Two Dark Moons

by Avi Silver

  Beside Sohmeng, Hei made a few unimpressed clicks, crossing their arms over their chest. The warrior looked up at them, gaze lingering on their arm with regret. They opened their mouth to say something, but closed it after a moment, unable to find the words.

  “Okay.” Sohmeng blew her bangs out of her eyes. “This might be a little more difficult than I thought.”

  “What, talking?” Hei asked, their voice rife with sarcasm. In any other moment, Sohmeng might have been proud. But now she scowled at them, wishing they would be helpful. Luckily, the stranger caught onto something she didn’t.

  “Talk, talking . . . trade!” they said, their voice raising with excitement as they took a step toward Sohmeng. Hei’s shoulders lurched up to their ears; behind them, the sãoni hissed wildly. Reading the crowd, the human stepped back once again, holding their palms out entreatingly. “Talk trade? Dulpongpa?”

  The realization hit Sohmeng like a ton of sãoni. The cardinal directions, the words for ‘talk’ and ‘trade’—all of this was vocabulary shared between the language of the hmun and the trade tongue, Hmunpa and Dulpongpa. According to legend, all the languages of the hmun descended from Polhmun Ão were relatives, changed only by the passage of time. Every hmun’s traders knew Dulpongpa, and many of the words from hmun to hmun were similar enough for travellers to figure out. Her heart lifted as she felt the glow of her parents’ last gift to her—she had always wanted to be a trader in Eiji, hadn’t she? Time to test her memory.

  “Tswei baheisai khem,” she said. I know the basics. She couldn’t tell which of the two of them was more relieved. The language sat with a peculiar heaviness on her tongue, awkward from disuse. In general, its sounds were harsher than those of her hmun’s language, rough like untumbled stone, but not entirely unwieldy. With a pang in her chest, she sent up a prayer of gratitude for Grandmother Mi’s insistence on her practicing, even after the fall of the Sky Bridge. “Enough to get by.”

  “More than I,” they replied, placing a hand to their chest. Rather, his chest, as he had used the masculine ‘I’. This was one of the benefits of Dulpongpa: gendered personal pronouns to make up for differences in gender systems within the dialects and the individual hmun. Despite Sohmeng’s lack of fluency and the distraction of the warrior’s musical accent, she was thankful for this particular linguistic feature; she had no idea how she would even begin translating a discussion about phasal gender systems.

  “What’s your name?” Sohmeng asked, figuring it was best to get to the point.

  His answer came out in one long stream, lilting and turning in a way that left Sohmeng completely unable to follow it. He caught the confusion on her face and quickly followed up with, “Ahn. Ahn is alright.”

  “Ahn,” she repeated, hearing the way her own accent added a soft nasality to the consonant. She thought it sounded nicer that way, and he didn’t bother to correct her. She cleared her throat, allowing herself to step closer to him despite Hei’s soft growl of protest. “I’m Sohmeng—” Her voice caught. Sohmeng what? Par? Minhal? She could feel the seconds passing. Now was not the time for her to grapple with how she was going to begin self-identifying. She grimaced out a smile. The feminine ‘I’ was enough for now—it got the point across. “Sohmeng is alright.”

  The warrior, Ahn, tilted his chin in acknowledgment, tapping his unpierced left ear. Was that how they greeted people across the Great River? Before she could ask, Ahn’s gaze had landed on Hei, who scowled and averted their eyes. “And your companion . . . ?”

  “Hei,” Sohmeng said, ignoring the annoyed huff that came from beside her. She wasn’t sure if Hei could even follow the trade tongue, but she figured they would interrupt if they found anything truly objectionable. They’d certainly been more difficult for less. “You’ll have to forgive them, they’re not much in a talking mood. Which makes sense, seeing as you just attacked our hmun.”

  Ahn frowned uncertainly. That was to be expected; like Sohmeng had said to Hei before, two dirty humans and a horde of screeching sãoni weren’t exactly a conventional family. As far as she knew, no hmun in history had ever cohabitated with sãoni, certainly not as societal equals. She crossed her arms, waiting as he measured out his words.

