Asunder (Incarnate) (8 page)

Soon, one picked up the melody, sang the notes
just
behind the piano, violins, and flutes. Close. So close.

Sam reached for me when I glanced backward. I moved as quickly as I dared. My heart raced and my hands shook, but I didn’t want to give the sylph any more indication of my fear.

I was halfway back to Sam when one of the sylph trilled and turned its eyeless gaze on me. The weight of its attention made me stagger as dusk deepened across the beach.

“What?” My words came as a whisper.

The sylph trilled again, twisting closer to me as it took up its part in the music once more.

It wanted me to sing? I stayed where I was, boots planted in the sand, conscious of Sam behind me. But when the sylph trilled again, I hummed the next few measures of the melody.

As though electricity surged through the sylph, they all shivered straighter, taller, and closer to me. They seemed eager and—welcoming?

That sounded ridiculous, even in my head, but the last thing I wanted to do was anger them. I held up my hands as though pushing, stepped forward, and kept humming.

They breezed backward, eerily intent while they sang.

I could feel Sam’s attention on my back, and hear the edges of hushed orders in the forest. A rescue, I hoped, because it was obvious the sylph wouldn’t let me go. At least one had recognized my plan to escape. If I tried again, they might attack.

The sylph eased back as I moved forward. Music played between us, warm and joyful, with a flute duet and bass thudding like a heartbeat. We all—the sylph and me—stepped on the beats.

“What in the name of Janan?” A boy’s voice carried across the twilight beach, stunning the sylph, stunning me.

Someone swore. “What is she doing?”

“She controls the sylph.”

I spun around, too shocked to respond, and suddenly the sylph fanned around me like an escort or army or dark wings, all heat and ashy reek. They keened, voices so high my ears ached, and two of them shot forward to attack the intruders.

“Stop!”

At my cry, the sylph halted and their wailing silenced. Breath rasped across the gloom, the only sound in a pause between movements of the Phoenix Symphony.

“How did she do that?” The growling voice was familiar. Merton? That guy was everywhere.

“Janan has indeed forsaken us,” someone else muttered. “Nosouls will be our ruin.”

“Shut
up
,” I hissed. “I don’t control sylph any more than
you control the weather or your own reincarnation. They like music. That’s all.” Was it?

Councilor Deborl stepped forward, holding a brass egg the size of two fists. “We’ll take care of them now, Ana.” Physically, he was younger than me, but he held himself with all the importance of his rank. Even his tone was a reminder of his true age.

Darkness shuddered on either side of me: sylph. Heat bloomed against my bare face and hands; I could even feel it through my coat. But the sylph never moved too close—close enough to boil me alive, anyway. Any sylph was always too close.

And yet, they’d responded to music. Now, with the second movement beginning on the SED behind us, one sylph hummed quietly along with the bass line.

I glanced at Sam; the way he stared at the sylph told me he heard it, too.

“Do the eggs hurt the sylph?” I bit my lip, regretting the question immediately. Now Deborl and the guards would think I sympathized with sylph.

“Does it matter?” Deborl moved forward, and a dozen others followed. They all carried eggs. “Sylph will burn you alive. They almost did before, remember? And they were just about to attack Lidea and the other newsoul. I thought you cared about them.”

“I do!” Too shrill, too desperate, but the sylph waited
beside me as Deborl, Merton, and the others approached. “I do care, but look, they’re not hurting anyone. What if they just left on their own?”

Sam shook his head, a warning.

“Ana,” Deborl said as he neared the first pair of quivering shadows. The sylph didn’t move. Why didn’t they flee? They would be trapped. “Ana, clearly the sylph listen to you. You’re a special soul.”

Hah.

But I couldn’t forget that night at Purple Rose Cottage, or the way they’d stood guard outside Menehem’s lab. Why were they following me everywhere?

He continued. “Word of this will spread. If you use your gift to help us, perhaps the popular view of newsouls will change.”

Oh. He wanted me to tell the sylph to get inside the eggs, though why would they do that just because I said? Anyway, they weren’t supposed to be able to understand words.

They weren’t supposed to be able to come inside Range, either. These had been very clever, and very determined to get here. Why? To sing at me again? To attack Anid?

They
hadn’t
attacked him, though. They’d moved toward him, yes, but a group of adults posed no barrier if the sylph had wanted to kill him. They could have killed all of us.

But they hadn’t.

They’d chosen not to kill Menehem during his experiments.

“Ana?” Sam moved closer, though sylph stood between us and he looked torn. Risk the sylph to stand by me, or stay put.

Near the first two sylph, Deborl and Merton twisted the eggs to activate them, and within seconds both shadows would be sucked in—

“Run!” I shouted. “Fly away. Go!”

Obsidian-black shadows shrieked and surged into the woods, moving
around
people and the eggs meant to trap them.

People yelled, Sam rushed to my side, and soon Deborl and his guards surrounded me. Blue targeting lights flashed against my coat: the guards aimed lasers at my chest.

