by Avi Silver
She shifted closer to Hei, her fingers hard at work untangling their hair, nails lightly scratching at the base of their scalp. They sighed against her, chirping into the soft fold in her neck, undoubtedly smearing even more charcoal all over her. She didn’t mind.
“You know,” she said, watching the moons, “this is actually a pretty auspicious phase for what’s going on. Chehang is really, well, open I guess. Open to change. And Ama is learning to give up some of her control.” She readjusted her head on the pillow of her arm. “It’s why Tangs can be difficult—they’re super compassionate, but they’re really reluctant to change anything that disturbs their worldview. And they can get so passive aggressive.”
Beside her, the muscles in Hei’s neck had stiffened slightly, their body tensing against some invisible force. It struck Sohmeng that they might be a Tang, and she backpedaled quickly, not wanting to spoil their evening.
“I mean, I like them though!” she continued quickly. “My brother, Viunwei, his boyfriend is a Tang.” She tried to stop herself from babbling, but her mouth had different ideas. “At least, I hope they’re still together. It was weird before I left, they had a lot to work out, but maybe me falling off a cliff was good for them? Viunwei is a Soon so he responds to everything so dramatically, and Jinho Tang would definitely want to be there for him even though he was being a huge jerk before—”
“You know a lot about this,” Hei said suddenly.
She stopped her detangling. “I mean, yeah? It’s important.”
“Important.” There was something biting about their tone, a dismissiveness that set Sohmeng on edge.
“It helps me understand my place in the world,” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. “It helps the whole hmun. I mean, that’s why we all study phasal influence, isn’t it? The phases lay out our roles, they bring . . . social clarity, I guess. You know, when the gods’ will is interpreted fairly.”
A beat of silence passed between them. The sky suddenly seemed cramped to Sohmeng, the moons bright with judgement. She bit the inside of her cheek, frowning at them. She probably didn’t have much right to follow the phases as closely as she did, given what she was, but studying them felt like a good way to make up for it.
“Who determines what’s fair?” Hei asked, propping themself up.
“What?”
“Who chooses? Who makes these rules?”
“I mean, Ama and Chehang—”
“No,” they interrupted, shaking their head. “No, the gods have their moods, but the . . . the people determine how others should be treated. How they should act. Have you ever considered that people might behave certain ways because they’re trained to from birth? You’re a Par, so you’re going to argue. Your brother’s a Soon, so he’s going to be a leader. Would either of you be that way if you hadn’t been told so your whole life?”
“What are you getting at?” Sohmeng could sense her body gearing up for a fight. Pounding heart, heat in her hands—it was bizarre, how similar it felt to what she experienced when she kissed Hei. She crossed her arms, closing herself off as the old familiar curtain of dismissal shut on her.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter.” They shrugged, not meeting her eye. “Maybe the phases don’t have to mean anything.”
So many times, the hmun had rejected Sohmeng for not being mindful enough of the gods’ will; now here she was, being pushed aside for considering them too much. The dissonance made her uncomfortable, as though she was suddenly some sort of advocate for the traditions of the hmun that had rejected her. And yet she found herself defending them, anger winning out to reason.
“They mean something to me,” she said tersely.
“Does it help you, though? Does being called Par really make you feel like you belong?” This wasn’t something she wanted to answer. It wasn’t something she had an answer for. It was too much, to have her confidence be tested, to be seen so thoroughly by someone who wasn’t even trying. “Is there really so much harm in questioning—”
“Not all of us are rushing to abandon our hmun, Hei!” she snapped, and instantly regretted the words.
Hei’s eyes widened a fraction; their chest crunched inward as though she’d driven her closed fist into it. For all they made a show of not caring about the hmun, of treating it with disinterest or disdain, Sohmeng had experienced that reaction enough times herself to know it stemmed from hurt. Rejection. She felt stupid a dozen times over—Hei was an exile, and here she was, throwing it back in their face. A lot of good that auspicious Tang phase was doing her now.
“Hei, I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her arm, trying to wipe away the harm she’d caused. “That—that wasn’t fair.”
