“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to try to talk down a brewing lynch mob.” You take the gourd and push the dish of food into her hand. She sighs and starts grimly chewing.
“They’re not going to—” She doesn’t get far into that lie, though, before she flinches and stares at something beyond you. You know before you turn: Hoa. “Okay, no, not in my rusting room.”
“I told him to meet us here,” you say. “It’s Hoa.”
“You told—it’s—” Ykka swallows hard, stares a moment longer, then finally resumes eating the orange. She chews slowly, her gaze never leaving Hoa. “Got tired of playing the human, then? Not sure why you bothered; you were too weird to pass.”
You go over to the wall near the bedroom door and sit down against it, on the floor. The runny-sack has to come off for this, but you make sure to keep it near to hand. To Ykka you say, “You’ve talked to the other members of your council and half your comm, still and rogga and native and newcomer. The perspective you’re missing is theirs.” You nod at Hoa.
Ykka blinks, then eyes Hoa with new interest. “I did ask you to sit on my council once.”
“I can’t speak for my kind any more than you can for yours,” Hoa says. “And I had more important things to do.”
You see Ykka blink at his voice and blatantly stare at him. You wave a hand at Hoa wearily. Unlike Ykka, you’ve slept, but it wasn’t exactly quality sleep, while you sat in a sweltering apartment waiting for a geode to hatch. “Speaking what you know will help.” And then, prompted by some instinct, you add, “Please.”
Because somehow, you think he’s reticent. His expression hasn’t changed. His posture is the one he showed you last, the young man in repose with one hand upraised; he’s changed his location, but not his position. Still.
The proof of his reticence comes when he says, “Very well.” It’s all in the tone. But fine, you can work with reticent.
“What does the gray stone eater want?” Because you’re pretty rusting sure he doesn’t really want Castrima to join some Equatorial comm. Human nation-state politics just wouldn’t mean much to them, unless it was in service to some other goal. The people of Rennanis are his pawns, not the other way around.
“There are many of us now,” Hoa replies. “Enough to be called a people in ourselves and not merely a mistake.”
At this apparent non sequitur, you exchange a look with Ykka, who looks back at you as if to say, He’s your mess, not mine. Maybe it’s relevant somehow. “Yes?” you prompt.
“There are those of my kind who believe this world can safely bear only one people.”
Oh, Evil Earth. This is what Alabaster talked about. How had he described it? Factions in an ancient war. The ones who wanted people… neutralized.
Like the stone eaters themselves, ’Baster had said.
“You want to wipe us out,” you say. Whisper. “Or… change us into stone? Like what’s happening to Alabaster?”
“Not all of us,” Hoa says softly. “And not all of you.”
A world of only stone people. The thought of it makes you shiver. You envision falling ash and skeletal trees and creepy statues everywhere, some of the latter moving. How? They are unstoppable, but until now they’ve only preyed on each other. (That you know of.) Can they turn all of you into stone, like Alabaster? And if they wanted to wipe humankind out, shouldn’t they have been able to manage it before now?
You shake your head. “This world has borne two people, for Seasons. Three, if you count orogenes; the stills do.”
“Not all of us are content with that.” His voice is very soft now. “Such a rare thing, the birth of a new one of our kind. We wear on endlessly, while you rise and spawn and wilt like mushrooms. It’s hard not to envy. Or covet.”
Ykka is shaking her head in confusion. Though her voice holds its usual unflappable attitude, you see a little frown of wonder between her brows. Her mouth pulls to one side, though, as if she cannot help but show at least a little disgust. “Fine,” she says. “So stone eaters used to be us, and now you want to kill us. Why should we trust you?”
“Not ‘stone eaters.’ Not all of us want the same thing. Some like things as they are. Some even want to make the world better… though not all agree on what that means.” Instantly his posture changes—hands out, palms up, shoulders lifted in a What can you do? gesture. “We’re people.”
“And what do you want?” you ask. Because he didn’t answer Ykka’s question, and you noticed.
Those silver irises flick over to you, stay. You think you see wistfulness in his still face. “The same thing I’ve always wanted, Essun. To help you. Only that.”
You think, Not everyone agrees on what “help” means.
“Well, this is touching,” Ykka says. She rubs her tired eyes. “But you’re not getting to the point. What does Castrima being destroyed have to do with… giving the world one people? What’s this gray man up to?”
“I don’t know.” Hoa’s still looking at you. It’s not as unnerving as it should be. “I tried to ask him. It didn’t go well.”
“Guess,” you say. Because you know full well there’s a reason he asked the gray man in the first place.
Hoa’s eyes shift down. Your distrust hurts. “He wants to make sure the Obelisk Gate is never opened again.”
“The what?” Ykka asks. But you’re leaning your head back against the wall, floored and horrified and wondering. Of course. Alabaster. What easier way to wipe out people who depend on food and sunlight to survive than to simply let this Season wear on until they are extinct? Leaving nothing but the stone eaters to inherit the darkening Earth. And to make sure it happens, kill the only person with the power to end it.
Only person besides you, you realize with a chill. But no. You can manipulate an obelisk, but you haven’t got a clue how to activate two hundred of the rusting things at once. And can Alabaster do it anymore? Every use of orogeny kills him slowly. Flaking rust—you’re the only one left who even has the potential to open the Gate. But if Gray Man’s pet army kills both of you, his purpose is served either way.
“It means Gray Man wants to wipe out orogenes in particular,” you say to Ykka. You’re abbreviating heavily, not lying. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you need to tell Ykka, so that she never learns that orogenes have the potential power to save the world, and so that she never attempts to access an obelisk herself. This is what Alabaster must have constantly had to do with you—telling you some of the truth because you deserve it, but not enough that you’ll skewer yourself on it. Then you think of another bone you can throw. “Hoa was trapped in an obelisk for a while. He said it’s the only thing that can stop them.”
Not the only way, he’d said. But maybe Hoa’s giving you only the safe truths, too.
“Well, shit,” Ykka says, annoyed. “You can do obelisk stuff. Throw one at him.”
You groan. “That wouldn’t work.”
“What would, then?”
“I have no idea! That’s what I’ve been trying to learn from Alabaster all this time.” And failing, you don’t want to say. Ykka can guess it, anyway.
“Great.” Ykka abruptly seems to wilt. “You’re right; I need to sleep. I had Esni mobilize the Strongbacks to secure weapons in the comm. Ostensibly they’re making them ready for use if we have to fight off these Equatorials. In truth…” She shrugs, sighs, and you understand. People are frightened right now. Best not to tempt fate.
“You can’t trust the Strongbacks,” you say softly.
Ykka looks up at you. “Castrima isn’t wherever you came from.”
You want to smile, though you don’t because you know how ugly the smile will be. You’re from so many places. In every one of them you learned that roggas and stills can never live together. Ykka shifts a little at the look on your face anyway. She tries again: “Look, how many other comms would’ve let me live after learning what I was?”