The Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  “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 altarskirt 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 unimportan
t 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.

  Eyem-sutah, who had not fought because he’d loved a mortal and had nearly killed himself protecting her, let out a long, weary sigh. “Please,” he said. “Please. This helps nothing.”

  “Indeed, it does not,” said Ahad, looking at all of us with contempt. “So if we are agreed that no one is a child here, not even the one who should be, can we then please focus on events of this millennium?”

  “I don’t like your tone—” began Kitr, but then to my greater surprise, Glee cut her off.

  “I have limited time,” she said. She seemed so completely at ease in a room full of godlings that I wondered again if she might be Arameri. It was far back in her lineage if so; she looked to be pure-blooded Maroneh.

  To my surprise, all my siblings fell silent at her words, looking at her with a combination of consternation and unease. This made me even more curious—so Ahad was not the only one who deferred to her?—but that curiosity would have to remain unsatisfied for the moment.

  “All right, then,” I said, addressing Ahad because he seemed to be at least trying to stay focused. “Who’s going to go take that mask and destroy it?”

  “No one.” Ahad steepled his fingers.

  “Excuse me?” Kitr spoke before I could. “Based on what you’ve told us, Ahad, nothing so powerful should be left in mortal hands.”

  “And what better hands are there for it?” He looked around the table, and I flinched as I realized what he meant. Nemmer, too, sighed and sat back. “One of us? Nahadoth? Yeine?”

  “It would make more sense—” Kitr began.

  “No,” said Nemmer. “No. Remember what happened the last time a god got hold of a powerful mortal weapon.” At this, Eyem-sutah, who had chosen to resemble an Amn, went pale.

  Kitr’s face tightened. “You don’t know that this mask is even dangerous to us. It hurt him.” She jabbed a thumb at me, her lip curling. “But harsh language could hurt him now.”

  “It hurt Kahl, too,” I said, scowling. “The thing is broken, incomplete. Whatever it’s supposed to do, it’s doing it wrong. But as powerful as it is now, I see no reason why we should wait for the mortals to complete it before we act.” I glared at Ahad, and at Glee, too. “You know what mortals are capable of.”

  “Yes, the same things as gods, on a smaller scale,” Ahad replied, his voice bland.

  Glee glanced at him, but I could not read the look on her face before she turned to me. “There is more to this than you know.”

  “So tell me!” Ahad I was used to. He kept secrets like I kept toys, and he did it mostly out of spite. Glee hadn’t seemed the type, however.

  “You aren’t a child anymore, Sieh. You should learn patience,” Ahad drawled. His smirk faded. “But you’re right; an explanation may be in order since you’re new, both to our organization and to Shadow. This group’s original purpose was merely to police our own behavior and prevent another Interdiction. To a degree, that is still our purpose. Things changed, however, when a few mortals used demons’ blood to express their displeasure at our arrival.” He sighed, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. “This was a few years back. You may recall the time.”

  Of course I did. A handful of my siblings had been killed, and Nahadoth had come very close to turning Sky-in-Shadow into a large smoking crater. “Hard to forget.”

  He nodded. “This group had already organized in order to protect them from us. After that incident, it became clear that we should also work to protect us from them as well.”

  “That’s stupid,” I said, frowning around the table. Glee lifted an eyebrow, and I grimaced but ignored her. “The demon was taken care of; the menace has ended. What is there to fear? Any one of you could smash this city, melt down the surrounding mountains, make the Eyeglass’s water burn—”

  “No,” said Eyem-sutah. “We cannot. If we do, Yeine will revoke our right to dwell here. You don’t understand, Sieh; you didn’t want to come back after your incarceration ended. I don’t blame you, given circumstances. But would you truly prefer never to visit the mortal realm again?”

  “That’s beside the—”

  Eyem-sutah shook his head and leaned forward, cutting me off. “Tell me you have never nestled into some mortal woman’s breast to be held, Sieh, and loved unconditionally. Or felt adoration when some mortal man tousles your hair. Tell me they mean nothing to you. Look into my eyes and say it, and I will believe you.”

