“What do you think it means, Brother, that the moon began to bleed mere days after we agreed to stay?”
Tet Sang winced. It was never a good sign when Guet Imm started voicing the thoughts already sprouting in his own mind; it meant she had opinions, and he was going to hear them whether he wanted to or not. Therefore, instead of answering the question, Tet Sang said, “You have seen the scriptures. There have been multiple schools of thought.”
“I didn’t ask what the scriptures said.” Guet Imm’s elbow dug into Tet Sang’s side, just below the ribs, just gentle enough to avoid a bruise. “I asked what you think it means.”
The carefully tended gardens of Yeoh Gaik Tin’s manor smelled more like a tokong than anywhere else Tet Sang had been since leaving Permatang Timbul. It had to be intentional. Tet Sang couldn’t tell if he liked it. That, along with Madam Yeoh’s persistent questions, was the only excuse for why Tet Sang said, “I am not sure what I think.” It was frustratingly honest, something which Guet Imm gleefully pried out of him.
He hadn’t been sure of anything since accepting the offer of shelter, which Tet Sang suspected Guet Imm also knew. Madam Yeoh hadn’t figured it out yet; Tet Sang understood the scriptures and could easily recite them and the standard interpretations of their cryptic wordsings. The framework of faith could replace many things, it turned out, including one’s own opinions.
The veil of red slowly drawn across the Pure Moon reminded Tet Sang of the way blood diffused in water. He had spent so much time with Lau Fung Cheung cleaning blood from their hands. He had spent a different length of time cleaning blood from between his thighs. It didn’t matter where it came from; it was just as red, and stained water just the same.
Beside him, Guet Imm snorted. “You’re afraid.” She rose, graceful as a crane, and stepped in front of him. The moon’s pink light shone against her shaved head, drawing Tet Sang’s attention to her devotion. “Do you know what I think, Brother?”
“I know what you think, Sister.” He had heard her arguments since the minute they first left Yeoh Gaik Tin’s door. “The goddess does not want us here.”
Guet Imm slashed her hand impatiently, a quick motion Tet Sang only half-saw and which left every leaf quivering. “What have walls brought us lately? Is there use in staying confined here? Does not the moon change with every day?”
“Does not the moon return every night?” Tet Sang countered, the response automatic. He folded his hands in his robes. The night was warm, with insects fluttering hopefully through the air despite the incense set out to deter them. If he didn’t look away from Guet Imm’s face, he could almost forget where he was. “There is constancy in the moon’s attention, even as she changes. We travel on pilgrimage, but we are not nomads.”
“These are not the times of the scriptures.”
“It is always the time of the scriptures.” Tet Sang had argued the other side of this debate once, back in Permatang Timbul. It had been an exercise in memory, analysis, and quick responses. A game with no victor. This time, they were playing for stakes more important than the first bite of fresh bread, and the moon watching over them covered her eyes. “Is that not the reason for scripture? That it is timeless?”
Guet Imm’s eyes narrowed. “Do you believe the scriptures were written for a time of war? That our peacetime interpretations will be the same as those the goddess now demands?”
Tet Sang looked away, unable to meet the dark intensity of Guet Imm’s gaze. There was no escaping from the Pure Moon, however; a willow arched over a pristine reflecting pool, its trailing branches just brushing its surface, caressing the moon. Tet Sang wished he could soothe Guet Imm the same way. “No,” he admitted.
“Then why do you parrot them back to Madam Yeoh?” Guet Imm crouched down in front of him, close enough for Tet Sang to smell the oil she moistened her skin with. “Are you her monkey, chattering away?”
“Paying for safety with aphorisms costs little.” Tet Sang sighed and tilted his head back, leaning on his hands to keep from reaching out and touching Guet Imm. This was not the time, nor the place. The moon’s veil could occupy him instead. “We never promised we’d stay forever, Sister.”
“We have already stayed too long.” Guet Imm extended a hand, laid it on his cheek, and forced him to meet her eyes. Her touch drew blood to his face. Stars glittered in her eyes. “Can’t you feel it, Brother?”
Guet Imm had never hidden her faith. Tet Sang felt it humming in her hands, heavy in the air she devoted herself to shaping, and knew it echoed in the beat of his own heart. She had already awakened him once, simply by existing, and Tet Sang had repaid her with tethers. Now, with Guet Imm once more demanding he face that which he preferred to forget, Tet Sang could feel nothing more than the pulse of blood stirring in his body.
“Stillness begets stagnation,” he whispered. Then, “How are you so certain this message is for us?”
“We are here,” Guet Imm said, very simply. “We see this message, and thus it is for us. How would you interpret it, Brother?”
There were indeed many ways to speak of the reddened moon: the menstruating moon, reminding the world of the life she could carry; the marrying moon, dressing herself to meet her husband the sun; the martial moon, blood staining her face as she fought for her people.
Any of them could speak to this situation, if Tet Sang chose. He could choose his words to imply any of them he wished, if he only knew which interpretation he preferred.
Or he could say something else entirely.
Tet Sang wetted his lips. “A warning,” he said, because the last time he’d seen the moon bleed had been shortly before the mata came to his tokong. “We should not bring danger upon those who do not ask for it. The moon guides, but it is not a shield; we should not burden another with the choices we make for ourselves.”
“I know what I choose.” Guet Imm stood, silhouetted against the night. “What of you, Brother?”
“I will come with you,” Tet Sang said, the words flowing easily across his tongue. “I have grown too wild for these walls.”
Guet Imm laughed, the sound echoing like the courtyard was a bell, but it did not wake anyone yet sleeping in Madam Yeoh’s manor. She shone in the moonlight, and when she held out her hand he took it without question.
He did hold back when she looked to be ready to leap over the walls right then and there. “In the morning, perhaps,” Tet Sang said, a smile tugging at his lips when she glared at him. “I’d prefer to leave with food in hand and some changes of clothes, Sister.”
She sighed, but conceded enough to let him draw her inside, where the moon politely averted her gaze from the rest of their night.