And yet, he held on.
"One sees this, sometimes," Loë told me. "That the afflicted wait for something before releasing their hold on their mortal flesh. Your mate may be waiting." She looked at me. "You know what it is that he waits for?"
I did, but I shook my head.
Winter gave way to a damp and chilly spring, and with it the trials of the new ship. Denret and the others were training the fishers to crew the much larger vessel and they made several voyages to and from nearby locations. They went well—the northerners were already familiar with boats and were eager to make the longer trip now that they knew something would be waiting for them at the end of it. The packing commenced, as did the endless debates about what to bring and how much and whom. Seper spared me the minutia, reporting only on what had been accomplished when I was awake to receive the news. The passengers would be the last to board the ships, it told me, and Roika and I the final Jokka to embark at Loë's insistence. She wanted to limit Roika's exposure to the wet, chill breezes.
Nevertheless the day came, and with it the Jokka of the Endurance who lovingly wrapped their master in the healer's warmest blankets under her watchful eyes. As they prepared him, Kaduin stepped up beside me.
"Thenet," he said, soft. He drew in a breath. "I won't be going with you."
"I know," I said.
Startled, he faced me. "You know?"
I met his eyes and found a smile for the boy who used to find surcease from loneliness nestled against my side. "You love it here, Kaduin. It's in every word you speak and every motion of your hands, your body."
He flushed, looking away. "We'll need someone here. If we're going to start trading with these people regularly they'll need several of us to be liaisons. They'll need to understand us, our concerns. I can continue teaching our language to them. I... I'm in love with Ewair and Shaeva." At my glance he said, "Loë's sibling and its mate. They've been seeking an emodo to complete their triad and..."
I smiled, tired. "You'll do a good job here, Kaduin."
"I'll miss you," he said, ears sagging.
"I know," I answered, even though I knew he wouldn't. I embraced him. This life was calling him and it would fill him until there was no room for the sorrows and fears of his life before. It was for the best. Against his ear, I murmured, "The healer says you need not fear the black-spit. The adult version does not run in families."
He shuddered against me and whispered, "Thank you."
"Be well, Kaduin," I said, and rested my hand on his chest. And then I left him behind.
The northern vessel had been christened the Aeva, "Hope" in the northern vernacular. Both it and the Endurance were filled with the treasures of the north in the form of seeds and saplings, dried foodstuffs and herbs, long boxes of rich, fragrant soil and compendiums of information, bound papers dense with the information the northerners wanted to share with us. Once Roika had been carried aboard, we were ready for departure, and on the next favorable tide both ships set out for the south.
"Three months," I said to Loë, who asked.
"All this time," she said. "You were so close and we never knew." She sighed, drawing her cloak closer around herself. "On such things do lives turn, betimes. At least we are coming now."
"Yes," I said.
The days that followed blurred into a single extended nightmare. The sea that had been so placid and forthcoming on our initial voyage turned turbulent and sullen. It was a rare day that did not rain for hours on end, and when it did not rain it was damp and chilly despite the season. The doors into the cabins leaked and it seemed impossible to stay dry or warm. And despite our every effort Roika deteriorated precipitously. I began the voyage in a room with Seper, but I could not remember sleeping in that room. My guilt at abandoning the eperu to tend to our enemy was a shroud over my thoughts, and yet I couldn't stop myself. To see him die... I was standing vigil over my own soul, not his.
Seper found me on my cot on some rain-slashed day. It had just descended from the deck and rivulets of water had plastered its mane to its face and shoulders, sealed its clothes to its lean frame. Crouching across from me, it spoke as if resuming a conversation I didn't remember starting. "There is much talk about building more ships and making this passage more common. Trading with the north. And perhaps expeditions to explore other regions if they can be found. After the emperor dies, I plan to join one of these crews. Marilin assures me there is work for me to do, even with one of my hands weaker than the other."
