Asunder n-2

by Jodi Meadows

  “Me neither,” he murmured. He wore a stricken expression. But he’d been the one to suggest it.

  No, that wasn’t why he was upset. I blinked through the tears blurring my vision. The parlor was different.

  Destroyed.

  Every instrument had been completely demolished.

  24

  FADE

  “NO.” SAM DROPPED to the floor with a thump, staring confusedly at the wreckage. He gathered up bits of something now unidentifiable and turned it over in his hands, looking lost. His agony might kill me.

  Low light illuminated the parlor, golden on the hardwood floor, braided rugs, honeycomb shelves between here and the kitchen.

  Every time I thought I was free from the horror, though, my eyes were drawn back to the splintered maple wood and shattered ivory keys strewn about the parlor. Ebony keys dashed into slivers. Snapped wires curled on themselves as though trying to hide. Hammers and levers and tuning pins, often overlooked pieces that made the music happen. He’d wanted me to understand them while learning to play the piano, understand their true importance.

  Here they were. On the floor.

  Then, my eyes acknowledged a twisted length of silver that wasn’t part of the piano. Sam’s flute, its keys stripped off, leaving gaping black holes across its body.

  Cracked pronghorn bones, shredded osprey feathers. Heavy curves of carved wood lay scattered across the floor with harp strings hanging on like cut ligaments. The corpse of a violin rested at my feet, bow broken in half.

  I stepped over it, careful not to damage it further. As if that mattered. Glass crunched under my shoes, and I winced, but Sam didn’t notice. He stayed by the door, staring as though dead.

  Centuries’ worth of instruments lay destroyed on the floor.

  Blue rose petals were scattered like drops of paint. Their stems and stamens dripped from vases and off shelves. Only the Phoenix roses had been left unharmed.

  I scanned the parlor like there might be something left, but even the careful stacks of cases had been demolished, and the walls raided. Some of the carved shelves hung at awkward angles.

  Dreading what I’d find, I crossed the battlefield and checked the kitchen, but everything was eerily normal. I could almost hear echoes of mocking laughter.

  Sam didn’t look at me as I stepped around a crushed sheet of maple, remnants of the piano lid. I tried not to look at him, either, but it was hard to ignore the way he shook his head, muttering to himself. Then, a wild darkness in his eyes, he hurled a length of metal at the wall. It clattered against the wooden shelves, bringing a cascade of rose petals.

  Heart breaking for him, I climbed the stairs to check for more damage or anything missing, but it was hard to see what was missing when it wasn’t there.

  The rooms between our bedrooms held the oldest surviving instruments, sealed in airtight containers to slow decay. They appeared untouched, and so did the workroom and library of sheet music, recordings, and notes on how all his instruments had been constructed.

  The harp in his bedroom stood whole. It wasn’t much, but it might help, if only I could get him up here to see it. My bedroom looked the same as it had earlier, but I checked all my hiding places anyway.

  The books I’d stolen from the temple were missing. So was Menehem’s sylph research.

  First the temple key. Now the books and research. They had everything.

  Almost. They didn’t have the translations I’d gotten from Meuric and Cris; those were still in my coat.

  My fingers felt like ice as I dialed Sine and told her about the break-in. My voice was too calm, as though my body did all these things on its own now.

  “I’m sorry, Ana,” Sine said. “Do you want me to send someone over to help clean?”

  Outside, the wind howled. Snow pattered on the window. “No.” I stared at the empty hiding places and touched the pocket where I used to keep the key. “You aren’t going to like this, but can you have someone watch Deborl and Merton?” I wished I knew the name of the guy who’d stolen the key, but I couldn’t even remember what he looked like, besides big and scary.

  “Deborl and Merton? You don’t think they’d—”

  “I think they both hate me. I can’t prove they’ve done anything, but—” My voice broke. “Please, Sine.”

  “All right.” Resigned, she hung up.

  I put my SED back in my pocket, feeling defeated. They’d taken everything.