Hei said nothing, tucking their knees to their chest like a child bearing the same old scolding. The light of the moons stopped just in front of them, never quite touching.
“Really,” she tried again, “I was—I was out of line.” A memory arose: a roomful of heavy sighing, the disappointment on her brother’s face— “Completely out of line.”
“But it’s okay, right?” Their words were sharp with sarcasm, harsh with hurt. “It’s expected, because you’re Par. It’s just in your special nature, and I should let it go because the gods say so.”
Sohmeng clenched her fists, stung. She deserved that. “No. I’m telling you I was unfair, and I’m apologizing—”
“You know what?” Hei stood, their jaw clenched, assuming that intimidating predator’s stance they wore when they were on the verge of tears. “I’m glad that I’m hãokar. I’m glad they don’t want me. I don’t want them either. And I don’t want apologies from someone who’s never understood what it’s like to be outcast in her life.”
Sohmeng wanted to be the bigger person, to take their righteous anger with humility and show the balance that existed within the Par phase she was meant to claim—but she couldn’t. She couldn’t be something her brother was proud of. She couldn’t honour her parents. She couldn’t be initiated. She couldn’t be enough.
And suddenly she was done pretending she ever stood a chance against herself.
“Minhal!” she shouted, the word echoing through the caves, bouncing off the sleeping sãoni. Hei froze where they stood, stunned, and Sohmeng felt nearly sick with hurt at the horror on their face. They didn’t care about the phases, apparently didn’t even believe in the will of the gods, and yet they were still afraid of her. But as always, she couldn’t let it go. “Sohmeng Minhal. That was—that was my name for the first hour of my life. I was an accident, come early, determined to, determined to be trouble from the start. My grandmother lied for my parents, called me an early Par, and the village was so busy getting ready to cross to Fochão Dangde that they just accepted it. They let it go, and I lived, and I was raised in Par.”
She stepped back to the edge of the cave, allowing the light of her estranged gods to fall upon her. She should have been afraid, should have cowered in the dark, and yet she was only emboldened by her admission. Try me, she thought furiously. Push me from the mountain a second time. Prove your disdain, show me how terrible I really am.
“I didn’t even know it until I was eight, when I started studying the phases. I asked so many questions, and my father was acting so strangely and my mother was so frustrated with him and then she—she just told me. She told me, because she thought I had a right to the truth. Like a real Par would do.” She laughed, feeling the tension like a knife in her throat. Hei watched from the shadows, silent. “My Grandmother Mi was on her side. She said that it would be in the hmun’s best interest to let the tradition of exiling go, but that they weren’t ready yet. So I lied. And my parents died. And the Sky Bridge fell. And I couldn’t be initiated. And when I tried to prove I belonged, I was, I was thrown from the mountain. So don’t tell me that I’ve never been an exile!”
She wasn’t sure when she had started crying. It had never been her preferred method of releasing pain—most of the time, she just shouted until she felt bet
ter. But here she was, breathless and weeping and staring Hei down like it was the last day of her life. In a way, it was.
It terrified her to admit this. It felt so good that she didn’t know what to do with herself. These feelings warred within her, moons at odds despite all their phasal promises. Chest heaving, she stared at Hei, searching for a response. For disgust, or compassion, or validation. But as always, they were an enigma to her, their eyes averted like a shamed warrior, one arm wrapped around themself. She clenched her fists, burning. Wanting.
When Hei finally spoke, they didn’t have much to offer. “I’m sorry for what I said, too.” It came out muted, anticlimactic. Deeply unsatisfying. Apparently even the hãokar couldn’t escape the influence of Ateng, couldn’t release the caution and tradition they had been raised in. Her heart hardened around itself as she wiped her eyes, searching for barriers to build.
That’s it? she wanted to ask.
“It’s fine,” she said.
More silence. Hei seemed at a loss for words. It made Sohmeng feel very, very tired. “Let’s just go to bed, alright?” Her voice was soft, not easily recognizable as her own. She shifted back into the cave, nodding Hei over, wanting to warm herself where her skin had suddenly cooled like sãoni at dusk. They approached her carefully, fidgeting, and lay down beside her. For once in her life, Sohmeng didn’t have it in her to argue.
