Asunder n-2

by Jodi Meadows

  “For dragging you even deeper into this mess.” I ducked through the door when Sam hauled it open for me. “After our trip”—I didn’t specify where, in case anyone overheard us—“and what we learned there, you must be pretty nervous.”

  Darkness flashed in his eyes, something he wasn’t telling me, but it vanished quickly. “I want you to feel safe. I’d never regret your feeling safe.” He followed me inside. “If I can’t give you that, I at least want you to have answers. I’ll help you find them however I can.”

  “I know people have started calling your SED to yell, now that Stef blocked them on mine.” I hated that they were trying to make him miserable, too.

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. I can deal with them.”

  Why? Why would he endure all this for me? Was this what it meant to be loved? If you loved someone, could love make you strong like that?

  I hoped I could become that strong.

  Sam rested his palm on the small of my back as we walked through the ornate halls of the Councilhouse. Paintings lined the walls, most depicting faraway places with cliffs or endless stretches of sand. Closer to the library, there was a painting of tropical fish in a coral reef; that was one of my favorites, though I’d never been to such a place. One day, I would. I hoped.

  When we reached the Council chamber, we were told to wait. I filled the time by writing in my notebook. Sam spent the time frowning at a wall. “The piano needs a little work, don’t you think?”

  I glanced up. “Maybe?”

  “It sounds off. I’m going to look at it when we get home.”

  The piano sounded spectacular to me, but I didn’t have his ear, so I just smiled and leaned on his shoulder.

  When we were called, I followed him into the Council chamber and dropped my notebook onto the table, which ran the length of the room. It was an ancient piece made from a dozen species of wood, inlaid with beautiful swirls of metal. Once a month, the Council called me in for a progress report; while they droned on about the importance of mathematics, which I already knew, I had ample time to search for patterns across the smooth face.

  Ten Councilors sat across from Sam and me, some familiar faces, some new since Templedark. Four Councilors had been confirmed dead that night, and the fifth, Meuric…they’d never find him. The replacements were mostly young, one barely past his first quindec, the age when people were allowed to start working again.

  “Hello, Dossam. Hello, Ana.” Councilor Sine brushed aside a wisp of gray hair that had escaped her bun. “This session is closed for now, but later the recording will be archived and available, all right?”

  It wasn’t really a question, so I didn’t respond.

  She went on. “The Council has been informed of yesterday’s incident. Please, tell us about it.”

  “Okay.” My heartbeat fumbled as I sat and tried not to pay attention to everyone looking at me. “A bunch of us went to the beach yesterday. Sylph came. I brought out my SED to message you.”

  “I remember,” said Sine. “Go on.”

  “Then I turned on the music.”

  “Why?” asked Deborl.

  I was a terrible liar. “Um.” A really terrible liar. “I think Menehem mentioned something to me during Templedark. He said music calmed sylph.”

  “And you never told us that before?” Councilor Frase lifted an eyebrow. “That would have been very useful information to have.”

  “I forgot. I only remembered at the lake.” How much deeper could I dig this lie? It made me feel dirty, even though they’d throw me out of Heart if they knew the truth.

  “Then the sylph followed your orders,” Councilor Antha said. “Yesterday, at the lake. Reports say you shouted at them to flee, and they did.”

  “Do you have any idea why they did that?” Sine laced her fingers, not at all the friendly Councilor she’d been when we first met. Now she was the Speaker, always looking to see where people had cracks in their armor, and whether they might be lying. Her attention made me want to shatter.

  “I—” The lines I’d prepared seemed like someone else’s words now. Everyone would know I was lying, and I couldn’t look to Sam for help, because these questions weren’t for him. “I don’t think sylph are stupid,” I blurted.

  “Oh?” Sine waited.

  “Well, people saw it yesterday: sylph sang along with music. They knew enough to recognize it as music and sing along with it without ever—I assume—having heard it before.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Councilor Finn said, and his tone turned mocking. “But did you tell them to run away by singing it?”

