by Avi Silver
“When you act out, it reflects on all of us, Sohmeng.”
“Reflects on you, you mean,” she muttered.
“Yes,” he said, his matter-of-factness hurting in a new and unexpected way. “It reflects poorly on me.”
Par that she was supposed to be, it should have been a relief to be faced with such directness. It should have been better than the way he kept her at a distance when they were in public together, or quickly spoke over her when she challenged someone. She had tried for so long to get something honest out of him that she had managed to fool herself into believing that when it finally came, it would be something kind.
After all, there wasn’t really anyone else left to be her friend.
It was getting hard to remember the last time she had been welcomed by the other batengmun kar. They had stuck together for a while after their failed Tengmunji, mourning their collective loss and searching for closeness in the small community they should have been. But then Sohmeng asked too many questions. Sohmeng complained too much. Sohmeng was a bad influence. What began as her friends avoiding her turned into a series of outright communication bans from the Grand Ones: if she was going to argue about the rules, she wasn’t going to spread discontent to the others.
She still wondered if any of them had defended her, if any of them had considered her friendship worth the risk of disappointing the hmun.
“Am I really that embarrassing to you?” she asked, watching sparks pop from the end of the poker. “Am I that bad?”
“Sohmeng,” Viunwei began, putting down his food.
“Really,” she asked again, a short laugh scratching her throat. “Is it truly so shameful to call me your sister? Am I that difficult for you to love?”
“That’s not—”
“Because with the way you talk to me,” she continued, raising her voice even as it shook, “sometimes I wonder if you wish I’d just been ex—”
“Soh!” Viunwei shouted, and the fear in his voice startled the fight out of both of them. Sohmeng could hear the blood pounding in her ears, feel how clammy her hands had gotten from approaching that which was not spoken of in their house. Viunwei stared at her, rattled, and Sohmeng shook herself out of her own shock, doing her best to put on an air of familiar annoyance. Silence passed between them, waning from pained to uncomfortable to awkward.
Viunwei cleared his throat, rubbing his nose self-consciously. For a moment Sohmeng saw something change in him, a certain hunch in the shoulders that brought back memories of the nervous, serious boy her brother had been as a child. “That’s not,” he began, unable to meet her eye as his expression shifted, bizarrely, to embarrassment. “Sohmeng, it’s not that I—I just, I’m trying to court someone, alright?” He spat out the last words as though he’d accidentally swallowed a moth.
“. . . What?” She blinked, straightening up. “Wait, what?”
“I said I’m trying to court someone,” he mumbled, suddenly very interested in his meal.
“Who?”
“Femi Hiun.”
“Femi?” Sohmeng stifled a snort as he went to shush her. “The same Femi who used to cry when we were kids because they thought the mountain would melt when it rained?”
“Stop that. They’re perfectly nice—”
“Can I give them rainwater as a wedding gift?”
“Sohmeng!” Despite his best attempts to scold, laughter tinged his voice. It made Sohmeng’s spine soften where she had gone all jagged inside, made her heart come unstuck from itself. “No, you absolutely cannot do that. Besides, we don’t even know if their family will consent to the marriage.”
Realization settled in Sohmeng’s gut like a stone in the soup. She thought of this morning’s antics with the children, of the distance the rest of the batengmun kar kept from her, the day she tossed the neighbour’s washing down the well, the time she punched a boy at the dance in an attempt to teach him a lesson about self-confidence. She thought of the judgemental way her brother looked at her after each of these incidents, and felt a twisting in her chest as the distance between them suddenly made more sense. Regardless of how justified she felt in her actions, she probably wasn’t a shining example of a sister-in-law.
Sohmeng wanted to apologize. She really did. But when she opened her mouth what came out instead was, “Why Femi? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak a word about them until now.”
“The oracles approached me,” Viunwei said, resting his chin on one of his knees. “They thought a marriage between a Soon and a Hiun would be spiritually auspicious for the hmun. The Grand Ones think highly of what our children could be like.”
