by Avi Silver
Sohmeng did her best to enter quietly, not wanting to be overbold in her disruption of their low, creaking conversation. Of the twenty-four Grand Ones who had the power to determine her fate, she wasn’t sure she could count ten whose good favour she was currently in. When Grandfather Se glanced at her with disinterest bordering on contempt, she felt her shoulders fall. Yet again she would have to rely on Grandmother Mi, who, as always, wore a look of faint amusement that showed off her missing tooth.
“Sohmeng Par,” the woman said with a little hum. “I hear we’ve been having trouble with the children?”
Sohmeng lowered her chin respectfully and was about to address them properly when the sounds of Viunwei’s footsteps quickly caught up with her. He stood beside her, eyes lowered, the perfect pained showcase of a shamed family member. She could have killed him right there, in full view of gods and Grand Ones alike.
“Yes, Grand Ones,” she replied, doing her best to hide all nettling thoughts of fratricide. “I came to you as quickly as I could, hoping to explain myself—”
“And we are all so eager to hear today’s explanation,” Grandfather Se snorted, bringing his cup of mountain marrow up to his big, froglike mouth. A few of the Grand Ones chuckled at that, prompting a dismayed sigh from Viunwei. Sohmeng clenched her jaw.
“I lost my patience with the children today,” she said, with great honesty and humility. “I’ll be the first to admit it. What I said was—”
“‘Fine, don’t take your bath. That’s how sãoni like their little human snacks: pungent and savoury. I’m sure the stink of you will bring them right up into the mouth of the cave,’” Grandmother Ginhãe said flatly. Sohmeng cringed. Out of the mouth of Grandmother Ginhãe, with her suspiciously perfect memory, there wasn’t much Sohmeng could argue.
“. . . a little harsh,” she hazarded, but after being met with the appalled looks of several Grand Ones, quickly amended to: “Completely out of line!”
The unhappy tisks she had come to expect were elevated to audible groaning. Beside her, Viunwei was wearing his Soh-how-could-you face so hard that she thought it might get stuck that way.
“Completely out of line,” she repeated slowly, hoping she sounded like she believed it.
“And is there a reason,” Grandfather Se asked, shifting in his chair with a grunt, “why you thought it was appropriate to frighten the children that you’re supposed to be looking after, that you’re supposed to be modelling good behaviour for, by suggesting they are snacks for the most vicious predators our hmun has ever known?”
“I guess I—I have a passion for hyperbole?” she suggested, prompting another wave of grumbling broken only by Grandmother Mi’s loud guffaw. Despite the room’s general aura of disapproval, Sohmeng was thankful for that laugh. She took a moment to gather herself as the rest of the Grand Ones got the murmuring and head-shaking out of their system. “Look, I know that I made a mistake today. A bad one. I’m short-tempered, I’m not good with kids—”
“We had hoped you might learn something from this role,” offered gentle Grandfather Tang with a tired smile. “Particularly given the extra years that you have had to spend in it.”
Sohmeng nearly laughed in his face at the suggestion that being indefinitely trapped in the role of a child could be anything other than stifling. She had lost every battle in the past where she’d begged to be allowed into adult roles despite not having completed her Tengmunji. Not like it was her fault—a surprise attack from the sãoni had doomed the last crossing the hmun ever attempted, destroying the Sky Bridge and any viable route to the twin mountain Sodão Dangde along with it.
She still remembered standing at the mouth of Fochão Dangde with the other batengmun, heart soaring as she prepared to at last have the space to grow up. And then, in a flurry of claws and shredded vines, it was gone.
She clenched her fists. As long as the Sky Bridge remained damaged and the crossing impossible, she would be refused access to the privileges of adulthood. And for as long as she was a tengmun kar, she—and the rest of those who missed their window with the fall of the Bridge—would be stuck in developmental limbo. Unable to move into their proper roles, unable to pursue relationships, unable to contribute their opinions on the workings of the hmun.
