The Ascent to Godhood

by JY Yang

  The pugilists said they had caught the woman codenamed Yellow Tiger. She was a big deal, rumored to be Shao Weiyi’s lover. The report said that the pugilists had ambushed her in a village north of Jixiang, her hometown that she returned to every so often. They burned the village after.

  I hadn’t heard that name in years. The village of my birth. I got chills. Jixiang was small enough everyone knew everyone. And it had been many years since I’d lived there, but I knew for certain that Yellow Tiger’s capture had cost the lives of people I had known and shared meals with, or their children. Hekate had burned down anything that was left of my past, my family.

  At the bottom of the report was the woman’s age and her real name.

  I stood. I was very quiet. I made some preparations for myself. Then I went down to the cells where the important prisoners were kept.

  She recognized me at once. Decades had passed and we were grown women, white hairs coming in, but we knew each other without question. Xiuqing. My sister. She cried out my birth name, which had not been used since I left home and has not been used since.

  I wanted to rush to her, to break the slackcraft barrier that kept her imprisoned. I could not believe it. After all these years, she was here, and under these circumstances.

  Why are you here? she asked. Why are you dressed like this—like one of them?

  I work for the Protector, I said. I’m her right-hand woman.

  Xiuqing was horrified. How could you serve her? she asked. She’s a murderer, a tyrant! The things she’s done are unforgivable. She has the blood of hundreds on her hands. Thousands! She murdered our family. They burned down the village. Everyone is dead!

  I said, Shut up. I didn’t want her making a scene. Emotions were running wild through me, but I kept my composure.

  I told the guards, The Protector has asked me to bring this prisoner to her.

  They nodded. That was completely within reason.

  I pointedly undid the slackcraft barrier in front of Xiuqing. I didn’t want her getting any ideas.

  I restrained her hands and led her through the Palace. She hissed and spit invective at me. Called me a disappointment, a traitor, a monster with no conscience. All the way down the long corridors, past the colorful pavilions and the gilded pillars.

  I kept saying, Be quiet. Move. Stop shouting.

  The fewer people took notice of us, the better.

  She only understood what I was doing when we came to the courtyard with all the slackcraft carts. You’re helping me escape? she asked.

  Shut up, I said. And then added, I’m coming with you.

  We stole one of the carts. In my robes were stashed a few key things: maps and ledgers, mostly. Nothing of sentimental value. I had learned the hard way that sentimentality did you no good. On our way out, before we got to the outskirts of the city and dumped the cart and became fugitives officially, my sister and I exchanged our stories. She told me about the years that had ground her down, the hardships that had befallen our village. My brothers’ death in an unfortunate accident. My parents’ sickness and grief. The new administrators sent after Hekate’s purges, cruel and hard, who demanded more tribute from the village than they could afford. The hunger and the despair. And then Shao Weiyi, who came to the village with devices—machines!—that would help them irrigate the paddy fields, lift heavy objects, wash and grind rice. And it wasn’t just that. He provided tonics to heal the soil, which you could brew with mundane powders. Medicines for small ailments. He told them that they, too, could learn these small magics. They were not magics at all. Anyone could perform them.

  She left the village to be with him. The Machinist movement became her life.

  I, too, told her what had happened to me. Much as I told the story to you. Maybe I left out some of the worst parts. I wanted her to like me, to trust me. I emphasized how much of Hekate’s life I had been privy to. How much of the Protectorate’s inner workings I understood.

  Xiuqing said, I forgive you for the things you have done. She made a fool of you, after all. Manipulated you and lied to you. You are just as much a victim in this story as I am.

  I’m not a victim, I told her.

  She agreed because she didn’t understand what I was saying. No, she said, we are not. We are survivors. Look at us: two sisters, consorts to the rival leaders in this fight, now reunited. This cannot be coincidence.

  This is the doing of the fortunes, I said. It sounded nice. The kind of sentimental thing people like to hear. I said, This was meant to be.

  Thus I became a Machinist. We fled deep into the mountains of the north. I took all the knowledge that I had accumulated over twenty years of being with Hekate, and I used all of it. I was familiar with her tactics; I knew her patterns better than anyone. I knew the loyalties of the people closest to her; I knew many of their secrets. All of these became important tools in our fight.

  There were so many things we lost. My eye, a few months after I’d defected. Xiuqing a few months after that, killed in an ambush against Hekate’s forces. Shao Weiyi himself died several years after I’d joined: years of stress and the fighting got to him, he didn’t have the constitution for it. But me, I lived on like a roach. I continued the fight they had started. I kept the name she had given me, I blatantly used it. Lady Han. I wanted her to know exactly who her opponent was. In me she found a real opponent in her game of xiangqi.

  And now? She’s dead. I’m still here. The board has been knocked off the table, the pieces scattered everywhere. Have I won? Is this considered a victory? Who knows?

  Who knows?

  Chapter Eleven

  So, does it change anything? Knowing that my fight was driven not by the desire for a greater good but by petty revenge? Do you think it all tainted now? Or does it matter to you? It was a noble cause, wasn’t it? We made people’s lives better. We gave people hope. Do you care why I did it?

  Well, that’s it. I’ve talked enough. Now’s your turn. Tell me. What were you here for? What did you have to tell me that was so important to interrupt my grief? What happened with this person who sent you to me, this Chuwan?

