Asunder

“Are you”—his words came like dread—“happy that newsouls are being born? That you’re not the only one?” His face revealed no hints of his true question.

“Yes? No?” I dropped my hands to my sides, notebook and rose still clutched in my fist. “It’s not safe for newsouls, and I’m terrified we’ll never be accepted. So no, I’m not happy they’re being born into this life. And I’m not happy that darksouls are gone. Friends, families. I did everything I could to avoid losing anyone.”

“I remember.” The words became white mist, and he didn’t look at me.

“Some souls aren’t coming back. There’s nothing we can do for them now. So in that, I am happy newsouls are being born. It’s better than no one being born.” Gooseflesh prickled over my skin as I stared at the sky, searching for answers in cloud formations. “Ever since Anid was born—since I realized I hadn’t just gotten stuck or left behind five thousand years ago—I’ve been thinking there must be a place full of souls waiting for a turn at life. Waiting and waiting, never having a chance because Janan makes someone else reincarnate instead.”

His voice turned low and careful. “And now almost eighty will have a chance. Do you think that’s a fair trade?”

“Nothing is fair. Not even souls being reincarnated for a hundred lives while newsouls never get one.”

“Well, now they’ll live, and Devon won’t. Neither will Larkin or Minn. Neither will Enna, my current mother, or four Councilors.” His voice shook with barely restrained grief. “They were here five thousand years. They were part of our lives. Julid, one of the greatest inventors, is lost forever. Rahel kept watch on Range, making sure we never overhunted, making sure the caldera wasn’t going to erupt. People who were necessary to our lives are gone. Thanks to Menehem’s meddling, the entire world has changed.

You’ve tried to understand that, I know, but you can’t. Not this life. Maybe not your next, either.”

My heartbeat raced in my ears. My notebook and rose dropped, purple-blue petals vibrant against the gray stone, like paint on canvas. Shouts itched to get out, and I almost succumbed. I didn’t. He was already hurting enough.

Instead, I turned up my chin, keeping my gaze and voice steady. “If not for Menehem’s meddling, I wouldn’t be here.”

His mouth dropped and his eyes went wide. “Ana…”

I scooped up my belongings, swallowing anger. We were both right, and he knew it. There was no good answer. There was no fair answer. “Let’s just go in.” My voice rasped with tears.

Sam watched me a moment longer, then nodded and went for the door. I trailed after him, and when he sat at the piano—to work on it or practice, I wasn’t sure—I headed up the spiral staircase, through the hallway, and to my bedroom. Not even watching Sam play the piano could lift my mood right now.

Like every room upstairs, mine had interior walls made of sheets of silk, and pinned together by delicately carved wooden shelves. So when Sam started playing downstairs, I could hear every note perfectly. He began with scales and warm-ups, playing with such force that his discontentment and confusion cascaded through the house.

Jaw clenched to cage frustration, I gathered up the books I’d stolen from the temple. To keep anyone from noticing them, I’d hidden them separately, in drawers or behind other books. With the Council’s promise to search my room, I would need to come up with better spots.

But for now, I sat at my desk and placed one of the books in front of me.

More than ever, I needed to understand Janan, and what was happening with the newsouls. I hadn’t magically been able to decipher the symbols in the books yet, but I’d definitely never be able to read them if I didn’t try.

The binding creaked when I opened the first book. Dashes of ink stood dark on pale paper, grainy and thick, as if it had been made hundreds of years ago. I let my thoughts drift as I searched the page for anything familiar, and Sam’s practicing seeped into my consciousness like water. His practice sounded better than my playing, even when he stopped to work through a section. His music was beautiful even when he was angry and exasperated, emotions spiraling out of control.

Spiraling.

Spirals.

Snail shells. Rose petals. Hurricane clouds. Faraway galaxies.

The nonsense markings jerked into place.

When I blinked, they were random again. Nevertheless, I’d found the pattern, like when I’d first taught myself to read, or when Sam had played music and I’d been able to follow the dots and bars—but never for more than a few seconds. At first.

I pushed the book aside and opened another and another, making a rainbow of ancient texts across my desk.

I couldn’t read anything, and it took practice to see it again, but every page in every book had the same structure: a spiral.

Seeing the spiral was difficult at first. After straining my eyes for an hour, I realized my problem: I’d assumed the lines, for lack of a better term, were all the same size, like bars of music were all the same height.

But like looking into a pit with stairs spiraling down, they appeared smaller toward the center. A twodimensional representation of something three-dimensional. I’d seen it in my mathematics studies, but it wasn’t part of my curriculum, so I hadn’t had time to pursue it.

Once I realized that, I could see the spiral as clearly as any other line of text, though the characters themselves still made no sense. Not to mention why they’d go in a spiral, forcing the reader to turn the book around and around.

I copied symbols into a notebook to view them flat, but they still looked like random scratches.

Downstairs, Sam’s playing stopped, and he played the same note several times, as though testing it; he’d said earlier he wanted to work on the piano.

I put in my SED earpieces and tapped the screen for a random recording of his music. There was so much, I hadn’t managed even a quarter of it in my months here, and I still had my favorites and pieces I had to study for lessons. A random piece would be good for me.

A flute sang, low and breathy, reminding me of earth. I’d listened to Sam’s playing enough to recognize his vibrato, and the power that lurked behind the gentle sound. A lute joined in a moment later with a light, delicate voice, and soon both played together in an unfamiliar minor key.

The rhythm unfurled oddly, unpredictable almost, though there was a pattern I could almost hearThen I lost it.

The peculiar beauty swept me along in the sweetness and warmth, and just as it ended, I glanced at the title on the screen. Blue Rose Serenade.

Shivers marched up my spine.

The second player…

I pressed my hands over my mouth as though I could smother the stab of hurt. Why couldn’t Sam really be a boy my age, with no more experience than I had? No past lives, past loves.

Why couldn’t he be only for me?

I hated feeling jealous. It was petty, and I knew he loved me. He’d told me. And still my inability to believe he’d choose me over anyone—it squirmed in my gut and made me sick.

I turned the music down as the next piece came on, letting nocturnes and minuets seep into my thoughts while I focused on the temple books.

“This looks like a crescendo symbol.”

I jumped as Sam’s forefinger touched the paper. I hadn’t heard him come into my room, but there he was, leaning on the corner of my desk.

Blushing, I removed the SED earpieces and shrugged. “Maybe. Or grow, expand, increase, swell. Or none of those things. Chances are just as high it means something else.” Still, I wrote “Crescendo?” next to the lines.

“How are you getting these markings?” He didn’t sound skeptical that I saw them, just curious.

“Here.” I slid one of the books toward him and grabbed a pencil. “Watch.” Lightly, so I could erase later, I