Jade War

CHAPTER 2 The Passing of the Torch

Kaul Hiloshudon stood at the head of the vast assembly of mourners who’d come to offer their final respects to his grandfather. There were a great many people paying close attention to him today, and they would notice if he seemed distracted or agitated, so he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the coffin draped in expensive white cloth and moved his lips dutifully to the penitents’ chanted recitations. Still, he found it difficult to pay attention to the service, impossible to gird his sense of Perception against the presence of so many enemies.

His grandfather had lived a long and important life. Kaul Sen had fought for the liberation of his country, and later, through politics and business and the great clan he built, he’d shaped the nation of Kekon in lasting ways. At the ripe age of eighty-three, he’d passed away quietly in the middle of the night, sitting in his usual chair by the window of the family house. A sign of favor from the gods, surely. If, in the final years of his life, with dementia and declining jade tolerance, Grandda had become a cruel, unbearable old man made bitter by regret and loss, who had nothing but unkind things to say about the leadership of the No Peak clan passing to his least favored grandchild—well, that was something the average citizen did not know. For two days and nights, a great public vigil had been held in the Temple District, and it seemed to Hilo that half the population of the city had turned out for the funeral. The other half was probably watching the event on television. The death of the Torch of Kekon marked the end of an era, the passing of a pivotal generation that had secured Kekon’s freedom from foreign occupation and rebuilt its prosperity. Every public figure of importance was here to take part in such a profound commemoration—including Ayt Madashi.

The Pillar of the Mountain clan was standing on the other side of the crowd, in a long, white jacket and white scarf, surrounded by her own people. Hilo could barely see her from where he stood, but he didn’t need to; he could Perceive the distinctive density of her jade aura easily enough. The irony of her presence at the very place where Hilo’s elder brother Lan lay turning to dust in the ground would’ve enraged Hilo if he’d allowed himself to dwell upon it, but he did not; he had no intention of giving his rival that satisfaction.

Yesterday, Ayt had issued a public statement praising Kaul Sen as a national hero, a father of the country, and the beloved comrade and friend of her late father, Ayt Yugontin—let the gods recognize them both. She expressed sadness over the recent strife between the clans of these two great men; she hoped the unfortunate disagreements could be overcome so the country might move forward in the spirit of unshakable unity once demonstrated by the patriotic wartime brotherhood of the One Mountain Society.

“Bullshit,” Hilo had said. He did not for one second believe that Ayt Mada would ever abandon her goal to kill him and his family, to destroy No Peak and take unquestioned control of the country’s jade supply. Blood scores were not erased by press releases.

“It’s a good public relations move,” Shae had said. “Reminding people of Grandda’s partnership with her father and thus associating herself with the legacy of all Green Bones.”

Beyond that brief analysis, his sister had spoken little in the past seventy-two hours, even outside of the official two-day silent vigil. Hilo glanced at her standing beside him, her spine straight but the puffy circles under her eyes still visible under the white mourning powder that dusted her face. Her normally sharp jade aura seemed muted. Shae had loved their grandfather, had always basked in his favoritism. She’d wept bitterly upon his death.

Hilo returned his attention to the crowd. Other top leaders of the Mountain clan were in attendance; standing near Ayt Mada was a short man with slicked hair—Ree Turahuo, the clan’s Weather Man—and next to him, a man with coarse features and a closely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard to match his hair. Hilo knew relatively little about Nau Suenzen, who had succeeded Gont Aschentu as Horn of the Mountain, but rumors and spies told him that Nau possessed a reputation as a devious guerrilla fighter who’d conducted sabotage missions and assassinations for Ayt Yu during the Shotarian occupation. He’d been only twenty-three years old when the Many Nations War ended. He did not appear, either from his unassuming appearance or the coolly bland texture of his jade aura, to be half as powerful or impressive as his predecessor. Hilo suspected this was itself a deception to be concerned about.