  Chapter Twelve

  I see.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sonami, eh? What a turn of events. Oh, what a twist! The fortunes must be having a laugh. I’m having a laugh. After all my years of effort, one of her own children was her downfall? I should have seen that coming! I couldn’t have seen it coming.

  Oh, I remember that child: such a strange, intense personality, even as a sprout. She practically raised the twins, since their mother was so busy, and look how they turned out.

  I knew Sonami was running secret experiments in the mountains, but I would never have imagined. To engineer a prophet to control the hand of fate—a mad concept to even think of, much less attempt. Did she succeed? She must have. She must have. Of course, of course! It all makes sense now. That’s how the assassin got past all the wards and security surrounding Hekate. That’s how it all looked like a coincidence. That’s how . . .

  It was Sonami. She arranged her mother’s death. And now she sits on the throne.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I have to laugh. Don’t you see how ironic it is? You know what they say: a crooked foundation leads to a slanted building. It’s true. Sonami . . . oh, she’ll be worse than her mother, I’ll tell you. She started off cold. The seventh of Hekate’s children, having to vie with everyone else for Mother’s attention? The oldest, Tamiya, had fifteen years on her, already near an adult when she was born. Her ambition must have driven her wild. A quiet child. The dangerous sort of quiet. Just biding her time, you know?

  Trust no one. You never know who will betray you. Well, Hekate. You died exactly the way you lived.

  Akeha will be pleased to know this. And Rider too, obviously. “Pleased” may be the wrong word. But thank you for this information. Your beloved has not passed in vain. We know what we have to do now.

  Join us? After everything I’ve told you? Child, it’s your funer
al. Why not. Why not? We could use the help of someone like you.

  Sit, for now. You’ve earned your rest. Let’s have another round of wine. Come, now. You’ve heard my story, now let me hear yours.

  Tell me about the woman you lost.

  Acknowledgments

  Getting to the fourth book in a series, no matter how short, is an endeavor that takes a lot of effort and induces more than its fair share of tears. It is not an undertaking that can be done alone. To that end I would like to thank my editor, Carl Engle-Laird, for his unending patience and understanding as I worked through the difficult gestations of these books. To my agent, DongWon, for always having my back and knowing what to say. To the incredible team at Tor.com Publishing for their support of the series. But most of all, I give thanks to you, the reader. I would be nothing and no one without you.

  About the Author

  Author photograph © Nicholas Lee

  JY YANG is the author of the Tensorate series, which began with The Black Tides of Heaven and The Red Threads of Fortune. A finalist for the Hugo, Nebula, and World Fantasy Awards, they are also a lapsed journalist, a former practicing scientist, and a master of hermitry. They are a queer, non-binary, postcolonial, intersectional feminist, and have more than two dozen pieces of short fiction published. They live in Singapore and have an MA in creative writing from the University of East Anglia.

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  ALSO BY JY YANG

  THE TENSORATE SERIES

  The Black Tides of Heaven

  The Red Threads of Fortune

  The Descent of Monsters

  PRAISE FOR THE TENSORATE SERIES

  “Yang’s masterful world-building is on display. . . . The Old World feel of their ‘silkpunk’ fantasy is made modern by smoothly interwoven gender-nonbinary characters, whose richness enhances the emotional impact of this short but compelling work.”

  —Booklist on The Descent of Monsters

  “Joyously wild stuff. Highly recommended.”

  —N. K. Jemisin, The New York Times

  “Yang conjures up a world of magic and machines, wild monsters and sophisticated civilizations, that you’ll want to return to again and again.”

  —Annalee Newitz, Ars Technica

  “Full of love and loss, confrontation and discovery. Each moment is a glistening pearl, all strung together in a wonder of world creation.”

  —Ken Liu, author of The Grace of Kings

  “I love JY Yang’s effortlessly fascinating world-building.”

  —Kate Elliott, author of Black Wolves and Court of Fives

  “A fascinating world of battles, politics, magic, and romance.”

  —Zen Cho, author of Sorcerer to the Crown

  “Like a Miyazaki movie decided to jump off the screen and sear itself into prose, and in doing so became something entirely new.”

  —Indrapramit Das, author of The Devourers

  “Relentlessly captivating, heartbreaking, and powerful.”

  —Fran Wilde, author of Updraft

  “Filled with memorable characters and set in a wonderfully imaginative and original universe.”

  —Aliette de Bodard, author of The House of Shattered Wings

  “Yang’s prose carries the reader along.”

  —Locus on The Black Tides of Heaven

  “Yang deftly creates a world infused with magic, story, and hierarchy.”

  —Joel Cunningham, B&N Sci-Fi and Fantasy Blog

  “Yang captures an epic sweep in compact, precise prose.”

  —Publishers Weekly on The Black Tides of Heaven (starred review)

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  ALSO BY JY YANG

  PRAISE FOR THE TENSORATE SERIES

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE ASCENT TO GODHOOD

  Copyright © 2019 by JY Yang

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration by Yuko Shimizu

  Cover design by Christine Foltzer

  Edited by Carl Engle-Laird

  A Tor.com Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates

  120 Broadway

  New York, NY 10271

  www.tor.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-250-16587-9 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-250-16588-6 (trade paperback)

  First Edition: July 2019

  Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.