Asunder n-2

by Jodi Meadows

  Of course, after the sylph incident, they probably minded when I breathed.

  Sam avoided my eyes. “We’d have to talk to Cris.”

  “I thought he grew roses.” I nodded toward the one Sam held.

  “He does. They’ve always been his love, like music is for me, but his talent was more practical in the earlier generations.”

  I supposed no one cared which animal hide made a better drum skin if they really wanted to use it as clothes. I managed a smile and nod, because I knew how it felt to be useless.

  Sam gazed through me, though. He had that familiar somewhen-else expression. “Cris had a way of making things grow, and finding the right spot to plant crops, which can be difficult over the caldera. The ground isn’t always thick enough to support anything with roots deeper than grass.”

  That fit with what I knew of all attempts to dig beneath Heart. The sewer had been especially tricky.

  “Cris was the first to find skeletons in the ground. It’s possible he saw something else while clearing farmland. An object with one of these symbols on it.” Sam came back to himself, back to the present.

  “Something you could use for reference.”

  Something I could use for reference?

  I didn’t want to be the one who figured things out. Everyone else was so old and experienced. Why couldn’t they do it? Why couldn’t I just focus on music and making the city safe for newsouls?

  “Ana?” His voice was soft.

  Without even realizing, I had hunched over the notebook, buried my face in my arms.

  He touched the base of my neck, caressed all the way down my spine. He was solid and warm, and I wished things were the same as before we’d come back to Heart. Life hadn’t been perfect then, but I hadn’t felt this rift.

  Chasm. Fissure. Canyon. Even with his palm on the small of my back, I felt like the entire Range caldera stretched between us.

  I pulled away. “Let’s call him for a gardening lesson. Tomorrow afternoon, if he can fit us in.” I copied several symbols onto a fresh sheet of paper. “I’ll ask if he’s seen any of these and say”—I bit my lip—“I caught you doodling, but you couldn’t remember where you’d seen them before.”

  “Okay.” His features twisted into a mask of uncertainty.

  I started closing the books, but paused when I remembered the look between Armande and Sam when he’d discovered the rose. And the awkwardness between Sam and Cris in Purple Rose Cottage. I hadn’t thought much about it then, but…then there was the Blue Rose Serenade. “Did you want to ask?”

  He cocked his head and searched me, as though I wore the correct answer on my face. “I’d rather not,” he said after a moment.

  Because he thought that was what I wanted to hear?

  No. As I studied him, his expression shifted like shadows on darkness. Memory. “What happened?

  Did he do something to you?”

  “No.” Sam laid the rose back on the desk, voice deepening. “He’s never done anything awful to me, or to anyone else. He’s one of the best souls in Heart.”

  “So what is it?” Maybe I didn’t want to know, but the question was out.

  Sam strode toward the window, where he did not answer me, just gazed outside like he’d rather be anywhere else.

  Tough. Surely I deserved some answers. I followed him, but paused when I noticed him leaning his forehead on the exterior wall. Paintings and furniture covered most of it, but here by the window was a clear spot. And he’d touched it. For comfort? Revulsion shuddered through me, and his worn expression made me bite back my questions about his relationship with Cris. For now.

  “If Cris can’t help me with some of these symbols,” I said, “I have to go back into the temple and look for clues. Maybe Janan will answer me.”

  “No.” Sam gripped my arm.

  I looked up so sharply my neck stung.

  “Ana.” His jaw clenched and his voice pulled taut. “Don’t you understand that I love you?”

  I recoiled. Why would he ask that? “Apparently I’m too stupid to understand.”

  “You’ve told me how terrible it was in there and—” He paused, looking frantic while he searched for memories. He had enough difficulty remembering I’d been in there; anything more was almost impossible.

  “You can’t even bear this wall, let alone standing next to the temple. How would you manage inside?”

  Confusion flashed in his eyes—perhaps the question of how I would get in, because he couldn’t remember the key I carried—and his grip tightened painfully around my arm. I wrenched myself away.

