CHAPTER

32

Passages

the nineteenth year, eighth month

The Temple of Divine Return was full of people, almost all of them Green Bones of the Mountain clan. All the cushions were already occupied; Shae slipped into the back row and knelt on the floor. She was wearing a broad summer hat and sunglasses so the lower-ranked clan members kneeling nearest to her at the back of the sanctum didn’t recognize her, and there were so many jade auras in the building that she expected one more to go unnoticed. Even so, across all the rows of heads, she caught sight of Ayt Madashi at the very front. As her gaze landed on Ayt’s back, the Pillar turned slowly over her shoulder to look into the crowd of faces behind her. Perhaps Shae only imagined that Ayt had Perceived her entrance, that with narrowed eyes she was trying to spot Shae in the shadowed corner of this room where they had faced each other so fatefully in times past. Ayt’s face was dusted white and a white silk scarf was tied around her neck, hiding the ugly scar that Shae knew to be underneath.

Ayt Mada turned back toward the front and took up the chant of the penitents.

Shae whispered along with everyone else in the temple, reciting the Scripture of Return’s promise that virtuous souls would one day ascend to godliness and reunite with their divine kin in Heaven.

Perhaps she should not be here. She was not a member of the Mountain or even a respectful outsider. She had not known or loved Nau Suenzen. She’d been his enemy and would’ve sent him to the afterlife herself if given the chance during his tenure as Horn. Nau Suen did not exemplify the four Divine Virtues of humility, compassion, courage, and goodness. He’d been the Ayt family’s most loyal and cunning assassin for fifty years; he’d slit the throats of Shotarian generals, of Ayt Mada’s brother Eodo, and all the men of the Ven family. And Shae was certain he’d murdered Chancellor Son Tomarho. After all that, he’d retired and succumbed not to the blade but to respiratory illness at the age of seventy, dying peacefully in his sleep despite all the lives he’d ended so violently.

Shae was not sure he deserved any prayers, but then again, she did not know who did. She prayed for the souls of men like her grandfather, and Yun Dorupon, and Maik Kehn, and surely if it were her or Hilo in the coffin there would be people who would judge them no more deserving of the gods’ recognition than Nau Suen. Even though Nau had been her enemy, she could not forget the look in his aged eyes that afternoon in Anden’s apartment as he held Ayt Mada in his thin arms. Shae had never before seen Ayt Mada bow in the temple, but now the Pillar of the Mountain touched her head to the ground, resting it there as the penitents raised their voices.

I hope you’re in pain. It gave Shae a certain savage pleasure to think that Ayt could feel loss, that she could mourn the death of a friend. Otherwise, it wasn’t fair; the scales could never be remotely balanced between them. “Let the gods recognize him,” she echoed in a murmur. And why shouldn’t they? On the day of the Return, the gods would never be able to sort the deserving from the undeserving without breaking apart families. They should recognize everyone, flawed as they were, imperfect in the Divine Virtues—or recognize no one at all.

Shae rose and shuffled out of the memorial service at the head of the exiting crowd. Dozens of cars filled the parking lot and every available spot along the streets. Private drivers and taxis were pulling up at the entrance. Shae walked away from the scene and stood on the street corner, watching. Nau Suen’s death, although undramatic, was still newsworthy. Journalists and cameramen waited outside, fanning themselves in the cloying heat, trying to catch senior members of the Mountain clan as they left the temple.

A flurry of activity and conversation erupted as Ayt Ato exited the temple amid a small throng of his relatives. Clan members saluted him and approached to offer condolences even though the young man had no relationship to Nau Suenzen and had been a student at Wie Lon, not even a Finger yet, when Nau had retired. He’s so young, Shae thought. Then she remembered with a start that she’d been the same age when she’d become Weather Man of No Peak.

A reporter asked Ato a question, and the accompanying cameraman focused upon the Fist’s handsome face. “Nau Suenzen was a role model for me, almost like a second grandfather,” Ato avowed. “He was full of energy and will, right up until the very end, as green in body and soul as Baijen himself.”

