by Avi Silver
The sãoni’s antics were also a solid distraction from the daunting responsibility he’d been assigned. As the best archer among them, Ahn had been chosen to shoot the arrow that would reconnect the Sky Bridge. It was a tremendous honour—but also a lot of pressure.
On the third day of their journey, the mountains appeared: colossal pillars of karst, blanketed in the frilled greenery of hanging, clinging flora. They looked nothing like the mountain ranges of northern Qiao Sidh, which sloped like jagged arrowheads and were topped with the porcelain white of snow.
“There it is.”
Tonão Sol pointed ahead, but Ahn recognized the sight from Sohmeng’s description alone: five mountains, clustered together like a hand. Fochão Dangde, the three fingers, Sodão Dangde; the mountain range that made up Ateng. The hmun above.
It was technically a straight shot from where the party was located, but they had to travel the long way around to avoid hitting any enemy sãoni. As always, the easy route proved to be the deadly one. They spent all of Ginhãe Three and Four circling the mountains, feeding their mounts while Hei growled directions in Sãonipa to keep everyone on track. When they made their camp for the night on the bank of the Ãotul River near Sodão Dangde, it was with the knowledge that tomorrow would begin the climb.
The sãoni found their preferred heaps, throats glowing green and purple, and the humans followed suit. Polha Hiwei set up her bedroll with Pangae and Mochaka, who were all adapting to spending more time on the ground rather than the banyan trees of home; Eakang stayed close to Tonão Sol, chattering all the while. Ahn was nudging the coals in the fire when he felt a foot poke his back. To his surprise, the owner of said foot was Hei. They clicked at him, nodding in the direction of the river.
Ahn frowned a little. “Sorry...?”
They rolled their eyes with a hiss, yanking on his arm. Unsure of what else to do, he followed.
They brought him to the river in silence, relaxing with every step away from the rest of the riders. Their charcoal makeup couldn’t hide the exhaustion on their face. As far as Ahn had seen, Hei was the first to rise each morning and the last to bed, constantly keeping an eye on the sãoni.
“Thank you,” he blurted out. “I know this has been hard for you. Thank you for the work you’ve put into all this.”
Something like a smile twitched at the corner of their mouth. The two of them wove around the heaps of sãoni, Hei occasionally pausing to pat a head or two, before they came to the spot by the river where Mama was resting. The hatchlings had curled up beneath her chin, snuggled in the warmth of her purple stripes.
Sohmeng was there too, scratching between a sleepy Green Bites’ head spines. When she saw them approach, she grinned like a maniac. “Are you seeing this?” she stage-whispered, pointing emphatically at the sãoni. “It’s a miracle. I have done miracles today.”
Ahn covered his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to stifle a laugh. He didn’t want to startle Green Bites in the midst of such an accomplishment.
The sãoni rolled over with a rumble, belly to the sky as Singing Violet slinked over to join him for the night. The moment he was distracted, Hei grabbed Sohmeng and pulled her into a heap of their own. “Me now. My turn.”
Sohmeng laughed, giving their head a brief scratch before shoving them back. “Treats first!”
“Sohmeng,” they whined.
“Treats.”
With a grumble, they stumbled over to the bag they had hung up, pulling out an armful of saka fruit. Ahn couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed since he’d last seen one of those. Hei smiled wryly, making quick use of their sãoni claw to peel one and pass it to him.
“Thank you,” he said.
Hei shrugged. “Your favourite.”
“Hei!” Sohmeng cackled at the joke, swatting them gleefully on the arm. With the saka fruit successfully delivered, they flopped back against her. “Wow, okay, Hei was funny. Miracles all around! What have you got for us, Ahnschen? Can you turn that sword into a harp and play us a tune?”
Ahn took a seat, slicing his saka into pieces with a knife. “If only.”
“You should really hear him, Hei,” Sohmeng said. “Next time we’re near a jeibu, I’m making him play you something.”
“Do they have jeibus in Ateng?” Ahn asked.
“Nope. We have lots of flutes though, and some drums.” Sohmeng took one of Hei’s saka slices. “We play them in the parts of the caves that have the best acoustics. You can get some really neat echoes if you know what you’re doing.”
