The Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  “Yeine and Nahadoth, too, if I know them at all.” I sighed. “But if they could have stopped it, they would have done so by now.”

  I did not add that I had prayed to both, more than once, in the preceding nights. They had responded with silence. I tried not to worry about what that meant.

  “Well, we’d better get going. Just came to wish the old hell good-bye.” Ahad’s cheroot had finally burned down. He dropped the butt to the ground and stubbed it out with his toe, throwing one final glance at Sky’s tumbled bulk behind us. The daystone still glowed at night, ghostly soft radiance to contrast the torn emptiness in the sky above. A fitting marker for mortalkind’s grave, I decided. Hopefully Yeine and Naha would find some way to preserve it when the world was gone.

  And Itempas, my mind added to Yeine’s and Naha’s names, though of course that was less certain. Perhaps they would let him die with the rest of us. If they were going to, this would be the time.

  “We will see you again,” Glee said. I nodded, noticing at last that they were holding hands.

  Then they vanished, leaving me alone with Deka. “Explain,” he snapped.

  I sighed and looked around. It was well and truly night. I hadn’t figured on the journey taking as long as it had. We had no supplies with which to make camp. It would be horse blankets on the ground instead. My old bones were going to love that.

  “Let’s get comfortable first,” I said. His jaw flexed as though he would have preferred to argue, but instead he turned to the horses, bringing them closer to the daystone pile so that they could have some shelter from the wind.

  We set up on what had been the foundation of a house, blown clean away by the force of the Tree’s fall. A few small pieces of daystone had landed here, so we gathered them into a pile for light, and Deka murmured a command that made them generate heat as well. I laid out our blankets separately, whereupon Deka promptly moved his over next to mine and pulled me into his arms.

  “Deka,” I began. We had shared his bed since my last mortaling, but both of us had been too tired for anything but sleep. Convenient for putting off necessary conversations, but they could not be put off forever. So I took a deep breath and prayed briefly to one of my brothers for strength. “You don’t have to pretend. I know how it is for young men, and—”

  “I think,” he said, “you’ve been stupid enough lately, Sieh. Don’t make things worse.”

  At this I tried to sit up. I couldn’t because he wouldn’t let me and because my back complained fiercely when I tried. Too much time on horseback. “What?”

  “You are still the child,” he said quietly, and I stopped struggling. “And the cat, and the man, and the monster who smothers children in the dark. So you’re an old man, too; fine. I told you, Sieh, I’m not going anywhere. Now lie down. I want to try something.”

  More out of shock than any real obedience, I did as he bade me.

  He slid a hand under my shirt, which made me blush and splutter. “Deka, gods—”

  “Be still.” His hand stopped, resting on my chest. It was not a caress, though my stupid old body decided that it was and further decided that perhaps it was not so old after all. I was grateful; at my age there were no guarantees that certain bodily processes still worked.

  Deka’s expression was still, intent. I had seen the same concentration from him when he spoke magic or drew sigils. This time, however, he began to whisper, and his hand moved in time with his words. Puzzled, I listened to what he was saying, but they were not words. It was not our language, or any language. I had no idea what he was doing.

  I felt it, though, when words began tickling their way along my skin. When I jumped and tried to sit up, Deka pressed me down, closing his eyes so that my twitching would not distract him. And I did twitch, because it was the most peculiar sensation. Like ants crawling over my flesh, if those ants had been flat and made of sibilance. That was when I noticed the soft black glow of Deka’s marks—which were more than tattoos, I realized at last. They always had been.

  But something was not right. The marks he whispered into my flesh did not linger. I felt them wend around my limbs and down my belly, but as soon as they settled into place, they began to fade. I saw Deka’s brow furrow, and after a few moments of this he stopped, his hand on my chest tightening into a fist.

  “I take it that didn’t go as expected,” I said quietly.

  “No.”

  “What did you expect?”

  He shook his head slowly. “The markings should have tapped your innate magic. You’re still a god; if you weren’t, your antithesis wouldn’t affect you. I should be able to remind your flesh that its natural state is young, malleable, embodied only by your will….” His jaw tightened, and he looked away. “I don’t understand why it failed.”