“I have learned from this, Grandfather Tang,” she insisted, doing her best to control the bitterness creeping into her tone. “I’ve learned that I’m not—I’m not meant for the kind of work that’s being given to me. I know you won’t let me take on an adult role, that you’d be happy letting me stay a child until I’m dead as long as—” Viunwei cleared his throat loudly. She gritted her teeth and tried again. “There has to be some other role to put me in. This job isn’t working for me. It was fun guiding the younger kids when I was also younger, but now it just—it isn’t working. I know I can’t be initiated until everyone can cross to Sodão Dangde, and that it might be a long time before that’s possible. But in the meantime . . . I’m still going to be Par.” The words were unsteady on her tongue, full of truth and complication. She couldn’t think on them too long; it was easier to ride in on her instincts impulsively. “I’m going to be forward and curious and self-indulgent. I’m going to push back against what I don’t like, and I’m going to do it loudly. And I know it might make things difficult in the hmun, but . . . even you can’t change the minds of the moons. No matter how they speak to you.”
It was a bold statement to make, as discerning as it was inflammatory. She could already see the ripple it created in the room, and read the reactions of the Grand Ones, as predictable as the phases themselves. Se, impatient with the individualistic thought. Mi, pleased by her approaching them with a new angle. Par, satisfied with the unfiltered honesty of a phase-mate. Tang, anxiously watching the way everyone’s emotions squared and sparked. Ginhãe, reflecting on everything that had occurred up until this point. On and on—Sohmeng looked at each of them, searching for some sort of general consensus.
“What would you have us do?” asked Grand One Chisong. The rest of the Grand Ones turned to them, some humming softly in appreciation for the simplicity of their question; the insight of Chisong children was taken into double consideration, listened to with double thoughtfulness, for they held the full wisdom of the two moons Ama and Chehang combined. It was hard for Sohmeng to hold eye contact with them.
“I . . .” She hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. But this was her chance to change something, and she wasn’t about to miss it. “I was set to be a trader, like my parents. I remember what they used to tell me about the other hmun in the network. I know the legends of Polhmun Ão, and I speak Dulpongpa pretty well. I—I still practice it, even though there isn’t much use for it anymore.” It was oddly intimate, to admit her knowledge of the trade tongue. Something in Viunwei’s shoulders softened, and she quickly forced herself to look back at Grand One Chisong, who despite everything was a more accessible presence than her brother. “I know I can’t go for any sort of venture in Eiji, not with the sãoni still swarming the foot of the mountain. But there . . . there has to be something I can do, something that makes use of my abilities. Something better than giving the youngest of the hmun nightmares.”
Grand One Chisong smiled slightly at that, leaning back in their seat and looking to the rest of the Grand Ones, who began passing suggestions back and forth too quickly to keep up with. Sohmeng tried not to look too baffled that she was being given fair consideration.
To a point, of course. “Ridiculous,” said Grandfather Se. “Absolutely ridiculous!”
“It wouldn’t trouble anyone,” retorted Grandmother Par. “You’re resisting for the sake of being resistant!”
“Perhaps consulting the oracles would be wise?” offered Grandfather Sol.
“Ah, I am nearly out of marrow,” said Grand One Hiun.
“Viunwei Soon,” interjected Grandmother Mi loudly. “How many years have you seen now?”
The geriatric clamour a
bruptly stopped as the room’s attention swerved to Viunwei, who seemed entirely unprepared to join the conversation.
“Nineteen,” he answered with an uncertain frown.
“And you still collect eggs from the cliffside. Nearly six years out of your Tengmunji.” Grandmother Mi shook her head at the rest of the Grand Ones. “Now that’s a shame if I ever did see one. A boy like this, strong in the moons, withering in a transitory job.”
“True enough,” Grandfather Se said reluctantly. “He displayed remarkable leadership ability during his Tengmunji. All of his peers still seek his council.”
“And look at his broad shoulders!” Grandmother Mi continued, untroubled by Viunwei’s obvious discomfort. “The harness must cut terribly into his skin, and the rope strains. That sort of work was not made for a body so far grown. The smaller of the collectors continue to do their jobs admirably, but I fear we may begin seeing accidents the longer we keep them up there. There’s a reason this job is meant for those in transition. The oja beans too long on the stalk grow bitter.”
