Chapter 1

PROLOGUE SOHYON’S FINGER FLUTE 1 THE TODA’S LAMENT Elin woke to the sound of the door opening. It was not yet dawn. In the blackness outside, the rain drummed incessantly on the shingled roof. Elin could vaguely make out the shape of her mother as she washed her hands in the dirt-floored kitchen, then turned and trod softly to the sleeping area. As she slid under the covers, she brought with her the scent of rain and of Toda, the huge water serpents that bore men to battle. Toda Warriors were easily identified by the distinctive musk-like odor of the membrane coating the Toda’s scales. It clung to them wherever they went, and to Elin’s mother, too; it was a sweet, familiar scent that had surrounded Elin from the moment she was born. “Mother, was that thunder?” “It’s a long way off. Don’t worry. The storm’s over the mountains, not here. Now go to sleep.” With a deep sigh, Elin closed her eyes. The image of her mother’s white hand slowly, cautiously caressing the Toda hovered in her mind. She loved the stillness of her mother’s face as she gazed at the enormous beasts. Her mother was in charge of not just any Toda, but the strongest—the Kiba or “fangs.” These formed the vanguard of the Toda forces. Not even the fathers of her best friends, Saju and Chok, were entrusted with the care of the Stone Chambers reserved for the Kiba. Elin’s heart filled with pride when she thought of how highly the Toda Stewards regarded her mother’s skill as a beast doctor. She followed her mother to the Chambers whenever she could, even if it meant she had to sew, haul water, or do other chores later. But although she longed to stroke the serpents’ hides, her mother had warned her never to try. “The Toda are fearsome creatures,” she had said calmly, her eyes following their gliding forms where they churned the surface of the deep, dark pool. “If you got too near, they would sense you instantly and snap you in two, then swallow you in a single bite. You’ve seen me touch them so often you think it must be easy, but don’t let that fool you. The Toda will never be tamed … They aren’t meant to be tamed. Toda Stewards like me, and even the Riders, wouldn’t dare touch them without a Silent Whistle to immobilize them.” She opened her palm to reveal a small whistle. Elin had often seen her raise it to her mouth. She had also seen the Warriors blow such whistles in unison so that they could swiftly saddle and mount the Toda while they lay as stiff as logs. Once perched on a Toda’s back and grasping the two long horns protruding from its head, a Warrior could prevent it from thrusting its head underwater and move it as he willed. On land, the Toda resembled dragons and could outrun a horse on their sharp-clawed feet. But in their true element, water, they slithered like snakes, with their legs tucked close to their bodies. Ferocious beasts, with hides impervious to arrows, they could rend a horse and rider asunder with a snap of their jaws, decimating enemy troops. During the spawning season, the Stewards crept into wild Toda nests and stole one or two eggs from the many that had been laid. As soon as the eggs hatched, a flap-like scale over the hatchlings’ ears was partially removed. Elin had watched her mother do this once. “It’s to keep them from shutting out the Silent Whistle,” she had explained. Once astride their mounts, the Warriors placed covers fashioned from Toda scales over the ear holes to block out enemy whistles. Elin’s mother’s eyes had grown dark and sad as she gazed at the Toda swimming around the pond. Rolling the whistle absently in her palm, she had said, “If you still want to touch them when you become a woman at fifteen, then we’ll see.” Disturbed by the hollowness of her voice, Elin had pressed her no further. But how, she wondered, was she to wait five whole years until she reached fifteen? How, when all she could think about was what it would feel like to touch those shimmering, iridescent scales? Her friends, Saju and Chok, told her she was strange to even want to. Girls, it seemed, were afraid to go anywhere near the Toda. Elin could understand to some extent; she, too, found them frightening. When they plunged to the bottom of the deep pool and slithered back up to the surface, cloaked in black water, it made her skin crawl, and yet she could not take her eyes off them. For some reason, they made her forget everything else. She could have spent all day just watching. Often she wondered if they slept at night, but she had never managed to join her mother on the midnight patrol. Every time she heard her mother preparing to leave, she tried to force herself awake and get out of bed. But her eyes remained glued shut. Tonight, yet again, Elin sank back into slumber before her mother began breathing peacefully beside her. An earsplitting noise rent the air, startling Elin awake. It sounded like wind whistling full force through a cracked pipe. How long had she slept? Her mother flung aside the covers. It must be dawn already because Elin could see her more clearly now. The keening sound went on and on, setting her teeth on edge. She covered her ears. “Mother! What is that?” Without responding, her mother threw on some clothes and slipped her feet into straw sandals rather than her boots, which would take too long to pull on. “Stay here,” she said as she raced outside. But Elin could not possibly stay behind with that noise echoing all around her. She had to know what was going on. Flinging a coat on over her pajamas, she hurried after her mother. The rain had stopped but the ground was sodden and her sandals slipped in the mud, slowing her down. The doors of the neighbors’ homes flew open and other Toda Stewards rushed out into the street. Their families followed and soon a crowd was surging toward the eastern bluff, deep inside of which were carved the Toda Chambers. It was from this direction that the shrill wailing came. A huge fissure ran up the gray rock face, almost as if the cliff had been wrenched open by giant hands. At the bottom where it met the ground, it was wide enough for several adults to walk abreast. The guards posted at this entrance to forestall enemy raids were peering anxiously inside, unsettled by the eerie sound, but they stepped aside with relief when they saw the Toda Stewards approaching with Elin’s mother at their head. Torches burned in the walls every thirty paces, illuminating the tunnel and making the damp rock glisten. The tunnel opened into a large cavern known as the Hall, beyond which branched many smaller tunnels. These led to the Stone Chambers, a series of huge