She belonged to the Yonsa clan, but returning to her native village did not mean that any family would be there. Her mother had died when she was five, and she had no memory of her grandparents. The only person she remembered was Aunt Yuka, her father’s younger sister. She had a vague image of her as a tall woman who came to visit after her mother died, bringing over hot meals or sweets. But from what Jiguro had said, she sounded like a remarkable person.
Balsa’s father, Karuna, had been known at school for his keen intelligence and dexterity rather than for his combat skills. When he turned sixteen, he had decided to pursue higher studies in the capital and become a doctor. Yuka, who was even smarter, asked to follow the same path, and the chieftain gave her permission, probably because he recognized that she would be of more value to the clan as a doctor than as a housewife. When they completed their studies, Karuna stayed in the capital as the king’s physician, while Yuka returned to practice medicine in Yonsa territory. Balsa intended to seek her out first to find out what had happened since her father’s death.
The folds in the Yusa range marked the clan boundaries of Kanbal. Each clan numbered about five thousand people, who grazed goats on the rocky stretches beneath the mountain peaks and farmed the plateaus above the forested slopes. Clan settlements of about fifty families each lay scattered along these plateaus, surrounded by low stone walls. Major roads ran through the valleys where the markets were located.
From a stable in Sula Lassal, Balsa rented a shaggy, short-legged horse that looked hardy enough to weather the cold winter. After riding some distance, she found a spring in the woods where she bathed and changed into the clothes she had bought. They were stiff and heavy compared to the clothing worn in Yogo, but also much warmer, particularly the cloak. The cold had kept her awake most of last night: Tonight she should sleep very well.
She reached the border between Yonsa and Musa before nightfall. It was marked by two crude stone forts on either side of the road at the top of the mountain pass. Relations between the two clans were good, and the guards merely watched travelers pass through while they grazed their goats. They gave Balsa directions to the nearest inn, and that night she slept indoors for the first time in a long while. Used to wrapping herself up in a shiruya and sleeping on the floor by the hearth like the Yogoese, she found it strange to lie in a rough wooden bed against the wall under a heap of musty-smelling straw. She smiled to herself. My birthplace feels like a foreign country to me.
The next morning, she ate breakfast at the inn and then set out to find her aunt, who appeared to be well-known. The innkeeper told her that Yuka ran a house of healing in the valley near the chieftain’s village, about an hour’s journey from the inn. On the way, Balsa saw women harvesting gasha from the thin dry soil in small plots shored up by stone retaining walls. Once again she was struck by the poverty of her native land.
High up on the rock-covered slopes she could see little specks that must be goats, tended by the Herder People. Eagles soared overhead, looking for dead goats or their stray offspring. And towering over all loomed shining white peaks that brushed the heavens.
Balsa’s lips stung, chapped by the strong, dry wind. She rode over a low hill and looked down into a wide, gently sloping valley. She could see the chieftain’s hall perched on a rise to the north and, in the foreground, a market about the size of Sula Lassal. Set apart from both of these was a group of buildings surrounded by a low stone wall. That, she realized, must be her aunt’s house of healing.
As she drew nearer, Balsa began to feel like she had seen this place before. Perhaps her father had brought her when she was very small. When she saw a branch of a yukka tree overhanging a black stone wall, she was suddenly sure of it. The tree was laden with red fruit, and birds flitted from branch to branch, chirping merrily. The sweet smell of ripe yukka drifted toward her on the wind. She dismounted and was gazing absently up at the branches when someone moved on the other side of the wooden gate. A short elderly man with a rake in his hand stood staring at her.
“Is this the house of healing?” Balsa asked.
He nodded. “Yes, it is. Are you ill?”
“No, I’m not a patient. I’d like to meet Mistress Yuka.”
He looked doubtfully at Balsa’s spear, as if unsure what to make of her, but at that moment, a plump, sturdy woman of about fifty appeared at the gate. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied back, and she wore a soft woollen robe. Balsa instantly recognized her black brows, firm chin, and dark brown eyes.
“I’m Yuka Yonsa. Did you wish to see me?” the woman said calmly.
Balsa’s heart began to pound. All thought of caution vanished when she saw her aunt’s face. “Aunt Yuka, it’s me, Balsa. Karuna’s daughter.”
The woman looked at her strangely, as if she had difficulty understanding what Balsa said. Then her face grew stern, and she spoke quietly but forcefully. “Who are you, and why do you use my niece’s name?”
Yuka had last seen Balsa when she was six. She could not be expected to find that child in the face of a woman already turned thirty. Balsa looked her straight in the eye and spoke equally calmly and deliberately. “I’m not using anyone else’s name. I am Balsa.”
Her aunt’s eyes wavered. “But that’s impossible! Balsa died when she was only six years old.”
Balsa felt as if she had been punched in the chest. She had expected something like this, but hearing the words from her aunt’s mouth still hurt.
“Did you see her body?” she asked gently.
Her aunt grew visibly paler. “No, how could I? She fell into an artesian well. She was swept away underground and —”
“Aunt Yuka,” Balsa interrupted her abruptly, “you see the branch on this yukka tree? I don’t know how old I was, but I remember falling from it and breaking my arm.”
Her aunt’s face turned chalk white, and her lips trembled. She pressed them together and looked searchingly into Balsa’s face. With a shaking hand, she brushed back her hair. “Lusula, Goddess of Dreams,” she murmured. “Is this a waking nightmare?”