The Kingdom of Gods

by N. K. Jemisin

  To my surprise, however, she caught my chin and made me look at her again.

  “There is more to this than you being mortal,” she said. “More than you wanting to protect those two children.”

  “I want to protect mortalkind,” I said. “If Naha finds out what those two can do …”

  Yeine shook her head, and shook mine a little, refusing to be distracted. Then she searched my face so intently that I began to be afraid again. She was not Enefa, but …

  “You’ve been with Nahadoth and many of your siblings,” she said. Her revulsion crawled along my skin like the evacuating mites. She was trying to resist it, and failing. “I know … things are different, for godkind.”

  If she had only been older. Just a few centuries might have been enough to reduce the memory of her mortal life and her mortal inhibitions. I mourned that I would not have time to see her become a true god.

  “I was Enefa’s lover, too,” I said softly. I did not look at her at first. “Not … not often. When Itempas and Nahadoth were off together, mostly. When she needed me.”

  And because there would be no other time, I looked up at her and let her see the truth. You might have needed me, too, in time. You’re stronger than Naha and Tempa, but you’re not immune to loneliness. And I have always loved you.

  To her very great credit, she did not recoil. I loved her more than ever for that. But she did sigh.

  “I’ve felt no urge to have children,” she said, grazing her knuckles along my cheek. I leaned into her touch, closing my eyes. “With so many angry, damaged stepchildren already, it seems foolish to complicate matters further. But also …” I felt her smile, like starlight on my skin. “You are my son, Sieh. It makes no sense. I should be your daughter. But … that’s how I feel.”

  I caught her hand and pulled it against my chest so she could feel my mortal heartbeat. I was dying; it made me bold. “If I can be nothing else to you, I am glad to be your son. Truly.”

  Her smile turned sad. “But you want more.”

  “I always want more. From Naha, from Enefa … even from Itempas.” I sobered at that, shifting to lie against her side. She permitted this, even though it had gone wrong before. A sign of trust. I did not abuse it. “I want things that are impossible. It’s my nature.”

  “Never to be satisfied?” Her fingers played with my hair gently.

  “I suppose.” I shrugged. “I’ve learned to deal with it. What else can I do?”

  She fell silent for so long that I grew sleepy, warm and comfortable with her in the softness of the nest. I thought she might sleep with me — just sleep, nothing more — which I wanted desperately and no longer knew how to ask for. But she, goddess that she was, had other things in mind.

  “Those children,” she said at last. “The mortal twins. They make you happy.”

  I shook my head. “I barely know them. I befriended them on a whim and fell in love with them by mistake. Those are things children do, but for once I should have thought like a god, not a child.”

  She kissed my forehead, and I rejoiced that there was no reticence in the gesture. “Your willingness to take risks is one of the most wonderful things about you, Sieh. Where would you and I be, if not for that?”

  I smiled in spite of my mood, which I think was what she’d wanted. She stroked my cheek and I felt happier. Such was her power over me, which I had willingly given.

  “They are not such terrible people to love,” Yeine said, her tone thoughtful.

  “Shahar is.”

  She pulled back a little to look at me. “Hmm. She must have done something terrible to make you so angry.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She nodded, allowing me to sulk for a moment. “Not the boy, though?”

  “Dekarta.” She groaned, and I chuckled. “I did the same thing! He’s nothing like his namesake, though.” Then I paused as I considered Deka’s body-markings, his determination to be Shahar’s weapon, and his relentless pursuit of me. “He’s Arameri, though. I can’t trust him.”

  “I’m Arameri.”

  “Not the same. It isn’t an inborn thing. You weren’t raised in this den of weasels.”

  “No, I was raised in a different den of weasels.” She shrugged, jostling my head a little. “Mortals are the sum of many things, Sieh. They are what circumstance has made them and what they wish to be. If you must hate them, hate them for the latter, not the former. At least they have some say over that part.”

  I sighed. Of course she was right, and it was nothing more than I had argued with my own siblings over the aeons, as we debated — sometimes more than philosophically — whether mortals deserved to exist.