individual caverns built three centuries before by the Stewards’ ancestors. Each was equipped with its own pool, or Pond. How they had been dug so deep, no one knew, but there were countless underground Ponds, each separate from the others to prevent the fiercely territorial Toda from killing each other. No more than ten could occupy a single Pond without fighting. Channels known as Toda Ways connected the Ponds but were kept sealed by gates of thick oak, raised only when the Warriors rode the Toda out for training or to battle. Now the caverns shook with a cacophony that rose from every Pond, bouncing off the walls and reverberating through the Chambers. People clapped their hands against their ears and gritted their teeth as they entered the cliff. Though the walkways that ran alongside the channels were only dimly lit, Elin’s mother raced unerringly down the one that led to the Kiba Chambers, without even bothering to cover her ears. By the time Elin caught up with her, most of the Toda Stewards were already there, standing like frozen statues in one of the Chambers. Pushing her way through, she was greeted by a strange sight. Giant logs glowed dimly on the surface of the Pond. Her mother, chest deep in water, reached out to touch them. Elin gasped as she realized what they were. The Kiba! She started toward her mother but someone grabbed her shoulder. Looking up, she saw that it was her grandfather. He was staring at her mother, his face rigid. “Are they dead?” he asked. Her mother nodded. “All five of them?” Again her mother nodded. Elin suddenly realized that the eerie whistling had ceased. The ensuing silence was broken by the sound of running footsteps. Three men burst into the cave. “The Kiba in the next Chamber are dead, too!” one of them shouted. A gasp rose from those assembled and Elin felt her grandfather’s hand tighten painfully on her shoulder. “What about the others?” he asked. “The Trunk and Tail units are all fine … They’ve stopped whistling in mourning. They’re still agitated and swimming in circles, but they seem all right.” Elin’s grandfather looked around at the Stewards. “Go to the Chambers under your charge,” he said sternly. “I don’t want any Toda injuring themselves against the rock walls of the Ponds. We must not lose any more!” The Stewards nodded and hurried from the cave. After watching them leave, Elin’s grandfather walked toward the pool. “Why did this happen?” Elin’s mother kept her eyes on the rigid Toda, lifting their scales to peer underneath. “I don’t know yet,” she responded. “Did they suffocate on these washu?” He gestured at a thick swarm of glowing insects. “No. Their gills are clean. These glow bugs must have gathered after they died.” “Did you administer tokujisui, the herbal potion reserved for the Kiba? Surely you must have noticed something wrong during your midnight rounds.” But Elin’s mother just shook her head wordlessly. He glared at her for a moment, then said grimly, “That you could let all the Kiba die … It’s unforgivable. When the inspector comes, you will be interrogated and punished for this crime.” Elin’s mother turned her head slowly and looked up at him. “I know. I am ready.” He clenched his fists. “Really? You’re ready, are you? Sohyon. You know that I, too, must be ready. As chief of the Toda Stewards, as your father-in-law, I, too, will be questioned. They will want to know why I let you, an Ahlyo, take care of the Kiba, the priceless gems of the Aluhan.” His voice shook with anger, then dropped to a murmur. “Were it not for Asson … If you had not been heavy with his child…” He shook his head. “No, that’s not the only reason. Your skill as a beast doctor is outstanding. That’s why I defied everyone’s protests and obeyed my son’s wishes. But if I had known it would come to this…” He almost spat out the last words and, wheeling away from her, left the cave. Elin’s knees were shaking so hard she had to drop to a crouch. “Mother…” she whispered. “Mother…” She looked up into her face, but Sohyon just stared at her blankly. Gradually, however, a glint of life returned to her eyes, and she smiled faintly. “It’ll be all right,” she said. “But he said it’s unforgivable, a crime.” Her mother caressed the flank of a dead Toda. “That’s what your grandfather says, but you know, the Kiba have been wiped out like this before, in his father’s time. They’re bigger and stronger than any other Toda, but they’re also more susceptible to disease. Everyone knows that.” She stood looking at the Toda, apparently oblivious to everything else, even the frigid water. Her eyes held more than sorrow, as if she was concealing a deep anguish inside. For a long time, Elin stood with her mother looking at the dead Toda and listening to the indistinct voices of the Stewards reverberating along the rocks from other Chambers. Glowing insects swarmed around the torches that had been thrust into holes drilled in the rock. Many more hovered around the corpses in the water. Watching them, Elin suddenly said, “Mother, do Toda smell differently when they die? Or did their smell change because they were sick?” Her mother’s head jerked up as if she had been lashed with a whip, startling Elin. “Why do you say that?” she asked, her eyes boring into her daughter. Elin blinked. “It’s just … their smell seems different than usual. So I thought that might be what drew all these bugs…” Her voice dwindled away. Her mother stood rooted to the spot, staring at Elin with a stunned expression. “Go on,” she urged. Elin blinked again and said, “I know that washu live near water, but I’ve never seen them in the Toda Pond before. You know how you told me that different types of flowers attract different insects because of their distinctive fragrances? Well, I thought that the washu might have been attracted to the Pond because the Toda’s scent had changed.” “You…” her mother began and then stopped. There was admiration in her voice but her expression remained unreadable. She shook her head. “Elin,” she said quietly. “You must not tell anyone what you think.” “Why?” Her mother smiled. “Some people are naturally suspicious. If they thought you had made that story up to help me, you might get into trouble.” Elin frowned. She felt like she was missing something. Her mother seemed to have evaded her question, yet she could not figure out why she would do so. Sohyon waded wearily to the edge of the Pond, placed her hands on the stone floor of the cave, and hauled herself up. Elin ran over and grabbed her robe, pulling on it to help her out. Her skin was as cold as ice. “Thank you,” she whispered, stroking