Ken Liu - The Grace of Kings

Blossoming chrysanthemums filled the streets of Çaruza. Their fragrance was so powerful that passing birds steered clear of the city.

As the hegemon’s body was about to be lowered into the ground, the sky above the funeral procession was suddenly filled with the beating wings of a flock of giant ravens, both black and white. As they parted like cüpa stones sorting themselves by color, Mingén falcons dove toward the procession. The gathered nobles and ministers scattered, abandoning the hegemon’s casket next to the gravesite.

Then, the ground around the gravesite exploded like a roiling sea, and a pack of monstrous wolves, each four times as big as a man, emerged. The wolves, ravens, and falcons converged on the casket, and settled around it neatly in rows, like guards preparing for review at a parade.

A furious storm arose: stones tumbled along the ground, trees were uprooted, and a thick cloud of dust obscured everything. In that confusion, all sounds and speech drowned in a sea made of the shrieking of the wind, the howling of wolves, the cawing of ravens, and the shrill, piercing cry of falcons.

The world seemed to return to primordial chaos, and even thought was impossible.

Abruptly, the sound and the fury ceased, and bright sunlight bathed the calm scene left after the destruction. All the animals had disappeared, along with the hegemon’s body.

Slowly, the nobles and ministers, prostrate during the brief storm, stood up on unsteady legs, looking around in wonder and confusion.

Cogo Yelu was the first to recover. “How auspicious!” he proclaimed into the stunned silence. “The gods of Dara have together welcomed the hegemon into another realm. We who are left are witnessing the start of a new era of harmonious peace!”

A few other nobles with ears attuned to the shifting currents of politics immediately proclaimed their assent and congratulated Kuni Garu loudly. Others caught on, and a rising tide of praise for King Kuni soon filled the air, almost as cacophonous as the animals had been.

Kuni looked at Cogo and offered a wan smile. How can we know the will of the gods? he mouthed.

Cogo swept his arm at the throng. It’s enough they know yours, he mouthed.

Lord Garu turned to the crowd and nodded slowly, regal and majestic.

DARA: THE FIFTH MONTH IN THE FIRST YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.

A bald beggar in a white traveling cape walked down a road that wound its way through the sorghum fields.

He emerged into a tiny village with only thirty or so houses: plain, simple, poor. He looked around, picked one at random, and knocked on the door. A boy, about eight, opened the door.

“Could a stranger beg for a bowl of porridge, Young Master?” asked the beggar.

The boy nodded, went away, and soon returned with a bowl of warm porridge. He had even cracked an egg on top.

“Thank you,” said the beggar. “Was the harvest good last year?”

The boy looked at the beggar quizzically.

“I’ve been away,” said the beggar. “On the Big Island.”

“Ah, that explains it. Your accent tells me you’re from Rui, but your question makes you sound from away. No, the harvest was terrible. Kiji was angry, it seems, and there were too many rainstorms last fall on Rui.”

The beggar’s face fell at this news. “Then it is even more generous of you to share food with a stranger. You’re certain your parents will not mind?”

The boy laughed. “There’s no need to worry. King Kuni and Prime Minister Yelu ordered grain to be shipped from Géfica, and all of us have plenty to eat.”

“You like the king then? Even though he is not from Xana?”

“We no longer speak of Xana,” said the boy.

“But that’s your country!”

The boy shook his head. “This is Rui, an Island of Dara.”

In this remote valley nestled deep in the Damu Mountains, where craggy peaks rose above the clouds like ships drifting in a misty sea, far from the sight and hearing of mortals, the gods of Dara had gathered again.

A simple meal of fruits, nectars, and wild game was laid out on the smooth grass, and the gods reclined or sat around it.

Lutho, Rapa, and Rufizo, the hosts, looked relaxed, joyful, even radiant.

“Of course you look happy,” said Fithowéo. “Your favorites won.”

“Come, come,” said Rufizo. “A new era among the mortals should herald a new era among us as well. Brothers and sisters, let’s drink together and heal the discord between us.” He lifted a flagon of mead, and Rapa and Lutho followed suit.

“I’ve always said that we should have been drinking, not fighting,” said Tututika, and she lifted her flagon in response.

“I care not one whit whether the mortals fight or don’t fight,” said Tazu, smirking. “As long as they stay interesting. I enjoyed watching Mata Zyndu make war; I think it will be just as fun to watch Kuni Garu try to keep the peace.” He lifted his flagon as well.

But the other three, Fithowéo, Kana, and Kiji, sat stone-faced and made no move.

“Oh, this will be entertaining,” said Tazu. “I’m glad I came.” He downed his mead without waiting for the others and refilled his flagon.

“The war is over,” said Rapa. “Are we to be less openhearted than the mortals?” When she saw no response from the three holdouts, she turned to focus on her twin sister. “Come, Kana- tika , how can you say no to me, your other self?”

“Don’t play that game with me!” said Kana. “I should never have listened to you when Fithowéo and I went to retrieve Mata’s body. ‘Oh, sister,’ you said, ‘let me and Kiji come along. It will be good to have the mortals see all of our pawi so that they know how much we all care.’ ”

“That is indeed all I wanted!” said Rapa. “We may have taken sides in this war, but in the end, we are the gods of all of Dara.”

“That may sound pretty,” said Fithowéo. “But you used Kana and me! You made it seem as if we supported Kuni Garu!”

“Don’t forget Kiji,” said Kana. “He hates Mata and Kuni equally, and so she made an even bigger fool out of him.”

They looked over at Kiji, but the Lord of the Air remained quiet, looking thoughtful.

“You wrong me much,” protested Rapa. “In truth, the mortals completely misunderstood the dance I choreographed for our pawi . I had meant to show that the gods remained divided—”

“And that was why your ravens and mine were to separate and sort by color,” said Kana, finishing her sister’s sentence as she used to do.

“Exactly. And then I suggested that Fithowéo’s wolves face off against Kiji’s falcons so that the mortals wouldn’t get the mistaken impression that Kiji had forgiven Mata Zyndu, the Defiler of Mapidéré’s Tomb”—Rapa saw that Fithowéo was about to object—“and also the Greatest Warrior of Dara.”

“But your plan went wrong,” Fithowéo said. “That Cogo Yelu twisted everything and made it appear as if we were all there to show support for Kuni Garu.”

“And everyone listened to him!” lamented Kana. “Can’t people think for themselves?”

“Our careful signs will be recorded in the annals of Dara only as the misreading of one man,” said Fithowéo.

“The mortals have never been good at getting history right,” said Tututika. “Ah, my Kikomi.” Her blue eyes moistened.

The other gods fell respectfully silent. All remembered the princess who sacrificed everything to save her people, even her own place in history.