CHAPTER
36
Let the Gods Recognize Him
At least, Hilo thought, it was not raining.
Lan’s funeral procession wound its long, slow way through the streets to the family’s ancestral burial grounds on a hillside cemetery in Widow’s Park, not far from Kaul Dushuron Academy. There was no threat of violence—it would be unthinkable bad luck to interrupt a Green Bone’s final death parade —but the tension was palpable, hanging as low over the ceremony as the thick late autumn clouds. Four days of illusory calm had descended over Janloon while the clans buried their dead. No Peak had returned the bodies of the Green Bones slain in the betting houses so the Mountain could hold rites for them. In the No Peak parts of the city, ceremonial spirit guiding lamps had gone up in the windows of homes and businesses to honor Kaul Lan, grandson of the Torch, Pillar of the clan—let the gods recognize him.
Hilo had been walking directly behind the hearse for hours. Shae and Maik Kehn, the newly appointed Horn, walked side by side behind him. After them came the heads of the other prominent families in the clan—all of them Fists, Luckbringers, or Lantern Men—and behind them, a long trailing crowd of other clan loyalists who’d joined the march to pay their respects. Wen was back there somewhere with Tar. Hilo would have liked to have her up here with him, but they were not yet married; the nuptials had been indefinitely postponed. Instead of planning his wedding, he was walking in his brother’s funeral.
It was customary for family members to hold two days and nights of silent vigil over the white cloth-draped coffin before the funeral, and Hilo had slept no more than four hours a stretch in the days before that, so his exhaustion had taken on a kind of hellish quality. Every few minutes, the funeral gongs and drums would raise an awful din from the front of the hearse, calling down the attention of the gods to observe Lan’s passage into the spirit world, and jolting Hilo to continue putting one foot in front of the other. It was said that one must not speak or sleep during the vigil because if the spirit of the deceased had any final messages to pass on, it would do so during that time.
If nothing happened, that meant the loved one had moved on from the earthly realm and was at peace.
That was further evidence, in Hilo’s opinion, that spiritual sayings were full of shit. Lan’s ghost, if it was out there, was not at peace, and Hilo was certain it would have things to say to him if it could. You’re no Pillar, it would say. I was born for it, trained for it, and look at how it killed me. You think you can do any better? Grandda always said you were good for nothing but thuggery.
“Shut up,” Hilo murmured, though he knew it wasn’t really Lan he was speaking to, only his own fears speaking in his brother’s voice. Last night, in a moment of sleep-deprived, superstitious weakness, he’d laid his hands on the hilt of Lan’s moon blade and strained his Perception out so far that dozens of auras and hundreds of heartbeats chorused in his mind like white noise. He hadn’t felt the barest hint of Lan’s presence. No spirit had appeared or spoken to him during the vigil, not even to say, Don’t worry, brother, you’ll be joining me soon enough.
They reached the cemetery at last. The hearse climbed slowly up to the burial ground where a new plot had been dug next to the green marble family monument where Hilo’s father and other forebears were buried. Three Deitist penitents wearing white funerary robes were waiting to perform the final rituals. Hilo’s mother was standing by Kaul Sen, who sat in a wheelchair by the gravesite, Kyanla holding a shade over him even though it was overcast.
They had been driven here ahead of the procession. Kaul Wan Ria, fetched from the cottage in Marenia, had the bent posture of someone who had long ago stopped questioning or fighting the world; her grieving eyes were as dull as those of an old doll. The patriarch was motionless, his gnarled hands gripping the arms of the chair like tree roots sunken into clay.
Hilo embraced his mother, though she returned the gesture with limp arms and barely seemed to see him. Lan had been the most dutiful of her children, more than her other two put together. “I love you, Ma,” Hilo said. She didn’t reply. The gray in her hair stood out more starkly than ever, and she looked lumpy in shapeless white funeral clothes. Out of the entire family, the shock was perhaps greatest for her. Hilo doubted Lan had conveyed much to their mother about the situation between the clans in the city. Complicit in her ignorance, she was now enduring the greater part of pain, and Hilo was forced to make a mental note to himself that she ought to be moved closer to the family, or help hired in Marenia to better care for her.