Elin’s hair tenderly. Then, turning toward the Pond where the dead Toda floated, she knelt on the stone and bowed her forehead to the ground. She remained that way for a long time. Water from her sodden garments spread slowly around her in a dark pool. 2 THE AHLYO, PEOPLE OF THE MIST By the time Elin and her mother left the communal bathhouse, the setting sun was gilding the mountain slopes. It had been a very long day. After seeing that the Toda corpses were borne to the great stone hall and laid out on straw mats for easy inspection the following day, Elin’s mother had spent hours closeted with the other Stewards in the gathering hall. Elin felt sick with worry. When her mother did not return for lunch, Saju’s mother, who lived next door, fed her. Sohyon and the others finally exited the hall very late in the afternoon, looking exhausted. Elin was waiting outside the door, and her mother took her by the hand without a word and led her home to get a change of clothes. Then they had headed to the bathhouse. Because the Stewards spent much of the day immersed in the icy waters of the Ponds, a communal bathhouse was a necessity for Toda villages. Copious amounts of wood were burned to heat the large pool of water, and the bathhouse was located on the western edge of the village to reduce the risk of fire. Elin and her mother always entered the baths last, after the Stewards and the women, and used the leftover hot water. It had been this way ever since Elin could remember, and she had never given it a second thought. Today, however, as the two of them soaked in the empty bathhouse, she began to wonder why her mother always chose to come when no one was there. Although nobody said so, Elin had always sensed that there was a gap between them and the other villagers. Now things she had noticed from time to time suddenly began to fall into place, taking on new meaning. She thought of her friend Saju and the way Saju’s grandparents always treated their granddaughter with affectionate kindness. They even lived together under the same roof, and Saju’s cousins often dropped by to visit. Elin, on the other hand, had never lived with her grandparents. Her grandfather, the Chief Steward, had always intimidated her, and her grandmother never smiled at Elin or her mother, even though she shared rice cakes with them when they visited on New Year’s Day or other special occasions. Nor was Elin close to any of her uncles, aunts, or cousins. She often wondered why her grandparents chatted comfortably with the rest of her kin but not with her, yet she had never voiced this question, not even to her mother. Something warned her not to. Sohyon was different. She was taller than any of the village women. Walking beside her now, Elin wondered when she had first realized that the shape of her face and the color of her eyes were different. It was probably the day Saju had said, “Elin, your eyes are green, like your mother’s. Do all Ahlyo have green eyes?” Then, lowering her voice, she had asked, “Can you do magic, too, Elin? Were you bitten by a devil? Everyone says it’s wrong to make children with an Ahlyo. They call them Akun Meh Chai, ‘devil-bitten child.’” Elin had smiled blankly without answering. Somehow she had known that it was safer to dull her mind and let such comments pass over her. Instinct told her that if she played dumb and didn’t ask questions, she and her mother would suffer less grief. As they stood watching the sunset clouds skirting the mountain ridges, Elin snuck a peek at her mother. Do you belong to the Ahlyo, the People of the Mist, Mother? What was Father like? Am I Akun Meh Chai? She burned to ask these questions, but no words came to her. Turning, her mother looked down at her, perhaps sensing her gaze. “You must be tired,” she murmured. Then she smiled. “How about some wild boar for supper tonight?” “Really?” Elin exclaimed. Wild boar cured in miso was a special treat reserved for celebrations or festivals. “We’re really going to have boar for supper?” “We sure are. A delicious meal is just what we need to chase away fatigue and make us strong for tomorrow.” When they reached home, her mother told her to light the fire and went into the back room. She returned with a small package. “What’s that?” Elin asked. Ignoring her question, her mother said, “The rice has been washed already. Could you put it on to cook? I’ll be back by the time it’s ready.” Then she went next door to Saju’s house. She was gone for such a long time that Elin wondered what on earth they could be talking about. Just as the fragrance of steamed rice began to fill the room, her mother finally returned. She knelt before the stove and checked the fire. “That smells great, Elin … You must be hungry. I’ll start cooking the meat.” But she showed no sign of moving. After staring at the flames for a long moment, she drew the whistle from her robe and cast it into the fire. “Mother!” Elin exclaimed. Sohyon stood up and drew her close. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “What I’ve done will make life so much harder for you … Yet to be honest, I’m glad that I’ll never have to use that thing again.” Elin looked at her in surprise. “Why? Don’t you like taking care of the Toda?” Her mother shook her head. “It’s not taking care of the Toda that I mind … It’s that whistle. I’ve always hated using it.” Stroking Elin’s hair, she spoke in a low murmur, as if she were talking to herself. “I hate watching the Toda freeze whenever I blow it … To see beasts controlled by humans is a miserable thing. In the wild, they would be masters of their own destiny. I can’t bear watching them grow steadily weaker when they live among men…” “Is it bad for the Toda to be raised by humans?” Elin asked. “I thought that special potion, the tokujisui, was supposed to make them stronger.” “It makes their fangs harder and their bones larger than Toda in the wild. But at the expense of other parts.” “What parts?” Sohyon rested her hand on Elin’s head and thought for a while. There was regret in her voice when she finally spoke. “I’ve told you much more than I should have. Forget what I said. None of the other Stewards have noticed, and if you told them, it would only cause trouble. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.” Elin frowned. This was not the first time her mother had made her vow to keep silent. “All right. I promise. But in return, tell me the answer. Please. What gets weaker?” Her mother smiled. “Think about it. What can Toda in the wild do naturally that Toda raised in the Ponds can’t? I’m sure you’ll find the answer for yourself one day. But when you do, don’t tell anyone. Not until you understand why you shouldn’t tell them what you know.” She ruffled Elin’s hair and then gently drew her hand away. “Go on, now,” she said. “Get some meat out of that jar.” While Elin took out the meat and scraped off the miso, her mother made a hollow in the ashes inside the oven and spread a large lacos leaf on top. Elin’s eyes grew round as she watched. “What’re you doing?” Her mother laughed. “Watch and see.” Taking the lump of meat from Elin, she placed it on top of the leaf and spread the sweet, shredded flesh of the lacos fruit on top. Over this she sprinkled a little spicy miso called toi. Quickly tucking the leaf around the meat and fruit, she covered the entire parcel in hot ashes. After that, they waited for what seemed like forever. Just when Elin thought she could bear her hunger no longer, her mother removed the parcel from the ashes and placed it on a large unglazed plate. As she unwrapped the leaf, a cloud of steam rose, giving off a delicious aroma. The sweetness of the fruit and the spiciness of the toi had permeated the tender steamed boar, filling Elin’s mouth with a deliciously complex flavor. She began devouring the meal, oblivious of all else. “It’s good, isn’t it?” her mother asked. When Elin nodded, she laughed. “Try pouring the juice over the rice.” Elin obediently poured the liquid remaining in the leaf over her rice and took a large mouthful. This, too, was delicious. “Lacos trees keep their leaves year-round, even in winter. You can find them easily if you look along mountain slopes exposed to the sun. I used to cook with them just like this when I wandered through the mountains. They’re a good substitute for a pot and they also take away the odor of meat and give it a very pleasant aroma.” Elin put down her chopsticks to listen. Her mother’s face looked so peaceful. Elin had never heard her talk about the past like this before. Now, she sensed, was the time to ask her questions. Her heart beat a little faster. “You mean, you didn’t grow up in the village? Where did you live?” Her mother searched her face, as if noting the tension in it. “We traveled from one place to another. I never told you about myself, did I? You never asked either … Did you think you shouldn’t?” Elin nodded and her mother nodded back. “You’re old enough to understand much more now,” she said. “Tonight let me tell you about myself and about your father.” She rested her plate on her knees. “You heard your grandfather call me an Ahlyo today, right? What do you think of when you hear that word? The villagers call us Ahlyo, ‘People of the Mist,’ because they see us as tall and mysterious, appearing out of the mist and vanishing back into it. They see us as peddlers of effective remedies who excel at the healing arts. But they also see the Ahlyo as outlandish strangers, followers of unfamiliar gods. Is that how you see them?” Elin gave a small nod. A smile touched her mother’s eyes. “To outsiders, that’s probably what we would look like … After all, we don’t settle in one place or live with other people, and we have protected our own way of life. But Ahlyo is not our real name. The first people who met us heard it wrong, and the sound of it, ‘Ah’ meaning ‘mist’ and ‘Lyo’ meaning ‘people,’ probably fit the image of what they saw. But our true name is Ao-Loh, ‘Ao’ meaning ‘oath’ and ‘Loh’ meaning ‘guardian’ or ‘protector.’” “Oath?” “We swore an oath to protect ourselves from repeating a terrible, terrible mistake made long ago. My mother taught me that the Oath was more important than my own life or the lives of my family. Because we dedicated our lives to obeying the Oath, we called ourselves the Ao-Loh.” “What mistake?” Her mother remained silent for some time, as if searching for words. “It was disastrous—a gross violation that brought men and beasts to the brink of extinction. My ancestors vowed that they would never allow that to happen again and they became wanderers who lived in the wild and served neither the Yojeh, the True Ruler, nor the Aluhan, the Grand Duke. Since that time, every Ao-Loh, from the moment of birth, is strictly raised to adhere to the Law … They are forbidden to marry outside their people and they must never settle down in one place.” A sad smile touched her lips. “Elin, I broke the Oath. The moment I met your father and chose to live in this village, I ceased to be an Ao-Loh.” Elin blinked. “But … what about your parents? Where are they now?” “My father died young … And I suppose my mother must be living the life of a wanderer still.” Not knowing what to say, Elin could only stare at her. She could not grasp the idea of this Oath or the Law. Why was it wrong for her mother to love her father and live in this village? Why would anyone forbid her to see her family just for that? She frowned as she mulled over these questions in her mind. “Was my story hard to understand?” her mother asked. “Mmm.” “I suppose it would be … Wait until you grow up then, Elin. When you’ve become a woman, remember what I just told you and think it over carefully. By then, I’m sure you’ll understand it much better.” She beckoned Elin to her. Setting down her plate, Elin walked over and sat on her mother’s lap. Sohyon wrapped her arms around her, just as she had done when Elin was small. “I met your father on the rocks of Samock. I was looking for chachimo, the purple flower that helps digestion, but instead I found a man lying halfway down the cliff.” “That was Father?” “Yes … He had lost his footing while out hunting deer.” “Was he hurt?” “He’d hit his head, and his leg was broken.” “So you helped him, didn’t you?” Her mother smiled and gently rocked her. “That’s right. That was how I met your father. Asson … He was a kind and gentle man, not at all like your grandmother or your grandfather. He didn’t talk a lot, but when he laughed, it was like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds. It brightened up everything. You’re just like him, you know … You warm my heart just by being here.” She hugged Elin close. 3 SOHYON’S FINGER FLUTE Elin stood among the women, taut with anxiety as she watched the approaching horsemen. They rode in single file, flanked by grim-faced foot soldiers bearing spears. Most of the villagers, their faces somber, had gathered in front of the meeting hall to greet the Chief Inspector and his troop. Elin’s mother was there, too, standing with the Toda Stewards, one pace in front of the crowd. The inspector, robed in red with an ornate sash and black coronet, did not deign to dismount. He glared down at the assembled Stewards. “Is it true that you let all ten of the Aluhan’s precious Kiba die?” Elin’s grandfather stepped forward and bowed deeply. “It is true. We beg your pardon.” The skin around the inspector’s temple twitched violently. “Who was in charge of the Kiba?” he shouted. “Step forward!” Elin started. She saw her mother step toward him and bow respectfully, her palms pressed together before her chest. “I cared for the Kiba.” The inspector’s eyes widened. “What?