  I sighed. There had been no real hope in me, probably because he hadn’t told me what he was doing ahead of time. I was glad for that. “I thought you wanted me mortal.”

  He shook his head again, his lips thinning. “Not if it means you dying, Sieh. I never wanted that.”

  “Ah.” I put my hand over his fist. “Thank you for trying, then. But there’s no point, Deka, even if you could fix me. Godlings are fragile compared to the Three. When the Maelstrom breaks this universe, most likely we—”

  “Shut up,” he whispered, and I did, blinking. “Just shut up, Sieh.” He was trembling and there were tears in his eyes. For the first time since his childhood, he looked lost and lonely and more than a little afraid.

  I was still a god, as he had said. It was my nature to comfort lost children. So I pulled him to me, intending to hold him while he wept.

  He pushed my hands aside and kissed me. Then, as though the kiss had not been sufficient reminder that he was no child, he sat up and began tugging my clothes off.

  I could have laughed, or said no, or pretended disinterest. But it was the end of the world, and he was mine. I did what felt good.

  We would all die in three days, but there was so much that could be done in that time. I was not a true mortal; I knew better than to take Enefa’s gift for granted. I would savor every moment of my life that remained, suck its marrow, crunch its bones. And when the end came… well, I would not be alone. That was a precious and holy thing.

  In the morning, we returned to Echo. Deka went to look in on his scriveners and ask again whether they had found some miracle that could save us all. I went in search of Shahar.

  I found her in the Temple, which had finally been dedicated as such. Someone had put an altar in it, right on the spot where Deka and I had first made love. I tried not to think lewd thoughts about human sacrifice as I stopped before it, because I refused to be a dirty old man.

  Shahar stood beyond the altar, beneath the colored swirl that now cast faintly blue light on us, like that of the cloudless sky outside. Her back was to me, though I was certain she’d heard me approach. I’d had to speak to four guards just to get into the room. She did not move until I spoke, however, and then she started, coming out of whatever reverie she’d lapsed into.

  “Friends lie,” I said. I spoke softly, but my voice echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber. It was deeper now, with a hoarse edge that would only get worse as I grew older. “Lovers, too. But trust can be rebuilt. You are my friend, Shahar. I shouldn’t have forgotten that.” She said nothing. I sighed and shrugged. “I’m a bastard, what do you expect?”

  More silence. I saw the tightness of her shoulders. She folded her arms across her chest. I had seen enough women cry that I recognized the warning signs and decided to leave. But just as I reached the doorway, I heard, “Friends.”

  I stopped and looked back. She held up her right hand—the one that had held mine, years ago when we’d taken our oath. I rubbed a thumb across my own tingling palm and smiled.

  “Friends,” I said, raising my own. Then I left, because there was something in my eyes. Dust, probably. I would have to be more careful in the future. Old men had to take good care of their eyes.
>
  22

  … and they all lived happily ever after.

  The end.

  THE WORLD REMAINED SURPRISINGLY calm as the Maelstrom grew to dwarf the sun in the sky. This was not at all what I had expected. Mortal humans are only a few languages and eccentricities removed from mortal beasts, and it is the nature of beasts to panic at the approach of danger.

  There were some beastly acts. No looting—the Order-Keepers had always been quick to execute thieves—but many cases of arson and vandalism as mortals destroyed property to vent their despair. And there was violence, of course. In one of the patriarchal lands, so many men slaughtered their wives and children before killing themselves that one of my siblings got involved. She appeared in the capital wreathed in falling leaves and let it be known that she would personally carry the souls of such murderers to the worst of the infinite hells. Even then the killings did not stop entirely, but they did decrease.

  All this was nothing to what could have been. I had expected… I don’t know. Mass suicide, cannibalism, the total collapse of the Bright.

