by Avi Silver
“Never trusted the tsongkar, never trusted him a bit.”
Sohmeng felt like she was plummeting down the side of Fochão Dangde all over again, flailing against the inevitable impact. No matter how she ground her feet into the earth, she couldn’t shake the sensation of falling, couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
After Ahn and Hei had taken off on the sãoni, Sohmeng had been dragged straight to the Grand Ones to answer for their desertion. Despite her fury at Ahn’s horrible decision-making, she didn’t believe he had betrayed them to Qiao Sidh—certainly not with Hei’s support, backed by two sãoni. There had to be a good reason for why they had left. She just had no idea what it was.
The moons had shifted overnight; Chisong had become Heng. The same people she had danced with, the strangers whose hands she had held, now stared at her with distrust. She crossed her arms, hiding the ring that glinted silver on her finger.
Sohmeng insisted that her companions weren’t traitors or Qiao Sidhur spies. No, she hadn’t known about any of this. No, Ahn hadn’t somehow brought the Qiao Sidhur to Nona Fahang. But she had no proof, no evidence beyond her own feelings, which were not enough for even the sensitive Grandfather Heng.
The leaders of Nona Fahang were urgently trying to form a plan of defense against the oncoming invaders, consulting with survivors of the northern attacks. Anxiety spread, and soon the perimeter of the Grand Ones’ gazebo was surrounded by members of the hmun, speaking all at once at a volume that made Sohmeng’s head spin.
Nona Fahang was not prepared for war. Gãepongwei was not prepared for war—and why should it be? The hmun network had lived for thousands of years by a simple standard: each to itself, but all in harmony. There was no precedent when it came to planning for an invasion.
Sohmeng swallowed, entirely out of good ideas. At this point, she doubted she had any bad ideas left in her either.
Nearby, Eakang’s voice rose above them all as they faced down Grand One Minhal. They were crying, pounding their heart, abandoning all decorum as they demanded to be allowed to fight with the scouts who were currently facing the Qiao Sidhur. Given the fact that they were fourteen, it made sense that Grand One Minhal was refusing. Tonão Sol was standing back, holding Jaea Won’s shoulders as she cried for her child to stop.
Is that what I used to look like? Sohmeng wondered, trying to place Eakang’s expression on her own face.
As chaos grew around her, Sohmeng wished suddenly that she was home. It would be so much easier to be back in the caves, to drop Ahn and Hei in front of Grandmother Mi, tell them to shut up and listen to a story. It would cost nothing but a little pride to make Viunwei’s day and ask him, the older and wiser sibling, what she should do now. How much safer the world had been, when her questions were the most dangerous thing in it.
A small group of scouts ran across the highest points on the walls, yelling something in Fahangpa. She was about to ask her father for a translation when another sound broke through—the unmistakable roar of a sãoni. The deep and furious snarl of the alpha. Mama.
Sohmeng froze, staring at the walls. Burning godseye, this was not the time for a lizard rampage. With no one paying enough attention to stop her, she ran for the exit.
Before she got there, the scouts emerged, bloodied but upright. At the center of them was Ahn, not bound and blindfolded but half-carrying an injured Lita Soon. Sohmeng rushed over, barely containing her panic.
“What happened?” she snapped. The man’s white clothing was stained Ama-red with blood. “Ahn, what was that?”
“I apologize for leaving,” he said grimly, adjusting his hold on Lita Soon.
“No, not that!” But oh, did she have words for him about that later. She swallowed her fury, focusing on the topic at hand. “That sound, that was Mama. Where’s Hei, Ahn? What happened?”
“Ah.” Ahn’s jaw set, and he spoke with a calm that struck Sohmeng as dangerous. “The scouts at the entrance wanted to bring Hei into the hmun. Mama and I found that unacceptable.”
Sohmeng paled. “Godless night. Tell me she didn’t eat anyone.”
“It didn’t come to that,” Ahn said. “She calmed down when they let Hei be.”
Lita Soon laughed weakly, flopping his head on Ahn’s shoulder with a woozy grin. “And after you threatened them with that new sword, you animal.”
“You WHAT?” Sohmeng shrieked.
