N. Jemisin: The Obelisk Gate

“Take care of him,” you say to her.

“As I would any precious thing,” she replies, without moving her mouth.

You’re not even going to start trying to interpret that. You head back toward the infirmary entrance, where Hoa stands waiting for you. Hoa, who looks like an utterly strange human boy, who is actually a stone eater somehow, and who treats you as his precious thing.

He watches you, unhappily, as he has done since you realized what he was. You shake your head and move past him on your way out. He follows, at a pace.

It’s early night in the comm of Castrima. Hard to tell since the giant geode’s soft white light, emitted impossibly from the massive crystals that make up its substance, never changes. People are bustling about, carrying things, shouting to each other, going about their usual business without the necessary slowdown that would occur in other comms with the reduction of light. Sleeping will be difficult for a few days, you suspect, at least until you get used to this. That doesn’t matter. Obelisks don’t care about the time of day.

Lerna’s been politely waiting outside while you and Hoa met with Alabaster and Antimony. He falls in as you come out, his expression expectant. “I need to go to the surface,” you say.

Lerna makes a face. “The guards won’t let you, Essun. People new to the comm aren’t trusted. Castrima’s survival depends on it remaining secret.”

Seeing Alabaster again has brought back a lot of the old memories, and the old orneriness. “They can try to stop me.”

Lerna stops walking. “And then you’ll do what you did to Tirimo?”

Rusting hell. You stop, too, rocking a little from the force of that blow. Hoa stops as well, eying Lerna thoughtfully. Lerna’s not glaring. The look on his face is too flat to be a glare. Damn. Okay.

After a moment, Lerna sighs and comes over. “We’ll go to Ykka,” he says. “We’ll tell her what we need. We’ll ask to go topside—with guards if she wants. All right?”

It’s so reasonable that you don’t know why you didn’t even consider it. Well, you know why. Ykka might be an orogene like you, but you spent too many years being thwarted and betrayed by other orogenes at the Fulcrum; you know better than to trust her just because she’s Your People. You should give her a chance because she’s Your People, though.

“Fine,” you say, and follow him to Ykka’s.

Ykka’s place is no larger than yours, and not distinct in any way despite being the home of the comm headwoman. Just another apartment carved by means unknown into the side of a giant glowing white crystal. Two people wait outside of its door, however, one leaning against the crystal and another peering over the railing at the expanse of Castrima. Lerna takes up position behind them and directs you to do the same. Only fair to wait your turn, and the obelisks aren’t going anywhere.

The woman gazing out at the view glances over and looks you up and down. She’s a little older, Sanzed, though darker complected than most, and her bushel of hair is ashblow with a slight kink to it, making it a frizzy cloud instead of just a coarse one. Got some Eastcoaster in her. And Westcoaster, too: Her gaze is through epicanthic-folded eyes, and it is assessing, wary, and unimpressed. “You the new one,” she says. Not a question.

You nod back. “Essun.”

She grins lopsidedly, and you blink. Her teeth have been filed to points, even though Sanzeds supposedly stopped doing that centuries ago. Bad for their reputation, after the Season of Teeth. “Hjarka Leadership Castrima. Welcome to our little hole in the ground.” Her smile widens. You stifle a grimace at the pun, though you’re thinking, too, after hearing her name. It’s usually bad news when a comm has a Leadership caste that isn’t in charge. Dissatisfied Leaders have a nasty habit of fomenting coups during crises. But this is Ykka’s problem to deal with, not yours.

The other person waiting, the man leaning on the crystal, doesn’t seem to be watching you—but you notice how his eyes aren’t moving to track whatever he’s looking at, off in the distance. He’s thin, shorter than you, with hair and a beard that make you think of strawberries growing amid hay. You imagine the delicate pressure of his indirect attention. You do not imagine the ping of instinct that tells you he is another of your kind. Since he doesn’t acknowledge your presence, you say nothing to him.

“He came in a few months ago,” Lerna says, distracting you from your new neighbors. For a moment you wonder if he means the strawberry-hay-haired man, and then you realize he’s referring to Alabaster. “Just appeared in the middle of what passes for a town square within the geode—Flat Top.” He nods toward something beyond you, and you turn, trying to understand what he means. Ah: there, amid the many sharp-tipped crystals of Castrima, is one that looks as if it’s been sheared off halfway, leaving a wide hexagonal platform positioned and elevated near the center of the comm. Several stair-bridges connect to it, and there are chairs and a railing. Flat Top.

Lerna goes on. “There was no warning. Apparently the orogenes didn’t sess anything, and the stills on guard duty didn’t see anything. He and that stone eater of his were suddenly just… there.”

He doesn’t see you frown in surprise. You’ve never heard a still use the word still before.

“Maybe the stone eaters knew he was coming, but they rarely talk to anyone but their chosen people. And in this case, they didn’t even do that.” Lerna’s gaze drifts over to Hoa, who’s studiously ignoring him in that very moment. Lerna shakes his head. “Ykka tried to throw him out, of course, though she offered him a mercy killing if he wanted. His prognosis is obvious; gentle drugs and a bed would be a kindness. He did something when she called the Strongbacks, though. The light went out. The air and water stopped. Only for a minute, but it felt like a year. When he let everything come back on, everyone was upset. So Ykka said he could stay, and that we should treat his injuries.”

Sounds about right. “He’s a ten-ringer,” you say. “And an ass. Give him whatever he wants and be nice about it.”

“He’s from the Fulcrum?” Lerna inhales in what seems to be awe. “Earthfires. I had no idea any Imperial Orogenes had survived.”

You look at him, too surprised for amusement. But then, how would he know? Another thought sobers you. “He’s turning to stone,” you say softly.

“Yes.” Lerna says it ruefully. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And it’s getting worse. The first day he was here it was just his fingers that had… that the stone eater had… taken. I haven’t seen how the condition progresses. He’s careful to do it only when I or my assistants aren’t around. I don’t know if she’s doing it to him somehow, or he’s doing it to himself, or…” He shakes his head. “When I ask about it, he just grins and says, ‘Just a bit longer, please. I’m waiting for someone.’” Lerna frowns at you, thoughtful.

And there’s that: Somehow, Alabaster knew you were coming. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was hoping for someone, anyone, with the necessary skill. Good chance of it here, with Ykka somehow summoning every rogga for miles. You’ll only be what he was waiting for if it turns out you can summon an obelisk.

After a few moments, Ykka pokes her head out of the apartment through the hanging. She nods to Hjarka, glares at Strawberry-Hay until he sighs and turns to face her, then spies you and Lerna and Hoa. “Oh. Hey. Good. All of you come in.”

You start to protest. “I need to talk to you in private.”

She stares back at you. You blink, confused, thrown, annoyed. She keeps staring. Lerna shifts from foot to foot beside you, a silent pressure. Hoa merely watches, following your lead. Finally you get the message: her comm, her rules, and if you want to live here… You sigh and file in behind the others.