  He must have realized he’d hurt me, because he held his hands before him in surrender. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He said it as a lament, breathing hard and staring at his hands like he didn’t know whose they were. “If you want to go, I can’t stop you. I won’t try. But I will go with you.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. I had never imagined anyone could feel that strongly about me. “Because I’d rather not go alone.”

  He lifted one hand, hesitated, and caught my chin to tilt up my face.

  Our eyes met, and everything inside of me twisted.

  His thumb slid along my jaw while his forefinger held me up. If I spoke, I’d nudge his hand off me. I closed my eyes and let my head drop back as he slid his palms across my cheeks and into my hair.

  His mouth was warm and soft. We kissed like a bow and violin strings. I wasn’t sure who was which, but we made a melody that lasted only a breath.

  He pulled away a fraction. “I didn’t mean to start fights.”

  “I know.” I kissed him again, my fingertips grazing the smooth skin of his jaw. His cheeks, his throat, his ears. Barely-there touches that made him shiver and sigh.

  “I lived ten lifetimes in that kiss, and it still wasn’t enough.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I was weak in the Council chamber, after you left. They knew just how to exploit all my insecurities.”

  “Is that an excuse?”

  “No.” He retreated to sit on the corner of my bed. “Yes, it is an excuse, but it shouldn’t be. I’m sorry, Ana.”

  Sorry because something terrible happened? Sorry because the Council had pressured and he’d slipped, telling them about Menehem’s lab? Something worse? I could imagine a thousand horrible things he might apologize for.

  “Why?” I couldn’t stop the shaking in my voice.

  “For letting their talk get to me and”—he slumped, elbows braced on his knees—“I don’t know. I’m angry about Templedark. It hurts thinking about the darksouls.” He buried his face in his hands. “When I see Menehem again, I can’t say what I’ll do.”

  He wasn’t the only one to feel like that, either, but at least he didn’t want to punish me for what Menehem had done.

  Sam met my eyes, apology in his expression. “But I wouldn’t want to undo anything that allowed you to be with us. Lidea feels the same about Anid.” He looked so torn. “No matter how horrible Templedark was, it allowed for newsouls and you’re right. That’s better than no one being born at all.”

  I flashed a tight smile. He’d been right, too: I couldn’t feel the same pain he did. That didn’t make my caring any less, though.

  “Sometimes good things come from unexpected places. Life out of death. No scars after a sylph burn.”

  I showed him my pale, pencil-smudged hands. “And roses that taught me how to care for things, even though no one else thought the roses’ color was good enough.”

  Sam glanced past me, toward the bloom on the desk. “How did you get so wise, Ana?”

  “Someone strong and patient showed me.” I sat next to him, looping my arm with his. “Will you say it again? The thing you said that night at Menehem’s lab.” It probably wasn’t fair to ask him to say it when I couldn’t say it back, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to hear it more.

  He must have caught the tension in my voice, because he twisted to face me, expression anxious. “You don’t think I’d stop
loving you, do you? Or change my mind?”

  “No.” Maybe a little.

  “We might fight or disagree sometimes, but that doesn’t change that I love you.”

  What a powerful feeling, love, able to withstand time and distance and disagreements. No wonder I wanted it so badly. “I haven’t forgotten what Li told you,” he said, “that nosouls can’t love.” He lifted our hands to his chest, fingers knotted with mine. “I haven’t forgotten the way you tried to run away when you accidentally said the word ‘love’ that day in the cabin.”

  I couldn’t forget it either, when he’d asked what made me happy and I’d answered, Music. I’d slipped, used a word I knew I shouldn’t.

  Love. I’d said I loved Dossam, his music.

  I hadn’t known Sam was Dossam then.

  He kissed my fingers. “You may think you aren’t capable of love, but I feel you are. I know you are.”

  His breath came warm against my skin. “But don’t feel rushed or pressured. I can wait if you need time.”

