Chapter 11

ONE VOICE FROM THE PAST 1 THE KIBA CHAMBER For a split second, the sky lit up like it was midday, followed moments later by a deafening crack of thunder. Before the last stomach-wrenching rumble had faded, the rain began to fall—a torrential downpour, as though the bottom had dropped from the heavens. The officer sitting in the carriage reached out and closed the window with a crooked smile. “Well, that’s inconvenient,” he said. “We’ll have to pull up at the entrance to the Stone Chambers unless we want to get soaking wet.” The woman sitting across from him, however, stared vacantly out the closed window without responding. Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, the officer regarded her silently for a moment before trying again. “Lady Elin. You told the driver to stop before we reached the entrance, but it’s pouring. Shall I tell him to drive us to the entrance after all?” Elin started as though waking from some reverie and turned her eyes toward him. “Pardon me? What did you say, Yohalu?” A faint smile rose to the man’s lips, but he repeated what he had just said. Elin cast him an apologetic look. “You’re right,” she said. “We will get sopping wet. But it’s forbidden to bring horses too close because it could excite the Toda.” Yohalu blinked. “Yes, I know, but surely the horses’ scent wouldn’t reach inside in such a downpour.” “You are probably right,” Elin said. “But Toda Stewards hate to break the rules.” At this, Yohalu nodded. “True. I suppose we must get wet, then.” He reached down, picked up two conical hats of braided sedge that lay on top of a bag between his feet, and handed one to Elin. “Although I suppose these won’t do us much good in this rain,” he said. Elin took the hat but did not put it on even when the carriage stopped. Instead, she placed it gently on the seat. Seeing the frown on Yohalu’s face, she said, “I appreciate your concern, but the Stewards don’t like people to enter the caves with their faces concealed. You are wearing a uniform, so in your case, I’m sure it won’t matter. But I had better enter with my face bare.” She bowed and then reached out to open the door. Yohalu gently moved her hand aside and raised the handle himself, pushing the door open. “After you,” he said. Elin bowed once more and then stepped into the onslaught. Although she was drenched in seconds, she silently thanked the chill rain that soaked her body, dripped from her hair, and ran down her forehead. This way, no one would know if the drops that poured down her cheeks were water or tears. The smell of wet trees and grass enveloped her. The huge rock face was split by a black fissure, the entrance to the caves where the Toda were kept. It loomed ominously through the haze of rain, and the figures hurrying in and out of that crack reminded her of ants scurrying to and from their nest. Yohalu stepped down from the carriage to stand beside her. Catching sight of him, the guards outside the entrance snapped to attention. The sweet scent of Toda slime, which not even the rain could erase, wafted toward Elin, and she gripped the collar of her robe tightly. As she made a dash for the entrance, taking care not to slip in the mud and conscious of the curious stares directed toward her, she fought to shield her mind and keep herself from being swept into the maelstrom of memories that surged inside her. Even so, she heard once again the mourning wail of the Toda, a shrill keening sound like wind whistling through a broken pipe. With it came the memory of a dawn more than twenty years ago that had changed her life forever. She shuddered. Although this was not the Toda village where she had been raised, the caves were built just like the ones she remembered from her childhood: A large cavern inside the entrance, known as the Hall, branched off into multiple caves called the Stone Chambers. Torches in wall brackets burned vigorously, sending shadows dancing across the damp stone. The Toda Stewards, who were gathered in the Hall, stared at Elin, wariness evident in their faces. Enormous Toda carcasses lay on straw mats spread across the floor. Five days had already passed since their deaths, and the mucous membrane that cloaked their bodies had dried, making them appear like wooden carvings coated in glue rather than the bodies of once-living creatures. All Toda were fearsome beasts that could bear warriors swiftly across the battlefield, scattering cavalry before them, but the largest and strongest were the Kiba or “fangs.” These formed the vanguard, and they could massacre enemy troops. Five days ago, every single Kiba in the village of Tokala had been found dead, a disaster for the Toda Stewards that managed the Stone