The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

29. The Three

As with any birth, there was pain.

I believe I screamed. I think that in that instant many things occurred. I have a vague sense of the sky wheeling overhead, cycling day through day and night and back to morning in the span of a breath. (If this happened, then what moved was not the sky.) I have a feeling that somewhere in the universe an uncountable number of new species burst into existence, on millions of planets. I am fairly certain that tears fell from my eyes. Where they landed, lichens and moss began to cover the floor.

I cannot be certain of any of this. Somewhere, in dimensions for which there are no mortal words, I was changing, too. This occupied a great deal of my awareness.

But when the changes were done, I opened my eyes and saw new colors.

The room practically glowed with them. The iridescence of the floor’s Skystuff. Glints of gold from glass shards lying about the room. The blue of the sky—it had been a watery blue-white, but now it was such a vivid teal that I stared at it in wonder. It had never, at least in my lifetime, been so blue.

Next I noticed scent. My body had become something else, less a body than an embodiment, but its shape for the moment was still human, as were my senses. And something was different here, too. When I inhaled, I could taste the crisp, acrid thinness of the air, underlaid by the metallic scent of the blood that covered my clothing. I touched my fingers to this and tasted it. Salt, more metal, hints of bitter and sour. Of course; I had been unhappy for days before I died.

New colors. New scents in the air. I had never realized, before now, what it meant to live in a universe that had lost one-third of itself. The Gods’ War had cost us so much more than mere lives.

No more, I vowed.

Around me the chaos had stopped. I did not want to talk, to think, but a sense of responsibility pushed insistently against my reverie. At last I sighed and focused on my surroundings.

To my left stood three shining creatures, stronger than the rest, more malleable in form. I recognized in them an essence of myself. They stared at me, weapons frozen in hand or on claw, mouths agape. Then one of them moulded himself into a different shape—a child—and came forward. His eyes were wide. “M-Mother?”

That was not my name. I would have turned away in disinterest had it not occurred to me that this would hurt him. Why did that matter? I didn’t know, but it bothered me.

So instead I said, “No.” On impulse, I reached out to stroke his hair. His eyes got even wider, then spilled over with tears. He pulled away from me then, covering his face. I did not know what to make of this behavior, so I turned to the others.

Three more to my right—or rather, two, and one dying. Also shining creatures, though their light was hidden within them, and their bodies were weaker and crude. And finite. The dying one expired as I watched, too many of his organs having been damaged to sustain life. I felt the rightness of their mortality even as I mourned it.

“What is this?” demanded one of them. The younger one, the female. Her gown and hands were splattered with her brother’s blood.

The other mortal, old and close to death himself, only shook his head, staring at me.

Then suddenly two more creatures stood before me, and I caught my breath at the sight. I could not help myself. They were so beautiful, even beyond the shells they wore to interact with this plane. They were part of me, kin, and yet so very different. I had been born to be with them, to bridge the gap between them and complete their purpose. To stand with them now—I wanted to throw back my head and sing with joy.

But something was wrong. The one who felt like light and stillness and stability—he was whole, and glorious. Yet there was something unwholesome at his core. I looked closer and perceived a great and terrible loneliness within him, eating at his heart like a worm in an apple. That sobered me, softened me, because I knew what that kind of loneliness felt like.

The same blight was in the other being, the one whose nature called to everything dark and wild. But something more had been done to him; something terrible. His soul had been battered and crushed, bound with sharp-edged chains, then forced into a too-small vessel. Constant agony. He had gone down on one knee, staring at me through dull eyes and lank, sweat-soaked hair. Even his own panting caused him pain.

It was an obscenity. But a greater obscenity was the fact that the chains, when I followed them to their source, were part of me. So were three other leashes, one of which led to the neck of the creature who had called me Mother.

Revolted, I tore the chains away from my chest and willed them to shatter.

The three creatures to my left all gasped, folding in on themselves as power returned to them. Their reaction was nothing, however, compared to that of the dark being. For an instant he did not move, only widening his eyes as the chains loosened and fell away.

Then he flung his head back and screamed, and all existence shifted. On this plane, this manifested as a single, titanic concussion of sound and vibration. All sight vanished from the world, replaced by a darkness profound enough to drive weaker souls mad if it lasted for more than a heartbeat. It passed even more quickly than that, replaced by something new.

Balance: I felt its return like the setting of a dislocated joint. Out of Three had the universe been formed. For the first time in an age, Three walked again.

