N. Jemisin: The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

He gave me a heavy sigh. But his sigh took the form of tiny black stars, surprisingly bright as they sparkled and multiplied and coalesced into a human form. For a moment a negative phantasm of the god stood before me. I willed it to life, and it became a man: Nahadoth’s daytime self. He looked around, then stared at the shining being who had been his other half for so long. They had never met in all that time, but his eyes widened with realization.

“My gods,” he breathed, too awed to realize the irony of his oath.

“Yeine—”

I turned to find Sieh beside me in his child form. He stood taut, his green eyes searching my face. “Yeine?”

I reached for him, then hesitated. He was not mine, despite my possessive feelings.

He reached up just as hesitantly, touching my arms and face in wonder. “You really… aren’t her?”

“No. Just Yeine.” I lowered my hand, letting him choose. I would respect his decision if he rejected me. But…“Was this what you wanted?”

“Wanted?” The look on his face would have gratified colder hearts than mine. He put his arms around me, and I pulled him close and held him tightly. “Ah, Yeine, you’re still such a mortal,” he whispered against my breast. But I felt him trembling.

Over Sieh’s head, I looked at my other children. Stepchildren, perhaps; yes, that was a safer way to think of them. Zhakkarn inclined her head to me, a soldier acknowledging a new commander. She would obey, which was not quite what I wanted, but it would do for now.

Kurue, though, was another matter.

Gently disentangling myself from Sieh, I stepped toward her. Kurue dropped immediately to one knee and bowed her head.

“I will not beg your forgiveness,” she said. Only her voice betrayed her fear; it was not its usual strong, clear tone. “I did what I felt was right.”

“Of course you did,” I said. “It was the wise thing to do.” As I had done with Sieh, I reached out and stroked her hair. It was long and silver in this form of hers, like metal spun into curls. Beautiful.

I let it trail through my fingers as Kurue fell to the floor, dead.

“Yeine.” Sieh, sounding stunned. For the moment I ignored him, because my eyes happened to meet Zhakkarn’s as I looked up. She inclined her head again, and I knew then that I had earned a measure of her respect.

“Darr,” I said.

“I’ll see to things,” Zhakkarn replied, and vanished.

The amount of relief I felt surprised me. Perhaps I had not left my humanity so very far behind after all.

Then I turned to face everyone in the chamber. A branch was growing across the room, but I touched it and it grew in a different direction, out of the way. “You, too,” I said to Scimina, who blanched and stepped back.

“No,” said Nahadoth abruptly. He turned to Scimina then and smiled; the room grew darker. “This one is mine.”

“No,” she whispered, taking another step back. If she could have bolted—another branch had covered the stairway entrance—I’m certain she would have, though of course that would have been pointless. “Just kill me.”

“No more orders,” Nahadoth said. He lifted a hand, the fingers curling as if to grip an invisible leash, and Scimina cried out as she was jerked forward, falling to her knees at his feet. She clutched at her throat, fingers scrabbling for some way to free herself, but there was nothing there. Naha leaned down, taking her chin in his fingers, and laid a kiss on her lips that was no less chilling for its tenderness. “I will kill you, Scimina, never fear. Just not yet.”

I felt no pity. That, too, was a remnant of my humanity.

Which left only Dekarta.

He sat on the floor, where he had been thrown during the manifestation of my tree. When I went to him, I could see the throbbing ache in his hip, which was broken, and the unstable flutter of his heart. Too many shocks. It had not been a good night for him. But he smiled as I crouched before him, to my surprise.

“A goddess,” he said, then barked out a single laugh that was remarkably free of bitterness. “Ah, Kinneth never did things by half measures, did she?”

In spite of myself, I shared his smile. “No. She didn’t.”

“So, then.” He lifted his chin and regarded me imperiously, which would have worked better if he had not been panting due to his heart. “What of us, Goddess Yeine? What of your human kin?”

I wrapped my arms around my knees, balancing on my toes. I had forgotten to make shoes.

“You’ll choose another heir, who will hold on to your power as best he can. Whether he succeeds or not, we will be gone, Naha and I, and Itempas will be useless to you. It should be interesting to see what mortals make of the world without our constant interference.”

Dekarta stared at me in disbelief and horror. “Without the gods, every nation on this planet will rise up to destroy us. Then they’ll turn on each other.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“It will definitely happen,” I said, “if your descendants are fools. But the Enefadeh have never been the Arameri’s sole weapon, Grandfather; you know that better than anyone. You have more wealth than any single nation, enough to hire and equip whole armies. You have the Itempan priesthood, and they will be very motivated to spread your version of the truth, since they are threatened, too. And you have your own fine-honed viciousness, which has served well enough as a weapon all this time.” I shrugged. “The Arameri can survive, and perhaps even retain power for a few generations. Enough, hopefully, to temper the worst of the world’s wrath.”

“There will be change,” said Nahadoth, who was suddenly beside me. Dekarta drew back, but there was no malice in Nahadoth’s eyes. Slavery was what had driven him half mad; already he was healing. “There must be change. The Arameri have kept the world still for too long, against nature. This must now correct itself in blood.”

“But if you’re clever,” I added, “you’ll get to keep most of yours.”

Dekarta shook his head slowly. “Not me. I’m dying. And my heirs—they had the strength to rule as you say, but…” He glanced over at Relad, who lay open-eyed on the floor with a knife stuck in his throat. He had bled even more than I.

“Uncle—” Scimina began, but Nahadoth jerked her leash to silence her. Dekarta glanced once in her direction, then away.

“You have another heir, Dekarta,” I said. “He’s clever and competent, and I believe he’s strong enough—though he will not thank me for recommending him.”

I smiled to myself, seeing without eyes through the layers of Sky. Within, the palace was not so very different. Bark and branches had replaced the pearly Skystuff in places, and some of the dead spaces had been filled with living wood. But even this simple change was enough to terrify the denizens of Sky, highblood and low alike. At the heart of the chaos was T’vril, marshaling the palace’s servants and organizing an evacuation.

Yes, he would do nicely.

Dekarta’s eyes widened, but he knew an order when he heard one. He nodded, and in return, I touched him and willed his hip whole and his heart stable. That would keep him alive a few days longer—long enough to see the transition through.

“I… I don’t understand,” said the human Naha, as the godly version and I got to our feet. He looked deeply shaken. “Why have you done this? What do I do now?”

I looked at him in surprise. “Live,” I said. “Why else do you think I put you here?”

There was much more to be done, but those were the parts that mattered. You would have enjoyed all of it, I think—righting the imbalances triggered by your death, discovering existence anew. But perhaps there are interesting discoveries to be had where you’ve gone, too.