Asunder (Incarnate) (15 page)

Well, there was no way I could see everyone from the floor, and Sam wouldn’t appreciate it if I stood on top of the piano. I climbed up the first few stairs, leaning my elbows on the rail so I could look at everyone.

From his place beside Stef, Sam gave me an encouraging smile. He made me feel strong.

I gathered my thoughts and cleared my throat, and everyone looked up. “I want to start by reminding you what happened the night Anid was born.

“It was, from what I understand, a normal rebirthing. Lots of people were present, hoping a friend would be reincarnated. But when the Soul Tellers announced Anid was new, everything changed. Some of you were there. You remember how people yelled, threatened him, even though he hadn’t done anything except be born.”

People nodded, and Lidea held Anid to her chest as though she relived those minutes, not knowing whether the crowd would hurt her child. Her eyes shone with tears, and Wend sat stiffly next to her, his expression hard.

“The fact is, more newsouls are going to be born, and there shouldn’t be a need to guard the birthing room. I know people are afraid of what this means, or angry that some souls aren’t coming back. Those both are perfectly reasonable reactions, but—”

I stopped myself before getting into the same discussion
Sam and I had after the Council pulled him aside. I thought it was better that newsouls were being born—rather than no one being born—but for others, newsouls would be a constant reminder of Templedark and the souls who’d been lost.

“My point is—” I smoothed the shaking from my voice, needing to sound stronger. “Unless we do something, people will continue acting out against newsouls. I’m sure you’ve all heard Merton and his friends in the market field, yelling about me.”

“Anid, too,” Lorin added.

At least Merton had a reason to yell about me. The way sylph behaved around me
was
suspicious. But Anid hadn’t done anything.

“I want to tell you what it was like growing up. Not just because of Li”—people hissed at her name—“but being different, and understanding how different and hated I was before I could even speak. You need to understand what it means to be a newsoul: knowing everyone wishes you were the darksoul you replaced.”

Haltingly, I spoke about the previous Soul Night, now nearly a quindec ago. I tried not to pay attention to the winces and mutters as I recounted how the revelers had stared at me from across the campfire. I told them how I’d needed to teach myself to read and do chores. How I’d always known nothing I did was new or innovative; someone else had already accomplished it, or figured out a better way.

“It’s humiliating to be new. To be the only one.” My voice dipped low as I found Anid cradled in Lidea’s arms. “And now there are all these new people coming. They could be anything. Scientists, explorers, musicians, warriors. But they’re going to feel out of place and confused, always knowing what happened to allow them to have a life. They might feel guilty for something they had no control over. They might feel like a mistake.”

Sam tensed, his unease a silent reminder of all the times he urged me to know I wasn’t responsible for Ciana’s absence. But knowing didn’t mean it was easy to believe; the people who threw rocks at me knew I hadn’t done anything to Ciana. So did Merton, but he still ranted about me at every opportunity.

“I want to talk to people who are pregnant,” I said. “Any of them could give birth to a newsoul, and don’t you think most of them will want basic rights and protection for their children?” Surely they weren’t all like Li. Lidea wasn’t; she gave me hope. “I wasn’t even allowed into the city without a lot of bargaining with the Council and many of you agreeing to help. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through that kind of fight, just to be allowed to live with the rest of civilization.

“We need to make people understand that the newsoul they give birth to will—” My voice caught like I didn’t know how to say the word. Maybe I hadn’t until now. “Their child
will love them no matter what. And they’ll need to be loved, too.”

Sam sat up straighter, this time at the word. It felt strange in my mouth.

He probably wondered if I’d loved Li in spite of everything. Her death
had
upset me, but I’d never loved her.

“If more people knew, it might help.” My voice faltered. I tried to look anywhere but others’ eyes. The harp or honeycomb shelf. Maybe they’d all think I was making eye contact with everyone, just hadn’t reached them yet. “What I mean to say is, it’s worth discussing newsoul rights. The break-in at Lidea’s is inexcusable. What were they going to do to him? Kill him?”