  How could he be so confident when I could hardly accept his emotions toward me? “It helps.

  Knowing someone can”—I gathered my courage—“love me, it helps.”

  His smile grew relieved. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it, so you’ll never doubt.”

  He touched my cheek. “A hundred times? A thousand?”

  “Start now and I’ll tell you when.” Part of me wanted to cry again, not from fear or disbelief, but from joy. As incredible as it was, Sam—Dossam— loved me, and he wanted me to understand. To believe.

  I was Ana who Had Love.

  Sam swept his fingers through my hair, down my arm. “All right.” His voice was light and deep and open. “I love you because you’re clever. I love you because you’re talented.” He touched my chin. “I love you because you have a perfect smile. I love you because you bite your lip when you’re nervous and I think it’s adorable.”

  I ducked my face. “Go on.”

  “I love you because you’re good and honest. I love you because you’re brave.” His tone shifted, filled with melody that made me shiver inside. “I love you because you’re strong. I love you because you don’t let anything get in the way of doing what’s right.”

  He went on, touching my hands and hair as he spoke. His words kindled a fire inside of me. I grew familiar with each sound, each letter. I memorized the softness in his voice, and the way he made “love” sound different and the same every time.

  Maybe he was right: I didn’t have to decide whether I could love. Not right now. All I had to do was accept and enjoy the idea that someone else could love me.

  13

  JUNGLE

  CRIS SAID HE’D be happy to fit us in, so the next afternoon, Sam and I headed through the city, toward the northeast quarter.

  The walk through the market field involved no fewer than three rude gestures, two rocks—one that Sam caught before it hit me—and at least a dozen not-quite-hushed conversations discussing my relationship with Sam or sylph.

  I kept my head down while he navigated the crowd, not relaxing until we reached North Avenue.

  “How does someone make a living gardening?” I asked, because I didn’t want to talk about what people were saying about me.

  Sam eyed me askance, but let me avoid the subject. “Same as with music. He grows things people want. His passion is roses, but he also works in the agricultural quarter. He’s the most knowledgeable person when it comes to growing seasons, which crops to plant where, and when to send the harvesting drones out.”

  “Sounds like the city would starve without him.”

  “Probably.” A note of pride and respect filled his voice. “But he gives lessons as well, or assists when someone does something seemingly irreparable to their private gardens.”

  And hadn’t Cris said he helped geneticists’ research by breeding different plants to see what traits were passed on? “I don’t understand how anyone can get so much done and still have time for hobbies and friends.”

  Sam’s grip slackened. “It’s best to keep busy. A lot of tasks no one wants to do are automated now, like mining or recycling waste, but other things”—his gaze shifted into the distance—“it’s better to do ourselves, even when we could have machinery do it for us. Five thousand years is a long time, and there can be joy in mundane tasks.”

  “That’s why you always write music by hand, even though Stef could create a program to make it easier?”

  He nodded. “I enjoy the process, even when I make mistakes and have to go back a hundred measures.”

  “You haven’t had much time for that lately.” Aside from the music he’d written for darksouls and the memorial, anyway. He was too busy walking around Range with me, escorting me to lessons, doing all the things the Council required of him if he wanted me to stay in Heart. He’d put so many things aside for me.

  Sam shook his head. “I’ve had a lot of time to do a lot of things, and I’ll always find time for what I enjoy. Don’t forget, I do enjoy you.”

  His words warmed me as we continued to Cris’s house.

  I didn’t have to ask to know when we arrived: the entire yard was a garden. Vines climbed over an iron archway wrought into silhouettes of hawks and storks and grouse. Hedges lined the path toward the house, hidden behind immense trees.

  From the main walkway, more paths broke off like cracks in glass. One grew into a tiny wooden bridge—posts capped with flowerpots—that went over a stream so small it wouldn’t get your ankle wet to step in it. Benches, birdbaths, and huge stone flowerpots with leaves spilling over the sides stood in a tiny clearing. Statues of the Range megafauna lurked in corners or at a fountain, as though lapping water.