Sohmeng wrinkled her nose, looking at her brother and trying to imagine him as a father. It was hard enough to imagine him as the leader everyone was always making him out to be—apparently there was a lot she didn’t know about him. Still, what she did know didn’t line up. “What about Jinho Tang?” she asked.
“What about him?” Viunwei’s voice tightened like a spike had gone through his foot and he was trying very hard not to acknowledge it.
“What about him?” Sohmeng echoed, laughing. “I mean you two have only been circling each other since before your Tengmunji. I figured if you were formally courting anyone, it would be him.”
“It isn’t—it isn’t as strong of a match,” he said, a little too quickly. “And seeing as we’re both male we’d have to navigate a damwei to carry our children, which adds a whole new element to determining our phasal compatibilities, and there wouldn’t even be a guarantee that they would turn out how the oracles are hoping, so . . .”
As he trailed off, Sohmeng couldn’t help but notice how rehearsed the words sounded, like the kind of internal monologue someone runs through their head over and over when they can’t sleep. Championing something they don’t believe in. Sohmeng knew the feeling well, but she was startled to see it in her brother, who always presented as so self-assured. He could be a lot of things—difficult and stubborn, unbelievably volatile beneath all of his performed stability, the slick shard of a red moon lurking below the calm of a swollen white. But this was different.
And as soon as she saw it for the pain that it was, it was gone, stuffed back below his composed exterior. “We need to think about the future of the hmun,” he said firmly. “There are more important things than our own wants. If Jinho is reasonable, he’ll understand.”
Sohmeng put her bowl aside, speaking as cautiously as she knew how. “Reasonable or not, he’s a person. No one wants to be tossed aside.”
“I’m not tossing him aside.”
“But you kind of are, Viunwei,” Sohmeng sighed, scratching her head where her bun had come loose. “I get it. It sounds like the Grand Ones are putting a lot of pressure on you. But even if it is for the hmun, he’s still going to be hurt if—”
“I don’t remember asking you for advice on this,” Viunwei snapped, clearing both of their dishes with a clatter. Sohmeng groaned softly, leaning her head back against the wall with a thud. “And I don’t know what a tengmun kar would know about courting, anyway.”
The words stuck on Sohmeng like an insect’s barbs, clinging and repellant all in one. For once, she didn’t much feel like pulling them out and opening the wound any further, so she held her tongue as he stormed off.
She supposed that’s what she got for expecting that things might go differently, for imagining that Viunwei was actually going to treat her like an equal. They had cycled through this back-and-forth with all the consistency of the moons, and it always ended up the same: because she hadn’t completed her Tengmunji, she would always be denied a voice. She was too old for a child’s careless freedom, but too young on a technicality for the responsibilities of an adult. Even the promise of a new world opening tomorrow wasn’t balm enough for the years of chafing anger that had built up.
How many times had she fallen into daydreams about what her Tengmunji should have been? The lowering of the Sky Bridge’s rope, the lighting of t
he Batengmun’s Lantern, the last look at the hmun making its biennial pilgrimage, leaving her and the rest of the batengmun behind to find their way into adulthood. She had seen it from the other side seven times over, ever-impatient for her turn.
She supposed she should be thankful that she was too young for the last Tengmunji. Better to be with the hmun than trapped alone with the fall of the Sky Bridge.
Right?
“I’m going to bed.” Viunwei’s voice, softened from the other room, still hardened from his anger, pulled Sohmeng back to herself. Back to the cool floor of their empty home, the great lonely quiet of their too-large shared space. “You should, too. Tomorrow won’t be easy.”
Sohmeng took out her bun, letting her dark hair tumble down to her shoulders in a thick tangle. Tomorrow she would walk along the outside of the mountain, feast her eyes on the expanse of Eiji’s jungle, on the mountains curved like the hipbones of the gods. It had been years since she last laid eyes on the fullness of the lost territories. A different cycle. A different life.