  Instead, Shahar married Datennay Canru of Tema. It was a small and private ceremony, as there had not been time to prepare for anything better. At my prompting, she asked Deka to administer the rites as First Scrivener, and at my prompting, Deka agreed. There were no apologies exchanged. They were both Arameri. But I saw that she was contrite, and I saw that Deka forgave her. Then Shahar had the Order of Itempas spread word of the event by crier and runner and news scroll. She hoped to send a message by her actions: I believe there will be a future.

  Canru agreed readily to the marriage, I think, because he was more than a bit in love with her. She… well, she had never stopped loving me, but she genuinely liked him. We all sought our own forms of comfort in those days.

  I spent my nights in Deka’s arms and was humbly grateful for my fortune.

  So the world went on.

  Until its end.

  We gathered at dawn on the final day: Arameri, notables from Tema and other lands, commonfolk from Shadow, Ahad and Glee, Nemmer and a few of the other godlings who had not fled the realm. The Whorl was not as high as Sky had been, but it was as good a vantage point as any. From there, the heavens were a terrible, awe-inspiring sight. More than half of the sky had been devoured by the swirling, wavering transparency. As the sun rose and passed into the space of change, its shape turned sickly and distorted, its light flickering on our skins like a campfire. This was not an illusion. What we saw was literal, despite the impossibility of the angles and distance. Even Tempa’s rules for physics and time had been distorted by the Maelstrom’s presence. Thus we beheld the slow and tortured end of our sun as it was torn apart and drawn into the great maw. There would be light for a while longer, and then darkness such as no mortal had ever seen. If we lasted that long.

  I held Deka’s hand as we stood gazing at it, unafraid.

  Alarmed gasps from the center of the Whorl meadow drew my attention: Nahadoth and Yeine had appeared there amid the bobbing sea grass. The gathered folk stumbled back from them, though some quickly knelt or began weeping or calling out to them. No one shushed them, for hope had never been a sin.

  I dragged Deka with me as I pushed through the crowd. Between Nahadoth and Yeine was Itempas; they had brought him. All three of them looked grim, but they would not have come without reason. Nahadoth might act without purpose, but Yeine tended not to, and Itempas had never done so.

  They turned to me as I reached them, and I was suddenly sure of it. “You have a plan,” I said, squeezing Deka’s hand hard.

  They looked at each other. Beyond the Three, Shahar stepped out of the crowd as well, Canru in her wake. He stopped, gazing at them in awe. Shahar came forward alone, her fists tight at her sides.

  Itempas inclined his head to me. “We do.”

  “What?”

  “Death.”

  If I had not spent countless eternities enduring his manner, I would have screamed at this. “Can you be more specific?”

  There was the faintest twitch of Itempas’s lips. “Kahl has called the Maelstrom to join with him,” he said. “He will have to appear in order to take It into himself and—he hopes—use Its power to become a god. We will kill him and offer It a new seat of power instead.” He spread his hands, indicating himself.

  I caught my breath, horrified as I understood. “No. Tempa, you were born from the Maelstrom. To return to It—”

  “I have chosen this, Sieh.” His voice cut across mine, soothing, definitive. “It is the fate my nature demands. I have felt the possibility since Kahl’s summoning. Yeine and Nahadoth have confirmed it.” Behind him, Yeine’s face was unreadable, serene. Nahadoth… he was almost the same. It was not his nature to contain himself, however. He could not hide his unease entirely, not from me.

  I scowled at Itempas. “What is this, some misguided attempt at atonement? I told you a century ago, you stubborn fool, nothing can make up for your crimes! And what good does it do for you to sacrifice yourself, if your death will cause everything to end anyway?”

  “The Maelstrom may cease Its approach if It fulfills Kahl’s purpose,” Itempas replied. “In this case, creating a new god. We believe the form that this new god takes will depend on the nature and will of the vessel.” He shrugged. “I will see that what is created is a fitting replacement for myself.”

  I stumbled back, and Deka put a hand on my shoulder in concern. It was the same conjunction of power and will that had forged Yeine into a new Enefa, and where that had been wild, a series of not-quite-accidental coincidences, now Itempas hoped to control a similar event. But whatever god was created in his place, however stick-in-the-mud that new one might turn out to be, Itempas would die.

