by Fonda Lee
“What else would I choose?” the teen asked, with a surprising amount of sullenness and heat. “I’m not naive. Why would Grandda have brought me into the family, why would he have sent me to the Academy, if it wasn’t so I would be part of the clan someday? And that someday is now.”
“Grandda doesn’t always know best.” Once, she would never have admitted this out loud to anyone. “Lan’s the one who brought you in, and he did it because it was the right thing to do, not because he thought you’d become a useful Fist.” She sighed. “I can tell you’re worried about the war, but—”
“Aren’t you worried?” Anden exclaimed. He flushed at his outburst but seemed beyond caring if he was being rude.
Shae reminded herself that the Mountain had snatched Anden off the street on Boat Day. No wonder he was still furious and scared. She had to admit that the near breach of aisho disturbed her as well; since sending Caun away, she’d become more careful about staying within No Peak territory. She forced the defensiveness out of her voice. “Of course I’m worried. But I’m not involved. I’m not a Green Bone anymore. I made the choice not to be.”
“Why?” A quiet question. It was the first time he’d ever asked her.
She realized she didn’t know Anden very well. When she spoke to her grandfather or her brothers, she fell into old cadences that sometimes made her feel as if she’d never left the island. She didn’t have that familiarity with Anden. They’d gotten along well enough when they were young, but she’d missed out entirely on the last few years of his life, when he’d grown from a solemn, somewhat haunted-looking boy to this young man, the protégé of her brothers.
“The clan is all or nothing, Anden. I did some things on my own that didn’t fit expectations. And I learned pretty quick that wasn’t allowed.” A humorless smile crept over her lips. “It was a bit more complicated, but you get the gist.”
Anden did not look satisfied, but he didn’t press. His eyes followed the night flies buzzing around one of the dim lamps, then returned to her. “So what do you plan to do now?”
“I have a job offer I’m thinking of taking.” Shae straightened in her seat, glad to share her recent news with someone, though she doubted anyone in the family would appreciate what it meant to her. “It’s a regional business development position at an Espenian electronics company. I’ll be going back to Espenia for company training for a few months, and afterward working part of the time there and part of the time here, and traveling to other places in the world, too. I think it’ll be interesting.”
Dismay rose on Anden’s face. Only with a visible effort did he force it back into a barely neutral expression. “You’re leaving again?”
Shae was nonplussed. “Only temporarily. Like I said, the training is only for a few months. After that, I’ll be in Kekon at least half of the time. I wouldn’t want to live in Espenia year-round, so I think this job will …” She trailed off, guilt and resentment stopping her throat. Anden had just asked her if she would prevail upon Lan on his behalf. He’d hoped that even if she held no official role in the clan and was no longer a Green Bone, that she would still be present and influential, a member of the family war effort that perhaps he could count on.
Hadn’t she just told him that the clan was all or nothing?
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me.” Anden seemed to suddenly rouse himself, to realize that his response had been selfish and inappropriate. Quickly, “It’s only that I was glad you’d come back and thought I’d get to see you more before you jetted off again. I’m happy for you, though. The job sounds like a really good one, an international businesswoman’s kind of job. Congratulations, Shae. I mean it.” And even though his disappointment was still palpable, he smiled with such an earnest desire to put things right between them that Shae could not help but soften and wish that she could recover as gracefully.
“It’s fine, Anden,” she assured him. “And I do think we’ll get to spend some more time together. It’s my fault we didn’t do this earlier; I didn’t hear about what happened to you on Boat Day, not until just recently. If I’d known about that, I would’ve—”
Anden shook his head sharply, almost angrily. “That was nothing,” he said. “They didn’t threaten or hurt me. I’m not a Green Bone yet.”
Shae was silent for a minute. Behind them, the counter staff shouted out orders to the cramped kitchen, people chatted and laughed as they stood in line, moths fluttered, trapped, under the green canvas tarp over the patio. Outside, it was fully dark, but a swollen moon hung over smeared clouds.