Chambers. It was the chief inspector’s job to investigate the cause of death and punish those responsible. Soon after the news had reached him, he arrived in the village and seized the man responsible for their care. But for some reason, the man’s punishment had been deferred by order of the Aluhan, and a new inspector had been summoned. It now dawned on the Stewards that the new inspector was a woman, and their consternation deepened. Shifting her eyes from the Kiba carcasses, Elin walked over to where the Stewards stood along the wall. “Who is your chief?” she asked. A white-haired man jerked, then inclined his head timidly. When she drew near enough for him to see the color of her eyes, surprise suffused his face. “I am not an Ahlyo,” Elin said quietly before he could speak. “My mother was, but she was expelled by her people when she chose to wed my father. My father was a Toda Steward.” The man’s eyes flickered, and he frowned as though trying to dredge up some distant memory. Suddenly, his eyebrows shot up. “So you … You’re the one? From Akeh Village?” Elin nodded. A murmur rose behind him. The younger Stewards looked puzzled, but the elders could not conceal their shock. Tokala was close to Akeh, and many of them had kin there. Despite the strict ban on even mentioning that incident, they had all heard about the Ahlyo woman from Akeh who had been blamed for the death of the Kiba and executed by being thrown into the Toda swamp. Hearing a commotion at the entrance, Elin turned to see the guards move aside. A man robed in red with a wide ornate sash stepped into the cavern. The chief inspector. She drew in a sharp breath and felt her scalp tighten. A wave of fierce loathing rolled through her. He must have heard that she had arrived. There was a suspicious look on his arrogant face as he marched boldly toward them. Even though he could not possibly be the same man who had executed her mother to protect himself, just the sight of his robe set her pulse racing. Returning her gaze to the Chief Steward, she said quickly and quietly, “I didn’t come to punish any of you. I came to prove that you weren’t responsible for the deaths of the Kiba. Please lend me your aid.” The man’s eyes widened slightly. “I heard that the Aluhan’s envoy has arrived,” the inspector called out in a booming voice. “Where is he? In the Stone Chambers?” Elin turned to face him. “Chief Inspector, I am his envoy.” The man halted and gaped at her. “You?” “Yes.” A frown twisted his features, and he took a step forward, as if to intimidate her. Elin stood her ground, returning his gaze calmly. At that moment, Yohalu ambled over to stand beside her. He nodded at the inspector and said, “So you’re the son of Yalaku? You look just like your father. It must be two years now since he passed away.” The inspector looked puzzled, but when his gaze fell upon Yohalu’s sash, his eyes widened. “Sir! You … You’re a member of the Black Armor?” “No, no,” Yohalu said, waving his hand. “I no longer wear the black armor. Too old for that now. I just serve as a companion for the Aluhan when he needs someone to talk to.” He placed a hand on Elin’s shoulder. “And sometimes I serve as an escort. I suppose it must be hard to believe that a woman could be an inspector, but I can assure you that she was indeed sent by the Aluhan.” The inspector blinked rapidly. “I beg your pardon, sir, but the fact that a new inspector was sent … Was there some aspect of my work with which the Aluhan was displeased?” Before Elin could respond, Yohalu shook his head. “No, not at all. There’s no need for you to worry. Your task is to manage and inspect the Toda Stewards. In other words, your job is to investigate the mistakes made by men. But she has been sent here to investigate the Toda, not men at all.” As she listened to Yohalu smoothly allay the man’s fears, Elin reflected once again that he was no ordinary bodyguard. The Black Armor was an elite band of warriors that protected the Aluhan, and she had heard that they were chosen from his own kin for their exceptional intelligence and military prowess. If Yohalu had been a member of the Black Armor, then he must be Shunan’s blood kin. She gazed at his calm, friendly features. Maybe he was sent to keep an eye on me, she thought. Shunan would have chosen someone of such high rank because he trusted Yohalu. Although she had already guessed that the Aluhan felt she needed not just protection but also supervision, her heart sank every time she confirmed this suspicion. She took a breath and pushed these thoughts away. There’s no point in dwelling on it. You chose this path yourself. Thanks to that, there are still things you can do. She turned toward the row of