Ayt Mada emerged from the temple. The Pillar of the Mountain was as straight and commanding as ever, but walking more slowly than she used to. Shae wondered if it was due to grief, or if the knife that Ven’s daughter had plunged into her neck had done some irreparable physical harm that she would never make public. Shae pulled down the brim of her hat, not that it would make any difference to Ayt’s ability to Perceive her, but the woman did not so much as glance in Shae’s direction. She likewise ignored all the clan loyalists who pressed in to pay their respects and offer condolences. Instead, she laid a swift glance of contempt on the scene around Ayt Ato, then said something curt that was too quiet for Shae to hear.

The young man stiffened. Shae couldn’t see the expression on his face as he turned away from the remaining reporters and followed his aunt obediently toward the waiting cars. Aben Soro jerked his head in signal to two of his Green Bones, who moved to politely but firmly disperse the media and prevent them from following. Ayt Mada got into the front of her silver Stravaconi Primus S6. Ayt Ato got into the back. In minutes, the lingering crowd in front of the temple was gone, leaving the ordinary bustle of a summer afternoon to fill the streets still littered with debris from last week’s parade and fireworks. Heroes Day. Truly a fitting time for an old war veteran like Nau Suen to make his exit from the world.

Shae hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take her back to the Kaul estate. She wondered if Ayt Mada had put her nephew in his place because she considered his actions shallow and unbecoming of a future Pillar. Ayt knew how to use the media, feeding it information that elevated the Mountain and was damaging to her enemies, but she didn’t pander to the press or offer vain sound bites.

The Kobens, on the other hand, showed no compunction about appearing on talk shows and engineering photo opportunities. Those who’d believed the family’s star would fall after the death of the outspoken Koben Yiro had not accounted for his widow riding her husband’s martyrdom into public prominence and onto a seat in the Royal Council.

“It’s comforting to think that Ayt Mada probably finds Koben Tin Bett as obnoxious as I do,” Wen had commented with a surprising amount of acidity when she heard the news of the election victory. It seemed unlikely to Shae that Ayt Mada could feel jealous or threatened by the popularity of the Koben family, none of them with a fraction of her ability or fame as a Green Bone leader. Then again, she surely hadn’t forgotten that when the city had thought her dead, the Kobens had rushed to make a statement before her body had been found.

The taxi arrived at the gates of the Kaul estate. When Shae walked into the Weather Man’s house, Tia ran into her arms, smearing finger paint all over Shae’s blouse and skirt. “Ma, you’re home! I’m drawing pictures with Da.”

Shae let her daughter lead her into the kitchen, where poster paper had been unrolled and taped down on the kitchen table. Colorful, child-sized handprints and much larger adult ones had been turned into butterflies, birds, and other animals. “These small ones are mine and the big ones are Da’s,” Tia pronounced.

“I was wondering how your hands got so big,” Shae teased.

“Silly, Ma.” Tia laughed. “Jaya says you’re not funny, but I think you’re funny.”

Woon came over and shook his head apologetically at the sight of Shae’s stained clothes. “It’s washable paint,” he said. “I figured the piglet would need a bath before dinner anyway.”

When Woon had retired last year from his role as the clan’s Sealgiver and passed the position onto Terun Bin, Shae had worried her husband was making a mistake. She was skeptical that a man who’d been one of the highest-ranked Green Bones on Ship Street could possibly be happy finger painting with a five-year-old and packing snacks. But Woon had seemed certain in his decision. “I’ve spent many years being ordered around by a tough little woman and managing thankless details,” he reminded her. “I’m well prepared for this job.”

“That’s unfair of you,” Shae protested. “I’m hardly little.” In truth, she was jealous of all the time her husband and daughter spent together. Woon had waited for children for so long that he relished being a father, and the reality was that he hadn’t recovered as well as Hilo had from the Janloon bombing. He was deaf on one side and walked with a slight limp, and Shae knew that as stoic and humble a man as her husband appeared to be, those things hurt his pride and had played some part in his decision to retire from the demands of clan life sooner.

Woon had not, however, stopped paying attention to issues affecting the clan and regularly discussing them with her. “Have you seen the news about the Lybon Act?” Without waiting for her answer, he picked up the remote and turned on the television in the living room. KNB’s commentators were discussing the passage of an unprecedented international accord establishing ethical guidelines for military use of bioenergetic jade. Eighty-five nations, led by the Republic of Espenia and including Kekon, had met at a convention in Stepenland to condemn and outlaw breeding programs, child military camps, forced addiction, and ingestion of ground jade.

