Author: Jodi Meadows

“Good.” She was quiet as we headed toward the Councilhouse, where the hospital waited. “Don’t worry about that other thing.”

Ah, the thing that might be embarrassing to talk about. I bit my lip, half wishing she’d been more clear about it, half relieved she hadn’t. “Okay.”

“It’ll happen when you’re ready. Just…He loves you, Ana. If he said it, he means it. And I love you too. I’m still really glad you’re here.”

“Why?” I whispered, hardly able to believe she’d said it, too. How easy she made it sound, just freely giving love.

Sarit stopped and regarded me with a wry smile. “Just accept it, Ana. You can’t stop your friends from loving you. You can’t stop Sam from feeling the way he does. You know I admire that you question things, but this—this doesn’t have to be one of them.”

Gratitude kindled inside of me, almost choking my words. “Thank you,” I said, and we hurried after Sam and Stef.

7

REBIRTH

THE COUNCILHOUSE WAS an immense building with a wide half-moon staircase spreading out from the front. A huge landing waited at the top, just ahead of a series of double doors; sometimes the landing was used as a stage for outdoor concerts and dances, or just announcements. Though since Templedark, there hadn’t been much call for celebration.

We climbed the stairs—two at a time for those with longer legs—and stepped around columns and crumbling statues. The human-made parts of the Councilhouse were old and falling apart, worse after Templedark. Nothing had been the same since Templedark.

Sam held the door open for us, and we headed toward the hospital wing. Now that we were almost there, it took all my effort not to skip. “I’m excited to see a rebirth. Do you think she’ll let me touch the baby?”

“Probably.” Sam fell into step with Stef, behind Sarit and me.

“Good,” I said. “That was your last chance to tell me if asking would be rude.”

Stef lowered her voice, intentionally just loud enough for me to hear. “Next she’ll be wanting one of her own.”

One of my own?

A baby?

“Right.” I glanced over my shoulder to find Sam looking fascinated by the wall, and Stef wearing a smirk. “Because what I really need is to be responsible for someone. Because I’d be really good at giving a baby everything it needs, thanks to the great example I got from Li.” I choked out the last words. I had no idea if I ever wanted to have a baby, but it certainly wasn’t next on my list of things to do.

Darkness flashed through Sam’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

“The Council is approving a lot of couples right now. I bet you’d be approved, too.” Stef acted oblivious to my response, or Sam’s discomfort. “We can check the genealogies later to make sure they’d say yes. It’s embarrassing when they say no.”

The Council had to be careful of accidental inbreeding and unfavorable genes being passed along, and no one wanted to be responsible for future generations suffering poor eyesight or genetic disorders. The practice made me uncomfortable, but to everyone else, it was a way of taking care of their bodies.

She went on. “I think—”

Sam interrupted her, voice deep and dark. “Let it go, Stef.”

“Fine. I was just being interested in your lives.”

Sam gave a long sigh; that was what the end of his patience sounded like, which I knew from experience. “Passive aggression doesn’t suit you,” he said. “If you want to talk about this, then we should. But later.”

“Later,” Stef whispered, tone all pity, and I could almost feel her glare on the back of my head. “I guess I do have that in my favor.”

I probably hadn’t been meant to hear the last part. My face burned with shame and grief at my own inevitable demise. We didn’t know for sure, of course, whether I’d be reincarnated after this life, but it didn’t seem likely.

Next to me, Sarit’s expression was twisted with discomfort.

“Here we are.” I spoke mostly to pretend like I hadn’t heard Stef’s comment, though everyone probably knew better.

The birthing center was a warm, open section of the hospital wing, with silk walls pinned in place by metal shelves. We hurried past the lit Soul Tellers’ office, toward the rebirth room with its cheery decorations and array of medical equipment—just in case. They’d stopped using most of it a century ago.

As we entered the crowded room, buzzing conversation paused and people glanced up to see who’d arrived. Lidea was propped up on the bed with her eyes closed, surrounded by a team of birthing assistants.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Stef said, folding her coat. “You can put your belongings on a shelf, Ana. Looks like we’ll have to stand, though. All the chairs are taken.”

“Why are there so many people here?” I placed my coat and umbrella next to her things. “There’s got to be at least four dozen. Are they all going to watch her have a baby?”

“Yep.” Stef flashed a smile, almost like an apology for her insensitivity earlier.

I’d have to remember this kind of thing attracted crowds, because in the unlikely event I did ever have a baby, someone would be in charge of shutting the door.

Sam took my hand and guided Sarit, Stef, and me through the crowd of people chatting, speculating on who’d come back.

“Look,” someone muttered, “the nosoul is here.”

Shock spiraled though me, shame not far behind. I wasn’t a nosoul. I wasn’t.

Few people used the word “nosoul” anymore, so what had changed? Perhaps it was this birth: Lidea had gotten pregnant after Templedark, and everyone was nervous.

Still, I kept my face down as I walked, as though I could hide from the words.

“She’ll curse Lidea,” and “She’s already cursed everyone. Her and Menehem. They planned Templedark,” and “Dossam with her. He’s no better.”

