CHAPTER

56

Life and Death

Anden looked around with great curiosity when the plane landed in Tialuhiya. He’d never been to the Uwiwa Islands. In his imagining, it was a sun-bleached tropical island full of palm trees and dirty, desperately poor people, a haven for illegal drugs and smuggled jade. So he was surprised that the new airport was modern and air-conditioned, and the professional driver who picked him up in a black town car spoke passable Kekonese. As they drove through the main town of Walai, Anden saw evidence of ruin and reconstruction everywhere—crumbling and abandoned buildings covered in graffiti, building cranes over high-rise projects, policemen directing traffic around road closures, a military truck flying an Espenian flag.

Typhoon Kitt, which had caused considerable damage in Kekon four years ago, had laid waste to the Uwiwa Islands, killing two hundred thousand people and destroying the country’s neglected infrastructure. The Republic of Espenia, which controlled the tiny island of Iwansa for their own military and recreational use, had provided humanitarian aid and sent their military to help in the extensive rebuilding efforts. Of course, the Espenians did not do anything without exacting a price. In this case, it was a price that benefited Kekon as well. The Uwiwan government had been forced to clean house. A new Espenian-approved president and new head of national security had fired hundreds of state and law enforcement officials on charges of corruption. Jade smuggling, the drug trade, sex tourism, and political graft were all being rooted out in favor of luring foreign companies to build electronics manufacturing facilities.

Travel restrictions between Kekon and the Uwiwa Islands had been partially lifted. Technically, Green Bones were still banned, but Anden had been able to enter because he was a doctor, officially visiting for humanitarian purposes. It was far from the first time his unique situation and his credentials outside the clan had proven useful to No Peak in some unexpected way.

Anden felt he was at a crossroads. He was unsure what his future held even if No Peak was able to survive Ayt’s machinations. He’d done all he could to promote jade medicine and the clan’s interests in Espenia; that work was being continued by others now. He was lending his experience to the Weather Man’s office as schools of the jade disciplines began to open up overseas, but Terun Bin would soon have that process well in hand. Of course, he could continue to work as a physician, but he was troubled by a feeling that that was not enough.

Sometimes he thought of how Lott Jin had determinedly climbed straight through the ranks of No Peak step by step into clan leadership. Anden’s own path had been filled with twists and detours. Now both men frequently sat at the same dining table in the Kaul house, discussing clan affairs late into the night with the Pillar and the rest of his inner circle.

Despite their regular interactions and respect for each other’s abilities, Anden couldn’t say if he and Lott were friends. It seemed a faint yet inescapable discomfort persisted between them, an inexplicable resentment from having known each other as confused teenagers. Years ago, at Juen’s retirement party, when Anden had congratulated Lott on being named the new Horn, his old classmate had replied, “Maybe I should be the one congratulating you, Emery, for avoiding the job, so I could be the one to take it.” His sulky mouth had curved in a good-natured but sardonic smile. “I suppose neither of us is who we once thought we’d be.”

Anden had given the other man a searching look. “Was it worth it?” he asked. “Giving up whatever else you might’ve been, to take the path you didn’t think you would?”

Lott had shrugged. “Who can ever know? Was it worth it for you?”

When Anden had mentioned his recent musings about the future to Jirhuya, his boyfriend had listened and said, with sympathy, “I think it’s natural in our forties to start wondering if we’re past the main events of our lives, or if there are still other mountains to climb. Your position in the clan is an incredible accomplishment in itself, miyan. Maybe you’re wondering what else you could do with it.”

Jirhu was no doubt speaking from his own heart; his accelerating career in the Kekonese film industry wasn’t the only thing on his mind these days. Typhoon Kitt had damaged impoverished Abukei villages far more severely than the rest of Kekon. Jirhu had become increasingly involved in advocating for aboriginal communities and was now taking part in the ongoing protest on Euman Island, sometimes staying out for days at a time.

Anden worried for Jirhu’s safety, but he was hardly in a position to demand he stay away from possible violence when, as his boyfriend pointed out firmly, “If I can put up with even half of what you do for the clan, you can accept me doing something important for my own people.”

The town car took Anden beyond the city limits of Walai proper, onto a wide, freshly paved road reeking of asphalt fumes in the summer heat. Anden saw the tall barbed-wire walls and blocky watchtowers of the maximum-security penitentiary long before they arrived. At the security fence, Anden presented his paperwork to the sentry in the box, and then again at the office, where he was issued a visitor badge. After additional check-in procedures and thirty minutes of waiting in a small, yellow reception area, a guard escorted him into a room with a metal table and two chairs.

Anden sat down in one of the chairs. A door on the other side of the room opened and another guard brought the prisoner into the room, handcuffed and dressed in a gray jumpsuit. Anden had never met the man in person before, but looking at him, it was hard to believe he’d once been a formidable enemy of the Kaul family. Iyilo had been the right hand of the notorious jade smuggler Zapunyo, before he’d betrayed his boss, struck an alliance with the Mountain clan, and taken over the Ti Pasuiga crime ring. Now the barukan gangster was fat and middle-aged, his hair long and thinning away from his shiny forehead. All of his jade had been taken from him upon his arrest six months ago.