He went next to his grandfather and knelt respectfully, clasping his hands and touching them to his head. “Grandda.” He rose to his feet and bent to kiss the hateful old man on his forehead. As he leaned over, he half expected his grandfather to shoot out a clawlike hand and crush his windpipe in front of all the onlookers. Kaul Sen’s fingers twitched, but he merely glowered at his remaining grandson with vague disdain. Hilo moved aside, letting Shae step in to stand beside the chair and take their grandfather’s hand. “Where’s Doru?” he heard the old man grumble to her.
Hilo had been worried about his grandfather being here. Kaul Sen was even more unpredictable now. What might he say? Would he loudly denounce Hilo in public, or start ranting about how wonderful his son Du had been? Now, though, Hilo relaxed a little. It was good that Grandda was here; in the wheelchair he looked frail and confused. Clearly, just a broken old man —no longer the Torch of Kekon. There were those in the clan, Hilo knew, the old guard, who might’ve agitated for Kaul Sen to step back into the clan’s leadership position. Now they would see that it wasn’t possible.
Hilo took up a spot next to the coffin. As the other members of the clan arrived, he observed whether they came first to him to pay their respect to the new Pillar, or whether they went to offer whispered condolences to Kaul Sen.
Most came to him, as custom dictated. Some did not. Enough for Hilo to know his position as Pillar was far from universally accepted.
He kissed Wen chastely on the cheeks when she came up with Tar. She was lovely even in the white face powder that signified mourning and washed out the normal glow of her complexion. She slid her hand into his briefly as his lips touched her face. “Don’t mind those old men,” she whispered, as if reading his mind, or more simply, noticing how he glanced at the cluster of
guests who had not yet come and addressed him as Pillar. “They haven’t accepted reality yet.”
“Some of them are powerful,” Hilo replied quietly. “Some are councilmen.”
“Councilmen are useless in a war,” Wen said. “The Lantern Men don’t need regulations or tax breaks right now; they need protection. They need the clan’s strength. Look at all the Fists here, how they rally to you. Everyone else in the clan sees that too.” She squeezed his fingers, then went to stand by her brothers.
Hilo scanned the crowd until he spotted Anden standing off to the side.
He caught his cousin’s eye and motioned for him to join the rest of the family. Anden hesitated, then walked over. He looked wracked with grief, the poor kid, his eyes rimmed and his face almost as drawn and pale as Lan’s drowned corpse when Hilo had first laid eyes on it.
Hilo said gently, “What are you doing alone over there, Andy? You belong over here with us.” Anden’s face twitched like it was being barely held together, but he nodded mutely and took up his place next to Shae.
The gongs and drums sustained a final crash of noise that made Hilo’s head hurt, and then fell silent, as did the crowd. The senior penitent, a Learned One, glided forward and began to lead the long, low chanting recitations that would usher Lan’s spirit to the afterlife, where it would reside peacefully until the long-awaited Return, when all of humanity would be admitted back into the fold of Heaven to reclaim their lost kinship with the gods.
Hilo tuned out after a few minutes. He moved his lips to echo the chants in all the appropriate places, but he had never had faith in things he could not see or feel with his own formidable senses. Deitism, indeed all religion, made a complicated story out of truths that were simple but hard for people to accept.
Jade was a mysterious but natural substance, not a divine gift or the remnants of some heavenly palace. The Kekonese were genetically fortunate, like the first monkeys with opposable thumbs, but that was all; people weren’t descended from the gods, and they wouldn’t return to being gods.
People were people. The power of jade didn’t make them better or closer to godliness; it just made them more powerful.
Hilo studied the somber crowd. It was populated with influential Lantern
Men—business owners, corporate executives, judges, politicians. They were here with white envelopes of special tribute money to defray the cost of Lan’s funeral and to publicly proclaim their continued allegiance to the clan. At this point it was a gesture, not a promise. The true strength of their commitment would be revealed over the coming weeks and months. It depended on what happened next, on which way the clan war turned.
