Love Reborn

by Yvonne Woon

  He pointed to a dark dot on the map in the west of France. “Descartes grew up ici.” He traced his hand across the map. “Ici is where he attended university.” He pointed to another dot. “Et ici is where he wrote his first essay.” He slid his finger to the fourth dot. “Ici is where he published his Seventh Meditation, his essay on the Undead.” He let his hand drift to the fifth dot, in Stockholm. “And here is where he died.”

  Pruneaux compared his map to the one inside our chest and shook his head. “All wrong.”

  He threw it aside and opened the next map. It had a larger scope, and was colored a pale brown, with mountains winding up the center like vertebrae. The Alps. Black dots marked five new towns, but they didn’t form the shape of a canary, either. He opened another, then another, comparing them to the chest and to each other, but none of them matched. Finally, he opened a map that spanned the entirety of Europe. It looked rougher than the rest, the edges half colored in, the lines on the border only lightly sketched. Dozens of black dots studded the page—far more than five.

  “This was one of my last attempts, but I gave up before I finished, as you can see. I was trying to map Descartes’s entire life, along with all of the places in Europe where extraordinary natural phenomena had been reported. I had the idea that if each of the points can only be discovered by using one of the five senses, then they must exist in the midst of a unusual phenomenon of nature. I thought if I could map all of the places where people have reported strange sightings, smells, sounds, then I would be able to see where they overlapped with Descartes’s travels. But I soon discovered that it was useless; there weren’t enough places of natural wonder, and those that were reported didn’t match any of the landmarks of Descartes’s life.” Pruneaux shook his head. “No,” he said. “The points on the Cartesian Map are not places that anyone would report; they are places that are hidden in plain sight.”

  He leaned over his map, tracing the dots that littered the countryside of France, then turned to the chest. He swept his finger over the etchings that led from what he believed to be the first point to the second. “I’ve been plotting the points chronologically in his life, the first corresponding to a place Descartes visited earlier in his life, and so on. These three lines right here look un peu like three rivers, intersecting just before the second point.” He slid his fingers over the triangles between the second and third points. “These look like a jaw of mountains, with a pair of twin peaks in the distance.” He traced a staircase leading up to a billowing tuft of circles, inside which lay the fourth point. “This could be a ridge climbing up into the clouds.” He followed the path over three circles chiseled into the map, positioned like stepping stones. The fifth point was circumscribed in the last circle. “And, peut-être, these could be lakes.” Pruneaux frowned. “But there are dozens of these kinds of landmarks all over Europe,” he muttered to himself. “It would take ages to try and find a location where all of these matched up exactly as so.”

  I shot Dante a worried look. What would we do if Pruneaux couldn’t figure out where the points were? I didn’t have any ideas, and judging from the way Dante was frowning as he watched him, and the way Theo was tapping his foot nervously against the floor, they didn’t either. Anya was the only one who didn’t look concerned. In fact, she wasn’t even watching Pruneaux. Her eyes wandered about the store, resting on a map of the world from the 1700s that hung in a frame by the window. It was a magical thing, with mermaids and sea creatures sketched in the blue waters. It seemed like the Netherworld belonged more to that map than to ours.

  Pruneaux lowered his glasses and collapsed into his chair with a sigh. “Je suis désolé,” he said, blinking through his bifocals. “Je ne sais pas. I have to study this. It is not something that can be done in mere minutes.” He wrapped his hands around the edges of the chest greedily. “I could keep it here, work on it. I would have to draw a copy for myself, of course, as payment for my help.”

  “No,” Dante and I both said immediately, but before we could go on, Theo interrupted.

  “How long would it take?” he asked.

  Pruneaux ran a hand through his greasy hair, his eyes darkening with calculations. “Two, maybe three weeks.” He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “It would be safe. I assure you.”

  The crack in his voice made me uneasy. “Weeks?” I said. The Monitors were already here, searching for us. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

  Pruneaux leaned over his desk, his stout fingers tracing the rim of the chest. “Why?” he said, giving Dante a curious look. “Are you in a rush?”

