Jade War

CHAPTER 30 Heroes Day

Wen alone went with Shae to the clinic early on a Secondday morning. They took one of the family’s nondescript cars, leaving both Wen’s conspicuous Lumezza convertible and Shae’s red Cabriola in the garage. Wen could always say that she was going to the doctor for a prenatal checkup and that Shae was the one accompanying her. At twelve weeks, Wen was clearly showing her second pregnancy. She was still nursing Ru, so between her enlarged breasts and swelling belly, her body was a collection of soft maternal curves. Shae felt as if they were doing something wrong, perhaps inviting bad luck, for Wen to be an accomplice to terminating an unborn life when she was carrying one of her own. “You don’t have to come inside,” she told her sister-in-law. “You’re doing me enough of a favor driving me there and back. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“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?” She parked the car in the nearly empty lot. It was still dark; the clinic didn’t open for another two minutes.

“It seems unlucky for you to be here,” Shae said.

Wen cupped her hands around a thermos full of ginger tea, which she drank every morning to help settle her stomach. A wry smile curved her lips. “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.”

They went inside and Shae checked in. Getting an abortion was neither particularly easy nor particularly difficult in Janloon. Clinics varied in repute and there was a moderate cost, but the main restriction was that a woman had to obtain the consent of her husband if she was married, or that of a male relative if she was not. This rule was regularly circumvented for an additional fee. Shae had filled out the necessary paperwork in advance and forged Hilo’s signature next to her own at the bottom. The young woman at the reception counter looked at the forms, then at Shae, and her eyes widened. Shae suspected the receptionist did not see heavily jaded Green Bones come through the clinic very often.

Wen went with her into the room and then held her hand during the whole procedure, which took less time than Shae had expected. Afterward, as she rested in a pleasantly sedated state, Shae said, “You were right. I’m glad you’re here.” She almost added, “Please don’t tell anyone,” but caught herself before she said it, realizing how insulting and laughable it would sound. She already knew that her sister-in-law could be trusted with secrets.

Wen drove them home. Shae felt relieved, if somewhat damaged. She thought of Maro—his earnest expression, his thoughtfulness, his genuine optimism and belief in her—and a band of sadness and guilt cinched around her and made it momentarily hard to breathe. The two of them had not discussed having children, but the way Maro spoke so fondly of his nieces, she was certain he wanted a family of his own eventually. She hadn’t called him or returned any of his several messages since they had spoken on the phone in her office three days ago, before she’d known for certain what she had to do. And what she still had to do. She was terrified that if she spoke to him, something in her voice would give her away and he would know, or that hearing his concern or seeing him again would rob her of her conviction.

She leaned her head against the car door. “Do you think less of me now?” she asked.

Her sister-in-law stopped the car so abruptly that Shae had to put a hand against the dash. Wen pulled the car over to the curb and put the gear shift in park. She turned to face Shae, her eyes flashing. “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 how could I do anything in the clan at all without you?” Wen declared, almost angrily, “I could never forgive you if you decided to be so selfish. So how can you believe I would think any less of you for being responsible instead?”

Shae was a little taken aback. “But you have children.”

Wen put the car back into gear and began driving again. She finished the dregs of her tea and spoke matter-of-factly. “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.”

Before she’d left Kekon to pursue a degree at Belforte Business School in Windton, Espenia, Shae had lived for three weeks in a room in the Tranquil Suites Hotel on Euman Island. Jerald had been discharged two months ago and was awaiting her back in his home country, and after the most recent screaming family argument, Shae could not bear to be around her grandfather and could not stand to look at Hilo’s face, so she packed her bags and moved out of the Kaul house.

Lan was the only one to come see her the night before her departure. He took the ferry from Janloon and knocked on her hotel room door to offer to take her to dinner. Shae said she didn’t care where they went, so Lan suggested a nearby noodle shop. “After tomorrow, you’ll be eating Espenian food, so let’s have something homey tonight,” he said. The restaurant was on the main thoroughfare of the port town. Neighboring bistros and bars had signs and menus written in Espenian, and on a pleasant summer evening, off-duty Espenian military personnel crowded the open-air patios and conversed loudly on the sidewalks. There were no lanterns hanging in the shop windows; Lan and Shae were not seated or served ahead of everyone else. Shae’s flight was not until tomorrow, but she already felt as if she were in a different country.

