The Kingdom of Gods

by N. K. Jemisin

  “So you won’t use your ancestors’ methods,” I snapped, “because you still want to be a good Arameri. But you’re not above using their reputation to advance your goals. Do I have that right?”

  She stared at me, startled into momentary silence. “What?”

  I sat up. “You threaten people with genocide, and then you wonder why they scheme against you. Really, Shahar; I thought you wanted to change things.”

  Her face darkened at once. “I would never actually do it, Sieh. Gods, that would make me a monster!”

  “And what does it make you to threaten all that they know and love?” She fell silent in confusion and growing anger, and I leaned close so that my breath would caress her cheek. “A monster too cowardly to accept her own hideousness.”

  Shahar went pale, though two flaring spots of color rose on her cheeks as fury warred with shock in her eyes. To her credit, however, she did not launch an immediate attack, and she did not move away from me. Her nostrils twitched. One of her hands tightened, then relaxed. She lifted her chin.

  “Clearly you aren’t suggesting that I actually inflict some calamity on them,” she said. Her voice was soft. “What, then, do you suggest, Trickster? Let them continue with these assassination attempts until every fullblood is dead?” Her expression tightened further. “Never mind. I don’t know why I’m even asking. You don’t care whether any of us live or die.”

  “Why should I?” I gestured around us, at Sky. “It’s not as though there aren’t plenty of Arameri —”

  “No, there aren’t!” Her temper broke with an almost palpable force. She shifted to her hands and knees, glowering. “You’ve looked around this place, Sieh. They tell me the underpalace was full, back in your day. They tell me there were once as many Arameri living abroad as there were here in Sky, and we could take our pick from among the best of the family to serve us. These days we’ve actually been adopting people into the family who aren’t related at all! Tell me what that means to you, O eldest of godlings!”

  I frowned. What she was saying made no sense. Humans bred like rabbits. There had been thousands of Arameri in the days when I’d been a slave … but she was right. The underpalace should never have been empty. No mostly-Maroneh lowblood should have been able to rise to captain of the guard. And Remath had mated with her own brother — that had never happened in the old days. Incest, certainly, constantly, but never for children. Yet if Remath, herself diluted in some hidden way, sought to concentrate the Central Family’s strengths …

  The signs had been there since I’d first returned to Sky, but I hadn’t seen them. I was so used to thinking of the Arameri as powerful and numerous, but in fact they were dwindling. Dying. “Explain,” I said, inexplicably troubled.

  Shahar’s anger faded; she sat down again, her shoulders slumping. “The targeting of highbloods is a recent thing,” she said, “but the attacks were happening for a long time before that. We just didn’t notice until the problem became acute.” Her expression grew sour.

  “Lowbloods,” I guessed. Those Arameri least-closely related to the Central Family, lacking in resources or social status to give them greater value to the family head. The servants, the guards. The expendable ones.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “It started long ago. Probably a few decades after you and the other Enefadeh broke free. All the collateral lines of the family, the ones we left free to manage businesses or simply bring in new blood — It was subtle at first. Children dying of odd diseases, young wives and husbands turning up infertile, accidents, natural disasters. The lines died out. We apportioned their estates to allies or resumed control of them ourselves.”

  I was already shaking my head. “No. Accidents can be arranged, gods know children are easy to kill, but natural disasters, Shahar? That would mean …” Could a scrivener do it? They knew the scripts for wind and rain and sunlight, but storms were demonishly hard to control. Too easy to trigger a tsunami when trying for a flash flood. But the alternative — no. No.

  She smiled, following my worst thoughts. “Yes. It could mean that a god has been working to kill us for the past fifty years or more.”

  I leapt to my feet, beginning to pace. My mortal skin suddenly felt constricting, choking; I wanted to shed it. “If I wanted to kill the Arameri, I would do it,” I snapped. “I would fill this place with soap bubbles and bury you in bath toys. I would put spiked holes in all the floors and cover them with rugs. I would will every Arameri under twelve to just fall down and die — I can do it, too!” I rounded on her, daring her to challenge me.