Despite the fact that they were currently in the shadow of the mountain range, Ahn still felt like they were talking about some far-off place. In his mind, Ateng had become more of a symbol than a physical location. He wondered how his perception would change once they repaired the Bridge and made the crossing, how he might begin to see Sohmeng differently within the context of her home.
“Are you excited to go back?” he asked, thinking of his own homesickness.
Sohmeng’s brow quirked. “To Ateng?”
Ahn nodded. “It’s been some time since you’ve seen your family, hasn’t it? I know you’ve said before that you left on difficult terms, but I’m sure they’ll be happy to know you’re...”
“Not splattered on the ground?” she finished, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “Yeah. I hope so. Home has always been kind of hard but...well, I miss my grandmother. And my idiot brother, I guess.” The brief smile on her face told him how much she was underselling the point. “Plus I get to bring my dad back to them. Minhal or not, no one can call me unlucky ever again.”
Hei hummed, reaching up to give Sohmeng another bite of saka. Despite himself, Ahn felt a bubble of curiosity rise up. Even though they lived with the sãoni, Hei spoke the same hmunpa as Sohmeng; it wasn’t hard to draw conclusions.
“What about you, Hei?” Ahn asked. Their eyes landed on him with surprise, and an unexpected openness. “Are you ready to—”
“HA,” Sohmeng laughed suddenly, loud enough to make Ahn jump. “Obviously! Of course Hei’s excited to rest with the sãoni for a while. Guiding Mama around like they’re the freaking alpha, no wonder they look so pooped. I don’t know anyone who deserves a splash in the river more than my little lizard.” She leaned over, patting their cheeks until they squawked in annoyance.
“I was just saying so earlier. They’ve been working very hard.” Ahn knew a topic change when he saw one. It wasn’t his place to ask about Hei’s life if they didn’t want to share.
Ahn had been thinking a lot about the time he would be spending with Hei and Sohmeng now that he was staying in Eiji. In the past weeks, they both had become important to him. Every day he felt like he was learning something new, and every new thing he learned only made him more curious. Sohmeng challenged him to be brave, Hei challenged him to be good. Warrior’s traits, by all accounts, but reimagined into something benevolent.
It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to connect to other people. Now that it was finally happening, the complexity of his feelings was frightening. He didn’t want to act impulsively or cross any boundaries. He didn’t want to interfere with their relationship.
But he wanted to be accepted. He wanted to belong. He wanted to dance with Sohmeng again, to rest his hands on her soft waist and listen to her laugh. When she tussled and cuddled and shared old jokes with Hei—he wanted that, too. He wanted them all to fall asleep together again.
The thought filled him with guilt, made him lonely despite being so close to them.
“Hey.” Hei’s voice pulled him abruptly from his thoughts just in time to catch the peeled saka fruit they tossed his way. “Worrying, Ahnschen.”
Ahn swallowed, startled, caught in the act.
“What? Worrying? Why is he worrying?” Sohmeng turned to look at him. “Ahn, what’s up?”
“I—I’m sorry.” He shifted uncomfortably. It was getting late—the two of them probably wanted some private time. “
I just was thinking that maybe I should get to bed. Give you both some space.”
“We invited you over though?” Sohmeng wiggled over to him, ignoring Hei’s squawk as they toppled over. “Why are you being weird?”
Ahn flushed, looking between the two of them. “I don’t want to impose.”
Sohmeng snorted. “Ahn, buddy, it’s not mating season. We have the power to show some restraint.” Hei smiled a little, resting their head on her lap. She played with their hair as she spoke. “Besides, what kind of relationship doesn’t let you hang out with other people?”
The question hit him in the chest. Ahn thought of the private worlds his masters had constructed for the pairs of students participating in their Six-ings. While friends were allowed, and flirtations tolerated, Conquest partners were expected to be everything to one another. It was a way to secure their bond across the bilateral realms.
Ahn loved Schenn. He loved what they’d had in life, and missed it every day. But now he wondered—could things have gone differently if they’d been allowed to talk about it with other people?
