The Broken Kingdoms: Book Two of the Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  “But it’s pointless,” said Serymn, a note of anger in her voice. “T’vril, the Lord Arameri, hopes to put down the war swiftly when it comes. But to prepare for earthly war, he’s taken his eyes off the threat in the heavens.”

  I sighed, weary in more ways than one. “That’s a fine thing to concern yourself with, but the Nightlord is”—I spread my hands helplessly—“a force of nature. Maybe we should all start praying to this Gray Lady, since you say she’s the one keeping him in line. Or maybe we should just start picking out our personal heavens in the afterlife now.”

  Serymn’s tone chided me gently. “We prefer to be more proactive, Lady Oree. Perhaps it’s the Arameri in me, but I’m not fond of allowing a known threat to fester unchecked. Better to strike first.”

  “Strike?” I chuckled, certain I was misunderstanding. “What, a god? That isn’t possible.”

  “Yes, Lady Oree, it is. It’s been done before, after all.”

  I froze, the smile falling from my face. “The godling Role. You killed her.”

  Serymn laughed noncommittally. “I was referring to the Gods’ War, actually. Itempas Skyfather killed Enefa; if one of the Three can die, they all can.”

  I fell silent in confusion, but I wasn’t laughing, not any longer. Serymn wasn’t a fool. I did not believe an Arameri would hint at something like a goddess’s murder unless she had the power to do it.

  “Which, to come to the point at last, is why we kidnapped you.” Serymn lifted her glass to me, the faint crystalline sound as loud as a bell in the room’s silence. Our dining companions had fallen silent, hanging on her every word. When she saluted them, they lifted their glasses in return.

  “To the return of the Bright,” said the Nypri.

  “And the White Lord,” said the woman who had commented on my sight.

  “ ’Til darkness ends,” said Hado.

  And other affirmations, from each person at the table. It had the feel of a solemn ritual—as they all committed themselves to a course of stunning, absolute insanity.

  When they had all said their piece and fallen silent, I spoke, my voice hollow with realization and disbelief.

  “You want to kill the Nightlord,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said. She paused as another servant came over. I heard the cover being lifted from some sort of tray. “And we want you to help us do it. Dessert?”

  9

  “Seduction” (charcoal)

  THERE WAS NO FURTHER TALK of gods or insane plots after dinner. I was too stunned to think of further questions, and even if I had asked, Serymn made it clear she would answer no more. “I think we’ve spoken enough for tonight,” she said, and then she’d laughed a rich, perfectly measured laugh. “You’re looking a bit pale, my dear.”

  So they’d brought me back to my room, where Jont had left me nightclothes and spiced wine to drink before my evening prayers, in the Maroneh custom. Perhaps she’d looked it up in a book. Suspecting observation, I drank a glass and then prayed for the first time in several years—but not to Bright Itempas.

  Instead I tried to fix my thoughts on Madding. He had told me that gods could hear the prayers of their devotees regardless of distance or circumstance, if they only prayed hard enough. I was not precisely a devotee of Madding’s, but I hoped desperation would make up for it.

  I know where you are, I whispered in my mind, since there might be listeners in the room. I don’t know how to get you out yet, but I’m working on it. Can you hear me?

  But though I repeated my plea, and waited on my knees for nearly an hour, there was no answer.

  I knew Madding was in that dark, sensationless place—the Empty—but I wasn’t sure where that was. For all I knew, only the Lights could open and close the way to it. Or perhaps only their scrivener-trained Nypri could. Figuring that out would be my next task.

  The next morning I awoke at dawn, having slept fitfully on my cot. Already there was activity in the house. I could hear it through the door: people walking, brooms sweeping, casual chatter. I should have guessed that an organization of Itempans would start their day well before sunrise. More distantly, echoing through the corridors, I heard singing—the Lights’ wordless hymn, which was far more soothing and uplifting than the Lights themselves had turned out to be. Perhaps there was some sort of morning ceremony taking place. If that was the case, then it would be only a matter of time before they came for me. Trying to quell unease, I dressed in the clothes they’d given me, and waited.

