Asunder

19 TRANSFORM

AFTER TELLING SAM everything that happened in the temple, I didn’t have the energy to attempt translating the books, though I’d hoped to try.

Instead, I started crying again, and Sam grew somber and distant as he led me downstairs. Dusk had fallen long ago, leaving only lamps and reflections off polished wood to illuminate the parlor. I wrapped myself in blankets on the sofa, listening to his footfalls in the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and closed, boiling water hissed, and a spoon clanked on ceramic as he stirred honey into my tea.

He left the mug on an end table for me, then went to work on the piano, adjusting strings beneath the gleaming maple lid, then testing pitches. Every so often, he’d stop working to play, always making sure to ask if I had any requests, but most of the time I was content to watch and listen.

Nocturnes and preludes lulled me into dozing, and I awakened to find morning had arrived, covered in a film of snow. Sam and I dressed warmly and headed to the Councilhouse for my very late monthly progress report.

Predictably, the Council quizzed me mercilessly on my supposed sickness and symptoms, expressing false sympathy. Well, Sine’s concern might have been real. She worked hard to steer the conversation back to my progress report, but the general suspicion was clear: the Council thought I was up to something.

And wasn’t I? I’d discovered Menehem’s poison-making machine, Janan’s terrible hunger, and their fellow Councilor alive inside the temple. I possessed the only unaltered memory, books from the temple, and—until recently—the key to the temple. Sylph sang for me.

It wouldn’t matter that Janan had even more sinister plans for Soul Night. The Council couldn’t trust someone like me.

Fortunately, Sam had foreseen the Council’s questions about my illness and prepared me, so I described sleeping through a fever that involved lots of snot and throwing up.

“I died from that once,” Sam added as we descended the Councilhouse stairs. An icy breeze scoured the market field, though it didn’t deter devoted gossips and workers.

“Um.” I hunched beneath my coat hood, conscious of glares in my direction. Merton was out again, reminding people about the sylph incident at the lake, and how disgusting it was that Sam was in a romantic relationship with me. The Council’s advice on this was the same as it had been: ignore it. “If you died from the illness,” I asked, “is it a miracle I’m alive?”

He slipped his hand around mine and squeezed. “Well, yes. But that was several lifetimes ago.

Medicine has come a long way since then. Don’t worry. The medic who supposedly treated you is a good friend. She won’t say anything if they ask.”

“Oh, good.”

We stopped at Armande’s pastry stall, sipping coffee and eating muffins until he was satisfied I wasn’t starving to death. Sam kept checking his SED, but otherwise held a long conversation with Armande about what they each planned to have for lunch. It seemed suspicious to me, but we sat a good distance away from the temple and Merton’s gathering, and Armande continued giving me snacks. I didn’t complain, but I couldn’t ignore the voices from the Councilhouse steps.

“Newsouls are a plague,” a woman shouted. “Punishment for our lack of devotion to Janan.”

Her theory and the truth were as far apart as the sea and the stars, but it was a popular sentiment.

“They have no skills,” said a man. “Why should we feel obligated to care for anyone who can’t offer anything to the community? We don’t have resources to shelter and feed them. What happens if there are more and more? There are— were—a million of us. And only a million. We used to think we were the only souls in existence, but that’s been”—the man’s voice thinned, like he didn’t believe what he was about to say—“proven false. Now whatever limit was set has been broken. What happens when they outnumber us?”

I glanced at Sam and Armande just in time to see them cringe.

It was a good question. I didn’t know, either. Of course, this man was leaping to conclusions. For all anyone knew, newsouls might be limited, too. Eventually, by counting how many newsouls were born, they’d be able to tell how many oldsouls had truly been lost during Templedark. At least seventy-two.

Probably more. But it seemed to me, once we reached that number, that would be it.

Then we’d either be reincarnated or we wouldn’t.

At noon, Sam wished Armande a good day, and we headed back to the southwestern residential quarter. Snow flurries pushed through the streets, and the day was just cold enough to allow a layer of white on the ground.

When we got home, tracks in the snow led to the front door and away, scuffed enough that I couldn’t tell anything about them except the intruder had been through a lot. Light seeped from the parlor windows.