  “They are such fools, Yeine,” I whispered. “They squander every gift we give them. I …” I trailed off, trembling inexplicably. My chest ached, as though I might cry. I was a man, and men did not cry — or at least Teman men did not — but I was also a god, and gods cried whenever they felt like it. I wavered on the brink of tears, torn.

  “You gave this Shahar your love.” Yeine kept stroking my hair with one hand, absently, which did not help matters. “Was she worthy of it?”

  I remembered her, young and fierce, kicking me down the stairs because I’d dared to suggest that she could not determine her own fate. I remembered her later, making love to me on her mother’s orders — but how hungry she’d looked as she held me down and took pleasure from my body! I had not abandoned myself so completely with a mortal for two thousand years.

  And as I remembered these things, I felt the knot of anger in me begin to loosen at last.

  With a soft, amused chuckle, Yeine disentangled herself from me and sat up. I watched her do this wistfully. “Be a good boy and rest now. And don’t stay up all night thinking. Tomorrow will be interesting. I don’t want you to miss any of it.”

  At this I frowned, pushing myself up on one elbow. She ran fingers through her short hair as if to brush it back into place. A hundred years and still so much the mortal: a proper god would simply have willed her hair perfect. And she did not bother to hide the smug look on her face as I peered at her now.

  “You’re up to some mischief,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  “Indeed I am. Will you bless me?” She got to her feet and stood smirking with one hand on her hip. “Remath Arameri is as interesting as her children, is all I’ll say for now.”

  “Remath Arameri is evil, and I would kill her if Shahar did not love her so.” As soon as I said this, however, Yeine raised an eyebrow, and I grimaced as I realized how much I had revealed — not just to her, but also to myself. For if I loved Shahar enough to tolerate her horror of a mother, then I loved Shahar enough to forgive her.

  “Silly boy,” Yeine said with a sigh. “You never do things the easy way, do you?”

  I tried to make a joke of it, though the smile was hard to muster. “Not if the hard way is more fun.”

  She shook her head. “You almost died today.”

  “Not really.” I flinched as she leveled A Look at me. “Everything turned out all right!”

  “No, it didn’t. Or rather, it shouldn’t have. But you still have a god’s luck, however much the rest of you has changed.” She sobered suddenly. “A good mother desires not only her children’s safety, but also their happiness, Sieh.”

  “Er …” I could not help tensing a little, wondering what she was going on about. She was not as strange as Naha, but she thought in spirals, and sometimes — locked in a mortal’s linear mind as I was — I could not follow her. “That’s good, I suppose. …”

  Yeine nodded, her face still as unfathomable thoughts churned behind it. Then she gave me another Look, and I blinked in surprise, for this one held a ferocity that I hadn’t seen from her in a mortal lifetime.

  “I will see to it that you know happiness, Sieh,” she said. “We will do this.”

  Not she and Naha. I knew what she meant the way I knew the Three merited capital-letter status. And though the Three had
never joined in the time since her ascension, she was still one of them. Part of a greater whole — and when all three of them wanted the same thing, each member spoke with the whole’s voice.

  I bowed my head, honored. But then I frowned as I realized what else she was saying. “Before I die, you mean.”

  She shook her head, just herself again, then leaned over to put a hand on my chest. I felt the minute vibration of her flesh for just an instant before my dulled senses lost the full awareness of her, but I was glad for that taste. She had no heart, my beautiful Yeine, but she didn’t need one. The pulse and breath and life and death of the whole universe was a more than sufficient substitute.

  “We all die,” she said softly. “Sooner or later, all of us. Even gods.” And then, before her words could bring back the melancholy that I’d almost shed, she winked. “But being my son should get you some privileges.”

  With that she vanished, leaving behind only the cooling tingle of warmth where her fingers had rested on my chest and the renewed, clean rags of my nest. When I lay down, I was glad to find she’d left her scent, too, all mist and hidden colors and a mother’s love. And a whiff — no more than that — of a woman’s passion.

  It was enough. I slept well that night, comforted.

