The Kingdom of Gods

by N. K. Jemisin

  “The proof of what?” he asked, stopping before me. His voice was light, teasing, as if it had been only a day since we’d seen each other and not an aeon.

  “My mortality,” I said. “I wouldn’t have seen you otherwise.” I smiled, but I knew he would hear the truth in my voice. He had abandoned me for mortalkind, after all. I’d gotten over it; I was a big boy. But I would not pretend it hadn’t happened.

  Nsana let out a little sigh and walked past me, stopping on the edge of a cliff. “Gods can dream, too, Sieh. You could have found me here anytime.”

  “I hate dreaming.” I scuffed the ground with a foot.

  “I know.” He put his hands on his hips, his expression frankly admiring as he gazed over the dreamscape I’d created. This one was not merely a memory, as my dream of the gods’ realm had been. “A shame, too. You do it so well.”

  “I don’t do anything. It’s a dream.”

  “Of course you do. It comes from you, after all. All of this” — he gestured expansively around us, and the dreamscape rippled with the passage of his hands —“is you. Even the fact that you let me come here is your doing, because you certainly never allowed it before.” He lowered his arms and looked at me. “Not even during the years you spent as an Arameri slave.”

  I sighed, tired, even asleep. “I don’t want to think right now, Nsa. Please.”

  “You never want to think, you silly boy.” Nsana came over, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. I put up a token resistance, but he knew it was token, and after a moment I sighed and let my head rest on his chest. Then it was not his chest — it was his shoulder — because suddenly I was taller than him and not a child anymore. When I lifted my head in surprise, Nsana let out a long sigh and cupped my face in his hands so that he could kiss me. He did not share himself with me that way because there was no point; I already stood encompassed within him, and he within me. But I did remember other kisses, and other existences, when innocence and dreams had been two halves of the same coin. Back then, I’d thought we would spend the rest of eternity together.

  The dreamscape changed around us. When we parted, Nsana sighed, the fabric patterns of his face shifting into new lines. They hinted at words, but meant nothing.

  “You’re not a child anymore, Sieh,” he said. “Time to grow up now.”

  We stood on the streets of the First City. Everything that mortals will or might become is foreshadowed in the gods’ realm, where time is an accessory rather than a given, and the essences of the Three mingle in a different balance depending on their whims and moods. Because Itempas had been banished and diminished, only the barest remnant of his order held sway now. The city, which had been recognizable just a few years before, was only barely so now, and it shifted every few moments in some cycle we could not fathom. Or perhaps that was because this was a dream? With Nsana, there was no telling.

  So he and I walked along cobblestoned streets that turned into smoothly paved sidewalks, stepping onto moving metal pathways now and again as they grew from the cobblestones and then melted away, as if tired. Pathways of mushrooms grew and withered in our wake. Each block, some of which were circular, held squat buildings of painted wood, and stately domes of hewn marble, and the occasional thatched hut. Curious, I peered into one of these buildings through its slanted window. It was dim, full of hulking shapes too distorted and uncomfortable-looking to be furniture, its walls decorated with blank paintings. Something within moved toward the window, and I backed up quickly. I wasn’t a god anymore. Had to be careful.

  We were shadowed now and again by great towers of glass and steel that floated, cloudlike, a few meters off the ground. One of them followed us for two blocks, like a lonely puppy, before it finally turned with a foggy groan and drifted down another avenue. No one walked with us, though we felt the presence of others of our brethren, some watching, some uncaring. The City attracted them because it was beautiful, but I could not understand how they endured it. What was a city without inhabitants? It was like life without breathing, or friendship without love; what was the point?

  But there was something in the distance that caught my attention, and Nsana’s, too. Deep in the City’s heart, taller and more still than the floating skyscrapers: a smooth, shining white tower without windows or doors. Even amid the jumbled, clashing architecture of that place, it was clear: this tower did not belong.

  I stopped and frowned up at it, as a mushroom taller than Nsa spread its ribbed canopy over our heads. “What is that?”