The Deitist penitents in white funerary robes—two dozen of them, for such a large crowd and such an important funeral—concluded the long religious ceremony with several refrains of let the gods recognize him, which were echoed multitudinously by those gathered. Hilo closed his eyes, focusing his fatigued Perception as he scanned through the mental noise of thousands of breaths and beating hearts. There: Unseen somewhere behind the cluster of Mountain clan members was the familiar cloudy jade aura of a man he’d once called his uncle. The former Weather Man of No Peak, a traitor to the Kaul family. Yun Dorupon was here, and he was grieving.

“Don’t bother. We won’t get to him today,” Shae said in an undertone. Perhaps she’d seen the look of concentration on his face, or simply Perceived his animus, but Hilo was surprised. He hadn’t thought that she’d noticed Doru, that she was paying any attention at all.

She was right, of course; they could not act in violence in the presence of penitents on the day of their grandfather’s funeral, but more pragmatically, there were too many of the Mountain’s warriors present—hundreds of their Fists and Fingers arrayed across from No Peak’s own. When Hilo widened his Perception, the auras of all the Green Bones in attendance created a heavy buzz of jade energy like the ceaseless chatter of a busy street. The clans were making a show of strength with their respective numbers, but today they stood in truce to honor the same man.

The huge gathering began to disperse. Hilo braced himself for the long, unavoidable task of putting on a solemn countenance and accepting condolences from the clan’s inner circle of influential loyalists—Lantern Men, politicians, prominent Green Bone families. Earlier on, some disquiet seemed to be going on near the entrance to the grounds, and Maik Kehn had sent one of his Fists to investigate. Now Kehn appeared at Hilo’s side and said in a low voice, “There’s talk about a dead body being found in the cemetery last night.”

Hilo’s mouth curved. “Only one? Did the others get up and leave?”

The Horn snorted—as much of a laugh as Hilo ever got out of him, though his broad shoulders rose in amusement. “The groundskeeper was discovered shot in the head near the gate. Over his debts, they say. Doesn’t seem all that important, but you know how some people are, crying bad luck over a fly in a cup of hoji.”

Hilo nodded. There ought not to be any negative news to taint the Torch’s funeral. “Talk to the cemetery manager and quiet it down.” He glanced reluctantly at the long line of well-wishers he had to face. He could no longer Perceive either Ayt or Doru anywhere nearby. “Tell Tar to give me an hour; then I’m going home, no matter how many ass kissers are still here.”

Two and a half hours later, Hilo arrived back at the Kaul estate. There were cars parked all the way up and down the long driveway and in the roundabout; the public funeral was being followed by a private reception reserved for family members and the highest-ranked Green Bones of No Peak. Through the half-open car window, Hilo could hear music and smell barbecue coming from the courtyard. Living into one’s eighties was supposedly a cause for celebration; it was considered as a sign of achievement in the Divine Virtues and a mark of the gods’ approval, guaranteeing admittance back to the fold of Heaven on the promised day of the Return. Hilo thought it was one of those beliefs that must’ve made more sense in a time of warfare and poor medical care, but nevertheless, now that the official mourning for Kaul Sen was over, the white drapery had come down and the more informal gathering had a somewhat festive air. It was bound to go on for some time.

Maik Tar drove the Duchesse Priza straight up to the front of the main house. Hilo’s Pillarman put the car into park and turned over his shoulder. “Those people you agreed to see today, Hilo-jen, they’re still here. You want me to send them in to you, or get rid of them?”

“Where’s my sister?” Hilo asked. “Did she come back already?”

“She’s waiting for you inside.”

Resigned, Hilo stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Send them in.”

Tar cast his boss a sympathetic glance. “I’ll save you a plate of food. You want anything in particular?”

“Some of the smoked pork.” Hilo got out of the car, walked into the house, and reluctantly went into the study. It had once been Lan’s favorite room, and Hilo still did not feel entirely comfortable in it. He had finally made some changes—removing some of the bookshelves and putting in a television and a larger minibar, bringing in more comfortable armchairs—but every time he used it, the officious room reminded him unkindly that he’d never been the intended Pillar of the clan.

