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Blood scores were not erased by press releases.
It was easy to slide backward in one’s jade proficiency, in the same way that it was easy to gain weight—slowly and insidiously.
“Strong men don’t fight for weak men.”
Her husband could be shortsighted and stubborn; sometimes he hung on to strict principles or personal grudges that clouded his better judgment, but he possessed the most valuable quality in any person, especially a clan leader, which was the ability to put others first, no matter the prevailing opinion or the personal cost.
But there’s a difference between a dog that picks garbage outside your house, and one that jumps through your window to steal from your table. One is a nuisance you can ignore; the other is a problem and has to be killed.
“Money is money—all if it is dirty, and anyone can be bought.”
“People are born selfish; babies are the most selfish creatures, even though they’re helpless and wouldn’t survive a day on their own. Growing up and losing that selfishness—that’s what civilization is, that’s what sets us above beasts.
“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.”
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.
“Talk is for when violence fails.”
As Horn, he’d seen Fists duel for jade, pimps and drug dealers knife each other for the best street corners, dogs and vagrants fight over food. One thing he knew for certain was that stalemates and compromises always broke down. Lasting peace came from unequivocal victory.
The Pillar was the master of the clan, the spine of the body, but a spine that was not well supported would sag and break.
Kaul Hilo had once told Anden that good Fists had the minds of guard dogs—they could be friendly, smiling and wagging their tails, but they were always alert. If you made a wrong move, if you threatened what they valued, they wouldn’t hesitate to use their teeth.
it binds our community and is part of our identity as Keko-Espenians. Now the government tells me it’s against the law? It’s the law that’s wrong.”
The Espenians were a mercenary, plutocratic people; their society was built on a long history of naval power and trade, and they treated fair commerce like a religion. They could put a price on anything, Shae suspected, certainly jade, maybe even life and death.
The people weren’t unfriendly, but they seemed curt, pale, and efficient.
He decided, as he rose with his teeth chattering, all his extremities numb, and his glasses too smeared and fogged to see through, that it was no wonder the Espenians were a people who’d sailed all over the world, if their homeland was so inhospitable.
“Crumb, everything in Espenia is illegal.” Derek laughed. “Even cockfighting.”
All evening, Anden had found the grudge hall strange and a little overwhelming, and now he understood why: The place was like a distillate of Kekonese culture—the food and hoji, the cockfighting and gambling, the social life, the tradition of clean-bladed dueling, and the celebration of jade abilities—all crammed together under one roof in one evening. It gave Anden the oddest feeling. It was both acutely Kekonese and not Kekonese at all.
“You look worried. Don’t be. The Port Massy police are like another one of the Crews: expecting payment and giving little in return.”
“If you’re not sure you’re in love, then you’re not.”
His question now was delivered as simply and unexpectedly as a coma patient opening his eyes and asking what time it was.
Rain fell, not steadily but with insulting indifference, scattered fat droplets that flecked the asphalt and landed noisily on awnings, car hoods, and garbage lids.
Shae gazed up at the high ceiling of the sanctum and closed her eyes. She waited for an epiphany, for a sense of spiritual peace to fill her and guide her with certainty. She stretched out her Perception and tried to sense a message in the croon of jade energy that vibrated through her flesh and bones. She felt nothing from the gods, except perhaps a distant watchfulness, and within herself, only a turbulence swirling and coalescing finally into resignation and purpose. She got up and left the temple.
“If it were me, I’d like another woman to be with me,” Wen said. “Why should we have to go through hardships in life by ourselves?”
“I’ve been called unlucky my whole life. I’m not afraid of bad luck any more than a bird would be afraid of feathers.”
“Shae-jen, I’m ashamed to say this, but there was a time when I didn’t trust you very much because I wasn’t sure you were the sort of person who would put others ahead of yourself.” She fixed Shae with a steady, almost unnerving stare. “You could’ve resigned your position to marry your boyfriend and have a child. It would create a miserable scandal for a while, but then you’d be free to live a much easier life. But where would No Peak be without you as Weather Man? How could my husband be Pillar without your counsel? What would become of the valuable work we’ve done together, and in the future
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“We each serve the clan in the way we’re best suited. Look at Ayt Mada and how alone she is. We must never be like that.”
wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, “if this is what the whole world looks like one day—an unrecognizable blend, cultures and people mixed together. Where will jade and clans and Green Bones fit in, I wonder?”
“I won’t be alone,” Shae countered. “I’ll be with Jerald.” Lan looked at her compassionately. “We’re always alone with our own decisions.”