  Nsana willed us closer, folding the city until we stood at the tower’s feet. This confirmed there were no doors, and I curled my lip as I realized the thing was made of daystone. A little piece of Sky amid the dreams of gods: an abomination.

  “You have brought this here,” said Nsana.

  “The hells I did.”

  “Who else would have, Sieh? I touch the mortal realm only through its dreams, and it does not touch me. It has never marked me.”

  I threw a sharp look at him. “Marked? Is that how you think of me?”

  “Of course, Sieh. You are.” I stared at him, wondering whether to feel hurt or angry or something else entirely, and Nsana sighed. “As I am marked by your abandonment. As we are all marked by the War. Did you think the horrors you’ve endured would simply slough away when you became a free god? They have become part of you.” But before I could muster a furious retort, Nsana frowned up at the tower again. “There is more to this, though, than just bad experiences.”

  “What?”

  Nsana reached out, laying a hand on the surface of the white tower. It glowed like Sky at night beneath his touch, becoming translucent — and within the tower, suddenly, I could see the shadow of some vast, twisting shape. It filled the tower, brown and indistinct, like ordure. Or a cancer.

  “There’s a secret here,” said Nsana.

  “What, in my dreams?”

  “In your soul.” He looked at me, thoughtful. “It must be old, to have grown so powerful. Important.”

  I shook my head, but even as I did so, I doubted.

  “My secrets are small, silly things,” I said, trying to ignore that worm of doubt. “I kept the bones of the Arameri I killed in a stash beneath the family head’s bedroom. I piss in the punch bowl at weddings. I change directions on maps so they make no sense. I stole some of Nahadoth’s hair once, just to see if I could, and it almost ate me alive —”

  He looked hard at me. “You have childish secrets and adult ones, Sieh, because you have never been as simple as you claim or wish to be. And this one —” He slapped the tower, making a sound that echoed from the empty streets around us. “This one is something you’ve kept even from yourself.”

  I laughed, but it was uneasy. “I can’t keep a secret from myself. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “When have you ever made sense? It’s something you’ve forgotten.”

  “But I —”

  forget

  I faltered, silent. It was cold all of a sudden. I began shivering, though Nsana — who wore only his hair — was fine. But his eyes had narrowed suddenly, and abruptly I realized he’d heard that odd little burp of my thoughts.

  “That was Enefa’s voice,” he said.

  “I don’t …” But it had been. It had always been Mother whispering in my soul, nudging my thoughts away from this place when they got too close. Her voice: forget.

  “Something you’ve forgotten,” Nsana said softly, “but perhaps not by your own will.”

  I frowned, torn between confusion and alarm and fear. And above us, in the white tower, the dark thing shifted with a low rumbling groan. There was the faintest sound of stone shifting, and when I looked up at the tower, I spied a series of fine, barely noticeable cracks in its daystone surface.

  Something I had forgotten. Something Enefa had made me forget. But Enefa was gone now, and whatever she had done to me was beginning to wear off.

  “Gods and mortals and demons in between.” I rubb
ed my face. “I don’t want to deal with this, Nsa. My life is hard enough right now.”

  Nsana sighed, and his sigh transformed the City into a playground of delights and horrors. A high, steep slide ended in a pit of chewing, flensing, disembodied teeth. The chains on a nearby swing set were wet with oil and blood. I could not see the trap in the seesaw, but I was certain there was one. It was too innocent-looking — like me, when I am up to something.

  “Time for you to grow up,” he said again. “You ran away from me rather than do it before. Now you have no choice.”

  “I had no choice before!” I rounded on him. “Growing old will kill me!”

  “I didn’t say grow old, you fool. I said grow up.” Nsana leaned close, his breath redolent of honey and poisonous flowers. “Just because you’re a child doesn’t mean you have to be immature, for the Maelstrom’s sake! I have known you long and well, my brother, and there’s another secret you hide from yourself, only you do a terrible job so everyone knows: you’re lonely. You’re always lonely, even though you’ve left more lovers in your wake than you can count. You never want what you have, only what you can’t!”