  But not before I’d disobediently lain awake for an hour or so, wondering what Yeine was up to. I could not help feeling excited. Every child loves a surprise.

  “Thank you all for coming,” said Remath. Her eyes touched on each of us in turn: me, Shahar, Dekarta, and, oddly, Wrath and Morad, alone of Remath’s full court. The latter two knelt behind Shahar and Deka, conceding right of prominence to the full-bloods. Ramina was present, too, standing behind and to the left of Remath’s throne. I leaned against the wall nearby, my arms folded as I pretended boredom.

  It was late afternoon. We’d expected Remath’s summons earlier in the day — in the morning, when she took her usual audience, or after that. But no one had come to fetch us, so Shahar and Deka had done whatever it was Arameri fullbloods did all day, and meanwhile I had slept until noon, mostly because I could. Morad, bless her, had sent brave servants to beard me in my lair with food and clothing, then bring me to Remath.

  From the blocky stone chair that had been an Itempan altar before the Gods’ War, and that still smelled faintly of Shinda Arameri’s demon blood, Remath smiled at us.

  “In light of yesterday’s disturbing events,” she said, “it seems the time has come to implement a plan that I hoped I would never need. Dekarta.” He twitched in surprise and looked up. “Your teachers at the Litaria assure me that you are without doubt the finest young scrivener they have ever graduated, and as my spies at the Litaria confirm your accomplishments, it appears this is not just toadying praise. This pleases me more than you can know.”

  Dekarta stared at her in obvious surprise for a full second before answering. “Thank you, Mother.”

  “Do not thank me yet. I have a task for you and Shahar, one that will take substantial time and effort, but upon which the family’s future will entirely depend.” She folded her legs and glanced at Shahar. “Do you know what that task is, Shahar?”

  It had the feel of an old question. Perhaps Remath quizzed Shahar in this manner all the time. Shahar seemed unfazed by it as she lifted her head to reply.

  “I’m not certain,” she said, “but I have suspicions, as my own sources have informed me of some very curious activities on your part.”

  “Such as?”

  Shahar narrowed her eyes, perhaps considering how much she wanted to divulge in front of the mixed audience. Then, bluntly, she said, “You’ve had parties examining remote locations around the world, and you’ve had several of the scriveners — in secret, on pain of death — researching the building techniques used to create Sky.” She glanced at me briefly. “Those that can be replicated with mortal magic.”

  I blinked in surprise. Now that I hadn’t been expecting. When I frowned at Remath, I was even more disturbed to find her smiling at me, as if my shock pleased her.

  “What in the heavens are you up to, woman?” I asked.

  She ducked her eyes almost coyly, reminding me, suddenly, of Yeine. Remath had that same smug look Yeine had worn the evening before. I did not like being reminded that they were relatives.

  “The Arameri must change, Lord Sieh,” she said. “Is that not what the Nightlord told us, on the day you and the other Enefadeh broke free from your long captivity? We have kept the world still too long, and now it twists and turns, reveling in sudden freedom — and risking its own destruction by changing too far, too fast.” She sighed, the smugness fading. “My spies in the north gave me a report last year that I did not understand. Now, having seen the power of these masks, I realize we are in far greater danger than I ever imagined. …”

  Abruptly she trailed off, falling silent, and for a breath-held moment there were hells in her eyes — fears and weariness that she had not let us see up to now. It was a stunning lapse on her part. It was also, I realized as she lifted her gaze to Shahar, deliberate.

  “My spies have seen hundreds of masks,” she said softly. “Perhaps thousands. In nearly every High North nation there are dimyi artists; the northerners have been spreading knowledge of the form and nurturing youngsters with the talent for more than a generation. They sell them to foreigners as souvenirs. They give them to traders as gifts. Most people hang them on their walls as decoration. There is no way to know how many masks exist — in the north, on the islands, throughout Senm. Even in this city, from Sky to the Gray to Shadow beneath. No telling.”

