by Fonda Lee
Hilo’s eyes flashed fire and hurt. Then he turned away, scorn flowing from him like a cape. “Let’s go.” His fighters flanked him as he stalked through the door and out of the house. They piled into the line of cars parked in the roundabout.
Kaul Sen sagged and sat down on the stairs, his limbs folding like a rickety chair frame, his robe draping over his bony shoulders and knees like a sheet.
“Kyanla,” Lan called. “Help Grandda back to his room.” He put a hand on Shae’s back and said in a low voice, “Stay with him.”
Shae nodded, trying to think of something more to say, such as, “Be careful,” or “Good luck,” or “Please come back,” but none of them seemed to be right, and Lan was already leaving, going down the steps of the front walk, climbing into an open car door that one of the clan’s Fists held open for him.
CHAPTER
20
Clean Blades at the Factory
The Factory was an old manufacturing facility just across the territorial border, in the Mountain-controlled Spearpoint district. The building still read KEKON SPECIAL TEXTILE CO. in large faded paint on the outside wall, but it had been converted years ago into a gathering place and training hall for Mountain Green Bones. According to the No Peak Fingers and Lantern Men who’d called in overnight and early this morning, the two surviving assassins, Gam Oben and Chon Daal, had been seen fleeing the Armpit on foot and coming here.
They arrived in a convoy just before noon, six cars packed with No Peak fighters. They parked in front of the Factory and piled out in a storm of slamming doors and glinting weapons. Lan and Hilo stood together at the front, conferring. The brick building was tall and the windows were covered; it was impossible to tell how many Mountain Green Bones were waiting inside. Hilo pointed out the sentries watching them from the roof. So far, no one had come out of the building.
“Send in a message,” Lan said.
Hilo motioned forward one of the Fingers, a young man with hair hanging longer on one side and two jade piercings in his lower lip. The fighter dropped to his knees and touched his head to the ground. “I am ready to die for the clan, Kaul-jens.”
Hilo gave him his instructions, and the Finger was sent, unarmed, up to the front door of the Factory. The demand was simple: hand over the heads of the two men responsible for the attack on Hilo and cede control of the Armpit district, or No Peak would come down from the forest. “Coming down from the forest” was an old Green Bone phrase that meant open war; all of the Mountain’s territory, people, and businesses would be fair game. The Kauls watched as the messenger was met by two guards. Words were exchanged, and the man was admitted into the building.
Hilo sat down on the hood of the Duchesse to wait. Lan leaned against the door of his Roewolfe roadster and watched the front of the building with taut nerves and a parched feeling in his mouth. It was one of those days when sun and cloud grappled with each other in the sky, and the waiting men were bathed in alternating patches of heat and shadow, as if the weather itself was unsure of how the day would proceed. Since the moment Mrs. Sugo had interrupted him in the Lilac Divine the night before, it was as if he’d been swept along by a tsunami. He felt as if he had little control over its direction and was battling merely to ride near the surface of it.
Lan did not want a clan war. It would be bad for everyone—for Green Bones, for business, for the people, for the country itself. All this time, he’d believed that so long as he treaded carefully, he could avoid outright conflict with the Mountain. He’d ignored Ayt’s disrespect, politely rejected her forceful overtures to form an alliance, and taken reasonable steps to secure the KJA and safeguard his own clan’s position. Now he saw that his actions were the defensive maneuverings of a dumb bull being set upon by a leopard. They had only emboldened the enemy, sent the impression that the Pillar of No Peak was soft, not someone to be feared.
He’d been a fool. He’d known that the Mountain wanted Hilo out of the way, but he hadn’t anticipated that the enemy Pillar would act so quickly and with such violence. Was it because his rival was a woman that he’d assumed she would hesitate to shed blood first? If so, it had been a near fatal oversight on his part. Now Ayt had whispered the name of the second son of No Peak. No matter any other business or territorial considerations between the clans, that was not something that could be negotiated away. The Kaul family name could not command any authority or respect unless it answered such an offense unequivocally.