  “. . . in the North?” he asked cautiously, his shoulders squared as if preparing for conflict.

  “The North?” Now it was Sohmeng’s turn to be confused. “No, right here. This—this is our hmun!” She gestured to the sãoni, who kept right on with their snapping and snarling, illustrating what a completely sane duo she and Hei were to willingly ride along with them.

  Ahn’s eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth slightly before closing it. “Ah.” A painfully long beat of silence passed between them, and then: “I am sorry, but I do not think I understanding—”

  Hei, apparently deciding they’d heard enough, threw their hands into the air with a loud, aggravated hiss. Faster than Sohmeng could follow, Ahn’s hand was back to his sword, his footing set like he had made a deal with the earth to keep him standing. As though they’d just been waiting for an excuse, Hei’s fingers sank back into their sãoni claws, a snarl tearing from their lips as Green Bites roared behind them.

  “Okay, alright, enough—” Sohmeng stood between them, one hand placed on Hei’s chest, the other hovering above Ahn’s. She gave Hei a sharp chirp that settled them down into some quiet clicking, then turned to face Ahn. “No swords! Seriously. Everyone is tense right now, and you going all . . . god-bodied sun warrior isn’t really doing anything to help. The situation, I mean.” She laughed a little too loudly, giving his armour a pat with an unceremonious clank. “I’m sure it’s doing something for someone.”

  Mercifully, he didn’t seem to hear her, or understand. Instead, he took her hand with a perplexed look, curiously tapping the ring on her finger. The ring that was molded in the same star-bright silver as his armour.

  If that wasn’t some kind of sign, she wasn’t sure what was.

  “Sohmeng I do not like this man,” Hei muttered, placing their hand over hers.

  “I know,” Sohmeng said, her mind still racing as she sought out the best way forward. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

  Hesitantly, Hei slipped off their claws in order to examine their arm, wrinkling their nose in distaste. Sohmeng turned back to Ahn. “These sãoni, and Hei and I, we are family. Hmun. Down here. Eiji. Do you understand?” She watched him take in Hei, their sãoni skin clothing, the dark circles around their eyes. With far more kindness than Sohmeng had first offered Hei, he nodded. “You killed one of the sãoni. Not ours. But a sãoni.”

  “Sãoni?” he repeated, gesturing to the creatures that were watching the spectacle.

  “Sãoni.” Sohmeng nodded. “They’re good. Well, no, some of them eat humans. But not all of them, not ours, and it’s—complicated. Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, or leave you down here to be found by some other sãoni that do eat people, but I can’t help you unless I know you won’t hurt my family.” For Hei’s sake, she repeated herself in Hmunpa, watching Ahn think on it all the while. Once more, the cool facade on his face cracked, and he pointed to the fallen creature behind him.

  “Lilin,” he said firmly, the hurt in his voice ringing clear through the jungle. “My family.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, immediately knowing the words to be inadequate. She lowered her eyes to the ground, cringing at the maimed body of the creature. Lilin. It was harder when things had names.

  Beside her, Hei was watching them intently. Even without the language, the subject of the conversation was clear, the emotional response thickening the air like heavy morning mist. Without any warning, they turned away from Ahn and Sohmeng, walking up to Green Bites and giving him a firm whack on the nose. He snarled in response, snapping at Hei, who whacked him again, provoking the already-riled sãoni into further aggression.

  Sohmeng sucked in a breath, testing her trust in the family as she kept herself from yelling for
Hei to stop. Hei wouldn’t do anything to get themself killed, she told herself, and their idiocy on the way down the mountain pointed to a larger pattern of how they and Green Bites tended to roughhouse. Of course, that didn’t make it any less jarring when the sãoni clamped his jaws around Hei’s arm.

  Ahn reacted before Sohmeng could, reaching for his sword as they cried out in pain. But Green Bites let go, clicking and growling, licking at the small puncture wounds that circled Hei’s bicep just below where Ahn’s sword had cut through. They looked to Ahn silently, their face tight with pain. He seemed to understand; he took out his sword, placing it on the ground in front of him. With that sorted, Hei walked over to Mama and stuck their arm into her cheek, letting her saliva do its work.