  “No,” I said. I was trembling. “You can’t.”

  “It’s the only solution, Sieh,” said Yeine.

  I stared at the two of them, so set in their resolve, and did not know what I felt in that moment. Not so long before, I would have rejoiced at the idea of a new Itempas. Even now it was a temptation, because I might have forgiven him and I might still love him, but I would never forget what he had done to our family. Nothing would ever be the same for any of us. Would it not be easier, somehow—cleaner—to start over with someone new? Knowing Itempas, the idea had some appeal for him, too. He did like things neat.

  I turned to Nahadoth, hoping for—something. I didn’t know what. But Nahadoth, damn him, wasn’t paying attention to any of us. He had turned away to gaze at the swirling sky. Around him, the dark wreathing tendrils of his presence wheeled in a slow, matching dance. Inching higher, in random increments, as I watched. Toward the Maelstrom.

  Wait—

  Itempas spoke his name sharply, before my thoughts could crystallize into fear. Yeine, surprised by this, frowned at both her brothers. For a moment, I saw incomprehension in her face, and then her eyes widened. But Naha only smiled, as if it amused him to frighten us. And he kept looking up at the Maelstrom, as if It was the most beautiful sight in the mortal realm.

  “Perhaps we should do nothing,” Nahadoth said. “Worlds die. Gods die. Perhaps we should let all of it go, and start anew.”

  Start anew. My eyes met Yeine’s across the drift of Naha’s blackness. Deka’s hand tightened on my shoulder; he understood, too. The unsteady tremor of sorrow that edged Nahadoth’s voice. The way his shape kept blurring in time with the Maelstrom’s perturbations, resonating with its terrible, churning song.

  But there was no fear in Itempas’s face as he took a step toward Nahadoth. He was smiling, in fact—and I marveled, because even though he was trapped in mortal flesh, his smile somehow had all the old power. Nahadoth, too, reacted to this. He lowered his gaze to focus on Itempas, his own smile fading.

  “Perhaps we should,” Itempas said. “That would be easier than repairing what’s broken.”

  The drifting curls of Nahadoth’s substance grew still. They shifted aside as Itempas approached Nahadoth, allowing him near—bu
t also curving inward, and sharpening into jagged, irregular scythes. Fanged jaws ready to close on Itempas’s so-powerless flesh. Itempas ignored this blatant threat, continuing forward and, finally, stopping before him.

  Behind him, Glee stood stiff and wide-eyed. I held my breath.

  “Will you die with me, Nahadoth?” he asked. His voice was low, but it carried; we all heard it, even over the twisting, growing shriek of the Maelstrom. “Is that what you want?”

  Beyond them, perhaps only I saw Yeine’s expression tighten, though she said nothing. Anyone could see the delicacy of the spell Tempa had woven, more fragile still because it was nothing but words. He had no magic. No weapons at all for this battle, save the history between them, good and ill.

  Nahadoth did not answer, but then he didn’t need to. There were faces he wore only when he meant to kill. They are beautiful faces—destruction is not his nature, just an art he indulges—but in my mortal shape I could not look upon them without wanting to die, so I fixed my eyes on Itempas’s back. Somehow, despite his mortal shape, Tempa could still bear Naha’s worst.

  “The new one,” Tempa said, very softly. “I’ll make certain he’s worthy of both of you.”

  Then he lifted his hands—I clamped down on my tongue to keep from blurting a warning—and cupped Nahadoth’s face. I expected his fingers to fall off, for the black depths around Naha had grown lethal, freezing flecks of snow from the air and etching cracks into the ground beneath their feet. It probably did hurt Itempas; they always hurt each other. This did not stop him from leaning close and touching his lips to Nahadoth’s.

  Nahadoth did not return the kiss. Itempas might as well have pressed his mouth to stone. Yet the fact that it had occurred at all—that Nahadoth permitted it, that it was Itempas’s farewell—made it something holy.

  (I clenched my fists and fought back tears. I was too old for sentimentality, damn it.)