Three Seeking Stars

by Avi Silver

  “Never,” Tonão said vehemently, pulling himself to standing. “Eakang’s family looked after me when I was still recovering, and I became close with their parents. Later, when Eakang’s mother was having some fertility problems, I offered myself as their damwei. When I got pregnant, Eakang began calling me Damdão.”

  “But you never—” Sohmeng felt overwhelmed, trying to grapple with the history she was used to. “Mom carried me and Viunwei both. Why would you—”

  To his credit, her father looked about as unprepared for this conversation as she felt. At least that was one thing they still had in common. “It was something my body could do, and I thought I would try. They had treated me as family, and I had come to see them that way too. After all they had done for me, the friendship they had extended when I was alone... it seemed like a kindness I could show.”

  “And Mom?” Sohmeng snapped, unable to stop herself.

  “I will never love anyone in this world like I loved your mother,” Tonão said, and the pain in his voice stung Sohmeng doubly for her own anger. “But I have found dear friends in this family, and it has been an honour to play a part in raising their children.”

  It was more than Sohmeng could handle. Despite her father’s explanation, she felt betrayed. She turned away from the feeling, focusing instead on something she knew she had the right to be angry about.

  “And Minhal, Dad?” she asked, hating the old fear that ran through her with speaking the phase name. “What about that?”

  Her father bit his lip, guilt written all over his face. “Nona Fahang has a different belief system. Minhals aren’t exiled here. They’re... they’re treated as harbingers of the unexpected, powerful forces of change. They even have a space for the Grand One.” Sohmeng hadn’t bothered to count the chairs in the Grand One’s gate. Why would she? When she didn’t see an empty place, she had simply assumed nothing was set for Minhals and turned her attention back to Ahn. “It’s a different interpretation of the cycle, Sohmeng. It... it varies, from hmun to hmun.”

  She covered her face. The room felt too small, suffocating. All the wonder of finding her father had distorted further with every complication, until she was being pressed on all sides by feelings she hadn’t even been given time to put names to.

  She realized her father was still talking. What was he saying? “—could tell them, if you wanted. They would be very—”

  “I need some air,” she said abruptly, turning to go.

  “Sohmeng—”

  She shook out her hands, trying to steady the unwieldy feeling of panic. It was so big, only familiar to her as an outsider, when she watched it overtake Hei. How did they do this so often? She wished they were here. Godless night, she wished she was back with them and the sãoni. Why had she sent them away? “I’m not—I’m not leaving you, Dad. I’ll be back soon. I just... this is just—I need a minute.”

  She was out the door before she could hear whatever it was he had to say. On all sides she was surrounded by walls, lush and alive and keeping her trapped with a group of strangers. Even the sky above, gone dark save for the illumination of Ama and Chehang, felt like another form of confinement.

  This afternoon, she had wandered into a lost piece of home completely by accident. And now here she was, desperate for space. Wishing herself an exile all over again, if only to find solace in a wrong she could understand.

  Ahn had slept in plenty of unusual places before, but none quite compared to the pygmy hog pen.

  When the Grand Ones ordered Ahn to be kept under watch, they had failed to specify where. Sensing an opportunity, the scouts charged with his transport had dropped him in a cramped, stinky enclosure with dozens of small fuzzy animals, and minimal leg room. Ahn didn’t dare protest. The throbbing scrape on his cheek was a reminder that it would be in his best interests to go along with their wishes.

  Thus, the eleventh prince of Qiao Sidh spent the night trying his very best not to end up sat in a pile of poo. He squirmed, trying to find the most comfortable wooden pole to rest his spine against. And even when he managed to find a position that mostly kept the hogs from chewing at him—how did he manage to be considered chewable by so many species?—sleep did not come easily. Throughout the night he jumped awake at the sound of his overseers’ voices, audible but unintelligible. Without the assistance of a translator, he was a prisoner of his own helpless tongue.