There were murmurs among the Grand Ones as tension spread through the room. This was a truth that was rarely acknowledged within the hmun these days: the impact of a disrupted Tengmunji reached farther than the belligerent Sohmeng Par. It was a symbol of all of the problems that had grown since the Sky Bridge fell. No matter the adjustments that had been put in place for the hmun to continue to thrive in its day-to-day life, the long-term consequences of so many people being trapped in one mountain were impossible to avoid—particularly when seeking resources on the ground below was no longer an option. No matter how strict the will of the gods, devotion could not outlast starvation. While the hmun had found ways to navigate around Ateng’s currently-limited agricultural prospects, they wouldn’t hold forever.
Sohmeng shifted her footing, sending up Par-shaped prayers. Everyone could call her selfish if they wanted; it was true. But there were more reasons to allow her to move forward uninitiated than simply appeasing her own desires.
Grand One Chisong hushed the circle with a raised hand, turning their attention back to Sohmeng. For all they were frighteningly incisive, there was also something sympathetic in their dark eyes. Perhaps it was because they were the youngest of the Grand Ones; maybe they had forty years on Sohmeng, but it certainly brought them closer to understanding her than the octogenarians. And she had to consider the complementary nature of their beings: two full gods’ eyes, contrasted with—
She lowered her gaze once more. Across the room, the seat of Minhal sat empty as it ever had.
“We have never crossed this boundary,” Grand One Chisong said at last. “Many of us are wary, as we should be. In times as precarious as these, it is dangerous to move against the will of the gods. But also, we must consider the more material dangers of our current situation. We can not, and should not, uproot the ways of our hmun all at once, but perhaps we can find compromises for the time being. Test the waters of the acceptability of diverging from the path we are comfortable with.” Sohmeng nearly collapsed to the floor in gratitude. “We do not need to bring all of the batengmun kar into transitory work—in this time of Second Won, I think it would be wise to act only with great intention on matters that impact the future of Ateng as a whole. Nothing rushed, but no time wasted. Would you agree with my interpretation, Grandmother Won?”
Grandmother Won nodded, and many around them seemed satisfied. Grandmother Mi beamed at Sohmeng, happily tapping her finger against her cup of mountain marrow.
“Perhaps a vote, then,” Grand One Chisong said. “Shall we allow Sohmeng Par to take Viunwei Soon’s place collecting eggs from the mountainside, while we move him into work more suited to his capabilities?”
One by one the Grand Ones went in a circle, either raising a cup of mountain marrow in favour or keeping it in their laps. For some the answer was quick, marrow lifted fast enough to spill or an expression of distaste firm enough to make their thoughts on the matter clear. For others, there was a good deal of deliberation, punctuated by thoughtful sips of Fochão Dangde’s lifeforce.
After raising his hand Grandfather Tang cleared his throat, giving Viunwei a look that Sohmeng didn’t quite follow. “Perhaps, should this proposal pass, it would be a good time for Viunwei Soon to consider the advice of the oracles. Particularly as he moves fully into the role of a man.” Viunwei simply nodded, his face betraying nothing of his feelings. His hands were white-knuckled at his sides.
Sohmeng watched the Grand Ones without breathing, waiting and wishing and wanting. And then it was done, fifteen votes to nine. With something simple as a roomful of raised cups, her life had changed.
“Sohmeng Par,” said Grand One Chisong, bringing their mountain marrow down to their lips. “You have asked after your own destiny, and we have heard you out. As you can see, this decision was by no means easy, nor unanimous. Should the gods grant us a sign that this was an inauspicious choice, or should you do anything that suggests you are not ready for the responsibility you seek, we will not hesitate to take away this privilege.” Sohmeng nodded furiously, not daring to speak. With her luck, this would be the moment her mouth would fire off something entirely inappropriate.
“Congratulations dear,” Grandmother Mi said, unabashedly showing off her bias for her blood relation. “You’ve taken the first step out of your adolescence.”
