The Immortal City

by May Peterson

  Her gaze drilled into me. “Three weeks ago, Umber asked me to investigate someone. Someone fairly new in town. Three guesses as to who.”

  “Hei.” I gulped.

  “Got it in one. Nothing unusual there. I spy on all kinds of shit. He wants to know about the most ridiculous details; it’s part of the contract. But this is strange. About a week into tracking and watching Hei, it became clear that as I was following him—he was following me.”

  My body was growing numb. “What? I don’t—”

  “Well.” She waved a hand as if to dash her own words away. “Tracking crow-souls. Following some of us around, but it always seemed casual. He asked questions, usually fairly innocent. Public places, searching for faces, asking around about where to find things. Services. People. But as my spies began adding up accounts, it started smelling odd. He was looking for threads about me, and a lot of people who work with Umber. You. Kadzuhikhan. I thought maybe he had some fascination with bird-souls, but...”

  I finished the thought. “He could find bird-souls almost anywhere. Why Umber’s flock?”

  “Right.” She sniffed again, peered over at the fading light of dusk. “So I’m not sure why this would be—but Umber didn’t seem surprised when I told him. If anything, he acted happy. Excited as all fucking hell.”

  A cold was deepening in me. I would merely like to assist him in accomplishing this purpose. The sense of unreality was closing back around me. “Was he—” I hesitated. “What else did he seem to be looking for?”

  I didn’t tell her that I knew Hei was searching for two people, a woman and someone else. That might even explain her accounts. But the less that could trickle back to Umber, the better.

  “Hard to say.” Her wings folded over her torso. “But something else struck me as odd. This Hei character has money. Fucking diamonds. I’ve seen him buy things with whole gems that are bigger than your thumbnail. But I’m telling you, as much as I’ve watched, I haven’t figured out where he keeps it. Chances are he’s trading something for it and liquidating quickly.”

  And I’d seen no sign of it in his belongings. Every time it felt like I’d finally found steady wind, interference knocked me over. “Tamueji. Why tell me this?”

  When she stepped closer again, I saw it. The penetrating light of Umber’s eyes, only hers glared silver rather than red. “He came to you, didn’t he? He offered to tell you. About your past.”

  I fought to keep my breathing under control. “He told you?”

  The shake of her head was eloquent. “I simply knew it was something you want, which means he must know that too. He offered the same to me. And lived up to it. He told me who I’d been. How I died, where I came from. Even the people who’d mourned for me. All of it. I can go so far as to tell you the location of the town where I was born in Zangen. Practically a hemisphere away.”

  He had actually kept his word? Reason told me that my first question should be what he had asked of her. But my heart produced one with more urgency than I could ignore. “Why are you still here?”

  Tamueji’s laugh was dusty, full of weight. “I left. It was no challenge to unearth where my family lived...the entire map of my former life. I flew across the world. And I found them. I found them all.” She paused then, a mercurial darkness pooling in her gaze. “Their graves. In my death I had outlived them all. Someone else lived in the house that had been mine. If anyone there remembered me, I could not find them. It was as if I never existed.”

  It struck me how absent of bitterness she sounded. A flame of sadness burned under her words, but she seemed to spare me the grief this journey had inflicted on her. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, now I understood its shape, it was plain on her. “So you returned.”

  “I did. Because it was all that remained to me.” Her wings fluttered, and she turned to watch the sun fade fully into the diamond-bright line of the tundra, rendering its burning performance once more. “Umber has asked me to remember many things, because it is useful to him for someone else to bear the burden of time. It’s like I said before—I might have sold many of these memories eventually. Sixty years in Serenity is a long time. But he and I have a deal to keep remembering. I can account for the history he has created, that I have created alongside him. But even without this, I believe he would have eventually given me this memory of my life, slain by time. Because now I know for certain that there is nowhere else left for me. It seals the deal stronger than before.”

  Her story settled like snow on me, drinking up my heat. She was right, in a way that was impossible to disbelieve. He had chained her—just as he had chained Kadzuhikhan. As he’d methodically chained me. One link at a time. Because I had no identity he had not indirectly given me—and even when I had, that must also return to me by his hand.

