by Avi Silver
She stroked his hair, catching herself before she chirped out of habit. It was something she had gotten used to with Hei and she was still remembering how to act with someone who wasn’t used to running with a six-legged crowd.
“I think...I think I’m done,” Ahn said, nodding slightly to himself. “I’m sorry again—”
“I already told you to stuff it the first time,” Sohmeng said, really nailing the whole nurturing thing. “It isn’t your fault. Come here. Looking at it probably isn’t going to make you feel any better you know.”
She half-dragged Ahn over to a shady spot near Mama. Despite the fact that he was pure muscle and nearly a head taller than her, he felt light against her body, more fragile than she expected. He looked wary at the sight of the sãoni so close by; Sohmeng placed herself between them as a barrier.
What was she supposed to say to him now? This whole poisoning situation wasn’t in any way her fault, but she couldn’t help but feel responsible for Hei’s behaviour. They were her partner, her mate, and as much as she was dreading the conversation, it looked like she needed to lay down some serious boundaries on Ahn’s behalf.
Once he was looking a little less miserable, Ahn broke the silence. “Was it the...” He paused, struggling for the word. “On the saka fruit, the—?”
His poor excuse of a pantomime was a sight to behold. “The skin. Yeah.”
“Skin!” Ahn said with a hum. Somehow, he made it seem like the new word was more important than the context in which he’d learned it. “The saka skin.”
“I’m sorry,” Sohmeng said, uncomfortable. “Hei should have told you. I don’t know why they didn’t.”
Concern creased Ahn’s brow. Sweat was still beaded on his forehead. “No,” he insisted. “No, no! Not Hei’s fault, I did not know. I have done this, when I got lost. And in Qiao Sidh. I am bad alone in the wild, eating bad things.”
Sohmeng could not figure out for the life of her why he was trying to be reassuring. His level of accomodation was actually bordering on offensive. “Okay, but Hei—”
“No, no, no!” He waved his hands at her, as if trying to brush the situation off. Mama watched them move, resting her throat on the ground. “I understand. A joke, right? Funny joke.” He smiled weakly. “Hei did a joke.”
Hei had never willingly done a joke in their life. At least, not outside of the few shy attempts they’d made to impress Sohmeng, and none of those had involved making her lose her lunch. She had to wonder what kind of jokes Ahn was used to if he thought this sort of thing was normal. Her disbelief must have come through in her expression, because he tried again, resting a hand on her arm. It was shaking.
“No need to upset, Sohmeng,” he insisted. Godless night. She’d eat saka skin herself if he wasn’t born under a super masculine lunar phase—how non-confrontational could a person get? It was a miracle he could even lift a sword.
“Kind of need to upset, Ahnschen,” she said, looking out in the direction Hei had gone.
“My...” A bubble of a laugh escaped his lips. “You said it right.”
“Of course I did. I’m the best.” She stood up, brushing off her knees, and gave him one last lookover to be sure he wouldn’t croak while she was gone. This conversation might take a while. “I’m going to get you more water, okay?”
Sensing her departure, Mama leaned in to Sohmeng with a friendly rumble. Sohmeng sighed, rubbing the sãoni’s cheeks; they felt warm, their texture lumpier than usual. She’d have to ask Hei about it when she was done explaining that not killing people was a key part of being decent. The sãoni inched closer to Ahn, and Sohmeng took the opportunity to rub her face into his hair one last time, chirping out an affectionate sound. It wasn’t quite a bite, but it had done her well so far.
To his credit, Ahn didn’t pull back. In fact, he seemed to lean in, going along with the motion. He really knew how to roll with the punches, or maybe he was just feeling overwhelmed enough from the week he’d had that even her ungainly attempts at caregiving were working. Sohmeng looked back at Mama, leaning in and speaking in conspiratorial Atengpa: “Seriously, seriously, please do not eat this man while I am gone. I mean it. Not even a nibble.”
Mama chirped, bumping against her belly. She’d have to assume that was a yes.