When all was still, I saw that my dark one was whole. Where once restless shadows had flickered in his wake, now he shone with an impossible negative radiance, black as the Maelstrom. Had I thought him merely beautiful before? Ah, but now there was no human flesh to filter his cool majesty. His eyes glowed blue-black with a million mysteries, terrifying and exquisite. When he smiled, all the world shivered, and I was not immune.

Yet this shook me on an entirely different level, because suddenly memory surged through me. They were pallid, these memories, as of something half-forgotten—but they pushed at me, demanding acknowledgment, until I made a sound and shook my head and batted at the air in protest. They were part of me, and though I understood now that names were as ephemeral as form for my kind, those memories insisted upon giving the dark creature a name: Nahadoth.

And the bright one: Itempas.

And me—

I frowned in confusion. My hands rose in front of my face, and I stared at them as if I had never seen them. In a way, I had not. Within me was the gray light I had so hated before, transformed now into all the colors that had been stolen from existence. Through my skin I could see those colors dancing along my veins and nerves, no less powerful for being hidden. Not my power. But it was my flesh, wasn’t it? Who was I?

“Yeine,” said Nahadoth in a tone of wonder.

A shudder passed through me, the same feeling of balance I’d had a moment before. Suddenly I understood. It was my flesh, and my power, too. I was what mortal life had made me, what Enefa had made me, but all that was in the past. From henceforth I could be whomever I wanted.

“Yes,” I said, and smiled at him. “That is my name.”

Other changes were necessary.

Nahadoth and I turned to face Itempas, who watched us with eyes as hard as topaz.

“Well, Naha,” he said, though the hate in his eyes was all for me. “I must congratulate you; this is a fine coup. I thought killing the girl would be sufficient. Now I see I should have obliterated her entirely.”

“That would have taken more power than you possess,” I said. A frown flickered across Itempas’s face. He was so easy to read; did he realize that? He still thought of me as a mortal, and mortals were insignificant to him.

“You aren’t Enefa,” he snapped.

“No, I’m not.” I could not help smiling. “Do you know why Enefa’s soul lingered all these years? It wasn’t because of the Stone.”

His frown deepened with annoyance. What a prickly creature he was. What did Naha see in him? No, that was jealousy speaking. Dangerous. I would not repeat the past.

“The cycle of life and death flows from me and through me,” I said, touching my breast. Within it, something—not quite a heart—beat strong and even. “Even Enefa never truly understood this about herself. Perhaps she was always meant to die at some point; and now, perhaps I am the only one of us who will never be truly immortal. But by the same token, neither can I truly die. Destroy me and some part will always linger. My soul, my flesh, perhaps only my memory—but it will be enough to bring me back.”

“Then I simply wasn’t thorough enough,” Itempas said, and his tone promised dire things. “I’ll be sure to rectify that next time.”

Nahadoth stepped forward. The dark nimbus that surrounded him made a faint crackling sound as he moved, and white flecks—moisture frozen out of the air—drifted to the floor in his wake.

“There will be no next time, Tempa,” he said with frightening gentleness. “The Stone is gone and I am free. I will tear you apart, as I have planned for all the long nights of my imprisonment.”

Itempas’s aura blazed like white flames; his eyes glowed like twin suns. “I threw you broken to the earth once before, Brother, and I can do it again—”

“Enough,” I said.

Nahadoth’s answer was a hiss. He crouched, his hands suddenly monstrous claws at his sides. There was a blur of movement and suddenly Sieh was beside him, a feline shadow. Kurue moved as if to join Itempas, but instantly Zhakkarn’s pike was at her throat.

None of them paid any attention to me. I sighed.

The knowledge of my power was within me, as instinctive as how to think and how to breathe. I closed my eyes and reached for it, and felt it uncurl and stretch within me, ready. Eager.

This was going to be fun.

The first blast of power that I sent through the palace was violent enough to stagger everyone, even my quarrelsome brothers, who fell silent in surprise. I ignored them and closed my eyes, tapping and shaping the energy to my will. There was so much! If I was not careful, I could so easily destroy rather than create. On some level I was aware of being surrounded by colored light: cloudy gray, but also the rose of sunset and the white-green of dawn. My hair wafted in it, shining. My gown swirled about my ankles, an annoyance. A flick of my will and it became a Darren warrior’s garments, tight-laced sleeveless tunic and practical calf-length pants. They were an impractical shining silver, but—well, I was a goddess, after all.

Walls—rough, brown, tree-bark—appeared around us. They did not completely enclose the room; here and there were gaps, though as I watched those filled. Branches nearby grew, split, and sprouted curling leaves. Above us the sky was still visible, though dimmer, thanks to the leafy canopy that now spread there. Through that canopy rose a titanic tree trunk, gnarling and curving high into the sky.