Across the room, Lidea shuddered and held Anid close. Next to her, Wend shifted and stared at me, as though surprised I could consider such awful things happening.

“Anid—and the others who will be here soon—are worthy of a champion. They’ll bring new ideas and insights into the world, but right now there are no laws to protect them. How can they ever feel like part of the community if no one will stand up for them?”

“I agree.” Cris flashed a wide smile from the back of the crowd. “We’ve been so consumed with the loss after Templedark, we haven’t thought of what we’re about to gain. Nearly a hundred
new
people.”

“They’ve talked about it in Council meetings,” Stef said,
“but of course they don’t come up with solutions or anything concrete. They keep circling the issue like there’s all the time in the world.”

I nodded. “I guess it’s easy to forget that time is different for us. You do have time. Newsouls…we don’t know yet.” And probably wouldn’t until I died.

“And like Ana said,” Armande added, “the newsouls will have their own talents and ideas. We should be ready to embrace that, to encourage it.”

Lidea glanced at her baby. “We weren’t ready for Ana, and in spite of knowing he was a possibility, we weren’t ready for Anid. But they won’t be the last.”

“There’s still time for him,” I said. “To him, every second will count. Days will seem like years, and years will seem like centuries.”

And for everyone else, those days and years went by as fast as heartbeats.

Sam dropped his gaze, and Stef watched him from the corner of her eye. For a moment, she looked softer.

“I’ll talk to anyone who wants to know what it’s like to be a newsoul. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” My mouth had a mind of its own. I hadn’t meant to make such a huge offer—tell
strangers
about Li laughing the first time I menstruated?—but as soon as the words came out, I decided to stick with them. This was for Anid, and those not yet born. For those who would never be born.

“That’s very generous of you,” said Lidea. “I actually had a few questions, but I was hesitant to ask.”

“I’ll help however I can.” I forced myself to move on to the next step, the reason I’d actually brought them all here. “The first thing I want you to do is meet up with friends and figure out whether they would be open to supporting newsouls. I expect most won’t be, but we have to try.”

Orrin lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t think you’ll have as much trouble as you’re imagining.”

“And that’s where the rest of us become necessary?” Moriah guessed.

“Exactly.” I relaxed as everyone said they’d help. My idea wasn’t stupid after all. Orrin thought people would be receptive. “I made a list of pregnant women I know”—minus a couple I knew about through Sarit’s gossip but wasn’t supposed to—“and thought we could start with them.”

“Seems reasonable.” Sarit’s smile was all innocence, as if she hadn’t given me most of my information. “We can all speak to a couple of people, give them the basic proposal, and if necessary we can set up a meeting with you.”

“It sounds so much easier when you say it.” I grinned. “But we’ll have to do this quickly, because the next part comes on market day, when everyone is in the market field.”

Cris took a sip of coffee. “That’s less than a week away.”

“Yes, which means we have a lot of work to do, if everyone is willing to help.”

“It will be easier with everyone helping,” Sarit said, and all my friends nodded.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d asked them here because I
hoped
they would help, but the confirmation made my heart swell with gratitude. “First,” I said, “we need to call Sine and make sure we can use the Councilhouse stairs. Sam is going to play his piano.”

Sam looked surprised but delighted, and a few people cheered.

“While we have everyone’s attention, I will speak up for newsouls. I want the Council to hear people supporting newsoul rights, for them to know that people are discussing the arrival of newsouls, too. Not just people who hate us.” I urged strength into my voice. “And if anyone else wants to say something so I’m not alone up there, I’d really appreciate it.” Sam, Sarit, and Orrin raised their hands to volunteer. Others weren’t far behind.

I stepped down from the stairs, meeting Sam’s eyes, and smiled when he mouthed, “I’m proud of you.”

Warmth filled me as I took a seat on the sofa arm, my list in hand so we could decide who would do what. This might actually work.

AFTER EVERYONE FINISHED deciding who would do what for our market day demonstration, we broke into smaller groups. I talked with Lidea, giving her more details about what I wished I’d been taught growing up. Cris, Moriah, and Orrin discussed the possibility of lessons for parents of newsouls, and newsouls themselves.

