Asunder

—“but being different, and understanding how different and hated I was before I could even speak. You need to understand what it means to be a newsoul: knowing everyone wishes you were the darksoul you replaced.”

Haltingly, I spoke about the previous Soul Night, now nearly a quindec ago. I tried not to pay attention to the winces and mutters as I recounted how the revelers had stared at me from across the campfire. I told them how I’d needed to teach myself to read and do chores. How I’d always known nothing I did was new or innovative; someone else had already accomplished it, or figured out a better way.

“It’s humiliating to be new. To be the only one.” My voice dipped low as I found Anid cradled in Lidea’s arms. “And now there are all these new people coming. They could be anything. Scientists, explorers, musicians, warriors. But they’re going to feel out of place and confused, always knowing what happened to allow them to have a life. They might feel guilty for something they had no control over. They might feel like a mistake.”

Sam tensed, his unease a silent reminder of all the times he urged me to know I wasn’t responsible for Ciana’s absence. But knowing didn’t mean it was easy to believe; the people who threw rocks at me knew I hadn’t done anything to Ciana. So did Merton, but he still ranted about me at every opportunity.

“I want to talk to people who are pregnant,” I said. “Any of them could give birth to a newsoul, and don’t you think most of them will want basic rights and protection for their children?” Surely they weren’t all like Li. Lidea wasn’t; she gave me hope. “I wasn’t even allowed into the city without a lot of bargaining with the Council and many of you agreeing to help. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through that kind of fight, just to be allowed to live with the rest of civilization.

“We need to make people understand that the newsoul they give birth to will—” My voice caught like I didn’t know how to say the word. Maybe I hadn’t until now. “Their child will love them no matter what.

And they’ll need to be loved, too.”

Sam sat up straighter, this time at the word. It felt strange in my mouth.

He probably wondered if I’d loved Li in spite of everything. Her death had upset me, but I’d never loved her.

“If more people knew, it might help.” My voice faltered. I tried to look anywhere but others’ eyes.

The harp or honeycomb shelf. Maybe they’d all think I was making eye contact with everyone, just hadn’t reached them yet. “What I mean to say is, it’s worth discussing newsoul rights. The break-in at Lidea’s is inexcusable. What were they going to do to him? Kill him?”

Across the room, Lidea shuddered and held Anid close. Next to her, Wend shifted and stared at me, as though surprised I could consider such awful things happening.

“Anid—and the others who will be here soon—are worthy of a champion. They’ll bring new ideas and insights into the world, but right now there are no laws to protect them. How can they ever feel like part of the community if no one will stand up for them?”

“I agree.” Cris flashed a wide smile from the back of the crowd. “We’ve been so consumed with the loss after Templedark, we haven’t thought of what we’re about to gain. Nearly a hundred new people.”

“They’ve talked about it in Council meetings,” Stef said, “but of course they don’t come up with solutions or anything concrete. They keep circling the issue like there’s all the time in the world.”

I nodded. “I guess it’s easy to forget that time is different for us. You do have time. Newsouls…we don’t know yet.” And probably wouldn’t until I died.

“And like Ana said,” Armande added, “the newsouls will have their own talents and ideas. We should be ready to embrace that, to encourage it.”

Lidea glanced at her baby. “We weren’t ready for Ana, and in spite of knowing he was a possibility, we weren’t ready for Anid. But they won’t be the last.”

“There’s still time for him,” I said. “To him, every second will count. Days will seem like years, and years will seem like centuries.”

And for everyone else, those days and years went by as fast as heartbeats.

Sam dropped his gaze, and Stef watched him from the corner of her eye. For a moment, she looked softer.

“I’ll talk to anyone who wants to know what it’s like to be a newsoul. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” My mouth had a mind of its own. I hadn’t meant to make such a huge offer—tell strangers about Li laughing the first time I menstruated?—but as soon as the words came out, I decided to stick with them.

This was for Anid, and those not yet born. For those who would never be born.

“That’s very generous of you,” said Lidea. “I actually had a few questions, but I was hesitant to ask.”

“I’ll help however I can.” I forced myself to move on to the next step, the reason I’d actually brought them all here. “The first thing I want you to do is meet up with friends and figure out whether they would be open to supporting newsouls. I expect most won’t be, but we have to try.”

Orrin lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t think you’ll have as much trouble as you’re imagining.”

“And that’s where the rest of us become necessary?” Moriah guessed.

“Exactly.” I relaxed as everyone said they’d help. My idea wasn’t stupid after all. Orrin thought people would be receptive. “I made a list of pregnant women I know”—minus a couple I knew about through Sarit’s gossip but wasn’t supposed to—“and thought we could start with them.”

“Seems reasonable.” Sarit’s smile was all innocence, as if she hadn’t given me most of my information. “We can all speak to a couple of people, give them the basic proposal, and if necessary we can set up a meeting with you.”

“It sounds so much easier when you say it.” I grinned. “But we’ll have to do this quickly, because the next part comes on market day, when everyone is in the market field.”

Cris took a sip of coffee. “That’s less than a week away.”

“Yes, which means we have a lot of work to do, if everyone is willing to help.”

“It will be easier with everyone helping,” Sarit said, and all my friends nodded.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d asked them here because I hoped they would help, but the confirmation made my heart swell with gratitude. “First,” I said, “we need to call Sine and make sure we can use the Councilhouse stairs. Sam is going to play his piano.”

Sam looked surprised but delighted, and a few people cheered.

“While we have everyone’s attention, I will speak up for newsouls. I want the Council to hear people supporting newsoul rights, for them to know that people are discussing the arrival of newsouls, too. Not just people who hate us.” I urged strength into my voice. “And if anyone else wants to say something so I’m not alone up there, I’d really appreciate it.” Sam, Sarit, and Orrin raised their hands to volunteer.

Others weren’t far behind.

I stepped down from the stairs, meeting Sam’s eyes, and smiled when he mouthed, “I’m proud of you.”

Warmth filled me as I took a seat on the sofa arm, my list in hand so we could decide who would do what. This might actually work.

20 EXPLODE

AFTER EVERYONE FINISHED deciding who would do what for our market day demonstration, we broke into smaller groups. I talked with Lidea, giving her more details about what I wished I’d been taught growing up. Cris, Moriah, and Orrin discussed the possibility of lessons for parents of newsouls, and newsouls themselves.

The melody of voices livened the parlor, bright as noon, and the scent of roses warmed everyone. The baby cried, and Lidea carried him to the other side of the room for a change. When she came back, she offered to let me hold him.

He wasn’t heavy, but he startled in my arms. Then he went still. “He’s beautiful.” Much more than the first time I’d seen him, all wet and red. Lidea and Wend probably didn’t want to hear that, though.