Iyilo sank ponderously into the seat opposite from Anden and squinted at him with disdain. “Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” he asked in accented Espenian.

Anden answered in Kekonese. “I’m Emery Anden from the No Peak clan.”

Iyilo sat forward slowly. “You’re one of the Kauls. The mixed-blood cousin.”

“You knew me for a short while as the journalist Ray Caido.”

The smuggler thought about this, then barked out a gruff laugh. “So I have you to thank for killing Zapunyo all those years ago. Or maybe you should thank me for helping your family to get its revenge.” He rested his hands on his belly. “That’s one thing I can say I have over Zapunyo. I went down, but none of my enemies took me out.”

Iyilo had run Ti Pasuiga well enough at first. He had come from the Matyos gang in Shotar, and he’d learned from Zapunyo, so he did not lack for any ruthlessness. His partnership with Ayt Mada had allowed him to continue to dominate the lucrative black market jade triangle between Kekon, the Uwiwa Islands, and the Orius continent.

Unfortunately for Iyilo, he lacked Zapunyo’s skills in management. As a Keko-Shotarian foreigner, he held the Uwiwans in contempt. He viciously punished betrayals but did not spend money to cultivate loyalty by building village schools and hospitals as Zapunyo used to do. Over time, he failed to keep up relationships and pay off the right people, so he lost the iron control over the politicians and police that Zapunyo had wielded. In the years after Typhoon Kitt, when the Espenians demanded evidence from the Uwiwan government that they were taking steps to combat crime and corruption, the axe had finally fallen on Ti Pasuiga.

Even so, Iyilo could hardly be blamed for believing himself safe. He wore jade and lived in a fortified compound defended by dozens of guards who also wore jade. The understaffed, undertrained federal police force could not hope to go up against him. Instead, the Uwiwan government hired GSI to do the job.

A squad of well-equipped, jade-wearing private soldiers monitored Iyilo’s habits for weeks, then ambushed him on the way to a sporting event. They killed four of his bodyguards but took Iyilo alive, in accordance with the terms of their contract. The Uwiwan government made a victorious announcement and showed news footage of Iyilo in handcuffs, with credit for his arrest given to the national chief of security.

Neither the Mountain clan nor the Matyos gang had made a noise of protest or come to Iyilo’s aid. With the dissolution of the nekolva program and the decline in Slow War tensions, along with the decriminalization of jade in the ROE, jade smuggling was not a growing business. Ti Pasuiga was past its usefulness, no longer of vital importance to its old allies.

“Did Kaul Hilo send you to gloat?” Iyilo asked Anden. “Seems like something he would want to do in person, the arrogant bastard. I met him once, you know.”

“The Pillar sent me, yes,” Anden said. “To offer you our help.”

“Your help,” Iyilo repeated with manifest contempt. “Kaul Hiloshudon tortured my cousin Soradiyo and slit his throat. I’d sooner shake hands with the devil.”

Anden took off his glasses and wiped the dust from them, reminding himself that he was here for a purpose and ought not to be provoked by this man who was so low and helpless but still potentially useful. “Soradiyo tried to assassinate the Pillar with a car bomb but killed his brother-in-law instead. Even Ayt Mada wasn’t going to protect him after that. Just as she’s not protecting you now. You’re hardly in a position to be choosy about the help that comes your way.”

The smuggler’s upper lip curled. “Yes,” he said bitterly, “all of you Green Bones are the same in the end, aren’t you? You protect yourselves, and you use the rest of us.”

“Has your lawyer explained that you’ll be sent to Kekon?”

Iyilo shrugged fatalistically. “Kekon is only a name to me. I was a baby when my family was shipped to Shotar as laborers during the Many Nations War. Kekon is only the wrapping around my life—where I was born and where I’ll die.”

Anden felt a scrap of pity for the man. Iyilo had become the center of a three-way legal tug-of-war between the Uwiwa Islands, Kekon, and Shotar. Both Kekon and Shotar wanted the barukan leader extradited to face trial for crimes committed in their own nations. Iyilo was not a citizen of the Uwiwa Islands, despite having run a massive criminal enterprise there for decades. He was not a citizen of Shotar either, as he could not claim at least seventy-five percent Shotarian ancestry. His official nationality was Kekonese, even though he’d only lived there for a year of his life. Now, however, the Kekonese government wanted to make a public example of Iyilo, to march him off the plane in handcuffs, demonstrating the disgraceful end of Ti Pasuiga and all those who dared to steal jade. The Royal Council had made the extradition of Iyilo a prerequisite for the lifting of the embargo and normalization of relations between Kekon and the UI, and after much hassling, the Uwiwan government had agreed.

Anden said, “You’ll likely be dead within hours of setting foot in the country.”

Iyilo did not answer, but his dulled expression showed that he understood reality perfectly well. The former leader of Ti Pasuiga was a loose end for Ayt Mada. There’s no sort of person the Kekonese hold in lower regard than a jade thief. Any number of fellow inmates or prison guards would be more than happy to do the Mountain a favor and ensure Iyilo never spoke in front of a judge.

“What do you want?” Iyilo’s anger sounded weary.

