The Kingdom of Gods

by N. K. Jemisin

  Before I could close the door, however, two people came up the steps, giggling together with the careless intimacy of old friends or new lovers. One of them turned her head, and I froze as our eyes met. Egan, one of my sisters — with her arm around the waist of some mortal. I assessed and dismissed him in a glance: richly dressed, middle-aged, drunk. I turned back to meet Egan’s frowning gaze.

  “Sieh.” She looked me up and down and smirked. “So the rumors are true; you’re back. Two thousand years wasn’t enough mortal flesh to satisfy you?”

  Once upon a time, Egan had been worshipped by a desert tribe in eastern Senm. She had taught them to play music that could bring rain, and they had sculpted a mountain face to make a statue of her in return. Those people were gone now, absorbed into the Amn during one of that tribe’s endless campaigns of conquest before the War. After the War, I had destroyed Egan’s statue myself, under orders from the Arameri to eliminate anything that blasphemed against Itempas, no matter how beautiful. And here stood the original in mortal flesh, with an Amn man’s hand on her breast.

  “I’m here by accident,” I said. “What’s your excuse?”

  She lifted a graceful eyebrow, set into a beautiful Amn face. It was a new face, of course. Before the War, she had looked more like the people of the desert tribe. Both of us ignored the mortal, who had by now begun trying to nibble at her neck.

  “Boredom,” she said. “Experience. The usual. During the War, it was the ones who’d spent the most time among mortalkind, defining their natures, who survived best.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not that you helped.”

  “I fought the madman who destroyed our family,” I said wearily. “And yes, I fought anyone who helped him. I don’t understand why everyone acts like I did a horrible thing.”

  “Because you — all of you who fought for Naha — lost yourselves in it,” Egan snapped, her body tensing so with fury that her paramour lifted his head to blink at her in surprise. “He infected you with his fury. You didn’t just kill those who fought; you killed anyone who tried to stop you. Anyone who pleaded for calm, if you thought they should’ve been fighting. Mortals, if they had the temerity to ask you for help. In the Maelstrom’s name, you act like Tempa was the only one who went mad that day!”

  I stared at her, fury ratcheting higher in me, and then, suddenly, it died. I couldn’t sustain it. Not while I stood there with my head still aching from alcohol and Ahad’s beating the day before, and my skin crawling as infinitesimal flecks of it died — some renewed, some lost forever, all of it slowly becoming dryer and less elastic until one day it would be nothing but wrinkles and liver spots. Egan’s lover touched her shoulder to try and soothe her, a pathetic gesture, but it seemed to have some effect, because she relaxed just a little and smiled ruefully at him, as if to apologize for destroying the mood. That made me think of Shahar, and how lonely I was, and how lonely I would be for the rest of my mercilessly brief life. It is very, very hard to sustain a two-thousand-year-old grudge amid all that.

  I shook my head and turned to go back into my room. But just before I could close the door, I heard Egan. “Sieh. Wait.”

  Warily I opened the door again. She was frowning at me. “Something’s different about you. What is it?”

  I shook my head again. “Nothing that should matter to you. Look …” It occurred to me suddenly that I would never have a chance to say this to her or to any of my siblings. I would die with so much unfinished business. It wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry, Egan. I know that means nothing after everything that’s happened. I wish …” So many wishes. I laughed a little. “Never mind.”

  “Are you going to be working here?” She smoothed a hand over her mortal man’s back; he sighed and leaned against her, happy again.

  “No.” Then I remembered Ahad’s plans. “Not … like this.” I gestured toward her with my chin. “No offense, but I’m not overly fond of mortals right now.”

  “Understandable, after all you’ve been through.” I blinked in surprise, and she smiled thinly. “None of us liked what Itempas did, Sieh. But by then, imprisoning you seemed the only sane choice he’d made, after so much insanity.” She sighed. “We all had a long time to think about how wrong that decision was. And then … well, you know how he is about changing his mind.”

  By which she meant he didn’t. “I know.”

