The Inheritance Trilogy

by N.K. Jemisin

It is not safe to hate the Arameri. Instead we hate their weapons, because weapons do not care.

This word is permanently defiled for me. I think this is the first time I've seen it in its former use, and it's destroyed.

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.

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.

“There is nothing foolish about hope.”

I cannot imagine why.

I can.

“What would you want?” Nahadoth asked. “What?” “If you could be free.” There was something in his voice that I did not understand. Wistfulness? Yes, and something more. Kindness? Fondness? No, that was impossible. “What would you want for yourself?” The question made my heart ache. I hated him for asking it. It was his fault that my wishes would never come true—his fault, and my parents’, and Dekarta’s, and even Enefa’s. “I’m tired of being what everyone else has made me,” I said. “I want to be myself.” “Don’t be a child.” I looked up, startled and angry, though of course there was nothing to see. “What?” “You are what your creators and experiences have made you, like every other being in this universe. Accept that and be done; I tire of your whining.”

Perhaps we mortals actually have more than five senses. Perhaps along with taste and smell and the rest there is detecting the special. I see the specialness with my eyes, but others do it in some different way.

I had always wondered why anyone would join an organization like the Order, and now I began to see. Compared to the complexities of the outside world, this was easier on the body and the heart.

You know the truth now about Itempas. He is a god of warmth and light, which we think of as pleasant, gentle things. I once thought of Him that way, too. But warmth uncooled burns; light undimmed can hurt even my blind eyes. I should have realized. We should all have realized. He was never what we wanted Him to be.

“You’ve spent time among the gods, Eru Shoth. Haven’t you noticed? They live forever, but many of them are even more lonely and miserable than we are. Why do you think they bother with us? We teach them life’s value. So I would live, if only to spite them.” He let out a single mirthless laugh, then sighed and offered me a sardonic bow. “Good afternoon.”

This means, in a way, that true light is dependent on the presence of other lights. Take the others away and darkness results. Yet the reverse is not true: take away darkness and there is only more darkness. Darkness can exist by itself. Light cannot.

“It’s solitude, then?” I asked. “That’s your true antithesis, not darkness. You didn’t realize?” “No. Not until that day.” He lowered his hand. “But I should have realized. Loneliness is a darkness of the soul.”

“Hells, if the gods do decide to wipe us out, is it such a bad thing? Maybe we’ve earned a little annihilation.”

And the, ah, polite term for people like me is primortalist.” “Ugh, what a mouthful.” “Unfortunately, yes. It means ‘mortals first’—neither an accurate nor complete representation of our philosophy, but as I said, there are worse terms. We believe in the gods, naturally.” He nodded to me. “But as the Interdiction has shown us, the gods function perfectly well whether we believe in them or not, so why devote all that energy to a pointless purpose? Why not believe most fervently in mortalkind and its potential? We, certainly, could benefit from a little dedication and discipline.”

“It’s very hard for me to be quiet and well behaved,” I said honestly, and she snorted.

I just now realized, after all of these pages, that I have an impression of Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister in my head whenever I'm reading about Sieh. Maybe now more than in the other two books of the trilogy. It's mostly a character vibe, not an appearance thing.

“You will always be mine, Sieh.” His voice was everywhere. He had never let anyone but me and his siblings into this part of himself. It was the core of him, vulnerable, pure. “Even if you love him again. Even if you grow old. I am not wholly dark, Itempas is not wholly light, and there are some things about me that will never change, not even if the walls of the Maelstrom should fall.”

“Mortals are the sum of many things, Sieh. They are what circumstance has made them and what they wish to be. If you must hate them, hate them for the latter, not the former. At least they have some say over that part.”

“If you want me to die—” he began. “Shut up,” I whispered. “Shut up, gods damn you. I hate you.” “If you hate me—” “Shut up!” He fell silent, and I cursed and threw the dagger to the floor between us. The sound of leather on daystone made an echoing crack from the chamber’s walls. I had begun to cry. I raked my hands through my hair. “Just shut up, all right? Gods, you’re so insufferable! You can’t make me choose something like that! I’ll hate you if I damn well please!” “All right.” His voice was soft, soothing. Against my will, I remembered times—rare but precious—when we had sat together in his placid realm, watching time dance. I had always been conscious of the fact that he and I would never be friends. Lovers was out of the question. But father and son? That much we could do. “All right, Sieh,” he said now, so gently. He did not change. “Hate me if you like.” The urge to love him was so powerful that I shook with it. I turned and stormed over to the stair entrance, trotting down the steps. When I looked up, just before my head passed beyond the floor’s threshold, I saw Itempas watching me. He had not picked up the knife. He had, however, changed: his face was wet with tears. I ran. I ran. I ran.

Weeping

And purely by chance as I watched them, they noticed me. Deka’s grin grew wider; Shahar’s small smile lingered. They did not join hands as they walked over to me, stepping carefully over the soft soil, but the bond between them was obvious to anyone who knew how love looked. That this bond included me was equally obvious. I turned to them, and for a long and wondrous moment, I was not alone.

Startled out of anger, Nahadoth turned to me. All three of them looked at me, in fact, radiating a combination of pity and chagrin. I smiled back at them, bleak in my despair. “Nicely done,” I said. “You only forgot I was here for half a minute.” Nahadoth’s jaw tightened. I took an obscure pride in this.

“N-not to be alone anymore.”

He could blaze with the fire and light of every sun in existence, but most times he kept the furnace banked so that others could be near him. His version of a friendly invitation—because naturally he would never, ever just say he was lonely, the fool.

“All you had to do,” she said tightly, “was shout Yeine’s name. It was twilight; she would have heard you. She and Naha would have come and dealt with Kahl, and that would have been that.”

It's infuriating that he didn't do this.

The gathered folk stumbled back from them, though some quickly knelt or began weeping or calling out to them. No one shushed them, for hope had never been a sin.