CHAPTER
57
Forgiveness
The letter that was delivered to the Weather Man’s office on Ship Street two weeks later held no return address, but Shae knew who it was from as soon as she picked it up and saw the tight, upright handwriting scratched across the outside in blue fountain-pen ink. She sat down at her desk, fingering the corners of the stiff envelope, then tore it open and read.
Dearest Shae-se, I can’t tell you how much I regret having to betray your trust. I’ve always done as Kaul-jen commanded in all things, and I can still say that is true. I assume that you and Hilo are searching for me, and I expect no sympathy or mercy should we meet again.
Take care what you do now. Hilo may believe he has won, but a Mountain is not easily pushed into the sea. There’s nothing I can do to change the fate of your brother and poor Anden, but my heart aches to think of anything bad happening to you. So consider this a sincere warning from your caring uncle: Have a plan to escape Kekon quickly and on your own. Store away some money and use your Espenian connections so no one in the clan knows. A good Weather Man is
always reading the clouds.
With fond regrets, Yun Dorupon
Shae swiveled her chair around slowly to look out upon the city below.
Springtime warmth hung in the thin smog over the steady hum of the freeway and the bustle of the harbor; the air conditioning in Shae’s office came on with a noisy chugging sound. She felt, suddenly, very aware of herself, of the flesh and blood, breath and aura that comprised her physical being, sitting here in this office that had for so long belonged to the man who had written the letter in her hands.
She and her family were alive on a day she had thought, a few weeks ago, they would not be. No Peak had suffered, and was suffering still, but it hung on, tenacious—as Green Bones and their ways had for hundreds of years. She read the letter through once again, then held the corner of it to a cigarette lighter and watched it burn down in the ashtray. I won’t run, Doru, not this time—and I’m coming for you.
Seventhday brunch service at the Twice Lucky was not as brisk as it had been in the past, but with the Docks back in No Peak control and violence on the streets having settled down, business was returning to the popular old waterfront establishment. Shae and Hilo sat across from each other in a booth situated away from the rest of the diners. Kaul Sen’s wheelchair was pulled up to the end of the table. Kyanla, sitting next to him, adjusted the napkin in the old man’s lap. Wen was not able to join them this morning. She was taking Espenian language classes several times a week at Janloon City College when she wasn’t traveling as part of her new job.
Shae placed some sausage and pickled vegetables on her grandfather’s plate next to hers. He mumbled something that sounded like appreciation and patted her hand. These were the moments she looked for now: small things.
Reminders of the family patriarch she’d admired and loved, the man who’d insisted she be no less a Green Bone than her brothers. Kaul Sen’s remaining fragments of lucidity might be as illusory and brief as the appearance of peace in the city of Janloon, but she appreciated both all the more for their fragility.
The Mountain had retrenched, shoring up defenses in Summer Park, Spearpoint, and the other southern districts that comprised its core territories.
Rumor had it that Ayt Mada had appointed a new Horn. Not Waun Balu, Gont’s First Fist, as Hilo and almost everyone else had expected. Instead, Ayt had traveled to Wie Lon Temple School outside of Janloon and recruited one of her father’s former warriors, Nau Suen. Nau had spent the last two years living an undemanding life as a senior instructor at Wie Lon—a clan reward, it was generally suspected, for giving Ayt Mada’s ascension as Pillar his full and vigorous support, including slitting the throat of Ayt Eodo with commendable alacrity. He was said to be a master of Perception.
Shae tried again to enjoy the meal and put the war out of her mind for a brief spell. Across the table from her, Hilo plucked at the plate of crispy squid balls. “These make it all worth it,” he said, a smile curving his lips but not reaching his eyes. He was trying to be cheerful, but Shae was not fooled.
He had been beaten to within spitting distance of death by Gont and his men, and many weeks later, he still saw Dr. Truw regularly and tired easily from the injuries he’d sustained, but that was not what ailed him. Her brother carried a cloak of hurt over him, a sullen resentment that often flared into anger or self-doubt. He’d saved the clan but lost another brother.