  “That’s not —”

  He cut me off ruthlessly. “You loved me before I learned my nature. While I needed you. Then when I found my strength and became whole, when I no longer needed you but still wanted you —” He paused suddenly, his jaw flexing as he choked back words too painful to speak. I stared back at him, rendered speechless. Had he really felt this way, all this time? Was that how he’d seen it? I had always thought he had left me. I shook my head in wonder, in denial.

  “You cannot be one of the Three,” he whispered. I flinched. “It’s long past time you accepted that. You want someone you can never leave behind. But think, Sieh. Not even the Three are like that. Itempas betrayed all of us and himself. Enefa grew selfish, and Nahadoth has always been fickle. This new one, Yeine, she’ll break your heart, too. Because you want something that she can never give you. You want perfection.”

  “Not perfection,” I blurted, and then felt ill as I realized I had confirmed everything else he’d said. “Not … perfection. Just …” I licked my lips, ran my hands through my hair. “I want someone who is mine. I … I don’t even know …” I sighed. “The Three, Nsana, they are the Three. Three facets of the same diamond, whole even when separate. No matter how far apart they drift, they always, always, come back together eventually. That closeness …”

  It was what Shahar had with Deka, I realized: a closeness that few outsiders would ever comprehend or penetrate. More than blood-deep — soul-deep. She hadn’t seen him for half her life and she’d still betrayed me for him.

  What would it be like to have that kind of love for myself?

  I wanted it, yes. Gods, yes. And I did not really want it from Yeine or Nahadoth or Itempas, because they had each other and it would have been wrong to interfere with that. But I wanted something like it.

  Nsana sighed. Here in my dream, he was supreme; he could know my every thought and whim if he wanted, without even trying. So of course he knew now that he had never been enough for me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, very softly.

  “You certainly are.” Looking sour, Nsana turned away for a moment, contemplating his own thoughts. Then he sighed and faced me again.

  “Fine,” he said. “You need help, and I’m not so churlish that I’d ignore your need. So I’ll try to find out more about this secret of yours. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be dead before you figure it out.”

  I lowered my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, Sieh.” He gestured, and I followed this movement to see a little patch of flowers on one side of the playground. Amid dozens of black daisies that bobbed and swayed in the cool breeze, a single white-petaled flower stood utterly still. It was not a daisy. I had seen such a flower before: an altar-skirt rose, one of a rare variety bred in High North. The white tower of my secret, repeating itself across theme and form.

  “This secret will hurt when it is finally revealed,” he said.

  I nodded slowly, my eyes on that single frightening flower. “Yes. I can see that.”

  The hand on my shoulder caught me by surprise, and I turned to see that Nsana’s mood had changed again: he was no longer exasperated with me, but something closer to pitying. “So many troubles,” he said. “Impending death, our parents’ madness, and I see someone has broken your heart recently, too.”

  I looked away at this. “It’s no one. Just a mortal.”

  “Love levels the ground between us and them. When they break our hearts, it hurts the same as if the deed were done by one of our own.” He cupped the back of my head, ruffling my hair companionably, and I smiled weakly and tried not to show how much I really wanted a kiss instead. “Ah, my brother. Do stop being stupid, will you?”

  “Nsana, I —”

  He put a finger over my lips, and I fell silent.

  “Hush,” he murmured, then leaned close. I closed my eyes, waiting for the touch of his lips, but they came where I had not been expecting them: on my forehead. When I blinked at him, he smiled, and it was full of sorrow.

  “I’m a god, not a stone,” he said. I flushed in shame. He stroked my cheek. “But I will love you always, Sieh.”

  I woke in the dark and cried myself back to sleep. If I dreamt again before morning, I did not remember it. Nsa was kind like that.