carcasses. Elin had reached the Aluhan’s castle, Aluhan Ula, in the morning three days earlier. With little time to prepare for the journey, she had been thrust on a horse almost as soon as she had received the Aluhan’s summons. Although she did not know why she had been summoned, the sight of his castle, surrounded by formidable walls of enormous stone and watchtowers that pierced the sky, had filled her with a strange, crushing dread that made her feel very small. A fortress for men who wage war, she had thought. It was a far cry from the Yojeh’s palace, which was surrounded not by walls, but by a forest in which birds warbled. She passed under the magnificent gate built by master craftsmen, walked along a colonnade that stretched far into the distance with a ceiling so high it caught her breath, turned down a passageway, and climbed a flight of stairs. By the time she reached the Aluhan’s sitting room, she felt almost dizzy. The room into which her escort ushered her, however, was surprisingly small. Through the wide-open windows she glimpsed the tops of slender tohk trees. Their small white blossoms were bathed in the soft light of early spring, and when they swayed in the breeze, the light danced across the floor. The room was empty, and once her guide had left, the only sound to be heard was the rustling of leaves. As she stood gazing absently out the window, she heard the door open. Shunan strode into the room followed by a tall, middle-aged man. “Hello, Elin. Sorry to have kept you waiting when it was I who summoned you here.” At the sound of his voice, Elin hastily knelt on the floor and placed both palms to her forehead in a proper salute. Shunan acknowledged her greeting with a smile and gestured for her to sit in a chair by the fireplace. Examining her face closely, he said, “You haven’t changed a bit.” Elin’s cheeks dimpled. “I wish that were true, but I’m already past thirty and feel sure that I must have changed a great deal.” “Well, you haven’t. Although I hear that you’re a mother now. How’s your son?” “Too well, I’m afraid. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with him.” A father of two himself, Shunan grinned appreciatively. “I can imagine. If he’s anything like you, we can expect great things in the future.” Elin looked away at this, but Shunan’s keen eyes must have caught the shadow that crossed her face, because he changed the subject smoothly. “And how about you? Do you have any stiffness in your back from that old arrow wound?” Elin shook her head. “Thank you for your concern, but fortunately, no, I have not had any problems with it.” The arrow that had struck her when she had shielded Shunan had penetrated deeply into the muscle, but a bone had stopped the point before it could damage any organs. Even so, it took a long time for her to move her arm without pain. Both the Yojeh Seimiya and the Aluhan Shunan had granted her request to return to the Kazalumu Beast Sanctuary to heal. Eleven years had passed since then, and during that time, Elin had fallen in love, wed, and borne a child. Back then, she could never have imagined that such changes would happen in her life. During the last ten years, the kingdom had also changed. Yet there were times, such as on a quiet summer’s afternoon, when she could almost imagine her life would go on like this forever. The grim-faced guards stationed at the Beast Sanctuary, however, always reminded her that this was merely a transient peace. When the Aluhan’s messenger had arrived unannounced, her first thought was that the time had finally come. The morning light etched shadows on Shunan’s face. His expression was gentle, but the muscles around his eyes were tense. He probably wasn’t getting enough sleep, she thought. His sallow skin exposed an underlying fatigue. On Tahai Azeh, Shunan’s younger brother had murdered his father. When he realized that he had been used, he had hung himself by his belt in his cell without waiting for judgment. Shunan’s mother had lost her mind, unable to bear the tragic deaths of her husband and younger son. Alone, without any parent to bless him, Shunan had succeeded to the position of Aluhan and married Seimiya. Having wed the woman he loved and launched a new era with his own hands, he should have been a happy young man, but he had lost so much to achieve that union. Although he had willingly accepted all this suffering to gain a brighter future for the kingdom, the fruits of his efforts had been far from satisfactory. The Aluhan’s union with the Yojeh had taken a great weight from the hearts of those who lived in Aluhan territory. Many were deeply moved that the Yojeh had chosen to wed him. They rejoiced at the new opportunity to