Lan did not seem irritated at not being recognized and saluted. As they waited for their meals, he took in the environs with thoughtful bemusement. “I 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?”

“That’s for you to think about, not me.” In retrospect, she’d been rude to her brother, but at the time, her jade was locked in a bank safe and she was still moody and ill from withdrawal.

“You should eat more,” Lan said, when he saw that she hadn’t finished the food in her bowl. “You have a long, tiring trip ahead of you, and then you’ll be alone in a foreign country.”

“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.” Her brother had been Pillar for a year, and in that time, he’d grown more somber and forthright, had seemed to age in a way that widened even the nine-year gap between them. “You can make a rational, well-informed choice, and still be unprepared for what it means. You’re the youngest in the family, and a woman, and a Kaul, and none of that makes life easy on Kekon, but in Espenia, you’ll start out below everyone else. You’ll have to fight for every scrap of respect that you’re used to getting at home.”

“Did Grandda send you to make a final attempt at discouraging me?” Shae asked.

Lan’s remonstrative stare made Shae avert her eyes. “No,” he said, coldly enough to make her feel ashamed. “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.”

“I’m twenty-four years old, Lan,” Shae said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” Lan said sadly. The waiter came to clear their dishes. A swollen orange moon was rippling in the narrow stretch of water that separated Euman Island from the skyline of Janloon, which Shae would soon watch fade from her airplane window and would not see again for two years. “Just try not to forget who you are,” her brother said.

While several countries mark the end of the Many Nations War (Victory Day in Espenia, War’s End Day in Tun, Liberation Day in the Uwiwa Islands, to name a few), Kekon’s national holiday commemorates the defeat of Shotarian occupation forces on the island and restoration of the country’s sovereignty fifty-two days prior to the signing of the international armistice. The official name of the holiday, Triumph of the Nation’s Heroes Over Foreign Oppression, is rarely used on account of its unwieldiness; it is referred to simply as Heroes Day.

As a child, Hilo had enjoyed Heroes Day, because in addition to being a day of patriotism, it was a celebration of Green Bone culture. Kaul Du Academy and Wie Lon Temple School opened their doors and put on public demonstrations of the jade disciplines. Movie theaters played a marathon of the adventure films about Baijen, the legendary Green Bone warrior. Veterans like his grandfather and late father were praised and honored. In the evening, there was a parade and fireworks. Afterward, Hilo went to sleep smiling, feeling like a prince.

As Pillar of the clan, he dreaded Heroes Day, and more so this year than any other. He was expected to make numerous public appearances and graciously accept the respect-paying of countless people while maintaining an appropriate solemnity out of memory for those slain in Kekon’s struggle for freedom. This year, he expected the holiday would be underscored with the tension of current anti-foreigner sentiment and would make the scandal over Shae’s past all the worse for No Peak. No wonder his sister was staying at home and not making any appearances today. She claimed to be feeling unwell, but he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d simply said that she’d rather skip the shitshow and the inevitability of having to see Ayt Mada’s smug face.

“Forget the garbage Ayt and the newspapers are spewing,” Hilo had told her. “You have to get Ship Street under control. Hami was in the room with the men who came to see me. He didn’t speak against you, but he didn’t stand up for you either. That’s not good, Shae.”

His sister seemed pale and much quieter than usual. “I’ll handle it,” she said.

“If your people are behind you, it doesn’t matter what any of those other fuckers think, but they have to be behind you.”

“I said I’ll handle it,” Shae repeated. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Hilo had no intention of caving to pressure from inside or outside of the clan, but what if things got so bad that Shae no longer had the credibility to run the business side of No Peak? He didn’t want to contemplate the possibility of having to remove his sister from her post; he was certain that was exactly what Ayt Mada was hoping for. Three years ago, the Mountain had tried to weaken Lan’s position by targeting Hilo for assassination; now they were doing the same to him, undermining him by going after Shae.