  But Shahar was still nodding, wearily, her smile gone. “I know, Sieh.”

  Her capitulation bothered me. I was not used to seeing her despair. I was not used to regarding any Arameri as helpless or vulnerable, let alone all of them.

  “Yeine forbade any of us to retaliate against the Arameri,” I said softly. “She didn’t care about you — she hates you as much as the rest of us do — but she didn’t want war everywhere, and …” The Arameri, foul as they were, had been the best hope for keeping the world from collapsing into chaos. Even Nahadoth had gone along with Yeine, and none of my siblings would defy her.

  Would they?

  I turned away, going to the window so that Shahar would not see my fear.

  She sighed and got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. We’re leaving early so as to fool any potential assassins. …” She paused, noticing my stillness at last. “Sieh?”

  “Go on,” I said softly. Beyond the window, the sun had begun to set, scattering a crimson spectrum across the sky. Did Itempas feel the end of day, wherever he was, the way Nahadoth had once died with every dawn? Did some part of him quail and gibber into silence, or did he fade slowly, like the bands of color in the sky, until his soul went dark?

  At my silence, Shahar headed for the door, and I roused myself enough to think. “Shahar.” I heard her stop. “If something happens, if you’re in danger, call me.”

  “We never tested that.”

  “It will work.” I felt that instinctively. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. “I don’t care if most of the Arameri die, it’s true. But you are my friend.”

  She went still behind me. Surprised? Touched? Once upon a time, I would have been able to taste her emotions on the air. Now I could only guess.

  “Get some rest,” she said at last. “I’ll have food sent up. We’ll speak again when I return.” Then she left.

  And I leaned back against the window, trembling now that she was gone, left alone to ponder the most terrible of possibilities.

  A godling defying a god. It seemed impossible. We were such low things compared to them; they could kill us so easily. Yet we were not powerless. Some among us — myself, once upon a time — were strong enough to challenge them directly, at least for a few moments. And even the least of us could keep secrets and stir up trouble.

  One godling’s mischief did not trouble me. But if many of us were involved, conspiring across mortal generations, implementing some complex plan, it was no longer mischief. It was a revolt. One far more dangerous than whatever the northerners planned for the Arameri.

  Because if the godlings revolted against the gods, the gods would fight back, as they had done when threatened by the demons long ago. But godlings were not as fragile as demons, and many of us had no vested interest in keeping the mortal realm safe. That would mean a second Gods’ War, worse than the first one.

  This had been brewing right under my nose for fifty years, and I hadn’t had a clue.

  Beyond me, in silent rebuke, the bloody sky went gradually black.

  7

  How many miles to Babylon?

  Three score and ten.

  Can I get there by candlelight?

  Aye, and back again.

  If your feet are nimble and light,

  You’ll get there by candlelight.

  I needed help. But not from Nahadoth or Yeine; I dared not chance their tempers. Not until I knew more.

 
Who could I trust among my siblings? Zhakkarn, of course, but she was never subtle and would be no help in uncovering a conspiracy. The rest — hells. Most of them I had not spoken to in two thousand years. Before that I had tried to kill some of them. Bridges burned, ashes scattered, ground strewn with salt.

  And there was the small problem of my inability to return to the gods’ realm in my current state. That was less of a problem than it seemed, because fortunately the city beneath Sky was teeming with my youngest siblings, those for whom the novelty of the mortal realm had not yet worn off. If I could convince one of them to help me … But which one?

  I turned from the window, frustrated, to pace. The walls of Sky had begun to glow again, and I hated them, for they were more proof of my impotence; once upon a time, they would have dimmed, just a bit, in my presence. I was no Nahadoth, but there was more than a little of his darkness in me. Now, as if to mock me, the walls stayed bright, diffusing every shadow —

  — shadow.

  I stopped. There was one of my siblings, just maybe, who would help me. Not because she liked me; quite the opposite. But secrets were her nature, and that was something we shared. It was always easier to relate to those of my siblings with whom I had something in common. If I appealed to that, would she listen? Or would she kill me?

  “No reward without risk,” I murmured to myself, and headed for the apartment door.