“Sohmeng?” Ahn craned his neck to look at her, exposing the ridge on his throat. He was made of sharp lines, perpetually softened by his good-natured demeanour. With the armour off and the sword away, it was easier with every passing day to see that he did not mean them any harm.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” she said. “Mama will look out for you—just stay close to her and there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.” The colony hadn’t eaten him yet, after all—and his hair was an ongoing deterrent. “Drink that water. And try to get some rest.”
Pushing through low-hanging vines, Sohmeng headed in the direction of the freshwater stream she and Hei had scouted out. She had memorized the route in landmarks: through the first wide clearing, past the toothed plants that were not to be touched under any circumstance, a left before the sour smelling anthills, and toward the gossiping gurgle of moving water. She took her time as she walked, fidgeting with the string of wovenstone beads she had taken from Sodão Dangde. The plan was to sew some of them onto Hei’s vest, but for now they were nice to hold in her hand, a piece of an old home to ground her in the new.
It was hard to feel grounded right now—her head was spinning with hurt and frustration. The two of them had just discussed Ahn’s treatment the previous night. How had it gone so wrong?
There would be no fixing anything if she stormed over yelling right now; she needed to cool down first. It stung to feel betrayed, but while Hei could be hot-headed, they weren’t one to lie or suddenly go back on their word. There had to be something she was missing.
She counted through the cycles under her breath, swaying her arms in the long ferns. Eventually, a sour smell made her wrinkle her nose. But before she could go any further, there was Hei.
They were standing in front of a plant with massive curved leaves, folding them and decanting dew into a gourd. The two of them had drunk from those leaves before, slurping from the curve of them and marveling at the sweet, clear taste—better than stream water by far. It was a nice gesture, for them to be collecting it now for Ahn. She pulled her own gourd out to help them. It was always easier to talk about hard things when they were both using their hands.
Hei clicked quietly at her, and she returned the sound to the best of her ability. For a while, neither of them spoke. Sohmeng had gone in with her usual gusto the night before, and it hadn’t worked; this time, she would wait to see what Hei had to say first.
Several empty leaves and heavy sighs later, they finally spoke.
“I don’t know that word,” they said.
“What?” Sohmeng was confused. “What word?”
“Hospitality,” Hei said carefully. Their eyes met hers briefly, at once inquiring and shy. “What does it mean?”
“Oh.” She paused her work, taken aback. She was used to explaining words to Ahn, not Hei. But she was glad they had apparently taken her words to heart. “It’s like...being good to someone on a communal level. Treating them properly when they’re a guest in your home. I guess it isn’t used as much in Ateng because we’re all in each other’s business all the time, but it’s a really important notion for traders. The word for it, kejangar, is used a lot in Dulpongpa.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Sohmeng laughed, crouching for a lower leaf. The dewy water shimmered at her in the light. “It’s about trust, isn’t it? Letting strangers into your home, or entering a place where you don’t know anyone? The hmun network might have its peace agreements, but people do bad things sometimes. Both parties need to know their kindness isn’t going to get them killed.”
“...I wasn’t trying to kill him, Sohmeng,” they said, clicking a little defensively.
“But you made him sick, Hei.”
She thought of Ahn’s expression, his eagerness to excuse the whole thing as some prank. “That wasn’t funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“Then what happened?” Sohmeng asked, trying not to sound exasperated. “I’m just confused, Hei. I’m trying to understand.”
“He’s so—” Hei cut themself off with a sãoni growl. She could see the way their fingers clenched around the water gourd, the way they tensed their jaw as they searched for the right words. “Like a loud little monkey, jumping around. Calling danger and causing problems.”
“I don’t think he’s trying to, Hei.”
“I agree.” Sohmeng tried not to look too surprised. “You are, you are right, Sohmeng. He does not mean to be so much trouble, he does not try to hurt us on purpose, but he does it anyway. Careless.” They rubbed their temples, smearing their makeup beneath their fingers. “Careless. And I tried to be nice, I tried to behave as you asked, but everywhere he walks is trouble, and it makes me angry. I feel angry to look at him here, when his hmun has broken so much. So when he picked up the saka and bit into it before I could stop him...”
