by Avi Silver
“Yes,” he said, and he could hear the way his voice broke like a child’s. The elders had asked for the name of a boy and been given the crimes of a man. It made him long for summer afternoons, for a roughened hand in his own. For more than a single fingerbone in consolation.
All was quiet in the circle of elders. Ahn heard nothing, felt nothing, but his own ragged breathing, bodily insistence that he was still, unbearably, alive. And so came the consequences.
“We sit under the final day of this cycle’s Pel phase,” spoke the grandmother who shared its name. “Do you know what that means?”
Ahn shook his head.
“It can be an uncomfortable time for our people,” she explained. The people around her certainly looked uncomfortable, though they did not interrupt. “A time of sacrifice, and difficult decisions. Your arrival speaks to the gods’ own sense of humour, or else their desire to challenge us.” She paused, looking at him as though she might find the punchline to the joke. “It is also the phase I carry for our community, which gives me the final word on what we do with you. Had you arrived tomorrow, you would be in Grandmother Dongi’s capable hands.”
“I’d have fed you to the lizards,” Dongi said flatly, rubbing her thumb over her walking stick.
“Grandmother Pel, please—” Sohmeng stepped forward, only to be silenced by a gesture from the Grandmother. Ahn could hear the blood pounding in his ears.
The old woman continued on as though there had been no interruption. “There are a few ways in which we could handle this situation: exile, execution, or reconciliation. Though exile might not be wise. We can’t have you running back to your own and causing us even more trouble in the long run.”
Ahn said nothing. Were their positions reversed, Qiao Sidh would not have even offered these people a trial.
“We are all eager to see justice carried out, boy. But you must understand, it is rare for Nona Fahang to manage the crimes of outsiders. This is not our way.” Grandmother Pel paused, looking at him critically. “I do not think we yet know what justice looks like for someone like you. We do not know you. My decision is that we require more information to make a choice we will not regret. We will wait for a time that is more—”
“—auspicious,” Sohmeng said breathlessly. And though Ahn did not believe in the gods of these people, this place, he realized that he had been saved. For now.
Grandmother Pel gave him a long look. “Judgment will be passed under the moons of Ginhãe. It is what the phase was made for. Until then, you stay in the walls of Nona Fahang, under close supervision. Explain yourself, if it’s what you wish. Atone, if you know how. Or sit alone and rot. In roughly thirty days’ time, once we have had a good look at what you are, we will decide what will become of you.”
Thirty days. Thirty days to earn the right to his life. “Thank you, Grandmother Pel,” he said, doing his best to appear humble.
“Hn. Thank the gods, not me.” The woman turned her attention to Sohmeng. “As for you, Sohmeng Par—take the evening with your father. A reunion is long overdue. We will address your troubles tomorrow, but for now you are dismissed. Their watchful eyes upon you.”
Sohmeng looked ready to protest, and turned to her father, gesturing to Ahn and speaking rapidly in Atengpa. She was visibly aggravated. Perhaps she had adjusted to living outside of a hmun, to carrying out her days without having to answer to anyone. It was not the sort of life he could imagine, but it suited her and Hei both.
Thirty days, he thought to himself. Would the sãoni have moved on by that time? If they did, would Sohmeng and Hei leave him in this place alone? How would he ever get home without them?
A firm hand on his arm, and he met the disapproving gaze of Sohmeng’s father. “The scouts will find a place to hold you,” he said warily. “A warrior will keep watch over you at all times. If you act out—”
“They’ll kill you if you doing anything stupid, Ahn,” Sohmeng said matter-of-factly. “So just... don’t. Okay?” She started working at untying the ropes at his wrists despite the protests of the scout behind him. “No more bad choices.”
“I understand,” he said. She had not forgiven him, that much was clear. Frankly, there was no reason she should, given his connection to the campaign. But she had not dismissed him. His fingers tingled as the blood returned to his wrists, and he immediately reached for Schenn. “No more bad choices.”