“I was—” He stopped. His voice sounded overly loud to his ears. “I was discouraged from being involved with others. During my last... serious relationship.” It felt like tattling, like breaking a rule his parents had set down. Ahn’s body tensed, awaiting trouble that did not come. “Not by my partner, but by the—the rules.” It was a gross oversimplification. It was about all he could say without being overtaken by panic. “Maybe I don’t understand the culture here.”
Hei was frowning as Sohmeng translated. He avoided their eye, afraid of revealing more than he could handle. Afraid of exposing himself.
“I mean here, it’s sort of expected that having close relationships with other people is important? Phase-mates aren’t anything like spouses, but they’re still a big deal.” Sohmeng scratched at Hei’s head as she explained. She was always so generous in what she shared about her home, and eager to learn more about his. “And even with spouses, it’s not just two people alone together—sometimes they need a damwei to have kids, or they’re both into a third person. I’ve heard of a family with four spouses before, but then juggling everyone’s phasal compatibility gets messy.”
“Ah,” Ahn said. “In Qiao Sidh, we take one spouse. Other relationships matter, but that relationship is meant to involve no more than two.”
This was one thing that made the Six-ing participants unique—their partnership could be conceptualized as a different but equally ranked sort of marriage. When the living partner was married later in life, their spouse would also marry the spirit in the bilateral realm.
“Sounds restrictive,” Sohmeng said. After receiving their translation, Hei clicked in agreement.
“Maybe it is.” Ahn pulled gently on his earpiece, wishing for Schenn’s perspective. The boy had felt more present recently, but Ahn still didn’t feel like it was a two-way connection.
“My brother got really bent out of shape when the Grand Ones suggested a different match from the person he was dating.” Sohmeng sucked her teeth. “He probably could have worked something out with the matchmakers instead of just dumping his boyfriend. But I guess love made him an idiot.”
“It does that,” Ahn replied.
Sohmeng squinted at him as if something had occurred to her. “Hey, question. You said you’ve been in love before, yeah? How did that feel for you?”
Again, Ahn was taken aback. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It was more difficult to keep tidy since he’d cut it.
“I suppose it feels like...” He wished he knew how to translate the word magnetism. The image of two pieces of metal yearning for each other through the seeming pull of spirit alone was the best metaphor he had. An internal compass. “It’s this sort of tug towards another person, a curiosity that I can’t fully explain. Everything the person does makes me want to connect with them more.” Hearing it aloud, it sounded like embarrassing poetry. But it was how he felt. “It’s not founded in any logical reasoning, but it seems like the truest thing in the world. Attraction feels like...faith. A sense of faith in someone I might not know very well, and a desire to prove that faith right together.”
The face Sohmeng was making at him now was far more suspicious than the one she’d made when he’d first explained being zhørmozhør. Hei, on the other hand, nodded along, looking at Ahn with understanding. That was a first.
“Alright,” Sohmeng eventually said. “Sounds weird and inconvenient, but alright.”
Ahn laughed. “It is! Very weird, very inconvenient. But it’s also...I don’t know. There’s nothing like it.” Once more, Hei clicked in acknowledgement, reaching up to feed Sohmeng another slice of saka. The difference in their responses seemed odd to him, considering their relationship. “Have you ever felt that?”
“I don’t think so,” Sohmeng said, playing with Hei’s hair. “I mean, I love this doofus, right? But I didn’t just feel drawn to them like it was some story. I loved them because I liked how they acted, what they said. It wasn’t faith, it was proof. And I knew I was attracted to them because—” She gestured at them like it was obvious, grinning. Ahn bit back a smile at the way Hei puffed out their chest in response. “Is that weird, do you think?”
Ahn shook his head; he had met aromantic people before. “Not at all. I think everyone’s experience is a little different.” Cautiously, he looked to Hei. “What about you?”
Hei cocked an eyebrow, pointing to themself with their claw.
“Yeah Hei,” Sohmeng teased, messing up their hair. “How do you know that you like me? Tell us about your special lizard senses!”
To Ahn’s surprise, Hei laughed, grabbing Sohmeng’s arm and biting. He so rarely heard that sound from them, hardly ever saw them take a moment to unwind. Perhaps that was his fault; his arrival in Eiji had been a source of so much stress for them that they likely hadn’t gotten a chance to calm down in months. Silently, he made up his mind to fix that.