  I cringed. “No. What I’m saying is that if they’re smart enough to recognize music, maybe they recognize the similarities between humans. They fled Menehem during Templedark. Isn’t it possible they realized I look like him? Or perhaps they saw me with him that night and remembered?”

  The Councilors exchanged glances, frowns.

  “We don’t know what Menehem did to the sylph.” My lie grew a little more confident. “And we won’t until he’s reborn.”

  They muttered at one another, and Sam gave me an encouraging look. This was his part. “Tell them the other thing you remembered about Templedark,” he said.

  I bit my lip—real nervousness, not feigned—and the room quieted again. “I forgot about this too. I’m sorry, the night was just so—”

  “It’s all right.” Sine almost looked like her old self again, like she cared about me. “People do tend to forget traumatic things. It’s your mind’s way of protecting itself.”

  It seemed unlikely I could feel worse about all these lies, but if I didn’t tell them something, they’d keep pressing me. As long as I didn’t tell them how I knew things, I could give them some peace, and a reason to stop being so suspicious of me.

  “The other thing Menehem told me was that whatever he did to Janan, it wouldn’t work again. No one would be able to make another Templedark.”

  Several people exhaled and sat back in their chairs. No more newsouls. No more oldsouls would be lost. I hated not knowing how I felt about that, like I should be relieved too, but pieces of me felt disappointed and guilty. Why did I get to live? Why not all the others, too?

  Would there only be seventy-three of us, and then we’d die, forgotten after our generation?

  “So that’s your theory?” Deborl asked. “Menehem experimented on the sylph for eighteen years and they decided you were in on it too. That’s why they listened to you out there?”

  It sounded stupid when he said it. And it was stupid. But it was better than claiming I had no clue—or admitting I’d been to Menehem’s lab and knew all about his research.

  “Let it go, Deborl.” Sine didn’t look at him. Wrinkles spiderwebbed across her face. They were deeper than when I’d first met her. Visible stress of being the Speaker. “Ana’s brought us valuable information, and whether or not she should have told the sylph to go into the eggs doesn’t matter anymore.

  They might not have done it, anyway.”

  “The problem,” Deborl said, “is that Ana made a choice. She chose them.”

  Sine eyed me, disappointment flashing through her expression. “That is true.”

  “Can you blame her?” Sam asked. “If she did choose sylph, can you blame her at all, considering how people have treated her? Deborl, surely you recall that your friend Merton suggested newsouls should be killed like centaurs.”

  Deborl and the other Councilors had the decency to look ashamed.

  “Let’s not forget that ever since Anid’s birth, people have been throwing rocks at Ana, and the Council’s response has been to tell her not to fight back. Not to defend herself.” Sam stood hunched over the table, leaning on his fists. “Even if you don’t think she’s worthy of being treated like a human, what happened to the law you passed about not letting people attempt to kill her? It’s very poor leaders who won’t enforce their own laws.”

  Frase and Deborl lurched to their feet. “I think that’s enoug
h,” said the latter. “Dossam, we understand you’re frustrated—”

  “Frustrated? ” Sam pulled himself straight. “We went to Purple Rose just to get away from people looking at Ana like Templedark was her fault. Lidea won’t even take Anid through the city without several friends along. She doesn’t trust people not to try to kill him.”

  “We can’t control everyone’s actions—” started Finn.

  Sam raised his voice. “You say Ana made a choice. So has the Council. I’d have chosen the sylph, too.”

  “All right.” Sine rose, balancing herself with long, wrinkled fingers on the table. “That is enough.”

  I edged closer to Sam, humiliated he’d had to stand up for me, but grateful he was brave enough to do it.

  “The Council has been busy with city repairs and seismic studies. I’m afraid that we’ve been unable to focus on as many things as we’d like.” Sine glanced at everyone in turn. “However, we should make this issue higher priority. The arrival of more newsouls is no longer a possibility; it is a promise.”