A mile-long freight train passed a short distance away, blaring its approach and rumbling on and on over the rails, hauling goods from across the island into the port stations in Summer Park and the Docks. A breeze skimmed westward off the water. Half an hour passed. The Factory remained silent and inscrutable. The No Peak men grumbled and paced and smoked. Maik Kehn came up. “They’re not answering. They’ve probably killed him by now.” Maik’s face was creased with impatience and murderous drive. “What are we going to do if they don’t answer?”
Hilo said, “We’re going to storm the fucking place and drag Gont Asch out by his tiny balls.” This satisfied his lieutenant, who grunted in agreement, but it worked Hilo up further. He jumped off the hood of the Duchesse and prowled halfway to the entrance of the Factory. “You see this, Gont?” he shouted. He spread his arms wide and turned in an arrogant circle. “I’m still alive! Don’t send your puppies to kill me. Come out and do it yourself, you dogfucking coward!”
Behind him, the Fists roared their assent and pounded on the cars.
At that moment, an understanding struck Lan clearly and heavily: The Mountain had sent men to kill Hilo, not him—not Lan, the firstborn, the Pillar. It was Hilo that the enemy viewed as a threat, Hilo who was ferocious and violent and could lead Fists in war. Now he’d survived an assassination attempt and gained for it.
Lan knew what that said about him in turn: He was Pillar on account of birth, and Kaul Sen’s decree, and a face that reminded people of his father. He strived at all times to be a strong and prudent leader, to maintain peace, to respect the legacy of his grandfather, and while those things gave him respect and credibility within the clan, they did not intimidate or dissuade rivals. The enemy had struck first, not at the clan’s political head but at its top warrior, and in so doing, dispelled any doubt that the Mountain intended to move in on No Peak and conquer it by force.
He was, by nature, a man slow to anger, but Kaul Lan’s hands curled into fists, and a churning pool of shame and rage rose in him like a cloudy tide.
The door of the Factory opened and three men emerged. Lan and Maik Kehn walked up together to join Hilo, who stood his ground and faced the approaching men. First came the young No Peak messenger. He hurried forward and dropped to his knees once again, looking almost apologetic to still be very much alive. “Kaul-jens, I regret the dogs didn’t give me a chance to die for No Peak. But they sent me back out with these two.”
Behind him came two Mountain Green Bones. “That’s them,” Hilo said to Lan. “The limping one is Chon. The dark one’s Gam.”
The two sides regarded each other with hesitant mutual hatred. Chon, a midrank Finger, was injured and scared. Sweat slicked his bruised face, and he could only glance at the No Peak fighters for a few seconds before shifting his eyes. Gam was greener in both body and spirit; jade hung around his neck, studded his nose, encircled his wrists. He looked directly at Lan and spoke first.
“My Pillar agrees to your demands,” Gam said. “She approved the attack on your Horn out of a sense of great insult for his many transgressions against our clan, but realizes she may have acted in anger and haste. So, to show her willingness to negotiate, we will withdraw from the Armpit except for the small section south of Patriot Street that we have always controlled.”
“How generous,” Hilo scoffed, “but that’s not all we demanded.”
Gam’s cheek twitched, but he kept looking at Lan. “My Horn offers you our lives as punishment for our failure. This one here,” he jerked his head at Chon, “isn’t wo
rthy of a warrior’s end, but my clan and my honor demand that I die befitting my rank, like a proper Fist of the Mountain. Kaul Lanshinwan, Pillar of No Peak, I offer you a clean blade.”
Lan was honestly stunned. Then his eyes narrowed. “I accept.”
The No Peak men had gathered around to hear the conversation, and now all of them stepped back at once, clearing a large circle of space. All except Hilo. He angled his body in front of Lan and lowered his voice. “Gam deserves an execution, not a duel,” the Horn said. “This is some kind of trick.”
“You’ll be here watching to see if it is,” Lan said. “But I don’t think so.” He didn’t elaborate on how he was certain this was Ayt’s belated way of measuring him. She already knew something of Hilo. She’d tried to have him killed, and failed. Now she wanted to know if Lan was as weak as she’d taken him for. The knowledge would determine her next move; it was apparently worth surrendering most of the Armpit. If the Pillar of No Peak backed down, he would lose face in front of the enemy and his own Green Bones.