After another brief wrestle, Hei actually answered Sohmeng’s question. “Even though you made me very frustrated, I did not want to be away from you. I couldn’t explain it.” They rubbed their nose shyly, glancing at Sohmeng. “And you are very beautiful.”
Sohmeng beamed through her translation, looking incredibly satisfied. “Guess I just need to keep being hot and annoying! Gets me all the good ones.”
Ahn laughed along with them, trying not to linger too long on the words good ones, plural. “You’re very spirited.”
“That another thing I share with your old boyfriend?” The teasing smile she wore quickly faded when she met Ahn’s eye. He tried to arrange his expression back into something more casual, but the damage was done. “Shoot—Ahn, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Hei chirped at Sohmeng, who quickly mumbled what Ahn assumed was an explanation. His chest tightened; he wanted to keep relaxing with them, enjoying the feeling of speaking openly, like he was any other nineteen-year-old camping with his friends. But these things were so heavy, so complex. Could he balance being honest with being happy?
“It’s okay.” Ahn took a deep breath. He could tell the story at his pace. He could offer a little at a time, if he needed to. “The two of us—we loved each other. I still love him. I just... made some mistakes. I don’t know if I know how to make them right.”
“That’s tough,” Sohmeng said. Her voice was sympathetic.
“It is,” Ahn agreed. Before he could stop himself, his hand was at his earpiece.
“Was that his?” Ahn felt panic strike him before Sohmeng continued, “It’s a really unique piece of jewelry.”
“It—it’s one of a kind. It was the last gift he gave me.”
It was enough of the truth to satisfy him, enough to keep a conversation moving in a direction that felt safe. But Ahn didn’t miss the way Hei’s eyes lingered on the bone, and he didn’t think he imagined the understanding in their eyes. They peeled another saka and passed it his way.
/> “Relationships are hard,” Sohmeng blurted out. “Did you know my dumb brother’s breakup is actually the reason I fell off that cliff?”
She launched into the drama with enthusiasm, even including what Ahn assumed were poor imitations of the people involved. He laughed along, settling down, breathing through the shakiness in his hands. It was a relief to have spoken about Schenn, even if he could not yet tell the full story. Up until now, he hadn’t felt safe enough with anyone even to mention the boy. It meant something, that he’d managed it tonight.
Ahn was doing what he could to make things right with the people of Gãepongwei, the land of Eiji. Fixing his Empire’s mistake was the right thing to do, the only thing that would allow him to sleep unburdened. But it was also something he wanted to offer his friends.
They’re my friends, he thought, and it felt wonderful to believe. To trust.
The three of them passed the hours tucked together in the shadow of the mountain, sharing stories and pointing out constellations. Ahn even managed to recognize a seeking star twinkling in the scattered sand of the heavens. A beacon, a guide. A piece of his old home, reborn in a new patch of sky.
On the opening morning of Third Mi, Sohmeng woke with the sun. Despite the late night she’d had with Ahn and Hei, she was full of potential energy for what was to come. It had been over a cycle since she landed in Eiji—one hundred and twenty-five days, to be precise. Shorter than a traditional Tengmunji by far, and yet she had lived a small lifetime on the jungle floor, learning new languages and forming new relationships, navigating culture clashes between humans and sãoni alike. Her life had come apart and together again into something new, with all the challenge and triumph of Ama and Chehang.
Today, she would return to Ateng. She would climb Sodão Dangde, light the batengmun’s lantern, and then, once all of Fochão Dangde could see that hopeful flame, she would begin repairs on the Sky Bridge.
The new beginning opened with a temporary goodbye. While Sohmeng would be leading the party up Sodão Dangde, Ahn and Hei were responsible for ascending the Third Finger with all of the rope that Nona Fahang had been able to produce. Once both groups were ready, Ahn would shoot the arrow that would unfurl the Third Finger’s portion of the bridge so Sohmeng’s group could reconnect it to Sodão Dangde. Bridging the gap in the same tradition Ateng had upheld for years.