  Sam, still with an edge, said, “So you’ll discuss it now? Ana and I can wait while you all decide to uphold the laws you put in place. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “No, not right now.” She slumped into her chair. “Now, Ana, I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave the room.” Exhaustion filled Sine’s voice. “We need to discuss some things that wouldn’t be appropriate for you.”

  Because it was so much worse than what I’d already been through? I scowled. “I can handle it.”

  She sighed and glanced at Deborl and the other Councilors. “It’s not that we don’t think you can. It’s —Do you remember the law that was passed a few years ago?”

  Ugh. The law that didn’t allow anyone to be a citizen unless they’d owned a home in Heart for a hundred years. They wouldn’t even have let me into the city if it hadn’t been for Sam offering to become my guardian and ensure that I was properly educated. Sam and I had done everything the Council asked, including lessons with every type of work someone would teach me, monthly progress reports, and a curfew.

  “The next part of our meeting is for citizens only,” Finn said.

  Sam’s knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the table. “So you care about this law, but not

  —” I touched his elbow. “It’s not worth it.” If we provoked them too much, they might threaten to revoke his guardianship.

  Anger-clouded eyes met mine, and he’d drawn his mouth into a thin line. I pressed my hand against his elbow until his expression grew easier. “As you wish.”

  “I’ll meet you outside.” I gathered my coat from the back of my chair and my notebook from the table, and left without acknowledging anyone else.

  11

  BLUE

  WHEN I CAME out the side door, the market field was still busy with people walking around, chatting, and listening to music on their SEDs, but not as crowded as before. Merton’s group was gone, though the effects of his speech lingered. People eyed me with distaste, and some had gathered into small circles of gossip.

  I slumped on a bench and fumbled for my mitts.

  “Hey, Ana.” Armande sat next to me and offered a paper cup of coffee.

  “Thanks.” I balanced it on my knee and watched a group of children chase one another through the market field. They weren’t really children, though. They were five-thousand-year-old children, burning off the excess energy of their age. Would I know what that felt like, being a kid again but remembering everything I did now? I wanted the chance—ached for it—and acceptance.

  “Don’t worry, Ana.” Armande gave me an awkward sideways hug, somehow knowing what I was thinking about. If I was that easy to read, surely my lies in the Council chamber had been, too.

  “Did Lidea and Anid get home safely yesterday?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Thanks to you. Wend is with her, of course, and Stef waited a few hours to make sure everything was all right. I think she’s rather taken with Anid.” Armande grinned. He was Sam’s father in this life, so the physical similarities between them were striking: dark hair they both wore perfectly shaggy, wide-set eyes, and strong builds. But that was where their likeness ended. Sam was quiet and graceful; Armande was outgoing and…less graceful.

  I liked trying to figure out which traits were inherited each generation, and which traits had become habits.

  “How’d it go in there?” He jerked his chin toward the Councilhouse.

  I sipped my coffee, letting the heat flood through me. “The Council is angry with me.”

  “The Council is always angry.”

  “Deborl thinks I can control sylph.”

  Armande snorted. “That’s like saying you control dragons. Ridiculous.”

  I tried to smile, but I couldn’t forget the way the sylph had responded to my voice, to physical gestures, and my words when I shouted for them to flee. Maybe they’d have fled simply because I was shouting.

  “It’s curious how there were so many, though. Aside from Templedark, we haven’t had an attack that size in centuries.”

  It hadn’t even been an attack. Maybe. No one had been hurt—besides my reputation—so did it still count? In hindsight, it seemed like the sylph had just wanted to look at us.

  We sat in silence while I waited on Sam, and Armande…made sure no one threw rocks. His stall was close enough to keep an eye on it while he kept an eye on me, too. I hated that, but I really didn’t want the girl across the way to yell at me, or the guy on the Councilhouse steps to call me names, so I said nothing.