The melody of voices livened the parlor, bright as noon, and the scent of roses warmed everyone. The baby cried, and Lidea carried him to the other side of the room for a change. When she came back, she offered to let me hold him.

He wasn’t heavy, but he startled in my arms. Then he went still. “He’s beautiful.” Much more than the first time I’d seen him, all wet and red. Lidea and Wend probably
didn’t want to hear that, though.

“I know.” She bounced on her toes. “He’s the most amazing thing. I love him more than anyone. I mean”—she eyed Wend, who fake-pouted—“he’s tied with someone else for my greatest love.”

They flirted back and forth until Cris and Sarit walked over. “I just had the best idea,” Sarit announced.

“We.” Cris rolled his eyes. “We had an idea.”

“Sure.
Cris and I
had an idea.” Sarit leaned against the back of the sofa. “It had to do with roses.
We
think they should go all over the Councilhouse stairs when we speak, like you have here tonight. Not only would it be pretty, but Cris was telling me how special the blue ones are to you.”

“We have things in common.” I smiled, imagining the Councilhouse columns wreathed in red and blue. Phoenix roses for oldsouls. Blue roses for newsouls. “Are there enough roses?”

“We might have to steal some of these,” Cris said, “but I think we’ll make it. Sarit volunteered to do all the arranging, and I can run to the cottage and get a few more blue ones if necessary.”

“Thank you.” I hugged both Cris and Sarit, gratitude filling me up. Maybe—hopefully—others would notice the significance of the roses, too, and see how beautiful they all looked together. Heart could be like that.

“The stage will be gorgeous! Don’t you think so?”
Lidea nudged Wend, who nodded.

“Now it’s my turn to hold Anid.” Sarit held out her hands. “Give him, or no flowers for you, ladybug.”

I laughed and handed him over, and when Sarit, Lidea, and Wend moved toward the piano, Cris sat on the arm of the sofa and lowered his voice. “I’ve been thinking about those symbols of yours. I meant to bring the list.”

“Oh.” I shuddered, too easily remembering Meuric trapped in the tower, the grating of his voice, the fluid seeping from his eye. His delight when he told me Janan was consuming newsouls. I clutched my stomach and tried to swallow the acid taste in the back of my throat.

“Are you all right?” Cris touched my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I need some water.”

Cris slipped off the sofa and led me to the stairs. “Sit here out of the way. I’ll get you a glass.”

When I was settled on one of the upper steps, looking down at all my guests chatting and admiring the roses, I tried to relax. I was out of the temple. Safe. I would help the newsouls coming to Heart. I would learn to read the books from the temple. I would discover the connection between Janan and the sylph. I would…what?

I still had no idea what Janan had planned for Soul Night.

“Focus,” I whispered to myself, wrapping my fingers around the stem of a blue rose. First the newsouls.

Stef’s voice came from just below my stair. “Did you see her holding Anid earlier? Babies holding babies.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Ana is an adult,” Sam said. “Almost four years past her first quindec. If newsouls had full rights, she could have had a job years ago.”

I appreciated him standing up for me, but it wasn’t like I’d always known what I was going to do. I
liked
learning about everything.

“Physically,” Stef said, “nearly four years past first quindec describes you too. But that’s physical. She’s cute, and anyone can see why you like her, but stop pretending that five thousand years don’t matter.”

“She’s accomplished more in these last months than many of us did in entire lifetimes. Even before we met her, she’d taught herself how to do things it took us ages to learn. She hasn’t been a
child
in a very long time.”

I certainly didn’t feel like a child.

Sam spoke so quietly I almost didn’t hear. “There are a million things she can teach us, simply by virtue of being new and seeing things differently.”

“Like Templedark?”

His voice was a razor. “Ana rescued both of us that night. And hundreds more. Everything else was Menehem. You know that. Ana is no more responsible for his actions than you.”