  Downstairs, the front door stood ajar, and snow dusted the floor. Sam was nowhere in sight.

  I leapt off the last few steps and hurtled outside. Snow and darkness veiled the night, but a black shape marched down the walkway.

  “Sam!”

  He didn’t stop.

  I raced after him, steps heavy with cold and snow, and caught him just as he turned onto the road.

  “Sam!” Without thinking, I grabbed his arm.

  He spun, and his palm landed on my chestThere was no force behind the almost-blow. His muscles tensed under my hands as he must have realized who’d run after him. “Ana.” Wind captured my name and carried it far away.

  “Where are you going?” Only faint light came from the house; I couldn’t see his face, and the cold made me shiver so hard I might fall apart.

  “I’m going to find who did this. I’m going to hurt them.” That wasn’t his voice at all. In all the time I’d known him, he’d never sounded so broken. “They—My instruments. Everything I’ve worked for.”

  “I know.” Even in the dark, my hands could find his face, just as they could find piano keys without looking. “Do you know who did this?”

  He shook his head; his skin was icy under my palms, and all the rage was burning out. “I have to go.

  I’ll find someone.”

  “Come inside.”

  “I have to find—”

  “No, Sam. Not right now.” We’d both freeze if we didn’t get in soon; already, shivers racked through me, and I could barely speak through the cold. “Let’s go inside.”

  Head dropped, he gathered me into a tight, uncomfortable hug. He shivered, too. Or wept. I couldn’t tell, except he spoke the same muffled words over and over. “They’re gone. I can’t believe they’re gone.”

  I had no words of comfort. There was no way to fix this, so I held still and let his grief wash over me in torrents.

  Not soon enough, we went back inside and shut the door.

  “Let’s get your coat off.” My words hissed harsh and loud in the too-silent room. I peeled off his gloves and hat and dropped them into a basket, then helped with the buttons and zippers on his coat. Our snow-crusted shoelaces were almost impossible with the burn of ice, but we managed.

  His focus drifted to the piano as we reached the stairs, and he was silent as I guided him to his bedroom. There, he collapsed by his pillows, face streaked with sorrow.

  I sat beside him and held his hands, warming them, wishing for anything but this. His instruments hadn’t been just one lifetime’s work, but many. I wondered if that made him feel like none of those lives had happened now.

  After a minute, he leaned his head on mine. “Who would do this?” His tone was hollow, hopeless.

  I didn’t voice my suspicions. It wouldn’t help. “What do you need right now?” I grimaced. He probably needed his instruments, and for me not to ask stupid questions.

  He sighed and looked at the ceiling, misery making lines around his eyes and mouth. Cold still stained his skin red, and we both needed hot showers to warm our insides, but I couldn’t see Sam caring right now.

  “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes when I stroked his face. His skin was cold, but he didn’t respond to my touch. “I don’t think there’s anything.”

  “Okay.” I’d find warmer blankets, at least. I wanted to hold him, share heat, but I couldn’t forget what he’d asked me on the doorstep. Did I want to leave? “Everything in the library and workroom is fine, including construction notes. I’ll start cleaning, but is there anything
you need me to save to help you rebuild?”

  “Build new instruments?” He made it sound like the most horrible thing.

  “I assumed you’d want to.”

  “Yeah. I guess. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” His breath came raspy, and I couldn’t imagine rebuilding lifetimes of instruments, either. But I didn’t want to just leave everything where it was, in case he came downstairs. “The ivory,” he said at last. “It’s from far away, and it’s hard to get more. But only if the pieces look like they’re worth gluing together.”

  He told me a few more things, then let me help him lie down. I stacked blankets on top of him, wool and silk and bison fur, and went downstairs to heat soup and tea. When I brought them up on a tray, I forced several good sips into him before leaving the room. If I had just lost a thousand years of work, I would want to be alone, not awkwardly trying to accept someone’s comfort when there was no way they could understand the chasm inside.

