THE ROUTE WOULD TAKE two days on foot. Yongcheow’s injuries meant more precautions, fewer treacherous shortcuts. Over both day- and night-cycles they would travel during the sunup hours and rest during the sundown ones, taking turns to keep watch.

“You’ve done this many times before,” Yongcheow observed.

“And you haven’t. Not even once,” Akeha replied.

He did not deny this.

In the monotony of light forest cover, routine settled upon them like a fisherman’s net. They walked, they caught snatches of sleep, they walked again. This far south, at the periphery of summer and autumn, sunup and sundown hours matched each other in length. Light, dark, light, dark. Akeha trapped rabbits to skin and boil. Yongcheow sank into a fog of strange, serious contemplation, breaking it only to pray at every rest stop, and to answer questions.

Their first stop Akeha asked, “What has my sister said about the purge?”

“Who knows? She doesn’t leave the monastery. You probably have a better idea of what she thinks than I do.”

Their second stop Akeha asked, “Does she really not leave the monastery? Ever?”

“My friend, I’m half Kebangilan. My father is a provincial magistrate. Our village is so small people can’t point to it on a map. I am—I was—no one in the Tensorate. Certainly not of the tier to hear the whispers that surround the Protector’s family.”

“I see.”

Their third stop, Akeha said, “The gun. A Machinist initiative?”

This one drew a laugh, bitter as the frost. “If only! It was Midou’s prototype for the Tensorate. In the end, he didn’t want it in your mother’s hands.”

Steam rose in sheets from the pot of boiling rabbits. Clarity seeped into Akeha’s mind. “The guns were for Protectorate soldiers.”

“And Tensors. You must have noticed, most of us are useless at fighting. Get us a little nervous, and . . . that’s the end of it.”

“It just takes practice. Focus can be taught. Adrenaline can be a tool.”

“Yes, Monastery-style training. That will go down well with the pampered brats stuffing the halls of the Tensorate academy.”

“So, weapons, then. She must be preparing for something.”

“Not necessarily. If she could arm Tensors, then she wouldn’t need pugilists for close combat. You know she doesn’t get along with the Grand Monastery these days.”

“I know,” he said. Pride swelled quietly at Thennjay’s resistance to her rule.

“More than anything,” Yongcheow admitted, hands tense around the cloth bundle he carried, “I’m afraid of Protectorate troops with these weapons.”

“It’s only a matter of time. If not Midou, someone else will perfect them.”

“I know.” The tendons in his hands stood out as he clenched them. Akeha resisted the urge to reach out and massage the stiffness out of them.

At their next stop Akeha said, “So, about you and Midou . . .”

Yongcheow’s lowered lids occluded reams of history. “Many years ago, if that’s what you’re asking.” At Akeha’s patient silence, he sighed. “We were both in the academy at that time. He had recently converted to Obedience, and that’s how we met. He was always a radical, agitating for change. I was afraid of what would happen to my family. So, we fell out.”

“But you’re here now.”

Yongcheow pushed in the dirt with a broken branch. “The Protectorate put his name on the list. I was added by association. They came for him first. He left me a warning, and—” He hefted the cloth bundle.

“Then you’re not a Machinist.”

“I wasn’t. But I am now.” He shifted his weight. “Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not opposed to the philosophy. In fact, I agree completely. People should have access to technologies without relying on Tensors. I just didn’t think I had it in me. Joining the movement, I mean.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Akeha said softly.

It was Yongcheow’s turn to rest as the sun fell. In the soft shelter of willow crowns, Akeha watched shadows march across the warm canvas of the other man’s face. As the patterns shifted and changed, he felt something in his chest come loose.

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.”