  Not long afterward, the lock on my room’s door opened and someone came in. “Jont?” I asked.

  “No, it’s Hado again,” he said. My belly tightened, but I think I managed not to show my unease. There was something about this man that made me very uncomfortable. It was more than his participation in my kidnapping and forced assimilation into a cult; more than his veiled threat the night before. Sometimes I even thought I could see him, like a darker shadow etched against my vision. Mostly it was just the constant feeling, impossible to prove, that the face he showed me was just a veil, and behind it he was laughing at me.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” He had caught my unease, and predictably it seemed to amuse him. “Jont has cleaning duty in the mornings. Something you’ll become familiar with, too, eventually.”

  “Eventually?”

  “It’s traditional for a new initiate to be put on a work crew, but we’re still trying to figure out a placement that can accommodate your unique needs.”

  I could not help bristling. “You mean that I’m blind? I can clean just fine, especially if you give me a walking stick.” Mine, to my lament, had been left behind on the street outside Madding’s house. I missed it like an old friend.

  “No, Eru Shoth, I mean the fact that you’ll escape first chance you get.” I flinched, and he chuckled softly. “We don’t usually put guards on the work crews, but until we’re certain of your commitment to our way… Well, it would be foolish to leave you unsupervised.”

  I drew in a deep breath, let it out. “I’m surprised you have no procedures for handling recruits like me, if kidnapping and coercion are your usual practice.”

  “Believe it or not, most of our initiates are volunteers.” He moved past me, inspecting the room. I heard him pick up a candle holder from one of the wall sconces, perhaps noting that I’d blown out the candle early. I didn’t exactly need the light, and I’d never liked the idea of dying in my sleep from a fire. He continued. “We’ve done quite well at recruiting among certain groups—in particular, devout Itempan laity who are disaffected with the Order’s recent changes. I imagine we’ll do well in Nimaro when we start setting up a branch there.”

  “Even in Nimaro, Master Hado, there are those who feel no need to worship Itempas in the same way as everyone else. No one forces them to do what they don’t want to.”

  “Untrue,” he replied, which made me frown. “Before ten years ago, every mortal in the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms worshipped Itempas in the same way. Weekly offerings and services at a White Hall, monthly hours of service, lessons for children from three years to fifteen. Every holy day, all over the world, the same rituals were enacted and the same prayers chanted. Those who dissented…” He paused and turned to me, still radiating that cool amusement that I so hated about him. “Well. You tell me what happened to them, Lady. If there were so many dissenters in your land.”

  I said nothing, in consternation, because it was a pointed dig at me: a Maroneh who had fled Nimaro first chance. Worse, he was right. My own father had loathed the White Halls and the rituals and the rigid adherence to tradition. Long ago, he’d told me, the Maroneh had had their own customs for worshipping Bright Itempas—special poetic forms and a holy book and priests who had been warrior-historians, not overseers. We’d even had our own language back then. All that changed when the Arameri came to power.

  “You see,” said Hado. He could read my face like a book, and I hated him for it. “Itempas values order, not choice. That said”—he came over
and took my hand, coaxing me up and letting me take his arm to be guided—“obviously it would be impractical to recruit many like you. We wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t so important to our cause.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “That instead of following the usual process of initiation, you will spend today with Lady Serymn and tomorrow with the Nypri. They’ll decide how best to proceed from there.” He patted my hand again, reminding me of his ungentle pats from the night before. Yes, this, too, was a warning. If I did not somehow please the Lights’ leaders, what would happen? Without even knowing why they wanted me, I could not guess. I ground my teeth, angry—but in truth, I was more afraid than angry. These people were powerful and mad, and that was never a good combination.

