Jade City

by Fonda Lee

  Hilo tuned out after a few minutes. He moved his lips to echo the chants in all the appropriate places, but he had never had faith in things he could not see or feel with his own formidable senses. Deitism, indeed all religion, made a complicated story out of truths that were simple but hard for people to accept.

  Jade was a mysterious but natural substance, not a divine gift or the remnants of some heavenly palace. The Kekonese were genetically fortunate, like the first monkeys with opposable thumbs, but that was all; people weren’t descended from the gods, and they wouldn’t return to being gods. People were people. The power of jade didn’t make them better or closer to godliness; it just made them more powerful.

  Hilo studied the somber crowd. It was populated with influential Lantern Men—business owners, corporate executives, judges, politicians. They were here with white envelopes of special tribute money to defray the cost of Lan’s funeral and to publicly proclaim their continued allegiance to the clan. At this point it was a gesture, not a promise. The true strength of their commitment would be revealed over the coming weeks and months. It depended on what happened next, on which way the clan war turned.

  Hilo glanced left and right, at his family arrayed around him at the front of the gathered mourners. Today he was putting on a display for the clan—Shae as Weather Man, the fearsome Maik brothers as Horn and First Fist, his fiancée, and his talented teenage cousin, all standing together. A confident public declaration that the younger generation of No Peak was still strong, that it would ensure the clan had a future. He hoped that, for now, it would be enough.

  The sermon ended with several more murmured refrains of let the gods recognize him and then everyone faced the coffin and watched as it was lowered into the earth. Hilo would have to stand and accept the condolences of lingering well-wishers for some time. He wished he could lie down on the ground and pass out instead. Shae, who’d kept vigil with him, stood erect, staring ahead, one hand supporting their mother’s arm. Kaul Sen looked slumped and lost in his chair. People began to mingle and converse in hushed tones. It was all extremely depressing.

  “Here comes Chancellor Son,” Shae whispered at him.

  The ruddy, overweight politician approached and placed his white envelope tactfully in the collection dish by the grave. “Kaul-jen,” he said gravely, turning and raising his hands in a salute but not, Hilo noticed, holding it for long or tilting into any semblance of a bow. “My heart is unspeakably heavy for your loss.”

  “Thank you for being here to mourn with us, Chancellor,” Hilo said.

  “Your brother wasn’t Pillar for nearly as long as he deserved. He was a reasonable and wise leader who always thought of the needs of the country and never forgot a friendship shown to the clan. I never had anything less than the greatest respect for Kaul Lan. He will be greatly missed.”

  “He will,” Hilo agreed, making the effort to keep his face neutral, for it could not be clearer that the chancellor was pressing a message upon him and was already, with his shrewd gaze, making unfavorable comparisons between the old Pillar and the new. Son conveyed himself with the smooth words of a diplomat, but Hilo didn’t need Perception to sense that the man’s wariness and ambivalence emanated all down the line of Lantern Men here today. They relied on the clan for protection and patronage, and when they looked at Hilo, they saw his obvious youth and violent reputation.

  After today, Shae would tally the monetary contributions and then he’d have a better idea of where he stood, how much he needed to worry. As much as he wanted to take comfort in what Wen had said, Hilo knew that it didn’t matter how many loyal Fists he had; if he lost the support of the Lantern Men, if they began to defect to the Mountain, then he would lose the clan. He turned, with reluctance, to politely greet the next one who followed on Son’s heels to deposit his envelope and pay respect.

  When at last the line of guests had finally thinned and the crowd began to disperse, Anden came up. “Hilo-jen,” he said tentatively, “I have to talk to you.” The teen’s face was contorted, as if he were in physical pain. When he spoke, his words were rushed, his expression that of a man pleading forgiveness for some terrible crime. “There’s something I didn’t tell you when I should have. If only—if only I’d—”

  Hilo drew his distressed cousin aside. “What is it, Andy?”

  “Lan had me run errands for him before he died. He had me go to this place and pick up packages and bring them to him without telling anyone.” Anden’s agonized whisper was wound as tight as a wire. “Lan was acting strange when I saw him last. Angry, not like himself, and his aura was different, too sharp. The packages—they were vials, Hilo. Vials of—”

  Hilo seized the lapel of Anden’s suit and pulled him forward. He gave a single, sharp shake of his head. “Don’t say it.” His voice was low and angry.