  I could have done it. I am a trickster. I can look into anyone’s eyes and say anything I need to say and be completely believable in the process. Only Nahadoth, who knows me better than any other, and Itempas, who always knows falsehood, have ever been able to catch me out when I truly want to lie.

  But even tricksters are not without honor, as Eyem-sutah well knew. He was right, and it would have been wrong of me not to acknowledge that. So I lowered my eyes, and he sat back.

  “Out of such debate was this organization born,” Ahad said, with only a hint of dryness. “Not all godlings have chosen to participate, but most adhere to the rules we set, out of mutual self-interest.” He shrugged. “Those who do not, we deal with.”

  I propped my chin on my fist, pretending boredom to hide the unease Eyem-sutah’s questions had left in me. “Fine. But how’d you end up in charge? You’re an infant.”

  Ahad smiled by curling his upper lip. “No one else wanted the task, after Madding died. Lately, however, our structure has changed. Now I’m merely the organizer, at least until such time as our actual leader chooses to take a more active role.”

  “And your leader is…?” Not that I thought he’d tell me.

  “Does it matter?”

  I considered. “I guess not. But this is all awfully… mortal, don’t you think?” I gestured around at the meeting room, the table and chairs, the tray of bland finger foods. (I restrained my urge to reach for a piece of cheese, out of pride.) “Why not come up with some sinister-sounding name, too, if you’re going to go this far? ‘The Organization’ or something original like that. Whatever, if we’re going to act like a bunch of mortals.”

  “We have no need of a name.” Ahad shrugged, then glanced pointedly at Glee. “And our group consists of more than just gods, which requires some concession to mortal convention.” Glee inclined her head to him in silent thanks. “In any case, we dwell in the mortal realm. Should we not at least attempt to think like mortals from time to time, in order to anticipate our adversaries more easily?”

  “And then do nothing when we actually discover a threat?�
� Kitr clenched a fist on the table.

  Ahad’s expression went Arameri-neutral. “What, precisely, would you have us do, Kitr? Go and take this mask? We don’t know who created it, or how; they could simply make another. We don’t know what it does. Sieh said this Kahl seemed to be using the Darre to create it. Doesn’t that imply it’s something mortals can touch but that might strike a god dead?”

  I frowned, unwilling to concede the point. “We have to do something. The thing is dangerous.”

  “Very well. Shall we capture Usein Darr, torture her to learn her secrets? We could threaten to give her unborn child to Lil, perhaps.” Lil, who had been staring at the plate of food, smiled and said “Mmmmm” without taking her eyes away from it. “Or shall we dispense with subtlety and smite Darr with fire and pestilence and erasure, until its cities are in ruins and its people forgotten? Does that sound at all familiar to you, Enefadeh?”

  Every voluntary muscle in my body locked in fury. En pulsed once, questioningly, against my chest—did I want it to kill someone again? It was still tired from my rage at Remath, but it would try.

  That, and that alone, calmed me. I put my hand over En, stroking it through my shirt. No more killing now, but it was a good little star for wanting to help. With another pulse of pleasure, En cooled back into sleep.

  “We are not the Arameri,” Ahad said, speaking softly, though his eyes stayed on me. Demanding my acknowledgment. “We are not Itempas. We cannot repeat the mistakes of the past. Again and again our kind have tried to dominate mortalkind and have harmed ourselves in the doing. This time, if we choose to dwell among mortals, then we must share the risks of mortality. We must live in this world, not merely visit it. Do you understand?”

  Of course I did. Mortals are as much Enefa’s creations as we ourselves. I had argued this with my fellow prisoners a century ago as we contemplated using a mortal girl’s life to achieve our freedom. We’d done it anyway, and the plan had been successful—more in spite of our efforts than because of them—but I had felt the guilt keenly back then. And the fear: for if we did as Itempas and his pet Arameri had done, did we not risk becoming just like them?