“You’re really hopeless about this, aren’t you?” Stef gave
a long sigh, and her tone turned to steel. “Listen, Dossam. People are talking about your relationship with her. Whatever you’ve done with her? Inappropriate. Whatever you
want
to do with her? Inappropriate. She’s five thousand years younger than you, and even if she doesn’t know better, you should.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, glad I was on the stairs where no one noticed me. More than anything I wanted to march over and tell her to mind her own business, but there were still so many people around, all chatting and having a nice time.

“People don’t know anything about it. One day,” he growled, “you’re going to have to accept it. I don’t care if she’s eighteen or eighteen hundred. I love her more than—”

“What?” Stef’s voice was low and dangerous. “More than music? More than me? More than everyone you’ve known for the last five millennia?” She paused, and the silence was heavy like the moments between a lightning strike and a roll of thunder. “More than all the darksouls?”

I gripped the rose stem so tightly it cracked. Did Sam love me like that? Was that kind of love even possible?

“Yes.” His word was barely a breath. “More than all that.”

Relief and horror poured through me. Stef had listed herself in there.

“It’s unfair to ask me to rank feelings,” Sam muttered.

Then Cris was back with a glass of water, still much taller even when he sat a step lower. “Were you just listening to them down there?” He kept his voice soft, and when I
shrugged, he leaned on his elbow toward me. “Don’t let it get to you. She’s probably hearing a lot of cruel gossip—probably more than you or Sam, since she’s been his friend so long and people know…”

“She loves him,” I whispered into my water.

Cris lowered his eyes and nodded. “It makes people do strange things sometimes.”

“It’s fine.” I put down the rose I’d been holding and took a long drink of water, trying to think of a way out of this. Cris was nice, and I’d have to remember to talk to him about the symbols from the books, but right now, I just wanted to make it through the night. “Thanks for the water. I’m going to see if anyone wants to play some music.”

Cris unfolded himself to rise, then offered a hand to help me up. I headed downstairs with him and took my flute off its stand.

That was enough to draw looks. Sam and Stef first, both dark-faced from their fight. Then the hum of conversations drained, and others began to claim instruments or find stands. Most, as far as I knew, played at least a few instruments. They were
Sam’s
friends, after all.

When everyone had chosen, Whit and Armande ran upstairs to the music library and returned with appropriate music for each instrument. Sam adjusted the lights so everyone could read.

We started with scales to warm up, then moved on to a
few pieces we all knew. At first I thought they’d chosen simple songs because I was new, but after a few squeaks from Lorin on the oboe, I realized they weren’t going easy on me.

As unlikely as it was, I was a better player than a few of these people; I practiced several hours a day, while they practiced when they felt like it and when Sam scheduled a group performance.

Of course, as soon as Moriah, Orrin, and Whit played a dizzying reel on a cello, violin, and clarinet, my pride vanished.
They
practiced every day. Someday, I would be as good as them. Better.

Sarit sang a ballad to Stef’s piano. Others moved in with duets, trios, their favorite pieces. They made lots of trips to the music library upstairs, and I had a brief surge of worry that they’d stumble into my room and find the temple books hidden all over, but no one was gone long enough for that. Anyway, Sam would have heard someone walking into the wrong room.

My heart swelled as we played more group pieces, broke off into more small ensembles. How did I get this lucky? Friends—surely they all counted as friends now—who were willing to help with the newsouls,
and
play music with me? It was too incredible. Too wonderful.

Music swirled around the parlor, bringing the room to life. I struggled not to grin around my embouchure as we came to the coda of a waltz.

“What about”—Stef hmmed—“Blue Rose Serenade? Did anyone see the lute?”

“Um.” Sam glanced at Cris as awkward silence fluttered through the room. People glanced at me, at Sam, at Cris, at the roses all around. “One of the strings snapped. I haven’t replaced it yet.”

“Maybe whatever you and Ana are working on?” Cris lowered the clarinet he’d been playing.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. We’d been practicing flute duets, and Sarit and Stef had listened a few times, but more people?

“Come on.” Sarit batted her eyes. “Let everyone hear.”

