The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms (40 page)

“Well, Naha,” he said, though the hate in his eyes was all for me. “I must congratulate you; this is a fine coup. I thought killing the girl would be sufficient. Now I see I should have obliterated her entirely.”

“That would have taken more power than you possess,” I said. A frown flickered across Itempas’s face. He was so easy to read; did he realize that? He still thought of me as a mortal, and mortals were insignificant to him.

“You aren’t Enefa,” he snapped.

“No, I’m not.” I could not help smiling. “Do you know why Enefa’s soul lingered all these years? It wasn’t because of the Stone.”

His frown deepened with annoyance. What a prickly creature he was. What did Naha see in him? No, that was jealousy speaking. Dangerous. I would not repeat the past.

“The cycle of life and death flows from me and through me,” I said, touching my breast. Within it, something—not quite a heart—beat strong and even. “Even Enefa never truly understood this about herself. Perhaps she was always meant to die at some point; and now, perhaps I am the only one of us who will never be truly immortal. But by the same token, neither can I truly die. Destroy me and some part will always linger. My soul, my flesh, perhaps only my memory—but it will be enough to bring me back.”

“Then I simply wasn’t thorough enough,” Itempas said, and his tone promised dire things. “I’ll be sure to rectify that next time.”

Nahadoth stepped forward. The dark nimbus that surrounded him made a faint crackling sound as he moved, and white flecks—moisture frozen out of the air—drifted to the floor in his wake.

“There will be no next time, Tempa,” he said with frightening gentleness. “The Stone is gone and I am free. I will tear you apart, as I have planned for all the long nights of my imprisonment.”

Itempas’s aura blazed like white flames; his eyes glowed like twin suns. “I threw you broken to the earth once before, Brother, and I can do it again—”

“Enough,” I said.

Nahadoth’s answer was a hiss. He crouched, his hands suddenly monstrous claws at his sides. There was a blur of movement and suddenly Sieh was beside him, a feline shadow. Kurue moved as if to join Itempas, but instantly Zhakkarn’s pike was at her throat.

None of them paid any attention to me. I sighed.

The knowledge of my power was within me, as instinctive as how to think and how to breathe. I closed my eyes and reached for it, and felt it uncurl and stretch within me, ready. Eager.

This was going to be fun.

The first blast of power that I sent through the palace was violent enough to stagger everyone, even my quarrelsome brothers, who fell silent in surprise. I ignored them and closed my eyes, tapping and shaping the energy to my will. There was so much! If I was not careful, I could so easily destroy rather than create. On some level I was aware of being surrounded by colored light: cloudy gray, but also the rose of sunset and the white-green of dawn. My hair wafted in it, shining. My gown swirled about my ankles, an annoyance. A flick of my will and it became a Darren warrior’s garments, tight-laced sleeveless tunic and practical calf-length pants. They were an impractical shining silver, but—well, I was a goddess, after all.

Walls—rough, brown, tree-bark—appeared around us. They did not completely enclose the room; here and there were gaps, though as I watched those filled. Branches nearby grew, split, and sprouted curling leaves. Above us the sky was still visible, though dimmer, thanks to the leafy canopy that now spread there. Through that canopy rose a titanic tree trunk, gnarling and curving high into the sky.

In fact the tree’s topmost branches pierced the sky. If I looked down on this world from above I would see white clouds and blue seas and brown earth and a single magnificent tree, breaking the planet’s smooth round curve. If I flew closer I would see roots like mountains, nestling the whole of Sky-the-city between the forks. I would see branches as long as rivers. I would see people on the ground below, shaken and terrified, crawling out of their homes and picking themselves up from the sidewalks to stare in awe at the great tree that had twined itself around the Skyfather’s palace.

In fact I saw all of these things without ever opening my eyes. Then I did open them, to find my brothers and children staring at me.

“Enough,” I said again. This time they paid attention. “This realm cannot endure another Gods’ War. I will not permit it.”

“You will not permit…?” Itempas clenched his fists, and I felt the heavy, blistering smolder of his power. For a moment it frightened me, and with good reason. He had bent the universe to his will at the beginning of time; he far outstripped me in experience and wisdom. I didn’t even know how to fight as gods fought. He did not attack because there were two of us to his one, but that was the only thing holding him back.

Then there is hope, I decided.

As if reading my thoughts, Nahadoth shook his head. “No, Yeine.” His eyes were black holes in his skull, ready to swallow worlds. The hunger for retribution curled off him like smoke. “He murdered Enefa even though he loved her. He’ll have no qualms at all over you. We must destroy him, or be destroyed ourselves.”

A quandry. I held no grudge against Itempas—he had murdered Enefa, not me. But Nahadoth had millennia of pain to expunge; he deserved justice. And worse, he was right. Itempas was mad, poisoned by his own jealousy and fear. One did not allow the mad to roam free, lest they hurt others or themselves.

