CHAPTER
55
Not Finished
Anden awoke in the hospital, hooked up to an intravenous tube and machines that beeped quietly. His head felt heavy and swollen, his eyes crusty. His throat was raw, and his skin was tender, as if the entire surface of his body was a single bruise, and it hurt to even shift his weight on the soft mattress of the hospital bed. For a moment, he couldn’t understand why he was here, and then it came back to him all at once. His heart gave a panicked lurch, and he was quickly bathed in sweat.
The remembered terror and euphoria of the jade he’d harnessed—so much jade—filled his mind completely. Nothing else seemed of any importance at all. Wonder and craving gripped him as he looked down at his pale bare arms lying on top of the white bedsheet. He’d killed Gont Asch. Horn of the Mountain, one of the most powerful Green Bones in Janloon. He’d felt the man’s death as if it had been his own, and when the agony of it had passed through him, he’d reveled in the release of the man’s life energy recoiling into his own. Such exhilaration. He’d killed those other two men, too; their deaths had been satisfying, though not quite as memorable. Perhaps only the first kill was so intense? Or was it the strength and jade ability of the man he killed that made the difference?
Ah, jade! It was just as the penitents said: Jade was divine. It came from Heaven, and it could make men into gods. Anden licked his parched lips, wondering where the jade was now, when he would get to put it back on and
feel that way again.
And suddenly, he wanted to cry.
He wasn’t normal; he knew that. He’d always suspected such would be the case. The powerful but unstable Aun line mixed with foreign blood and jade sensitivity. Yet he’d been told, and he’d believed, that the rigorous training of the Academy would overcome his deficiencies. Discipline and jade acclimation created Green Bones who were powerful but controlled, not monsters that laughed with the pure sensate joy of reaching out and stopping hearts. Hilo had killed many times, but he was still sane.
Hilo! Anden’s head pounded as he pushed himself up.
A nurse came in, a stout, unsmiling woman who checked some readouts on Anden’s monitor. “Where’s Kaul-jen?” Anden croaked. The woman didn’t answer at first, merely released some medication into his IV tube. “Is he alive?” Anden asked.
“He’s alive,” the nurse said. Anden heard it as if through a gathering fog.
Whatever was in the IV tube, it was powerfully sedating. In a minute, he was unconscious.
When he woke again, Hilo was sitting by his bedside. Anden gasped at the sight of him. It was as if the famous youthfulness of his cousin’s face had been siphoned out from under his skin, leaving a scarecrow version of himself. Hilo’s eyes were bruised, his cheek split and stitched, and one wrist was splinted. Despite this, upon seeing Anden awake, he smiled broadly at once, his sunken eyes dancing with warmth. “You did it, Andy.” In a rush of affection, he bent over Anden, seized the top of his hair and kissed him on the brow. “You sent the Mountain running. You saved the clan, cousin. And my life; I’ll never forget about that.”
“How did we …” Anden swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth. He saw his eyeglasses on the table next to him and put them on shakily. “How are we alive? What happened after …?” It was difficult to form complete sentences.
Hilo laughed. He got up and filled a paper cup with water from the sink.
They were in a private hospital room, Anden realized. Hilo moved gingerly, with little of his usual languid grace, as if he’d been taken apart and put back together and wasn’t sure if all the pieces were accounted for yet. He sat back down and placed the water in Anden’s hand, closing his cousin’s fingers around the cup as if guiding an uncoordinated child. Unsteadily, Anden raised it to his lips and drank, grateful and embarrassed to have the Pillar of
the clan sitting here and treating him so gently.
“Mr. Une, the owner of the Twice Lucky, saw what happened and phoned the house. Shae called Kehn and Tar—they were waiting in a building just across the freeway in Junko, less than five minutes away.” Hilo paused to draw a breath, wincing at some unseen injury, but still smiling. “It’s all good news, Andy. After the Mountain lost its Horn and half a dozen of its other top Green Bones, Kehn and our Fists swept in like a fire. They took back the rest of the Docks in a day.” Hilo’s face was bright with pride. “After he and Shae saw us to the hospital, Tar won us the rest of Sogen. Juen and his men pushed into Spearpoint and killed so many of the Mountain Fingers there that we don’t have to worry anymore about losing Poor Man’s Road. We turned the war. You did.”