qualify for posts in the central government, a path formerly denied to them, and longed for this marriage to erase the resentment and sense of misfortune that had smoldered in their breasts for generations. But the revulsion with which the people of the Yojeh’s territory had greeted the marriage was far greater than Shunan had anticipated. Viewing the increase in the Aluhan’s authority as a threat, the nobles took issue with his policies at every turn and sought to restore the Yojeh’s control over him. People whispered that the Aluhan had angered the god by defiling the Yojeh. They claimed that this was the cause of successive crop failures and the epidemic that had spread from Aluhan territory throughout the kingdom, taking many lives. It was the threat of foreign invasion, however, that shook the kingdom most. The horse riders of Lahza had stepped up their attacks on the caravan cities that were governed by Lyoza, and Elin had heard that the lives of many warriors had been lost in these skirmishes. Shunan and Seimiya shouldered the burden of all these things. The silence in the room was so profound that Elin could hear the wings of the birds that flitted in the treetops. Shunan’s voice barely disturbed the quiet. “If I had asked you to come when I was still at the palace, it would have been a little closer for you, but I needed to talk about this here. You stayed at the Silver Branch last night. Did you sleep well?” Elin had barely slept at all, but it wouldn’t do to say so. “Yes,” she replied. “Thank you for arranging such luxurious accommodation.” Shunan smiled reassuringly, as if he sensed the uneasiness beneath her words. “You must be thinking that I summoned you about the Royal Beasts, but I didn’t. To tell you the truth, I still don’t know what we should do about them, although I do know we’ll have to address that issue soon.” Elin blinked. He didn’t call me here about the Royal Beasts? The rod of tension inside her loosened, and her shoulders relaxed. Although she knew the decision was merely being deferred to a later date, she was glad that at least for a little longer, things would stay the same for Leelan and the others. But if this isn’t about the Royal Beasts, why would he wish to speak with me when he’s so busy? As if he could read her thoughts, Shunan said quietly, “I summoned you because I received a report that all the Kiba in the village of Tokala were wiped out.” As the meaning of his words penetrated her mind, Elin froze. She felt as if a hand had reached out from the past to seize her heart. Her face paled, and Shunan looked at her with pity in his eyes. “Your mother was blamed for the loss of the Kiba and sentenced to death, wasn’t she?” Elin opened her mouth, but couldn’t find her voice. Swallowing to moisten her throat, she answered hoarsely, “Yes, that is correct.” Shunan gave a short nod. “The records show that the Kiba were wiped out in a single night, which is exactly what happened this time. They were quite healthy the day before, swimming around as usual, but by dawn, every single one was dead.” Elin’s eyebrows drew together. She remembered that after her grandfather had cursed Sohyon for letting all the Kiba die, her mother had told her not to worry—because it had happened before. Elin looked up. “Does this kind of thing occur very often?” she asked. Shunan’s mouth crooked. “If it did, our army would be rendered impotent in no time.” Elin blushed. “I see. Pardon me for asking such a foolish question.” Shunan shook his head. “No, it’s not foolish. That’s actually an important point.” He turned to the tall man who had accompanied him into the room. “Yohalu, please give me those.” The man handed him a sheaf of papers. “Here, Elin,” said Shunan. “Read these.” There were holes along the right edge of the pages as if they had been taken from a book. They were all written in the same format, and most were yellowed and brittle with age. Elin stiffened when she saw the title on the first sheet. “Those are from the records preserved by Toda villages in every district,” Shunan continued. “We took only those pages that recorded mass Kiba fatalities.” Although Elin heard him, her eyes remained glued to the page. The title read “Concerning Sohyon’s Improper Management of the Kiba in Akeh Village and Her Punishment.” She read the words beneath, then her eyes blurred, and she could no longer see the page. The content was so blunt and simple. Despite having been entrusted with the care of the Kiba, the female Toda Steward, Sohyon, failed to maintain water quality in the Pond. As a result, the Kiba died of poisoning. She was strictly punished to prevent this from happening again. That was all. Nothing in those words conveyed