They looked out over the waters in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Mokoya said. “I know I shouldn’t be like this. It’s been four years. I should be better. But . . .” She pushed at blades of oasis grass with her toes. “It hasn’t gotten better. I thought it would get better.”
“It won’t get better just because you want it.”
Mokoya listened to the soft sound of water fidgeting against the land.
Adi looked at the moon. “You know, my son died ten years ago. So long ago. All the other small ones, grown big already. But I still get sad on his birthday.” As Mokoya managed her breathing, the smallest chuckle escaped her friend. “Birth day, death day. Same day.”
There was a crack in Adi’s voice, the barest hint of a wobble. That was enough for Mokoya to come undone. Adi stood by while she struggled through the wave of emotions that swept her, not saying anything, just being there.
When she could speak again she said, “I’m sorry, Adi. And . . . thank you.”
Another rustle in the grass. This time, it was Yongcheow, and from his expression, she knew that he’d been sent by Thennjay, to fuss over her like an injured child. He froze when he caught sight of Mokoya’s face.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, before he could start.
He had stopped several yields away from her. “I . . . must. I’ve acted uncharitably toward you.”
“I tend to bring that out in people.”
“Mokoya, I . . . I regret my behavior. I should have been gentler.”
“There’s no need to apologize.”
Yongcheow looked like he was about to say something more. Instead, he glanced away, wetting his cracked lips.
Mokoya said, “And you, do you return to Bataanar now?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Send Akeha my regards. Tell him . . .” She tried to think of something smart and pithy to say. “Tell him not to blow anything up.”
Yongcheow sighed. “Please, stay safe. I don’t know how I would deal with him if something happens to you.”
*
Mokoya found Thennjay playing a game with Phoenix just beyond the boundary of the tents. Fist-sized chunks of jerky lay in his lap, hammocked in the folds of his robes. “Ready, girl?”
Phoenix’s tail feathers rustled. He hefted a chunk, testing its weight. “Okay, get it!”
Thwack. “That’s a good girl. Come on, get this one.”
Mokoya leaned against the side of Thennjay’s tent and watched the trajectories of several more treats. Thennjay’s laugh had the same deep growl it did when he used to play with Eien.
She thought, I miss this. I miss happiness. It sounded even sadder when put into words.
“I know I have shapely shoulders,” Thennjay finally said, without turning around, “but you could come talk to my face. It’s just as attractive, you know.”
Mokoya huffed, but came toward him anyway. She had brought a peace offering wrapped in cloth: a warm clay pot, fragrant with shallot oil. “Dinner,” she said. “Peanut congee.”
He lifted the lid and sniffed. “I was hoping for some meat bone tea. Akeha says Yongcheow’s has to be tried.”
In the kitchen, Yongcheow had once managed to set a pan of water on fire. “Oh. You’re making a joke.”
He smiled at her. She let him.
As he tucked into the congee, Mokoya carefully sat next to him, hooking her arms around her knees. Phoenix rolled onto the sand in front of them and let out a slow, satisfied breath of air.
“She knows who you are,” Mokoya said, pointedly.
Around a mouthful of food, Thennjay countered, “She remembers that I helped raise her for several years. Any raptor from the monastery would do the same.” He swallowed. “It doesn’t mean she’s special, Nao.”
This was an old argument between them, perhaps too old. Mokoya had left the Grand Monastery after she grew sick of hearing every iteration, every branch of the conversation. She didn’t know why she was still arguing it.
Phoenix snuffled, and sand blew up in a cloud. Mokoya listened to the soft song of the desert winds, much calmer than they had been a sun-cycle ago.
Eventually, she said, “Why are you here, Thennjay?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
She shrugged. Yes, no. Who knew?
Thennjay put the clay pot down. Gentle fingers parted the fringe of hair skirting the bones of her neck, as though he were studying the scars that blossomed from her shoulder. “I wanted to see you.”
Mokoya pushed her toes deeper into the sand. He said, “I spent two anniversaries alone. It was miserable. And I knew asking you to come back wouldn’t work, so . . .” He shrugged and slapped his thighs. “The eagle moves where the mountain cannot.”
“So this was your idea? Not Akeha’s?”
“Well. If you need to, you can split the blame between us.” A half smile emerged on his expression. “Admit it—it helps having us around.”
She studied his profile in the milky sunball light. “It’s a long way to travel from Chengbee. You could have just called.”
“I wanted to see you,” he repeated.
She let that hang in the air between them. A significant part of her, centered in her chest, wanted to let her knees fall and rest against his. Wanted to settle her body weight against his and go to sleep, as though they lived in brighter and easier times.
“I worry about you,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
He cautiously put his arm around her shoulders. She allowed him the action, but didn’t lean into his touch. His hand was warm through the cloak she had pulled tight around her shoulders, a blanket over lizardflesh that concealed the colors bleeding across the skin.
“Four years have gone by,” he said, putting words down like a man walking across a rotting bridge. “You have to stop running at some point. You have to return.”
“To stop running doesn’t mean to return.”
“I don’t mean to me, or to the Grand Monastery, or even to Chengbee. I meant to life, Nao. You have to come back. I see you, I hear about what you’re doing, and I know you’re walking around with this sheet of glass between you and the world. You have to break it sometime.”
She didn’t want to turn this into an argument. She was tired. It was the fourth anniversary, and he had traveled all the way here to see her. He didn’t deserve it.
Great Slack, but she was tired.
He lifted her chin and studied the shadows of her countenance. “Once upon a time, I met someone bold and bright as a leaping river. A silver thread in the Slack, shining against all the reds and the blues. Now I don’t know where she’s gone.”
She died, Mokoya thought. She died in the explosion that took her daughter’s life.
Thennjay grew quiet. “I’m sorry. I won’t push you, Nao. That rarely ends well.”
She felt sorry for him. “Thenn, I’m glad you’re here.” And she meant it, too. “I truly am.”
He hugged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. A measured, cautious response. “I’m glad to see you too.” When he got up and went into his tent, she didn’t follow.
Chapter Five