Soulstar

by C. L. Polk

  “Come in, sit down, who’s that hovering—? Cortland,” she said with a gasp. “Oh Cortland Jubilation Brown…”

  “You know him,” I said.

  “I do,” she said. “He’s my own grandnephew, even if he is dressed a complete fool. You graduated from Queens forty years ago, Cortland. Clinging to your schooldays like that. I don’t think he ever grew up.”

  “I’m Robin Thorpe,” I said. “And this is Jean-Marie Thorpe, my cousin.”

  “Come closer and let me look at you, young lady.” Minerva stretched out one hand, her grip strong on Jean-Marie’s fingers. She tilted her head, studying Jean-Marie’s face. “Are you Ephla Thorpe’s line?”

  “You knew Great-grandmother Ephla?” I asked.

  Minerva nodded, her eyes bright. “We were school chums. And you have her gift, if Cortland sulking about is any evidence.”

  Cortland grumbled. I smiled. “He says he doesn’t sulk.”

  “Oh, they all think that,” she said. “I’m Minerva Brown, but before I was married, I was Minerva Seaman of the Distant Sky.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  She laughed. “What brings you here?”

  “Cortland had a wish to speak to his daughter.”

  Minerva’s mouth turned sour, but she masked it quickly, showing off even, perfect teeth that had to be mounted into a denture. “She should be here soon, if you’d like to wait. And you, young lady—”

  Jean-Marie yanked her attention away from the glass globe chandelier. “Yes?”

  Minerva waved her hand. “The building’s closed, but it’s still sound. Go and explore.”

  Jean-Marie’s face lit up. “Really?”

  “Go before I change my mind,” Minerva said.

  Jean-Marie was gone before I could tell her to be careful. Minerva picked up her knitting and worked a complicated pattern from memory, scarcely glancing at it while her fingers guided knit stitches from the left needle to the right.

  “So the dead have come to Aeland,” she said. “I see them drifting through the halls sometimes, on my walks. Sometimes, I think I know their faces. Cortland’s the first one to remember that we existed, though he only cared about Nolene.”

  I took a guess. “Your great-granddaughter?”

  “Great-grandniece. And there are no great-great-grandnieces, which Cortland undoubtedly hoped for.”

  Cortland staggered. “She never married?”

  Minerva addressed the answer to Cortland once I relayed the question. “She did. No luck carrying a child. The Browns of the Sheltered Harbor are no more. I am one hundred years old, and I have seen the end of my clan.”

  It put a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am too,” Minerva said.

  “Granny Min?” a voice called, the tone rising to panic. “Granny Min, was someone here? Granny Min?”

  “Here,” I called, and footsteps pounded along at a run.

  A woman with a worry-furrowed brow halted in the entrance, her hair worn loose and curly in the fashion that was overtaking the traditional locks of Samindans. “Who are you? Who is—Daddy?”

  She set down a hamper and crossed the floor, staring at Cortland. They shared the same broad jaw and high cheekbones, her face a little more finely drawn around the eyes and nose, the legacy of handsome parents. As she came closer, I could smell tobacco smoke on her clothes.

  “We came to find you,” I said. “I’m Robin Thorpe of the Peaceful Waters. Cortland wished to tell you that he loves you.”

  She regarded me with wide eyes. “You’re a Deathsinger.”

  “I am,” I said. “Cortland wished to speak to you, and he did me a big favor when he helped us soothe the storm.”

  “Cortland. Tell Granny Min she should live in Greenfields,” Nolene said.

  “Nolene, we’ve discussed this,” Minerva said. “If you want to stop bringing me meals, I’ll hire someone to do it for me, but I am not leaving my home.”

  “But you could fall,” she said. “You could fall, and break a hip, you could bleed internally, and then you could—”

  “Die,” Minerva said. “Child. I am a hundred years old. I know I could die. But this is my home, and I will leave it feetfirst.”