Anden said, “I guess we should go.”
“What did you want me to talk to Lan about?” Shae asked. “If something’s really bothering you, I’ll mention it to him next time I see him. Is it something you’ve been hearing around the Academy?”
“It’s fine,” Anden said, shaking his head again. “You’re right; it’s not something he needs my opinion on. Don’t worry about it.” With deliberate joviality, he pushed back his chair and said, “This place was really good; the best meal I’ve had in months. You remember Academy food, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Whatever was gnawing at him, whatever he’d wanted to say, Shae could no longer press him for it. She let him lead their conversation back to lighter topics as they stood up and gathered their things. They walked to the nearest subway station with meager talk; Anden had gone a little quiet. When they got to the platform and the westbound train arrived, he gave her a brief embrace. “It was good to see you, Shae. Another time soon?” And then the doors were closing behind him and the long screeching cars were carrying him away. Shae watched the lights disappear down the yawning tunnel with the unshakable suspicion that she’d let her cousin down, missed some vital opportunity between them.
Instead of going home, she took the eastbound line and got off at the station that let out almost directly in front of the Janloon Temple of Divine Return. The street she ascended onto had recently been widened; she certainly couldn’t recall ever seeing so many lanes of traffic in front of the entrance. A six-story office building now butted up against the nearby public square; the side of its new parking structure displayed a billboard for Ygutanian ale. The Temple itself, however, looked exactly the same as Shae remembered, even more ancient and solemn at night than during the day, the carved stone pillars and massive clay roof flickering with deep shadows in the headlights of passing cars. Shae hadn’t been inside the Temple since she was a teenager, but tonight, feeling unsettled, she felt compelled to walk through its peaked green doors.
The Temple District contained not only the Temple of Divine Return, the oldest Deitist temple in the city, but also, two blocks away, the folk Shrine of Nimuma, and not much farther west, the Janloon First Church of One Truth. It was heartening to think of Kekonese, Abukei, and foreigners all worshipping within sight of one another, praying on common footing. The charter of the KJA allocated jade to the Deitist temples before any other group, and the clans gave charitably to the upkeep of religious buildings, but penitent oaths eschewed all worldly allegiances and gave sanctuary to all worshippers. Like the area around Wisdom Hall and the Triumphal Palace, the Temple District was neutral ground. Here the clans did not rule.
Shae passed through the quiet courtyard with its rows of devotional trees limned with the soft glow of moonlight, and into the dimly lit inner sanctum where the resident penitents sat in continuous three-hour shifts of meditative prayer. When she saw the circle of green-robed, motionless figures on the low platform at the front of the room, Shae’s step slowed. She wondered how deeply the penitents could Perceive her. Was it possible, with enough jade power, to go beyond sensing a person’s presence and the subtleties of their physical state, to see into their thoughts, into their very souls?
Shae chose one of the kneeling cushions and lowered herself onto it. She touched her head to the ground three times as was custom, then straightened up, her hands on her thighs, her eyes drawn again to the three men and three women pen
itents, their heads and eyebrows shaved, their eyes closed. Each sat cross-legged with hands resting on the top of a mounted jade orb the size of a small bowling ball. To be in contact with so much jade … Shae was reminded of the boulders she’d seen at the mine pit, the mad temptation to put her hand on one of them. The penitents must possess exceptional training and control. They could probably hear a fly landing on a cushion in the back of the room, or Perceive the people on the street outside, yet they were motionless, breathing slowly and steadily, their faces relaxed. At the end of the three hours, they would lift their hands from their stations, then stand up and glide away as others took their place. Each time, they were battered by jade rush and withdrawal. Shae knew what withdrawal was like and it made her cringe to imagine going through it in shifts, day and night, over and over again. The penitents believed it would bring them, and humanity, closer to godliness.