… You can’t be … An Ahlyo?” Eyes flashing, he turned to Elin’s grandfather, the Chief Steward, and roared in a dreadful voice, “You! What were you thinking? How could you let an Ahlyo wench care for the priceless gems of the Aluhan!” The Chief Steward’s face was rigid. “Forgive me, your honor, but this woman has outstanding skill as a healer—” Raising his whip, the inspector lashed out. Blood spurted from the Chief Steward’s brow. He pressed a hand against the wound but did not retreat. He continued to bow low before the inspector. “‘Outstanding skill!’ Of course she has outstanding skill, you fool! She’s an Ahlyo. It’s in their blood. But listen carefully! Being skilled in medicine is not enough. The most important qualification for the care of the Toda is unwavering loyalty to the Aluhan! How can you call yourself Chief Steward and be ignorant of that!” Elin’s grandfather raised his head. “I beg your forgiveness. This woman was cast out of the Ahlyo more than ten years ago. She married my son and became one of us. She no longer obeys the Law of the Ahlyo and has sworn fealty to the Aluhan.” The inspector snorted. “So you say, but for the Ahlyo, the Law supersedes all else. They will kill even their own children for breaking it.” He glared at Elin’s mother. “Tell me. Why did all the Kiba in your care die? If you are so skilled in medicine, then surely you know what caused their deaths. Answer me!” “Please allow me to explain,” Elin’s mother said. Her voice was hard. “The cause of death was poisoning.” A hush fell over the assemblage. The inspector frowned. “What? Poison! What do you mean by that? Are you saying that you fed them poison?” Elin’s mother shook her head. “No … The tokujisui that we give the Toda has some very powerful ingredients. All the Stewards know this. But the mucous film that covers the Toda’s scales has protective properties. If the tokujisui mingles with this as it is being consumed, no adverse effects occur and only the beneficial properties remain. Yesterday morning, however, I noticed thin patches in the mucous film. As I had seen no evidence of this the previous night before when I made my midnight rounds, I administered the tokujisui as usual.” The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “You mean this change occurred within the space of just a few hours? Why?” Elin’s mother looked up at him and shook her head. “I don’t know.” A heavy silence fell over the square. The inspector turned abruptly to the soldiers behind him. “Seize her!” he barked. “She will be questioned and then punished.” Elin began to shake. Pain stabbed her heart. “Mother!” she cried, but before she could run to her, Saju’s mother grabbed her from behind and held her. “You must stay here!” she whispered, clamping a beefy hand over Elin’s mouth to smother her wails. She was a large woman and strong. Though she fought wildly, Elin could not escape the arms that held her. She watched through tear-blurred eyes as her mother was bound with ropes and marched away. Of the next three days, Elin remembered almost nothing. Apparently, her mother had asked Saju’s parents to care for her and had given them a large sum of money saved from her earnings. They took Elin home and treated her with kindness. Although the logical people to care for her should have been her grandparents, her mother and Saju’s parents knew all too well how they would feel about that. Saju and her parents tried to comfort her, but Elin’s mind was consumed with grief and fear, and she only registered their voices as sounds far off in the distance. On the night of the third day after her mother was arrested, Elin woke from her slumber and went to the outhouse at the far end of the garden. As she was returning to the house, Saju’s mother’s voice rose shrilly inside, and Elin froze in her tracks. “You mean they sentenced her to the Judgment of the Toda? Tomorrow at dawn?” “Shh! Not so loud! What if you wake the children?” Saju’s mother dropped her voice, but as she was a naturally boisterous person, Elin could still hear her from the garden. “But how could they? Regardless of the crime, how could they do that to her? It’s far too cruel a punishment…” Her husband said something so quietly Elin could not hear, but then Saju’s mother spoke again. “Ah … So that’s it. The Aluhan will hold the inspector responsible if he can’t explain their deaths. So he’s going to blame it all on Sohyon. But to let the wild Toda devour her, that’s terrible…” Elin did not stay to hear more. Taking care to tread quietly, she set off at a run. Guided by the light of the moon, she slipped behind Saju’s house and through the trees to her own home. Cold hands seemed to grip her throat, strangling the breath from her. She must help her mother. She must, or her mother would be killed at dawn—by the Toda. The Judgment of the Toda: a punishment reserved for informers and traitors of the Aluhan. Elin had heard the villagers speak of it with dread. Bound hand and foot and weighted with stones, the accused were thrown into Lagoh Marsh, where the wild Toda swarmed. She stood trembling on the cold earthen floor of her house. She must leave quickly, before Saju’s parents realized she was gone. If they found her, they would bring her back and keep her inside until the execution was over. Elin knew where Lagoh Marsh was. It was a long way from the village, but there was still time before dawn. If she traveled as fast as she could, she should make it before the execution started. She grabbed her mother’s dagger from where it hung on the wall. Surprised by the weight of it, she almost dropped it. The blade was keen and sharp. If it could cut through tough Toda scales, it should be able to cut the ropes that bound her mother. She would hide along the banks of the marsh until they threw her mother in, then swim out and cut her bonds with this dagger. Slipping it inside her shirt, she pulled a lantern off the shelf. The hearth had long since grown cold. Even the embers buried in the ashes had ceased to glow. Elin hastily struck a spark from a flint and lit the lantern. Then she exchanged her straw sandals for leather boots and