  In the parlor, I picked up a few pieces of ivory, but most looked useless. Little was salvageable.

  Either the intruder knew exactly what to destroy, or had just decided to smash anything that looked important. Even the steel frame had been heated and melted so it would never be useful again.

  Sam’s flute was a wreck of silver. I hugged the remains to my chest, and blue petals floated out of the tube. Whoever had destroyed it had thought it was my new one. They couldn’t tell the difference.

  It was likely the instruments had been distractions, which was even more upsetting. But the books and diaries were gone. How long until they discovered Menehem’s lab? How long until they discovered I’d been there?

  The Council had suspected I’d been given Menehem’s research, but no one should have known about the temple books.

  No one should have known, but someone did.

  I worked until my muscles clenched and sleep threatened every time I blinked. Since I couldn’t move things outside right now, I set them by the door, a blanket beneath to keep from further damaging the floor.

  Too worn to go upstairs, I dropped myself onto the sofa and woke when dawn speared my eyes from a crack in the shutters.

  Outside, the snow was piled as high as my knees, and though the sun shone, more clouds huddled over the horizon, barely visible around trees and the immense city wall.

  My lungs ached as I lugged broken instruments outside; when the snow thawed, maybe Armande or Orrin would help me separate materials for recycling. But now, I just needed them out of the house. If the sight of them hurt my heart, Sam’s must be shattered.

  To keep him busy for a while, I brought up more tea and soup. The other mug and bowl were only half-empty, but that was better than nothing.

  “You should shower.” I sat next to him on the bed. “You stink.” As if I didn’t smell like sweat, too.

  “Doesn’t matter.” That wasn’t Sam’s voice. At least not the Sam I knew. Too rough, shredded into black ribbons. “It’s all gone.”

  I wanted to touch him, hug him close, but my muscles wouldn’t budge when I tried. “Finish your food and shower. I’ll come back up in a little while.”

  Though Stef’s house was usually only a five-minute walk, it took longer in the snow, and I was shivering when I arrived. Her place had the same outbuildings and snow-frosted fruit trees as Sam’s, but was sparser, as she didn’t garden or keep animals herself but helped tend Sam’s in exchange for a share.

  I took the steps two at a time and banged on the door.

  Wind rattled evergreens, making a loose board on a shed bang in a staccato tempo. Otherwise, the place was silent, waiting for more snow.

  Either she wasn’t home, or she was avoiding me after the fight she’d had with Sam. I bit my lip and tried the doorknob. It turned.

  I’d only been in her house a few times. When it was her turn for giving me lessons, she hadn’t wanted to lug over the equipment for teaching basic machine repair; we’d started with water pumps and ended with solar panels. Mostly she went to Sam’s if they wanted to visit.

  Before I lost my nerve, I pulled open the door and stepped inside and stomped snow from my boots.

  Sunlight streamed through the parlor windows, glowing across the hardwood floor, landing on the small piano pressed against one wall. While Sam’s walls were delicate shelves, most of Stef’s were made of bookcases stuffed with notes and diagrams on fascinating subjects like automatic recycling machines.

  “Stef?” I slipped around the chairs and sofa, with faded, patched upholstery and blankets thrown across the backs. She had more rooms on the first floor than Sam, most of them filled with inventions in various stages of completion. The stairs were hidden away in a corner, leading to the equally packed second story.

  Floorboards creaked under my weight. I listened for any noises other than my own—nothing—and crept around the house, finding a library, a washroom, and a bedroom. Like Sam, she was usually male, but she didn’t keep separate bedrooms for male and female incarnations. She just tossed her extra things in trunks for a lifetime, so now her bedroom was filled with dresses.

  I started to leave, but a familiar photograph caught my attention. Hating myself for the intrusion, I looked closer. The photo I’d recognized was of two men, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, both smiling. That was Sam and Stef in their previous lifetimes. Other photos on the shelf were new to me, but I recognized some of Sam’s previous incarnations. Sometimes he was alone, but most of the time he was with another person. Stef, I assumed.