In fact the tree’s topmost branches pierced the sky. If I looked down on this world from above I would see white clouds and blue seas and brown earth and a single magnificent tree, breaking the planet’s smooth round curve. If I flew closer I would see roots like mountains, nestling the whole of Sky-the-city between the forks. I would see branches as long as rivers. I would see people on the ground below, shaken and terrified, crawling out of their homes and picking themselves up from the sidewalks to stare in awe at the great tree that had twined itself around the Skyfather’s palace.

In fact I saw all of these things without ever opening my eyes. Then I did open them, to find my brothers and children staring at me.

“Enough,” I said again. This time they paid attention. “This realm cannot endure another Gods’ War. I will not permit it.”

“You will not permit…?” Itempas clenched his fists, and I felt the heavy, blistering smolder of his power. For a moment it frightened me, and with good reason. He had bent the universe to his will at the beginning of time; he far outstripped me in experience and wisdom. I didn’t even know how to fight as gods fought. He did not attack because there were two of us to his one, but that was the only thing holding him back.

Then there is hope, I decided.

As if reading my thoughts, Nahadoth shook his head. “No, Yeine.” His eyes were black holes in his skull, ready to swallow worlds. The hunger for retribution curled off him like smoke. “He murdered Enefa even though he loved her. He’ll have no qualms at all over you. We must destroy him, or be destroyed ourselves.”

A quandry. I held no grudge against Itempas—he had murdered Enefa, not me. But Nahadoth had millennia of pain to expunge; he deserved justice. And worse, he was right. Itempas was mad, poisoned by his own jealousy and fear. One did not allow the mad to roam free, lest they hurt others or themselves.

Yet killing him was also impossible. Out of Three had the universe been made. Without all Three, it would all end.

“I can think of only one solution,” I said softly. And even that was imperfect. After all, I knew from experience how much damage even a single mortal could inflict on the world, given enough time and power. We would just have to hope for the best.

Nahadoth frowned as he read my intention, but some of the hate flowed out of him. Yes; I had thought this might satisfy him. He nodded once in agreement.

Itempas stiffened as he realized what we meant to do. Language had been his invention; we had never really needed words. “I will not tolerate this.”

“You will,” I said, and joined my power with Nahadoth’s. It was an easy fusion, more proof that we Three were meant to work together and not at odds. Someday, when Itempas had served his penance, perhaps we could truly be Three again. What wonders we would create then! I would look forward to it, and hope.

“You will serve,” Nahadoth said to Itempas, and his voice was cold and heavy with the weight of law. I felt reality reshape itself. We had never really needed a separate language, either; any tongue would do, as long as one of us spoke the words. “Not a single family, but all the world. You will wander among mortals as one of them, unknown, commanding only what wealth and respect you can earn with your deeds and words. You may call upon your power only in great need, and only to aid these mortals for whom you hold such contempt. You will right all the wrongs inflicted in your name.”

Nahadoth smiled then. This smile was not cruel—he was free and had no need of cruelty anymore—but neither was there mercy in him. “I imagine this task will take some time.”

Itempas said nothing, because he could not. Nahadoth’s words had taken hold of him, and with the aid of my power the words wove chains that no mortal could see or sever. He fought the chaining, once unleashing his power against ours in a furious blast, but it was no use. A single member of the Three could never hope to defeat the other two. Itempas had used those odds in his own favor long enough to know better.

But I could not leave it at that. A proper punishment was meant to redeem the culprit, not just assuage the victims.

“Your sentence can end sooner,” I said, and my words, too, curved and linked and became hard around him, “if you learn to love truly.”

Itempas glared at me. He had not been driven to his knees by the weight of our power, but it was a near thing. He stood now with back bowed, trembling all over, the white flames of his aura gone and his face sheened with a very mortal sweat. “I… will never… love you,” he gritted through his teeth.

I blinked in surprise. “Why would I want your love? You’re a monster, Itempas, destroying everything you claim to care for. I see such loneliness in you, such suffering—but all of it is your own doing.”

He flinched, his eyes widening. I sighed, shook my head, and stepped close, lifting a hand to his cheek. He flinched again at my touch, though I stroked him until he quieted.

“But I am only one of your lovers,” I whispered. “Haven’t you missed the other?”

And as I had expected, Itempas looked at Nahadoth. Ah, the need in his eyes! If there had been any hope of it, I would have asked Nahadoth to share this moment with us. Just one kind word might have speeded Itempas’s healing. But it would be centuries before Nahadoth’s own wounds had healed enough for that.

I sighed. So be it. I would do what I could to make it easier for both of them, and try again when the ages had worked their magic. I had made a promise, after all.