  “That doesn’t concern you,” Theo said.

  Pruneaux wrung his hands together. “Tell me again, where, exactement, did you find this chest?”

  “Let’s just say it found us,” Dante said.

  Pruneaux squinted at him. “How lucky you must be,” he said. “The most searched-for map in the history of Monitoring, and you happen to stumble across it?”

  “I never said we stumbled,” Dante countered.

  “And when it found you,” Pruneaux continued, “what was inside this chest?”

  “Nothing,” Dante said.

  Theo looked at me and mouthed, We should go. I nodded and turned to Anya, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was still staring at the ancient map by the window. But when I nudged her, she held up her hand.

  “Look,” she whispered.

  I followed her gaze to the ships and sea monsters that flitted through the oceans, to the mountains and castles that studded the land, until I saw it—a yellow bird flying right over the western side of what was now Europe.

  I felt my breath go thin. What if our map didn’t just seem like it belonged to this world; what if it actually did?

  I searched the modern map of the world that hung right below the antique one, trying to figure out where that bird would have been drawn in today.

  NEDERLAND.

  “It can’t be,” I said, though the excitement was already prickling up my skin.

  “Why not?” Anya challenged. She was always the first to believe. She turned to the others, interrupting their argument. “Did Descartes ever spend time in the Netherlands?”

  Pruneaux leaned on his desk. Damp patches of sweat stained the underarms of his shirt. “Oui.”

  Dante immediately saw what I did. “The Netherlands,” he said. “Just like the Netherworld.”

  Pruneaux’s eyes twitched as he made the connection between the names. “Non,” he said to himself. “C’est trop facile. Je l’aurais vu....”

  “Does that mean that the entire map could be in the Netherlands?” I said.

  “I doubt it,” said Anya. “The border of the Netherlands and the surrounding countries has changed significantly over the years; it would be too perfect. I bet it spans Europe.”

  “So how do we know where to start?” I said. “The point in the Netherlands could be the last point.”

  Theo groaned. “This is making my brain hurt. Can’t we just go to the Netherlands, find the point that’s there, and if it’s the last point or a point in the middle, we can just skip ahead?”

  “No,” Dante said.

  “Maybe we do know where to start,” Anya said, and closed her eyes. “Remember Descartes’s riddle? The nethers first call from their hollows by dark, / In the shape of a bird, with each sense the route has been marked,” she recited. “First,” she repeated. “It’s subtle, but it could mean that the first point is in the Netherlands.”

  “Could?” Theo scoffed. “It has to. Descartes prided himself on his subtlety. Every word in that riddle was intentional.”

  “Where exactly was he in the Netherlands?” I asked, but Pruneaux was too absorbed in his thoughts to answer.

  “Pruneaux?” I repeated.

  When he finally turned, his face was guarded. He wasn’t going to tell us.

  “How much does that Descartes map cost?” Theo said.

  The question caught him off guard. He wiped the sweat from h
is temple. “It is not for sale.”

  “Everything can be bought. It’s just a matter of price,” Theo said. “Name yours.”

  Pruneaux looked at Theo with disgust. “I am interested in collecting information, not giving it away to those who do not even appreciate it. People like you think that mapmaking is only about simple geography, about finding places on a map and going to them,” he said, his jowls trembling. “You don’t understand that locating a place on a map like this one is not the same as getting there in real life, and that navigating the expanses of the Netherworld takes a lot more than just cleverness. Do you have any idea what kinds of unnatural forces shape its landscape? The depths of darkness you will be plunged into? There is a reason why no one has found it yet, and it is not just that it is hard to find. Many do not want to find it, for fear of what it will do to them.”

  Our silence was enough of an answer.

