The Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  “Nevertheless. I did not invite you to this house.”

  Lumyn inclined her head as if conceding something. “You did, however, inquire via the union about available enulai who might attend the newborn godling, Lady Shill. Did you not? Forgive me, but I thought you were looking for help.”

  I frowned, because she was lying again. Whatever she had given Eino had made him sad; it was obviously more than a trinket. I really did not like her at all.

  “I summoned Mikna for that purpose,” Fahno said, moving slowly closer to Lumyn. She was old and wide and I could feel how her back hurt, but in that moment she was like a big old bear, lumbery and scary. “You lack the strength to deal with a godling like Shill, and now I see you lack the discipline as well.”

  “ ‘Managing gods is as much a matter of compatibility and temperament as sheer strength,’ ” said Lumyn, and Fahno stopped, wincing. Lumyn smiled. “That is from your teachings, is it not? I came because this godling of yours is a free and glorious creature, like all her kind, and she should have choices—rather than having others’ wills foisted upon her.”

  Another lie! I clenched my fists. But now the stocky woman—Mikna?—spoke. “Foolishness,” she said. “The godling is but a child, according to Fahno’s description. ‘Free and glorious creatures’ who don’t understand the world cannot be trusted to make such important choices on their own. To attempt it may seem like kindness, but in truth, it is cruel.” She stepped forward, and her whole posture said GO AWAY. “Do you truly want to help, Lumyn? Are you enulai enough, Darre enough, to truly care? Then let the people who know the situation best make the decision—and be mature enough to abide by it.”

  But now I was confused, and angrier! Because this was somehow a lie, too.

  Lumyn shook her head. “A godling child isn’t some helpless, mindless creature!” she said. “She can be shown the world, and helped to make the decision in full knowledge. To treat her otherwise—like an object to be fought over, like a pet—is a fundamental misjudgment of who and what she is. That is cruelty.”

  None of them had even noticed me, so focused were they on each other. I looked at Eino, worried. He had fixed his eyes on the floor, and he was stiff and tight all over. I got madder, seeing how upset he was. I wasn’t sure how, but I was sure they were being mean! And even if they were all scary demons, I could not let them be mean to Eino!

  So I marched into the space between them, my fists tight. “Hey! I’m right here!”

  All three women flinched and stared at me as if it was the first time they’d even realized I was in the room. And that was how I finally figured out the lie. My mouth fell open.

  “You aren’t even really talking about me, are you? None of you!” I looked over at Eino, who hadn’t moved. “Everything you’re saying is really about him!”

  Fahno sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gods. Lady Shill, I wish…” She shook her head. “Yes. This is about Eino’s future.”

  “But he doesn’t like it!” I pointed at Eino again. “He’s all upset! All three of you are mad at each other, about him, and none of you are even looking at him!”

  Fahno looked, and her expression grew pained. “Yes… yes. Arolu, ah, please take Eino back to his rooms—” Arolu nodded and moved toward Eino.

  “No,” said Eino. He was still staring at the floor; the bundle that Lumyn had given him was still in his hand. “You’re right, Beba; this is about my future. Shouldn’t I hear this?” All of a sudden he looked up, and Fahno flinched at his glare. “Since I’m not permitted to choose my fate, I should at least face it with open eyes. Is that not the way of the Darre?”

  Fahno’s jaw muscles flexed, and then she focused on me again. “This is about you, Lady Shill—though I will allow that it’s not just about you. I had invited Mikna-enulai here to meet you, because I felt she would be an appropriate match for you.”

  Mikna inclined her head. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Shill.”

  “I don’t like you,” I said. She raised her eyebrows. Then to Lumyn I said, “And I don’t like you, either. You both made Eino get sad. You shouldn’t have made him sad!”

  Lumyn took a deep breath. “Lady Shill, I see that you consider Eino a friend. It troubles you that he’s unhappy right now, and I feel the same way. My gift, believe it or not, was meant to cheer him.” She glanced at Eino. “I’m sorry that it didn’t.”

  “That’s not your doing,” Eino said softly. His voice was thicker than usual, and rough. Arolu sort of tsked and came over, taking Eino’s shoulder.