Anden glanced at the guards by the door. They were out of earshot and almost certainly could not understand Kekonese, but nevertheless Anden lowered his voice. “You still have a card to play. You know too much damaging information about the Mountain: the deals Ayt struck with Zapunyo, her alliance with you and the Matyos, her profit from the black market. It’s why she’s sure to have you killed.”

Anden took a cell phone out of his briefcase and placed it on the table. “There’s a private aircraft waiting in Janloon, ready to bring KNB news anchor Toh Kita over here to Tialuhiya. All I have to do is make a phone call to get you a national interview.”

Iyilo’s smile was slow and very cold. “Do you know what I hate more than anything else in the world? Rats. When Zapunyo and I found rats in Ti Pasuiga, we made sure they begged for death. I’ll take my secrets to the grave.”

“You’re in a prison while Ayt Mada sits in her mansion in Janloon.”

“As does your cousin Kaul Hilo. What do I have to gain from being a pawn of No Peak instead of the Mountain? I’m not stupid enough to think it’ll save me.”

Anden was not a Fist accustomed to inspiring fear, but he knew his family’s fate might hinge on his ability to do so at this moment. At other times in the past, he’d been the one to speak or act for the clan when no one else could. In his youth, Anden had felt acutely his difference, his separateness from the rest of the Kaul family. Only over many years had he come to understand this as an advantage. Since he held no official role in the strict hierarchy of the clan, he’d been many things—a healer, a killer, an emissary, an advisor. Today, he was a hammer.

“You’re beyond saving,” Anden agreed. “But what about your family? The one that you’ve gone to such great lengths to keep secret?”

He reached back into his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. He opened it and laid three color photographs on the table in front of Iyilo. In the first photo, a pretty, thirty-something Uwiwan woman sat on a beach. She wore a pastel sundress, her long hair pulled into a messy bun. Her face was turned to the side, speaking to another woman while two children, perhaps ten and eight years old, played in the sand nearby. The second photo showed the same woman and children getting out of a car. In the third photo they were in the front yard of a nice house.

Iyilo’s darkly tanned face lost much of its color.

“I’m sure you’ve made private arrangements for your wife and children to be cared for after your death, but how can you protect them after you’re gone? How can you be sure that the men in Ti Pasuiga that you hired to guard them will have any reason to remain loyal to your memory? The Uwiwa Islands is a dangerous place.”

“How did…” Iyilo croaked without finishing.

“It doesn’t matter how we found them,” Anden said calmly. “If we could do it, others can. You’re not a Green Bone of Kekon, so you can’t count on aisho to protect your jadeless relatives. You’re only a barukan smuggler, and your family is only Uwiwan. Who is going to notice or care if something happens to them? Can Ayt Mada be absolutely certain you haven’t told your wife anything inconvenient that she might share with Uwiwan authorities?”

A subtle tremor went through Iyilo’s body and rattled his shackles against the metal table.

“Here is my Pillar’s offer.” Anden reached back into his briefcase and took out another envelope. He extracted three airplane tickets and spread them out next to the photos. “We can put your family on this flight which leaves tomorrow for Port Massy. They would be escorted to the airport under guard, and once they reach Espenia, they’ll be under the protection of the No Peak clan. We have many people and resources in that country. We can set them up with housing and new identities. Your children would live safe, ordinary lives. They would go to school there. Maybe they could even train in the jade disciplines. They’ll have the money you leave for them. And most importantly, they’ll have a future far from the sort of life you’ve led.”

He could sense the man’s will crumbling, but Iyilo still needed that final, gentle push toward the inevitable decision. Anden gathered the plane tickets and placed them back into the briefcase. He saw the smuggler’s eyes twitch as the papers disappeared out of sight, leaving the vulnerable photographs alone on the table.

“The Kaul family always keeps its word, even to enemies. Especially to enemies. This is my Pillar’s promise, which he’s entrusted me to convey to you. Share Ayt’s secrets, and we’ll keep yours. Speak against the Mountain, and we’ll protect your sons as if they were members of our own clan. However, if you refuse, I can’t tell you what my cousin will do with these photographs and whether he’ll feel any obligation toward your wife and children.”

Iyilo’s throat bobbed. “You’re a doctor. You can’t put them in danger.”

“You’d be surprised by the things I’ve done,” Anden told him. “I’ve taken lives and saved others. I’ve felt equal doubts about both.” He’d killed Gont Asch and saved Ayt Mada. He’d ordered the death of Jon Remi, and in so doing he’d cost Maik Tar his life. He’d healed innumerable strangers, yet he was haunted every day by Ru’s death and the possibility that if he’d been there, he could’ve saved his nephew. All those doubts had over time folded themselves into Anden’s duality—of being a Kaul and not a Kaul. It was a contradiction he’d long ago struggled to reconcile but that now simply was.

“In my family, one gets used to making decisions about life and death. But I know which type I prefer to make, when I can,” Anden said to the condemned man. “We can’t save you, Iyilo, but we can offer your family a life where not even the Mountain can reach them.”

He picked up the cell phone. “I told the Pillar I would phone him right away to tell him your decision. What’s it going to be?”