Shae wetted a kitchen towel and wiped the paint from Tia’s hands as she watched the news. The Lybon Accord followed a comprehensive report released last year by the Espenian military on Ygutan’s nekolva program, based largely on firsthand accounts provided by Ygutanian defectors, most notably a former nekolva agent referred to only as Agent M. “So the ROE has convinced most of the world to sanction their enemies,” Shae said.

Woon carefully removed his daughter’s artwork from the kitchen table and set it aside to dry. “Bringing down the nekolva program is a good thing.” Stories had circulated in Kekon for years, of women from Abukei tribes and low-income areas being lured or trafficked into forced surrogacy on the Orius continent. “But the Espenians are denying justice to Kekon.”

“Something they’ll never acknowledge,” Shae pointed out bitterly. “And we have no hard evidence to prove them wrong.” Although it was widely believed that the Janloon bombing had relied on foreign support, no one from the clans or law enforcement had been able to pin down proof that Ygutan was involved, nor find those who were responsible. Several Clanless Future Movement members had revealed under interrogation that a foreigner named Molovni was a key figure in the CFM, but this Molovni, if he existed, was a ghost.

Shae was certain he hadn’t vanished into thin air. The ROE had either captured him or offered him sanctuary in exchange for defecting. Molovni, or “Agent M,” as he was now facelessly known to the world, was sitting in Espenian custody and would never face justice for murdering hundreds of Kekonese citizens.

The KNB news desk reported that the Ygutanian Directorate had issued a defiant statement characterizing the Lybon Act as disingenuous Espenian fearmongering. The call for Ygutan to submit to international inspection of its nekolva program was a bald-faced attempt to impinge on its sovereignty, the officials in Dramsk declared. A commercial came on and Woon turned off the television.

Shae rinsed the towel in the sink, staring at the muddy water as it swirled down the drain. “Papi, was I wrong to have ever dealt with the Espenians?” He was the one person to whom she voiced her worst doubts. “I’ve been attacked for it so often over the years, but I always thought I was doing the right thing for the clan in the long run. I’m not so sure anymore.”

She’d tried for so many years to walk No Peak down a tightrope, benefiting from foreigners without falling prey to them. But ever since the bombing, it seemed to Shae the country was spinning in a storm, manipulated and abused by forces within and without.

Woon took the towel from her hands and blotted the biggest stain on her shirt. “Foreigners have always come for Kekon and for our jade,” he reminded her solemnly. “They would be here whether you were Weather Man or not. No one else could’ve done a better job of handling them with No Peak’s interests at heart.”

“Ma, look, Ma!” Tia interrupted, grabbing Shae’s hand and trying to drag her over to the tea party she’d set up for her dolls.

“I’m sorry, I can’t play right now, Tia.”

“You have to go to work again?” Tia complained, sticking out her lips in a pout.

“Only for an hour or so,” Shae told her. Despite longing for more time to spend with her family, Shae sometimes wondered if she was even qualified to be Tia’s mother. She was confident she could face nearly any situation on Ship Street, but she was hopeless at meeting the little girl’s demands for friendship stories about every single one of her dolls. “You and Da are going to come over to the big house later, and we’ll all have dinner together with some guests.”

“Who’re we having dinner with? Will there be any other kids?”

“Just Ru and Jaya,” Shae said, although they hardly qualified. Jaya was already sixteen, almost a year-seven at the Academy, Ru was a year older than that, and sometimes Shae wondered if Niko had ever been a child at all. Tia had no siblings or cousins near her own age.

“They’re big kids!” Tia objected.

“You’re getting to be a big kid too.”

Tia shook her head, wide-eyed. “I never want to be a big kid.”

“You don’t?” Shae exclaimed curiously. “Why not?”

The girl hugged Shae’s legs anxiously. “Big kids have to learn to fight. When I fell down and got a nosebleed and cried, Jaya said I have to get used to blood. She says big kids don’t cry when they get hurt.”