  I took the lift down to the penultimate level of the underpalace. The corridors here were as quiet as always — and dim, compared to the brighter glow of all the other levels. Yes, this was the place.

  For nostalgia’s sake, I touched each door as I passed it, remembering. Here were my sisters’ rooms: Zhakkarn’s with cannon shot embedded in the floor and the walls hung with shields; her hammock of blood-soaked slings and whips. (Very comfortable, I knew from experience, though a little scratchy.) Dear traitor Kurue’s, with pearls and coins scattered over nearly every surface, and books stolen from the library stacked atop the rest. The coins would be tarnishing now.

  I avoided my own quarters, for fear of how they would make me feel. How long before I ended up living there again? I steered my thoughts off this path with a heavy hand.

  This left the fourth chamber, at the center of the level. The one that had been Nahadoth’s.

  It was pitch-black within, but I could still see a little in the dark even without cat’s eyes. The chamber was completely empty. No furnishings, no decorations, no hint that the room had ever been used. Yet every inch of its structure screamed defiance of our onetime jailors: the permanently lightless walls. The ceiling, which dipped toward the center of the room; the floor rose in the same spot, as if some terrible force had sucked the very stone toward itself. The sharp corners, which no other room in Sky had. If I stared hard enough into the dark, I could almost see Nahadoth’s silhouette etched against it and hear his soft, deep voice. Have you come for another story? Greedy child.

  It had been cruel of me to push him away. I would pray an apology to him after this.

  Reaching into my shirt, I pulled up the necklace of my own woven hair. Tugging En off the cord, I willed it to hover in the space between the floor and ceiling extrusions. To my relief, this worked; En stayed in the air and began turning at once, happily. This reminded it of the orrery, though it was lonely without planets.

  “Sorry,” I said, reaching out to stroke its smooth surface with a fingertip. “I’ll give you more planets someday. In the meantime, will you give me light?”

  In answer, En flared bright yellow-white for me, a gleeful candle. Suddenly Nahadoth’s chamber became smaller, stark with shadows. My own loomed behind me, a big-headed apparition that seemed to taunt me with the shape of the child I should have been. I ignored it and focused on the task at hand.

  “Lady of Secrets,” I said, extending a hand; my shadow did the same. Shaping my fingers just so, I made the profile of a face on the wall and spoke with it. “Shadow in the dark. Nemmer Jru Im, my sister; do you hear me?”

  There was a pause. Then, though I did not move, my hand shadow cocked its head.

  “Well, this is unexpected,” it said in a woman’s voice. “Big brother Sieh. It’s been some time.”

  I added my other hand, working the shadow into the shape of a donkey’s head. I’ve been an ass. “I hear interesting things about you, Nemmer. Will you speak with me?”

  “I answered, didn’t I?” The first shadow shifted, impossibly manifesting its own arms and hands, the latter of which were set on its hips. “Though I’ll admit that’s because I’ve heard some very interesting things about you, too. I’m dying to know if they’re true.”

  Damn. I might have known. “I’ll tell you every juicy detail, but I want something in return.”

  “Do you, now?” I tensed at the wariness in her tone. That she did not trust me was irrelevant; she trusted no one. She did not like me, though, which was another matter entirely. “I’m not certain I’m interested in making any bargains with you, Trickster.”

  I nodded; no more than I had expected. “I mean no harm to you, Nemmer. Cross my heart and hope to die.” I heard the bitterness in my own voice and angled my fingers into the shape of an old man’s head. “You did not turn on us in the War. I bear no grudge toward you.”

  “That I do not believe,” she said, folding her arms. “Everyone knows you hate the ones who stood by doing nothing as much as the ones who fought for Itempas.”

  “Hate is a strong word —”

  Her silhouette tossed its head in the universal gesture of rolled eyes. “Resent us, then. Yearn to kill us. Is that more accurate?”

  I stopped and dropped my hands with a sigh. The talking shadows remained. “You know my nature, Sister. What do you want from me — maturity?” I wanted to laugh, but I was too soul-weary. “Fine, I’ll say it: I hate you and I wouldn’t have contacted you if I had a choice, and we both know it. Now, will you speak with me, or shall we just tell each other to go to the infinite hells and leave it at that?”