the brutality of her punishment, the way she had been thrown into a swamp to be devoured by wild Toda, or her grief at orphaning her young daughter. Closing her eyes, Elin bowed her head and took a slow breath. “The inspector who sentenced your mother died long ago.” Elin raised her head at the sound of Shunan’s voice. “But what he did was inhumane. The maximum sentence for someone who lets the Kiba die is the loss of their right arm. To feed her to the Toda was a gross injustice. We’ve never monitored the judgments of inspectors in each district, so in some ways perhaps I am responsible for your mother’s death. I intend to review whether inspectors should be allowed to pass a death sentence.” Shunan’s red-rimmed eyes and tightly pressed lips revealed his anger at the ignorant cruelty of the officer and his remorse for having let men like him do as they pleased. His expression made him appear so unbearably young that Elin averted her eyes. “But I didn’t summon you here to apologize,” he said. He pointed at the documents. “Take a look through the rest. There’s not much time so just skim them. You can read them more thoroughly later.” Elin flipped through the papers. There were nineteen pages, all reporting mass Kiba deaths. As she focused on the dates, locations, and numbers, she felt a growing excitement. She sensed that there was some kind of regularity to their deaths. Although the intervals between the incidents varied, making it hard to pin down the correlation, the deaths had occurred in several villages at once. The year Elin’s mother had been killed, all the Kiba in the neighboring village of Yoson had also died. She raised her head and looked at Shunan. He nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “These mass fatalities were not the fault of the Toda Stewards. It would be unthinkable for Stewards in multiple villages to make the same mistake at the same time. There must be another cause.” Something hot gushed from a point deep in Elin’s chest, and she bit her lip. “I want you to find out what it is,” Shunan concluded. There was a dull ringing in Elin’s ears. Did Mother know? The disturbing doubt she had carried in her heart ever since she was a child reared its head again. In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother in the dimly lit Stone Chamber, standing up to her chest in icy water as she gently stroked the dead Kiba. In her face, there was no trace of surprise or bewilderment, while in her eyes, there was only a profound sorrow. Another scene floated into view as though pulled by a string, and Elin’s heart began to race—the last time she had seen her mother, when she had played her finger flute to command the Toda and save Elin’s life. Her mother’s words came back to her as clearly as if she had just spoken them. “Elin,” she had said. “You must never do what I am going to do now. To do so is to commit a mortal sin.” Elin gripped her knees. Mother could control the Toda. She knew things that not even the Stewards knew. Of course she did. Because she was an Ahlyo, one of the People of the Mist. As a descendent of the Toga mi Lyo, the Green-Eyed Ones, she had inherited the knowledge they had brought with them from the other side of the Afon Noah, the Mountains of the Gods, where they had once raised Toda as weapons. If so, then why? If she knew that the Kiba deaths were not her fault, why didn’t she tell the inspector? Elin closed her eyes. She could think of only one reason: because it was taboo. Whatever had killed the Toda must be related to the knowledge the Ahlyo had been forbidden to share, even if it meant death. Although Sohyon had been banished by her people, the rigid laws of the Ahlyo, designed to prevent another tragedy, had remained firmly rooted in her heart. If the cause of the mass deaths had touched upon those laws, that would have silenced her. Just as the Royal Beast Canon had been designed to conceal the true nature of the Royal Beasts, there must have been some reason for concealing the nature of the Toda. Elin stared at her hands, which lay clasped in her lap. This was a turning point. If she continued in this direction, she would open yet another door that should remain shut. Even though she knew this, however, she could not suppress the burning urge that flared inside her. She longed to unravel the mystery of the Kiba deaths, to find out what her mother had given her life for. Raising her face, Elin looked at Shunan. “Please send me to Tokala. I will try to determine the cause of the Kiba deaths.” 