Asunder (Incarnate)

by Jodi Meadows

  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.

  20

  EXPLODE

  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, Lide
a, 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.”