Sam gave me a look like it was up to me, so I nodded, mostly to stop the awkwardness. He had never mentioned Blue Rose Serenade before. He’d probably forgotten about it when he’d given me the code to add all his music to my SED.

Later, I vowed, I’d ask what had happened between them.

Sam warmed up on the other flute while I found our music, and my heart thudded at the weight of everyone watching. Listening.

But as soon as he met my eyes and silently counted off, my fear evaporated. I stood up straighter, rolled the flute in where my high notes tended to go sharp, and played like I never had before. Every time I glanced at Sam for a fermata or tempo change, he looked as though he wanted to smile.

Before I was ready, we came to the last note and held it until Sam nodded, and our duet ended.

When everyone left, I shut the door and locked it, and Sam and I cleaned up, talking about who needed to practice their favorite instruments more. I wanted to ask him about his fight with Stef, but how did one even open a conversation like that?

“What’s this?” Sam bent to retrieve something from the floor. He pinched a tiny wire between his fingers. “From a flute?”

“Ugh.” I checked mine. Sure enough, the wire was a spring that had popped out. A set of keys flopped pitifully. “Lorin was messing with it earlier. Guess she got a little enthusiastic when she was pretending she knew how to play.”

Sam smirked and handed me the spring. “She’s banned from holding flutes from now on. Will you take this upstairs? I’ll show you how to fix it tomorrow.”

I nodded and carried the flute and spring to the workroom, which held a dozen instruments in various stages of repair, as well as tools to fix them. Building and repairing instruments wasn’t Sam’s job, but he insisted it was important for every musician to know the basics. All this looked like more than basics to me, though.

I left my flute on the workbench and headed back downstairs. Just as I reached the last step, thunder tore in the north, and the ground rippled. “Was that an earthquake?” Range was constantly shifting, but most earthquakes were too tiny to feel.

“No.” Sam was pale, staring northward with wide eyes. “I think it was an explosion.”

I raced for my coat and then into the cold. Nearby, an orange glow raged against the dark sky.

Sam followed me out, a water bottle in his pocket and his SED pressed to his ear. “Alert all the guards and medics. Hurry.”

We ran down the walkway as secondary explosions shattered the night. Crashes and bangs, pops and screeching. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. Sam raced across the street ahead, not waiting.

From the fiery glow beyond a line of trees, smoke poured into the black sky, obscuring the moon and stars. The acrid reek burned through my nose and throat, caught in my lungs. The sting made my eyes water, and we hadn’t yet come in sight of the fire, except where its light shot between trees.

The roar of flame covered the sound of my footfalls beating the ground—I could only feel the heavy
thud, thud
travel up my legs—and the shaking in my breath from icy air.

Hot brilliance blinded me as we broke through the trees, reaching the house. Dark and light. I couldn’t see because my eyes didn’t know how to adjust.

I crashed into Sam. He held his sleeve over his face, using his free hand to press a wet cloth into my hands. I wondered where he’d gotten the water, but then remembered the bottle stuffed into his pocket.

“Put this over your nose and mouth.” The fire tried to consume his words. The rush and groan were louder now that we stood in the yard. Heat billowed toward us, bringing smoke and sparks. In spite of the inferno, I was glad for my coat to protect my skin. I’d already experienced enough burns to last several lifetimes.

“We have to help whoever’s inside the house.” I squinted at the trees silhouetted between bands of firelight. “Who lives here?”

“You’re not going anywhere until you put that over your face.” He pressed the handkerchief over my nose. Breathing turned wet and heavy, more difficult than inhaling smoke. He wasn’t wearing a wet handkerchief.

“But you—” I bit off my words when I saw his expression, like pieces of him were being ripped out and hurled into the flames.

“I can’t stop you from going in,” he said, probably at a normal volume, but the fire made his words soft. “I can only try to help you make it out alive.”

I pinned the handkerchief against my face and gave a curt nod. We dashed toward the house.

Outbuildings had collapsed in the initial wave, but the white stone remained solid. Janan’s doing. At least the entire structure wouldn’t fall in on us, though there was still furniture to dodge inside.