Perhaps, Shae thought, it had not been a good idea to ask her niece to babysit. Jaya was utterly without tact. Shae crouched down and pulled her daughter into her arms. “Not all big kids are the same. But if you’re worried about it, you can stay a little kid for as long as you like. I won’t mind.”

Shae changed into clean clothes and walked over to the main house. Ru was doing homework at the dining table, chewing the end of his pencil. Koko lay sprawled under the table at his feet, gnawing a rubber toy. “Hey, Aunt Shae,” Ru said, glancing up for a moment before returning his attention to his textbooks. He was in his last year of high school and only a few months away from final exams.

Wen stepped out of the kitchen and pulled the pencil away from his mouth. “Don’t do that,” she admonished. “It’s a bad habit that makes you look weak and nervous.” Peering into the kitchen, where her mother and the housekeepers were working, Shae could see some of the dishes being prepared: fish in milk broth, cold sliced pork with pepper sauce, greens with garlic, fried noodles. “Gods forbid our guests think we aren’t good enough patrons to feed them well,” Wen said. Shae, who hadn’t experienced a clean house since Tia was born, noticed jealously that the main residence appeared immaculate. Fresh-cut dancing star lilies, symbolizing friendship, scented the foyer in elegantly tall vases. Wen claimed to have never wanted nor expected the public role of the Pillar’s wife, but she’d nonetheless made herself an accomplished hostess.

“The Pillar and the Horn are in the study,” she told Shae.

Shae walked in to find Hilo and Juen in serious conversation. “Lott Jin’s changed a lot since he was a Finger,” the Horn was saying. “He’s diligent and fair with everyone, maybe a little too moody at times and soft at others, but no one doubts his greenness. He takes great care of his mother and siblings. My only small concern is that he doesn’t have a wife or children, which seems a bit unlucky at his age.” Juen blew out a thoughtful breath. “As a First Fist, however, he’s been excellent, and when it comes to the job of the Horn, he’s the best person for it. It’s your decision, Hilo-jen, but he’s who I would trust.”

Promoting someone into the highest circle of leadership in the clan was tantamount to making them an honorary member of the Kaul family. They would be living on the estate, having dinner in the house, brought into the closest confidence. It was a decision that needed to be made with great consideration, and the person’s character was as important as their capability.

“If you decide you’re not ready to retire after all, just say so,” Hilo said to Juen. “You’re only forty-five.”

“Forty-five is old for a Horn,” Juen said ruefully. “Being on the greener side of the clan is like living in dog years, you know that, Hilo-jen. My wife and I had barely any time to ourselves when we were young, not with four children and the life of a Fist, so I always said I would make it up to her later on.”

“Then of course you have to keep your promise,” Hilo said with a sympathetic smile. “I’ve watched Lott Jin for years and I agree with all you’ve said. I’ll name him as the new Horn at your retirement party.” The Pillar glanced at Shae as she came in. “What took you so long?”

She hesitated to say she’d been at Nau’s memorial service. When Hilo had heard of Nau’s death he’d snorted. “Good riddance to that old snake. I never met a Horn I liked less. Not even Gont Asch, and that bastard killed a lot of my Fists and Fingers and nearly sent me to the grave. But at least he was up-front about it all. Nau Suen was creepy as fuck.”

Instead of answering, Shae opened her purse and took out a padded square envelope. She handed it to Juen Nu. “The latest gift from our Espenian friends.” Juen opened the envelope and took out a floppy disk.

“Espenian friendship,” Hilo said with a grimace, “lasts about as long as a cheap hand job. Every time we try bringing up the issue of offshore mining, they tell us to go fuck ourselves. Then they turn around with a smile and say they want to help us.”

Two ROE military intelligence officers had walked into the Weather Man’s office six months after the Janloon bombing. They’d introduced themselves as agents Berglund and Galo and seated themselves in front of Shae’s desk. The pale-haired one named Berglund said, “Ms. Kaul-jen, the Republic of Espenia stands firmly with Kekon in the fight against radical political terrorism.”

His Keko-Espenian partner, Galo, removed an envelope from his briefcase and placed it on Shae’s desk. “The Green Bone clans have been combating the threat with impressive speed and effectiveness, and we want to help in the effort by sharing our information on the Clanless Future Movement. Our superiors hope this intelligence will help you to dismantle the CFM.”