So ordinarily, when he met with his own subordinates, Hilo preferred the kitchen or the patio, but those were not private at the moment, and he had to admit that the study communicated a sense of formal authority that made it more appropriate for meeting with the clan’s stakeholders and petitioners—people with whom he knew he needed to downplay his youth and street reputation and emphasize his family’s power and legacy.

Shae was already in the room, sitting in one of the leather armchairs. She’d washed off her face powder, redone her makeup, and changed into a dark skirt and beige blouse, but her eyes were sunken and tired, and seemed almost accusing. Didn’t you love Grandda at all?

“You don’t have to stay,” Hilo told her. “I can handle this myself.”

Shae said, “What if a Lantern Man asks you to pressure the Royal Council regarding the upcoming bill on limiting fuel surcharges?”

Hilo narrowed his eyes. “No one will ask me that.”

“You’re right,” she said. “There is no upcoming bill on fuel surcharges. I made it up just now.” Her smile was thin, and her needling held little of its usual thrust. “I’ll stay.”

Hilo frowned but refrained from replying, only out of consideration for her grief. It was true that he didn’t know the business and political issues of the clan as well as she did, but pointing it out was the sort of cutting unkindness that his sister must’ve inherited from Grandda.

Hilo had barely taken off his tie and unbuttoned his collar when Tar knocked on the door and opened it to admit a man accompanied by a woman with a baby in her arms. At the sight of them, Hilo brightened at once and went to embrace the man warmly. “Eiten, my friend,” he said. “Your daughter’s grown huge! Is she really only nine months old? She could wrestle a two-year-old to the ground.”

Eiten could not return the Pillar’s embrace, nor raise clasped hands to his forehead in the traditional respectful salute, but his eyes shone with pride at Hilo’s words and he tilted into a slight bow. He wore a crisp, white, short-sleeved shirt that covered the stumps of his missing arms, and soft, slip-on black sandals. “She’s a terror, Hilo-jen; she cries for hours and refuses to be put down for a minute.” He shook his head morosely but did not sound at all unhappy.

“Of course she’s destined to be as green as her da,” Hilo said. He saw Eiten’s wife nod and smile. The old belief that fussy infants grew up to be better warriors used to apply only to boys, but these days, twenty percent of the students in Kaul Dushuron Academy were female; there were women Fists and even a woman Pillar—a colicky baby girl was cause for pride, not consternation. “I only worry she’ll be too green to be married,” said Eiten’s wife. Hilo caught her gaze flickering briefly toward Shae before dropping.

“Maybe by the time she grows up, people won’t think that way anymore,” Shae said with a small smile.

“The Weather Man is right, and besides, it’s too early to worry about that now,” Hilo said, placing a hand on Eiten’s shoulder and leading the family toward the chairs. A brown monkey scampered behind Eiten’s heels. When Eiten sat down, it jumped onto the armrest and sat perched beside him alertly, scratching its chest. Hilo pulled a few bottles of soda from the mini-fridge and placed them on the coffee table. At a word from Eiten, the monkey hopped onto the table, uncapped one of the soda bottles, inserted a straw, and carried it back to its master. Eiten slid one foot from his sandal and held the neck of the bottle firmly between his toes. A jade bracelet hung from the ankle he rested across his opposite knee.

Hilo sat down across from his former Fist. His voice took a serious turn. “How’re you managing? Is there anything else you need from the clan that would be of help?”

“You’ve done a lot for us already. Life has been hard, but it’s gotten easier since we got Zozo; he opens doors, he buttons my shirts, he even wipes my ass for me,” Eiten said with a chuckle. A Finger in the clan had given Hilo the useful lead about a Shotarian organization that trained monkeys to aid the disabled (there were a lot of war veterans in that country), and Hilo had had a Lantern Man make the arrangements.

Eiten bent forward to sip from the soda straw. When he straightened back up, he matched the Pillar’s gaze squarely. “When Gont Asch took my arms, you promised me that you would kill him and take his jade—and you did as you said. You told me to stay alive for one year, so I could see the clan’s vengeance, and see my child be born, and after a year, if I still wanted to die, you would honor my wishes yourself.” The man’s voice turned rough but did not waver. “A year has passed and I’m sitting in front of you, Hilo-jen. If I asked you to fulfill your promise to me without question, would you still do it?”