“What are you doing?” Sam stepped in front of me, reaching behind himself to touch me, make sure I wasn’t dead. “You can’t
shoot
her.”

Deborl motioned, and everyone lowered their weapons. Targeting lights flickered off. “No one is shooting anyone.”

Yet.

“Ana,” the Councilor said, “why did you tell the sylph to flee?” There was no fear in his voice, only calculating curiosity.

I stepped out from behind Sam. I didn’t need a human shield. What would I have done if he’d gotten shot? “It was the right thing to do.” My voice shook. I swallowed and tried again. “They hadn’t hurt anyone, and they were
listening to me. I don’t know why.”

“So you took their side?” Deborl cocked his head.

“I didn’t take their side. I accomplished the same thing you were trying to do, but without trapping them inside eggs, and without anyone accidentally getting burned. They’ll go away now.” I hoped.

“Hmm. Perhaps.” Deborl reminded me of Meuric, the Council’s former Speaker, and the boy I’d killed inside the temple. They were both short and skinny, physically younger than me, and devoted to Janan—though Deborl’s devotion seemed to depend on the season, the phase of the moon, and whoever happened to be standing within earshot.

I hadn’t trusted Meuric; I didn’t trust Deborl, either.

I stood as tall as I could make myself, trying not to shiver in the evening breeze, and with the adrenaline fading from my system. “We’re going to leave now.” My voice trembled.

“Very well.” Deborl twisted his sylph egg to deactivate it, then pressed the cold object into my hands. “Try not to get into trouble between here and the Southern Arch. And”—his gaze flickered to Sam—“I expect to see both of you in the Council chamber in the morning. Tenth hour.”

“But we have—” Music practice, but Sam touched my hand and shook his head. “Fine.” I turned away to reclaim my SED, still determinedly playing the second movement of the Phoenix Symphony. Sand swished as Deborl, Merton, and the guards headed up the path.

“Are you all right?” Sam touched my shoulder, my cheek. “I can’t believe they threatened to shoot you.”

He wanted to know if I was all right because of Deborl and the guards. Not because of the sylph. The sylph, as crazy as it seemed, had been ready to protect me. From people.

Oh, how our lives had changed. “I’m all right.” I hugged Sam close, my cheek pressed against his chest so I could hear his racing heartbeat. “We’re both all right.” Because they’d pointed lasers at him, too.

Then, in silence, we packed what was left of our afternoon with friends and trudged toward Heart.

The huge outer wall blocked the sky as we drew near. Solar panels and antennae glimmered like needles in the moonlight. From the center of the city, the temple rose into the clouds, a shining beacon.

I kept my eyes on the Southern Arch, nearly big enough for a dragon to fly through, but the temple seemed to watch my approach no matter how I avoided looking at it.

Janan’s presence hung over the city as thick as ash. I imagined I could feel the heat of molten rock and boiling mud churning just beneath my feet. If Janan cared about his people at all, why had he built Heart over the most powerful volcano on the planet? Surely not even the temple would survive if Range erupted.

“What will we tell the Council?” Sam pressed his palm to the soul-scanner, and the gate swung open.

“I’m not sure.” I bit my lip, confused and frustrated and ready to collapse into bed. “They’ll think I like sylph now. Or that I’m like Menehem.”

One thing was for sure: I’d just made life for newsouls a lot worse.

IN THE MORNING, Sam and I headed to the Councilhouse, a firm plan in mind: deny. They would get nothing about the research Menehem had left to me, and even less about the lab east of Range.

I fidgeted with my notebook as we headed up South Avenue, wondering if I’d done a good enough job hiding the folders and diaries Menehem had left, and the books I’d stolen from the temple. I still hadn’t figured out how to read the temple books, though not for lack of trying.

“Let’s walk around the right side,” Sam said as we approached the market field.

I craned my neck to see why we were heading for a different doorway into the Councilhouse, but all I could see
ahead were people walking, talking, sipping from cups of Armande’s coffee. “What’s going on?” I was too short to see over the crowd.

“Nothing,” Sam said too quickly, and winced when I eyed him askance. “One of Merton’s public rants. He’s on the steps getting people worked up.”

“Ugh.” Fortunately, there were more doors into the Councilhouse. After what happened yesterday, I really didn’t want to go anywhere near Merton.

“Just last night, the newsoul set sylph free by Midrange Lake,” Merton cried. “She controlled them. They did as she said. I was there. Janan forbid, but what if all newsouls have this power?”

Shouts rose up, sounding afraid, defiant, angry.

Merton roared louder. “Newsouls will rip Heart asunder! We’ve spent five thousand years perfecting our lifestyle and honing our talents, and now
this
.”

I sighed and stared at the cobblestones. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Why?” He walked between Merton and me, guiding me through a thin spot in the crowd.

A few people sneered at me. One shouted, “Sylph-lover!” but most just frowned and turned away. Maybe they didn’t completely believe what Merton was saying. It
did
seem too fantastic.

“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 enough,” 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.