“Why haven’t you shared this with the Royal Council or the Kekonese military?” Shae asked the foreigners.

Galo leaned forward. “We have an established relationship with your clan. With Cormorant.” She stiffened at the mention of the code name the Espenian military had given to her more than twenty years ago. “We trust your clan has no ties to Ygutanian interests.” The same could not be said for the Mountain, which possessed both legitimate and illegitimate business interests in that country. The two men stood up to leave.

Shae put her hands on her desk and rose from her seat. “It’s a shame,” she said, her voice as flat as a sheet of ice, “that we didn’t receive this information before hundreds of people lost their lives.”

The men paused at her office door. Berglund glanced over his shoulder, his washed-out eyes unmoved. “The Janloon bombing was a terrible tragedy. We all wish it could’ve been prevented, but there’s no reason to cast blame. What’s important is that we prevent anything like it from happening again, wouldn’t you agree?”

After that, information arrived every so often at the Weather Man’s office. The floppy disks contained names of Clanless Future Movement members and affiliates, addresses of safe houses or meeting places, and the identity of individuals and criminal groups suspected to have supplied or aided the CFM. However, the Espenians were not entirely up-front. Some parts of the files were redacted, no doubt because they named Espenian agents. There was also never any mention of the Ygutanian nekolva, or a man named Molovni.

She passed the information she received on to Juen Nu, who combined it with knowledge gathered from his own impressive network of spies. When Juen had become the Horn, Shae had not considered him to be a leader with much personal presence compared to Hilo or Kehn. As it turned out, an operational mastermind was the perfect Horn for the times. Over sixteen years in the job—a longer tenure than any other Horn in No Peak history—Juen Nu had made the military side of the clan more nimble and responsive. He’d distributed responsibility, expanded the clan’s technical capabilities, and vastly improved its network of informers. He was a key reason efforts to crush the clanless were going well. Prudent and unsentimental, he coordinated operations with the Mountain but never trusted them; he triple-checked everything himself. Aben Soro of the Mountain commanded more people and was a more visible Horn, but No Peak was more tightly run. Lott Jin would have a sizable shadow to fill.

Juen slipped the floppy disk back into the envelope. “The Espenians aren’t giving us much of anything we don’t already know these days. The early stuff was detailed and useful. It must’ve come from spies inside the CFM. Now it’s mostly conjecture and weak links.”

Shae said, “I’m still getting phone calls—from within the clan, from the press, and from our people in the Royal Council—asking about our stance on branding.”

Juen snorted. “It’s ineffective. More of a hollow publicity stunt than anything else.”

Shae personally thought the practice, though popular, was cruel and pointless and usually directed at immigrants, but it was her job as Weather Man to point out the ramifications of every decision. “There are people who say we’re not following the Mountain’s policy because of pride or softness.”

“Those people are shortsighted fools. Branding clanless sympathizers only makes it easier for them to find one another and gives them more reason to feel unified in their enmity toward society. And those who are wrongly branded are going to be driven into the Clanless Future Movement even if they weren’t in it to begin with.”

Hilo laced his hands behind his head, slouching into his armchair as he considered the issue. “Juen is the Horn. I trust his judgment. People who help the clanless should be punished, but there’s no reason our Fists have to follow exactly what the Kobens do in Mountain territory.” Juen nodded, satisfied by the verdict.

Shae sat down in the remaining empty armchair. She thought about what she’d seen earlier in the afternoon outside the Temple of Divine Return. “I doubt even Ayt Mada fully believes in the Kobens’ methods,” she mused. “She’s partnered with barukan and Uwiwans and Ygutanians in the past. She’s brought outsiders into the Mountain clan. She’ll work with foreigners so long as doing so serves her goals, but the Koben family targets and opposes them on principle.”

“Ato is a young and popular traditionalist,” Juen pointed out. “Ayt Mada will be sixty in another couple of years and people will start wondering when she’ll retire. If she’s planning to name Ato her successor, she has to let him show some of his own strength.” The Horn pursed his lips. “Maybe she’s willing to let the Kobens have their way in certain things, even if it antagonizes some parts of her clan, so long as they continue to support her while they wait their turn.”