  I inhaled, realizing the truth of her words. Gods, I had seen the masks myself. On the walls of a tavern in Antema. In the Salon once, right below Sky, when I’d pretended to be the page of some noble in order to eavesdrop on a Consortium session. Stern, commanding faces arranged on a wall in the bathroom; they’d drawn my eye while I took a piss. I hadn’t known what they were then.

  Remath continued. “I have, of course, requested the aid of the Order-Keepers in locating and neutralizing this threat. They have already begun searching homes and removing masks — without touching them,” she added, as Deka looked alarmed and had opened his mouth to speak. “We are aware of the danger.”

  “No,” Deka said, and we all blinked in surprise. One did not interrupt the Arameri family head. “No one is aware of the danger, Mother, until we’ve had a chance to study these masks and understand how they work. They may function through more than contact.”

  “We must nevertheless try,” she said. “If even one of those masks can turn an ordinary mortal into a nigh-unstoppable creature like the ones that attacked us yesterday, then we are already surrounded by our enemies. They need not muster soldiers, or train them, or feed them. They can create their army at any time, in any place, through whatever mechanism or spell they use to control the masks. And the defenses our scriveners have devised have proven woefully inadequate.”

  “The corps have only now obtained examples of these masks in their undamaged state to study,” said Shahar. “It would seem too soon —”

  “I cannot risk this family’s fortunes on uncertainties. We’ve lost too much already, relying on tradition and our reputation. We believed we were unassailable, even as our enemies winnowed our ranks.” She paused for a moment, a muscle flexing in her jaw, her eyes going dark and hard. “You will make stranger choices, Shahar, when the time comes for you to lead. Not for nothing did I give you our Matriarch’s name.” Her eyes flicked to Deka. “Though I know already that you have the strength to do what’s right.”

  Shahar tensed, her eyes narrowing. In suspicion? Or anger? I cursed my paltry mortal awareness of the world.

  Remath took a deep breath. “Shahar. With the aid of Dekarta, and our family’s most capable members, you are to oversee the preparation of a new home for the Arameri.”

  Utter silence fell. I stared along with the rest of them. Unknowable Maelstrom, she’d actually sounded serious.


  “A new palace?” Shahar did not bother to hide her incredulity. “Mother …” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Remath extended a graceful hand. “It is very simple, Daughter. A new palace will soon be built for us — in a hidden location, far more defensible and isolated than Sky. Captain Wrath and the White Guard, Steward Morad, and any others whom you trust implicitly will reside in this new palace — alone, until such time as you can make it ready for the whole family. Unlike Sky, the location of this new palace shall be secret. Dekarta, you are to ensure that this remains the case, utilizing whatever magical means are at your disposal. Create new ones if you must. Ramina, you are to advise my children.”

  I could see which people in the room had known about this by their reactions. Shahar’s eyes were bigger than En; so were Deka’s. Wrath’s mouth hung open, but Morad continued to watch Remath, impassive. So Remath had told her lover. And Ramina smirked at me; he, too, had known.

  But it made no sense. The Arameri had built a new palace before, but only when the old one had been destroyed, thanks to Nahadoth and an especially stupid Arameri family head. The current Sky was fine, and safer than any location in the world, seated as it was within a giant tree. There was no need for this.

  I stepped away from the wall, putting my hands on my hips. “And what orders do you have for me, Remath? Will you command me to hew the stones and lay the mortar for this new palace? After all, I and my siblings built this one.”

  Remath’s gaze settled on me, inscrutable. She was silent for so long that I actually began to wonder if she would try to kill me. It would be utterly stupid on her part; nothing short of the Maelstrom would be able to stop Nahadoth’s fury. But I put nothing past her.

  Try me, I thought at her, and bared my teeth in a grin. En pulsed on my breast in hot agreement. At my smile, however, Remath nodded slightly, as if I’d confirmed something.

  “You, Lord Sieh,” she began, “are to look after my children.”

  I froze. Then, before I could muster a thought, Shahar sprang to her feet, abandoning protocol. Her hands were fists at her sides, her expression suddenly fierce. She rounded on all of us.