ran outside. The spring moon glowed hazily against the indigo sky, and the trees and grasses slept peacefully, dark shadows in the night. Pressing her lips firmly together, Elin set off for the marsh. It was a long night. Though she walked and walked, the mountain road went on endlessly. Occasionally she heard unidentifiable creatures darting through the underbrush, rustling the leaves. “Mother, Mother,” she whispered over and over again, forcing herself to go on. She focused all her thoughts on the future. Once I’ve saved her, we’ll leave the village and wander the mountains together, just like Mother used to do when she was young. She pictured the two of them walking through the wilderness, taking shelter in towns along the way. She recalled the taste of roasted boar and her mother’s warmth. And as she did so, the dark mountain road grew less frightening. By the time the trees thinned to reveal a field of reeds stretching out before her, the dark sky had paled to blue and then to a red-tinged gray as night turned to dawn. She had just begun pushing through the reeds when the thunder of drums filled the air. She could feel them reverberating in her stomach. Boom. Boom. A startled flock of birds rose from the marsh. The drums rolled on. The thick reeds were far too tall for her to see the drums, but she was certain that wherever they were, that was where her mother must be. A terrible thought seized her. What if the drumming was the signal for the execution to begin? Maybe they were going to throw her mother into the marsh as soon as it stopped. Her heart began to race and her chest tightened. She tried to run toward the sound but the mud sucked at her feet so that she could barely walk. Stumbling, she grabbed the reeds for balance and the sharp stalks sliced her hand. Still she kept on, doggedly heading toward the drums. She must reach her mother before they stopped! The sun rose, and the world around her brightened. The reeds ended abruptly, giving way to steel-gray water that spread far into the distance. Elin’s mother had once told her that the marsh was a series of swamps and lakes connected by rivers that led as far as the Yojeh’s territory to the west. Along the bank Elin saw a temporary camp. Huge drums had been erected on stands, and Warriors beat upon them with large sticks. Others carried a boat down to the shore, watched by a small crowd. Elin could make out the inspector astride his horse. There were more than just Warriors gathered on the shore. All the higher-ranked Stewards were there, too, including her grandfather. Just then, her mother was dragged from a tent. Elin gasped, and a chill spread through her body. Her mother was drenched in blood, and her hands were bound behind her. Two Warriors gripped her under the arms and half lifted, half dragged her toward the boat. Clenching her teeth, Elin desperately choked back her sobs. But it was rage, not grief, that churned inside her. Thick ropes bound her mother’s legs, and to these was tied a heavy stone. When they loaded her into the boat, Elin drew the dagger and discarded the sheath. The boat bearing her mother was pushed into the water. Can I make it? Elin wondered. It looked very far, but she was sure she could swim that distance. Crouching down among the reeds, she yanked off her boots. She was just about to wade into the water when she realized that she couldn’t swim with the dagger in her hand. She thought of stuffing it back inside her top, but what if it fell out? With every moment of indecision, the boat moved farther out into the marsh. There was no choice. Clamping the dagger between her teeth, she slid into the water and felt its frigid grip envelop her. The dagger in her mouth forced her to keep her head up, and she struggled desperately to suck air through her nose and mouth. Her jaw was soon numb from the weight. Boom! With a thunderous drumroll, her mother was tossed from the boat. The rowers watched her plunge into the water and then turned the boat back toward the shore. Sohyon disappeared for a moment but then her head broke the surface. Elin swam doggedly toward her, defying the weight of the dagger, which threatened to drag her underwater. “What’s that?” one of the Warriors said. “Is it a pup?” “No. It looks more like a child.” This caused a stir among those assembled. “It’s a girl. And she’s got something in her mouth.” “A dagger? Is she trying to rescue that criminal?” One of the Warriors notched an arrow to his bow and looked up at the inspector. “Shall I shoot?” Still astride his horse, the inspector shielded his eyes with one hand and stared at the small figure struggling to stay afloat. He snorted. “That won’t be necessary … Look.” Ripples disturbed the water’s surface, circling in a wide ring around the condemned prisoner. Large shadows twisted and turned sinuously beneath the water. “The drums have woken the Toda. They’ve found the live bait we threw in.” Elin’s grandfather watched the scene unfold, his lips parted. The girl was his granddaughter, just ten years old, trying to save her mother. What a pitiful sight. No, he chided himself. It’s better this way. After all, she’s Akun Meh Chai. She’ll be better off dying with her mother. The child was unclean, the product of a union with an outsider. She should never have been born; she was a mistake that must be corrected, erased. Like this. It was fate. So he told himself, but when he saw the black forms of the Toda slowly break the surface behind her, his flesh crawled. Sohyon struggled to keep her face out of the water. Although the marsh was not very deep, her feet did not reach the ground. The stone tied to her legs, however, appeared to be resting on the bottom, and she was no longer weighed down. Blood gushed from a deep wound in her midriff, made purposely to attract the Toda. With it, she felt her life slowly ebbing away. She opened her eyes with great effort, prying open lids swollen from repeated beatings. The sight that greeted her left her stunned. Elin. Elin swimming. Toward her … What’s that in her mouth? My dagger! A hot lump rose in her throat as she grasped what the child intended to do. Tears blurred her vision. “Elin!” She kicked frantically with her bound legs, trying to reach her daughter. Elin looked like she would drown any minute. The dagger was too heavy. Sohyon could hear her throat rattle as she struggled to breathe through the saliva pooling in her mouth. Finally she grabbed the dagger with her right hand and swam with her left. “Elin, here! Grab my shoulder!” It was only when she felt Elin’s small hand fasten onto her shoulder that