He tugged at the earpiece, searching for approval, for an explanation on how he might begin repairing the cracks in this long road. No sound came, none but the tap of flesh meeting bone.
The last time Sohmeng had seen her father, he was preparing with his wife to descend Fochão Dangde with the rest of Ateng’s best traders, trackers, and warriors. This was early after the fall of the Bridge, when the hmun hadn’t yet learned to treat these expeditions as death sentences. Even still, the morning had been tense and tearful, one of the only times she could remember seeing Grandmother Mi look truly afraid.
Tonão Sol had donned his travelling garments, sleeves lined with dried silvertongue, and tied his hair back in a low bun. When it was time for him to go, Sohmeng could not think of a single thing to say, and simply squeezed him as tight as she could, as if that could keep him safe. The feeling of his arms around her nearly convinced her that things could be okay. Then, as she was hugging her mother, she heard the terrible sound of Viunwei sobbing. She watched his shaking shoulders, his fingers gripping tight to the man’s shirt, and soon she was crying too.
Angry child that she was, she spent a few years convinced that was the reason her parents hadn’t come back for her. She was young, and scared, and wandered her way into the belief that behaving like something was final would manifest that finality into reality. To be fearless, or else callous, was a Par-shaped personal prayer, a small act of storytelling to rebel against her own helplessness.
Had she ever really let that belief go? Maybe not.
Maybe that was why she could not bring herself to let loose the storm of screaming, raging love and hurt that had built up over the years. Perhaps that was what kept her calm as she followed her father, very much alive, into his new home. It was made of the same twisting trees that the rest of Nona Fahang used as architectural foundation. It was so different from their homes in Fochão and Sodão Dangde; no wovenstone, no too-low stone ceilings, no animal pelts to hold in the heat. Low evening light peered in through the wooden walls. There was a hammock, a chair, a small box for his things that also served as a table. Sweet-smelling herbs hung from the ceiling, plants that they never could have accessed back in Ateng. It was lovely, and well-cared for, and entirely unfamiliar.
“This is your house?” she asked. It was an obvious question, but when even the obvious was unbelievable, it seemed like a good place to start.
“My room,” Tonão said, sitting down on the hammock with a little grunt. His left leg moved stiffly. “It’s an extension of another family’s house. They gave me this private space after they took me in. It belonged to a grandparent who had passed in the months before.”
Normally curious, Sohmeng couldn’t find it in her to question how a house like this was grown, or even to care about the people who lived just on the other side of the hanging, leafy curtain that separated the rooms.
“Dad...” she said, but her voice caught on the edge of all the questions she never expected to have the chance to ask. Tonão patted the spot beside him, and she sat, leaning against him and wondering how such a small room could hold so much empty space.
“I’ve imagined you here so many times,” the man said. His voice wavered. “Playing with your dice in the corner, or arguing with your brother on the other side of the wall. Learning inappropriate songs from your mother—”
Sohmeng squeezed her eyes shut. “Mom?” she asked, the name a question and a plea.
She knew the answer in the way Tonão’s shoulders fell, in the slow breath he took to steady himself. “She’s gone, Sohmeng.”
After so many
years, Sohmeng thought she had learned the shape of her grief in full. She knew every inch of her anger, every ounce of her righteous fury, each and every pang of sorrow that had hit her at all hours of the day. But never had she imagined a world where Tonão Sol lived without Lahni Par at his side. It was a wrongness she hadn’t prepared for, an unfairness she did not think the gods would stoop to.
“I hate that,” she said, a bitter laugh rattling out of her chest. “I hate that so much, Dad.”
Tonão just nodded. “Me too, little trouble. I hate it every day.”
The nickname made her cover her mouth, made the hurt rise fuller and faster, demanding answers. “What happened?”
“Too many sãoni,” he said. “Not enough of a plan. Your mother... was brave. Always brave. Braver than the rest of us, right up to the end.” He stopped, taking a moment to compose himself. His eyes were circled, his smile a halting thing. “As far as I know, I was the only member of the party to make it to Nona Fahang. And even then, there was less of me than there was up in Ateng.” He patted his shin, and it made a hollow sound.