Yet killing him was also impossible. Out of Three had the universe been made. Without all Three, it would all end.

“I can think of only one solution,” I said softly. And even that was imperfect. After all, I knew from experience how much damage even a single mortal could inflict on the world, given enough time and power. We would just have to hope for the best.

Nahadoth frowned as he read my intention, but some of the hate flowed out of him. Yes; I had thought this might satisfy him. He nodded once in agreement.

Itempas stiffened as he realized what we meant to do. Language had been his invention; we had never really needed words. “I will not tolerate this.”

“You will,” I said, and joined my power with Nahadoth’s. It was an easy fusion, more proof that we Three were meant to work together and not at odds. Someday, when Itempas had served his penance, perhaps we could truly be Three again. What wonders we would create then! I would look forward to it, and hope.

“You will serve,” Nahadoth said to Itempas, and his voice was cold and heavy with the weight of law. I felt reality reshape itself. We had never really needed a separate language, either; any tongue would do, as long as one of us spoke the words. “Not a single family, but all the world. You will wander among mortals as one of them, unknown, commanding only what wealth and respect you can earn with your deeds and words. You may call upon your power only in great need, and only to aid these mortals for whom you hold such contempt. You will right all the wrongs inflicted in your name.”

Nahadoth smiled then. This smile was not cruel—he was free and had no need of cruelty anymore—but neither was there mercy in him. “I imagine this task will take some time.”

Itempas said nothing, because he could not. Nahadoth’s words had taken hold of him, and with the aid of my power the words wove chains that no mortal could see or sever. He fought the chaining, once unleashing his power against ours in a furious blast, but it was no use. A single member of the Three could never hope to defeat the other two. Itempas had used those odds in his own favor long enough to know better.

But I could not leave it at that. A proper punishment was meant to redeem the culprit, not just assuage the victims.

“Your sentence can end sooner,” I said, and my words, too, curved and linked and became hard around him, “if you learn to love truly.”

Itempas glared at me. He had not been driven to his knees by the weight of our power, but it was a near thing. He stood now with back bowed, trembling all over, the white flames of his aura gone and his face sheened with a very mortal sweat. “I… will never… love you,” he gritted through his teeth.

I blinked in surprise. “Why would I want your love? You’re a monster, Itempas, destroying everything you claim to care for. I see such loneliness in you, such suffering—but all of it is your own doing.”

He flinched, his eyes widening. I sighed, shook my head, and stepped close, lifting a hand to his cheek. He flinched again at my touch, though I stroked him until he quieted.

“But I am only one of your lovers,” I whispered. “Haven’t you missed the other?”

And as I had expected, Itempas looked at Nahadoth. Ah, the need in his eyes! If there had been any hope of it, I would have asked Nahadoth to share this moment with us. Just one kind word might have speeded Itempas’s healing. But it would be centuries before Nahadoth’s own wounds had healed enough for that.

I sighed. So be it. I would do what I could to make it easier for both of them, and try again when the ages had worked their magic. I had made a promise, after all.

“When you’re ready to be among us again,” I whispered to Itempas, “I, at least, will welcome you back.” Then I kissed him, and filled that kiss with all the promise I could muster. But some of the surprise that passed between us was mine, for his mouth was soft despite its hard lines. Underneath that I could taste hot spices and warm ocean breezes; he made my mouth water and my whole body ache. For the first time I understood why Nahadoth loved him—and by the way his mouth hung open when I pulled back, I think he felt the same.

I looked over at Nahadoth, who sighed with too-human weariness. “He doesn’t change, Yeine. He can’t.”

“He can if he wants to,” I said firmly.

“You are naive.”

Maybe I was. But that didn’t make me wrong.

I kept my eyes on Itempas, though I went to Naha and took his hand. Itempas watched us like a man dying of thirst, within sight of a waterfall. It would be hard for him, the time to come, but he was strong. He was one of us. And one day, he would be ours again.

Power folded around Itempas like the petals of a great flower, scintillating. When the light faded, he was human—his hair no longer shining, his eyes merely brown. Handsome, but not perfect. Just a man. He fell to the floor, unconscious from the shock.

With that done, I turned to Nahadoth.

“No,” he said, scowling.

“He deserves the same chance,” I said.

“I promised him release already.”

“Death, yes. I can give him more.” I stroked Nahadoth’s cheek, which flickered beneath my hand. His face changed every moment now, beautiful no matter how it looked—though the mortals probably would not have thought so, since some of his faces were not human. I was no longer human myself. I could accept all of Nahadoth’s faces, so he had no need of any one in particular.

He sighed and closed his eyes at my touch, which both gratified and troubled me. He had been too long alone. I would have to take care not to exploit this weakness of his now, or he would hate me for it later.

Still, this had to be done. I said, “He deserves freedom, same as you.”

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.”