I looked up at the eperu, who continued. "It will be good work. I'm told it does not appeal to everyone, but I think I will find comfort in this. To be doing useful work that is nothing like the work I have ever done. There will be no reminders in it to paralyze me. No unexpected griefs. There is a freedom in the emptiness of the sea. I will help the Jokka fill it." It stood. "When we return I will stay on land long enough to ensure that our remaining people have been freed and our dead tended to... and then I will come back here to this new life. Have no worries for me. I will be fine."
And then it went back up the ladder and vanished into the wet night. I let my head hang and swallowed the tears that seeped from my teeth, letting them burn the back of my throat. I wanted to thank it for the gift it had made me and knew better. Instead I did as it wanted me to—as it had freed me to with its reassurance—and packed my meager belongings. That night I moved into Roika's room with Loë and gave myself entirely to the struggle to keep him alive. I did not think in terms of days, but in hours, in heart-beats. The weather was destroying him. He could barely breathe for the coughing and he was never warm. I curled up behind him in his cot, holding him, but he drew the heat from my body and left me clammy more often than I made him comfortable.
And then, one night, he stopped coughing and became listless, his breath coming in short, slow pants. I stroked his chest and he did not respond. "Loë? Loë!"
She started from her shallow sleep and came to us, bent close over him. She did not check his wrist, his face, smell his breath. And the look on her face... "What is it?"
"This disease," she said. "The sacs of air in the chest, they are filled with little sponges like the sea-sponge I gave you to wash with. When this disease strikes, those sponges begin to rot. They swell and then burst and fill the sacs with fluid and pus. So the body coughs, to empty the sacs of the detritus. As the disease advances, the sponges rot faster, until at last there is too much matter in the sacs. They become too heavy for the spasms of a cough to move them. So the coughing stops."
"You're saying... that he's drowning," I whispered, horrified.
"That he is still alive is extraordinary," Loë said, quiet. She stroked his damp forelock from his face. "But it is almost over now."
"How long?" I asked, trembling.
"Days," Loë said. "Weeks, perhaps. Less than a month certainly."
"He could linger ilke this for a month?" I said. "Asphyxiating?"
"Yes."
"We can't let him suffer like this," I whispered. "Wouldn't it be kinder to end it?"
"I would not kill a Jokkad without their consent, and maybe not even then," Loë said. "And he has not given it me. Could you kill him to spare him?"
A hand touched mine, weak fingers fluttering. "No."
His voice... it hurt so much to hear the thin wheeze that remained of his full bass. But he continued despite the effort. "No. Thenet. You were forced. To kill... Dlane. I won't. Make you go through... that again."
"Roika," I said. "Please—"
"No," he said again, eyes closing. Almost inaudibly, to himself, "Not... much longer. Have to... know... that it will pass... into safe... safe..."
When his mumble faded into silence, Loë looked at me. "Most would have died by now. He lives so that he might die on his own soil. Let him make that choice."
"All right," I whispered, to him as much as to her. But I wept against his back and with my ear pressed to his skin I could hear the ugly, thick sound of his breathing and the thready race of
his heart. I did not want him to die and take with him the Void to the Brightness that had already fled my life. How could the World live without the warmth of the sun and the comfort of the dark? Who would keep my secrets when I lost the evidence of the gods? Who would I love and who would I hate?
What would be left?
The ship glided to the pier on a bright afternoon, copper light on calm waves. In our absence several more piers had been constructed and permanent buildings to support them, and waiting for us at the end of the pier were eperu of the Stone Moon to tie us down... and the Fire in the Void, the breeze combing his uncanny mane in a milky stream over the wooden planks. He did not seem at all surprised at the sight of the Aeva, but he did not go to it either. Denret and Marilin disembarked first to make arrangements. I waited alongside Roika, who rarely woke anymore. The sound of his uneven breathing was louder in my ears than the susurrus of the waves.
When they came for him I followed his bearers into the sun, squinting against its brilliance. The air smelled of brine but the heat of it was familiar. Late summer in the south was a taste on my tongue and a caress of warmth on my skin, a vast and cloudless vault above. I longed to rise into it and dissipate but I could not. Not yet.
