She laughed. “Feather, being a rebel is obviously great for smut removal. You have almost none left.” I peered down at my arm. The rivers of silver-gray inside me still flowed, but the exterior was as shiny as it had ever been, except for right before I’d been unmade.
“Huh, would you look at that? Right. Off to save the realm.” I blew her a kiss and raced away, glad for once that no one besides me used the floors in this place.
But right outside the Maker Hall, I paused, feeling an odd, new sensation under my feet. Not like the earthquakes at the gate, but something similar. An almost subliminal humming, like a swarm of bees approaching from far away. And it wasn’t coming from the Great Gate.
What else in Sanctuary was making that sort of sound?
Then a larger tremor began, one that I recognized. The gate was weakening again. I prayed that whoever was singing for it had the energy to keep going. At least until I could find Righteous, or someone, to help me hold the realm together.
Though I suspected a falling gate might not be as damaging as the rot that already lay, unseen, at the core of Sanctuary itself.
Chapter 20
Feather
Imade a quick detour to the storage closet on my way back. The door was shut, but the lock Righteous had put on it the time he’d caught me in here all those months ago wasn’t engaged. I peeked around, then pushed it open, closing it silently behind me after I slipped inside.
As I let my eyes adjust to the dim light, I realized someone else was in here with me. I could hear whispers and muffledgiggles, and what sounded kind of like a guitar being played. I tiptoed to the wall and slunk along the left side of the room, half hidden in the shadows of the tall shelves that filled the room for the first fifty feet or so. It was big, much bigger than any closet on Earth. Almost a warehouse, with room for the unused beds and personal items of High Angeli who had sacrificed themselves for Sanctuary—and plenty of room for the fun stuff the Guides had been systematically forbidding over the past years. Or centuries. I wasn’t certain when the rules had been codified to outlaw music and art, but they had been de facto since Arabella’s fall.
“Okay, when we get to the bridge, we all stop playing and sing for four measures—the descant bit, remember? After that, we repeat at the coda for a minimum of five minutes, getting louder each time, until the last repeat. It has to go on at least that long, since this is a song of healing, so stagger your breathi?—”
Before I could stop myself, I’d jumped out from behind the shelf and yelled, “A healing song?”
The eight Protectors that had been sitting in a circle all screamed and dropped the instruments they’d been holding onto the floor. The room filled with a giant crashing sound, as if someone had taken an ax to a piano.
I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. They were all naked, their clothing folded in neat stacks behind them. “Um, sorry to interrupt your… whatever,” I muttered. No one answered; white fabric and bare asses were flying everywhere as they scrambled to get dressed.
What kind of musical group required stripping bare? I saw a glint of gold glinting between one guy’s cheeks.Oh, please don’t tell me they play the kazoos with their butts. Sunny will never forgive me if she’s been putting a rectal kazoo in her mouth all these months.
“Everyone, quiet,” one woman hissed, staring first at the dinged-up golden harps they’d dropped and then at the door. “I thought I heard voices.”
The closet was silent while we waited to see if Guides were going to come crashing in. I tried not to look at any naked parts as they silently, and quickly, finished putting their togas back on.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered after a long minute had passed, everyone was dressed, and no Guides had come bursting in to tear off our wings. “Do you know how to play those?” I nodded at the discarded harps that lay on a mound of fabric.
No one answered, until a familiar mop of muddy brown hair poked up from the side of what I thought might be a floor harp wrapped in an enormous white cloth bag. “Hey, Feather.”
“Hey, Truth,” I answered, relaxing immediately. He’d been sitting with me in Purity class, and was becoming a friend. “Why didn’t you tell me you played the harp?”
“Didn’t know it mattered,” he answered, and the tension in the room started to dispel. The others all sat down, and I noticed a few other familiar faces. “And if anyone finds out, we all lose our wings. So please don’t tell.”
“Trust me, I won’t tell anyone about… any of this.” I pointed to his toga, which had gotten twisted and was riding up high on one thigh.
He blushed, quickly fixing it. “Head Protector Righteous gave us permission to be in here. We’re doing a job for him.”
I wasn’t going to bother asking what “job” they were attempting. I didn’t want to know. “You said something was a song of healing?”
He stepped around the pile of harps and picked up a piece of parchment that had fluttered to the ground nearby. “We found this music. It was written by High Angelus Seraphiel a long time ago. The weird thing is, we’ve never been taught to read musichere—the angelic notation isn’t anything like the human version. But when we look at it… it makes sense.”
“Like in the Matrix,” I agreed, scanning the page. The notes on the curved staff lines were almost spinning toward me, as my eyes passed over them. What was weirder was when the lyrics appeared underneath in dozens of languages… and in angelic. Which I could somehow read. “I can read it, too,” I confided. “The notes and the High Angelic lyrics. Can you?”
They all shook their heads. Truth squinted at the music over my shoulder. “I can sort ofseesome writing below the Earth languages, but it looks like scribbles.”
I sang a few lines, and felt the sore places on my feet from standing and running all day begin to heal, though the angelic words made my throat hurt a bit. “I’m pretty sure it works. Can I have this?” I peeked around, and blushed. The angry glares had all turned into awestruck—or lovestruck—expressions, and a few of their robes were poking out at odd angles.
“Don’t stop,” one guy said, adjusting himself.Ew.
“Our silence for yours, Protector.” Truth’s face went slightly green. “Wait, why did that happen?” He swallowed hard and repeated, “Our silence for yours.” And then he enunciated, clearly, “You are a Protector.”