  Anden fell silent and stared at him, frozen.

  Hilo’s expression was chiseled from stone. He leaned in and spoke near Anden’s ear. “Lan was the first of this family, the Pillar of our clan. The Mountain killed him, and I’m going to make sure they pay for it. And no matter what, I won’t have anyone sullying my brother’s memory or casting doubt on the strength of the family. Ever.” His grip on Anden’s lapel tightened as he drew back enough to lock gazes. “What you just said to me now—have you said it to anyone else, at school?”

  “No,” Anden said, eyes wide. “No one.”

  “Don’t ever mention it again.”

  Anden throat moved but no sound emerged. He nodded.

  Hilo’s fingers loosened and his fierce expression melted. He straightened out the front of Anden’s suit jacket and put his hands on the teen’s shoulders. “It eats at me too, Andy—what else I could’ve done. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve had guards following him that night. It doesn’t matter now; what happened has happened, and we can’t change it. It wasn’t your fault, not in the slightest.”

  Anden did not look at him; he swiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Hilo hated seeing him riddled with sorrow and guilt like this. He asked softly, “Do you need some time off? Do you want me to talk to the Academy?”

  Anden shook his head at once. “No, I want to graduate on time.”

  “That’s good. Lan would’ve wanted that.” Hilo tried to give his cousin a comforting smile, but Anden still wouldn’t look up. The teen nodded and pulled away, retreating toward some Academy classmates standing with their families a short distance away. Hilo let out a tired breath as he watched his cousin go. He hadn’t meant to speak so harshly, but Anden would be taking oaths soon, coming into the clan at a time of war—it was important that he understand. In a Green Bone clan, legacy was crucial. Lan’s authority had rested on the legacy of his grandfather and father, and Hilo’s would rest also on his brother’s. The clan was like a body: The Lantern Men were skin and muscles, the Fists and Luckbringers like heart and lungs, but the Pillar was the spine. There could be no weakness in the spine, or the body could not stand, it could not fight. Lan had been ambushed by their enemies and had fallen as a warrior—there must never be any doubt of that.

  Hilo said to Tar, “Get the rest of these people out of here. I want to be alone.”

  Tar and Kehn ushered the remaining guests gently but firmly back down to the cemetery gates. Shae bowed her head for a long moment. Her lips moved as if she was saying something silently to Lan’s coffin. Then she turned and walked away, guiding their mother’s slow steps. Wen came up to Hilo and put a questioning hand on his arm. “Go with your brothers,” he told her. “I’ll follow.” She did as he asked.

  Kaul Sen remained by the open grave with Kyanla standing patiently behind his wheelchair. “He was a good boy,” the old man said finally. “A good son.”

  Suddenly, Kaul Sen began to weep. He cried with the silent, ugly face of someone who was embarrassed to do so, who thought tears were for the feeble. Kyanla tried to comfort him, handing him tissues from her purse. “Ah there, there, Kaul-jen, it’s okay to cry. We’r
e all human, we all need to cry to feel better, even the Pillar.” Kaul Sen took no notice of her.

  Hilo looked away. Seeing the old man weep made his chest heavy, as heavy as lead. His grandfather was an insufferable tyrant, but his life had been more tragic than anyone deserved. All his military and civic achievements, public accolades, and decades of rule over the family and the clan could not compensate for the fact that he’d buried his only son, and now his eldest grandson.

  When his grandfather had broken down in dementia and been sedated days ago, Hilo had instructed Dr. Truw to remove and lock away some of the old man’s jade. A few stones from his belt to start. The doctor said it would help; it would make Grandda less likely to hurt himself or others, it would dull his senses, slow his metabolism, make him calmer. When he awoke, Kaul Sen did not seem to even notice his missing jade—a sad sign in itself—but Hilo did. The Torch’s once indomitable aura was already a shadow of what it used to be; loss of jade only made that more apparent. Seeing him like this now, Hilo knew with abrupt certainty that his grandfather did not have long to live. There would be another Kaul family funeral soon—though he wasn’t going to wager on whose it would be.