Hilo went on the offense. Ten-year-old Koben Ato had recently fallen ill for a week from a potent stomach virus, a fact that was known only because the boy had begun his training at Wie Lon School as something of a minor celebrity. When questioned by the press about Shae’s past, Hilo answered that the outrage ought to be focused instead on the more serious past misdeeds of clan leaders who were known for killing their own relatives. Hilo hoped out loud that Ayt’s nephew’s illness was nothing more sinister; perhaps the Koben family ought to be worried about the child meeting as untimely a fate as his father.

His efforts deflected some of the attention, but had little effect otherwise. The idea that Ayt Mada would target a child was shocking but unfounded, and even though it reminded people of her past fratricide, in today’s political climate, it seemed murdering one’s way into power was more easily forgiven than sleeping with a foreigner. No Peak remained in an infuriating position and Hilo did not yet know what to do about it. It sat near the front of his mind all of Heroes Day morning as he walked through Widow’s Park with a large contingent of No Peak clan faithful, laying flowers and fruit on the Kaul family memorial and the graves of other Green Bones slain during the overthrow of Shotarian occupation during the Many Nations War. This part of his schedule was actually pleasant, as he had his family with him. Wen had dressed the boys in suits—even Ru wore a tiny vest and clip-on tie that he’d already spit up on—and people were exclaiming over how handsome they were, which pleased Hilo to no end. Niko ran between the gravestones, dirtying his shoes.

The afternoon, however, was an ordeal. Wen and the children went home, and Hilo was driven to the Monument District where His Heavenship Prince Ioan III would make a grand public appearance in front of the Triumphal Palace. In portraits, the prince was depicted as a regal and stately man, but in person his heavy brow and small chin gave him the appearance of perpetual squinting confusion. He performed his ceremonial and charitable duties with good-natured enthusiasm, though, and had produced two sons and two daughters, so was quite popular with the public. When he came out of the palace and waved to the crowd, they cheered loudly.

As was custom on Heroes Day, the leaders of the Green Bone clans were in attendance to demonstrate their fealty to the monarch of the country. They each in turn climbed the steps of the palace and knelt before the prince, declaring the service and loyalty of their clans. The traditional event was a ceremonial reminder of the nation’s modern founding, when the jade warriors who triumphed over foreign occupation had, in accordance with aisho, eschewed political power and ushered in the reestablishment of the monarchy and the Royal Council.

Hilo smirked when Ayt Mada strode up the marble steps and lowered herself like a tiger consenting to be patted by a child. The prince was a figurehead with no real power, but once a year, people took heart and patriotic pride in the knowledge that even the most powerful Green Bones, the ones who commanded true influence in society, were united and subservient to Kekon itself. That reassurance was particularly relevant now, with a foreign war raging not far away.

Hilo followed after his enemy and knelt on the palace’s landing, touching his forehead to the marble. “Your Heavenship,” he said. “I, Kaul Hiloshudon, the Pillar of my clan, pledge No Peak to your service. May you live three hundred years under the favor of the gods.”

Once that part of the pomp was over with, the prince’s retinue escorted His Heavenship down the street to the public gardens behind Wisdom Hall, where he blessed the unveiling of a new statue commemorating the famous wartime partnership of Ayt Yugontin and Kaul Seningtun—the Spear and the Torch of Kekon. Hilo was required to be in attendance at this event as well and to stare at the bronze cast of his grandfather as a much younger man, standing straight and proud next to his comrade and gazing off into the distance, presumably at Kekon’s glorious future.

Upon last year’s declaration of truce between the clans, someone in the Janloon city government had apparently thought it a good idea to commission public art to mark the reestablished harmony between Green Bones. Considering that the clans were currently engaged in a contest to undermine and ruin each other—a contest the Mountain appeared to be winning—the whole affair struck Hilo as ironic.