“So act like it, girl.” Grandmother Par looked down her long nose at Sohmeng. “Cut through the tangled path, don’t burn it down.”
Sohmeng lifted her chin, unafraid of the heavy expectations that had been suddenly placed upon her shoulders. This was what she had asked for. “Thank you, Grand Ones,” she said, bowing so low that something popped in her back. “Their watchful eyes upon you.”
“Their watchful eyes upon you,” the Grand Ones echoed, and Sohmeng knew she was dismissed.
That night, by the dimming light of their home’s small hearth, Sohmeng quickly realized that she wasn’t going to have much of an opportunity to celebrate her victory. Grandmother Mi’s knees had forced her to stay the night at Chehangma’s Gate with the rest of the Grand Ones who were too frail to make the challenging journey up and down the stairwell, leaving Sohmeng trapped alone with Young Grandfather Passive-Aggression himself.
Viunwei had hardly spoken a word to her since they got home, but the aggrieved clanking of his spoon against his dinner bowl was a monologue unto itself. She scooped up a roasted fiddlehead, refusing to indulge his sulking. As the Grand Ones had once said, being upset did not require her to react. She could be serene in the face of anger.
“Just because you got your way today doesn’t mean that what you said to those children was acceptable,” he suddenly said, launching Sohmeng out of her serenity and straight into a reaction.
“Oh godless—sorry, what’s that?” she asked, cupping a hand to her ear. “‘Congratulations Sohmeng on something you’ve wanted for ages finally happening! I know it means a lot to you, and I want to show my support as your only brother!’ Wow, thanks Viunwei! It’s great to know that under that stuck-up, unlikeable exterior, you really do care!”
“Sohmeng.” Her name was like an insult on his tongue. “This isn’t funny.”
“No, I’m being serious!” she continued, stuffing a fiddlehead into her mouth. “The depths of your compassion are vast, and not to be underestimated.”
“Sohmeng.” She jumped at the intensity of his voice, then scowled, swallowing. She wasn’t about to back down from his judgement, but neither was she in the mood to test the limits of his patience. Viunwei was born under Third Soon, full of inner conflict and potential energy. As likely to make hard choices for the hmun as he was to create the need for them. It was almost funny to think that he had been planned to rein in their parents’ overly-free spirits; when it came down to it, a Soon could be even more destructive than a Par. And yet, all his brooding ever seemed to inspire in others was respect. So thoughtful, so considerate.
It made Sohmeng hate
him, just a little bit.
“You cannot make jokes about the children of the hmun getting eaten by sãoni,” he said quietly. “I know you laugh at the things that upset you. You’ve said before that it . . . helps you.” She was surprised that he remembered that much, and almost felt grateful when— “But it doesn’t help other people. And considering what everyone in this hmun has been through, what our own family has lost, it’s atrocious that you would say such a thing in response to something as trivial as your being annoyed.”
Sohmeng’s cheeks went hot. She knew he had a point. The moment the words were out, she knew that she had crossed a line. But all she had done was run her mouth, and now she was being treated like she’d hurled one of the kids off the mountain. Why was he judging her whole personality based on one mistake?
She scoffed, refusing to give him the apology he was fishing for. “Well thank you for the opinion I definitely didn’t ask for. Oh, and while we’re here, thank you for following me down to Chehangma’s Gate!” Viunwei opened his mouth to argue anew, but Sohmeng cut him off, raising her voice. “No! I knew I made a mistake, and I was trying to handle it myself. But you followed me anyway because you were so bent on making me look like a child!”
“I followed you because I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t—!” Through the walls, the distinct sounds of their neighbours’ voices could be heard. Viunwei paused, clearing his throat. “. . . wouldn’t make things worse.”
“I did fine without you,” she replied coldly, putting down her empty dinner bowl. “If you were actually paying attention rather than dancing to the tune of your own self-importance, you might have even noticed that they gave me what I asked for.”
Viunwei threw his hands in the air, making an exasperated sound that reminded Sohmeng of their mother. She jabbed at the fire with the poker as if it could smother the thought before it blossomed into anything more painful.