Eiten’s wife clutched their sleeping child tight and bent her head, biting her lips. Her husband did not look at her or the baby; his eyes remained on Hilo, who Perceived a strange and poignant insistence in the hum of the man’s jade aura. “Yes,” Hilo said. “As I promised.”

Eiten nodded. His aura relaxed and settled; he looked over at his slumbering daughter and his face softened in obvious adoration. “You were right, Hilo-jen; I have things to live for now and don’t wish to die anymore.” But it had been important, Hilo understood, for the man to know that the option had been there, that the decision had truly been his, and that the Pillar’s word could always be counted on. Eiten looked back at him. “Still, I don’t want to spend the rest of my days idle and dependent. I used to be a first-rank Fist of No Peak. I realize that I’m not of any use to you anymore, but if you’ll hear me, I’ve come to ask you for a favor.”

“Ask for whatever you need,” Hilo said. “I’ll happily grant it if I can.”

“My father-in-law makes hoji. His distillery is small, but it produces some of the best liquor in the country, and he sells it to upscale stores and restaurants. He wants to expand into a bigger location, but he’s getting old and needs a partner to run the company. I realize this would be a small thing to the clan, but I ask for the Weather Man’s office to offer patronage for me to take over my wife’s family’s business. My body may not be whole, but my mind is, and I think I could find satisfaction in growing the company, as a Lantern Man of the clan.”

Hilo turned to the man’s wife with a smile. “What do you think of this idea, Mrs. Eiten? Does your husband have what it takes to be a world-class hoji maker?”

“We’ve both helped my father with the distillery for years, and he’s always wished we would take it over at some point,” said Eiten’s wife, speaking quietly but confidently. “But my husband was a Fist, devoted to you and the clan, so of course that came first. I’m grateful he’s alive at all—thanks only to you, Kaul-jen—and I feel in my heart that this is our second chance. He would do well at it, and once our daughter is older, I would help too, of course.”

“You said you needed a new location,” Hilo said, speaking again to Eiten. “The entire lower level of the Double Double is being renovated and expanded. We could make space for your distillery, and there’s an ample cellar. Would that do? You’d supply hoji to all the betting houses on Poor Man’s Road.”

Eiten’s eyes widened. “Hilo-jen, that’s far more than we could expect…”

“I need someone I trust in that part of the Armpit district,” Hilo went on. “There’s always the risk that the Mountain will try to take back what we won from them last year. The Horn sees to it that the area is always protected, but I’d feel better if I had a trustworthy Green Bone inside the premises, keeping his eyes open and one ear to the ground. Could you make your fine hoji and still serve the clan, Eiten-jen?”

Eiten swallowed thickly and nodded. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master. Thank you, Hilo-jen. I will always be one of your warriors, in any way you ask of me.”

Hilo grinned and stood up; the others stood with him. The motion woke the baby, who rooted for her mother’s breast and began wailing at a piercing volume that made Hilo wince, then laugh. “Go on; you need to feed your little demon. We can sort out the details later.”

“Gather your father-in-law’s past five years of financial records and send them to the Weather Man’s office along with the details of the patronage request,” Shae said. “Then we can move it along quicker.”

Eiten and his wife reiterated their gratitude. The brown monkey drank the last bit of peach soda in its master’s bottle and scampered close behind his heels as the family departed.

Seeing Eiten doing as well as could reasonably be hoped for, and being able to fulfill his request, improved Hilo’s mood considerably. The next two meetings were straightforward. The minor Black Tail clan had sent a representative to deliver condolences in the form of money and flowers, and to express Black Tail’s unwavering and continued friendship. (“He’s likely heading over to Ayt Mada right now to say the exact same thing,” Shae said after the man left.) Then came a business associate of their grandfather’s, wanting to write a hagiographic biography of the Torch of Kekon, with the Pillar’s permission and the clan’s final approval, of course. Hilo was pleased with their progress and looking at his watch when Mrs. Teije was shown into the room.