“You let it happen,” Sohmeng finished.
“I would not have let him have more than one,” Hei continued miserably. “Maybe I should not have let him have any at all. But I was angry, and I wanted him to learn, and so I was careless too. And now we are all unhappy.”
Burning godseye, did Sohmeng understand this. It was so easy to make impulsive decisions when she was angry. The Grand Ones had enough stories of her past transgressions to get the hmun through a whole Jeji phase of storytelling. For all that she could be frustrated by what Hei had done, she also could empathize.
What was it the Grand Ones had said to her at Chehangma’s Gate? Being upset does not require you to have a reaction?
Now that was shortsighted advice if she’d ever heard it. Feelings demanded to be felt, and reacting to them was inevitable, a simple matter of cause and effect. It was wrong to tell people to just ignore the signs their body was giving them—but it was also really wrong to poison people out of spite. As much as Sohmeng hated to admit it, big emotions weren’t an excuse for bad behaviour. But they had to be worked with somehow.
Why had no one thought to teach her this? Did they not know how? Were her feelings truly so frightening that everyone had expected her to just stifle them completely? Look how far that had gotten Viunwei.
She sighed, taking Hei’s hands in hers. She had no idea what she was doing, but she didn’t want to leave them alone with this. “Thank you for explaining. I understand better now.”
“Are you still mad?” they asked, looking up at her.
“I mean, kind of, yeah?” She laughed a little, nuzzling her cheek into theirs. “That was really uncool, Hei. It was mean. But I also want you to know that you’re allowed to be upset, too. You’re even allowed to show it! That’s important. But sometimes there are consequences—” She wrinkled her nose at the word. What had she become? “And if the way you show that you’re upset really hurts people... that’s not okay. So be mad, if you need to be mad—but find a way to do it that doesn’t put anyone in danger. Okay?”
They clicked quietly in understanding, not quite meeting her eye. Sohmeng leaned in, pressing their foreheads together firmly. She wished she could end the conversation there, with some half-decent advice and everything cleared up. Things would be so much easier if this was just about Ahn. But it wasn’t.
“Hei, I need to know—” She stopped, distracted by the tension in her chest. It wasn’t often that she was scared to ask questions. “The sãoni. They’re hunters, and they—well, they...” Hei chirped at her, concerned. “Have you seen them eat people?”
Hei pulled back a little, their expression unreadable. Sohmeng had needed to ask this ever since she saw them all but set Green Bites on Ahn, since she watched how their fear could turn so easily to bloodlust.
“Other bahãokar,” Sohmeng continued. “Or traders, or travellers like Ahn.” Or my parents. She struggled against the thought even as it pushed down upon her, heavy as the currents of the Ãotul. It wasn’t something she knew how to manage; it made her want to kick and scream like a child. “We’re not the only people who walk Eiji, and I know that the sãoni are predators, and that things happen sometimes but... but have you been there? Have you let it happen before?”
“I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to, Sohmeng.” Their voice was very grave.
“Please answer the question.”
When Hei spoke, it was careful, as though the wrong thing could shatter the very air around them. “...once before, we encountered an exile from another hmun. It did not end well. I didn’t enjoy it.” There was no shame in their voice, no despair. But Sohmeng could see the way the memory haunted them, this ghost of the humanity they could not shake completely away. “It is why I forced the colony’s hand and marked you as a mate. I did not want to watch that happen again.”
A pained laugh escaped Sohmeng. The relief she felt was indescribable, matched only by the fear that came from the grim reality: they could not mark everyone who got in the sãoni’s path. “I don’t ever want to see that, Hei. I don’t want to kill people.”
They spoke with nearly parental patience. “Nature is—”
“I know,” she said, cutting them off. “I know, Hei. But that, that’s my boundary. That’s too much for me.” She remembered the waiting, the great quiet that came from Eiji after her parents left her. The phases passing into cycles into years, all the neighbours who never came home. The collective nightmares about the creatures she now fell asleep on. “Eiji is my home, but so is Ateng. I have human family and I have sãoni family, and I don’t want them to hurt each other. I won’t be a part of it.”