“I’ve said that I support your decision, but I’m your older brother, and the Pillar, so that gives me enough extra life experience to tell you that no matter where you go, others will try to define you. Unless you define yourself.”
“Out of small resentments, spring great wars.”
She bent her head. “Old Uncle in Heaven, judge me the greener of your kin tomorrow, if it be so,” she murmured in prayer to Jenshu the Monk, the One Who Returned, the patron god of Green Bones. She paused. “And if you judge otherwise, at least give me credit for a dramatic attempt.”
If the Pillar of the Mountain had considered the possibility of Shae challenging her with a clean blade, she must’ve dismissed the idea. Her target was a young woman in an office—not a testosterone-driven and jade-hungry male Fist. Not someone eager to die.
Shae had to admit there was a painful irony to the situation. Four years ago, she’d been ambivalent about even returning to Janloon; now she was sacrificing a relationship, a pregnancy, and most likely her own life to defend her position and reputation as Weather Man of No Peak.
She wanted what she was told by others she couldn’t have, was willing to dramatically self-immolate rather than accept terms forced upon her. So no, some things had not changed after all.
“I didn’t think you believed in the gods,” she said when he straightened. “I don’t,” Hilo said, “but the feeling’s mutual, so maybe they won’t hold it against me.”
Hilo muttered, “If this is supposed to be peace, I think I prefer war.”
“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice muted but steady. “I’ll win tomorrow.” Hilo released her and stood up, his fierce expression unchanged. “Then stop sitting in here pretending to talk to the gods. Go to bed and get enough rest. Or else get your moon blade and practice, put your mind in the right place.” He opened the door. “I’ll be in the training hall.”
Only in the postwar generation, with the country’s population of male Green Bones depleted, had it become more commonplace for girls to be trained to wear jade. These days, one in five graduates from the nation’s martial schools were female, but most men still scorned to duel a woman, and duels between women, even Fists, were often smirked at as something of a joke.
Social progress, Kekonese-style, Shae mused. Equal opportunity to die by the blade.
“However, the next time you challenge Ayt Madashi with a clean blade, if you could be more considerate about the timing, that would be appreciated.” Woon’s sense of humor, when it made an appearance, was so deadpan that Shae wasn’t sure whether to laugh.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “My grandfather taught me that if a friend asks for your forgiveness, you should always give it.” Her guests relaxed considerably, their shoulders coming down, smiles beginning to appear on their faces. Shae added, before any of them could begin to speak, “He also taught me that if you have to give it again, then they weren’t a friend to begin with.”
A strange expression crossed his face—a mixture of hurt confusion, affection, anger, and relief that seemed to twitch his features in several indecisive directions before he forced it into a cautiously neutral smile. The smile of someone trying to be civil to another driver who’s smashed into their car.
“In the last few years, I’ve done things I never thought I would,” she admitted hoarsely. “I’m not sure what I can promise anymore.”
He could accept that a great many things were different in Espenia than they were in Kekon, but the idea of banning jade was as hard for Anden to imagine as forbidding the use of cars or money—of course, not everyone could or should have those things because they were dangerous in the wrong hands, but trying to do away with them altogether would be ridiculous. How would society function?
In Kekon, queerness was considered a natural, if unfortunate permanent condition afflicting unlucky families, not unlike stone-eyes and children with birth defects. Cory explained that in Espenia it was commonly thought of as a sign of weak character, similar to addiction and indebtedness—a situation that some susceptible people were predisposed to fall into if not careful, but might recover from. “Bad luck can be turned around,” was Cory’s wry assessment of the prevailing attitude among Keko-Espenians.
Anden muttered, “Let the gods recognize him.” “My da used to say that. But I don’t think there are gods in Espenia. Not our gods, anyway.”
No one said anything about why the community center had been targeted. That same night elsewhere in Southtrap, Kekonese businesses had been vandalized and walls were spray-painted with slurs, but no one pointed out the obvious to the police: that the crimes were racially motivated, that Kromner’s crewboys were targeting the Kekonese for their gambling operations and jade.
“Southtrap’s turning into an ethnic ghetto,” their son argued. “Wouldn’t you rather live somewhere with more space and less crime?” But the Hians insisted that they did not want to move. They liked the location, they had friends here; where else could they walk to a Kekonese grocery store? Maybe, Mrs. Hian complained, if their sons were considerate enough to give them grandchildren while they were still alive, they would have a reason to move; otherwise, what was the point?