Sohmeng’s eyes widened as her father pulled up his pant leg to reveal a piece of wood where his lower leg used to be. It was smoothed down, carved into a vine-like pattern. Down the front were four lunar phases: Sol, Par, Soon, Par. She instinctively reached to touch it, then hesitated.
“Go ahead,” Tonão said, and the way he laughed reminded her of what it was like when she was young, getting into everything without asking. “Handiwork of the best doctors and craftspeople in Nona Fahang. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Not like it used to. And on days where the new limb digs in, I have people to help me with the padding.” As he rolled the fabric back down, she caught sight of old scars on his arms, small points that had not been there before. She tried not to think about what he must have looked like, those many years ago. What her mother must have looked like, in the end. “This hmun saved my life, took care of me, body and mind. I’ve lived here since, trying to make my way. Trying to figure out how we could ever...”
He gestured to her, and she felt the four years between them, a gap greater than any mountain crossing. It felt tenuous and frightening to be trying so hard to bridge it now, like any wrong move could snap them apart once more. Her mind raced, searching for security, and found trouble in its stead.
“Nona Fahang knows about Sky Bridge,” she said. “You told them.”
“I did,” Tonão said.
“And they know Ateng is stuck.” The idea burned her up quicker than fire-sand. Another hmun had known about their predicament all this time. “Why haven’t they come to help us?” she demanded.
Her father’s expression softened. “They tried, Sohmeng. Three years ago, at my request. I went with them to try and map a long route to Sodão Dangde, but the sãoni at Fochão Dangde are territorial beyond what you’d see in the migrating colonies. We tried to navigate around them, but we were stalked at every turn, and I—I cannot ask Nona Fahang to send its people to die in droves as we have done in Ateng. It isn’t fair.”
“Each to itself, but all in harmony,” Sohmeng quoted, angry to have her distress met with reason. “There’s no harmony if Ateng is trapped and starved, Dad. The batengmun are already dead, we don’t want the rest of—”
She watched his face fall and immediately regretted her words. That wasn’t how she’d wanted to tell him. The man in front of her seemed to have retained all of his gentleness, his kindness. But now he seemed fragile in a way she had never known. It was an unexpected pain, to meet her father this way, as a fellow adult.
“Dad, I... I didn’t mean...” There was no backtracking. She tugged on her bangs, exhaling sharply. Burning godseye, this was so hard.
“They didn’t make it, then,” the man said.
“No,” Sohmeng replied, trying not to think too hard about the figures huddled around the long-dead fire. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too, Sohmeng.” Tonão sounded exhausted. More than that, he sounded guilty, and Sohmeng had no idea what to say in response. “And—and everyone else? In Ateng, the family. Your brother, Grandmother Mi. Are they well? Are they alright?”
“Oh!” She took his hands, feeling selfish for not having told him immediately. “Yes! Dad, yes, they’re fine. I mean, Viunwei is still Viunwei so take that as you will, but he’s good. Tall and sullen. And Grandmother Mi is great, still causing trouble.” Her smile wavered as she allowed herself to wonder how her own disappearance might have changed them. It was so much loss for one family to take. “At least that’s how it was the last time I saw them.”
“Which brings me to my next question.” Sohmeng’s father freed his hands from hers, reaching up instead to hold her cheeks like when she was little. His hands felt so much smaller now, made her realize just how much she had grown over the years. With a bewildered sigh, he shook his head. “How in two dark moons did you end up in Eiji?”
Sohmeng couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She hadn’t realized how eager she was to share her story, to spin what could have been a tragedy into the absolute marvel that it was. “When I figured out they wouldn’t let me become a trader, I decided I had to take the long route.”