  “Enough,” Arolu said to the women. “Please.” At this, they all sort of shifted or looked away, and then Fahno sighed.

  “There’s still the matter of Lady Shill’s disposition,” she said, which I guess was a way of changing the subject. She folded her arms. “I… appreciate that you felt it appropriate to come here, Lumyn-enulai, but I remain convinced that Mikna-enulai is the better choice.”

  Lumyn sort of smirked. “Lady Shill has made it clear she dislikes both of the options she’s been presented.”

  “That’s right,” I said. I was annoyed! They kept talking about me like I wasn’t there! “I don’t want either of you!”

  Fahno scowled. “You must have an enulai, Lady Shill, or leave this world per the Compact between your kind and mortalkind. Have you decided to leave?”

  “I’m not leaving!” Now I was scared she would make me go, or call Ia, who would make me go. That made me madder still. “I just don’t like any of this! I don’t want somebody who’s going to talk about me like I’m not here, or say things about one person when they really mean it about another person, or, or—” I couldn’t articulate it. I was shaking, I was so mad—but at the same time, I felt weird. Sort of ugly inside, shaking, too, wibbly and kind of gross. I wanted to cry, and I didn’t know why. “I want Eino!”

  Fahno inhaled; Mikna threw a sharp look at him, then back at me. Lumyn frowned. “Eino?”

  “Eino!” I yelled it, and everybody jumped, because I had slipped and my voice had gotten too loud again—not loud enough to damage anything, but enough that the windows rattled and a vase shivered on the side of the room. I bit my lip and pushed my voice down to soft again. “Sorry. But I don’t understand why he can’t be my enulai. Everybody says it’s because he’s a boy, but he’s not a boy, he’s a demon, and he’s full of magic, and I know he’d be a really good enulai for me because I actually like him! Why not him?”

  Fahno was staring at me, and then she looked at Eino. That was when I realized I’d done a bad thing, because I’d promised Eino I wouldn’t tell about him going out to dance and stuff. And I hadn’t—but now Fahno knew that we’d met before, somehow, and my words were maybe getting Eino in trouble. I bit my lip, but it was too late.

  But then Eino spoke behind me, and his voice was so harsh and bitter that it made me feel even more bad inside, because suddenly I knew I had done the same thing as the other women. I had been selfish, and used him without even doing anything good for him, just like Arolu feared.

  “You can’t have me, Shill,” he said. He sounded both sad and angry, but I looked at him without eyes and saw that he was smiling. I didn’t understand it. “It’s like I told you: an enulai is a person trained in an art demanding great skill. I cannot be a person; I am chattel, instead. I am nothing.” He turned to go.

  “You’re not nothing,” I said, stricken. He was so hurt. I had helped hurt him, and it was terrible! I ran forward a few steps, holding up a hand after him, but he didn’t see me as Arolu sighed and guided him away.

  But it was all wrong! He was worse! I had made him worse and IT WAS ALL WRONG.

  “You’re not nothing!” I shouted it, not with my voice this time but everything else, and the planet shook. I set my feet and crouched and yelled at the ground without a voice, because I didn’t want to hurt anybody but I was hurting, too, like nothing I had ever felt before, and I had to stop it! I had to make Eino know! “You’re not! You’re n
ot! You’re not nothing and I won’t ever let you be nothing!”

  “Shill!” Fahno cried, but I didn’t hear her. I didn’t want to hear her. I didn’t want the mortal realm to be like this. It shouldn’t be like this! I understood now: Eino was like me, not the right shape for the role his parents needed him to fill. He was not the decorative, obedient thing that everyone in Darr wanted him to be, and it was hurting him that he couldn’t be. Nobody should try to make children be what they aren’t. Everyone should just be what they were supposed to be! Everything was wrong and terrible! ALL EXISTENCE WAS WRONG AND TERRIBLE AND IT SHOULD BE BETTER!

  I screamed this at the ground, at existence, and tried to make it be, but I was not one of the Three or even a particularly strong godling. Nothing got any better.

  And then soft, perfumed hands took hold of me, and big colored sleeves folded round me, and Eino’s hard chest pressed against my face. “Hush, Shill,” he said. “Hush, you silly creature. It’s all right.”