  If it returned, like Tamueji I would have no choice but to return to Serenity.

  I would have burrowed under the stone if I could have. I covered my face. “He knew they’d be gone. He waited until then to tell you.”

  “Aye.” Still the poison did not bleed into her voice. “You were right about how much is lost to Umber, Ari. He’s not half as honest as he makes out to be, and he doesn’t posture as particularly honest. If there is a way to reverse the memory loss, he’s not leaking what it is, even to me. So it all has to come from his mouth. This is why I warn you. This is everyday business to him. Take what he gives you—but know that he has spoiled it. And whatever he plans with this Hei, whatever he wishes of you in it?” She showed me her face again, now shadowed in the gap between sunlight and moonlight. “Even I do not know what it is. Except that it must be heavy enough to kill. To crush. There may be no way to avoid it now. But if you can, see that you are not crushed under it.”

  I had no answer. In one way at least, it must already be too late. I had chosen my direction, and it—like Serenity—was all that remained to me.

  She bent slowly, retrieving the plum core she had discarded. With careful motions, she pulled the stone free and grasped it in hand. A salute of wings, acknowledgement of the night wind, and she was taking to air. “Know that I am watching you. What little good it may do.”

  She flew faster than her specter, leaving me alone in the ruined tower, open to the half-moon quiet of the city.

  * * *

  Hours later, Hei was in my home again.

  I almost feared him there. The air of the city seemed to highlight his mortality, and Tamueji’s warnings drew my eye to the shadows around him. I had met him at the old bar again, and his face shone with pleasure. Something innocent yet impenetrable. I had tasted him at his most unraveled, his least defended, and still could not name what made him.

  This was becoming a blur of vision and sound, beauty and need and fear seeping through my pores. My hopes and suspicions were like the halves of a mirror. Hei might be standing on either half now—he might be someone I could save.

  Or he might be worse than I had feared. The spirit of forgotten deaths, bearing a weight greater than what Umber was creating. Hei might have a new, harder chain for me.

  And I could not care. It was all more fear. This, if nothing else, the bleak light of Serenity’s mountains had taught me—nothing would emerge from the mist to free me. With the clouds pushed aside, the sun glaring off the ice, we were still only so many blasted corpses and breaths of smoke, immortalized by emptiness and cold.

  Hei was full and warm, and could die. If he ended up killing me, let it come. Some bright fire must once again find its path in this frozen wilderness. Winter had to end eventually. So did secrecy. As he drew closer, body signaling he wanted my arms around him, I knew I dared not delay it any longer.

  I stepped back, and his eyebrow rose. Wincing, I sat, inviting him with a gesture to take a spot next to me on the side of the bed. He accepted slowly, as if suddenly cautious.

  “You should know something.” I forced myself to mai
ntain eye contact. “I warned you to stay away from Lord Umber. I was right to distrust him, specifically with regard to you. He asked me to watch you.” What would he think of that, if he’d already watched me? “To persuade you to join him.”

  Hei blinked a few times. “Is—is that why you—?”

  “No.” I slid closer, brushing the side of his arm. “It was after the last time we saw each other. I was resolved to refuse him. It was only...”

  I didn’t know how to explain the foggy path of hopes and fears that had guided me. Hei spoke into my silence. “Except he can tell you the memories he took from you. That’s it, isn’t it? Ari, he can tell you who you are. It’s all right for you to want that.”

  A weary laugh bubbled up my throat. Good Heaven. He was certainly charitable. “I don’t think it is. Hei, betrayal doesn’t have justifications. I promised him I would obey—but I won’t. I can’t hide the truth from him forever, but it seemed like we may be able to use this. Keep him confused long enough to...” To what? I was still on the defensive, with no plan beyond my next step.

  Hei was quiet for a few moments, studying his hands. Then, he glanced up at my face. “What did he mean by join him? What precisely was it he told you to do?”

