Epilogue
In the Heap, we burn our dead.
There’s nothing else to do with them except toss them out in the junk or down the sewage trench. Only on Hod is there the concept of a cemetery. But when Ky explains the tradition, the dead returning their bodies to the soil to nourish the trees and the grass, I think Somi would have liked it.
But not on Hod, of course. We bury him on the surface, under the real sky, the real trees, where the real stars can look down on him.
Some of the Council weren’t happy about that, and they were even less pleased when Ky extended the invitation to anyone who wanted to come.
But at the moment Ky’s stock with the people of Hod is high, and Hisham takes her side.
He even arranged to fetch Ameliana all the way from the undercity.
Hisham himself joins us, along with a surprising number of his fellow Councilors and notables, standing in respectful ranks at a distance from the grave.
I spot Niami, green hair muted under a black lace wrap, her eyes full of tears.
None of them knew Somi, of course. But they know what happened to him and what he did at the end. That’s enough, I guess.
Ky’s peerless staff have dressed me and Spike for Hod mourning. She wears a black suit and tie, her hair slicked back for once, and I barely recognize her. We hold hands in silence as a labor runic starts piling dirt on top of the coffin.
[Sadness: I would have liked to bury him myself.]
I know. Star is once again down to just his foundation sigil; I had a hell of a time chiseling it out of the metal slag. I’ve got him in my pocket, my fingers tight around his facets. I’ll bring you back up here once I’ve got your new body ready.
“Well,” Hisham says, brushing something off his lapel and sniffling. “These are, um, unique circumstances, and I don’t know if there’s any, um, formula to follow. Would you like to say something?”
He’s looking at me. They’re all looking at me. My mouth goes dry.
Ky presses my hand and gives me a sad smile.
I swallow and step forward.
“Somi was my brother,” I say. “Neither of us knew our parents, but he was my brother. I knew him better than anyone.” I sniff.
“He wasn’t a fighter, or a scavenger, or a sigworker, or a merchant.
He was a baker. He was a dreamer. He was soft, and kind, and good.
He wanted to make sure everyone had enough to eat.
He liked to read stories, and he wanted to see the stars. That dream, at least, came true.”
My vision blurs. I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my immaculate suit. Among the mourners, Ameliana holds her hand over her face, eyes streaming tears.
“I know who killed him,” I go on. There are a few hushed mutters from the crowd. “I even know why, I think; just sheer, stupid cruelty. But I don’t think I can say I understand.
“This thing, the system we live in, it didn’t care about Somi.
It doesn’t care about any of us. I’ve always known that.
I figured it was just the way the world worked.
Natural. But the system isn’t natural. It didn’t get here by accident.
The tiers, the terminus, the scavengers and the workhouses and the Heap, those are made things. Someone built them.”
I gesture at the Tree. In daylight its immensity is harder to make out, the ring-lights invisible in the glare of the sun. But you can still see the black thread ascending, the disc of Netzach high overhead.
“That is a made thing, a part of the same system. Who built it? Why? And why doesn’t their system have a place for someone like Somi? Why can those Above do whatever they like with the lives of those below, and not have to answer for it?
“I don’t know. But someone does. However tall the Tree is, there must be someone at the top.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to go up there, and I’m going to ask them.”
More muttering. Hisham frowns and adjusts his collar. But Ky smiles at me again and squeezes my fingers.
“My name is Taj Fara, champion of the Ascent.” I bring our joined hands upward, pointing toward the heights of the Tree. “And I am going to ascend.”