“I’ll need to talk to you about how the jade medicine clinics were expanded,” Terun said. “They’re the best precedent to help us determine how to handle overseas martial education. Can you believe I already have six requests sitting on my desk from teachers and private trainers anticipating the passage of the bill? They’re requesting No Peak patronage to open schools in Espenia to teach the jade disciplines to Keko-Espenians and even to foreigners.”
Anden wasn’t surprised to hear this. The market for martial gyms and coaching was crowded in Janloon. Even in smaller cities like Lukang and Toshon, a trainer needed top credentials from Wie Lon Temple School or Kaul Dushuron Academy, along with years of experience as a Fist and connections within the major clans. However, in Espenia, even a relatively average senior Fist could open a school and take on students. Some had already done so years ago, albeit covertly.
Anden began to tell Terun that he would be happy to offer whatever knowledge he could, when a shout rose up from the hallway. “The Pillar! The Pillar is here!” When Hilo walked into the boardroom half a minute later, the jovial noise cut out in a ripple of clasped hands and tilted salutes. Hilo’s visits to Ship Street were uncommon. “Kaul-jen,” several Luckbringers murmured. “Our blood for the Pillar.”
Hilo’s gaze traveled through the crowded space. A slow smile curved the side of his mouth. “Don’t stop the fun for my sake,” he said. “I just couldn’t stand to think my sister was staying up partying while I went to bed.” He quieted the burble of laughter by raising his hands. “The truth is that of course I came to congratulate all of you. I don’t come here very often, but that’s because I have such a strong Weather Man. Even when we don’t agree, she does what’s right for the clan.”
Hilo went up to Shae and saluted her. “Far do your enemies flee, Kaul-jen,” he declared, uttering the traditional Green Bone congratulations to a victorious warrior, before putting an arm over Shae’s shoulder and kissing her brow. Even though the Weather Man could no longer wear jade and her triumph had been a distant political one decades in the making, echoes broke out at once, and people stomped their feet and raised their cups of hoji in jubilant agreement. The Weather Man looked deeply embarrassed. As people returned to their own conversations, Anden saw Shae muttering to her brother, “You always did have to upstage me at parties.”
He’s like himself again, Anden thought, turning away to hide his heavy-hearted relief.
Ru’s death had devastated all of them, but it had nearly ruined Hilo. He’d withdrawn and lost interest in life. The Pillar who used to want to personally handle every important issue in the clan no longer cared about anything. For nearly a year, Hilo left the running of No Peak to his Weather Man and Horn, who had to guiltily hound him for even simple things. He wouldn’t leave the house for days, or would spend hours driving aimlessly around the city, sometimes picking a direction and ending up in the countryside and sleeping in the car. A few times he parked the Duchesse in Mountain territory, baiting someone to attack him for being there. To Aben Soro’s credit, no one did, although on several occasions Lott Jin had to frantically scramble to find out where the Pillar had gone. Anden was not the only one worried that his cousin, only in his fifties, was already going the way of Grandda, sinking irretrievably into loss and regret.
Slowly, however, he’d reemerged. Perhaps it was because he and Wen leaned on each other so much in their mutual grief. The rest of the family would see them walking around the estate, or eating at the patio table in uncharacteristic silence, or going to Widow’s Park together to visit the family memorial. Or perhaps Niko’s return to the family drew Hilo back to life; instructing his nephew in the skills of clan leadership forced the Pillar to return to his responsibilities in a way that felt personal and necessary. Over time, he began to smile again, to train, to attend to clan affairs.
And he took a gradual interest in things that hadn’t interested him before. Without any prompting, he gave a large endowment to the Charitable Society for Jade Nonreactivity. He donated to the Janloon public school board and paid for a new auditorium at Jan Royal University. Although he was well known for avoiding politicians, he unexpectedly appeared before them, sometimes with Wen by his side, to voice his support for legislative proposals that he’d never previously deemed to be important: A bill to prevent employment and pay discrimination against stone-eyes and those with mixed blood. A return of thousands of hectares of traditional tribal land to Abukei control. A limited allowance for the Kekonese military to use medical-grade SN2 in conjunction with its training programs, and to lower the threshold of martial education required of adult recruits into the Golden Spider Company—measures proposed by Jim Sunto fifteen years ago that Hilo and nearly everyone else had opposed at the time, but were now being reconsidered given the gradual destigmatizing of shine.