The Inheritance Trilogy

by N.K. Jemisin

T’vril said something then that I simply did not digest, so he said it again. This time I looked at him.

“Now. Shall we—” He reached for the ink dish and cursed as it toppled the instant his fingers touched it; Sieh had somehow lodged a brush underneath. The ink splattered across the tabletop like like and then Viraine touched my hand. “Lady Yeine? Are you all right?” That was how it happened, yes. The first time. I blinked. “What?”

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.

It is important to appreciate beauty, even when it is evil.

Consider: An immensely powerful being is yours to command. He must obey your every whim. Wouldn’t the temptation to diminish him, to humble him and make yourself feel powerful by doing so, be almost irresistible? I think it would be. Yes, it definitely would be.

I may have power over you, but I would be a fool to think that makes me safe. Far wiser to offer you courtesy, ask for what I want, and hope for your cooperation in return.” “Ask. And then command.” “Ask, and if you say no, accept that answer. That, too, is part of respect.” He fell silent for a long while. In that silence I replayed my words in my head, praying I had left him no opening to exploit. “You cannot sleep,” he said. I blinked in confusion, then realized it was a question. “No. The bed… the light.” Nahadoth nodded. Abruptly the walls went dim, their light fading until shadows shrouded the room, and the only illumination came from the moon and stars and the lights of the city. The Nightlord was a darker shadow etched against the windows. He had put out the unlight of his face as well. “You have offered me courtesy,” he said. “I offer cooperation in return.”

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.

When I awakened, the room was dark. And I was not afraid. A bad sign.

Right before my eyes she lies, sprawled and naked and bloody this is not flesh this is all you can comprehend but it means the same thing as flesh, she is dead and violated, her perfect form torn in ways that should not be possible, should not be and who has done this? Who could have what did it mean that he made love to me before driving the knife home? and then it hits: betrayal. I had known of his anger, but never once did I imagine… never once had I dreamt… I had dismissed her fears. I thought I knew him. I gather her body to mine and will all of creation to make her live again. We are not built for death. But nothing changes, nothing changes, there was a hell that I built long ago and it was a place where everything remained the same forever because I could imagine nothing more horrific, and now I am there. Then others come, our children, and all react with equal horror in a child’s eyes, a mother is god but I can see nothing of their grief through the black mist of my own. I lay her body down but my hands are covered in her blood, our blood, sister lover pupil teacher friend otherself, and when I lift my head to scream out my fury, a million stars turn black and die. No one can see them, but they are my tears.

Nahadoth’s head had turned with the blow. He lifted a hand to his lip, which was bleeding, and sighed. “I must work harder to keep my temper around you,” he said. “You have a memorable way of chastising me.” He lifted his eyes, and suddenly I knew he was remembering the time I had stabbed him. I have waited so long for you, he had said then. This time, instead of kissing me, he reached out and touched my lips with his fingers. I felt warm wetness and reflexively licked, tasting cool skin and the metallic salt of his blood. He smiled, his expression almost fond. “Do you like the taste?” Not of your blood, no. But your finger was another matter.

“I always hear their prayers,” said the Nightlord, “even if I’m not allowed to answer.”

“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.”

Nahadoth bent himself to the will of others. For a moment the thought made me sad. “Are you ever yourself?” I asked. “Truly yourself, not just the way others see you?” The hands went still, then withdrew. “Enefa asked me that once.” “I’m sorry—” “No.” There was sorrow in his voice. It never faded, for him. How terrible to be a god of change and endure grief unending. “When I am free,” he said, “I will choose who shapes me.” “But…” I frowned. “That isn’t freedom.” “At the dawn of reality I was myself. There was nothing and no one else to influence me—only the Maelstrom that had given birth to me, and it did not care. I tore open my flesh and spilled out the substance of what became your realm: matter and energy and my own cold, black blood. I devoured my mind and reveled in the novelty of pain.” Tears sprang to my eyes. I swallowed hard and tried to will them away, but abruptly the hands returned, lifting my chin. Fingers stroked my eyes shut, brushing the tears away. “When I am free I will choose,” he said again, whispering, very close. “You must do the same.” “But I will never be—” He kissed me silent. There was longing in that kiss, tangy and bittersweet. Was that my own longing, or his? Then I understood, finally: it didn’t matter.

“I made the substance of the universe. Did you think white thread would be a challenge?” That startled me into a laugh, which startled me silent in the next instant. I had never heard him joke before. What did it mean?