I trudged after the Jokka carrying Roika and stopped short at the end of the pier. A tent had been erected there and arranged around it was a crowd. I did not recognize most of the people waiting though an alarming number of them wore the Stone Moon's uniforms. But Keshul touched my arm, directed me into the tent and followed me inside. There was a pallet waiting, one built up with cushions so that Roika could lie on it upright. They knew, then. Of course.
The bearers left after settling their master. I sat next to him and rested my hand on his at his side. As the oracle crouched down beside him, Roika shocked me by whispering, "Keshul."
"Roika," Keshul said, low. "I'm here."
Roika smiled, eyes still closed. "Feel... you. Damned... cold."
"And no fifty-coin to be found at this new settlement of yours," Keshul said. "I'm going to have to have a talk with your ministers."
Roika's laugh was all breath and no tone and too weak by far, but he opened his eyes and rolled his head toward the seer. "You... do that."
Keshul smiled. Then sobered and said, "Iren, Jushet and I have chosen your successor. He's a former Claw of the empire who went on to build a very successful enterprise in het Narel. In fact, he's now sitting on most of the trade for all of Ke Bakil. He's a good man. We've brought him here."
"Send him... in."
Keshul rose, tail hissing behind him on the sand. He ducked his head out of the tent and called, then opened the flap. A moment later, an emodo stepped through it, a male in clothes cut like a Claw's uniform but black rather than gray, the black of truedark. He moved with a grace, with an assurance... as if he knew who he was and where he belonged. And when he looked up, he had golden eyes... beautiful, bright eyes, eyes like treasure, like Dlane's.
He took Keshul's place at Roika's side. He did not speak and Roika didn't either. They considered one another in silence, the emperor that was and the male who had come, I realized, to ask his blessing. I did not see the moment Roika gave it, but the stranger did. He closed his eyes and then touched his hand to his brow, dipping his head low. This Roika accepted with more lucidity in his gaze than I'd seen in weeks, and he stared after the stranger long after the tent flap had fallen behind him.
Keshul rejoined us after some time and kneeled alongside Roika. "He'll do well. The empire you made will flourish."
Roika exhaled, a reedy sound. I could barely hear him when he said, "Keshul..."
"I'll tell them," Keshul said. "About you. The good and the bad. All of it will be remembered, Roika." He touched the male on the chest. "I vow it."
Roika's breath was already slowing. I swallowed and looked up at the oracle, who was setting Roika's hand back on his chest. To me, Keshul said, "I'll leave you alone now. Come out when you're ready."
"Thank you," I whispered.
We were alone then. The walls of the tent rippled in the summer breeze. I slipped my hand into his and rested my head on the pillow beside his shoulder. We did not speak. We couldn't. I closed my eyes and tasted my tears with every slow swallow. We listened to the sea, to the distant cry of birds, to each other's breathing.
And then the Void passed out of my life.
I left the tent to stand in the sunlight, feeling it fall through me. There were people outside but I did not see them, did not properly understand them until Keshul's voice drew me back to a tenuous connection with flesh and breath.
"There," he said. "Look there. That is the new emperor of the Stone Moon and his lover."
Obediently I looked and saw the male in his black coat alongside an eperu. They stood close, easy with one another, and they were talking to Loë. I did not have to be an oracle to see the strands of those three lives entwining. It was good, I thought. Proper. Ke Bakil would pass from the hands of a male divested of balance, of his neuter and female counterparts, and on to the Trinity made manifest.
"You see," Keshul said, low. "It's safe now, ke Thenet. Ke Bakil is free. The three of you made it possible."
I watched the eperu asking avid questions of Loë, saw the anadi answering with enthusiasm as the emodo leaned close to listen. I turned to Keshul and said quietly, "Thank you."