Perhaps the Council had finally made good on their threat to have my room searched. If they took my books and research, and Deborl had the keyFear splintered through me. “Sam?”

“It’s all right.” He took my hand and drew me to the door, where I caught a sweet scent. And when I stepped inside, roses transformed the parlor into another world entirely.

Shades of red and blue clustered in vases on tables and shelves. They rested alone on the piano’s music stand and on the edge of each step of the staircase. They peeked from stands, from instrument cases, from behind the decorations that served beauty and acoustics.

The perfume was intoxicating, so rich I could taste it. A subtler, spicy aroma filled me up, warming me as the front door shut and Sam stopped beside me, wearing a smile. “I like it.”

“Did Cris run out of room in his greenhouse?”

Sam chuckled. “Not as far as I know.”

I drifted through the room, touching petals. “I like the way they’re all mixed together, the red and blue.

Are these”—I bent to sniff one—“Phoenix roses?” They had more petals than the blue roses I was used to, like ruffles of wisp-thin paper.

“They are. As many blue and Phoenix roses as he could stand to lose.” Sam tugged off his boots and leaned against the piano, tracking my progress through the room. “I haven’t seen you look this happy in a long time.”

“It’s like a greenhouse exploded in our parlor and left—” I swept my hands around. They were everywhere, changing the way light and color caught my attention, drawing my eyes to places I hadn’t looked since I’d first come to Heart. They were by the cello, resting on the harpsichord, and threaded through my music stand.

And by my new flute, resting on its stand and polished to a shine, lay the most perfect blue rose I’d ever seen, with smooth petals so flawless they didn’t look real. The bloom bent under my fingertips, as soft as air.

I turned. “Why would you do this?”

He smiled as I stepped into his embrace, and his arms wrapped strong and solid around my waist.

“Why not?” He pulled me tight, and when I lifted my eyes to his, he kissed me.

I lost myself in the brush of his lips, the thrill of his fingers against my cheek and neck and shoulder, and thump of his heartbeat under my palm. So engaged in the way his mouth fit with mine, I almost missed the purr of my coat being unzipped. When he paused his kissing, I stepped back, and he slipped my coat off my shoulders; I dropped my arms and the cloth fell with a soft whump.

“I love you. Have I told you that since you got back?” He curled his hands over my hips and didn’t wait for me to answer. “I want to tell you every hour. Every minute. Ever since you returned, all I can think about is how close I came to not having you at all. And how close you came to being—” He looked away, expression grim.

“You remember that?” I would be so grateful if I didn’t have to keep explaining it, or reminding him that I hadn’t actually been missing. “You remember everything I told you about being inside the temple?”

He nodded, looking wrecked. “I keep remembering it.”

“And the white wall in the north? Right before the dragons?” I bit my lip.

Recognition flickered through him, but he shook his head. “No. A little, but no.” He grew quiet, seeming distracted by my hair. It tugged and tingled across my scalp where he pulled his fingers through the waves. “There are things I should remember, but I don’t.”

“Yeah.” My heart thudded.

“You remember them.”

I offered a pale smile, relief that my newness was good for something. “I wasn’t reborn.”

“And there are things I’m remembering because of you.”

“Yes.” At least, it seemed to be my doing. It was unlikely that after five thousand years, the magic would suddenly begin breaking down in the middle of this lifetime. I was the only thing that had changed.

A tiny sense of importance surged through me.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

I looped my arms around his shoulders and pulled close. “Because I make you remember things?” I didn’t want to think about Janan right now. I wanted Sam to kiss me.

“Because of a lot of reasons.” He read my mind, or read the way our bodies pressed together, only bunched clothes between us.

Our kiss stopped time, stopped thoughts. All I knew was the feel of his mouth, the gasp and shuddered breath, and the calluses of his hands on my back. Cool air fluttered where he’d lifted my shirt, sharp contrast to the way he made me burn with desire. I didn’t have words for what I wanted with him, but if I could push closer and closer“No one would believe Ana was terribly ill for a week if they saw this.” Amusement filled Sarit’s voice, and I spun to find her—and Cris and Stef—crowding the kitchen doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Sarit grinned, not sounding sorry at all. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I thought you should know we brought lunch.”