Immediately, he had a feeling that he would not enjoy this conversation. Behind him, he felt a subtle shift in Shae’s aura that suggested she felt the same way. “Aunt Teije,” Hilo said, kissing the woman on one dry cheek, “it’s been such a long time.” Not nearly long enough, he thought, glad that the woman wore no jade and couldn’t Perceive any of his true sentiments.

“Auntie,” Shae said, also faking a warm welcome. Mrs. Teije was sixty years old and the wife of their father’s cousin. Kaul Sen had had only one older sister who survived until adulthood; she married a man named Teije Jan and had four children by him. The Teijes were related to the Kauls and outnumbered them; this fact alone should have made them one of the most powerful families on Kekon, but no Teije had ever achieved anything noteworthy or held a position of real leadership in the clan. Only a handful of them had graduated from the Academy as Green Bones; to Hilo’s recollection, two had made it as far as being junior Fists. The rest of the Teijes were an assortment of minor Lantern Men and jadeless civilians—some with an education and respectable jobs, some not, almost all of them having advanced further than they might otherwise have on account of their connection to the name Kaul.

“The gods play favorites,” Hilo’s grandfather had once said at the dinner table. “They took from one side of our family to give to the other. So be kind to your cousins; if the Teijes had more brains or thicker blood, who knows where we’d be?”

Mrs. Teije was a plump woman with short, coarse hair and a tight-lipped expression that suggested she was constantly trying to swallow something unpleasant in her mouth. In a wheezy voice, she said, “Kaul-jen, Kaul-jen, may the gods shine favor on you. You are my only hope,” and sank into one of the chairs, dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

“What’s the matter, Auntie?” Hilo asked.

“It’s my good-for-nothing son, Runo,” Mrs. Teije said. “He’s gotten himself into some trouble in the Uwiwa Islands. Only the gods know what he was doing in that sinful place to begin with, but because of some terrible mistake, he was arrested and thrown into prison.”

Hilo suppressed a sigh and composed his face into a reassuring expression. “Aunt Teije, no wonder you’re so upset, but if it’s a mistake as you say, I’m sure it can be resolved, and we can pay to have Runo released. How much is the bail amount?”

“Ah,” said the woman, looking embarrassed, “the bail has already been paid and he was released two weeks ago.” When Hilo looked confused, she continued in a rush, “We didn’t pay it; our family was collecting the money, but before we could do so, we heard that the bail had been posted by a wealthy stranger and Runo released to his custody.”

“Who’s the stranger?” Hilo asked.

“His name is Zapunyo,” said Mrs. Teije. “They say he is a bad man, a smuggler. A jade smuggler.” She looked as if she would spit, if she wasn’t in the Kauls’ nicely carpeted study. “My son is being kept as a ‘guest’ of this man, who will not release him. We have tried to negotiate, to offer money, but this Zapunyo says he will only talk to the Pillar of the clan.”

Aunt Teije left her chair and knelt in front of Hilo, grasping him by the hands. “Please, Kaul-jen, you must get Runo back. He has a troublesome, wayward heart, but he is a good boy. My husband refused to come to you—curse his stubbornness! ‘If we ask the Kauls to help us with our own matters, they’ll always look down on us,’ he says, but I don’t care. I know that you’re as big-hearted and caring as your grandfather—let the gods recognize him.”

Hilo winced inwardly at the comparison but patted the woman’s clutching hand. He did not look at Shae, but he could feel her aura prickling warily as she watched the exchange. He considered Mrs. Teije’s plaintive face for a long minute before making up his mind. “Don’t worry, Auntie. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure Runo is freed and returned to you. What would the No Peak clan be without the Teije family? I’ll go to the Uwiwa Islands myself to speak to Zapunyo.”