“A death of consequence, then,” Hilo suggested. “Kehn and I would do it.”
Lan answered him with a scalding look, and the Horn fell silent. What sort of Green Bone would Lan be, to send his injured younger brother to fight Gam a second time instead of answering a direct challenge himself? He understood without a doubt that, like it or not, he was to be a wartime Pillar now, and the most unwise thing he could do was to continue elevating Hilo’s battle prowess over his own in front of the clan’s Fists and the enemy’s eyes.
So it had to be this way, the Green Bone way. If force was the only language Ayt understood, then he would have to speak clearly.
Gam retreated several paces. “Knife or blade?”
It was the prerogative of the one who’d been challenged to choose the weapon. Hilo favored the talon knife—compact, vicious, always within reach—but Lan was not a street fighter, and the formality and elegance of the moon blade seemed more appropriate. “Blade,” he said.
Hilo was still skeptical. “You expect me to honor this?”
The offer of a clean blade was an ironclad pledge. The victor took the loser’s life and jade without consequence—no relative or ally would seek retribution. Hilo’s question was rhetorical, and Lan looked at him askance. “You’re worried I might lose?”
Hilo turned his chin slightly to glance at Gam. He brought his eyes back and spoke in an undertone. “He’s not trivial.”
“Neither am I.” Lan said it more sharply than he’d intended.
“I have a dozen Fists here who’d fight Gam in your name. You’re the Pillar.”
“If I can’t do this, I can’t be Pillar.” Lan’s reply was curt, pitched low so that only Hilo could hear, but nevertheless, he’d admitted out loud what others surely believed but left unsaid: that the son of the great Kaul Du needed to prove how green he truly was.
Lan drew his Da Tanori moon blade from its sheath and held it out to his brother, who spat on the white metal for good luck, though he didn’t smile.
“He has good offensive Deflection,” Hilo said. “Better to fight him from close in.” He squeezed Lan between his shoulder and neck, then retreated to stand beside Kehn. A nameless pang touched Lan in the chest; he ought to say something else to Hilo, just in case, but doing so seemed as if it would be bad luck.
Lan was not devoutly religious, but he sent up a silent prayer to Jenshu the Monk, the One Who Returned, the patron of jade warriors. Old Uncle in Heaven, judge me the greener of your kin today, if it be so. Then he turned and faced Gam and touched the flat of his blade to his forehead in salute. The other man returned the gesture. They circled each other. The sky had abruptly cleared and the sunlight beat stark on the pavement. The embedded stones seemed to pulse under Lan’s palm, layering jade energy into him, stretching his clarity, changing the way space and time moved. Seconds lengthened, distances shortened. Gam’s heartbeat throbbed in the center of his Perception. He sensed the man’s jade aura shifting, testing, expanding and contracting, subtly judging when and how to attack.
For a terrible second, doubt rushed in. Lan had once been at the top of the Academy and won his fair share of violent contests, but it had been years since he had dueled. Gam Oben had been groomed by Gont Asch and had greater and more recent experience as a fighter. Perhaps Ayt was gambling intelligently. He might lose to this man, might doom his clan.
Perceiving Lan’s instant of uncertainty, Gam chose that moment to attack. He stepped into a classic opening high sweep cut, then changed his direction deftly and sliced low. Lan caught the misdirection in time and deflected the blade; he circled his own weapon around in an upward piercing strike. Gam twisted away, throwing his arm up against the side of his head; Lan’s blade sheared against his Steeled arm.
Lan launched into an offensive flurry of quick cuts. Their blades sang together in a lethal duet. Blocking and deflecting, Gam gave ground, then pivoted sharply and slammed a kick into the Pillar’s side. Lan felt his ribs compress and heave under the man’s Strength. He pulled himself Light and flew back, landing on his feet. The watching men hurried backward to make more space.
Out of range now to reach his opponent with the blade, Lan remembered Hilo’s warning just as Gam flung his left arm forward with a shout and a heaving burst of jade energy, ripping a wave of Deflection through the air strong enough to hurl a grown man to the ground. Lan rooted into a forward stance and threw up his own Deflection in a vertical shield that parted the other Green Bone’s attack like the prow of a boat. He felt the clash of energy reverberate through his frame, clattering his clenched teeth as he skidded backward into his planted heel.