  Hado walked me out of my room and began guiding me through the corridors, moving at an unhurried pace. I counted my steps for as long as I could, but there were too many twists and turns in the House of the Risen Sun; I kept losing count. The corridors here were all slightly curved, perhaps some function of building a house partially wrapped around a tree trunk. And because the House’s builders had been unable to extend the structure far from the trunk—I was no architect, but even I could see the folly in that—the House had been built narrow and high, with multiple levels and stair-connected sections, giving the whole place an oddly disjointed feel. Hardly a monument to the Bright Lord’s love of order.

  Then again, perhaps this, too, was a disguise, like the New Lights’ carefully cultivated appearance of harmlessness. The Order of Itempas saw them as just another heretic cult. Would they feel the same if they knew this heretic cult had power enough to challenge the gods?

  Hado said nothing while we walked, and neither did I in my preoccupation. I gauged his silence, trying to decide how much I dared ask. Finally I braved it. “Do you know what those… holes… are?”

  “Holes?”

  “The magic that was used to bring me here.” I shivered. “The Empty.”

  “Ah, that. I don’t know, not exactly, but the Nypri was ranked Scrivener Honor Class within the Order of Itempas. That’s their highest designation.” He shrugged, jostling my hand on his arm. “I’m told he was even a candidate to become First Scrivener to the Arameri, though, of course, that ended when he defected from the Order.”

  I let out a laugh in spite of myself. “So he married an Arameri fullblood and started his own religion to remind himself of what he almost had?”

  Hado chuckled, too. “Not exactly, but I understand that mutual dissatisfaction is a factor in their collaboration. I imagine it isn’t a far step from mutual goals to mutual respect, and from there to love.”

  Interesting—or it would have been, if the happy couple hadn’t kidnapped, tortured, and imprisoned me and my friends. “That’s lovely,” I said as blandly as I could, “but I know something about scriveners, and I’ve never seen a scrivener do anything like that. Overpower one godling, much less several? I didn’t think that was even possible.”

  “Gods aren’t invincible, Lady Oree. And your friends—well, nearly all of the ones who live here in the city—are the younger, weaker godlings.” He shrugged, oblivious to my surprise; he had just told me something I’d never realized. “The Nypri simply found a way to exploit these facts.”

  I fell silent again, mulling over what he’d told me. Eventually we passed through a doorway into a smaller enclosed space, this one thickly carpeted. There were more food smells here, breakfast items—and a familiar hiras-scented perfume.

  “Thank you for coming,” said Serymn, coming over to us. Hado let go of my hand, and Serymn took it in a sisterly fashion, stepping close to kiss me on the cheek. I managed not to pull back at that, though it was a near thing. Serymn noticed, of course.

  “Forgive me, Lady. I suppose street folk don’t greet each other that way.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, unable to keep a scowl off my face. “I’m not ‘street folk,’ whatever those are.”

  “And here I’ve offended you.” She sighed. “My apologies. I have little experience with commoners. Thank you, Brightbrother Hado.” Hado left, and Serymn guided me over to a large plush chair.

  “Prepare a plate,” she ordered, and someone off to the side of the room began doing so. Sitting down across from me, Serymn examined me in silence for a moment. She was like Shiny in that; I could feel her gaze, like the brush of moth wings.

  “Did you rest well last night?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I appreciate your hospitality, up to a point.”

  “That point being your fate and the fates of your godling friends, yes. Understandable.” Serymn paused as the servant came over, placing a plate in my hands. No formal service this time. I relaxed.

  “And your own fate,” I said. “When Madding and the others get free, I doubt they’ll be very forgiving of their treatment. They’re immortal; you can’t hold them forever.” Though if she could somehow kill them, that rendered my argument moot….

  “True,” she said. “And how convenient you mentioned this fact, as it’s the cause of the mess we find ourselves in now.”

  I blinked, realizing she was no longer talking about Madding and the others, but another set of captive gods. “You mean the Arameri’s gods. The Nightlord.” Their ridiculous target.