Sam’s hand tightened painfully around mine, but neither of us acknowledged the speakers. As much as I wanted to defend myself, this wasn’t the time. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. The last thing Lidea needed was for my presence to start a fight.

“Often,” Sam said, as though we hadn’t heard a bunch of people talking about me, “we can predict who’ll be born, since there aren’t a lot of possibilities. Maybe two or three. Their best friends usually attend the birthing to welcome them back.”

We found a spot by the back wall, and I said, “A lot of people lost their friends.”

Sam kept his voice soft as he turned his attention to the bed and birthing assistants gathered around. “Yeah.”

Wend, Lidea’s partner, stood beside her, petting her hair and whispering encouragement. Nearby, someone said she was pushing now, so it wouldn’t be much longer.

I stood on my toes, but from our corner, I couldn’t see more than Wend’s head. There were too many people in front of us, half of them standing. I tugged Sam’s sleeve. “I can’t see.”

Sam eyed the rows of people, and my nice view of their shoulders. “Go to the front.” He nudged me. “I’ll wait here.”

I hesitated—some of these people hated me—but I refused to let them stop me from seeing my friend. I squeezed Sam’s hand, then maneuvered through the crowd before I missed anything else. Right in time to see Micah, one of the birthing assistants, adjust the sheet over Lidea’s legs and—Ew. It was really going to come out of her.

Sarit sidled up next to me. “Thought you could use some company.” Protection, she meant, but I wasn’t going to complain.

“Wow.” I tried not to gape as Lidea groaned at another contraction. “That can’t feel good.”

Someone glared at me, and Sarit giggled.

Lidea grunted and—around a white-smocked birth assistant—I saw her face, lined with concentration. Her eyes were closed as if there was nothing else in the world. Just her and the baby.

True, most people weren’t watching, but she made a lot of weird noises I’d have been embarrassed about. No one seemed to care, though.

It wasn’t long before a last push brought the baby and its cry. Everyone cheered and called out, “Welcome back!” while Micah gave the baby to Lidea, who was flushed and sweaty, but grinned happily. Wend unbundled a small blanket and laid it across both of them.

“He’s healthy!” Micah’s shout made everyone cheer again. She put a dark green cap, embroidered with tiny ospreys and elk, on his head.

Sarit leaned toward me and muttered, “It’s a running joke that there are only five or six newborn caps in existence. Everyone just passes them back and forth.”

I giggled. “It does look suspiciously familiar.”

After a few minutes, the cheering quieted and a pair of Soul Tellers stepped forward. Sarit and I ducked away, back to Sam and Stef.

“That was amazing,” I whispered, pressing my spine against Sam’s chest, relaxing when his arms circled my waist. “And kind of gross. It must have hurt.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to share, if you asked her.”

I couldn’t decide whether he was making a joke or not. Why would anyone want to talk about childbirth?

Maybe I’d see if the library had a book on it, instead.

Aside from Lidea’s cooing to the baby until he calmed, the room grew silent as Emil, one of the Soul Tellers, approached the bed with a small device. It was a soul-scanner, like those used around the city to restrict access to armories and other secret places.

“Baby soul-scanners?” I asked.

Stef nodded. “They’re new for the Soul Tellers, only fifty or so years old. Before that, Soul Tellers did blood tests, which were less reliable. They measured chemicals they believed the soul produced.”

I hmmed. Sam had once mentioned that certain tests hadn’t been reliable, and people would be called the wrong name until they were old enough to complain about it.

“Soul-scanners have been around much longer, of course,” Stef went on, “but they work by measuring vibrations of the soul inside the body. Newborns tend to have erratic and excited souls. It took a lot of work to get around that.”

“Huh.” Maybe they’d thought the scanner was broken when I was born, if the technology was that new. Maybe they’d tried three or four times, and with different scanners, just to make sure.

“Hold his hand still,” said Emil. “We should know in just a few minutes.” They pressed the baby’s palm against the scanner face and then tucked the blanket tighter. Being born must have been terribly shocking, and cold, but he stayed quiet, tucked against Lidea’s chest.

Everyone in the room stared at Emil, all anticipation and hope that this baby was their best friend who’d been lost the night of Templedark. The number of possibilities was staggering, but worse, underneath rode a current of fear: glances at me, muttered prayers to Janan, and objects clutched to their chest.

The last must have been things belonging to whomever they hoped would return. A box, a key, a silk fan.

Emil lowered the device and gazed around, eyes settling briefly on me. I tensed as another wave of anxiety passed through the silent room. “Is something wrong with him?” The words barely formed in my mouth, and Sam squeezed me, as if to caution.

“Who is he?”

Lidea’s expression twisted with worry. “Please just tell me.”

Emil faced her, his tone sober. “He’s a newsoul.”

8

NEWSOUL

I WASN’T ALONE.

I wasn’t the only one.

I wanted to be sick.

All eyes fell on me, and the first ones I saw were angry and accusing. Sam’s arms grew tight around me, ready to protect me from the inevitable storm. “Ana…”