She stared at him in horror, pressing her palms to her forehead. So much for a trial, she thought. He’s dead. He’s so dead. The gods blessed him with a gorgeous face to make up for his empty head. Listen for the sound of wind between his ears!
One more step was all that Lita Soon could take, and the man’s legs gave out beneath him. Ahn held him up, addressing the scouts: “He’s losing too much blood. Bring him to your healers, quickly.”
The scouts complied, apparently unbothered by the authoritative tone in Ahn’s voice. One of them even gave him a pat on the shoulder that looked ridiculously like an act of camaraderie. Considering the way he had fled into the jungle—and apparently raised a sword to their fellows—Sohmeng had no idea what to make of that. She looked Ahn over, trying to figure out what had changed, where this feminine self-assurance had come from.
Also, was his hair shorter?
Before she could ask, Ahn was walking toward the Grand Ones’ gazebo. His back was straight, his head held high; despite the blood and soil that clung to his skin, he was the very picture of grace.
“Ahn, level with me, what’s the plan here?” she demanded, jogging to try and keep up with his long strides. “What are you doing, what were you thinking? Because I sure have no idea!”
“I could not stand by and let them invade,” Ahn said, tugging on his earpiece.
“You could have explained yourself!” Sohmeng was shouting. She could hear her voice, but it sounded like it was coming from outside of her. There was that feeling of falling again. “You could have—you could have told me at least! How am I supposed to protect you like this?”
Ahn stopped in front of the gazebo, turning to face her. He took her hands in his own. “You have done enough to protect me, Sohmeng Minhal,” he said. “Now I must face the Grand Ones myself. I need to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”
He leaned in close, nudging their foreheads together. Her breath caught, her heart stopped—the motion was so unexpectedly sãoni-like that she nearly bit him, nearly snarled out her frustration the way she would with Hei. When had the two of them learned to communicate this way?
“Last night—” she began, searching desperately for understanding. But the Grand Ones wanted answers even more than she, and Ahn did not see fit to keep them waiting.
The crowd fell silent as Ahn entered the circle. A group of scouts were relaying messages between the Grand Ones, speaking too quickly and quietly for Sohmeng to have any chance of following. The terror of earlier had been rendered down into something different, a collective tension strung tighter than jeibu strings. At Ahn’s approach, Grandfather Heng gestured for Tonão Sol.
“Ahnschen,” the old man said. “You have returned to us.”
Before Tonão was finished speaking the words in Dulpongpa, Ahn had gotten down on one knee. It was the mirror image of their first day in Nona Fahang, though this time Ahn spoke for himself: “I apologize for leaving, and breaking your terms.”
One of the scouts jumped forward, recounting the story of Ahn’s actions against the Qiao Sidhur invaders: the sãoni bursting through the clearing, Ahn’s swift rescue of Lita Soon and methodical control of the soldiers. Apparently, Hei had persuaded one of the young sãoni to carry both Lita Soon and Ahn back together, before the man could lose too much blood.
“Bring the sãoni scraps from the feast,” Grandfather Heng said, a smile pushing up the moons tattooed on his cheeks. “Nona Fahang has seen heroism this auspicious morning, and not just from Ahnschen.”
Sohmeng’s heart lurched in hope as she felt the lightening of the atmosphere. B
ut Ahn said nothing, shaking his head slightly at the praise. Sohmeng would have called it modesty, if it were not for the way he clenched his jaw.
“After Ahn saved Lita, he said something to the batsongkar,” the scout continued. “In his, his language—he said something and they kneeled, just as he does now. They kneeled and they left.”
“Will they be coming back?” Grandfather Heng asked. This time his voice was not so playful.
“Not today,” Ahn replied. “I ordered them not to invade Nona Fahang, to halt their campaign altogether. There was no time to negotiate further—Lita Soon was injured, and it wasn’t right to leave you without explaining myself. I told them I would meet the general at her camp come Minhal.”
Minhal. Half a cycle from now. Fifty days and fifty nights. Assuming he made it through the trial, Ahn had bought them more than enough time to get to his sister.
“Minhal,” Grandfather Heng echoed. “An interesting choice.”