She told him about the long route. The argument at Chehangma’s Gate and Viunwei’s remarkable inability to communicate with Jinho. The egg collecting and the fall, finding Hei and learning about the sãoni. It was strange to speak of the sãoni as found family, when she was looking at the literal harm they had done to her family of origin, but Tonão did not stop her. Rather, he looked at her with pride, with wonder. It was very similar, she imagined, to the way she used to stare at him when he told stories of trading down in Eiji.
She told him about the fight with Blacktooth, and the long ride up Sodão Dangde. She told him about the batengmun, and with every word felt the lonely weight of their deaths rest a little lighter on her heart. It was easier to bear with someone else listening, to have a witness to her own witnessing.
Hei’s story she kept private and simple. She described them as an exile who had made their own way—anything beyond that was not hers to share.
“And this Hei,” her father asked. He took her hand, examining the ring on her finger. “You two are...?”
Sohmeng wrinkled her nose. One of the unexpectedly awkward parts of finding out her father was alive was explaining her relationship situation. She never understood why people had to make such a big deal about these things. “Yeah. I mean—yeah. We care about each other.”
“And...?” He raised an eyebrow so high she thought it would reach the ceiling.
“I don’t know, Dad!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “We’re partners! Weird lizard partners! Happy?”
Tonão laughed loud enough to fill the room. “I am happy, little trouble. I’m so proud of you.”
“For being someone’s weird lizard partner?”
“For finding your way,” he said. He pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen loose from her bun. The motion was so completely parental that it stopped her snark in its tracks, leaving her embarrassed and grateful all at once. “I don’t care who you’re courting, if you marry or not. I don’t care if you’re a trader or a builder or a cook. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to find your own way, Sohmeng. To become.” He cracked a smile at his own pun, but it faded, muddying into a discomfort left nearly seventeen years unresolved. “Listen... I know that we, your mother and I—we didn’t always give you the, the resources to—”
The privacy flap opened, startling away the rest of Tonão’s thoughts. In the threshold stood the scout with the braided hair, holding an earthen teapot and two small wooden cups.
“Eakang,” Tonão said with a wince of a smile. “What timing.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” they chirped in Dulpongpa, looking between Sohmeng and her father with an overly familiar smile. For some reason it made Sohmeng’s skin crawl. “I brought you
tea!”
Sohmeng followed her father’s lead and took a cup. “Did you come here about Ahn? Is something wrong? Tell me he wasn’t being a meathead.”
They blinked at her. “No? I just thought you might be thirsty...?”
“Ah.” Tonão laughed a little. “I didn’t explain—this house belongs to Eakang’s family. They came to get me, when they heard someone from Ateng was at the door. When you gave them your name...”
“I had to meet you!” Eakang said, bright-eyed. “I’ve heard so much about you from your dad and I just couldn’t believe you were really here, all the way from the mountains. Oh, sorry, I never properly introduced myself.” They brought the teapot to her, filling her cup with another smile. “I’m Eakang Minhal.”
Sohmeng dropped the cup, hissing as the hot tea hit her hand. She hardly felt it over the wave of shock, hardly heard the sound of Eakang rapidly apologizing and trying to clean up. That can’t be right, she thought, Minhal. They said their name was—
“Would you mind giving us a moment, Eakang?” her father said, taking Sohmeng’s burned hand worriedly.
“Right,” they said, quickly getting up. “No problem! Sorry, Damdão.”
Damdão. Damdão?
Sohmeng stared at her father, all of the closure they had been reaching for suddenly tearing back open. Since when had her father been a surrogate to anyone? And since when had there been Minhals who weren’t exiled?
She felt sick. She felt suddenly like she didn’t exist, like she was falling upwards. She stood, shaking out her hand and trying to get her bearings.
“Oh, Sohmeng, this isn’t how I wanted this to...” Tonão trailed off, looking at her with a pleading expression. She wondered if he could see it too, the nearly tangible space that had suddenly been cleaved between them. “Let me explain—”
“You replaced us?” she asked. It sounded petty even to her ears.