Like the suck of a receding tide, he felt Gam pull his aura in, readying another spear of Deflection. Lan rushed his opponent, Lightness and Strength turning him into a blur of speed. His moon blade carved a deadly path toward the side of Gam’s neck. The other Green Bone whirled under the slice and slammed a palm strike to Lan’s sternum.
All the energy the Fist had gathered for the Deflection, he Channeled into the blow. Lan gave every fiber of his being into Steel, knowing in that instant he would live or die based on whether the other man’s force could break him.
Everything dimmed; he felt Gam’s energy batter and buckle him. It pierced his rib cage and seized his heart. Lan felt death tickle the edge of his mind. His Steel splintered, but it did not break. It held in a moment of stalemate, and then it roared outward, scattering the force of the killing blow. He was, after all, a Kaul.
Gam had given all of himself to the attempt. He swayed on his feet for an instant, his jade aura wafting pale and flimsy. Lan sunk his blade into the man’s side like it was a block of soft bean curd. He had almost nothing left either, but he pulled across, parting tissue and arteries. His Perception clamored white as if drowning in psychic noise—the final spike of pain and fear from Gam, the backwash of energy as the man’s life fled him, the multitudinous rush of triumph and elation from the watching warriors of No Peak—and then the Second Fist of the Mountain slumped to the ground.
Lan fell to his knees, gasping. “Thank you, Old Uncle Jenshu, for your favor,” he whispered. Then, raising his voice so all could hear, he spoke to his opponent’s body. “You carried your jade well, and you died a Fist’s death. You were a worthy opponent, Gam, a loss to your Horn.” He wiped both sides of his moon blade down the inside sleeve of his left arm, and raising it high, rose to his feet. “My blade is clean.”
From the sidelines, Kaul Hilo gave a curt nod to Maik Kehn. The Fist stepped around Chon Daal, who knelt in resignation of his fate. Maik pulled the man’s head back and opened his throat from ear to ear with a deep, swift stroke of a talon knife, then pushed him face forward onto the asphalt.
“No Peak! No Peak!” the Green Bones erupted in chorus. “Kaul Lan-jen! Our blood for the Pillar!” They dropped to their knees and beat their fists on the ground in a drumbeat of applause, their exuberant, pent-up Strength denting the pavement. Lan cut off
his enemy’s jade chokers and bracelets and tore the studs from his face. So much jade in his hand made his throat feel dry with heat and his scalp tingle as if the roots of his hair were charged with electricity. He was moving as if in a dream, dizzy with relief.
He stood. “We’re leaving,” he shouted. “But let our enemies know this: No Peak defends and avenges our own. You wrong any one of us, you wrong us all. You seek to war with us, and we will return it a hundredfold. No one will take from us what is ours!” Lan thrust the fistful of jade he’d won above his head and the din increased. He saw Hilo cross his arms and rock back on his heels, smiling.
The Green Bones piled back into the cars. Their bloodthirst, if not fully quenched, had been sated by the outcome of the duel. Lan allowed himself the grim satisfaction of seeing the clan’s warriors hailing him, as he knew they hailed Hilo. To anyone watching, the fight had seemed quick and decisive. The Mountain would not retaliate over the kills. No Peak had not lost any lives, and the Armpit was now almost entirely theirs. It was a victory. Wasn’t it?
Lan walked past his own silver roadster and pulled open the back door of the Duchesse instead. Sitting alone in the wide back seat, he let the jade he’d taken drop next to him. He unstrapped his moon blade and rested it on the floor across his feet. He ached. The jade around his arms and waist seemed unusually heavy, and he felt injured, somewhere deep inside. He wondered if anyone else had noticed how close the fight had been.
Hilo got into the front passenger seat. Once Maik Kehn had pulled the car onto the freeway and they were speeding back through the city, Hilo twisted around and offered his brother a cigarette, then lit it for him. He turned to face the front again and rolled the window down halfway. “Must hurt like a bitch,” he said quietly. “Lie down, Lan. No one here to see but us.”