  Hilo knew he was the least loved of all his grandfather’s progeny, but he made himself go to Kaul Sen’s side. “It’s all right, Grandda,” he said quietly. “You made the clan stronger than any one of us.” He crouched next to the wheelchair. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of things. I’m not Du or Lan, but I’m still a Kaul. I’ll make things right, I promise.”

  He didn’t know if his grandfather heard him or cared, but the old man stopped weeping and dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes. Hilo had Kyanla push him back to the car.

  Hilo stood alone by Lan’s grave at last. And even though he didn’t believe in Heaven or ghosts, there were things that needed to be said.

  “Your jade, brother. I had it sewn under the lining of the coffin. No one took it from you, and no one else will ever wear it. It’s yours.” He was silent for a minute. “I know you don’t think I can do this, but you didn’t leave me any choice, did you? So I’m going to prove you wrong. I won’t let it happen; I won’t let No Peak fall. If there is an afterlife, when you see me again, you tell me if I kept the oaths I made to you.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  The Weather Man’s Pardon

  Shae went to the Weather Man’s house, where two men kept Yun Dorupon under constant guard. The two men were junior Fingers who would be no match for a senior Green Bone, but they did not need to be, not when their captive no longer possessed any jade. One man stayed by the front door to keep people away, and one stayed inside to keep Doru from getting out. They carried handguns only, not even their talon knives, so their prisoner had no chance of getting his hands on a jade-hilted weapon.

  When Shae approached, the sentry said, “Hilo-jen said no one’s to go in.” Even these junior Fingers referred to Hilo in the familiar, as if they were his personal friends.

  “This is the Weather Man’s house,” Shae said. “I’m the Weather Man, so this is my residence. The man in there is a temporary guest, and I intend to speak to him.” When the Finger still hesitated, Shae said, “It’d be better if you were to simply report me to my brother rather than get in my way.”

  The Finger considered his position relative to hers and let her in. The inside of the house was dark even in the middle of the morning. All the blinds were shut, and the ceiling fan circulated warm, stuffy air that smelled of cloves and musty sweaters. Doru did not throw anything away; the house was filled with uncoordinated furniture, houseplants, and all manner of random gifts accumulated from decades as Weather Man—statuettes and little ornate boxes, colorful vases and carved paperweights, throw rugs and ebony coasters. In one corner of the living room, by the window, the other guard sat in a chair, looking bored. Doru was lying stretched out lengthwise on the sofa, a wet, folded towel over his eyes. “Is that you, Shae-se?”

  “Doru-je—” Shae caught herself. “Hello, Uncle Doru.” The former Weather Man was no longer entitled to the suffix he’d held most of his life.

  Doru lifted the towel from his eyes and shifted his lanky limbs, sitting up slowly and gingerly, as if he was unfamiliar with his body and suspicious it might break. Without his jade, he looked gaunt and creaky. The former Weather Man licked dry, thin lips and squinted at Shae, as if making sure it was her. “Ah,” he breathed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as if already exhausted merely from moving. “How did you manage, Shae-se? Going through this by yourself, so far from home?”

  She had been young and healthy, better able to endure the headaches, crushing fatigue, and panic attacks of jade withdrawal. Doru was nearly as elderly as her grandfather. She couldn’t help wondering if a quick death wouldn’t have been a kinder fate for him than this humiliating ordeal. “It gets easier, after the first two weeks,” she told him.

  “I know, Shae-se.” Doru sighed. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been jade-stripped and imprisoned. At least this time I’m in the comfort of my home instead of a Shotarian torture cell.” He moved his fingers in a no matter gesture. “I don’t expect it to last as long, though. Come closer; I can’t hear you that well anymore. Sit down and do tell me why I’m still alive.”

  Shae picked her way over to the armchair and sat down across from the man. “Lan’s funeral, Uncle,” she said. “It was yesterday.”

  Water gathered under Doru’s papery eyelids and slipped out the corners of his eyes, tracing thin tracks down the sides of his face, like estuaries seeking a route through a landscape of wrinkles. “Why him? He was always such a good, thoughtful man, a dutiful son. Ah, Lan-se, why were you so foolish? So good, and so foolish?” Accusingly, “You could have let me come to the funeral. Hilo could have given me that one courtesy.”