  Egan glanced at her mortal, thoughtful, and then at me. Then at the mortal again. “What do you think?”

  The man looked surprised but pleased. He looked at me, and abruptly I realized what they were considering. I couldn’t help blushing, which made the man smile. “I think it would be nice,” he said.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I — er — thank you. I can see you mean well … but no.”

  Egan smiled then, surprising me, because there was more compassion in it than I’d ever expected to see. “How long since you’ve been with your own?” she asked, and it threw me. I couldn’t answer, because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made love to another god. Nahadoth, but that was not the same. He’d been diminished, stuffed into mortal flesh, desperate in his loneliness. That hadn’t been lovemaking; it had been pity. Before that, I thought it might have been —

  forget

  Zhakka, maybe? Selforine? Elishad — no, that had been ages ago, back when he’d still liked me. Gwn?

  It would be good, perhaps, to lose myself in another for a while. To let one of my kind take my soul where she would and give it comfort. Wouldn’t it?

  As I had done for Shahar.

  “No,” I said again, more softly. “Not now … not yet. Thank you.”

  She eyed me for a long moment, perhaps seeing more than I wanted her to see. Could she tell I was becoming mortal? Another reason not to accept her offer; she would know then. But I thought maybe that wasn’t the reason for her look. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, she still cared.

  “The offer stands for whenever you change your mind,” she said, and then flashed me a smile. “You might have to share, though.” Turning her smile on the mortal, she and he moved on, heading up to the next floor.

  My stirrings had been noticed. When I turned from watching Egan leave, the servant man who had quietly come upstairs bowed to me. “Lord Sieh? Lord Ahad has asked that you come to his office, when you’re ready.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “I know full well he didn’t ask.”

  The servant paused, then looked amused. “You probably don’t want to know the word he actually used in place of your name, either.”

  I followed the servant downstairs. During these evening hours, he explained quietly, only the courtesans were to be visible; this was necessary to maintain the illusion that the house contained nothing but beautiful creatures offering guiltless pleasure. The sight of servants reminded the clientele that the Arms of Night was a business. The sight of people like me — servants of a different kind, he did not say, but I could guess — reminded them that the business was one of many, whose collective owners had fingers in many pots.

  So he took me into what looked like a closet, which proved to lead into a dimly lit, wide back stairwell. Other servants and the occasional mortal courtesan moved back and forth along this, all of them smiling or greeting each other amiably in passing. (So different from servants in Sky.) When we reached the ground floor, the servant led me through a short convoluted passage that reminded me a bit of my dead spaces, and then opened a door that appeared to have been cut from the bare wooden wall. “In here, Lord Sieh.” Unsurprisingly, we were back in Ahad’s office. Surprisingly, he was not alone.

  The young woman who sat in the chair across from him would have been striking even if she hadn’t been beautiful. This was partly because she was Maroneh and partly because she was very tall for a woman, even sitting down. The roiling nimbus of black hair about her head only added to the inches by which she topped the chair’s high back. But she was also elegant of form and bearing, her presence accented by the faint fragrance of hiras-flower perfume. She
had dressed herself like a nobody, in a nondescript long skirt and jacket with worn old boots, but she carried herself like a queen.

  She had been smiling at something Ahad said when I entered. As I stepped into the room, her eyes settled on me with a disconcertingly intent gaze, and her smile faded to something cooler and more guarded. I had the sudden acute feeling of being sized up, and found wanting.

  The servant bowed and closed the door behind me. I folded my arms and watched her, waiting. I was not so far gone that I didn’t know power when I smelled it.

  “What are you?” I asked. “Arameri by-blow? Scrivener? Noble-woman in disguise so you can visit a brothel in peace?”

  She did not respond. Ahad sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Glee is part of the group that owns and supports the Arms of Night, Sieh,” he said. “She’s come to see you, in fact — to make certain you won’t jeopardize the investment she and her partners have already made. If she doesn’t like you, you ridiculous ass, you don’t stay.”

  This made me frown in confusion. “Since when does a godling do a mortal’s bidding? Willingly, that is.”