Mrs. Teije let out a sob and touched her clasped hands to her forehead over and over. Hilo raised her to her feet and showed her out, rubbing her bowed back with his hand. Then he closed the door and turned around to face his sister, who had not moved from her spot in the chair near his. Shae didn’t look pleased. “You shouldn’t have raised her hopes like that.”

Hilo dropped into a seat across from her and slid down low into it, legs outstretched. “What was I supposed to do? Send her away thinking we’d let that Uwiwan crook take her son without consequence? He’s a member of the family after all, a Green Bone.”

Shae squinted. “You’re not seriously going to risk your own life for Teije Runo.” Runo had been three years ahead of Hilo and Shae at the Academy; he’d been good at singing, relayball, maintaining a revolving list of girlfriends, and not much else. He’d graduated with a single jade stone and earned another during his two years as a Finger before deciding to travel and see the world while seeking his fortune. According to clan gossip, as a Green Bone for hire, Teije had guarded mining and oil-drilling projects in war-torn parts of the world and spent time as a personal bodyguard to some rich oligarch in Marcucuo. Hilo had not seen the man for years and had no desire to; he had no respect for any person who used his jade abilities for personal gain and gave nothing back to the clan to whom he owed his green.

“I couldn’t care less about Runo myself,” Hilo said, “but you know this isn’t about him at all. Clan war has been good for the jade smuggling business, and that scavenger Zapunyo has gotten fat and bold in the past couple of years. With the news out of Shotar these days, he’s got even more reason to think the black market’s going up.” A separatist conflict had broken out in Shotar between the country’s government and a pro-Ygutanian insurgency in the easternmost province of Oortoko. The major world powers were likely to get involved and escalate the armed crisis—which meant greater demand for jade, from both legitimate and illegitimate military forces around the world.

“Hilo,” Shae said seriously, “Zapunyo is trying to force a meeting under his terms, in his country, where he has the corrupt government and the police on his payroll. You’d be walking into certain danger if you went there. It’s not worth it, not for the sake of that useless ass Teije Runo.”

“But he’s our family’s useless ass,” Hilo said, standing and stretching. A muscle in his shoulder twinged, and he rolled it out with a grimace. The outward marks of the vicious beating he’d taken at the hands of Gont Asch and his men more than a year ago had long since faded, but his body still insisted on offering unwelcome reminders. “How does it look, to have an Uwiwan holding a Kekonese Green Bone hostage, one of our own blood relations? Zapunyo knows we won’t stand for it. This is his way of getting my attention.”

“Send Kehn or Tar to deal with him.”

Hilo shook his head. It was the Weather Man’s job to counsel the Pillar with a shrewd and logical weighing of costs and benefits, so Shae was only doing her job in advising caution, but she had never been on the military side of the clan and so there were things she didn’t appreciate. Hilo had not established his personal reputation by remaining behind and sending others to handle important matters; he was not about to lapse now, not when he was relying on his notoriety as the former Horn to carry him as a wartime Pillar. “I need to talk to Zapunyo myself,” Hilo insisted. “A misunderstanding between friends is okay. A misunderstanding between enemies isn’t.”

Shae seemed about to argue further, but at that moment, Tar knocked on the door and opened it just far enough to stick his head through and say, “It’s getting dark, and this thing in the courtyard’s wrapping up. What do you think, Hilo-jen? You still want to talk to Anden?”

A change came over Hilo; his mouth turned down and his shoulders stiffened, as if a weight had fallen onto them. “I’ll talk to him,” he said quietly. He looked at Shae. “Alone.”

Tar departed. Shae got to her feet. “I’m the one who convinced you to speak to Anden in the first place. You wouldn’t listen to me for months, wouldn’t even say his name, and now you want me out of the room.” She fixed her brother with an indignant and suspicious glare. “You’re going to try to threaten or cajole him back into the clan, back into wearing jade. I know you, Hilo.”

“I want to talk to him alone, Shae.” Hilo’s voice was hard now. “What happened that day was between us. We should have the chance to talk about it properly.”

The Weather Man regarded him for a long moment, her aura bristling. Then she walked past him to the door, exited wordlessly, and left the Pillar alone in his brother’s empty study.