Hei nodded, pulling her close. For a while they just held her, undemanding. This was usually the point where she’d crack a joke, pull away—but it was a relief, to let an old wound be nursed. She closed her eyes, nuzzling into their neck. Feelings demand to be felt, she thought once more, secretly wishing the sentiment could apply to everyone but her.
“This is hard,” she admitted.
Hei clicked in agreement.
“I’m glad you’re here with me.”
“Me too, Sohmeng Minhal.”
She smiled against their shoulder, a nervous jolt going through her to hear the name from their mouth. She had been trying it on in her head ever since that night in the caves, trying to reshape the notion of who she was. Sharing it with Ahn had been a huge step; she hadn’t been sure if she’d wanted to sing or puke. But when Hei said it to her—Sohmeng Minhal, are you listening?—it felt wonderful. It made her feel real.
“Thank you for being so protective of everyone,” she said, giving them a kiss. “It’s really obvious how much you care.” Hei’s eyes went wide at the kiss, and she could imagine the way they flushed underneath their charcoal makeup. That never got old. She grinned, ready to go in for another, but they beat her to it, nearly tripping over themself in the process.
Sohmeng squeaked in surprise, laughing between kisses as they tumbled to the ground. It had been a while since the two of them had really had any time to themselves. No harm in enjoying it now, she thought, tugging at their sãoni skin vest.
It was only later, when she was reaching for the water gourd, that Sohmeng remembered Ahn.
“Oh godless night—” She fixed her hair frantically as the two of them barreled back toward the camp. A nearby sãoni raised its head at her, squawking curiously. “He’s dead, he’s so dead, I’m such a moron, he’s probably halfway to Green Bites’ lower intestine by now—”
“M-maybe not?” Hei offered helpfully.
“Godless night, burning freaking godseye Sohmeng Minhal!” she cursed at herself. All that talk about not wanting to see anyone get killed, and Ahn was probably a stain on the forest floor. Or chased up a tree and left to starve. Could he even climb? She stumbled back into the clearing, out of breath. “Ahn! Ahn, I’m so so—�
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She skidded to a halt.
Just as Sohmeng could not have handled the sight of Ahn’s mangled body, she wasn’t sure anything could have prepared her for the even stranger reality before her: Ahn, cuddled against Mama, surrounded by broken eggshells. He was sitting perfectly still as two tiny, still-slimy hatchlings crawled all over him, squeaking up a storm.
“Oh,” she said. Behind her, Hei let out a sound that wasn’t Sãonipa, but certainly didn’t qualify as a word.
“I tried to call you,” Ahn said, frozen as a tiny set of claws scrabbled at his hair. Mama growled happily, nosing at him. “But I don’t think you heard?”
Balancing on a creature with three times as many legs as Ahn was used to had not failed to lose its novelty. The sãoni propelled themselves through the jungle, only stopping when they encountered something their powerful claws could not manage to climb over or shred through. Which was to say, not much at all. Ahn was thankful to be riding with Sohmeng on Singing Violet; it was easier with his arms around someone who knew how to properly hold onto their head spines. Plus, the company was friendly.
Hei rode beside them on Green Bites, Singing Violet’s mate. While this particular sãoni seemed to be a troublemaker in general, Ahn could not shake the feeling that it was sizing him up. There were so many levels on which that wasn’t necessary, but Ahn couldn’t speak Sãonipa, so he mostly just kept his eyes ahead.
The colony had returned to the migration route this morning, after a couple phases—he was still getting used to their lunar calendar—of rest and good hunting. They had covered miles of land in a matter of hours, led by Mama and the four healthy hatchlings that clung to her. Getting them to detach from him had been difficult; in the days since they’d been born, the first two to hatch had been especially clingy with Ahn. Apparently this wasn’t unusual—a stunned Hei had explained that sãoni tend to latch on to the creatures they see in the moments after they leave the egg. Ahn just happened to be the lucky party.
“I would like to be a father one day,” he’d said, wincing as Sohmeng had uncurled the hatchlings’ claws from his shoulder, “but this was not what I imagined.”