  It would have been easier if Sohmeng was with him. His gratitude for her presence had quickly turned to anxiety over her absence. Who else in this place saw him as a person? Who else here cared if he lived or died? Sohmeng had sounded so certain when they were still outside the hmun’s walls. She had promised to bring him home and, despite everything, he had dared to believe her.

  Was it still possible? Would she even want to help him, after a night to think it over?

  The Grand Ones’ interrogation had rattled him. He always knew that the people of the Untilled might greet him with suspicion, but he was only just now beginning to understand why they might respond with anger. With hatred.

  He watched the scurrying of nocturnal animals playing in the treetops; despite the bounty of food below, none of them dared venture too far down the high woven walls. Having grown up around plenty of wildlife on the western island of Hvallánzhou, Ahn knew that this was more a sign of healthy caution than respect, but the sight was still intriguing. In a world where human civilizations were so naturally integrated with the raw, untamed land, how did the animals have such a clear idea of what was and was not their space?

  His eyes traced the treetops, seeking clear borders, but found none. Instead he caught sight of a seeking star, and his heart ached with old memories. Schenn knew all about seeking stars, celestial bodies by which shepherds and sailors and all manner of travellers found their way home. The boy had pointed them out, listing off their names with practiced ease, while Ahn had closed his eyes and imagined they were on a ship together, headed somewhere far away.

  One of the pygmy hogs wiggled its chubby little body under the crook of his knee, seeking warmth. Ahn kept still, staring at the twinkling light above them. If he had ever known the name of this star or its constellation, it was long forgotten now.

  “Look Schenn,” he muttered in Qiao Sidhur. “It’s like trying to share a bed with you. All he needs to do is take the blankets.”

  It shouldn’t have surprised Ahn to find the silent treatment had returned. Even still, it stung. He curled against the side of the pen, using his hand as a pillow, hoping to keep the both of them as comfortable as he could.

  He was awoken at sunrise by screeching from the trees, followed by a veritable explosion of feathers. Not exactly the royal, full body massage wake-up he longed for, but at least there wasn’t any confusion about where he was. He pushed himself up with a groan, feeling the protest of his muscles. To the dismay of the blanket of pygmy hogs, he lifted himself to standing, grimacing at the smell clinging to his clothing. Somehow he doubted laundry service was included in the prisoner-of-war package, but it seemed worth it to ask. There was no point staying filthy if he didn’t have to.

  He ran his hands through his hair, trying to neaten it up before tying it into a ponytail. A prisoner of war. He supposed that was technically what he was now. Ólawen would never let him hear the end of it.

  Out in the hmun, he could hear the sounds of people getting ready to begin the day. He rolled out his neck, eyeing the latch on the gate—

  “Stay where you are, tsongkar trash.”

  —too suspiciously, apparently, according to Lita Soon. Ahn winced, bracing himself to face the man.

  “Good morning,” he said in Dulpongpa, attempting a cordial tone.

  Lita glowered at him. Oddly enough, Ahn wasn’t bothered by it. Weeks with Hei had prepared him for minor personal slights.

  “I was wondering—”

  “If you have to piss, do it with the other animals,” the scout said, looking away from him.

  Crass though it was, i
t answered one of Ahn’s questions. Though it wasn’t really the answer he was hoping for. “About that,” he said. “The animals have...damaged my clothing. Might I wash it somewhere?”

  Lita sneered, kicking at the pygmy hogs’ trough.

  “Is...is that really fair to the hogs?” Ahn asked.

  The scout turned to face him, stepping right up to the fence. Fast though Lita was, Ahn didn’t flinch back from the attempted intimidation. He held his own, choosing to meet the furious, exhausted gaze of the man in front of him. Because up close, it had to be said, Lita Soon really did look like he’d had a night as sleepless as Ahn’s.

  Was that what it was like, Ahn wondered, to be the kind of person who felt anger all the way through? He’d never managed it himself, always quick to forgive and pull back from conflict before it became too difficult to manage.

  Perhaps that habit was what drove him, despite his better judgment, to apologize. “I think I may have wronged you in some way. I am sorry for that.”

