my disgust, a pathetic part of me feels sad at the distance he puts between us. I clench my fists down by my hips to stop myself from reaching out for him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Stupidly, my body leans forward. Wil’s face softens. “I know I’ve probably messed everything up right now, but I actually need your help.”
I startle in surprise. “My help? How?”
“Zed’s going to ask you to do something for her soon.”
I balk at the mention of Akela’s codename. “How did you know about that?”
He raises one eyebrow at me.
“Of course.” I look at him. “What about it?”
“When she asks you, can you say yes?”
I look away. “It depends on what she—” Wil grabs my hand, and all of my nerves zing into ultra-high alert at the same time my conscious thought descends into a garbled mess. Again.
“She’s going to ask you to leave the dorms. With . . . with me.” He looks down at my hand, clasped in his warm fingers.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just think about it, okay?”
I search his face for a clue to help me understand what he’s saying, but my body is a mess of electric nerves. Unable to put two words together, I nod.
“Thank you, Kerr.” Wil’s sunshine-filled smile dawns again, warming my heart. He drops my hand and turns for the dorm building. I nearly reach out to snatch his hand back again.
“We can’t stay out here,” he says over his shoulder, walking away from me. The distance between us yawns as wide as a chasm. “You’d better get back.”
Before I can protest, he has sped away, leaving me in the obstacle course alone with nothing but confusion for company.