Jodi Meadows: Asunder

“It’s okay,” I murmured. “I’ll protect you from the dragons.” It was a joke, mostly, just to make him smile.

Because what could I do against dragons? They’d killed him thirty times.

Thirty.

But Sam wove his fingers with mine and smiled. “I know you will.” It didn’t sound like teasing at all.

“Fascinating.” Cris wrapped his hands around his mug, his tone light and amused, but tinged with something sad. He sipped his coffee, as though to hide the emotion. “One newsoul, and Sam’s problem with dragons is fixed.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I glanced toward the window, like sylph or dragons might be peeking in right now. “There’ve been two dragon attacks since I came.”

“They always come in twos.” Cris rested his mug on his knee. “You were just unlucky enough to be here for their first visit in quite some time.”

“And we were all unlucky enough they chose to come during Templedark.” Sam lowered his eyes, the memory of Templedark still fresh and heavy. “The sylph and the dragons proved too much. Everyone panicked. We lost more than we should have before anyone realized what Menehem had done: he made the temple go dark.”

When I closed my eyes, I could still see the strange darkness where the iridescent light of the temple should be. Except it shouldn’t illuminate. What kind of building glowed in the dark?

One with Janan in it.

“Stopping reincarnation. What a thing to do.” Cris shook his head, then leveled his gaze on me. “Did Menehem—before? You?”

Oh, Cris was quick. “By accident. That was why he left eighteen years ago—to find out what he’d done.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Only Menehem knows why he wanted to end so many others.

Maybe he’ll tell us when he’s reborn.”

That wasn’t quite true, I knew. But not knowing how Cris felt about Janan—some people really cared, while others hadn’t believed for millennia—I didn’t say any more. Menehem had given me two explanations. The first made it sound as though he were doing me a favor: attempting to let more newsouls be born.

The other reason Menehem had given me seemed most genuine: he’d wanted to prove Janan’s existence either true or false. It had been scientific curiosity, nothing more.

Cris glared into his coffee. “I’m sure the Council will be very curious to find out exactly how he created Templedark so they can prevent anyone from ever doing it again.”

“I’m sure they will be.” Did my voice shake? It seemed like Menehem’s research notes were a bright beacon shining from my room. He’d left them for me after he died, and I hadn’t wanted to leave them in Heart. The folders and diaries, the door device, the mysterious books I’d stolen from the temple—it was a wonder everyone didn’t know about them just from the guilt on my face.

But I wasn’t ready to tell anyone about my visit into the temple or Menehem’s research, and Sam had agreed. I didn’t know exactly how the Council would react, but it definitely wouldn’t be good.

Sam looked at Cris, a strange and awkward hopefulness in his tone. “You’re on your way back to Heart now?”

“I think I’d better be,” Cris said. “Sine’s message indicated they’d need assistance reorganizing the genealogies now that so many won’t return.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate your help,” Sam said, not explaining to me how a gardener would be useful for genealogies.

They talked until everyone’s mug was empty, keeping the conversation to simple things, like the best road to take into Heart, and warnings about bears and wolves in certain parts of the forest. They concluded with a polite argument about who would take the other bedroom, and Sam won, which meant he slept on the sofa.

As the calming herbs in my tea took effect, I wished the boys good night and went into my room, trying desperately not to think of the sylph.

Moaning wind roused me from fiery dreams.

My bedroom looked the same as it always had, dusty wood floors and walls all bathed in darkness, but something was different. Not the shadows, but the sounds. The wind had never made this particular wailing in the eighteen years I’d lived in Purple Rose Cottage.

I went to the window and pushed open the shutters.

Stars blazed far away, trees hugged the earth and sky, and the rosebushes breathed perfume that didn’t quite mask the lingering reek of ashes. The night was perfectly still, but the moan persisted.

A shadow moved.

They twisted all along the path up to the cottage, whistling, humming, singing. A melody I’d played earlier lifted and faded in the strange song. A moment later, another familiar tune piped up, and the others built on it with harmony and countermelody. Unearthly music filled the night, subtle enough that it might have been wind on the corner of the cottage. Strange enough that it had pulled me from sleep.

There had to be a dozen sylph outside my bedroom, and though they were eyeless, I could feel them looking at me.

A whimper escaped my throat.

A gasp sounded in the front room, and blankets crumpled to the floor. Soft thumps made their way to my bedroom door. Sam. I knew the cadence of his footsteps.

I raced to the door and dragged it open.

In the dimness, Sam glanced me over, as though to make sure I wasn’t bleeding—why would I be bleeding?—and then swept me up in a tight hug. “Are you all right? I heard you—” He stilled as the sylph sang outside, echoes of music he’d composed.

“Oh.” His breath rustled my hair as he released me, and together we made our way back to the window. Warm air pushed inward, smelling faintly of ash and ozone.

One by one, the sylph finished their music.

One by one, the sylph drifted down the cottage path, leaving nothing more threatening than a song.

“What does it mean?” Sam whispered. He cocked his head, as though listening for sounds of Cris stirring in the other bedroom, but relaxed. Cris must have been a deep sleeper, or tired from walking everywhere.

“It means I need to stop avoiding Menehem’s research. The sylph were terrified of him during Templedark, and it was his research on the sylph that affected Janan’s temple. I need to understand why.

And why they’d sing outside my window.” Though it was unlikely Menehem would be able to answer that question. As far as I could tell, he’d never been concerned with thoughts or feelings or motivations of others; he couldn’t grasp them.

Sam dropped back his head in resignation. Our peace was too short-lived. “What do you want to do?”

I stared into the darkness, but nothing moved, and the sylph odor abated. “I wish we could stay outside of Heart, just playing music all the time. But in houses. I don’t want to walk around for four years like Cris.”

“Pianos are too heavy to carry in a backpack, anyway.” He kissed my forehead, stubble scratching my cheek. “You know people there like you.”

“Sarit, Stef, Sine—other people whose names begin with S .”

He chuckled. “Armande, Lidea, Wend, Rin, Orrin, Whit. Lots of others. Templedark was horrible, but it did show people you cared. How many did you save that night?”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. The night had been so frantic, and mostly I’d been looking for Sam.

Warm fingers curved over my cheek, and he drew my gaze upward. “Are you worried they’ll change their minds about you?”

How did he always know my real fears? “No one calls me nosoul anymore, but how long will that last when they find out sylph don’t chase me anymore? Cris saw them reacting to my playing.”