  “Stop talking about death,” Nolene said. “It’s morbid. It’s horrible. If you’d only just let me take you to Greenfields—”

  “No,” Minerva said. “I’m perfectly fine here, as I told you. I’m not going to Greenfields. I’m staying.”

  “But Granny Min—”

  “No.”

  Nolene sighed. “I made you chicken soup. But I’m afraid I only made enough for the two of us.”

  “I can collect Jean-Marie,” I said. “I came for Cortland’s sake. Is there anything else you want to say, Cortland?”

  “Tell her she should see a midwife. It’s not too late to—”

  “I’m not telling her that,” I said.

  “Telling me what?” Nolene asked.

  “Your father wants me to badger you to have a child.”

  Nolene’s face melted into sadness. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

  “He can hear you,” I said. “When I’m nearby, he can hear you, understand you, is alert and aware. But he’ll fade again when I’m gone.”

  “Daddy, I can’t,” Nolene said. “I’m so sorry. I tried.”

  Cortland watched his daughter, his expression folded up with sadness.

  Their clan was ending, and Nolene blamed herself. It wasn’t fair. Minerva reached for Nolene’s hand, and I couldn’t break the silence that hung over us. Cortland hung his head, his hand passing through Nolene’s shoulder.

  Jean-Marie appeared in the doorway. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. There’s a statue in the lobby. She’s so lovely. And the stairway—it’s so elegant, I could explore for hours, but I thought I should come back before I made Robin worry.”

  Minerva caught a little of Jean-Marie’s delight. “You like it?”

  “I love it,” Jean-Marie. “Thank you for letting me explore.”

  “You haven’t seen it all yet,” Minerva said. “Why don’t you come back and explore it properly?”

  “Yes! Thank you! Can I come tomorrow?”

  I had never seen Jean-Marie elated. I had never seen her brimming with excitement and curiosity. I nodded permission. “You can bring cakes for tea.”

  “I would be honored to have such a lovely guest,” Minerva said. “I look forward to your visit.”

  “Thank you! I’ll come tomorrow morning. I want to know everything. It’s the most wonderful place I’ve ever seen.”

  “It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Minerva had stars twinkling in her dark eyes. “And I have a hundred stories. More. I’ll tell you the first one tomorrow.”

  “And then you can meet us at the park for the homecoming,” I said. “We’ll pass by the park so you know what streets to take.”

  Nolene kept her mouth closed so firmly she had to be holding back an objection, but she didn’t voice it while we said our farewells.

  * * *

  Zelind was in charge of the kitchen for the evening meal, and so we had a huge pot of crab chowder served with crusty hot bread covered in sautéed mushrooms and cheese sauce. I was in charge of cleanup, and Zelind was already stretched out on the cot when I finally made it to our rooms. I watched kher breathing, a little moonlight shining through the window, until I slept, and dreamed, and woke to thumping coming from the sitting room.

  Zelind was the source of those noises. Dressed in a singlet and athletic shorts, a light glow of sweat across kher broad shoulders, Zelind jumped, flexed, and balanced on one hand or one foot or kher seat as khe ran through strength-enhancing exercises.

  Even a few days of feeding up had filled the hollows in Zelind’s ribs, dulled the sharp peaks of kher spinal column, and wiry strength gained some sleekness across kher arms and legs. Khe worked every muscle and then moved into a fluid series of poses meant to enhance balance an
d flexibility before khe spoke to me.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “I get up early anyway.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I am. Do you have a busy day today?”

  “I wanted to visit the library downtown.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Zelind said. “Do you want to skate?”

  And so we hurried through breakfast. We laced skate blades to our boots and glided along the Densmore Canal, the ice shushing under our strides. Zelind offered kher arm, and we skated together in pairs hold, skating in time with each other.

  We had to skate two miles like this, and two miles back, matching pace and rhythm to move as one. We glided past a class of children skating in pairs, and Zelind nudged me into skating before kher, so I sped backward and faced kher.

  “Do you remember our trick?”