  “You claim you are familiar with Descartes’s riddle, but you are like everyone else. You have only paid attention to half of his words. You think his verses merely tell you where the points are, and how you will find them. But what of the beginning? What, to you, is a second soul worth? / An early death, a wombless rebirth. There is a price to following the path of the soul as it is cleansed of each of its senses.” Pruneaux gave us a level look. “Your soul will be cleansed of its senses, too.”

  Cleansed of its senses? That couldn’t mean what I thought it did....

  “What are you saying?” Theo asked. “That our souls are going to get purer as we get closer?”

  “No,” Anya said quietly. “He’s saying that at each point we will lose one of our senses, until they are all gone, and we are vacant.”

  “Oui,” Pruneaux said.

  I swallowed, understanding why we had to go through each of the points; why we couldn’t skip to the end.

  “Descartes speaks of each of his senses fading as he travels from each point, until the only sense he has left is touch,” Pruneaux continued. “Touch, the noblest, is last to decline. / The final remainder of life in this soul of mine. That will happen to you, too. There is a reason why Descartes died so suddenly. Why he was nearly blind and deaf; why his nurses reported that he didn’t eat or sleep. Point by point, he lost each of his senses. You cannot merely walk to the Netherworld. You have to give up your soul in order to find it.”

  CHAPTER 6

  La Fin du Monde

  W E WALKED BACK to the boarding house in silence. I trained my eyes on the slushy streets, unsure of what to say. My heart told me not to turn back. I had to go with Dante and find the Netherworld, otherwise I would lose him again. He would never be able to find the points on his own; his senses were already muted. And yet I was scared. What would it feel like to die slowly, to waste away, my senses withering one by one until I was crippled and vacant? I imagined the world darkening around me, Dante’s voice fading as I lost my hearing, his face growing blurry as my eyes went dull. I never thought I’d be frightened of death, being so near to it all the time; but now that it was waiting for me, close enough that I could almost feel its wisps pulling at my throat, I was terrified.

  But what would the world be without Dante? My parents had already been killed; my grandfather was nothing more than a cold outline of a patriarch; half of my friends were Undead and wasting away, and the others were all Monitors, a talent I never wanted in the first place. I had no interest in burying people. Their world didn’t belong to me, and yet neither did any other. Dante was the only thing in my life that felt like home. Being with him made me alive. Without him, what would any of it be worth?

  A woman in a stained apron stood in front of a boulangerie, scattering rock salt over the sidewalk. I touched my hand to Dante’s until the sweet aroma of baking bread wafting out the front door grew stronger, enveloping me in its warmth.

  “Renée,” he said, his voice steady. “We can’t—”

  I could already guess what Dante was thinking by the heaviness in his gait: that I had to turn back, that he wouldn’t let me surrender my soul to save him. “Don’t say it,” I said. “Not yet.” He was about to protest when I cut him off. “Please.”

  With his fingers grazing mine, I looked up at the shop fronts, suddenly brimming with life under his touch. I saw the sun glinting off the windows, the people passing by: a blink of brilliant blue silk beneath a heavy coat, a flash of red beneath a pair of high heels. Soon, it would all fade. I pressed my palm to his, feeling the roughness of his skin, the cool tingle it sent up my arm. That, too, would soon be lost to me.

  I reminded myself that I knew what it felt like to die, for I had given my life to Dante once before. Ever since our kiss, my senses had dwindled, the world coated in a dreary gray film unless Dante was by my side. Even now, the blue sky peeking through the rooftops seemed slightly duller than it used to, the ornate buildings plainer and charmless, their awnings muted into wan shades of yellow, red, and blue. Life without him would be even worse—a vast expanse of gray, void of beauty and feeling. Without Dante to share it with, the world meant nothing.

  Anya walked a few paces behind us, absently picking at the chipped polish on her nails, her eyes distant, as though her thoughts were as dark as mine. Theo was the only one of us who looked chipper.

  “What’s with the dour faces?” he asked as we reached the lobby. “Did we or did we not just figure out where the first point on the map is?”

  “That’s not funny,” I said.