My face ached with embarrassment, but I didn’t miss the way Cris looked sort of blank and Stef looked…upset? Angry? I couldn’t tell.

“Lunch?” My voice sounded pinched, and I wasn’t sure if I could actually eat after Armande fed me half his pastry stall, but to make the awkward moment go away, I’d eat anything.

The five of us spent the next hour over plates filled with roast cavy and vegetables, catching up, and admiring the roses.

“I recruited Stef and Sarit’s help. I didn’t think you’d mind them wandering around the parlor.” Cris’s plate was empty, but he eyed mine, which was still half-full. He couldn’t still be growing, as tall as he was. Surely he couldn’t. But when I surrendered my leftovers, he seized them as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

“I don’t mind at all.” Sam grinned and found my hand under the table. “Stef lives here part-time anyway, and lately we have Sarit more often than not, too.”

“To be completely honest,” Sarit said, “I must admit that my increased presence since another musician moved in is not a coincidence.” She winked at me. “In fact, didn’t you miss your practice this morning? You should probably play for us now. Call it payment for all the work we did arranging these roses.”

Before I could come up with a response, her SED chirped and she excused herself, vanishing around the corner to the other end of the parlor. Cheerfulness drained from her tone as she spoke, and when she returned, she almost looked her age.

“That was Lidea. Someone smashed a window in Anid’s room. Lots of his things were taken. He wasn’t there, but the threat was clear. Lidea is a wreck, and Wend doesn’t know what to do.” She pressed her mouth in a line. “I’m not sure Wend is handling the stress well. Everyone he lost during Templedark, and now this? It isn’t the first time they’ve received threats, but it’s certainly the worst.”

I couldn’t think around the rushing in my head. Someone had tried to hurt Anid.

As much as I wanted to be shocked that anyone would do this…I knew how I’d grown up, how Li had always treated me, and how people still leered at me. They would keep trying to hurt Anid.

“This will only escalate,” I whispered, and everyone faced me.

“Ana, dear.” Stef’s tone turned comforting. “Lidea is strong. She’ll make sure Anid is safe. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

“No.” My voice broke as I lurched to my feet. “I must worry about it. Newsouls will keep coming, and they’ll all face this kind of hatred. If I don’t stand up for them, who will?”

“We all will,” Cris said. “We’re your friends. We want to help.”

Sam gazed at me, waiting. He looked proud, which made my heart flutter.

“I know what to do,” I said after a moment, and counted days in my head. Less than a week, but maybe… “I have an idea, but I need to speak to people. Tonight.”

Part of me was ready for them to try talking me out of it. A smaller part expected laughter and placation. But Stef’s expression grew serious, focused, and she pulled out her SED. “All right. Who do you want?”

Relief poured through me. “Trustworthy people. You guys. Lidea and Wend. Orrin and Whit.

Armande.”

“What about Sine?” Cris asked.

I shook my head. “I think this would conflict with her office too much.” She’d been different toward me lately, anyway. Probably because she was the Speaker now and the Council pressured her more than ever, but her being the Council Speaker made the decision easier.

I listed off a few more people, and everyone was on their SEDs, sending messages. Warmth replaced the horror of Sarit’s announcement. I could do something. I might not be able to do anything for the souls inside the temple, but I would convince the Council that newsouls deserved to be treated like real people.

Even though I’d invited them, everyone’s arrival still surprised me.

Some, like Moriah and Lorin, were Sam’s friends who’d given me lessons in various subjects. But Whit and Orrin were my friends, and liked to tease me about how much time I spent in the library. More than a few times, they’d tried to convince me to become an archivist with them.

Lidea, Wend, and Anid arrived last, the baby bundled in a hundred blankets. Wend hauled a small nursery in a bag, shooting me a strange look as he followed Lidea inside.

Armande appropriated the kitchen to make coffee and tea, and after everyone had a turn cooing at Anid and admiring the roses, they settled on chairs, music benches, and the sofa, waiting to find out why I’d asked them here.

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.