Fonda Lee - Jade War

“No,” replied Anden, and because he recognized the seemingly mild question for what it really was—an inquiry into his ancestry—he said, “My father was Espenian, but I was born in Kekon. This is my first time here.” It felt strange to even speak of his father, some foreign serviceman he’d never known and had no desire to. Even more strange to think he was in the man’s homeland.

Mr. and Mrs. Hian lived in a part of the city called Southtrap on the lower side of the Camres. It was a working-class, largely immigrant neighborhood with multistory brick apartment buildings packed close together in a manner that reminded Anden of the Paw-Paw or Forge districts in Janloon. His host family lived in one of the better homes: a yellow, two-story row house facing onto a busy two-lane street. Anden carried his suitcase into the house and up the narrow staircase to the guest bedroom, which overlooked an alley in the back. It was about the size of his dormitory room at the Academy, much smaller than the bedroom he’d become accustomed to in the Kaul family’s beach house in Marenia. It was homey, though; the bedspread was thick and soft, and a watercolor print of a misty mountain hung on the wall above the headboard. A vase on the dresser held three sprigs of blue fabric flowers.

Mrs. Hian made a proper Kekonese dinner of blackened chicken in milk, sautéed greens, and noodles with garlic sauce. Anden was immensely grateful for the familiar food and had no trouble eating several servings to show his appreciation. “Eat as much as you can,” Mrs. Hian encouraged him. “Espenian food is not very good. I always tell my son to come home for dinner more often, but he’s so busy and the traffic is too difficult. That’s why he’s losing weight.” The Hians had two sons. The eldest, which Mrs. Hian was referring to, lived in the north part of the city but worked in sales for a medical equipment company and traveled a great deal. He was the one who’d brought his parents over to Espenia a decade ago. Their younger son was studying to earn his doctorate in history at Watersguard University in Adamont Capita. “A useless degree,” Mr. Hian sighed. “But children do what they want.”

After dinner, Mrs. Hian cleared the plates and Anden brought out the gifts Shae had instructed him to give: a bottle of expensive hoji, an envelope of cash in Espenian thalirs, and a green ceramic teapot, wrapped with newspaper to keep it safe during the journey. The hoji and money were mere tokens; Anden was sure that the couple would be paid on a monthly basis for housing him. The teapot was more meaningful. Mr. Hian lifted the lid. The circular insignia of the No Peak clan was stamped on the inside. A gift of something green, marked with the symbol of the clan, connoted the friendship of Green Bones and conferred status on the recipient. Presented to a person outside the clan, it meant a favor had been done and would at some point be returned.

The couple thanked Anden warmly and put the teapot on a shelf in the kitchen next to photographs of their sons. Mr. Hian offered Anden a glass of the fine hoji and they enjoyed it together at the dining table. “Are people in Kekon worried about the war?” he asked.

Anden was initially confused. For a moment he thought his host was referring to the clan war between the Mountain and No Peak. “You mean the conflict in Shotar,” he said, once he realized otherwise. “I think so. I haven’t been keeping up with the news very well, though.” He didn’t explain that he’d spent the past year keeping his disgraced head down in a sleepy coastal village.

“The Oortokon War is being talked about a lot here,” said Mr. Hian. The eastern province of Shotar known as Oortoko (Ortykvo in Ygut) sat along the border of Ygutan and had long been a disputed area populated by many ethnic Ygutanians. Three months ago, an insurrectionist militia proclaimed the area independent of Shotar. The Shotarian government rejected the unilateral declaration and sent troops to the region to suppress the rebellion, only to find themselves facing a well-equipped fighting force not-so-covertly trained and backed by the Ygutanians. The Shotarians appealed to Espenia for help.

“If Espenian troops are sent to fight the rebels in Shotar, it may turn into a war against Ygutan.” Mr. Hian shook his head with concern. “My nephew tells me that Kekon will also be affected because the Espenians will use it as a base, and they will demand jade for their soldiers.”

“I’m sure he’s right,” said Anden. “The people working in the Weather Man’s office would know what’s going on.” Mr. Hian’s nephew was a senior Luckbringer in the clan’s Ship Street office tower; he’d been an Academy classmate of Kaul Lan and Woon Papidonwa and had vouched to Shae that his uncle would take care of Anden while he was in Espenia.

“What about you, Anden?” asked Mrs. Hian curiously. “Are you of rank in the clan?” She did not say “a member of the clan” or “part of the clan.” The majority of people in Janloon could claim to be affiliated with one of the Green Bone clans, but being “of rank” was different—it referred to a position of status and usually meant someone who wore jade.

Perhaps Mr. Hian’s nephew had told them that Anden was a graduate of Kaul Dushuron Academy. They must be confused by the fact that they had not seen any green on him. Anden hesitated; he didn’t want to lower his hosts’ regard for him, but he didn’t want to be dishonest either. “I was, but my cousin is the Pillar and he decided I should come to Espenia to study.” For an instant, he pretended to himself that he was referring to Lan instead of Hilo, and suffered a pulse of self-pity and grief; he would not be in this situation at all if Lan were still alive.

The Hians nodded, no doubt sensing there was more to Anden’s story, but refraining from inquiring further. “You’re lucky to have a family that’s so powerful and able to sponsor your education, even if it means sending you to the other side of the world,” said Mr. Hian. “You must be very tired, though. We should all go to sleep.”

“Mr. Hian,” Anden began, but the man raised a hand to interrupt him.

“Your cousin put you in our care,” said the old man. “While you’re here in Espenia, think of us as your family. Ask anything of us that you would ask your own kin.”

Anden nodded. “Uncle, do you like living in Espenia?”

Mr. Hian scratched his beard and looked thoughtful. “Well enough,” he replied. “Of course, it’s not Kekon. The food, the language, the Espenians and their ways will always be a little strange to us. But there are good things about it as well. And most importantly, it’s where our sons are. Your home is always where your family is.” His wife nodded in agreement.

Anden’s long, drug-induced nap on the airplane flight made it so that he couldn’t fall asleep when he went to bed. The dorm at the Academy, the Kaul residence in Janloon, and his room in the Marenia beach house had all been quiet spaces separated from the bustle of the city. Now he could hear people and cars and sirens and other urban noise all night, right outside his window. Anden lay awake for several hours, feeling utterly miserable.

Shae had enrolled him in the Immersive Espenian for Speakers of Other Languages (IESOL) program at Port Massy College. The spring term began the following week. Mr. Hian showed Anden where to take the bus and rode with him the first day. Anden knew a total of about thirty words in Espenian, mostly from pop culture; there’d been a class at the Academy, but he’d only taken one semester before dropping it in favor of a supplemental Deflection elective. At the time, he couldn’t see how speaking Espenian would be of any use to him. Proficiency in the jade disciplines was far more important if he was to become a Fist of No Peak.