  “He said he wanted me to bring you to a meeting place, arranged by him. That he’d make you an offer you’d be too dazzled to refuse. Most likely recruiting you to be one of his flunkies.” I paused, almost unsure I should mention the rest. But there was no point in keeping it from him. “He said...you had a purpose in this city that he seemed to find important somehow. A purpose he would very much like to help you achieve. Though apparently, not enough to simply offer help freely.” I made no effort to disguise my bitterness.

  I verged on bringing up what Tamueji had told me. Somehow, the wisdom of that pared away even as I considered it. I didn’t really have anything to say there. I was making the decision to trust him. While Tamueji’s reports cast shadows through my mind...it wasn’t for me to pry into Hei’s winding story. I couldn’t keep doing this, flinching at every fork in the road. Hei had showed me nothing but kindness.

  The thoughtful expression had returned to Hei’s face, complete with worrying his lower lip. “All right. I’ll go to him.”

  One of my brows rose. “Hei. You shouldn’t. I can always say that I failed to persuade you.”

  He shook his head, backed away slightly. The way he balled his fists looked almost excited. “But that’s just it. If he’s been watching me, he knows I don’t need his help. So that must mean there’s something he wants from me. Any guess on what I could possibly have that he would want?”

  My mouth was dry. “Knowledge. That has to be it. Anything else he could easily get himself.” It always seemed to come back to knowledge.

  Hei revealed that sunny, inured smile once again. It looked more like a grin this time. “Then I know how I can make this work for us.” His head nuzzled my neck, painted me with warmth. “Do you trust me?”

  I shuddered, looked down into his eyes. I’d already settled this in myself. But...could I trust anyone? I sighed. “Yes.”

  I trusted him no less than I trusted myself, certainly. As Hei shifted to me, closing the gap between us, I felt how vast that was. If I was wrong here, it mattered little whether Hei was.

  I took him into my arms. Hei’s eyes shimmered, as if my confession had warmed him. When he pressed lips to mine, I did not refuse.

  We cuddled for what felt like nights, but must have been less than an hour. Something had been exchanged, the silence falling over us to sanctify it. I’d hopefully showed him that he could trust me—and I’d jumped headfirst into trusting him.

  The touching became stroking and kissing, heat accumulating between us. Hei seemed hungry for me, sighing my name as I divested him of his clothes again. He was softness, energy, and light. The way he chanted my name was like a ritual, as if he were branding its sound into him for eternity.

  I fucked him over the side of the bed this time. Pants around his ankles, the breathtaking curve of his ass ripe for the taking. I’d come while fisting his hair, lost in the sweat-tinged song of his pleasure. His wild, unguarded cries filling me as he shot into my hand.

  I wanted him. For now, the want alone was enough. He might lead me over the edge, where the mist would finally consume me. Or he might be consumed. But, god. This was so much better than numbness.

  Afterward, we lay in the cooling haze of our spent vigor. I snuggled Hei to me, stroked his hair. Several minutes into the quiet, the sounds he began making became familiar. Looking down revealed tears on his face.

  “You’re crying.” I wrapped my arms more tightly, made apologetic sounds as I kissed his brow. “I was too rough with you, I—”

  “No.” A wry laugh tickled my chest. “Not those kinds of tears. I’m fine.” He took a deep breath.

  I leaned in and kissed a tear away. “Mm. Salty.”

  His laughter returned, longer this time. “Ari. You really are unique. Moon-soul. Human. Doesn’t matter.”

  The way he said that made me frown, though I couldn’t pinpoint why. “You can sleep, if you like. We don’t have to do anything.”

  Hei wriggled deeper under the blankets, pressed his face to me. He felt so good. After a moment, his head tilted up. “I know you don’t really remember anything. But how much do you know about the world beyond Serenity?”