“When you’re ready to be among us again,” I whispered to Itempas, “I, at least, will welcome you back.” Then I kissed him, and filled that kiss with all the promise I could muster. But some of the surprise that passed between us was mine, for his mouth was soft despite its hard lines. Underneath that I could taste hot spices and warm ocean breezes; he made my mouth water and my whole body ache. For the first time I understood why Nahadoth loved him—and by the way his mouth hung open when I pulled back, I think he felt the same.

I looked over at Nahadoth, who sighed with too-human weariness. “He doesn’t change, Yeine. He can’t.”

“He can if he wants to,” I said firmly.

“You are naive.”

Maybe I was. But that didn’t make me wrong.

I kept my eyes on Itempas, though I went to Naha and took his hand. Itempas watched us like a man dying of thirst, within sight of a waterfall. It would be hard for him, the time to come, but he was strong. He was one of us. And one day, he would be ours again.

Power folded around Itempas like the petals of a great flower, scintillating. When the light faded, he was human—his hair no longer shining, his eyes merely brown. Handsome, but not perfect. Just a man. He fell to the floor, unconscious from the shock.

With that done, I turned to Nahadoth.

“No,” he said, scowling.

“He deserves the same chance,” I said.

“I promised him release already.”

“Death, yes. I can give him more.” I stroked Nahadoth’s cheek, which flickered beneath my hand. His face changed every moment now, beautiful no matter how it looked—though the mortals probably would not have thought so, since some of his faces were not human. I was no longer human myself. I could accept all of Nahadoth’s faces, so he had no need of any one in particular.

He sighed and closed his eyes at my touch, which both gratified and troubled me. He had been too long alone. I would have to take care not to exploit this weakness of his now, or he would hate me for it later.

Still, this had to be done. I said, “He deserves freedom, same as you.”

He gave me a heavy sigh. But his sigh took the form of tiny black stars, surprisingly bright as they sparkled and multiplied and coalesced into a human form. For a moment a negative phantasm of the god stood before me. I willed it to life, and it became a man: Nahadoth’s daytime self. He looked around, then stared at the shining being who had been his other half for so long. They had never met in all that time, but his eyes widened with realization.

“My gods,” he breathed, too awed to realize the irony of his oath.

“Yeine—”

I turned to find Sieh beside me in his child form. He stood taut, his green eyes searching my face. “Yeine?”

I reached for him, then hesitated. He was not mine, despite my possessive feelings.

He reached up just as hesitantly, touching my arms and face in wonder. “You really… aren’t her?”

“No. Just Yeine.” I lowered my hand, letting him choose. I would respect his decision if he rejected me. But…“Was this what you wanted?”

“Wanted?” The look on his face would have gratified colder hearts than mine. He put his arms around me, and I pulled him close and held him tightly. “Ah, Yeine, you’re still such a mortal,” he whispered against my breast. But I felt him trembling.

Over Sieh’s head, I looked at my other children. Stepchildren, perhaps; yes, that was a safer way to think of them. Zhakkarn inclined her head to me, a soldier acknowledging a new commander. She would obey, which was not quite what I wanted, but it would do for now.

Kurue, though, was another matter.

Gently disentangling myself from Sieh, I stepped toward her. Kurue dropped immediately to one knee and bowed her head.

“I will not beg your forgiveness,” she said. Only her voice betrayed her fear; it was not its usual strong, clear tone. “I did what I felt was right.”

“Of course you did,” I said. “It was the wise thing to do.” As I had done with Sieh, I reached out and stroked her hair. It was long and silver in this form of hers, like metal spun into curls. Beautiful.

I let it trail through my fingers as Kurue fell to the floor, dead.

“Yeine.” Sieh, sounding stunned. For the moment I ignored him, because my eyes happened to meet Zhakkarn’s as I looked up. She inclined her head again, and I knew then that I had earned a measure of her respect.

“Darr,” I said.

“I’ll see to things,” Zhakkarn replied, and vanished.

The amount of relief I felt surprised me. Perhaps I had not left my humanity so very far behind after all.

Then I turned to face everyone in the chamber. A branch was growing across the room, but I touched it and it grew in a different direction, out of the way. “You, too,” I said to Scimina, who blanched and stepped back.

“No,” said Nahadoth abruptly. He turned to Scimina then and smiled; the room grew darker. “This one is mine.”

“No,” she whispered, taking another step back. If she could have bolted—another branch had covered the stairway entrance—I’m certain she would have, though of course that would have been pointless. “Just kill me.”