  Next to the photos rested a stack of papers: letters in Sam’s handwriting, written while he was on trips and saved up until he returned to Heart to deliver them. I skimmed only a couple of them, loathing myself as I did because they were private, but they only talked about places he was going and things he saw that she might like.

  There were a lot of them.

  The last photograph was of the Sam I knew, sly smile and dark, messy hair. I recognized the shirt, too; I’d helped him choose it during a summer market day. For a moment, I thought she must have taken it while I was trapped inside the temple. Surprising that he let her, because he hated being photographed.

  But his head was turned and one arm was outstretched. He held a smaller hand in his. Mine. My hand was the only part of me in the picture.

  I stepped away.

  Half of me expected Stef to appear in the hallway and demand to know what I was doing, but the house remained quiet. Feeling confused and betrayed and jealous, I left the room.

  I’d known they had history. I’d even seen photos from previous lifetimes where he was kissing someone. It bothered me, but sometimes I could imagine those Sams weren’t my Sam. Those had been older, occasionally female, sometimes overweight or too skinny. I could find pieces of my Sam in all of them, but I could trick myself when it hurt.

  She loved him. I couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t. It was the intensity of her feelings I hadn’t anticipated.

  “How hurt does someone need to be to do something desperate?” I whispered, then felt sick. Stef would never hurt Sam like that. She might antagonize him, try to convince him that our relationship was improper. But she would never destroy what Sam loved most. Never.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, even though she wasn’t here to hear it. It had been a petty, jealous thought, and I scrubbed my hands over my face as though I could wipe it away.

  Time to go home. I went outside, finding sunlight had dimmed as gray clouds covered the sky, ready to drop more snow.

  I shivered with winter chill by the time I opened the door to Sam’s house again. The parlor was still a wreck, and the upstairs was quiet. Hopefully he was sleeping.

  Fending off tears, I found a large bin and continued throwing away unsalvageable pieces of Sam’s instruments. Any time the bin got heavy, I carried it outside and dumped it out with the rest.

  When I couldn’t stand any more, I climbed upstairs to shower and change into something not covered in sweat and dirt and splintered memor
ies of a hundred broken instruments. Outside, snow fell heavy and white and wet.

  It was almost night by the time I called Stef’s SED. No answer. Nothing from Cris, either. Where could they be? Worry gnawed deeper; I tried Sarit.

  “Hey, Ana.”

  “Thank goodness.” I slumped to the sofa, relief like a waterfall through me. “You’re there.”

  “Yeah, freezing my tail off. Cris didn’t answer his door yesterday morning, and there weren’t enough blue roses in the greenhouse. I’m on my way to Purple Rose to see if I can salvage any from there. You owe me. A hundred concerts, at least. Write a song for me while you’re at it, cricket.”

  I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “With this snow, they’re probably already gone.

  Just come home.” She might have been my best friend, but she was also crazy.

  “No way. I’m getting those roses for you. I’ll keep them alive with my sunny personality.”

  “You’re insane.” I stared around the wreck of a parlor and tried to breathe right. “I’m glad I can get hold of you, though. Stef and Cris aren’t answering. They’re not at home.”

  “Cris still isn’t there?” Worry crept into her words.

  “His garden is collecting snow. And when Sam and I came back—” My voice caught. I tried again.

  “Sarit, someone destroyed the instruments. All of them.”

  “Oh.” Her voice softened, deepened. “Oh, Ana. Your flute too?”

  “No.” I took a shaky breath. “It was in the workroom. Lorin accidentally popped a wire out, and Sam was going to show me how to fix it.”

  “But everything in the parlor…”

  I gazed at a length of steel I hadn’t been able to pick up. “Even the piano. Especially the piano.” The words choked me, and my throat tightened with tears.

  She didn’t speak.

  “And you know about the explosions, right?” When I closed my eyes, I could still see the fire, the smoke. I could still feel Geral’s weight in my arms. “They’re telling me to stop.”