Hilo glanced left and right, at his family arrayed around him at the front of the gathered mourners. Today he was putting on a display for the clan—Shae as Weather Man, the fearsome Maik brothers as Horn and First Fist, his fiancée, and his talented teenage cousin, all standing together. A confident public declaration that the younger generation of No Peak was still strong, that it would ensure the clan had a future. He hoped that, for now, it would be enough.
The sermon ended with several more murmured refrains of let the gods recognize him and then everyone faced the coffin and watched as it was lowered into the earth. Hilo would have to stand and accept the condolences of lingering well-wishers for some time. He wished he could lie down on the ground and pass out instead. Shae, who’d kept vigil with him, stood erect, staring ahead, one hand supporting their mother’s arm. Kaul Sen looked slumped and lost in his chair. People began to mingle and converse in hushed tones. It was all extremely depressing.
“Here comes Chancellor Son,” Shae whispered at him.
The ruddy, overweight politician approached and placed his white envelope tactfully in the collection dish by the grave. “Kaul-jen,” he said gravely, turning and raising his hands in a salute but not, Hilo noticed, holding it for long or tilting into any semblance of a bow. “My heart is unspeakably heavy for your loss.”
“Thank you for being here to mourn with us, Chancellor,” Hilo said.
“Your brother wasn’t Pillar for nearly as long as he deserved. He was a reasonable and wise leader who always thought of the needs of the country and never forgot a friendship shown to the clan. I never had anything less than the greatest respect for Kaul Lan. He will be greatly missed.”
“He will,” Hilo agreed, making the effort to keep his face neutral, for it could not be clearer that the chancellor was pressing a message upon him and was already, with his shrewd gaze, making unfavorable comparisons between the old Pillar and the new. Son conveyed himself with the smooth words of a
diplomat, but Hilo didn’t need Perception to sense that the man’s wariness and ambivalence emanated all down the line of Lantern Men here today.
They relied on the clan for protection and patronage, and when they looked at Hilo, they saw his obvious youth and violent reputation.
After today, Shae would tally the monetary contributions and then he’d have a better idea of where he stood, how much he needed to worry. As much as he wanted to take comfort in what Wen had said, Hilo knew that it didn’t matter how many loyal Fists he had; if he lost the support of the Lantern Men, if they began to defect to the Mountain, then he would lose the clan. He turned, with reluctance, to politely greet the next one who followed on Son’s heels to deposit his envelope and pay respect.
When at last the line of guests had finally thinned and the crowd began to disperse, Anden came up. “Hilo-jen,” he said tentatively, “I have to talk to you.” The teen’s face was contorted, as if he were in physical pain. When he spoke, his words were rushed, his expression that of a man pleading forgiveness for some terrible crime. “There’s something I didn’t tell you when I should have. If only—if only I’d—”
Hilo drew his distressed cousin aside. “What is it, Andy?”
“Lan had me run errands for him before he died. He had me go to this place and pick up packages and bring them to him without telling anyone.”
Anden’s agonized whisper was wound as tight as a wire. “Lan was acting strange when I saw him last. Angry, not like himself, and his aura was different, too sharp. The packages—they were vials, Hilo. Vials of—”
Hilo seized the lapel of Anden’s suit and pulled him forward. He gave a single, sharp shake of his head. “Don’t say it.” His voice was low and angry.
Anden fell silent and stared at him, frozen.
Hilo’s expression was chiseled from stone. He leaned in and spoke near Anden’s ear. “Lan was the first of this family, the Pillar of our clan. The Mountain killed him, and I’m going to make sure they pay for it. And no matter what, I won’t have anyone sullying my brother’s memory or casting doubt on the strength of the family. Ever.” His grip on Anden’s lapel tightened as he drew back enough to lock gazes. “What you just said to me now—have you said it to anyone else, at school?”
“No,” Anden said, eyes wide. “No one.”
“Don’t ever mention it again.”
Anden throat moved but no sound emerged. He nodded.
Hilo’s fingers loosened and his fierce expression melted. He straightened out the front of Anden’s suit jacket and put his hands on the teen’s shoulders.
“It eats at me too, Andy—what else I could’ve done. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve had guards following him that night. It doesn’t matter now; what happened has happened, and we can’t change it. It wasn’t your fault, not in the slightest.”