  It was… it was not all right. But I felt better anyway. So I stopped screaming, and I pressed my face into his chest and realized only then that I’d been crying, and when he hugged me I felt like everything would be all right, even if that was probably a lie, too.

  “I’m sorry,” I said into his chest. “I didn’t mean to treat you like nothing, too.”

  “Did you?” His hand stroked my hair; it felt nice. He would be a good father if he ever did make babies.

  I swallowed hard, hitched, and then took a deep breath so I could talk. “I said what I wanted from you and I didn’t even ask you.”

  “Ah. Well, I’m used to that.” He sighed. Then he said, not to me, “Relax. It was just a little tantrum, and it’s over already.”

  “I’d hardly call that ‘little,’ ” said Ia, who I hadn’t even realized had come. “And it isn’t a tantrum, strictly. Fahno-enulai, is anyone hurt?”

  “No,” said Fahno. I could tell she was trying to be calm; why? Because I had scared her. I felt worse, realizing it, but Eino stroked my back and I felt better. “She was quite careful to avoid doing anything that harmed mortals, I noticed.”

  “Ah. Then there’s hope for her yet.”

  I pulled my teary face away from Eino and glared at him. “Don’t be mean, Sibling.”

  Ia, who stood among the three women looking pale and strange and so out of place, lifted an eyebrow. But then he pushed up his glasses and glanced at Fahno. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d like to take my sibling away for a talk. I’ll return her by nightfall. Hopefully you and your fellow enulai will have worked out your… jurisdictional issues by then.”

  Fahno grimaced. “I appreciate your delicate phrasing, Ia.” She looked at me. “Forgive me, Shill. We shouldn’t have fought in front of you. And…” She hesitated, then faced her grandson. “I hope that you too will forgive me, Eino. I just want to help you. I know you don’t believe that.”

  Eino only sighed. I pushed away from Eino and stood up to glare at all of them. “You shouldn’t have hurt Eino in front of me. But…” I bit my lip. “I did it, too. And the thing is, Eino’s really strong. He can fight for himself.” I turned to him. “If you do, I’ll help you.”

  Eino was staring at me, half amused and half still sadhurt. “I don’t think I’m ready to declare war on my family and friends, Shill.” His smile faded, and he faced Fahno again. “I know you mean well, Beba. Believe me, this would be easier if you hated me.”

  With that, a deeply uncomfortable silence fell. Arolu resumed urging Eino to come with him, and this time Eino obeyed. Fahno shook her head in their wake, in between glaring at both Mikna and Lumyn. Lumyn all but ignored her, gazing longingly after Eino. Mikna, at least, looked abashed—and then she turned a thoughtful gaze on me.

  With an annoyed glare round the room, Ia stepped forward and summoned me away with a flick of his eyes.

  We appeared in a place that was almost-nothing: a big wide grassy hill, overlooking a big flat stretch of more grass and flowers and stuff. There was nothing in the sky but blue, and nothing walking on the grass but bugs and tiny mice and a snake or two, except snakes do not walk. It was quiet and it made me feel quiet inside, so I sat and drew up my knees and wrapped my arms around them and put my head down.

  “What you felt, just now, was your antithesis,” Ia said. He stood next to me, watching the grass wave in the wind. “That’s what mortals call it, and the word serves well enough. Something in that room was the opposite of what you are—not just its negation, but its active obliteration. They wounded you and didn’t even realize it. That will always be the danger, Sibling. They think of us as powerful, and we are, but… they can damage us so easily, in ways they barely understand. If we let them.”

  That was what an antithesis felt like? “It hurt,” I said, rubbing my tummy. My head hurt, too, and bits of my soul were all achy and tender. “I tried not to hurt them back, though.”

  “Commendable, given your youth. Many older gods would not have been able to resist lashing out in reaction.” I perked up a little, and felt better, at hearing I was commendable. He’d never said anything nice about me before. But then he sighed. “Shill, I’m going to ask you again to return to our realm.”