“Watch your tone, Heng,” Grand One Minhal shot back with a wicked grin. Laughter broke out among a few of the Grand Ones, the sound setting the people even further at ease.
But where Sohmeng’s shoulders relaxed with every passing moment, Ahn’s seemed to rise further to his ears.
“I am sorry,” the man said suddenly, looking up from the ground to meet the eyes of Grandfather Heng. He was trembling, not with fear but anguish, his voice strained as he spoke. “I am sorry that it has come to this. I am sorry that I—that I participated. I caused harm in Kongkempei, and I caused harm here in Nona Fahang, and I cannot take it back. Lives have been taken by my people, under my watch. Needless death.” Ahn dropped to both knees then, leaning down to press his forehead to the earth. The display troubled Sohmeng to look at, made her want to pull him up to standing, but she didn’t move. “It is not my place to ask your forgiveness. Instead, I would ask your permission for me to try and atone. To end this campaign. I ask you to sentence me early, and to spare my life so I might use it in service of Gãepongwei.” His fingers curled slightly in the dirt, but his voice held true. “If you find these terms unacceptable, I understand. Should my death be a truer payment for my crimes, I would consider it an honour.”
Back in Ateng, exile was the harshest punishment one could receive. There was nothing more shameful than being hãokar, cast out from home, but it was not necessarily a death sentence. Especially not before Fochão Dangde had been swarmed by sãoni. Sohmeng could not imagine what Ahn’s home was like, if this was how they handled justice.
Grandfather Heng seemed to feel much the same. “My boy,” he said, “I think we all have had enough unnecessary death. Grandmother Ginhãe, the passing of judgment is usually your domain. Might I, this once, impose?”
The old woman nodded her assent. “With my blessing. I would say the gods have made their wishes clear.”
“In that case,” said Grandfather Heng, “I spare you from exile and execution—”
The gathered crowd responded immediately, the cicada-buzz of hundreds of voices competing with each other. In the wake of it all, Ahn remained still, prostrated on the soil. Unable to take it anymore, Sohmeng pulled him to standing, brushing the dirt from his face as the leaders of Nona Fahang worked to hush the crowd long enough for Grandfather Heng to finish his thought.
At last, the old man cleared his throat, continuing: “I grant you the rights offered to traders. These should be sufficient as you work towards atonement for your crimes. In Nona Fahang, you are neither citizen nor criminal—you are our guest. Respect our customs for your time here, and we will offer you hospitality and support in exchange. Do my fellow Grand Ones find this acceptable?”
One by one, each of the Grand Ones raised a hand in agreement. Sohmeng looked at their faces, watching the motion of the phases reflected in their tattooed cheeks. Breathless, she clung to Ahn, hardly daring to believe it as the reply came unanimously. As the representative of the current phase, Grandfather Heng’s word was final, but the approval of the rest of the elders would offer Ahn the sort of acceptance Sohmeng had never even known for herself.
Satisfied, Grandfather Heng rose to standing. “Then it is done. On behalf of gods and Grand Ones, we welcome you to Nona Fahang, Ahnschen.”
Ahn tugged his earpiece, bowing low in gratitude, stumbling over a response that Sohmeng did not let him finish. Before his nose could touch the dirt again, she yanked him into a tight hug, crying out in delight, in relief. After weeks of uncertainty, it was done. They could move forward now—they could go to the Qiao Sidhur camp and actually start fixing things.
“We need to tell Hei!” she said, laughing. “Ahn, you did it, you did it!”
“We did it,” Ahn repeated. He looked a little dazed. A moment later, that expression settled into a frown. “But...”
“What?” Sohmeng asked, thumping his shoulder with her fist. “What could you possibly have to complain about right now?”
Arms still around Sohmeng, Ahn faced Grandfather Heng once more. His voice was steady as it had been with the scouts. Confident, as though Ama’s influence had soaked him to the bone. “I would like to discuss the terms of my atonement.”
Grandfather Heng raised his eyebrows, but nodded in assent.
“I have fifty days until I meet with my sister, General Éongrir Ólawen-Eløndhol Qøngemding,” Ahn said. How disorienting, to hear elements of Ahn’s name superimposed on another’s. On their common enemy. “I have done what I can to buy us time, but I can make no promises on what will be honoured. For now, I can train your scouts, and determine strategies for keeping back the Empire. War is not unfamiliar to me.”