After the prince and a few other officials had said their words, Ayt took the microphone and spoke eloquently about the sort of man her adopted father had been—a brilliant general, an honorable Green Bone, and above all, a principled patriot. “My father believed that with jade comes great responsibility, and that Green Bones owe their loyalty to country above all else.” Ayt let her words hang in the air as her eyes moved over the assembly of people and settled on her rival Pillar, standing near the front and scheduled to speak next. Hilo felt the weight of his enemy’s stare and the pressure of her thick aura bathing him in an unwelcome spotlight.

Ayt said, looking directly at Hilo, “The allegiance to a higher cause, to the safety to the country, takes precedence over even the treasured bonds between friends and relatives. A strong leader must be capable of setting aside sentiment and making painful decisions for the good of many.” Ayt’s message was clear: Everything she had done to become Pillar of the Mountain—including murdering her ineffectual playboy of an adopted brother and her father’s old guard—she had done for the greater good of the clan and country. Kaul Hilo, in contrast, by stubbornly siding with his unworthy sister, was no great leader.

Ayt turned back to the crowd and declared, “My father, if he were alive, would despair to see that foreign interests have once again invaded our country, this time with the help of those who ought to be the staunchest defenders of our nation. As the daughter of the Spear of Kekon, as the Pillar of my clan, I am deeply concerned.”

Shae had prepared a speech for Hilo to give; it contained innocuous Heroes Day platitudes and some touching and amusing stories about Grandda. Hilo had come to this event determined to stick to the text and not respond to Ayt’s goading, but his aggravation mounted steadily as Ayt continued talking. “The Weather Man of the second-largest clan in the country is in thrall to foreign people and ways. Her past actions prove that she is of weak character, not fit to be called Kekonese, and not to be trusted in a position of power and influence. It’s time for my counterpart to listen to the concerns of the public.”

Ayt Mada was co-opting what was supposed to be a feel-good speech about her father into a pointed indictment of her rival. A few members of the Royal Council in attendance at the statue unveiling ceremony were shifting uncomfortably. Among the public who’d gathered to watch, some were nodding, others were listening stone-faced or staring at Hilo, waiting for his reaction. Hilo’s eyes were slits; he kept his expression stiff but knew his suppressed fury was Perceivable to any Green Bone nearby.

“Hilo-jen,” Kehn grumbled from behind Hilo’s shoulder in a low, uneasy voice, “we don’t have to stand here listening to all this shit. We could leave right now.”

Hilo did not answer his Horn; he could sense Ayt Mada’s aura humming in smug curiosity. Could she provoke him to explode in a temper in front of everyone? Would he finally bend to the pressure and remove Shae as Weather Man, making No Peak appear guilty and weak, or stubbornly refuse and watch his clan’s reputation plummet and his own hard-won fitness as Pillar come into question?

He did not Perceive Shae’s approach until she was right behind him. Her aura prickled like static against his, and when he turned in surprise, he saw that she was cutting a straight path toward him. Her hair was drawn back in a tight clasp, and in the sun, the jade gleamed at her throat. Her pale face was set as firm as a mask. She paused as she came alongside him but barely glanced in his direction.

“I thought you weren’t feeling well,” Hilo said. “What are you doing here?”

“Ending this,” the Weather Man said, and stepped forward past him with the suddenness of a leap from a subway platform. He realized what she meant to do a second before she spoke, but by then, she had crossed half the space to the podium.

“Enough,” Shae declared, loudly enough to disrupt Ayt midsentence and be heard by those nearby. There was a ripple of astonishment through the crowd, and in the space where Ayt’s searing aura met Shae’s like lava pouring against rocks. Shae continued advancing, implacably, cold as the moon. “You’ve insulted and slandered me enough. You’ve called me a poor granddaughter, an unfit Weather Man, unworthy of jade, a traitor, and a whore.”

She stopped; the heartbeat of silence that fell was blistering. “Ayt Madashi, Pillar of the Mountain, I offer you a clean blade.”