Jade War

Maro was silent for a long minute. Then he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back to her, elbows resting on his knees. Shae wondered if she had said something wrong, inadvertently offended him in some way, but before she could ask, Maro said, “There’s a reason why I chose a career in foreign studies, and why I’ve specialized in Shotar in particular.” He looked over his shoulder at Shae, then turned back around partway to face her. “My father was a Shotarian soldier stationed in the Janloon garrison during the Many Nations War. He fell in love with a local girl; he and my mother wanted to get married but neither side would allow it. He was sent back to Shotar along with the rest of the retreating army, and my mother gave birth to me a few months later.”

Maro’s voice took on a bitter edge that Shae had never heard in him before. “My grandparents told everyone that my father was a young Green Bone fighter in the One Mountain Society who’d been killed in the war. Far better to be the love child of a dead jade warrior than the bastard of an enemy soldier. To preserve the family’s reputation, my mother went along with the story her whole life. She finally told me the truth while sick on her deathbed, when I was in my twenties. All my life until then, I’d wondered why, if my father was supposedly a Green Bone warrior, I was so hopeless at the jade disciplines. I figured it was my fault for not trying hard enough, for reading books instead of training.” Maro raised his face toward the ceiling and laughed painfully. “To think of all the childhood insecurity I could’ve avoided. When I learned the truth, I was furious at my mother and grandparents. They robbed me of half my identity, just because they were ashamed.”

Maro shifted closer. He tucked a strand of hair behind Shae’s ear, giving her a wan smile. “I know that I can’t understand what it’s like to be a Kaul, or the pressures you face as Weather Man. But you don’t have a monopoly on poisonous honor culture. Maybe the Green Bone clans sit at the top of it, but it goes all the way down.”

Shae was not sure what to say. She felt grateful to Maro for confiding in her, but also oddly culpable. She and her family were very much responsible for perpetuating the Green Bone way of life, the cultural preoccupation with greenness that permeated every aspect of Kekonese society. “Did you ever try to find your father afterward?” she asked.

“I did.” Maro leaned against the headboard. “It took me a few years to even work up the courage to look for him, but I eventually found him. After the war, he married a woman in his home country. I found out that I have two Shotarian half sisters.” Maro paused, his gaze turned inward. “I went to Leyolo City six years ago for the first time to meet all of them. It was… a strange experience. I think my father never stopped feeling sad and guilty about leaving my mother, even though he had no choice because deserting the Shotarian army meant execution. I get the sense that my existence reminds him of sad times. He’s nice enough, and we still keep in touch, but…” Maro trailed off. The sun was creeping up the window. Outside, Shae could hear the chime of the street tram and the shouts of the city’s more industrious street hawkers. Maro said, with a happier note in his voice, “I’ve gotten to know my half sisters much better. They’re younger than me, of course, and the older of them—those are her two girls, my nieces, in the picture.”

Shae had always thought that the two children did not look Kekonese, but had politely refrained from questioning Maro about it. “They’re awfully cute,” she told him.

Maro got off the bed and took the framed photograph from the dresser. “That’s Kullisho,” he said, pointing to the older girl. “She’s an avid reader and loves cats.” He smiled and pointed at the younger sister. “Danallo, the little piglet, is always getting herself hopelessly covered in dirt, but she’s the sweetest little girl and says the funniest things. I hope one day if I have children that they’re half as good as my nieces.”

Shae looked at the two cherubic faces and then back over at Maro. How many Kekonese would not only admit to, but seek out, a foreign bloodline? Her own adopted cousin, Anden, had never shown any interest in his biological father or his Espenian ancestry. It still pained her to remember how unhappy he’d been about being sent to Port Massy at all. Perhaps things were different for Maro because he could easily pass as completely Kekonese, but then again, in their parents’ and grandparents’ generation, Shotarians were the most despised of foreigners. “It was brave of you to contact the Shotarian side of your family. And to make the effort to have a real relationship with them.” She meant it sincerely.