  Sohmeng rubbed her temples, considering the value of using one’s words rather than dramatic gestures to make a point. “Glad that’s dealt with,” she said dryly. She turned to Ahn. “Are there others with you? Or are you alone?”

  “I am alone,” said Ahn with a little nod. “Others are . . . North? Far. Lose.”

  “Lose? Lose what?”

  “I lose—the others.”

  She thought of the wooden box he had presented, the repetition of the cardinal directions. He had gotten separated from his hmun, just the same as she had. While she knew he was dangerous, or at the very least came from a dangerous hmun, she could not help the stab of empathy that went through her.

  “Hei?” she called, switching back to Hmunpa. “It’s just him down here. He says the rest of them are up—”

  “North,” Hei interrupted, pulling their arm from Mama’s mouth with a scowl. “Far north. Most likely the northernmost part of the sãoni migration path.” They nodded, pressing a hand gently to Mama’s nose. “Ask him how many there are in his hmun.”

  “Once the family gets back on their route, we could bring him—”

  “Ask him.” Hei’s voice was uncompromising, their eyes harsh but not unkind. The intensity made Sohmeng falter. She did her best to keep her voice casual as she posed the question.

  “Few hundred,” Ahn said easily. Sohmeng opened her mouth, about to protest the possibility of a number that great, when he continued his estimate. “Next year, ten hundreds—no, sorry, one thousand. More, maybe.”

  Sohmeng turned to Hei, a shiver going up her spine. The shadow hanging over them told her that she did not need to translate these numbers. It was probably for the best; she felt woozy just at the idea of speaking them. The disruption in the jungle wasn’t a matter of one small hmun stepping out of line—it was an all-out swarm. Like the sãoni climbing Fochão Dangde, swiping down whatever stray humans they found, disregarding what it meant for the world that was trying to thrive there. A disruption in the system.

  And now, standing before them was one small part of that disruption, laying down his sword and giving them his name.

  Sohmeng Minhal had never been one to hesitate once she’d made a decision, so when she approached Ahn, it almost felt as though someone else was in her body, maneuvering her limbs and steering her destiny. She got up on her tiptoes and grabbed the man by his shining chest plate, rubbing her cheeks against his with no inhibition. He let out a surprised noise, trying to extricate himself from her grip as she nuzzled into his hair, making a show of how little poison it contained. Around her, the sãoni rumbled among themselves, trying to make sense of how one of their own was acting out.

  “Sohmeng,” Hei said cautiously.

  “His hmun is what got all of this trouble started, right? If we want to know what’s coming, if we want to fix it, we’re going to need his help.” She pulled back with a nod of certainty, appraising the newest member of their colony. For the most part, he was staring back at her in stunned silence. She gave his shoulder a firm pat. “Welcome to the family, Ahn.”

  “I—family?” Ahn asked, looking from her to Hei to the sãoni. A hatchling wiggled away from under Mama’s mid legs, coming over to investigate Sohmeng’s new friend.

  “Hey,” she said with a shrug, “just be thankful I didn’t bite you.”

  Hei crept up beside Sohmeng, taking her hand with a familiar frown. Wary, tender. The face of the mate she had decided to share a life with. Sohmeng ran her fingers over their sãoni claws, offering Hei the most reassuring sound she could: a chirp and three clicks. A name. A promise that she knew exactly who it was that she was choosing to stand by.

  That was what it meant to live in Eiji. No matter how strange the family or sightless the gods, Sohmeng could exist here precisely as she was: all of her loudest, wildest parts in balance with her greatest vulnerabilities. If Tengmunji was about discovering one’s purpose, then Eiji held more room for her growth than any mountain ever could. If Sohmeng had truly been born outside the realm of the gods, she owed nothing to their laws. The only person she had to answer to was herself.

  “Let’s get you both cleaned up,” she said, smiling in spite of everything. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  And so Sohmeng Minhal took the first step into her adulthood without permission, without any shame to be found.

  This book was born out of two things: fighting writer’s block, and finally accepting that I had no choice but to write about what I love. As it turns out, I mostly love astrology, queerness, and giant lizards. Was anyone surprised? Not really.

