Mammoths at the Gates (The Singing Hills Cycle, #4)

by Nghi Vo

“—and that was how we got the moon back up the mountain and into the sky, and no one was ever the wiser. You can tell it was us because when you see the moon’s face turned out fully, the dark marks are where the youngest sister kissed her before she said goodbye.”

There was more comfort than they thought there would be in the flavor of a copper pot older than they were, and they were steadier afterwards, as if sadness could be soaked up by cooked rice and wilted greens.

“You know, rightfully, we should leave this here. That’s a good lesson, isn’t it? At Singing Hills, we deal in memory. The things we remember last as long as we do and longer. The thing itself, well, it goes away. It breaks. It sinks to the bottom of the river. It dies or leaves or is lost.” Then they handed it to me, telling me to put it in my bag and keep it very well, because it was precious.

“I wanted to be alone, so I was angry when a bird came to me in the shadow of your walls, small and dull, insignificant in every way. She asked me for a favor, to clip the flight feathers of her wings to the quick, and even in my frustration I was shocked. I asked her why she would do such a thing. “For grief, she said. For sorrow. When the world has changed so completely, why should I remain the same? I cannot remain. I cannot stay.” Tui In Hao took a measured breath, as if she was about to make her final argument to the judges. “I did as she asked, and she went on her way. I put it out of my mind, but I dreamed of her again, that little bird, shedding who she was so she might survive better. Sometimes, you cannot survive and still be who you were.” “Almost never, I think,” Ru murmured.

“And what do you think would be justice for that, granddaughter?” Tui In Hao bristled, and Chih wondered if it was too much, the transformed neixin claiming her as if it was their right, but then she shook her head. “It would have been her right to call you to court within five years of the incident. You might have forfeited half your family holdings to her. You might have lost the hand that pushed her. Nothing can be done now.” “That is punishment, where the law excels,” said the cleric. “Justice is a more difficult thing.”