  “Not just the Nightlord, but also Sieh the Trickster.” It took all my self-control not to start at this. “Kurue the Wise, and Zhakkarn of the Blood. It was inevitable they would find their way to freedom eventually. Perhaps the millennia they spent imprisoned didn’t even seem like a long time to them. They are endlessly patient, our gods, but they never forget a wrong, and they never let that wrong go unpunished.”

  “Do you blame them? If I had power and someone harmed me, I’d get back at them, too.”

  “So would I. So have I, on more than one occasion.” I heard her cross her legs. “But any person on whom I sought vengeance would be equally within her rights to try and defend herself. That’s all we’re doing here, Lady Oree. Defending ourselves.”

  “Against one of the Three.” I shook my head and decided to try honesty. “I’m sorry, but if you’re trying to convert me by appealing to… street logic, or whatever you think motivates us lowly, common folk, then there’s a flaw in your reasoning. Where I come from, if someone that powerful is angry with you, you don’t fight back. You make amends as best you can, or you go into hiding and never come out, and meanwhile you pray that no one you care about gets hurt.”

  “Arameri do not hide, Lady Oree. We do not make amends, not when we believe our actions to have been correct. Those are the ways of Bright Itempas, after all.”

  And look where that got him, I almost said, but I held my tongue. I had no idea whether Shiny was all right, or where he was. If he had managed to escape, I had little hope he would bother to help us, but on the off chance that he might, I didn’t intend to tell the New Lights about him.

  “I think I should warn you,” I said, “that I don’t consider myself much of an Itempan.”

  Serymn was silent for a moment. “I’d wondered about that. You left home at the age of sixteen—the year your father died, wasn’t it? Only a few weeks after the Gray Lady’s ascension.”

  I stiffened. “How in the gods’ names did you know that?”

  “We investigated you when you first came to our attention. It wasn’t difficult. There aren’t many towns on the Nimaro reservation, after all, and your blindness makes you memorable. Your White Hall priest reported that you enjoyed arguing with him during lessons, as a child.” She chuckled. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

  My stomach twisted, threatening to return my meal. They had gone to my village? Spoken with my priest? Would they threaten my mother now?

  “Please, Lady Oree. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. We mean you no harm, nor anyone in your family.” There was the clink of a teapot and the sound of liquid pouring.

  “You’ll understand if I fi
nd that hard to believe.” I found a table beside my chair and set my plate on it.

  “Nevertheless, it’s true.” She leaned forward and put something in my hands—a small cup of tea. I held it tightly to conceal my shaking fingers. “Your priest thinks you left Nimaro because you lost your faith. Is that true?”

  “That priest was my mother’s priest, Lady, far more than he ever was mine, and neither of them knew me very damned well.” My voice was just a hair too loud for polite conversation; anger had frayed my self-control. I took a deep breath and tried again to mimic her calm, cultured manner of speaking. “You can’t lose faith you never had to begin with.”

  “Ah. So you never believed in the Bright at all?”

  “Of course I believed. Even now I believe, in principle. But when I was sixteen, I saw the hypocrisy in all the things the priest had taught me. It’s all very well to say the world values reason and compassion and justice, but if nothing in reality reflects those words, they’re meaningless.”

  “Since the Gods’ War, the world has enjoyed the longest period of peace and prosperity in its history.”

  “My people were once as wealthy and powerful as the Amn, Lady Serymn. Now we’re refugees without even a homeland to call our own, forced to rely on Arameri charity.”

  “There have been losses, true,” Serymn conceded. “I believe those are outweighed by the gains.”

  I was suddenly angry, furious, with her. I had heard Serymn’s arguments from my mother, my priest, friends of the family—people I loved and respected. I had learned to endure my anger without protest, because my feelings were upsetting to them. But in my heart? Truly? I had never understood how they could be so… so…

  Blind.

  “How many nations and races have the Arameri wiped out of existence?” I demanded. “How many heretics have been executed, how many families slaughtered? How many poor people have been beaten to death by Order-Keepers for the crime of not knowing our place?” Hot droplets of tea sloshed onto my fingers. “The Bright is your peace. Your prosperity. Not anyone else’s.”