  Theo frowned. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

  “Were you not paying attention when Pruneaux was talking about the riddle?”

  “Of course I was. I mean, it’s not going to be a walk in the park, but...”

  His nonchalance baffled me. “This might seem like a big joke to you, but it isn’t to us.” I lowered my voice as we walked up the creaky staircase to our room. “This chest is all we have. We’re giving up everything for it. And if we reach the end and there’s nothing there, then...” I let my voice trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Behind me, Dante was conspicuously silent.

  Theo only shrugged. “What did you think would happen? That you would be able to just walk up to the Netherworld, knock on the door, and ask for a new soul? Of course it involves sacrifice. Everything does.”

  “What does it even matter to you?” I said to Theo. “You’re not coming with us. Neither of you are. You have no reason to go to the Netherworld.”

  Anya looked like she was about to speak, but then changed her mind.

  Theo traced his finger along the brass railing. “How are you so sure of that?”

  I was about to respond when a boy walked toward us in the hallway. He wore a red cap and uniform, as if he were a bellboy. He hurried past without looking up. Were there bellboys in this boarding house? I couldn’t remember ever seeing one.

  “Besides,” Theo continued. “If I were you, I wouldn’t uninvite me yet. I might be able to help you. After all, I was the one who brought us to Pruneaux. Without me, you never would have found the first point.”

  I let out a cold laugh. “We haven’t found anything yet,” I said. “We think it’s in the Netherlands. But that’s an entire country.”

  “So all we have to do is figure out where Descartes stayed in the Netherlands, and go there,” said Theo as he fiddled with the keys to our room. “Bingo. Easy. The question is, how will we get there?” He pushed open the door and was about to step inside when he stopped.

  Lying on the floor was the answer to his question: an envelope with Monsieur’s handwriting sprawled across the front, spelling out my name. I bent down and picked it up before Theo could snatch it. Dante must have been thinking the same thing I was, for he ran down the hallway, calling out to the boy who had passed us. “Garçon! Attendez!” But it was too late.

  I slipped the note out of the envelope. Tucked inside were four train tickets, each leaving the next morning for Amsterdam.

  Be careful. They are watching you.

  Sincerely,

&nb
sp; Monsieur

  His words sent a prickle up my spine. I lowered the page and looked out the window, searching the blank buildings for eyes. But whose? The Monitors, the Undead, or both?

  Theo grabbed it from my hand and read it, Anya peering over his shoulder.

  “I guess that answers it,” he said, and tossed the note on the nightstand. “The four of us are leaving tomorrow.”

  “But where do we go when we get there?” Anya asked. “I couldn’t see any of the towns on that map in Pruneaux’s office.”

  I paused, wondering if I had heard her correctly. “You—you still want to come too?” I said in disbelief. “Even after Pruneaux’s warning?”

  Anya bit her lower lip, trying to decide the best way to answer. “Monsieur asked me to help you,” she said, then averted her eyes and played with a lock of her hair. “I don’t want to go against the signs.”

  “The signs?” I laughed. “You must have a better reason than that,” I said. “You’re risking your life—your soul—to find a place only corroborated by a legend.”

  “I know that,” she said softly.

  I didn’t understand. “Then why—?” But judging from the look on her face, she wasn’t going to answer me. “This is our burden, not yours—” I began to say, when Dante cut me off.

  “My burden,” he corrected, his eyes pleading with me to understand. He ran a hand through his long hair, which was tied back in a knot. “And I don’t want any of you coming with me.” He was speaking to everyone, though he was staring at me. “I’ve already put you in enough danger. I can’t let you give away your soul for me.”

  “You can’t just send me home,” I said, unable to believe what I was hearing. “This is my choice, not yours. And I choose you, at any cost.”

  Dante’s chest expanded, as if my words made his heart ache. “You don’t know what it means to be like me,” he said. “I can’t let you waste away. I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

  “It’s already happening,” I said, no longer caring that Anya and Theo were listening. “There’s nothing for me without you.”