Anden tried to absorb this. “Does this mean Ayt’s been defeated?”
Hilo cocked his head. “Andy, a Green Bone’s not defeated until they’re dead. Didn’t the two of us just prove that?” He pressed his lips together. “The Mountain’s an old clan, a big clan. We’ve hit them bad and forced Ayt to pull back. She’ll have to name a new Horn—probably Gont’s First Fist; I’m told he’s still alive. It’ll be some time before they can come back at us again. But Ayt’s not finished.” There was grimness in Hilo’s voice but a dancing optimism in his eyes, something Anden hadn’t seen since before Lan’s death.
“But neither are we, Andy,” he said, leaning in as if to share a secret. “You and me, we got Gont. We’ll get her next.”
Anden was confused; why was it so hard for him to feel happy right now?
He was alive, Hilo was alive, Gont was dead, and No Peak had prevailed. He ought to be relieved, he ought to be in good spirits just as his cousin was.
Instead he felt hollow and lacking, hungry not for victory or vengeance, but only for the awareness and power that had been so fleeting and transformative. Brief exposure to a large quantity of jade had carved his mind with indelible knowledge of what it was capable of. Everything else—family and clan included—paled in comparison.
“How … long have I been in here?” he asked.
“Five days,” Hilo said. At Anden’s look of alarm, he said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I was dancing closer to the grave than you, and you’re younger and stronger than I am. Dr. Truw’s been in here constantly for both of us. We should make him our personal family doctor.”
Anden wasn’t sure he could put his thoughts into words, but he had to try.
“Hilo … I don’t feel right. I feel strange, empty, like I don’t care about important things anymore. Killing Gont—I felt it all. It was the worst thing I’ve ever had to go through, but I want to do it again.” Anden’s voice cracked in distress. “There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there? Am I sick? Is it the Itches?”
“Don’t be silly,” Hilo said. He laid a compassionate hand on Anden’s shoulder and sighed. “Handling that much jade for the first time, under that kind of stress—it knocked you flat. You’re especially sensitive, no question of that. We’ve been giving you regular doses of SN1 to bring the fever down, reset your system. The doctor says your brain scans are normal now, so give it a few more days and you’ll feel like yourself again.” He gave Anden a pat.
“Don’t worry, graduation is still a week away. You’ll be out of here by then for sure. Neither of us is missing that.”
Anden looked over at the IV stand, followed the clear tube to where it was taped to the inside of his arm. “I’m being doped with shine?” The poison that had killed Lan, dripping into his veins.
“Don’t look so worried,” Hilo said quickly. He flicked the hanging tube with a finger. “It’s entirely controlled; there’s no risk. Dr. Truw’s been monitoring you the whole time. You’ll be weaned to a low dose by the time you’re out of here, and the doctor says we can talk about whether to keep you on it or try taking you off. He doesn’t suggest going off it yet since you’ll be getting your graduation jade soon. Better for your body to have that safety cushion for now. It’ll help you.”
Anden felt overcome with exhaustion. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his chest tight, the nonspecific desire to weep still building inside him yet unable to find release, mixing instead with the confused craving and the drug crawling through his veins.
“Just rest for now, Andy,” Hilo said gently, and didn’t say anything else after that. His hand still rested on Anden’s shoulder, and through the physical contact, Anden felt the familiar thrum of his cousin’s jade aura, faint and muted, either by Anden’s own dulled senses or because Hilo had not recovered enough to be wearing all his jade. All that jade Anden had held—it belonged to Hilo, who had so much he didn’t even feel anything when he got new pieces. Anden lay still, but resentment and envy coursed through him like an infection taking hold.