  “I’m worried about Anid.” I placed my coffee on the bench beside me. “About how he and other newsouls will grow up. The Council isn’t going to do anything.”

  I couldn’t help but remember my first conversation with Councilors. Sam and I had just reached Heart, and I wasn’t allowed into the city. They’d insisted the no-Ana law was because they hadn’t been sure the city could support newsouls. Who would feed us and teach us? But there’d only been me.

  Now there were two.

  Soon there could be more.

  “I expect there will be fierce debates from both sides, not just from those afraid of change. Lots of people like you and are looking forward to meeting more newsouls.” Armande patted my shoulder fondly.

  “If nothing else, the next few months will give you an idea of whom to avoid.”

  I hated knowing this was something I had to do, not only for myself but for other newsouls. “At least when policies are finally made, we’ll know what kind of things to watch out for. Like if they say it’s legal to throw rocks at us. I think I still have a bruise from the last one.”

  Armande didn’t laugh.

  “Ana!” Cris towered above the crowd, features sharp in the near-winter sunlight as he moved toward us.

  I waved.

  “I didn’t realize you knew Cris,” Armande said, voice low and tinged with something I couldn’t identify. Memories? The past? Definitely something he didn’t want to tell me.

  “We met him at Purple Rose Cottage when he was on his way back here.” I took another sip of my coffee as Cris approached and sat on the other side of me, placing a rose across my knees. Velvety indigo petals shivered in the breeze, and settled as I brushed my fingers up to the tips. It was the same kind of rose I’d tended in Purple Rose Cottage, though the thorns had been clipped off this one. “Where did you get this?”

  He cocked his head, shadowing his expression. “I didn’t abandon them all.”

  Oh, right. Like I’d accused him of doing. “I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t realize you’d kept growing them.”

  “It’s not something someone stops doing just because other people don’t agree about color.”

  “Technology didn’t agree either,” said Armande. “They tested whether the color registered more red —like purple—or blue.”

  Cris smiled. “What do you think, Ana? Blue or purple?”

  I held up my hands, torn between being stunned
and pleased someone had asked my opinion. “I’m not getting into this.” My chuckle came out high and shaky. “This is clearly an inflammatory topic, and I think it’s safer not to have an opinion.”

  Cris laughed. “Very well. I was more curious whether you’d like to continue gardening. You’ve been taking lessons from everyone, right? Are you still interested in roses?”

  I nodded toward the southwestern residential quarter. “I’ve been tending the roses at Sam’s house. It’s not nearly as involved as what you’re used to, I’m sure, but I enjoy it.”

  “That’s good to hear.” He motioned toward the rose still on my lap. “Were you interested in learning more about the genetics and how to begin projects like these roses? We’ve actually learned a lot about human genetics by breeding plants to see what traits pass on.”

  That was something I didn’t want to hear about—how carefully the Council and geneticists decided who could and couldn’t have children. Maybe I was only sensitive to it because I was new, or maybe they’d become de sensitized after living with the awkwardness for millennia.

  But since I was interested in the first part—making new kinds of roses and things that required more gardening knowledge—I said, “Sure. I need to check my schedule to see what days are free. Last week I had to learn about automated sewer maintenance. Soon I’ll be accompanying Stef and a few others into a mine to rescue a broken drone. I’m supposed to help fix it.” I made a face. More than likely, I’d be holding a flashlight.

  “Gardening won’t be quite as physically exhausting as that.”

  “You can’t trick me. I’ve fought weeds before.” I fondled the rose petals, soft against my fingertips peeking out from my mitts. It was just like the roses from the cottage, even the sweet scent. “We usually go to lessons in the afternoon, unless another time is better for you.”

  “We? Sam goes too?” He raised an eyebrow.

  I frowned. “Is that not okay? The Council makes him report everything.” Plus, it was nice having him around in case we ran across someone like Merton—not that I would admit that out loud.