  My shrug felt obligatory. “It’s only episodes of memory that seem to be taken. I figured this out early, because I wanted to know how much I really remembered too. You’ll notice I still speak language—two very well, and Zangenjai decently. I did not have to learn them in two years!” That drew a chuckle from him. “I even remember...hazier things. Feelings. Favorite foods, at times. There are smells that seem too familiar for words, even if I can’t place from where. Occasionally I’ll hear someone talking about some tidbit of lore, and I’ll realize it sounds right. Even though I couldn’t have named it before, probably. It’s funny. I have so little factual recall, but it’s like the entire world is still there underneath me, taking up space. I sought out people who spoke the same languages as me when I first began trying to figure out who I was. It wasn’t a hard task, since Ashaic and Portian are probably two of the most common languages here. But I’m still a little surprised about how much we have in common. I even find myself recalling Ashaic sayings or prayers, sometimes from the oddest triggers. Why do willow branches make me think of a prayer for safety from possession? I’ve asked people, but that’s not exactly the kind of thing you can find in a history book.” I played with the hair at his temples, curling slightly in my fingers. “What is it like? Wherever you came from.”

  Hei’s sigh seemed to signal settling in to something—most likely the burdens my question forced him to recall. “Well. As I may have mentioned, I grew up in an orphanage. Portia is full of homeless. Children without parents. Refugees from destroyed towns. Happens when you’ve just had a revolutionary war, yes?” He withdrew slightly, fingertips tracing lines on my chest. “I don’t know if you heard about that? Years ago Portia was in revolution. My parents were migrants, I think, who probably moved there shortly before the war. But I remember so little of them. I know when I was taken into the orphanage, I only spoke Zangenjai fluently. A few of the sisters spoke very good Zangenjai, some of them originally from Zangen, like my parents. They were sweet to me. One of them dedicated herself to helping me improve my Portian, a little at a time.” His voice dropped in volume. “I used to fantasize about who my parents were. I did that a lot more than imagining who might adopt me. One of the sisters used to shake her head when I told her I didn’t want to be adopted, but I think she would have missed me. It’s hard to get stuck daydreaming about a rich or comfortable new home when you don’t remember one. Also, I was adorable, so the sisters loved me.”

  A pleasant hum ran up my spine. “That sounds easy to believe.”

>   He chuckled. “There was a boy I knew there. I think his family had been recent immigrants too, because he studied Portian with me. We were put together a lot, maybe because we got along well, and we could help each other learn. I think he and I made the sisters regret that, because we got into so many schemes together.” Something like a mix of fondness and pain lurked in his voice, but he seemed to be doing his best to conceal it. “I loved him.”

  I squeezed him tighter. “Do you still have him? In your life, I mean. Did you stay in contact?”

  Hei’s pause felt tremendous, meaningful. Like I’d asked the wrong question. He looked up at me then, breath coming more quickly. “I...don’t know exactly what’s happened with him. He was taken by someone. I wasn’t. I eventually aged out of the orphanage’s care. I...don’t know if I will see him again. I’d like to.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. But it felt like I was finding footing in the mist. Even if I was only retracing his steps. “What was his name?”

  A smile played over his lips. “Beniro. The sisters gave us all orphanage names, they called them. It was to help us adapt to changing names when someone adopted us, and Beniro was his.” Abruptly, he sat up in bed, the covers sliding from him. I started. “Actually... I’d like to show you something, if you don’t mind.”

  Intuition said that whatever it was, it was important to him. No way I would refuse now. “Please.”

  He got up, rustled in his bag, and returned to the bed with what appeared to be a large medallion. Turning it over in his hands, he let the firelight fall on it, exposing gleaming wood. It looked more like a small rounded plaque this close, made of hardwood and hanging from a strap. Hei held it as if it were another sacred object.

  “They gave us these medallions when we were taken into the orphanage. I barely remember when I got mine. But they had our orphanage names carved into them. The idea was that these would help us remember the names our new parents would call us, and there was even a spot on the back to carve a new name if our adopters renamed us.” A bittersweet expression crossed his face. “One of the sisters always called me Hei, except in front of potential adopters. She said it was to make things simpler for anyone who wanted to be our new parents, but I don’t think she thought of me by this name.”