  I gasped, hurt again but in a different way. “Why? Why, Ia, I’ve been really good—”

  “Yes. You have been.” That stopped me. If he thought I was good, then why? “But Shill, you’ve been in this realm barely more than a day, and look at what’s happened.”

  “I—” I frowned, more confused. “What’s happened?”

  “You care about them.” I looked up at him finally, and he looked at me, and his face was heavy and sad in a way I had never seen before. “It’s impossible not to, if you stay here long enough, but for you it took only one day. And in that day they’ve damaged you. That means you’re vulnerable to them, Sibling—more so than most of us. Something in your nature must make you that way, or maybe it’s simply that you’re a child. But we can die, Shill, of the things they do to us. You do not understand yet what that means, but… I’ve seen too many of us die, lately.”

  It was nice that Ia did not want me to die. But I did not like that he wanted me to leave the mortal realm.

  “Maybe,” I said, trying to understand even as I spoke, “if I understand what happened, I might understand what my antithesis is, and then I won’t get hurt by it again.”

  Ia shook his head. “This entire realm is inimical to us in so many ways, Shill. Everything is so… concentrated. There’s no way to escape the threat completely while you remain here.”

  “I don’t care! I knew it was dangerous before I came. Even Naha told me not to come, and she’s not scared of anything.”

  “Untrue, Shill. She fears the loss of those she loves.” Ia sobered. “I thought he would never stop mourning Sieh. In the end, he went beyond the edges of our realm, into the nothingness. I followed him for a time, because I can, and because I worried he would… well.” He shrugged a little, but he did not have to say it. Everybody can see that one day, Naha might become a Maelstrom. It is a maybe and not a probably, or worse an eventually, but that it is even a maybe is a scary thing. That’s Naha, though: a scary, changeable thing.

  “But he just mourned,” Ia continued. He gazed into the distance without really seeing it; there was nothingness in his eyes. “Mourned and wandered, as if he was… searching for something. I don’t know what. Eventually he went farther than even I could follow, and there’s no telling how long he was gone. There’s no time in the nothing, you see. When he returned… she was different, in many ways. Perhaps that’s what she needed to heal.” He looked at me. “Nahadoth has had time enough to love you, too, Shill. Will you make her mourn again for a lost child, so soon?”

  I bit my lip and squirmed and looked at my knees. I had learned from the mortals, though, and instead of answering this really hard question, I changed the subject. “Um, Ia? Who is your enulai?”

  He said nothing for a moment. I was
scared he would make me answer the Naha question. But he said, “I don’t have one.”

  I frowned. “Fahno said all godlings—”

  “I know.” He seemed to hesitate. “I’m not like other godlings, Shill. Haven’t you noticed?”

  The question confused me because no two godlings were alike. “No?”

  I felt him look at me, like he didn’t quite believe me. But then he shook his head, almost to himself. “It has been so long since a new godling walked among us. I’d forgotten that you don’t see it. Not at first.”

  Then there was a new voice behind us, and I jumped, but Ia only went very still and narrowed his eyes at the sound of it.

  “He is a monster,” said the woman. Said the godling, I realized, even as I turned and looked up—and up—to take in all of her mortal shape. She was like seven feet tall! And wider than me and Ia put together! Her fists were great big, and her bones were great big, and her headkerchief was great big; everything was great big!

  I inhaled, grinning, and stood to face her. “I want to get that big.” Her eyebrows lifted a little, I think in amusement.

  “A monster even among our kind, like all the elontid,” she continued. “Nahadoth, for all her chaos, is something. Ia alone among us is the abyss: no god can stare into him long without losing themselves, in terror. So he lives here in the mortal realm, among beings who cannot grasp the horror of him. He never comes to our realm, where the facade would not last. He needs no enulai to keep him in check, for who would foul his only home?”

  Ia, face so composed that I thought at once it was another kind of lie, finally stood and turned to her. “Zhakkarn,” he said, calmly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  She turned aside to reveal Mikna, walking up behind her. “I asked Lady Zhakkarn to come,” Mikna said. I bristled at once, but she held up a hand. “Please, Lady Shill. We’ve begun on the wrong foot, and for that I apologize. I ask, however, that you hear me out.”