“You should forgive him,” Shae said. “Even if he can’t forgive you yet.”
She considered the irony of these words coming from her mouth. There had once been a time when she’d been certain she never wanted to see or speak to Hilo again, and here they were, Pillar and Weather Man of the clan.
She hadn’t been able to get Hilo to acknowledge any mention she made of Anden, and sure enough, her brother did not look at her or reply to this latest attempt. Shae kept trying; it was early yet. Lan had told her that after she left for Espenia, Hilo hadn’t spoken about her for six months. “Don’t you want to know where he is? Whether he’s somewhere safe?” She’d at least made
arrangements for that.
“No,” said Hilo.
Any answer was progress; Shae didn’t press further. After leaving her cousin broken-spirited but calm on the beach behind her mother’s cottage, she’d spoken to Wen, who had spoken to Kehn, who had quietly sent two reliable guards to Marenia.
Mr. Une came up to their table, half-bowed in a mincing shuffle. The left side of his head was bandaged with a thick wad of gauze. He carried a small black wooden box, and his face was tight with a forced smile that did little to mask his extreme nervousness. “Kaul-jens,” he asked, “is everything to your
satisfaction?”
Hilo set aside his downcast manner and offered the restaurateur an expectant smile. “Mr. Une, you know how happy I am to be back in one of my favorite spots.”
The owner of the Twice Lucky flushed and bent at the waist as he set the small black box on the table in front of Hilo, as if humbly presenting him with a special dish from the kitchen, except that the unopened box contained Mr. Une’s left ear. A plea for the Pillar’s mercy, for having turned to the Mountain. “I hope to continue serving you, Kaul-jen,” he said, his voice trembling a little. He dabbed his brow as he bent to Shae and Kaul Sen as well, including them in his appeal.
Hilo put his hand on the box and gently set it aside. Mr. Une sagged visibly in relief; touching the box was a sign of the Pillar’s acceptance. Hilo said, soberly, “All’s forgiven, my friend. Sometimes even the most loyal and devoted men make mistakes when they’re forced to make decisions under terrible circumstances.”
“Yes, Kaul-jen,” Mr. Une agreed wholeheartedly, clasping his hands to his head and touching his forehead repeatedly as he backed away. “Very true, indeed.”
Shae noticed her grandfather’s head beginning to droop. “Kyanla,” she said, “take Grandfather home. Hilo and I will be along later.”
Kyanla dabbed Kaul Sen’s mouth with a napkin and moved him back from the table. People fell silent for a moment as the wheelchair passed through the dining room. Some raised their clasped hands in respectful salute to the old Torch. When Kaul Sen and his nurse had gone, several people rose one at a time from their seats and came to where Hilo and Shae sat.
“Kaul-jens, we live near the Twice Lucky and it’s our favorite place to eat, but we never came here while those dogs held it,” said Mr. Ake, father of two Fingers. “We’re so relieved there’s peace in the neighborhood again.”
A couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kino, whom Shae recognized as Luckbringers in her office, slipped an envelope under her plate. “To assist Mr. Une with his tribute this month,” they explained. “We know the clan will help him with the damages to the windows and the carpet.”
A palpable current of relief was growing in the dining room, where the ceiling fans spun through the muggy air blown in over the harbor where Kehn and his men patrolled. The patrons of the Twice Lucky had seen the
restaurant owner’s bandaged head, and they saw now the box sitting next to Hilo on the table, and were comforted that the Pillar was merciful and had renewed his endorsement. With the solidified confidence of the clan’s Lantern Men, and the jade income from the Espenians, Shae allowed herself a stir of grim optimism. Perhaps Ayt’s ruthless vision—one clan over Janloon —would come to pass, but not, Shae vowed, in the way the Pillar of the Mountain envisioned.
Hilo accepted all the respect paying with something approaching his usual relaxed good humor. Presently, he said, “Please go enjoy your food. My sister and I have business to discuss,” and the impromptu line of clan loyalists dispersed and returned to their tables. The Pillar and his Weather Man were left alone to finish their meals and to speak on clan matters.