she saw the wave of water behind her. The Toda! Countless Toda, swimming in an ever-tightening circle. As they circled, the beasts eyed each other. Sohyon had seen them do this before when stalking large prey. They were testing each other to see who was the strongest. Once this had been decided, the most powerful Toda would attack first. “Mo-mother,” Elin spluttered. “The … rope…” Sohyon twisted her body and shoved her hands toward Elin. Still gasping, Elin took a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks, and dived under the water. The ropes were thick and saturated but Sohyon pulled them taut, making them easier to cut. The dagger was sharp enough that after repeated attempts, Elin was able to make a large rent in the ropes. Feeling them begin to fray, Sohyon gritted her teeth and pulled her hands apart with all her strength, tearing the bonds. Then she grabbed Elin and dragged her up, raising her head from the water. Elin coughed and gasped for air. Sohyon hugged her in a fierce embrace and pressed her face against her daughter’s cheek. “Thank you! Thank you!” “Mother, the ropes, on your feet…” “It’s all right. I can do it myself. Give me the dagger.” But as Elin passed her the knife, Sohyon felt a subtle change in the Toda’s movements. The test of strength was over. There would be no time to cut the ropes. In moments, the first Toda would begin the attack. She knew that with the deep wound in her belly she had never had any chance of escape. But for Elin, there was a way … There was a way, but she had been taught that she must never, ever use it, not even to save the life of her daughter. This Oath had been ingrained within her marrow from the time she was born. If she broke it now, in front of all these people, she could precipitate a disaster for which she could never atone, not even by laying down her life. Sohyon looked at the little child before her, her face wet with tears and marsh water. The turmoil gripping her heart burst and vanished. Hugging her daughter close, she whispered, “Elin, you must never do what I am going to do now. To do so is to commit a mortal sin.” Elin stared back at her, uncomprehending. Sohyon smiled and held her head with one hand. “I want you to survive. And to find happiness.” She threw the dagger aside, put her fingers to her mouth and blew. A high, modulated whistle split the air. The Toda stopped immediately and the churning water grew still. But they were not frozen. Rather, they waited quietly, heads poised as they stared at Sohyon. The inspector narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on? What’s that woman up to?” he demanded. Elin’s grandfather shook his head. “I don’t know. She appears to be whistling…” “But the Toda have stopped moving. How can a finger whistle have that much power?” Elin’s grandfather paled. “But that’s impossible,” he said. “Not even the Silent Whistle can immobilize wild Toda.” Sohyon’s whistle traversed the scale from high to low, ending with a strange and powerful modulation. The Toda had been listening intently, like hounds to a hunting whistle, but at this they instantly swept en masse toward her. Elin screamed. Enormous Toda heads converged on her in a spray of water. The seaweed-like mane of one touched her cheek, and she was overwhelmed by the fishy smell of their breath and the cloying musk of their membranes. Suddenly, she felt herself thrust into the air. Her mother was hoisting her up beneath her armpits. “Elin, grab onto the horns. Climb onto the Toda’s back!” Elin stretched out her arms and, grasping its horns, dragged herself up onto its back, which was sticky with mucous. “Grip hard with both legs,” her mother yelled. “And don’t let go of the horns!” Then she put her fingers to her mouth and whistled again. Instantly, the Toda began to swim, moving with incredible speed. Clinging to the horns and pressing her knees tight against its hide, Elin turned to look back. “Mother!” “Go!” her mother shouted. “Don’t look back! Go!” Then the Toda surged toward her, and she vanished in their midst. “Mother! Mother!” The spray snatched Elin’s cries away. She tried to slide off the Toda’s back, but the mucous clung to her clothes like glue and she could not move. The Toda snaked through the marsh water in a cloud of spray. West it traveled, always west, at great speed. Behind her, everything Elin knew—her mother, her home—vanished, while before her stretched an endless expanse of slate-gray water. 4 THE SPIRIT BEAST The stars were beginning to twinkle in the evening sky, framed by the silhouettes of slender branches. A young woman walked quickly along the forest path, her arms filled with brushwood for the cooking fire. Garbed in a cloak of greenish gray that hooded her face, she was almost invisible, blending into the forest shadows like a wild creature. Suddenly, she heard a tinkling sound and halted abruptly. Tiny green lights, like flickering fireflies, gathered in the air above her and took shape. A Spirit Bird! The apparition of light drifted down between the trees and came to rest on a dark shoulder. What had until that moment appeared to be nothing more than the shadow of a tree was now faintly revealed as human in form. The luminescent Spirit Bird burst into myriad green lights that flitted like shining leafhoppers about the figure, then reassembled once again, alighting between two branch-like horns on its head, and finally dissolved inside it. As it did so, the figure began to glow firefly-green. Although it resembled a human, its legs were most definitely nonhuman. Opening its golden eyes, the beast stared unblinkingly at the girl. Shaking, she lowered her bundle of kindling and knelt on the ground. She closed her eyes, calmed her ragged breathing, and listened. The beast opened its mouth and the air vibrated with high tinkling sounds, like little bells jingling. The vibrations merged into a single resonance, similar to the sound of human speech. Holding her breath, the girl strained to hear. Finally, the humming sound ceased, and countless lights scattered from the beast’s head. In the blink of an eye, it had melted back into the darkness. Sweat beaded the girl’s brow. Forgetting her bundle of brushwood, she sped through the trees, repeating the words she had just heard, over and over. Deep in the forest, where not even hunters came, a cave had been carved midway down a cliff overhanging a gorge. The entrance was small and so well hidden by a profusion of vines and shrubs that it was invisible even from close at hand. Inside, however, lay a surprisingly large cavern. Except that it was completely