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Authors: N. K. Jemisin
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answer to this why that satisfies her and that is worthy of his question.
“I would utilize it,” she says, “because I am your daughter. Why else?”
He does not smile. However, for the briefest of instants, his eyeblinks become irregular and rapid, and he looks away. By this she knows: she has made him unbearably proud.
There will be trials to come, naturally. Worlds do not change easily, and certainly not without risk. But this world will change, now, because Glee has decided that it must. This is why she needed him, after all: to understand herself. Now that she does…well. She smiles at the fire and contemplates the new order that she means to build. It is only a matter of time.
Then when Glee gets up to head to her bedroll, she stops and puts a hand on her father’s shoulder for a moment. Without looking, he reaches up to cover it. It is a meaningless gesture, performed for no particular reason. Not even a ritual. Just chance. Then they part, and there is nothing more that need be said between them. Everything is exactly as it should be.
Meet the Author
N.K. Jemisin
N. K. Jemisin is a Brooklyn author whose short fiction and novels have been multiply nominated for the Hugo, the World Fantasy Award, and the Nebula, shortlisted for the Crawford and the Tiptree, and have won the Locus Award. Her website is nkjemisin.com.
If you enjoyed
SHADES IN SHADOW,
look out for
THE FIFTH SEASON
T HE B ROKEN E ARTH: B OOK 1
by N. K. Jemisin
THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS. FOR THE LAST TIME.
A season of endings has begun.
It starts with the great red rift across the heart of the world’s sole continent, spewing ash that blots out the sun.
It starts with death, with a murdered son and a missing daughter.
It starts with betrayal, and long-dormant wounds rising up to fester.
This is the Stillness, a land long familiar with catastrophe, where the power of the earth is wielded as a weapon. And where there is no mercy.
1
you, at the end
Y OU ARE SHE . S HE IS you. You are Essun. Remember? The woman whose son is dead.
You’re an orogene who’s been living in the little nothing town of Tirimo for ten years. Only three people here know what you are, and two of them you gave birth to.
Well. One left who knows, now.
For the past ten years you’ve lived as ordinary a life as possible. You came to Tirimo from elsewhere; the townsfolk don’t really care where or why. Since you were obviously well educated, you became a teacher at the local creche for children aged ten to thirteen. You’re neither the best teacher nor the worst; the children forget you when they move on, but they learn. The butcher probably knows your name because she likes to flirt with you. The baker doesn’t because you’re quiet, and because like everyone else in town he just thinks of you as Jija’s wife. Jija’s a Tirimo man born and bred, a stoneknapper of the Resistant use-caste; everyone knows and likes him, so they like you peripherally. He’s the foreground of the painting that is your life together. You’re the background. You like it that way.
You’re the mother of two children, but now one of them is dead and the other is missing. Maybe she’s dead, too. You discover all of this when you come home from work one day. House empty, too quiet, tiny little boy all bloody and bruised on the den floor.
And you… shut down. You don’t mean to. It’s just a bit much, isn’t it? Too much. You’ve been through a lot, you’re very strong, but there are limits to what even you can bear.
Two days pass before anyone comes for you.
You’ve spent them in the house with your dead son. You’ve risen, used the toilet, eaten something from the coldvault, drunk the last trickle of water from the tap. These things you could do without thinking, by rote. Afterward, you returned to Uche’s side.
(You fetched him a blanket during one of these trips. Covered him up to his ruined chin. Habit. The steampipes have stopped rattling; it’s
“I would utilize it,” she says, “because I am your daughter. Why else?”
He does not smile. However, for the briefest of instants, his eyeblinks become irregular and rapid, and he looks away. By this she knows: she has made him unbearably proud.
There will be trials to come, naturally. Worlds do not change easily, and certainly not without risk. But this world will change, now, because Glee has decided that it must. This is why she needed him, after all: to understand herself. Now that she does…well. She smiles at the fire and contemplates the new order that she means to build. It is only a matter of time.
Then when Glee gets up to head to her bedroll, she stops and puts a hand on her father’s shoulder for a moment. Without looking, he reaches up to cover it. It is a meaningless gesture, performed for no particular reason. Not even a ritual. Just chance. Then they part, and there is nothing more that need be said between them. Everything is exactly as it should be.
Meet the Author
N.K. Jemisin
N. K. Jemisin is a Brooklyn author whose short fiction and novels have been multiply nominated for the Hugo, the World Fantasy Award, and the Nebula, shortlisted for the Crawford and the Tiptree, and have won the Locus Award. Her website is nkjemisin.com.
If you enjoyed
SHADES IN SHADOW,
look out for
THE FIFTH SEASON
T HE B ROKEN E ARTH: B OOK 1
by N. K. Jemisin
THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS. FOR THE LAST TIME.
A season of endings has begun.
It starts with the great red rift across the heart of the world’s sole continent, spewing ash that blots out the sun.
It starts with death, with a murdered son and a missing daughter.
It starts with betrayal, and long-dormant wounds rising up to fester.
This is the Stillness, a land long familiar with catastrophe, where the power of the earth is wielded as a weapon. And where there is no mercy.
1
you, at the end
Y OU ARE SHE . S HE IS you. You are Essun. Remember? The woman whose son is dead.
You’re an orogene who’s been living in the little nothing town of Tirimo for ten years. Only three people here know what you are, and two of them you gave birth to.
Well. One left who knows, now.
For the past ten years you’ve lived as ordinary a life as possible. You came to Tirimo from elsewhere; the townsfolk don’t really care where or why. Since you were obviously well educated, you became a teacher at the local creche for children aged ten to thirteen. You’re neither the best teacher nor the worst; the children forget you when they move on, but they learn. The butcher probably knows your name because she likes to flirt with you. The baker doesn’t because you’re quiet, and because like everyone else in town he just thinks of you as Jija’s wife. Jija’s a Tirimo man born and bred, a stoneknapper of the Resistant use-caste; everyone knows and likes him, so they like you peripherally. He’s the foreground of the painting that is your life together. You’re the background. You like it that way.
You’re the mother of two children, but now one of them is dead and the other is missing. Maybe she’s dead, too. You discover all of this when you come home from work one day. House empty, too quiet, tiny little boy all bloody and bruised on the den floor.
And you… shut down. You don’t mean to. It’s just a bit much, isn’t it? Too much. You’ve been through a lot, you’re very strong, but there are limits to what even you can bear.
Two days pass before anyone comes for you.
You’ve spent them in the house with your dead son. You’ve risen, used the toilet, eaten something from the coldvault, drunk the last trickle of water from the tap. These things you could do without thinking, by rote. Afterward, you returned to Uche’s side.
(You fetched him a blanket during one of these trips. Covered him up to his ruined chin. Habit. The steampipes have stopped rattling; it’s
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