The Inheritance Trilogy

by N.K. Jemisin

Logic had not been part of what I’d done.

To distract myself I asked, “Why do you call them Enefadeh?” The look that crossed Viraine’s face was fleeting, but I recognized it by instinct: calculation. I had just revealed some stunning bit of ignorance to him, and he meant to use it.

For an eyeblink there was something inhuman about his face—something sharp and feral—and then he was a boy again, sliding off the stool and trembling with fury. For a moment I half-expected him to poke out his tongue, but the hatred in his eyes was too old for that. “I will laugh when you’re dead,” he said softly. The small hairs along my skin prickled, for his voice was a grown man’s now, tenor malevolence. “I will claim your heart as a toy and kick it for a hundred years. And when I am finally free, I will hunt down all your descendants and make their children just like me.”

For a moment I felt uneasy for reminding him of tragedy, but then I realized he didn’t care.

It is blasphemy to separate oneself from the earth and look down on it like a god. It is more than blasphemy; it is dangerous. We can never be gods, after all—but we can become something less than human with frightening ease. Still… I could not help drinking in the view. It is important to appreciate beauty, even when it is evil.

“The mortal mind, imbued with a god’s power and knowledge for even a few moments, rarely reacts well.”

He was a silhouette. “All that happens in darkness, I see,” he said. “Every whisper, every sigh, I hear. Even if I leave, some part of me will remain. That cannot be helped.”

In a child’s eyes, a mother is a goddess. She can be glorious or terrible, benevolent or filled with wrath, but she commands love either way. I am convinced that this is the greatest power in the universe.