  “You think?” Lita said, his voice deadly quiet. “You think you may have wronged me?”

  “It seems so,” Ahn responded, half a smile on his lips. It disappeared the second Lita’s fist made hard contact with his jaw. He stumbled, but quickly righted himself before he could step on any of the tiny creatures at his feet.

  “You really want to smirk at me right now, tsongkar? Little prince?”

  Ahn touched his cheek gingerly, trying to control his expression. That nervous tic of a smile had gotten him in trouble before, but not like this. “I’m sorry,” he said again, the words throbbing. “I was not trying to—”

  “Soon!” another voice called. Lita abruptly stepped back from the fence, rage tugging at his scar. It still looked fresh. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but the voice called to him again in his hmunpa, and he quickly walked away, replaced by another scout.

  Ahn thought about greeting them, about trying to start off on the right foot with someone, but they didn’t so much as acknowledge him. He assumed they would have to say something eventually, but as the morning crept by, doubt crept in. Uncertain of what else there was to be done, Ahn settled back against the fence and watched the world go on without him.

  He had never been good at stillness. The slower his body went, the faster his mind picked up speed in compensation. The best solution was to keep himself moving, or to spend time with other people. He wasn’t necessarily chatty, but he thrived in social environments. It was part of what made his time at Asgørindad so satisfying: engaging as his studies were, he was also able to lose himself in the vibrant student life.

  Once his suitemates got past the shock of sharing space with a member of the Imperial family, they had accepted him warmly into their friend group. He went with them to pub nights and shows, even joined a couple of student organizations. He wasn’t naïve enough to imagine people really thought of him as ordinary, but their acceptance was enough. Once he’d heard one joke about his face being on the money, he’d heard them all—and it didn’t hurt that he could occasionally use his status to pull favours. It was easy enough to be the other when it didn’t come with ostracization.

  It was different here in Nona Fahang, where his otherness earned him active malice. They hated him for participating in this campaign that had, apparently, gone much further than he realized. He had always known that war was central to Conquest; he had trained for the grim and glorious reality of it. But Conquest began first with discussion, negotiation—the agreement was meant to be beneficial to everybody, right? That was why he had prepared so studiously for the campaign, practicing what little Dulpongpa and local customs they had recorded from first contact over five years ago. The point was communication, not tyranny. They were spreading cultural values that other people would want to receive. It was an honourable thing, wasn’t it?

  The idea nagged at Ahn, made him inexplicably frustrated. He had so many questions for Ólawen, questions he feared he’d never have a chance to get answered. He wanted desperately to fix things, to shape the world back into something he understood. As he watched Nona Fahang carry out its daily life, he was overcome with the urge to explain that whatever had happened, it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t planned for violence or wanted it or even participated half as much as they seemed to believe—

  The thought unraveled like a silk thread. Each justification sounded more hollow than the last. Whether or not anyone should have been hurt didn’t matter; it had happened, and there were consequences.

  He took out his ponytail, replaced it with a braid. Unbraided. Did it again.

  The hours passed, Ahn’s stomach rumbled, and nothing made sense. He was getting ready to start stacking pygmy hogs when Sohmeng finally showed up.

  “Burning godseye,” she said, struggling with the latch of the pen. “They just left you here alone?”

  “Not alone.” Ahn stood up, trying to figure out how to exit without setting the animals loose on Nona Fahang. “I had the hogs.”

  “Yeah, I can smell that.” At the sight of the attempted jail break, a guard ran over to try and put a stop to things, but Sohmeng shut it down. “Kept under close watch, the Grand Ones said. Well I’m watching him now. If you’ve got an issue, take it up with them or shove it.”

  Based on how quickly they ran off, Ahn could only assume the guard went with option one. “Thank you,” he said, hopping out of the pen and shutting the door to the sound of irritable squeaking.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Sohmeng said, sounding aggravated. “I should have... or—ugh, I don’t know. Come on, let’s clean you up and get you something to eat.”