  “Yes—” And then I squawked as Zelind hoisted me in the air, much to the delight of the class, who watched me spread my arms and cross my skates at the ankle.

  Zelind twirled around twice, skating backward as khe set me down. My knee gave a loud pop as I landed on one foot, my other leg stretched out in an arabesque.

  Zelind went wide-eyed. “That was an alarming noise.”

  “My joints make a lot of alarming noises. It’s fine.”

  But khe stuck to skating side by side after that, taking no more risks. I settled under kher arm across my shoulder blades, in a pairs skating hold and smiled at the sunny day and the other skaters playing on the canal.

  “This was a good idea.”

  “We could do it again tomorrow,” Zelind said. “Is Mama’s still there?”

  “Mama’s is still there, and Mama still makes hot smoked hog.”

  “Now I want to go there today.”

  “After the library?” I paused at a bench and unlaced the blades from my boots. “It’s not far.”

  “I’ve been thinking about what you told me about the King’s speech,” Zelind said. “About the contest.”

  “Do you have an idea for it?”

  Zelind shrugged. “Maybe. I need to catch up on research. What do you want from the library?”

  “Lesson books on figuring for Jean-Marie.”

  Other people with asylum-born witches had the same idea, and the lesson books were picked over. Illustrated books with more story than pictures were gone as well, and I should have thought. No Samindan would sit still while someone near them couldn’t read and write.

  “We’re going to add surplus lesson books from the schools as soon as we can get them,” a librarian told me, and I put our name down for the waiting list. Zelind found some books khe wanted, all of them bound editions of kher favorite mechanical magazines.

  “What are you going to make?” I asked, and Zelind crammed the last book in the canvas sack I had brought.

  “Not sure yet. I have an idea I need to research,” khe said.

  “You can use the work shed.”

  “I’d like someplace more secret.”

  I raised my brows at that. “Be mysterious, then. I guess we’re getting that smoked hog sooner rather than later,” I said to Zelind as we returned to the street.

  “I’m sorry you weren’t able to get more books for Jean-Marie.”

  “They will come,” I said.

  Mama’s wasn’t quite full for lunch, and it smelled like hours of careful, slow cooking. We sat at a table for four, and Zelind took off kher gloves and scarf. “If they come, I want a sandwich, extra hot sauce.”

  “It’ll be here soon,” I promised, and khe left for the comfort room.

  Today was a good day. Zelind was merry, smiling and at ease, as if the fresh air and exercise had buoyed kher mood. It had felt a bit like when we were young, though we had known more daring skating tricks than the flying swan lift. Khe had pulled me into that move with sure confidence. Would khe do the same if we were at a dance? Would khe promenade with me at the homecoming? I rubbed my healed finger. Khe had insisted on tending it. I had let kher, because if khe had a reason to touch me, khe would. Maybe we would whirl about in each other’s arms. Maybe—

  Someone slid into the seat next to me, wafting sweet amber perfume and damp wool. “Miss Thorpe.”

  My stomach sank as the fragile happiness of the day shattered. Jarom Bay was at our table, fine deerskin gloves in one hand, clothed in luxury, smiling that sure, smug smile.

  “Mrs. Thorpe,” I corrected.

  “I need your help.”

  “No.”

  “Khe won’t talk to me, Robin—”

  “Mrs. Thorpe.”

  He blustered on, leaning down to put his face close to mine. “Khe won’t talk to me.” His voice rose with that last statement. “Sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Khe was supposed to—”

  “Come home to you,” I said. “But that wasn’t kher choice.”

  “I just need to know if khe’s all right. I need to see kher. I need kher to know that I love kher. We all do, but I’m the only one who didn’t mind that khe took up with a—”

  I tilted my head. “Were you about to say ‘null’?”

