That night Laloog heard a strange bird calling him in his dreams. He opened his eyes with a start and lay on his bed listening to the faint sound of the wind. The room was dark. The fire had died down to embers that cast only a feeble glow.
Suddenly, he tensed. Through the chimney came a high, thin whistle. When he grasped its meaning, he began to tremble. Thirty-five years ago he had heard that same call in the Mountain Deep: “The People of the Mountain King have come to speak to thee.”
He lay motionless in stunned disbelief. But when he heard it again, he rose from his bed and dressed warmly in seldom-used boots, two pairs of woollen socks, and his thick kahl. Then he went over to the window and opened it as quietly as possible.
A cold, snowy gust blew into the room. The window faced onto the back garden, which was sunk in darkness, but below the windowsill he saw two small bluish-white eyes glowing in the black.
“Welcome, Servant of the Mountain King,” Laloog said in a low voice. “Please come in.”
The villages of Kanbal bustled with activity during Langal Tonoi, the month of the first snow, when the Herders brought the goats down to their winter pens beside the clan settlement. Herder men and boys lived much of the year in simple huts beside the high mountain pastures, while the women lived in houses just outside the village, working in the fields and weaving. But at the beginning of winter, all the clansmen helped tend the goats, and the clanswomen likewise took over the Herder women’s share of the fieldwork, knowing they were busy welcoming their menfolk home.
Kassa too was swept up in the activity. As he gathered his family’s goats, he watched Toto the Elder, Yoyo, and the others joyfully returning to their homes just outside the outer wall of the village. He found it hard to believe that the people rejoicing at this homecoming were the same ones who had crouched with him on the rock shelves only a few nights before.
While it was a season of reunion for the Herder People and their families, it was also the time when most clansmen left their families to seek work in New Yogo. The men’s well-worn kahls, painstakingly waterproofed with grease, hung from the eaves of the clan’s houses, swaying in the wind over small mounds of earth: the graves of the countless children who had died soon after birth. In a poor country like Kanbal, only four out of every ten children survived. Those who died were buried in the shelter of the eaves, where they became guardian spirits watching over the house. The kahls were hung over their graves in hopes that their spirits would slip inside the cloaks, protecting their fathers or brothers on their journeys to foreign lands.
Children now sat by these same graves, rubbing grease into the men’s boots. They talked and laughed with their friends as their fingers worked the leather. They would miss their fathers and brothers during the long winter months, but they accepted their temporary absence as part of life. Nor did the men who would soon be leaving appear sad or gloomy. Working in foreign lands far from their families was hard, but for the young ones, it was also a chance to see the outside world and learn from their elders how to find a little fun. For the older men, it was simply what they did every winter.
Kassa’s father had at first been happy that he could stay home, thanks to the large sum of money they’d received for the luisha. But when he saw his fellow villagers preparing to go, he spent much of that small fortune buying new boots for all of them, probably out of guilt. Driving the goats along the path, Kassa overheard several men talking about Tonno’s gift as they fixed a fence. “It was nice of him,” they said with affection and a trace of humor. “But how like Tonno to worry about what others might think!” Kassa listened with mixed feelings, understanding both the men’s thoughts and his father’s motivations.
As Kassa herded the disgruntled goats into the enclosure, he glanced toward the village gate. According to Toto, the Yonsa clan Elder should arrive sometime today. “Ow!” he yelped as a goat stepped on his foot. He blushed, embarrassed, but fortunately no one else seemed to have noticed.
Just then the shrill blast of a horn split the air. Kassa jumped and looked toward the gate again. Far in the distance, he saw people coming up the road from the valley. A warrior rode ahead, the Yonsa flag tied to his spear flapping in the wind, and behind him rolled a horse-drawn carriage accompanied by a single horseman.
He’s here. The Yonsa Elder really had come to meet Kaguro, just as Toto had said. The village was now astir with excitement at their arrival. As he pushed an escaping goat back into the pen, Kassa hoped with all his heart that the meeting would go well.
Frowning slightly, Kaguro came out to greet his unexpected guest. Guards lined both sides of the road from the gate to the hall as the carriage, flanked by two mounted warriors, drew up to the entrance. As soon as it halted, a strange woman wrapped in a kahl climbed out quickly and then turned to help Laloog down. She led him forward to stand before the Musa chieftain.
“Master Kaguro,” Laloog said in a rasping voice. “Please forgive me for arriving unannounced.”
Kaguro inclined his head slightly. “No, no, you are welcome,” he said. “Please come inside. We’ll prepare a feast to celebrate your visit.” He turned to lead his guest toward the great hall.
“Just a moment, Master Kaguro. I’ve actually come to discuss something highly confidential.”
Kaguro paused, momentarily discomfited. As one of the last surviving Spears, Laloog was held in high esteem by all the clans, and Kaguro felt a little nervous in his presence. “Ah, I see. Then shall we go to my private chamber?” He led him deeper into the building to his room. He noticed that although Laloog had claimed the discussion was to be confidential, he showed no sign of dismissing the woman by his side.
Once the three were alone in the dimly lit, chilly room, Kaguro hastily added coals to the fire and stirred up the flames. Then he led Laloog over to an armchair. After a brief glance at the woman, he looked at Laloog. “Excuse me, but who is this?”
Laloog returned his gaze steadily. “Let me introduce you. This is Balsa of the Yonsa clan, daughter of Karuna, and Jiguro’s foster child.”
Kaguro reeled backward as if he had been struck. Quietly removing her kahl, Balsa turned to him and bowed slightly.
“Wha — what do you mean by this?” After the first shock of surprise, anger kindled in Kaguro’s eyes. “This woman is a criminal, one I requested you capture to protect the honor of my clan! Why have you —”
Laloog raised his hand abruptly. “Master Kaguro. Will you trust me long enough to hear me out?”
Kaguro clenched his shaking fists and sat down heavily in a chair.
“It’s a long story — and a disturbing one. But the fate of Kanbal rests upon whether or not you choose to believe me. So please listen carefully.” Quietly but passionately, Laloog began relating the tale of Balsa’s father, Karuna, physician to King Naguru, of his friendship with Jiguro, and of Rogsam’s treacherous plot….
Kaguro sat rigidly as he listened to the dark tale unfold. Partway through, Balsa picked up the thread and in her pleasantly low, calm voice related what had transpired after their flight from Yogo. By the time she reached her return to Kanbal, the last rays of the dying sun had already faded into blackness.