  “Since godlings and mortals began to have mutual goals,” said the woman. Her voice was low and rolling, like warm ocean waves, yet her words were so precisely enunciated that I could have cut paper with them. Her smile was just as sharp when I turned to her. “I imagine such arrangements were quite common before the Gods’ War. In this case, the relationship is less supervisory and more … partnership.” She glanced at Ahad. “Partners should agree on important decisions.”

  He nodded back, with only a hint of his usual sardonic smile. Did she know he would gut-knife her in a moment if it benefitted him more than cooperation did? I hoped so and held out my hands to let her get a good look at me. “Well? Do you like me?”

  “If it were a matter of looks, the answer would be no.” I dropped my arms in annoyance and she smiled, though I didn’t think she’d been kidding. “You don’t suit my tastes at all. Fortunately, looks are not the means by which I judge value.”

  “She has a job for you,” Ahad said. He swiveled in his chair to face me and leaned back, propping one foot on the desk. “A test, of sorts. To see if your unique talents can be put to some use.”

  “What the hells kind of test?” I was affronted by the very idea.

  The woman — Glee? oddly cheerful for a Maroneh woman’s name — lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow in a way that felt inexplicably familiar. “I would like to send you to meet Usein Darr, scion of the current baron. Are you, perhaps, familiar with recent political events in the North?”

  I tried to remember the things I’d overheard or been told while in Sky. But then, the image of Nevra and Criscina Arameri’s bodies came to mind.

  “You want me to find out what this new magic is all about,” I said. “These masks.”

  “No. We know what they are.”

  “You do?”

  Glee folded her hands, and the sense of familiarity grew. I had never met her before; I was certain of it. Very strange.

  “The masks are art,” she said. “Specifically derived from a Mencheyev-Darren method of prayer that long predates the Bright, which they kept up in secret to avoid persecution. Once, they danced their exhortations to and praises of the gods, with each dancer donning a mask in order to act out specific, contextualized roles. Each dance required certain interactions of these roles and a common understanding of the archetypes represented. The Mother, for example, symbolized love, but also justice; it was actually a representation of death. The Sorrowful was worn by an angry, prideful person, who would eventually commit great wrongs and come to regret what they had done. Do you understand?”

  I fought to stifle a yawn. “Yeah, I get the idea. Someone takes an archetype, mixes it with common symbology, carves it out of wood from the World Tree using the blood of a slaughtered infant or something —”

  “The blood of a godling, actually.”

  I fell silent in surprise. Glee smiled.

  “We don’t know whose. Perhaps just godsblood bought off the street; the specific originator of the blood may not matter, just its inherent power. We’re looking into that as well. And I don’t know about wood from the Tree, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” She sobered. “Finding out how the masks work isn’t what I want you to do in Darr. We’re less concerned with the tool, more concerned with the wielder. I would like you to approach Usein Darr with an offer from our group.”

  I could not help perking up. There was great potential for mischief in any negotiation. “You want their magic?”

  “No. We want peace.”

  I started. “Peace?”

  “Peace serves the interests of both mortals and gods,” Ahad said when I looked at him to see if this Glee was a madwoman.

  “I have to agree.” I frowned at him. “But I didn’t think you did.”

  “I have always done whatever makes my life easier, Sieh.” He folded his hands calmly. “I am not Nahadoth, as you’re so fond of pointing out. I’m rather fond of predictability and routine.”

  “Yes. Well.” I shook my head and sighed. “But mortals are part Nahadoth, and it sounds like the ones up north would rather live in chaos than endure the Arameri’s world order any longer. It’s not our place to tell this woman she’s wrong, if she’s the head of it.”

  “Usein Darr is not the sole force behind the northern rebellion,” Glee said. “And it must be called a rebellion at this point. Darr is now one of five northern nations that have ceased to tithe to the White Halls within its borders, though they instead offer schooling, care for the elderly, and so forth to their citizens directly. That keeps the Nobles’ Consortium from censuring them for failure to govern — though since no High Northern noble has attended a Consortium session in over a year, it hardly matters. The whole of High North has, effectively, refused to recognize the Consortium’s authority.” She sighed. “The only thing they haven’t done is raise an army, probably because that would bring the Arameri’s wrath down on them. Everything but open defiance — but still, defiance. And Darr is, if not its head, most certainly its heart.”