  “I know you’re not,” Jarom said. “I’ve read all the papers. Kingston is beside itself, and I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. They really took the dead and—”

  Jarom shook his head, his lips tight with horror. “But we thought you were a null. You did too, in case you don’t remember. And Zelind had a responsibility to continue a legacy. The two of you simply couldn’t expect to be together, even if it was romantic. I thought it was romantic, back then.”

  “You certainly made that clear when you took Zelind’s side against Birdie.”

  “I was fifteen,” Jarom said. “No one was going to listen to me.”

  “You were Zelind’s favorite. You two were the perfect team. You could have stuck together. But instead, you became the one whose hand will guide the firm—”

  “I would step down in a heartbeat if khe would just come home and—”

  “Jarom.”

  Zelind stood at the table, lips pinched and nostrils flared. Khe stood every inch of kher five and a half feet, and though Jarom was a head taller, khe loomed. “It’s time for you to go now.”

  “Zel,” Jarom said. “Zel, I need to explain.”

  “Oh, excellent. Start with why there were examiners waiting for me when I came home that night.”

  Jarom shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Zelind folded kher arms. “Then find out. I want the truth.”

  “It was just—”

  Zelind rolled right over Jarom’s protest. “I want to know who sent them to our street, when Ma doubled the captain’s salary out of her pocket to keep her people out of their hands.”

  “She didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “You’re a fool if you believe that,” Zelind said. “And I want to know why, if it really was misfortune, they didn’t buy me out of the examiners’ hands.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “They did it for Charles William.”

  Jarom gave Zelind a skeptical look. “Who told you that?”

  “Eldest Thorpe.”

  Jarom opened his mouth to protest—and shut it. He licked his lips and glanced down at his hands. “That’s all you want? The truth?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Then ask Birdie. Ask your mother.”

  “You really think she’s innocent.”

  “You didn’t see her,” Jarom said. “When she found out what had happened to you, she screamed and wept and broke every mirror in the house. She had to get stitches. And then she shut off. It was like someone flipped a switch. We had to dress her. We had to feed her. It went on for months. Would she grieve like that, if she had done what you suggest?”

  “What happened after?”

  “She was never the same,” Jarom said. “Father took on the firm. I gave up my dreams of sailing past the archipelago, because I had to learn everything they
had crammed into your head for when the firm was going to be yours—”

  Zelind gripped the top of the seat-back and leaned closer. “She grieved?”

  “For years.”

  Zelind looked at me. I nodded. “I never knew all the details, but I heard some of it.”

  “I’m still a Thorpe,” Zelind said. “And I still want the truth. Suddenly I’m not hungry, missus. Maybe when we get home.”

  Zelind donned kher hat and gloves. I put my own back on, and Jarom got to his feet.

  “I’ll leave you to eat.”

  “I said I wasn’t hungry,” Zelind said. “It’s time to go home.”

  Khe didn’t utter a word on the two-mile trip back.

  * * *

  Zelind spent hours shut up inside our rooms, poring over the library books khe had borrowed about steam engines. Khe pushed kherself into the endless housekeeping tasks of the clan house, even venturing into the attic to clean and organize.

  If khe wasn’t busy in the kitchen, minding children, or knitting in the parlor, khe was in the attic, using spare bits of old-model aetheric gadgets forced into obsolescence to make whatever had captured kher imagination.

  But khe didn’t disappear entirely. Khe drew models and wrote notes from the journals khe’d borrowed from the library, sitting with me at the dining table while I firmed up the details of the celebration we planned for the return of all the witches, checking the expenses against our donations in preparation for our committee meeting. Zelind made a child’s windflower, making it spin with kher talent for moving things without having to touch them.

  I sat back from my notes and watched the toy spin. “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking.” Khe let the toy wind down. “This is the key. What are you doing?”

  “Finalizing my estimates for how many volunteers we’ll need for Jacob’s project.” I blew on the windflower, and it spun obediently.

  Khe handed it to me. “You can put it on your bike.”

  We used to do that as children. I tilted my head. “Does it have a wish on it?”

  “Can’t tell,” Zelind said. “They’re secret.”