  From what Ahn caught of the conversation, it took some persuasion for Sohmeng’s father to allow the Qiao Sidhur prisoner into the family’s shower stall. Once the man relented and left them alone, Sohmeng turned away from Ahn with a heavy sigh, holding out a hand. “Clothes,” she said. “I’ll try to wash them while you wash the rest of you. Just pull on the rope for water, soap’s in the bowl.”

  The shower was a clever contraption: a hanging pump in the wooden stall released collected rainwater from a bucket overhead. It was much chillier than the heated baths he was used to back home, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not when he smelled better than he had in weeks.

  He scrubbed his body, sighing in relief at the fresh citrus smell. Through the small gaps in the wood, he could see Sohmeng sitting on a log and working at his clothes in a bucket. The fabric looked flimsy compared to the sãoni skin she wore.

  As he started on his hair, Sohmeng blurted, “Look, can we talk about this whole invasion thing?”

  Ahn froze. “If you would like.”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t,” she said, scrubbing harder at the fabric. “But I kind of need us to. Because even though we haven’t known each other very long, I think you’re a good person. And I’ve vouched for you a lot. So I’m feeling pretty messed up about the idea that you might have literally been murdering what amounts to my very distant cousins. Or anyone.” Her voice lowered, and she muttered seemingly to herself: “I can’t believe I’ve had to have this conversation twice.”

  Ahn tugged the rope for water, trying to let the chill steady his heart. “I understand. I’m sorry if you feel lied to.”

  “That’s the issue, Ahn—I don’t know what I feel. I’d just like to know what happened so I can decide.”

  It was a reasonable enough request. He owed her his life, after all; his honesty was the least he could give in return. “I told you my family gave me a role on this campaign, as a gift.” It sounded grotesque now, when he thought about what it looked like from the other side. An uneven road that no one asked for. “I didn’t want it, but I thought it wouldn’t be long. I could spend time with my sister, actually use my sixth ranking, and still come home in time for my next session at school. When we first landed in Kongkempei, I spent a lot of time learning about culture, improving my language... We were supposed to negotiate about how the land would be managed.”

/>   “Managed,” Sohmeng repeated.

  Ahn winced, releasing more water to rinse with. The rivulets caught on the scar across his chest. “My home, my hmun, it is an... empire. A hmun that grows, and—and takes. We take.” Her silence felt worse than any judgment she could have passed aloud. He wrung out his hair. “Do you have something to dry...?”

  “Yeah.” She tossed a towel over the stall. Ahn patted himself down, unsure of how this story could possibly go on without making things worse. “You can just come out in the towel when you’re done. Hei’s pretty much desensitized me to nudity by now, and I kind of want to freak out my dad.”

  After a harrowing moment trying to figure out who he wanted to upset the least, Ahn obliged, stepping out of the stall with the towel around his waist. He sat beside Sohmeng, trying to pretend he didn’t see her eyeing his scar.

  “So?” she asked, scrubbing his pants with a stone. “Your empire didn’t negotiate, then?”

  “It seems not.” He reached up, tugging at his earpiece with a twist in his belly. “One night something—happened. It was after dinner, I was feeding Lilin.” Lilin. How he missed her. “There was, there was fire. Yelling. Swords. I did not know what made the fighting start, so I tried to find my sister. She was in charge, she always has answers. But I found her fighting with one of the hmun’s leaders and then—”

  The world around him felt different then. He swallowed, trying to push back the sensation that he was underwater.

  “Someone was behind me. They were yelling, and had a weapon, so—”

  The foliage around them was blending together, creeping closer until he could nearly feel it prickling on the back of his neck. He twisted the fingerbone in his ear.

  “—so I used my own and—”

  Metal was supposed to be a heavy thing, but Ahn had always wielded it lightly. A second limb, an old friend, part of an elaborate dance that always ended in victory. He was good at winning, but winning didn’t feel good. It felt like the sound of pulling the blade out after, like the iron in the air and the bile on his tongue. The pink sand gone red and thick, his masters watching him from the arena—