He met my eyes, then stepped away, turning his back on me with a deliberation that made it clear he knew and respected my intent. But I watched him for long enough to see him return to his beloveds: again the Trinity made flesh, male, female, neuter.
It had not been for us. But in seeking it, in striving against it, in shattering, we had sown the earth. Now others would bring home the harvest.
I left them, the sounds of conversation and life distant in my ears. On the horizon the sun was shimmering like the gold of her eyes. I followed it home.
Jokku Riha
An Abbreviated Glossary
aksha [AHK shah] (noun)-An expletive. Literally, “entrails”.
ana [ah NAH] (noun)-night (includes truedark hour)
anadi [ah NAH dee] (noun)-female
ba [BAH] (adjective)-A prefix used in addressing an individual. Used to address individuals who have not yet reached maturity, roughly maps to “young”. Or an adjective version of “child”.
cheldzan [chehl DZAHN] (noun)-literally “net” or “web”; used for a place where people can gather at any time.
chenji [CHEHN-jee] (noun)-Maps closest to “witch”, or “shaman” or “magician”. In Mysterious times the chenji was an anadi valued for her ability to sense the world’s changes and counsel other Jokka on their relationship to the world and one another. Sometimes these anadi were believed prophetic or in possession of magical powers or the favor of the gods. After the Mystery Age, the idea became associated with truedark tales of magical anadi who didn’t lose their minds, could curse crops and cast magic and often avenged themselves on others of their race for the injustice done to their sex.
churul [choo ROOL] (noun)-A gathering to celebrate an initiation, graduation or the completion of another step in a life process (such as final Turning, ascension to certain ranks or professions after study or acclaim, starting of a House, etc.). From the Mysterious Age.
det [DEHT] (adjective)-Another adjective/title, this one a snide turn on “respected”. Used only with contempt.
edloña [eh DLOHN yah] (adjective)-unspeakable, roughly. Also has connotations of unthinkable and undoable. “Taboo” is also an acceptable translation.
eku [eh KOO] (noun)-the truedark hour
elithik [eh lihth IHK] (adjective)-Used to indicate that the Jokkad has been every sex before settling on its final gender. Roughly, “every-sexed”.
emodo [eh MOH doh] (noun)-male
eperu [eh PEH rroo] (noun)-neuter
het [HEHT] (noun)-Prefix for a town. Used “het [name of town]”.
ide [EE deh] (noun)-day
isal [ee SAAL] (noun
)-ocean (much vaster than “the sea”).
jarana [jaa RAA naa] (noun)-The individual who cares for the anadi of a House, seeing to their health, feeding and bathing those who need aid and arranging for their grading, breeding and care during pregnancy. The jarana sometimes also cares for pre-Turned children, though in larger Houses these duties are sometimes undertaken by separate individuals.
jena [JZAY naa] (noun)-heart
jenadha [jeh NAHD hah] (noun)-A strategy game played with colored stones, one of the few played by all three sexes.
Jokka [JOHK kah] (noun)-Several individuals (plural). One Jokkad, two Jokka.
Jokkad [JOHK kahd] (noun)-An individual (singular).
Jokku [JOHK koo] (adjective)-Belonging to a Jokkad (possessive).
kaña [KAHN yah] (noun)-A title within a House: the most valuable/saleable female therein. The “prize” who will gain the House the most money in contracts. There can only be one of these at a time, though often the title will be traded back and forth as the worth of each female varies.
kaña-befidzu [KAHN yah beh FEED zoo] (noun)-The most important bred female in the House; a title given to the female whose progeny are considered the most worthy/useful.
ke [KEH] (adjective)-A prefix used in addressing an individual. Connotes a mild deference, roughly maps to “respected”.
kudelith [koo DEH lihth] (noun)-“three-times-the-same-sexed”. A word used for Jokka who have remained the same sex from birth through both puberties.
lithrekid [LIHTH reh kihd] (noun)-A batlike creature native to southern forests on Ke Bakil, mammalian, with thick, brightly colored wings.
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