  I don’t know if I can ever fully express how grateful I am to everyone who supported me through this journey, but I can start by listing some names:

  First, my hmun—my Grandma Ronnie instilled a passion for speculative fiction that has made me the person I am today. The Silver in my name is hers. My Mom read the first draft of “Two Dark Moons” with the critical eye of a teacher and all the pride of a Jewish mother. My father showed me Jurassic Park when I was far too young to watch it, launching me into a love of dinosaurs. I also have to thank my brother Ryan for studying medicine—not only did he take the pressure off me as the artist of the family, but he also helped me figure out how not to kill Sohmeng when I threw her off a mountain.

  Where my brother taught me how to keep Sohmeng alive, Sophie Delville spared me the grisly research involved with the dead. Jen Frankel showed me more love than I knew what to do with, and drank the character tea blends I made for Sohmeng when the book was in its infancy (hibiscus, lime, nilgiri black tea). Cortni “Supportni” Fernandez dutifully attended every round of Art Prison, and got hostile enough when I mentioned cutting things that I began to have faith in my writing. Courtenay Barton got me back into a love of reading via YA after years of that joy being stolen by depression. Katie Fontes helped me love astrology so much that I made up my own system. Elisa Murphy sat poolside with me while I cried about being too loud as a child.

  Haley Rose gave me the cover of my dreams, and indulged all of my shouts of “It’s a real book!!” The International House of Goblins has uplifted me time and time again: Urs’ puns were the foundation for Hei’s name, and Irene Zhong encouraged me through shouts of AVI with all the horror of Viunwei Soon. Carisa Van de Wetering sent me the memes that got me through. Spenser Chicoine talked me off the ledge and reviewed everything I missed in biology class. Brianna Tosswill’s drawing of me moping in a blanket helped pull me out of editing hysteria.

  A special, breathless thank you to Natalie Lythe. As always, I must love you or die—I asked for a beta reader and was given an additional editor, counselor, and dear friend. I’m yours to bite, always.

  Thank you to Toronto NaNoWriMo 2018 for helping me finish this beast, to Can*Con 2018’s Hopepunk panel for opening me up to tenderness, and to the many supportive voices on social media. Reading JY Yang showed me that I could be as queer on paper as I am in person. Rachel Hartman’s Tess of the Road was one of the first books I read upon immigrating to Canada, and helped me unpack what needed to be worked on in order for the Sohmeng in me to grow. Musically, I owe a great debt to Aurora, Kishi Bashi, Huun-Huur-Tu, Kevin Penkin’s Made in Abyss soundtrack, Keiichi Okabe’s music of NieR, and Xiao Xin
gni for her harp cover of Violet Evergarden’s “Never Coming Back”. Pamenar Cafe and Boxcar Social were sacred writing spaces.

  A peculiar and particular gratitude to the characters of mine that were not yet willing to cooperate—you opened up the space for Hei and Sohmeng’s story to begin. I’ll get to you eventually.

  Finally, Sienna. Naming systems, lunar nonsense, relentless editing, book design, worldbuilding debates, Shale—you make it all possible. This book would not be here without you, and I am honoured to love and be loved by you every day. You found me at the bottom of a mountain and brushed me right off. Thank you.

  With love and a bite,

  Avi Silver

  April 2019

  Toronto

  Ama—the small red moon, feminine; ruler of reason and material matters

  Ateng—the hmun’s name for their mountain range, literally “Above”

  batengmun—initiates; singular would be “tengmun”

  chandão—sibling

  chapongão—parent

  Chehang—the big white moon, masculine; ruler of emotion and spiritual matters

  Chehangma—the sun, viewed by the hmun Ateng as the combined eyes of the moons Ama and Chehang

  dangde—mountain

  damwei—the third party required to make a baby, either a surrogate or sperm donor; affectionately referred to as “damdão”

  Dulpongpa—the trade language of the valley’s hmun network

  Eiji—the valley below Ateng, home to a network of hmun

  fochão—brother

  Fochão Dangde—the mountain the hmun is currently trapped in; “Brother Mountain”

  hãokar—the exiled; literally “without family”

  hmun—a village/community