Far more difficult to imagine what the future held for him. If it held anything at all.
Akeha had spent the winding journey to the sanctuary softly chanting I am, I am, I am, trying to get used to the sound of it on their tongue, his tongue. Each utterance sent a shiver through him, until he, they, felt stuffed so full of anxiety they might take flight, earth-nature of the Slack losing its grip on him. They had blocked out all other thoughts, intrusive thoughts, distracting thoughts, by filling their mind with the cadence of I am, I am, I am. I am.
Faced with Mother now, courage deserted them, and they stood frozen several yields away from her, unable to speak.
Mother turned around and stared at them with the curious demeanor of a raptor. Her attention was like sunlight concentrated under curved glass. Akeha’s skin burned, and sweat collected in the small of their back.
“You did not come all this way to stare mutely at me,” Mother said.
“I want to be confirmed. Like Mokoya.” His tongue failed him, slipping back to the easy groove of the pronouns they had used since they were able to talk.
“Of course you do.”
Akeha sucked life-giving air into his lungs and focused his thoughts very precisely as he said aloud, using the right pronouns this time: “I want to be confirmed as a man.”
Mother stared at him for an agonizing second. And then she burst into laughter.
Akeha stood where they were, reminding themselves to breathe. Breathe, or they would get dizzy, and their skin would catch on fire.
Mother smiled without showing teeth. As if she would ever do something so inelegant. “It has been a long time since I’ve had a son.” She tilted her head. “To think that it would end up being you.”
“Was this—” Akeha licked their lips, bringing moisture back into their mouth. “Was this unexpected of me?”
“Unexpected?” Mother laughed again. “How can it be unexpected, when I had harbored no expectations for you in the first place? You were no part of my plans, child.”
Akeha bit his lip so hard he tasted metal in his mouth. With the lip throbbing, he asked: “Do you object to this?”
“Of course not. Why would I?” She folded one leg over the other. She seemed strangely relaxed, even cheerful. It was not what Akeha had expected. “This has been a day of delightful happenings,” she said. “I was presented a worthy adversary in that Gauri boy, who will soon come to power to oppose me. And now the spare child has finally chosen his own path.”
A tremble ran through Akeha.
Mother glanced up at the canopy of trees, lights shining across her face. “Despite everything, the fortunes find ways to surprise you. I look forward to the days to come.”
Akeha breathed. And breathed. It was the only thing he could do. Keep breathing.
“Have you told your sister?” she asked.
My sister. Akeha exhaled. “No. I have not.”
*
Akeha told Mokoya the next morning, on upper-forest day. “I will be confirmed as a man.” It was said, it was done, there was no turning back.
His sister said nothing in return. She pretended she was not upset. But that night, as Akeha lay in bed as though sleeping, she left the room they shared and did not return until the next morning. He did not ask where she had been, letting his mind fill in the blanks. Forbidden visions came to him of her and Thennjay entwined in a collusion of sighs and gentle touches. The images refused to leave his mind, no matter how he tried to cast them out.
The same thing continued to happen over the next two nights.
On the third day, lower-fire day, Thennjay left for the trial, accompanied by a guide from the monastery who would leave him at the foot of the mountain. Akeha spent the following days meditating, in preparation for the changes he was about to undergo. Mind empty, body blank, free of all emotions and base desires. It was a struggle. He felt too soft, too malleable, as though the slightest pressure would melt him.
Mokoya still did not return to their shared room.
When she finally came back, it was lower-earth day, the fifth day since Thennjay left. As the sun rose for the second night-cycle she sat in front of Akeha, her legs folded under her, hands placed loosely in her lap. Akeha burned with questions for her, rude and forward questions fueled by vulgar curiosity: What was it like, to lie with him? Were his hands strong or gentle, did he smell of earthy perfumes, did his flesh tremble against hers? But he remained silent.
“I want to marry him,” she said.
“You’ve just met him.”
“I know. But I love him.”
“Mother won’t allow it.”
“I don’t care what she thinks.”
“He’s going to be a monk. They don’t marry.” Akeha tilted his head. “Unless you think he’ll change the rules for you?”
Mokoya sucked in a breath, her brow crumpling into ridges. “I . . . no. He would not.”
“But you want him to. And it’ll probably happen, too. You’re so special, things always go the right way for you.”
She shakily got to her feet, teeth bared at Akeha. “I don’t know why I came here,” she snapped. He tried to apologize, regrets bubbling in his mouth, but it was too late. The wall of her back disappeared through the doorway and did not return.
The next day, Thennjay returned from the mountain, bearing two ornate feathers the length of his arm. They gleamed dully in the sunlight, warm and yellow, topped by a teardrop-shaped plume that shone in a thousand colors. When asked about the details of his journey, he merely smiled and shook his head, bound now by the Grand Monastery’s tradition of secrets. He had completed the trial, and that was enough.
Mokoya met Thennjay at the entrance pavilion, pressing her hands into his as they spoke. Akeha watched them from a distance. Mokoya’s face was turned away from him, the words her mouth was shaping hidden. He looked at the two of them and saw a perfect circle in which he had no place.
A thought had hounded Akeha since he spoke to Mother about his confirmation. As he watched his sister embrace the man she loved, the edges of that thought crystallized into a solid plan of action. He knew what he had to do.
It was upper-fire day, the start of the new week. The week of their seventeenth birthday. The week their lives would start anew.
Chapter Eleven