Balsa stood on a rocky ledge beside a cave, the overlapping ridges of the Misty Blue Mountains dropping away beneath her. A stream rushed from the cave mouth and thundered into a basin far below, wrapping her in the tingling scent of fresh water. The hot, dry summer had passed, and the green foliage was beginning to fade. Within a month, the mountain slopes would be covered in a blaze of autumn leaves.
Balsa closed her eyes. The setting sun burned a red circle against her eyelids. She had stood on this shelf once before, after her foster father, Jiguro, had led her weeping through the caves. Just six years old, she had trembled to see the foreign land spread out below her; she could not begin to imagine the life that awaited her there. Years later, she was a bodyguard by trade, her black, weathered hair bound carelessly into a ponytail and her belongings slung over the end of her well-used spear. Those mountains to the south now separated her from everyone she loved in New Yogo, while to the north, through the cave, lay her native Kanbal, whose very name stirred bitter memories within her.
And yet now that was where she must go.
With her eyes still closed, she gently ran a finger over the long, twisting line carved into her spear shaft. Right at the first branch. Right again at the second branch, left at the third … She could hear Jiguro’s deep voice reciting the route that the mark represented.
The rugged land of Kanbal followed the contours of the Yusa mountains, “the mother range,” which hid a deep labyrinth of caves. Parents constantly warned their children to stay out of the caves, telling them stories of the darkness ruled by the Mountain King and the terrible hyohlu who guarded his kingdom. Despite these warnings, however, probably every child in Kanbal ventured a little way inside at least once in his or her life. While the rock near the surface was limestone, it soon gave way to smooth white hakuma stone. A piece of hakuma was the highest badge of courage among Kanbalese children, for it proved that the bearer had gone into the darkness beyond the reach of daylight. Every few years, one or two children who snuck into the caves failed to return. Perhaps they were eaten by the hyohlu as their parents claimed, or perhaps they simply lost their way in the complex maze of tunnels.
Balsa too had been taught to fear the caves, and though she had survived countless battles through strength and bravery alone, she felt the familiar terror rising in her stomach as she stood before the dark opening. She could have entered Kanbal through the official border gate like other travelers. Rogsam, the king of Kanbal who had hunted her for fifteen years, had died a decade ago. She was the only person alive who knew how he had seized the throne; she did not need to fear reprisal, even if she strode boldly across the border. But she wanted to return through this same cave. Somehow she felt that it was the right thing to do — to walk alone through the darkness, retracing her steps to her native land.
She had tried so hard to forget Kanbal. Thinking about it hurt like an old scar, tender to the touch. Physical wounds healed over time, but the more she tried to ignore the pain in her soul, the deeper it seemed to fester. There was only one way to deal with it: She must confront it head-on.
Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath, bidding a silent farewell to the Misty Blue Mountains and everyone she loved in New Yogo. Then she turned abruptly and stepped into the darkness.
Balsa walked along the stones close to the wall, carefully staying clear of the rushing stream. The light behind her dwindled to a tiny point and then vanished altogether, but she continued on slowly, her eyes open, keeping one hand on the wall. She knew that beneath her feet, the limestone of the surface rock would soon give way to the smooth white hakuma and eventually milky green lyokuhaku. Legend held that if a traveler went far enough into the cave, he might find the palace of the Mountain King, which was supposedly made of the most precious gem in Kanbal: luisha, the luminous blue stone. Balsa wished she could see her way now.
Never take light into the caves.
Jiguro’s voice echoed in her mind. The memory was as fresh as if it had been yesterday, not years and years ago.
The hyohlu hate fire. If you bring a torch or lantern, they’ll smell it and track you down. The only way to get through here alive is to walk slowly, feeling the rock.
Perhaps he had been trying, in his clumsy way, to comfort her, a little girl sobbing with fear.
Don’t worry. I know the way.
As Balsa’s feet and hands automatically searched a route through the darkness, her mind wandered back over the history that had taken her away from Kanbal. Jiguro had been a man of few words, very different from Balsa’s father, Karuna, who had talked and laughed a lot. And yet the two men had been very close. Karuna had been the physician to Naguru, the king of Kanbal, while Jiguro served as the king’s master of martial arts.
Ironically, this good fortune led to tragedy for them both. Naguru had always been sickly, and one winter he came down with a bad cold that lingered on into spring. His younger brother, the Crown Prince Rogsam, saw his chance. He ordered Karuna to poison the king. If Karuna refused or tried to reveal the plot, Rogsam said, he would kill the six-year-old Balsa.
Well aware of Rogsam’s cruelty, Karuna was forced to do as he said. He asked him if he might use a poison that weakened the body slowly over time, so the courtiers would attribute Naguru’s death to illness rather than murder. Rogsam agreed. He kept a close watch on Karuna until he began administering the poison, but as the king grew visibly weaker, he relaxed his vigilance. After all, Karuna could not possibly betray him now.
But Karuna knew the prince well, and he was sure that Rogsam would never let him live once the king was dead. Nor would he stop there: He would kill Balsa too to prevent future reprisals. In the time allowed him by Naguru’s slow death, Karuna told Jiguro what had happened and begged him to save his daughter.
And Jiguro gave up everything — life as he had known it — to help his friend.
Balsa paused for a moment before moving on. Although she had been only six, her memory of the evening Jiguro took her away remained as clear and cold as crystal. It had been a warm night at the end of spring. The sweet scent of blossoms lingered on the air, and the trees and the stone wall encircling the house cast long shadows over the grass. Kanbalese houses were built of thick stone to protect against the long cruel winters, and Balsa loved to sit on the wide windowsill overlooking the garden. Karuna had not returned from the castle for several days, leaving Balsa at home with her nanny, and she had been waiting for him then, bare feet dangling out the window, hoping to catch sight of her father.
Suddenly she heard a dull thud, like two soft objects colliding. Startled, she looked toward the sound. She saw Jiguro opening the wooden gate into the yard, a bundle under his arm, and shivers ran through her when she realized the bundle was a man.
Jiguro looked at Balsa and raised a finger to his lips. The man was unconscious, and Jiguro swiftly laid him down against the garden wall in the shadow of some shrubs, bound him to a tree, and gagged him. When he gestured to Balsa to come down from her perch, she slipped quietly to the ground, moving as if in a dream.
Jiguro grasped her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Your father told me to take you away from here. You must come with me right now.”
She looked up at him. “But Nanny said it’s almost dinnertime,” she said. “I have to tell her where I’m going.”
“You can’t tell her anything. If she knows you’ve escaped with me, she could get in trouble. You see that man over there? He was waiting to kill you. If you don’t want to die, you must do as I say.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along after him. She began to weep silently. “My … my shoes,” she whispered as they reached the gate.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “I came prepared.” He knelt and took a pair of shoes out of his knapsack. They were too big, but he laced them up tightly. “They’ll have to do,” he said as he stood up. Then, clutching her arm in his large hand, he all but dragged her out of the garden.
Years later, Balsa headed steadily deeper into the caves. She bit her lip as the memories came flooding back. From the time she had fled through this same darkness with Jiguro until Rogsam’s death fifteen years later, her life had been hell. Six months after their escape, some migrant workers from Kanbal told them that Karuna had been murdered by thieves. It was a cruel blow, for the hope that she would one day see him again had kept the young Balsa going through months of fear and confusion. Jiguro told her everything then — why her father had been killed, why they had had to run. He spoke to her as if she were already grown up, and a terrible hatred toward Rogsam sprouted in her heart, becoming a hard knot buried deep inside her.