Shae let her eyes roam. Above the meditating circle hung the famous mural of Banishment and Return. The original artwork, painted hundreds of years ago, had been destroyed during the Shotarian occupation; what worshippers saw now was a skillful reconstruction based on memory and old photographs. Along the stone walls of the sanctum, fragrant incense candles burned in alcoves devoted to each of the major deities. The gentle trickle of water from the two wall fountains wound into the ambient road noise that intruded through the high open windows. At this late hour, the sanctum was nearly empty; there were only three other visitors kneeling on the green congregational cushions—an elderly man in the back corner, and three rows in front of Shae, a middle-aged woman with her grown daughter, both of them weeping and leaning on each other for support. Shae dropped her gaze to the floor in front of her own cushion, embarrassed to be witnessing their private family anguish. She felt awkward and hypocritical to have come to this holy place at all. She had not practiced the faith in years. She wasn’t even sure she could call herself a Deitist anymore.
The Kauls were nominally religious, of course. There was a sparsely used prayer room in the house, and on the major holidays during Shae’s childhood, the family had dressed in their best clothes and gone to the Temple. Members of their vast and powerful clan would mill about outside until the family car pulled up in front. Then there would be a flurry of saluting and respect-paying. At such times, Kaul Sen was at his best, greeting everyone with the same consideration and magnanimity whether they were the most prosperous Lantern Man or the most junior Finger. After an appropriate time, Shae’s grandfather would lead Shae’s mother, her brothers, her, (and later, Anden) inside, and the crowd of people would follow them in, and the whole sanctum would hum with their hushed voices and the throb of jade energy.
Kaul Sen was always front and center in the first row. His wife knelt on his left. To his right was Lan, then Hilo, then Shae, (then Anden, once he was a Kaul), then their mother. The service would drone on for hours. Learned Ones, the most senior lifelong penitents, would lead the assembled worshippers in the recitations of exaltation for the deities, and then guide the meditation prayers concerning the attainment of the Divine Virtues. During the chanting, Hilo would fidget and make faces, and Kaul Sen would glower at him. Shae’s legs would go numb. She concentrated on ignoring Hilo.
When she was older, she grew to find the services tolerable. Eventually, she realized the recitations were hopeful and calming. Deitism was a deeply Kekonese faith. There were different sects, from the nationalistic to the pacifistic, but one thing they all agreed upon was that jade was a link to Heaven, a divine but dangerous gift meant to be used piously and for good. Green Bones had to strive to be worthy people. Virtuous people. People, Shae believed, like her grandfather.
As a child, however, she didn’t ponder spirituality; she thought about how much longer the ordeal would go on. When she slumped or leaned or groaned, her mother prodded her upright. “Sit straight and be quiet,” she admonished. “Everyone is watching you.”
That had been her mother’s entire philosophy of life: Sit straight and be quiet. Everyone is watching you. Well, no one was watching Shae now. Without a jade aura, she might pass any of her old Academy classmates in the street and not even be recognized. When she’d gotten the phone call from the regional director of Standard & Croft Appliance, it had pleased her to know the job offer had been made in ignorance about her family. Yet she’d felt only a vaguely satisfied relief. Not happiness, not enthusiasm. She had a graduate degree, her own apartment, and a job offer from an international company, one that any of her business school classmates in Espenia would’ve congratulated her on. She was at last the independent, worldly, educated woman who’d risen above the savagery and insular nature of her jade- and testosterone-fueled family. She was supposed to feel free and unencumbered, not lonely and uncertain.
Shae bent her head. She wasn’t sure if she believed in the ancestor gods, or in the Banishment and Return, or even in the idea that jade came from Heaven. But every Green Bone knew that invisible energy could be felt, tapped, and harnessed. The world worked at a deeper level, and maybe if she concentrated hard enough, even without jade, she could communicate with it.
Guide me, she prayed. Give me a sign.
CHAPTER
31
Not According to Plan
Lan was in his study when the phone call came in from Hilo. It was on a line that was separate from the others. Only Hilo was aware of the number, and he knew to use it only for urgent matters that required an absolutely secure connection.