  “You know he couldn’t have.”

  “How did it happen? Poor Lan-se, how did he die?”

  “He was ambushed on his way home from the Lilac Divine. Drowned in the harbor.” Shae was surprised she could say the words.

  Doru shook his head emphatically. “That can’t be. It must have been a terrible mistake. That was never the plan, no, never.”

  A chill anger pumped through Shae’s veins. “Why did you betray us, Doru? After so many years, why?”

  “I only ever did what I thought was best. What Kaul-jen himself would want. I would never betray him, for anything or anyone.” His face sagged with regret. “Not even his own grandchildren.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Are you saying Grandda wanted you to conspire with the Mountain against us?”

  “A good Weather Man,” Doru said, “can read his Pillar like his own mind. Kaul-jen never had to ask me to do this thing or that, he never had to say, ‘Doru-jen, what should I do?’ I always knew what aim he was moving toward, even before he saw it clearly himself. If he said, ‘We must capture this town,’ I knew he meant to disrupt the shipping lines. If he said, ‘We should talk to so-and-so,’ I knew he meant to buy them out, and I should begin to make the preparations. I saw and did the things Kaul-jen did not ask. Do you understand, Shae-se?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Kaul-jen only ever made a few mistakes in his life that he regretted. When he and Ayt were partners, the One Mountain Society was strong—strong enough to liberate a nation! You were born after the end of the war, Shae-se; you cannot appreciate or understand what that means. It was peace, not war, that divided us into clans, turned us into rivals for territory and business and jade. Your grandfather, I can tell he is heartbroken that he and Ayt would leave such a legacy of strife. I tried to fix what he wished he could fix. I tried to bring the clans together again.”

  “By covering for the Mountain while they mined jade behind our backs? By colluding with their Weather Man to sell us out? I examined the KJA and Treasury records. You were lining your own pockets.”

  “What do I need more money for, at my age?” His long face wrinkled in
disdain. “Ayt’s daughter means to combine the clans. She will do it peacefully, or she will do it by force. She is a stronger, more ambitious, more cunning Pillar than Lan ever was—Heaven forgive me for saying so. Many times, I tried to convince him to negotiate for a merger, but he refused to consider it. He had pride riding on one shoulder and the voice of that wolf Hilo on the other.”

  Doru’s voice was fading, as if his energy was leaving him. “I agreed to obscure the Mountain’s mining activities in exchange for money—money I put back into the clan. I strengthened our position in businesses where we’re strong—real estate, construction, hospitality—and began to divest out of areas where the Mountain held the advantage—gambling, manufacturing, retail, and so on. They would grow wealthier and more powerful, but we would be stronger as well, a better fit, two pieces of a broken puzzle—Lan would see reason and realize a merger was the only peaceful, sensible solution.”

  Shae closed her eyes for a long moment. “Did you know they would try to kill Hilo? That they would murder Lan?”

  Doru’s head moved back and forth on the sofa cushions. “Not Lan, no—let the gods recognize him. Hilo, I could do nothing about him. He was working at cross-purposes, stealing back the businesses I surrendered to the Mountain, stalking the borders and escalating fights. Fists are like sharks, you know, it takes only a little blood in the water to stir them to a frenzy. The feud on the streets grew like fire; the Mountain became impatient. I knew they would decide Hilo had to die. I knew this, but I said and did nothing. So it doesn’t trouble me that it’s Hilo who will put me to death soon.”

  When Shae looked at Doru, at the mottled, vellum-like skin of his hands and neck, she thought of her friend Paya, who she hadn’t spoken to in years. It wasn’t Paya’s love of music, her skill with numbers, or her talent in Lightness that Shae remembered. It was the shock of a dozen filthy photographs spilling from a manila envelope that wormed into her mind. Shae could not bring herself to speculate on what else she’d find if she searched this cluttered house. Doru had been a presence in the Kaul family for all of Shae’s life, he’d been like an uncle to the Torch’s grandchildren, but he’d abused his position as Weather Man in so many ways even before he’d begun secretly undermining Lan. Whatever pity she could find for Doru now, she didn’t disagree with what Hilo would surely say: “He went against the clan. A Weather Man doesn’t go against the Pillar. He has to die; there’s nothing to be done about it.”