  “So what am I to offer this Darre, then, if her heart’s set on freeing the world from Arameri tyranny? A goal I don’t at all disagree with, mind you.” I considered. “I suppose I could kill her.”

  “No, you could not.” Glee did not raise her voice, but then she didn’t have to. Those paper-cutting words suddenly became knives, sharp enough to flense. “As I said, Usein Darr is not the sole motivator of these rebels. Killing her would only martyr her and encourage the rest.”

  “Besides that,” said Ahad, “those godlings who dwell in the mortal realm do so on the sufferance of Lady Yeine. She has made it clear that she values mortal independence and is watching closely to see whether our presence proves detrimental. And please remember that she was once Darre. For all we know, Usein is some relative of hers.”

  I shook my head. “She’s not mortal anymore. Such considerations are meaningless to her now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I paused, suddenly uncertain.

  “Well, then.” Ahad steepled his fingers. “Let’s kill Usein and see. Should be a delight, pissing off someone who had an infamous temper before she became the goddess of death.”

  I rolled my eyes at him but did not protest. “Fine, then,” I said. “What is my goal in Darr?”

  Glee shrugged, which obliquely surprised me because she hadn’t seemed like the kind to be that casual. “Find out what Usein wants. If it’s within our power, offer it.”

  “How the hells do I know what’s within you people’s power?”

  Ahad made a sound of exasperation. “Just assume anything and promise nothing. And lie, if you must. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

  Mortalfucking son of a demon. “Fine,” I said, slipping my hands into my pockets. “When do I go?”

  I should have known better than to say that, because Ahad sat a litt
le straighter, and his eyes turned completely black. Then he smiled with more than a bit of his old cruelty and said, “You realize I’ve never done this before.”

  I tried not to show my alarm. “It’s not much different from any other magic. A matter of will.” But if his will faltered …

  “Ah, but, Sieh, I would so happily will you out of existence.”

  Better to let him see my fear. He had always cultivated that in the old days; he liked to feel powerful. So I licked my lips and met his eyes. “I thought you didn’t care about me. Didn’t hate me, didn’t love me.”

  “Which compounds the problem. Perhaps I don’t care enough to make sure I do this right.”

  I took a deep breath, glancing at Glee. See what you’re dealing with? But she showed no reaction, her beautiful face as serene as before. She would have made a good Arameri.

  “Perhaps not,” I said, “but if you do care at all about … craftsmanship, or whatever, then could you please be sure to just wipe me out of existence? And not, instead, spread my innards thinly across the face of reality? I’ve seen that happen before; it looks painful.”

  Ahad laughed, but a feeling that had been in the air — an extra measure of heaviness and danger that had been thickening around us — eased. “I’ll take care, then. I do like being neat.”

  There was a flicker. I felt myself disassembled and pushed out of the world. Despite Ahad’s threats, he was actually quite gentle about it. Then a new setting melted together around me.

  Arrebaia, the largest city amid the collection of squabbling tribes that had grown together and decided to fight others instead of each other. I could remember when they had not been Darre, just Somem and Lapri and Ztoric, and even further back when they had been families, and before that when they had been wandering bands lacking names of any kind. No more, however. I stood atop a wall near the city’s heart and privately marveled at how much they’d grown. The immense, tangled jungle that dominated this part of High North shone on the distant horizon, as green as the dragons that flew through other realms and the color of my mother’s eyes when she was angry. I could smell its humidity and violent, fragile life on the wind. Around me spread a maze of streets and temples and statues and gardens, all rising in stony tiers toward the city’s center, all carpeted in the paler green of the ornamental grass that the Darre cultivated. It made their city glow like an emerald in the slanting afternoon light.