dry, it resembled a Toda Chamber. There were seventeen openings in the walls, each covered with a thick curtain. Behind each of these was another cave as spacious as a house, their floors covered by thick carpets so finely woven that they even repelled water. Lit by candles, the caves formed comfortable living spaces. The girl, gasping for breath, burst through the entrance and stood in the center of the hall. She placed her fingers to her mouth and blew, making a sound like a bird warbling. As it echoed through the stone caves, seventeen curtains were flung aside, and people of all ages spilled out into the cavern. All were slender and green-eyed. The chief elder, a white-haired woman, stepped forward, accompanied by a man. “What happened?” she asked in a quiet voice. “I—I met a Spirit Beast … I think … It took the form of a horned beast and spoke.” At this, the crowd gasped. “It can’t be,” someone exclaimed. “Could there really be Spirit Beasts left in this forest? I thought they had all died out…” Silencing the speaker with a glance, the chief elder urged the girl to continue. “What did it tell you?” Her face pale and tense, the girl clenched her fists as if to keep herself from trembling. “I have no experience. Perhaps I didn’t understand properly … but I will tell you what I heard. It said, ‘The Handler’s Art has been used. Someone has whistled to the Toda.’” The chief elder’s face froze. She turned to the man beside her, and he beckoned the other elders to come forward. “Was that all it said?” “Yes, that was all.” The chief elder nodded. “You listened well … You may leave now.” Then she turned to face the crowd. “The elders will consult. When we have finished, we will let you know what we have discussed. Please return to your homes until then.” Bowing, the people left the hall. The elders sat in a circle on the carpet. “It was the Toda Whistle that was used. That means it could only have been Sohyon,” the chief elder said. At these words, a woman of about sixty tensed and bowed her forehead to the floor. “I beg your forgiveness for raising such a daughter. This is all my fault.” She remained motionless under their gaze, her head bowed to the ground. Finally, the chief elder said gently, “She was a clever girl, with a kind heart … And a strong will, too. I would never have thought she would use the Art.” Another elder spoke up. “We should send a scout to find out what happened. We must know the circumstances in which the Toda Whistle was used.” The others nodded. “And we must hurry,” another said, his expression dark. “If it was used in front of others, if anyone saw that we can control the Toda, the news will surely reach the Aluhan’s ears. And if that should happen, he will seek us out and try to force us to share our secret.” Once again, everyone nodded. “We must tell our people, all of them, and warn them to hide,” the chief elder said. “Until we find out what happened, we must exercise extreme caution. No one is to visit the villages below.” The young scout sent to investigate Sohyon’s village returned four days after the appearance of the Spirit Beast. After hearing his report, the elders sat frowning in silence for some time. Finally, the chief elder spoke. “So, Sohyon has already been executed.” His head bowed, the scout forced the words out between clenched teeth. “Yes … It was … horrible. The way she died … The inspector feared he would be punished for his carelessness. He accused Sohyon of killing the Toda in an act of deliberate treachery and ordered her execution. But…” He raised his head. “Ironically, Sohyon was directly involved in their deaths. I managed to view the carcasses, and a change in the mucous membrane was clearly evident. They had reached the breeding season.” The elders frowned. They all knew what that meant. Nodding sadly, one of them said, “Sohyon would surely have noticed that change. She gave them the tokujisui fully aware of what was happening, knowing that, because of the alteration in the membrane, the tokujisui would be lethal.” “So, in her own way, Sohyon kept the Oath,” the chief elder whispered. She looked over at Sohyon’s mother, who was weeping silently. “Your daughter did not renounce her allegiance to the Clan. She chose to let the Toda die rather than reveal the meaning of the change that had come over them, even though she knew she might be killed.” Sohyon’s mother said nothing, swallowing her sobs. “But she could not bear to see her child torn to pieces by the Toda,” the chief elder continued. “At the very end, she gave in to her emotions…” The elders, their expressions grim, remained silent for some time. Finally the chief elder broke the silence. “What happened to Sohyon’s daughter?” The young scout shook his head. “Nahson is following her trail now, but the channels there crisscross in many places. It will be difficult to find which route the Toda she was riding took. And she’s only ten years old. She could not have held on to the Toda forever…” He closed his eyes and bowed his head, as did the elders. From somewhere far in the distance, they heard the long, lonely cry of a night bird. When the echo had faded into the stillness of night, the youth spoke again. “I grieve for Sohyon and her daughter. But there is some solace in the knowledge that the inspector is a coward.” With their eyes, the elders urged him to continue. In a firm voice, he said, “He must have been terrified of being held responsible, of having any blemish on his record of service. He commanded the Toda Stewards to remain silent about the fact that Sohyon was an Ahlyo. I overheard the villagers discussing this among themselves.” At this, the faces of the elders relaxed considerably. “Really? That’s very good news indeed,” the chief elder murmured. “Then no rumors will spread about Sohyon using the Handler’s Art.” The youth nodded. “Yes, I believe we don’t have to worry about that.” “Thank you for your work,” the chief elder said. “Keep scouting carefully. Regardless of why she did it, Sohyon used the Toda whistle, and that could still potentially bring disaster. We must never allow the Art to cause another catastrophe. The souls of our ancestors formed the Spirit Beast to warn us so that the rent we made in the Oath should not unravel the threads that hold its fabric together.” Then she added in a soft voice, “Even if no word of this reaches the ears of the Aluhan, the sight of us could spark rumors, and we must avoid that at all costs. Let us leave this land for a while and conceal ourselves in the mountains … until the flame of rumor has died out.” The elders nodded in assent.