He spent the time between the third and fourth stops snarled in thoughts of possible futures. When they laid down their packs again, he ventured, “You didn’t go to the confirmation doctors. Was that because of your religion?”
Yongcheow blinked. “That’s . . . a very personal question.”
“I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked.” He turned away to kindle damp leaves into flame. Under the ministrations of fire-nature, the detritus dried and crackled to life, the sound filling the damning silence. He watched the flames gyrate until his heart rate slowed, then he turned back. “I’m sorry.”
Yongcheow met his gaze coolly. “It wasn’t because of religion. Some Obedient don’t alter their bodies because they believe we shouldn’t touch what the Almighty bequeaths us. To me, confirmation doesn’t fall into that. I just didn’t do it because it didn’t feel right for me.”
Akeha nodded. “Thank you. I’m so—”
“Don’t apologize again.”
He nodded.
It was Akeha’s turn to rest. He found a stone to sleep on and let dreams claim him with their wild trajectories. When three hours had passed, he woke to Yongcheow studying him with the same intensity he’d afforded the other man.
“You’re the first son the Protector’s had,” he said.
“I am.”
“It must have been a surprise for her.”
Akeha laughed, a sound like pebbles rolling. He stood, brushing dirt away. “Everything about me was a surprise for her. My existence was a mistake.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I know, I know. The will of the Almighty.”
Yongcheow exhaled. “Not just that. People make mistakes, they can’t be mistakes. And I don’t think you believe that either.”
“Don’t I?”
“If you do, then a mistake saved my life. I’m still grateful.”
Akeha snorted. He held out a hand, and Yongcheow took it, pulling himself up.
The first day flowed over into the next. Their journey relaxed into easier banter. Akeha pressed Yongcheow on Machinist philosophy, a debate that rolled into a tangle of points and counterpoints.
“No,” Yongcheow said, exasperation creeping into his voice, “we’re not advocating the abolishment of everything that uses slackcraft. We just want to develop alternatives for laypeople.”
“But you’ll still need to rely on Tensors. As long as there are things that can only be done through slackcraft—”
“We’re not trying to abolish the Tensorate either! Of course there will still be things that work on slackcraft—”
“Lots of things.”
“Yes. Many. Like—”
“Talkers.”
“Aha.” Yongcheow brightened. “You’d be surprised. There’s been work done on this. Someone found a way to record sounds as electrical signals, which you can transmit instantly, or almost instantly, through wires.”
“Wires.”
“Yes. If you have devices connected by wires, you can talk.”
“So if I’m in Cinta Putri, and I have someone in Chengbee I want to talk to, I have to run a wire from Cinta Putri all the way to Chengbee. Six thousand li. Just so we can talk.”
Yongcheow sighed. “It—someone is working on it. It is only a start.”
The path eased and sloped gently downhill as they approached Waiyi. As the day proceeded, Akeha said, “The Machinist movement is admirable. I agree: non-Tensors should have access to technology that doesn’t rely on slackcraft. And there may be factions in the Tensorate who also agree. But the Protectorate will never relinquish its source of power. Your movement is doomed to misfortune.”
“Good thing I don’t believe in the fortunes, then.”
“You believe in the will of your Almighty. How is that different?”
“The Almighty decides our circumstances. He doesn’t decide our actions. It’s what He gave us free will for.”
“So you chose rebellion.”
“We chose to act. Rebellion was the Protectorate’s choice. They could easily have accepted our existence. But they didn’t.”
Akeha let this thought circulate, picking apart the reasons he felt uncomfortable whenever free will was brought up. Even though he knew the real answer.
At the next stop, he finally confessed, “It’s hard for me to believe in free will.”
They had set up in a shallow limestone cave, a slanted scar in the side of the mountain forming the eastern forest border. Yongcheow looked sideways at him. “Let me guess. Because of your sister?”
“No matter what we did, her visions happened anyway. Future events can be set in stone. Where is your free will in that?”
Yongcheow folded careful hands over his belly. “But in those cases, you did do something, didn’t you? You went to find the new Head Abbot. Your mother’s purging Machinists. Some things might be fixed, but everything around them can be changed. That’s the part that counts.”
“A test. That’s the Obedient belief, isn’t it? Everything is a test from the heavens.”
A considered silence simmered. Then Yongcheow spoke. “The saying goes, ‘The black tides of heaven direct the courses of human lives.’ To which a wise teacher said, ‘But as with all waters, one can swim against the tide.’”
His gaze was unshakeable as it fixed on Akeha. “I chose to swim. So can you.”
Chapter Sixteen
THEY WERE LESS THAN twenty li from Waiyi when the Protectorate caught up to them.
It was the snuffling that alerted Akeha. It came from the right, through a thicket of grass and shrubs, in the same tenor as a boar hunting for food. But there was no corresponding rustle, no crunch of massive porcine body through underbrush. Akeha squeezed Yongcheow’s arm to stop him walking.
Yongcheow frowned. Akeha put a finger to his lips and directed the man to the cover of a peony bush.
The snuffling intensified. Something stirred within the blades and leaves.
The feathered head of a raptor snapped up from the vegetation.
Akeha forced his breathing to stay even. The creature’s sleek head swiveled. It blinked.
He knew that ash coloring, the lichens of dark blue spread over the top of the head. A lifetime ago, there had been hatchlings in the Grand Monastery. In the mornings Akeha and Mokoya would throw wet slivers of meat to the waiting scramble of teeth.
It was said raptors had memories as long as their claws were sharp. “Tempeh,” he whispered. “It’s me. Akeha.”
The raptor’s nostrils flared.
A scout. The Protectorate had sent pugilists after Yongcheow. A betrayal on Thennjay’s part? Hard to tell. He had no way of knowing Akeha was involved.
Tempeh pushed through the vegetation. An electric collar, hard and silver, sat in a wide band across its throat. Akeha frowned. The Grand Monastery’s raptors didn’t need to be controlled with shock collars—
Unless—
A targeted jolt through water-nature broke the clasp. As the collar clattered to the ground, it revealed a ribbon of scarred flesh, down and feathers burned off.
The raptor hissed, circling, surprised.
“It’s over,” Akeha said softly. “You don’t have to—”