Anden did not look at him; he swiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Hilo hated seeing him riddled with sorrow and guilt like this. He asked softly, “Do you need some time off? Do you want me to talk to the Academy?”
Anden shook his head at once. “No, I want to graduate on time.”
“That’s good. Lan would’ve wanted that.” Hilo tried to give his cousin a comforting smile, but Anden still wouldn’t look up. The teen nodded and pulled away, retreating toward some Academy classmates standing with their families a short distance away. Hilo let out a tired breath as he watched his cousin go. He hadn’t meant to speak so harshly, but Anden would be taking oaths soon, coming into the clan at a time of war—it was important that he understand. In a Green Bone clan, legacy was crucial. Lan’s authority had rested on the legacy of his grandfather and father, and Hilo’s would rest also on his brother’s. The clan was like a body: The Lantern Men were skin and muscles, the Fists and Luckbringers like heart and lungs, but the Pillar was the spine. There could be no weakness in the spine, or the body could not stand, it could not fight. Lan had been ambushed by their enemies and had fallen as a warrior—there must never be any doubt of that.
Hilo said to Tar, “Get the rest of these people out of here. I want to be alone.”
Tar and Kehn ushered the remaining guests gently but firmly back down to the cemetery gates. Shae bowed her head for a long moment. Her lips moved as if she was saying something silently to Lan’s coffin. Then she turned and walked away, guiding their mother’s slow steps. Wen came up to Hilo and put a questioning hand on his arm. “Go with your brothers,” he told her. “I’ll follow.” She did as he asked.
Kaul Sen remained by the open grave with Kyanla standing patiently behind his wheelchair. “He was a good boy,” the old man said finally. “A good son.”
Suddenly, Kaul Sen began to weep. He cried with the silent, ugly face of someone who was embarrassed to do so, who thought tears were for the
feeble. Kyanla tried to comfort him, handing him tissues from her purse. “Ah there, there, Kaul-jen, it’s okay to cry. We’re all human, we all need to cry to feel better, even the Pillar.” Kaul Sen took no notice of her.
Hilo looked away. Seeing the old man weep made his chest heavy, as heavy as lead. His grandfather was an insufferable tyrant, but his life had been more tragic than anyone deserved. All his military and civic achievements, public accolades, and decades of rule over the family and the clan could not compensate for the fact that he’d buried his only son, and now his eldest grandson.
When his grandfather had broken down in dementia and been sedated days ago, Hilo had instructed Dr. Truw to remove and lock away some of the old man’s jade. A few stones from his belt to start. The doctor said it would help; it would make Grandda less likely to hurt himself or others, it would dull his senses, slow his metabolism, make him calmer. When he awoke, Kaul Sen did not seem to even notice his missing jade—a sad sign in itself— but Hilo did. The Torch’s once indomitable aura was already a shadow of what it used to be; loss of jade only made that more apparent. Seeing him like this now, Hilo knew with abrupt certainty that his grandfather did not have long to live. There would be another Kaul family funeral soon—though he wasn’t going to wager on whose it would be.
Hilo knew he was the least loved of all his grandfather’s progeny, but he made himself go to Kaul Sen’s side. “It’s all right, Grandda,” he said quietly.
“You made the clan stronger than any one of us.” He crouched next to the wheelchair. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of things. I’m not Du or Lan, but I’m still a Kaul. I’ll make things right, I promise.”
He didn’t know if his grandfather heard him or cared, but the old man stopped weeping and dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes. Hilo had Kyanla push him back to the car.
Hilo stood alone by Lan’s grave at last. And even though he didn’t believe in Heaven or ghosts, there were things that needed to be said.
“Your jade, brother. I had it sewn under the lining of the coffin. No one took it from you, and no one else will ever wear it. It’s yours.” He was silent for a minute. “I know you don’t think I can do this, but you didn’t leave me any choice, did you? So I’m going to prove you wrong. I won’t let it happen; I won’t let No Peak fall. If there is an afterlife, when you see me again, you tell me if I kept the oaths I made to you.”