“I found the proof you wanted,” the Horn said, without preamble. “Doru’s been in regular contact with the Mountain. He’s been taking payment from them through secret accounts.”
Lan felt a heaviness descend. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Reluctance kept the Pillar silent for a second. “We’ll handle this tonight, then.” He looked at the clock. The workday was almost over; Doru would soon be leaving his office on Ship Street. There was no point in delaying—that would only spook the traitor and make the whole affair more painful for everyone.
He made the necessary arrangements with Hilo, then hung up and sat quietly and gloomily for a few minutes. The Weather Man had recently returned from Ygutan with information on the Mountain’s activities in that country, including details on its shine-producing facilities and business dealings. The Fist and the Finger that had been sent as Doru’s bodyguards had watched him closely and reported no suspicious behavior on the part of the Weather Man during the trip.
Doru was not stupid; he knew he was on weak footing in the clan, and with Kaul Sen’s lucidity growing more unreliable by the day, it appeared he’d decided to hunker down and behave. He’d even gamely swallowed the insult of Lan suspending the KJA in his absence without consulting him. Even though Lan had mentally prepared himself for Hilo’s call, the pleasant change in Doru’s behavior had made him think, for a short while, that perhaps he’d been wrong about the man’s compromised loyalties.
He called Woon into his office. When the Pillarman arrived, Lan stood up to greet him. “You’ve been a friend to me for many years, and a good Pillarman for the last three,” Lan said. “Starting tomorrow morning, you’ll be Weather Man of No Peak.”
Woon could not have been entirely shocked by the appointment, but he was still overcome with gratitude. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” he said, saluting deeply. “Thank you for this honor, Lan-jen. I won’t fail you.”
Lan embraced him and said, “I’ve given you more responsibility for the past several months, and you’ve done well. You’re ready.” In truth, he was not entirely confident in his statement; he still felt Woon was not quite up to the caliber of a superior Weather Man, but he was capable enough and Lan held no doubt of the man’s loyalty. In any case, there was no choice now; Woon had to step up to the task. “Not a word of this news to anyone, until after I give you permission tomorrow.”
“I understand, Lan-jen,” Woon said, with a proper somberness that showed he was perf
ectly aware he was coming into the role on account of another’s misfortune.
“These are difficult times for the clan; you’ll have to be prepared to take control of the Weather Man’s office quickly. Go home early tonight and get a good night’s rest, but let’s have a drink together first.” Lan took a bottle from his cabinet and poured them each a glass of hoji, which they enjoyed in muted celebration.
After Woon had reiterated his thanks and departed, Lan went through papers at his desk without truly paying attention to them. These days, he never felt as if he was at his best, either physically or mentally. The lingering weakness in his body heightened his constant anxiety over the threats to the clan, and now knowing that the next twenty-four hours would be particularly difficult made it hard to concentrate.
An envelope sitting in an untouched stack of mail caught Lan’s attention. When he extracted it, he saw that the return address was a postbox in Stepenland. A letter from Eyni. Lan fingered the edges of the seal, eager and deeply reluctant to break it open. Since the divorce, they’d exchanged only a few letters—cordial and businesslike, settling affairs, her telling him where to mail belongings, that sort of thing. But seeing her handwriting, hearing her voice in his head—it never failed to bring down his mood. With what he already had to deal with today, he sighed aloud.
She’d confessed the affair to him. One of Hilo’s men had seen her entering an apartment building with her lover, and knowing her secret was lost, Eyni had gone straight back to the house before the news could make its way through the Horn back to Lan. “Please don’t kill him,” she’d begged in a whisper, sitting on the edge of their bed with her hands squeezed between her knees. “He’s not Kekonese; he doesn’t understand our ways. I’ll stop seeing him and stay with you here, or I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again—whatever you tell me to do. But please don’t kill him. And don’t let Hilo kill him. That’s all I ask.” And it was this heartfelt plea, driven by her obviously genuine fear, that saddened Lan the most, because even after five years of marriage she obviously didn’t really know him at all.