  Leaves hissed in the wind, and ancient maple trees rattled. Mourning doves cooed, jays and wrens and shrikes sang, and a woodpecker tapped rhythm. The scents of green and water and flowers replaced the fumarole stench, and I drew a long breath, smiling.

  “What is it?” Sam touched my elbow.

  I looked up at him, a dark figure against the bright sky and foliage. “I can hear music.”

  “Don’t let it go. Keep it in your head until we get home and you can write it down.” His voice lowered as he leaned toward me. “I want to find out if it’s the same music I hear.”

  His was probably better than mine, but I smiled. “This way?” I motioned in the direction we’d been going.

  To either side of the white stone house, which was covered with climbing roses, a pair of long glass buildings reached just as tall. Their windows were fogged, but it was impossible to ignore the green inside, and my heart jumped when I caught sight of familiar indigo roses near the door of one.

  I squeezed Sam’s hand. “Where do you think he is?”

  His tone was easy. Happy, almost. “Somewhere in the garden, I assume.”

  Really helpful. The entire place was a maze, shades of green plants, gray cobbles and stonework, and the occasional squirrel or chipmunk peering from hidden houses someone had built as nests. That seemed like something Cris would do, sheltering animals others treated like pests.

  He emerged from a greenhouse and waved us closer. “I was just cleaning up for your visit,” he said as we approached. “Come inside. I think you’ll enjoy this.”

  Though I smiled and thanked him, I felt clumsy trying to watch my step, to make sure I trampled nothing. Sam, of course, glided through easily, and the plants barely seemed affected by his passage. I watched enviously, trying to find the same footing through a patch of tall—I didn’t even know what they were without blooms—plants, but my foot slipped on a rock, and I had to grab his shoulder for balance.

  “Step this way,” Cris said, offering a hand. “I just watered that area, so it’s still damp. Sorry.”

  I nodded, keeping one hand on Sam, and used the other to take Cris’s. We made it safely over a cluster of slick stones without incident, then onto a path that led to the greenhouse door.

 
The air glowed verdant with the many-tiered shelves running the length of the building. It was hot and humid, a weird shift from the coolness outside. No breeze, either.

  But the colors were amazing. Shades of green certainly dominated, leaves and stems and buds, but splashes of orange and yellow and pink made dizzying patterns on shadows and glass.

  I slipped away from Sam and Cris, letting my bag drop as I tried to slow my frantic heartbeat. There were so many roses, all shapes and colors, and the sweet scent was overwhelming. I felt like I could open my mouth and breathe it all in, capture the perfume in my chest, next to my heart.

  He didn’t have just white roses, but ivory and cream and old lace; and not just red roses, but ruby and scarlet and burgundy. I leaned to smell individual flowers, fiery petals tickling my nose and chin.

  My face must have burned as bright as the roses when I glanced up to find both boys watching me.

  Sam had picked up my bag and hung back while Cris approached.

  “These are Phoenix roses,” he said, indicating the ones I’d just been sniffing. “Do you like them?”

  I gazed at the perfect red, the spiral of petals, and the spicy scent so thick I could almost taste it. “Very much.”

  Cris chuckled. “That’s not a surprise. They’re Sam’s favorite, too.”

  My face grew hotter as I stared at the rose.

  “It still surprises me to see roses in colors other than blue,” I said, before the awkward silence could fester. “I only saw the ones at Purple Rose Cottage for eighteen years.” Because Li had never bothered to teach me colors, it had taken me years to figure out the difference between purple and blue, what with the name of the cottage. I’d thought they were two names for the same color.

  “Blue, huh?” Cris raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t getting into that debate.”

  “I’ve had some time to think about it.”

  Cris grinned like I was his new favorite person.

  For the next hour, we followed him around the greenhouse, Sam with his hands shoved in his pockets, and me with a notebook, scribbling to keep up with his lecture. Later, I’d copy everything again into more readable handwriting.