  My hair had grown again, though not as much as before. Only a couple of feet. Nails, too, this time; the longest was four inches, jagged and beginning to curl. I begged scissors from Hymn and chopped off both as best I could. I had to get Hymn’s father to teach me how to shave. This so amused him that he forgot to be afraid of me for a few minutes, and we actually shared a laugh when I cut myself and yelled out a very bad word. Then he started to worry that I would cut myself and blow up the house someday. We don’t read minds, but some things are easy for anyone to guess. I excused myself then and went off to work.

  I offended the Arms of Night’s housemistress immediately by coming in through the main door. She took me back out and showed me the servants’ door, an unobtrusive entrance at the house’s side, leading to its basement level. It was a better door, quite frankly; I have always preferred back entrances. Good for sneaking. But my pride was stung enough that I complained, anyway. “What, I’m not good enough to come in the front?”

  “Not if you’re not paying,” she snapped.

  Inside, another servant greeted me and let me know that Ahad had left instructions in case of my arrival. So I followed him through the basement into what appeared to be a rather mundane meeting room. There were stiff-backed chairs that looked as though they had absorbed years’ worth of boredom, and a wide, square table on which sat an untouched platter of meats and fruits. I barely noticed all this, however, for I had stopped, my blood going cold as I registered who sat at the room’s wide table with Ahad. Nemmer.

  And Kitr. And Eyem-sutah. And Glee, the only mortal. And, of all the insanities, Lil.

  Five of my siblings, sitting about a meeting table as though they had never spun through the vortices of the outermost cosmos as laughing sparkles. Three of the five hated me. The fourth might; no way of knowing with Eyem-sutah. The fifth had tried to eat me more than once. She would very likely try again, now that I was mortal.

  If there’s anything edible left when the others get done with me, that is. I set my jaw to hide my fear, which probably telegraphed it clearly.

  “About time,” said Ahad. He nodded to the servant, who closed the door to leave us alone. “Please, Sieh, sit down.”

  I did not move, hating him more than ever. I should have known better than to trust him.

  With a sigh of mild annoyance, Ahad added, “None of us are stupid, Sieh. Harming you means incurring Yeine’s and Nahadoth’s displeasure. Do you honestly think we would do that?”

  “I don’t know, Ahad,” said Kitr, who was smiling viciously at me. “I might.”
/>   Ahad rolled his eyes. “You won’t, so be silent. Sieh, sit down. We have business to discuss.”

  I was so startled by Ahad’s shutdown of Kitr that I forgot my fear. Kitr, too, looked more astonished than affronted. Any fool could tell that Ahad was the youngest of us, and inexperience meant weakness among our kind. He was weak, lacking the crucial means of making himself stronger. Yet there was no hint of fear in his eyes as he met her glare, and to my amazement — and everyone else’s, to judge by their expressions — Kitr said nothing in reply.

  Feeling vaguely unimportant in the wake of this, I came to the table and sat down.

  “So what the hells is this?” I asked, choosing a chair with no one on either side of me. “The weekly meeting of the Godlings’ Auxiliary, Lower Shadow Chapter?”

  They all glowered. Except Lil, who laughed. Good old Lil. I had always liked her, when she wasn’t asking for my limbs as snacks. She leaned forward. “We are conspiring,” she said. Her raspy voice was filled with such childlike glee that I grinned back.

  “This is about Darr, then.” I looked at Ahad, wondering if he had told them about the mask already.

  “This is about many things,” he replied. He alone had a comfortable chair; someone had carted in the big leather chair from his office. “All of which may fit into a larger picture.”

  “Not just the pieces you’ve discovered.” Nemmer smiled sweetly. “Isn’t that why you contacted me, Brother? You’re turning mortal, and it’s making you pay attention to more than your own ass for a change. But I thought you were staying in Sky. Did the Arameri throw you out?”

  Kitr laughed hard enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. “Gods, Ahad, you said he was powerless, but I never dreamt it would be this bad. You’re mortal, Sieh. What good can you do in all this? Nothing but run to Daddy and Mommy — who aren’t here now to protect you.” Her eyes fixed on me, her smile fading, and I knew she was remembering the War. I was remembering it, too. Beneath the table, my hands clenched into fists and I wished I had my claws.