“Your expertise would be appreciated,” replied Grandfather Heng.
“A request, Grandfather Heng—” Ahn bowed his head. “While I work to prepare Nona Fahang to face any threat from Qiao Sidh, I humbly ask that you lend your time and resources to Ateng. It is my belief that the safety of Gãepongwei depends on cooperation between each hmun. If you stand together, you will be better prepared for whatever might come next.”
Sohmeng covered her mouth, feeling her heart jerk in her chest. She heard her father’s voice break as he relayed the request to the Grand Ones in Fahangpa.
“We have a strong vantage point in the mountains,” she said, overcome with new determination. “If it came down to it, Fochão and Sodão Dangde could serve as a stronghold for other people, provided they brought resources of their own.”
“All of the hmun should be alerted,” Ahn continued. “But I think it would be wise to start with your neighbours, if only as a show of goodwill.”
“I can’t speak for my Grand Ones,” Sohmeng said, voice stacking on top of Ahn’s, hands trembling with eagerness. “But if you can help us, Ateng has so much to offer. It’s, it’s beautiful, Grandfather Heng. It’s alive, and it’s important, and it’s worth saving, worth it as much as any other hmun—”
Grandfather Heng raised a hand, gently silencing her. Where the voices of the gathered crowd had been loud before, now they were still and quiet, listening intently as the Grand Ones spoke among themselves. Half of it seemed comprised of subtle looks and gestures, a shared mode of communication inspired by the gods alone. Private, powerful. As the moments passed, Sohmeng heard nothing but the ragged breathing of her father, translating through his own longing.
She was not the only one who had been waiting for this. Not by a long shot.
It was Grandfather Jeji, representative of stories and cycles’ end, who spoke. He was a frail man, one of the oldest of the Grand Ones, and his voice was brittle as river reeds. “It was the wisdom of the ancients that encouraged us to split into our separate hmun, living as distant cousins. With respect, but without interference. It was a strategy to keep safe and humble, and it has served us well. But the world is changing once again—and if we learned anything from our ancestors, it is that survival depends on how we might change with it.”
Grandfather Heng nodded, looking to the other Grand Ones as he continued to spea
k. “For now at least, I agree that it would be wise to work together with the rest of the hmun network. Sohmeng, Ahnschen—we leave you to our scouts and community leaders. Develop your plan together. We will do what we can for Ateng, and for Gãepongwei. Their watchful eyes upon you.”
“Their watchful eyes upon you,” echoed the Grand Ones.
“Their watchful eyes upon you,” Sohmeng responded in turn. Her father was rushing to her; she opened her arms to him with a grin, and the way he embraced her was what made her believe, more than anything, that this was actually happening.
Ahn stepped back to give them room. Despite his instrumental role in what was coming next, it seemed he was not rushing to take credit. From the corner of her eye, Sohmeng saw him silently mouth “their watchful eyes upon you”, practicing the shape of the blessing on his tongue.
With his freedom granted, Ahn felt as though he was meeting Nona Fahang for the first time. It was easier to meet the eyes of individuals, to imagine them as neighbours. He was not so afraid of asking questions, and warmed with pride every time his offers to help were accepted. Many of the refugees from Kongkempei and Hosaisi were reluctant to speak to him, which he could not blame them for; he did his best to keep a healthy distance, and lead with humility when he was addressed. He would be grateful if they chose to forgive him, but he knew that wasn’t something he could control. That wasn’t the point.
As the phases shifted once more, the high banyan trees felt no longer like prison walls, but marvels of natural architecture. He watched the growers work, in awe of their ability to guide shapes which would not emerge for months, or even years.
Jaea Won, who Ahn had conceptualized as one of Sohmeng’s stepmothers, was pantomiming the growing process for him when Sohmeng emerged from her father’s house. Despite the task ahead of them, she seemed calm, determined.
“Are you ready?” Ahn asked, taking the pack she had in her arms.
“As I can be,” Sohmeng said, tugging at her bangs. “Not much left to do but have the conversation.”