It’s not what a Par child would have done. It’s not even what she would have done that morning. But Sohmeng Minhal had always wanted to please the gods that had forgotten her, so she closed her eyes and settled close to Hei, heavy with her own quiet exile.
Sohmeng awoke thinking she was still in Fochão Dangde. It must have been the air, blanketed in cool damp, untouched by the sunlight spilling into Eiji. As her ears caught the soft, rhythmic drip of water from somewhere in the cave, she half-expected to hear the murmurs of the hmun preparing for the day’s activities along with it, to see Viunwei fussing over his reflection in a vanity bowl. Instead, what she saw were the sãoni, throats still glowing as they stretched their necks toward the sunnier parts of the cave. She sat up blearily, orienting herself as she kneaded at her sore neck.
Hei had already risen and was sitting against the pair of sãoni, stroking their flat noses. For all they had been angry last night, spitting out their hurt like rotten fruit, they appeared to have simmered down overnight. Their fingers traced around Singing Violet’s eyes in a rhythm that seemed to soothe the great creature as much as Hei themself.
Her stomach flipped; that’s right, the sãoni were staying here. They would be hiking the rest of the way on foot. She wasn’t exactly eager to get back on Singing Violet, but neither was she looking forward to being alone with Hei. They might have slept off their upset, but Sohmeng didn’t feel much better upon waking, and the idea of making such an intimate journey together felt nearly intrusive. Not that she ever had a shot of navigating the mountain alone.
She tugged at her bangs in frustration—when had she become such a coward? She had never been one to avoid confrontation in the past, even if it was bound to result in ugliness. So what was her problem?
She recalled a conversation from many phases ago: I was raised in the feminine. Par, specifically—super feminine! I’m an arguer, direct.
Reality weighed heavy in her stomach. She wasn’t able to claim that sort of truth anymore. Perhaps it hadn’t ever been hers to begin with, but last night she had finally admitted it to herself and another, in full view of the gods.
She had no place in Par.
Having spoken it aloud, she felt suddenly torn from a part of her identity, without any way of understanding what truths of her remained. While she had to admit there was something freeing about Hei’s idea that the laws of the phases were arbitrary, giving it too much power made her feel tremendously off-balance. All she had ever known were the divine mathematics of Ama and Chehang; if the numbers were meaningless, what was left? Without that structure, how could she know who she was, where she belonged?
She straightened her shoulders. She supposed she just had to decide for herself what kind of person she was going to be today.
“Hey,” she called, snatching onto the first instinct that whirred by her. “What’s for breakfast?” At least for now, the truth remained that she was still obnoxious.
Hei kept stroking the slumbering sãoni. “I thought we might forage as we walk. Fiddleheads grow well in the high mists. If we’re lucky, we can bring some back down by the end of this.”
“Or share them with the batengmun,” Sohmeng said, standing and rolling her neck, “if they’re not dead.”
Hei rested their hands in their lap, not offering a verbal response. Sohmeng had gotten familiar enough with their silences to know that this was a reaction to something external rather than something from within. Were they judging her as callous? Because, well, she was. But they had never seemed to mind it much before. She tugged her bangs again, irritated by her overthinking. Godless night, she was acting like Viunwei.
“Come on,” she said, nodding Hei over. “Before Green Bites wakes up and bullies you into a belly rub.”
Making the climb was no easy task. Sodão Dangde’s terrain was unpredictable, full of loose schist and sudden drops. On top of that, the yellowbills continued to take their territory very seriously. But when Sohmeng actually glimpsed the number of nests tucked into the cracks in Sodão Dangde’s cliffside, she was dumbfounded. Without the hmun to farm the mountain, the ecosystem had been allowed to flourish. Logically, she knew that was the primary reason for the hmun’s cyclical pilgrimage anyway. But seeing it up close was a reminder of how many resources humans required to survive, and of how effortlessly the rest of nature got on with itself regardless of disruption.