  She was silent for a moment. I had time enough to worry: who could I contact if she refused to help me? The other choices were worse. What if —

  “All right,” she said at last, and the knot that had been tightening in my belly loosened. “I need time to set things up. Come here, a week from today. Noon.” The location made itself present in my consciousness, as if I had always known it. A house somewhere in the city below Sky. South Root. “Come alone.”

  I folded my arms. “Will you be alone?”

  “Oh, of course.”

  I made the shape of a cat’s head with my hands: ears back, teeth bared. She laughed.

  “I don’t care if you believe me. You asked for this meeting, not I. Be there in a week, or not at all.” With that, her shadow leaned down and blew hard. With a surprised flare, En went dark and dropped to the floor. Then Nemmer was gone.

  In the dark, I retrieved En, who was quite put out. I murmured soothing words and tucked it back into my shirt, all the while thinking.

  If Nemmer knew what had happened to me — and it was her nature to know such things; not even the Three could keep her out of their business, though she wasn’t foolish enough to flaunt that — then when I arrived in a week, I might find her and a group of my least-favorite siblings, some of whom had been waiting for a chance to repay me for the Gods’ War for two thousand years.

  But Nemmer had never been one to play the games of our family. I didn’t know why she’d sat out the war. Had she been torn, like so many of our siblings, between our fathers? Had she been one of those working to save the mortal realm, which had nearly been destroyed by our battling? I sighed in frustration, realizing that this was the sort of thing I should have occupied myself with as eldest, not our parents’ sordid dramas. If I had bothered to reconcile with my siblings, perhaps tried to understand their reasons for betraying Nahadoth —

  “If I had done that, I would not be who I am.” I sighed into the dark.

  Which, ultimately,
was why I would risk trusting Nemmer. She, too, was only what her nature made her. She kept her own counsel, gathering secrets and doling out knowledge where she deemed best and making alliances only as it suited her — briefly, if at all. If nothing else, that meant she was not my enemy. Whether she became my friend would be up to me.

  On returning to Deka’s room, I was surprised to find that I had visitors again: Morad, the ample-haired palace steward, and another servant, who was busy making the bed and tidying up. Both bowed to me at once, as they would to any Arameri high-blood. Then the servant promptly resumed his cleaning duties while Morad looked me up and down with an expression of unconcealed distaste.

  Frowning at her scrutiny, I looked at myself — and then, belatedly, realized why the servants had all stared at me on my way to the underpalace. I still wore the clothing I had conjured for myself two days before. It had been nondescript then, but it was filthy now, after all my scrabbling through dusty corridors and Tree-choked dead spaces. And … I sniffed one of my armpits and wrinkled my nose, appalled that I had not noticed. I had not bathed since my return to this world, and apparently my adolescent body had a greater capacity for generating reek than I had done as a child.

  “Oh,” I said, smiling sheepishly at Morad. She sighed, though I thought I saw a hint of amusement on her face.

  “I’ll run you a bath,” she said, and paused, looking particularly at my head. “And summon a stylist. And the tailor. And a manicurist.”

  I touched my stringy, gritty hair with a weak laugh. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  “As you like, my lord.” Morad touched the servant, who had almost finished the bed, and murmured something. He nodded and exited the apartment at once. To my surprise, Morad then rolled up her sleeves and finished tucking the sheets. When that was done, she went into the bathroom; a moment later, I heard water run.

  Curious, I followed her into the room and watched while she sat on the tub’s edge, testing the water with her fingers. It was even more noticeable with her back turned and all that hair of hers visible in full riot. It was clear that she was not fully Amn; her hair had the kind of tight, small coils that wealthy Amn spent hours and fortunes to achieve, and it was as black as my father’s soul. Her skin was pale enough, but the marks of other were in her features, plain to anyone who looked. It was also plain that she was not ashamed of her mixed blood; she sat as straight and graceful as a queen. She could not have been raised in Sky or any Amn territory; they would have beaten her spirit down with cruel words long before now.