“No more orders,” Nahadoth said. He lifted a hand, the fingers curling as if to grip an invisible leash, and Scimina cried out as she was jerked forward, falling to her knees at his feet. She clutched at her throat, fingers scrabbling for some way to free herself, but there was nothing there. Naha leaned down, taking her chin in his fingers, and laid a kiss on her lips that was no less chilling for its tenderness. “I will kill you, Scimina, never fear. Just not yet.”

I felt no pity. That, too, was a remnant of my humanity.

Which left only Dekarta.

He sat on the floor, where he had been thrown during the manifestation of my tree. When I went to him, I could see the throbbing ache in his hip, which was broken, and the unstable flutter of his heart. Too many shocks. It had not been a good night for him. But he smiled as I crouched before him, to my surprise.

“A goddess,” he said, then barked out a single laugh that was remarkably free of bitterness. “Ah, Kinneth never did things by half measures, did she?”

In spite of myself, I shared his smile. “No. She didn’t.”

“So, then.” He lifted his chin and regarded me imperiously, which would have worked better if he had not been panting due to his heart. “What of us, Goddess Yeine? What of your human kin?”

I wrapped my arms around my knees, balancing on my toes. I had forgotten to make shoes.

“You’ll choose another heir, who will hold on to your power as best he can. Whether he succeeds or not, we will be gone, Naha and I, and Itempas will be useless to you. It should be interesting to see what mortals make of the world without our constant interference.”

Dekarta stared at me in disbelief and horror. “Without the gods, every nation on this planet will rise up to destroy us. Then they’ll turn on each other.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“It will definitely happen,” I said, “if your descendants are fools. But the Enefadeh have never been the Arameri’s sole weapon, Grandfather; you know that better than anyone. You have more wealth than any single nation, enough to hire and equip whole armies. You have the Itempan priesthood, and they will be very motivated to spread your version of the truth, since they are threatened, too. And you have your own fine-honed viciousness, which has served well enough as a weapon all this time.” I shrugged. “The Arameri can survive, and perhaps even retain power for a few generations. Enough, hopefully, to temper the worst of the world’s wrath.”

“There will be change,” said Nahadoth, who was suddenly beside me. Dekarta drew back, but there was no malice in Nahadoth’s eyes. Slavery was what had driven him half mad; already he was healing. “There must be change. The Arameri have kept the world still for too long, against nature. This must now correct itself in blood.”

“But if you’re clever,” I added, “you’ll get to keep most of yours.”

Dekarta shook his head slowly. “Not me. I’m dying. And my heirs—they had the strength to rule as you say, but…” He glanced over at Relad, who lay open-eyed on the floor with a knife stuck in his throat. He had bled even more than I.

“Uncle—” Scimina began, but Nahadoth jerked her leash to silence her. Dekarta glanced once in her direction, then away.

“You have another heir, Dekarta,” I said. “He’s clever and competent, and I believe he’s strong enough—though he will not thank me for recommending him.”

I smiled to myself, seeing without eyes through the layers of Sky. Within, the palace was not so very different. Bark and branches had replaced the pearly Skystuff in places, and some of the dead spaces had been filled with living wood. But even this simple change was enough to terrify the denizens of Sky, highblood and low alike. At the heart of the chaos was T’vril, marshaling the palace’s servants and organizing an evacuation.

Yes, he would do nicely.

Dekarta’s eyes widened, but he knew an order when he heard one. He nodded, and in return, I touched him and willed his hip whole and his heart stable. That would keep him alive a few days longer—long enough to see the transition through.

“I… I don’t understand,” said the human Naha, as the godly version and I got to our feet. He looked deeply shaken. “Why have you done this? What do I do now?”

I looked at him in surprise. “Live,” I said. “Why else do you think I put you here?”

There was much more to be done, but those were the parts that mattered. You would have enjoyed all of it, I think—righting the imbalances triggered by your death, discovering existence anew. But perhaps there are interesting discoveries to be had where you’ve gone, too.

It surprises me to admit it, but I shall miss you, Enefa. My soul is not used to solitude.

Then again, I will never be truly alone, thanks to you.

Sometime after we left Sky and Itempas and the mortal world behind, Sieh took my hand. “Come with us,” he said.

“Where?”

Nahadoth touched my face then, very gently, and I was awed and humbled by the tenderness in his gaze. Had I earned such warmth from him? I hadn’t—but I would. I vowed this to myself, and lifted my face for his kiss.

“You have much to learn,” he murmured against my lips when we parted. “I have so many wonders to show you.”

I could not help grinning like a human girl. “Take me away, then,” I said. “Let’s get started.”

So we passed beyond the universe, and now there is nothing more to tell.

Of this tale, anyhow.