“Goodnight, Sohmeng,” Viunwei called, and something like regret lingered on the edges of his words. Sohmeng said nothing, taking her dice from her pocket and retreating to her room.
Sohmeng wasn’t sure which came first: the ringing of the morning bells or the opening of her eyes. Sleep had come in restless fits and bursts, her body jittery with anticipation that had carried through to the morning. The only proof that she had dozed at all was the gentle ache where her dice pressed into her closed fist—she must have drifted off while fidgeting with them.
She rose and splashed her face with water before rinsing her bangs and giving them a good fluff with her fingers. As she chewed on a stalk of lemongrass to get the morning taste out of her mouth, she heard Viunwei getting ready in the next room. It struck her that his life would be changing as much as her own today; she wondered how he was feeling about it.
Her answer came in the form of a loud clatter of a falling vanity bowl, followed by a muffled curse. It seemed that anxiety was on the agenda for this morning.
Sohmeng picked at a piece of lemongrass caught in the gap between her front teeth, considering. Checking on Viunwei was the kind thing to do, especially given how last night had played out. They could go to breakfast together, put on the performance of a stable and supportive family.
Another noise came from his room, the familiar sound of a head banging into the too-sloped roof and the substantially louder curse that followed. Sending out a silent apology to whatever of her parents remained in the house, Sohmeng grabbed her bowl and slipped quickly out the door. After all, today was something to be celebrated: no more babysitting! No more miserable, menial tasks! This was the first day of her adult life, and she wasn’t going to let it be spoiled by one of Viunwei’s moods.
The main hall was busy with the morning rush of the hmun, families gathered around small fires, cooking and sharing their portions of the communal breakfast. The mountain’s harvest had been strong for the past week, which made for larger portions, and a satisfied air hummed across the room as people doled out boiled eggs, dried fruit, and steaming, meaty mushrooms in rich dark sauce. She held her bowl out to be filled by one of the neighbours, thanking him graciously, and even more graciously ignoring the cocked eyebrow he gave in response as she happily made her way to an empty table. Knowing what was to come today, she didn’t even feel lonely.
I can totally do this, she thought, looking around with no small amount of smugness at the main hall. None of them have any idea, but today I’m going prove just how capable I am.
As she dug into her mushrooms, a warm voice spoke from behind her: “‘And how the sky cleared for the people of The Last City of Polhmun Ão, and they danced in the streets as though they had embers between their toes!’” Before the line was even finished, Sohmeng was grinning, and she turned to face her Grandmother Mi.
“‘And the gods looked down upon them with gratitude, for they could see their children were ready, at last, to receive their divine knowledge,’” Sohmeng recited back with ease—the epic of Polhmun Ão had been one of her staple bedtime stories. Re-enacting her favourite parts with the children she watched was one of the only good parts of her job—her former job, she remembered with another grin.
Grandmother Mi tugged on Sohmeng’s ear with a mischievous smile and took the seat beside her. “You are glowing, my Sohmeng. Bright as any moon.”
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening. It’s been so long, I was starting to think that I would never . . .” she trailed off, embarrassed to be admitting her fears aloud.
“‘Never’ is a lazy word,” Grandmother Mi tutted, patting her granddaughter’s leg. “A lazy word for unimaginative people.”
“Like Viunwei?” Sohmeng sniped in spite of herself, popping another mushroom in her mouth.
Her grandmother hummed a sound that could have been a laugh if it wasn’t so tired. “Viunwei is more imaginative than you think, my girl. It is what makes him so terribly afraid. Your Damdão Kelho was like that too, do you remember? Too clever for his own good; it bled into all his caring.”
That was true enough—Rikelho Fua had always been the fussiest of her parental figures. Her parents had both been born female, and Rikelho had taken the role of damwei, her and Viunwei’s biological father, providing the necessities for a baby and extra grounding energy from the white moon Chehang to balance out Lahni’s Par influence. He had never settled in a family of his own, and had often looked after her and Viunwei when their parents descended the mountain for trading. She still missed him, sometimes. She missed all of them.