“Even the biggest tigers grow old.” Hilo took out his silver cigarette lighter and rolled it absently between his fingers. “But if the Kobens think Ayt Mada is going to hand leadership over to that pretty boy any time soon, they’re deluded. The old bitch will be worse than Grandda—let the gods recognize him—hanging on to power until it’s pried from their withered claws.” He ignored Shae’s remonstrative glare for his disrespect toward their grandfather. “Ayt’s using the Kobens the way she uses everyone. Wiping out the clanless is the thing we can all agree on right now. But she won’t let the Kobens’ zeal endanger the Mountain’s foreign businesses or barukan alliances. As long as she keeps her nephew waiting, she has them on a leash.”

And thank the gods for that. Shae nursed the fear that a day would come when she would deeply regret saving Ayt Mada’s life, but for now, she was grudgingly glad their old enemy lived and continued to rule the Mountain. Wiping out the CFM was one thing, but the Kobens epitomized a broader reactionary backlash that, if unchecked, would lead to equally extreme policies—closing trade, expelling foreigners, more draconian measures against anything perceived as anti-clan thinking.

There was a knock on the door of the study. Wen came in with her hair pinned up in an elegant coil and wearing a high-collared forest-green dress that made Shae abruptly self-conscious about not changing into something nicer or refreshing her makeup. “Our guests from Toshon are here,” Wen said.

Hilo, Juen, and Shae stood up to greet Icho Dan, the Pillar of the Jo Sun clan, who entered the room with his Weather Man and his Horn. Jo Sun’s former Pillar and Weather Man had both been killed in the Janloon bombing. Since then, Icho had valiantly tried to fill his brother-in-law’s position as best he could. But even though he was a competent leader, he had health problems that made it difficult for him to wear jade, and no one could run the business side of their clan as well as the former Weather Man. That was the weakness of the minor clans. Many of them did not have a deep pool of talented Green Bones and losing their key leaders was a death sentence. In the years following the Janloon bombing, some of the minor clans had combined with each other or been absorbed by one of the major clans. The Black Tail clan in Gohei had been peacefully annexed by the Mountain last year. Icho Dan had begun discussion with No Peak six months ago. Today, the Jo Sun clan would cease to exist.

The big clans were getting bigger. We’re still two tigers, Shae thought grimly, eating all we can before we have to face each other again.

Icho was dressed in his best suit and tie, and his voice was resolute but sorrowful as he said, “Kaul-jen, I’ve been dreading this day ever since my brother-in-law’s death, but I’m also filled with relief and gratitude that it’s finally arrived.” He lowered himself to his knees and clasped his hands to his forehead. His Weather Man and Horn knelt behind him on either side, mirroring Shae’s and Juen’s positions next to Hilo. “The Jo Sun clan belongs to you now, Kaul Hiloshudon. Its jade is your jade. Its businesses will report to your Weather Man, its warriors will die for your Horn. Your enemies are my enemies, your friends are my friends. I surrender the title of Pillar and pledge allegiance solely to No Peak. The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master. On my honor, my life, and my jade.”

There were tears in Icho’s eyes as he touched his head to the carpet of the Kaul study. The other leaders of Jo Sun did the same, with dignity and resignation. When Icho straightened up, Hilo drew the man to his feet and embraced him warmly. “It’s a hard thing you’ve done, maybe the hardest thing a man can do, to sacrifice his own pride, even if it’s for all the right reasons, even when there’s no other choice. The Green Bones of the Jo Sun clan are now Green Bones of No Peak. I’ll treat them no differently than my own warriors. And the city of Toshon is now No Peak territory. We’ll make it prosperous and defend it as fiercely as any district here in Janloon.”

Shae could see that the poor man did not entirely believe Hilo’s words, but he nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Kaul-jen.”

“Now that the hard part’s over, let’s all have a good dinner together,” Hilo said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Tomorrow when you wake up, maybe you’ll still be sad, but maybe you’ll also feel better, knowing you’re finally free from a difficult job you never asked for, and proud that you did all that your brother could’ve expected.”