A broken rope, and the hmun faced extinction. An infestation of humans, and the birds just flew elsewhere. How dangerous it was to depend on the goodwill of the world around them, to put their lives into the hands of such precarious structure.
It made her wonder what value the structures had in the first place, if it was so easy to knock the feet from underneath them. Maybe it was a matter of keeping faith in an illusion, seeking comfort in perceived safety. After all, when the Sky Bridge fell, there was honour placed upon explorers and shame upon the hãokar, despite the fact that they were being sent to their deaths either way.
She ran her fingers along a rope of sturdy, flowering vines, giving them a light tug. They were springy, with a waxy texture to them that she could easily envision dried into fibrous strands for ropemaking. Her ring glinted in the light, a wink of silver against dark slate and petals the colour of sunrise.
When she had fallen, it felt deserved. Unfair, but earned. Losing her hmun was frightening and destabilizing, but there was a sense of expectation there. When you swing carelessly from a rope, it is likely to snap. When you push the laws of the hmun by advancing before your time, the laws will push back. When you spend sixteen years lying, the consequences are bound to be catastrophic when you’re discovered. Maybe she didn’t like what had happened to her, but there was a sense of logic to it that helped her survive it.
Ahead, Hei was combing through a massive fluffy fern for any hidden fiddleheads; Sohmeng squatted beside them, assisting in their search, still considering. It hurt more to lose something you had chosen rather than something that was imposed. It was easier to fail at someone else’s game than to mess up one of your own making. Perhaps that was the value of the hmun’s rigidity—with rules to follow and consequences to expect, even pain was predictable. Now, as she walked with Hei from a place with no law but the food chain, it became clear that loss meant something very different when you lived a life of your own design.
Did Hei feel like they had lost something last night when they learned Sohmeng was Minhal? They had been nervous all day, restless in response to Sohmeng’s relative calm. It was an odd role-reversal. As they continued their ascent, Hei only got more anxious, emitting aggravated grunts and missing what
was right in front of them. Sohmeng had never been the better forager of the two, but here she was, the travel bag around her thigh stuffed full of food while Hei had hardly found a thing.
Suddenly, Hei stopped in their tracks. They turned in place, chewing their lip. “What is it?” Sohmeng asked, peering around them. She couldn’t see why they were hesitating; the path continued just fine. A relief, after several harrowing boosts over head-high boulders.
“This isn’t—” They pushed around the foliage that hung against the wall of the mountain. “There’s a, a thing. I can’t find it.”
“What kind of thing?”
“It’s a, a slot, sort of. It’s not—I thought it was here.” They crouched down, digging through the bushes with distracted hands.
“A slot, sort of,” Sohmeng repeated, crossing her arms. Hei’s descriptive language left a lot to be desired. “Can you give me anything else? Maybe I can help you—”
The short laugh that came out of them was uncharacteristically bitter. “I don’t know how you could possibly help me with this.” It would have been insulting, if some instinct in Sohmeng hadn’t alerted her to the fact that it wasn’t personal. All day, there had been a wildness in their eyes, the cautious and bedraggled look of an animal at the end of a hunt. At first, Sohmeng guessed that they were still raw from last night’s fight. But now, when the time had come to stop moving and all of Hei’s nervous energy was forced to stillness, it was clear that something greater was rattling them.
“Hei,” she said, crouching beside them, but they recoiled from her as if she had stung them. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting funny all day. I know last night was hard and . . . and I’m sure I haven’t exactly been the best company today—” They were shaking their head, giving Sohmeng that look they got when they choked on their language. She took their arms gently. “No, stop it, I don’t want to argue about whether or not I’m difficult to be around. I don’t care how much you like me, you don’t get to lie and say I’m pleasant.” She smirked at Hei’s exasperated huff, their bewildered hiccup of a laugh. It was a good sign, if she could still make them laugh. She squeezed their forearms, encouraging them to pay attention. “So, just—talk to me? As best you can? Maybe sit down while you do it so you don’t flail yourself off the mountain? That’s sort of my signature move, and I’m going to get really annoyed if you take it from me.”