“Sohmeng,” Grandmother Mi said, shaking her from the memory, “despite our greatest wishes and best intentions, we all build our own nevers in this life. Even me. Today, when you look upon Eiji, face your nevers with courage, and they will yield to you.”
“I . . . thank you, Grandmother Mi.” Sohmeng wasn’t sure what to make of that. The words seemed nearly premonitory, heavy in the air around the popping lightness of her eagerness. But before she could investigate them further, the second bells rang, calling the hmun to the dais for morning announcements.
“Oh my creaking knees, is that the time?” Grandmother Mi lifted herself with a grunt. “That old canker sore Ginhãe will never let me hear the end of it if I’m late. I’ll see you tonight, my Sohmeng.”
The old woman made her way to where all of the most mobile Grand Ones were seated, and Sohmeng scarfed down her breakfast and went to join the gathering throng of the hmun.
In truth, she only half-listened to the first portion of the announcements as she gnawed at a dried apricot. Lunar reports, general notes about hmun cooperation, birthdays—it was the assignment changes she was really here for. Sure, she knew about the oncoming shift in her role, but the rest of the hmun didn’t, and she was dying to see the looks on their faces. Troublesome Sohmeng Par, noticed at last for her ingenuity. This was better than her first sixteen birthdays combined.
She glanced around the room for the other batengmun kar, wondering how they might react to the announcement, if they would say anything to her at all. Not that she cared—if they wanted to avoid her for the sake of sucking up to the Grand Ones, that was their problem. But her advocating for this change could impact all of their futures. Maybe this would change something. Maybe they would sit with her again at breakfast.
As one of the oracles was stepping up to say something about Ama’s influence on the week’s labour division, Viunwei arrived by her side. He stared up at the dais, brow creased with severity, eyes as anxious as she had ever seen them. She looked away with a scowl—was he seriously playing chaperone for her again? Now, of all times?
“We have some assignment changes for this morning,” called one of the leaders. “Please listen closely for your names . . .”
“Sohmeng,” Viunwei said softly, then hesitated. Frankly, she was astounded that he would dare to interrupt the riveting once-in-a-morning oppo
rtunity to listen to announcements.
“What?” she said, not looking at him.
“I—” he cut himself off, hesitating again, then tried to take her hand in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. She shook it off with a scoff, trying to figure out what had been done to the standoffish prince who was her brother.
“What’s your problem?” she hissed. One of the people beside her glanced over, and she rolled her eyes.
“About last night—”
“Viunwei Soon,” called the announcer. “You will be shadowing Tsatong Soon, alongside the other coordinators. Please report to him for your assignment.”
A soft murmur rippled the crowd, eyes falling on Viunwei. He broke his gaze from Sohmeng, bowing his head in respectful gratitude, and walked to his assigned mentor. A prestigious role to begin in, obviously. Sohmeng took a deep breath, pushing back the uncertainty that had bubbled up with her brother’s attempt at what might have been reconciliation.
Talk about bad timing, she thought. Some Soon you are.
“Sohmeng Par,” the announcer continued. Sohmeng’s head shot up, her heart lifted— “please report to the north entrance of the main hall.”
Sohmeng had to clench her jaw to keep it from dropping to the floor. Was it so much to ask for just a touch of recognition? Shoulders slumped, she manoeuvred her way through the crowd, doing her best to look appreciative.
Beneath the entrance to the north wing of the caves, she saw none other than Jinho Tang waving to her with climbing equipment slung over his shoulder. She couldn’t help but feel awkward as she made her way over, the long-time familiarity between them tainted by her knowledge of how Viunwei was behaving.
“Hey, Jinho,” she began, peering behind him to see if anyone else was waiting for her. “I was just . . .”
“Looking for me, actually!” Jinho smiled warmly, wrapping his hands in waxed grip fabric. “I’ll be training you today. Many congratulations on inheriting Viunwei’s spot. You must be really excited.”