“Do you want to go in?” Nahadoth asked. “No, of course not. I’m fine out here.” “They dance to honor Itempas.” I looked at him, confused. “Why should I care about that?” His smile made me feel warm inside. “Have you turned from the faith of your ancestors so completely?” “My ancestors worshipped you.” “And Enefa, and Itempas, and our children. The Darre were one of the few races who honored us all.” I sighed. “It’s been a long time since those days. Too much has changed.” “You have changed.” I could say nothing to that; it was true. On impulse, I stepped away from him and took his hands, pulling him into dancing position. “To the gods,” I said. “All of them.” It was so gratifying to surprise him. “I have never danced to honor myself.” “Well, there you are.” I shrugged, and waited for the start of a new chorus before pulling him to step with me. “A first time for everything.” Nahadoth looked amused, but he moved easily in time with me despite the complicated steps. Every noble child learned such dances, but I had never really liked them. Amn dances reminded me of the Amn themselves—cold, rigid, more concerned with appearance than enjoyment. Yet here, on a dark balcony under a moonless sky, partnered by a god, I found myself smiling as we wheeled back and forth. It was easy to remember the steps with him exerting gentle guiding pressure against my hands and back. Easy to appreciate the grace of the timing with a partner who glided like the wind. I closed my eyes, leaning int...

Yes. Enough of this disembodied soul business. Time to be alive again.

Of course I was enough, because he loved me. That was the whole point.

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.

The small hairs along my skin prickled. I opened my mouth to say, That’s our god you’re torturing, you bastard, but then I stopped. What would Dateh do, if he knew he had the Bright Lord of Order as his prisoner? Would he even believe it? Or would he question Shiny—and be shocked to learn, as I had been, that Shiny loved the Nightlord and would disapprove of any action that threatened him? What would these madmen do then?

In most other ways, the Order’s methods have been proven by time, so we adopt them gladly. We are still devoted to the ways of the Bright Father, after all.” I should have known what that would set off. “In what way,” Shiny asked suddenly, startling me in midswallow, “does attacking Itempas’s children serve Him?” Silence fell around the table. Mine was astonishment; so was Serymn’s. Dateh’s… That I could not read.

That we reached the White Hall steps without trouble was so amazing that without thinking, I whispered a prayer of thanks to Itempas. Shiny turned to stare at me for a moment, then led me on up the steps.

“I didn’t think it possible. Was it a betrayal? Had I offended them somehow? I didn’t think they could forget me so completely. “But they did. “They forgot me. “They were together, he and she, yet I could not feel them. They thought only of each other. I was not part of it. “They left me alone.” I have always understood bodies better than voices or faces or words. So when Shiny whispered to me of horror, of a single moment of solitude after an eternity of companionship, it was not his words that conveyed the devastation this had wreaked on his soul. He was pressed against me as intimately as a lover. There was no need for words.

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.

Then the girl surprised me further, drawing herself up and bowing from the waist. “I thank you, sir,” she said. And while I stared at her, marveling at the novelty of Arameri thanks,

“What will you give me?” she asked. “If I choose?” I stared at her, incredulous. Then I burst out laughing. “That’s my girl! Bargaining for your brother’s life! Perfect. But you seem to have forgotten, Shahar, that that’s not one of your options. The choice is very simple: your life or his—” “No,” she said. “That’s not what you’re making me choose. You’re making me choose between being bad and, and being myself. You’re trying to make me bad. That’s not fair!”

He gazed back at me, still and rueful. He knew full well why I had turned away from him, and he forgave me for it. I hated him for that, just as I’d hated Yeine for loving Itempas and just as I hated Itempas for going mad and not being here when I needed him. And I hated all three of them for squandering each other’s love when I would give anything, anything, to have that for myself.

“I don’t,” Yeine said softly after a while. I frowned in confusion. She sighed and stroked my hair again. “Love him, I mean.” So many unspokens in her words. Not yet the most obvious among them, and perhaps a bit of not ever, because I am not Enefa, though I did not believe that. She was too drawn to him already. Most relevant was not until you love him, too, which I could live with.

I felt the flick of her will, and then she put her hand in front of my face to show me what she’d done. My hair had become a thin woven cord short enough to loop about my neck, and threaded onto this cord was a small, yellow-white marble. A different size and substance, but I would recognize its soul anywhere: En. I sat up, surprised and pleased, lifting the necklace to grin at my old friend. (It did not like being smaller. It missed being a kickball, bouncy and fat. Did it have to be this puny, rigid shape just because I wasn’t a child anymore? Surely adult mortals liked to kick balls sometimes. I stroked it to still its whining.)

“Changing reality is harmful! If you tried it again, even to help me—Deka, you understand how magic works. What happens if you misdraw a sigil or misspeak a godword? If the two of you try to use this power to remake me…” I sighed, and faced the truth I hadn’t wanted to admit. “Well, think of what happened last time. You wanted me to be your friend, a true friend—something that I could never have been as a god. You would have grown up and understood how different I was. You would have become proper Arameri and wondered how you could use me.” Now I looked at Shahar, whose lips tightened ever so slightly. “If I had stayed a god, our friendship would never have survived this long. So you, some part of you, made me into something that could be your friend.”