2 THE SECRET OF THE WASHU Once the inspector realized Elin had not come to find fault with him, he left without protest, but the Stewards remained. Elin could tell that they were eager to see what she would do. Although they occasionally shuffled their feet or cleared their throats, they made no move to leave. Their stares disconcerted her at first, but she soon became so engrossed in her work that she forgot they were there. She inspected the nearest carcass carefully, touching the hard scales that covered it. The slimy membrane had dried, and some of the scales had hardened like resin, but the surface of many seemed blistered. Perhaps some change had occurred in the mucous film that protected them. She moved around to the Toda’s head. Shoving her arm inside its mouth, she pressed against the tongue with her elbow to open the jaws wider. The skin inside was also blistered, as if it had been irritated by a strong medicine. She frowned. Could they have had a toxic reaction to the tokujisui because the membrane in their mouths had thinned? Although the Stewards in this village probably wouldn’t have noticed, she found it hard to believe that her mother would have been so careless. She paused and stared at the beast. But why would the membrane have thinned? Pursing her lips, she brought her face closer to peer at the scales, only to pause in surprise. Instead of the sweet musk-like odor of Toda slime, the smell reminded her of new grass. A memory from her childhood leaped into her mind. Elin knew this scent; she had smelled it the day she stood beside her mother and stared at the dead Kiba in the water. Pressing her palm against forehead, Elin searched her memory. She recalled asking her mother if the way Toda smelled changed when they died. Elin’s mother had jerked around, her eyes boring into Elin as she asked what had made her think that. What did I tell her? Torches flickering in the dark. Her mother’s shadow wavering each time the light moved. The faint glimmer of washu, glow bugs, swarming around the Kiba corpses that floated like logs in the Pond. When she reached this point in her memory, she snatched her hand away from her forehead. Insects! That was it! The swarm of bugs had caught her attention because she had never seen them in the Chambers before. She had thought they might have been attracted by the scent of the dead Kiba. And Mother told me … not to tell anyone what I thought! She rose and bent over the carcass to peer at the scales, running her eyes over every inch of the Toda’s body until her gaze was drawn to a single point. There … The body of a small insect lay stuck in the mucous membrane. Although there weren’t many, she found more insects stuck to every carcass. She looked over her shoulder at the Stewards. “Who discovered that the Kiba were dead?” she asked. The men shifted, their eyes darting to one another’s faces. A young man stepped forward. He was quite a bit shorter than the others. If he was a Toda Steward, he would have to be at least eighteen, but he only looked fourteen or fifteen, perhaps because of his boyish face. “I did. My older brother is responsible for the Kiba’s care, so I always come a little earlier than him in the morning to prepare the food. I was the first to enter their Chamber that morning and…” His face twisted. Elin stood up. “Did you notice little insects swarming around the corpses?” she asked. The young man’s brow furrowed. “Insects? I think there were some washu, but…” He fell silent for a while, as though searching his memory. Finally, he said, “Yes. There were little bugs flying around. I’m sure of it.” “They were probably just attracted to the light of the torches,” a middle-aged Steward interjected. The young man shook his head. “No. Although they flew around the torches, too, they were swarming around the bodies of the Kiba. I thought it was because the Kiba had died. Did those bugs have something to do with their deaths?” he asked eagerly. Elin shook her head. “I can’t tell yet. But you don’t usually see them around, do you? Not here in the Stone Chambers?” All the men agreed except one, who cocked his head. Elin looked at him. “Have you seen these bugs before?” Looking a bit flustered, he said, “Yes, but not in the Stone Chambers. I’ve seen them a few times in Ukala Swamp.” When he said this, the other men murmured in agreement. “He’s right,” one of them said. “I’ve seen lots of them swarming around Toda in the swamp.” “In the swamp? You’re talking about wild Toda, then?” Elin asked. He nodded. The Chief Steward, who had said nothing up to this point, frowned. “You’re talking about when they lay eggs, right?” he said. “It’s true that they swarm around wild Toda during egg-laying season. But they never come around Toda raised inside the Chambers. It’s too far from the swamp. And besides, it’s too cold in here.” Elin stared at him. She felt a thrill of excitement creeping up inside her, raising goosebumps on her skin. “Egg-laying season … And when is that?” “Around this time of year. But I’m talking about wild Toda. The Toda in the Chambers never mate.” “Yes, that’s true,” Elin murmured. She rubbed her arms as she gazed down at the carcasses. “I wonder what sex the Kiba are.” The Chief Steward’s eyebrows rose. “Male, of course. Although I’ve never actually checked.” Elin’s eyes widened. “You don’t check their sex?” The man gave her a sour look. “No, we don’t. Not unless we want to break the Toda Laws. ‘Never choose which to raise. Whether male or female, Toda are Toda.’ But you’re from Akeh Village. You ought to know that.” Elin shook her head. “Well, I don’t. I left when I was ten.” The Chief Steward’s face clouded. “Ah, I see. Well, anyway, that’s how it is.” Elin glanced at the corpses, then looked at him again. “Would it be all right if I check their sex?” she asked. He frowned, but before he could answer, Yohalu, who was standing behind Elin, spoke. “Please feel free to investigate anything you feel is necessary. There is no need to worry about the Laws.” She turned to Yohalu in surprise. “The Aluhan instructed me to let you do as you wish,” he told her. “So please, investigate whatever you like.” He turned to the Chief Steward. “You should keep that in mind, too.” The Chief Steward pursed his lips, then nodded stiffly. The Toda belonged to the Aluhan, and his word was absolute. But the rules governing Toda care had been imprinted on the Chief Steward’s bones; Elin guessed that it must be repellent to him to see those broken. “Chief Steward,” she said. “To determine the cause of death, I am afraid that I will have to break many of the Toda Laws. I will not only need to identify their sex, but also to dissect them and examine the condition of their organs.” The man’s eyes bulged. “As that could be very painful for you and the other Stewards to watch,” she continued, “please feel free to leave. When I’m finished, I promise to report everything I learn.” With knitted brows, the man turned to the others. The same disgust was reflected in their faces. An elderly Steward growled, “I can’t bear to watch her do something so accursed as to slit open the Kiba.” The Chief Steward turned back to Elin with a determined look. “We will leave,” he said hoarsely. “You can do as you please once we have gone.” Elin bowed. With a curt nod, the man turned on his heel and strode away. The others fell in behind, but the young man who had discovered the dead Kiba stopped after a few steps. “Sir!” he called out. “I … I want to stay behind. May I?” The Chief Steward turned to him. “I don’t want my brother to be branded a criminal!” the young man said, his voice shrill. “Please let me stay and help.” Gazing down at him, the Chief Steward rubbed his chin. “If that’s the case, give her a hand.” The young man’s face brightened. He bowed and ran back to where Elin stood. With the Stewards gone, the Stone Chamber seemed cold and deserted. “So where shall we start?” the young man asked, his eyes shining. “Should we turn them over?” Elin hesitated. As a beast doctor, she was used to dissecting animals, but this was certainly the boy’s first time. When she slit their bellies with her knife and the entrails spilled out, the stench would be overpowering. Even if he steeled himself for it, she wondered if he could stand it. But to ask him would question his resolve. Making up her mind, she said, “Yes. I want to check their sex first. Let’s start by rolling this one over to expose its belly. Please give me a hand.” The cold, rigid corpse of the Kiba was so heavy that it didn’t budge even when Elin and the young man set their shoulders against it and pushed with all their strength. “Here, let me help.” Rolling up his sleeves, Yohalu strolled over and placed his hands on the Kiba’s flank. “Careful!” Elin said. “Toda scales have edges as sharp as knives.” Yohalu smiled. “Yes, I know that very well. I was a Toda Rider myself, remember? Now, I’ll put my shoulder here so that we’re spread out at equal distances. Are you ready? Let’s push on the count of three.” They pressed their bodies against the corpse. Slowly, it began to move, then flipped over to expose its underside. One part gleamed pale white where there were no scales. Staring at its belly, the young man exclaimed, “Woah! Wait a minute. It’s a female?” He was right. There was no sign of any male reproductive organs, just an opening for laying eggs. Elin probed the area around this hole to make sure no male organs were concealed inside. “Let’s turn the others over,” she said, and the two men nodded. They swung themselves over the Kiba’s tail and proceeded toward the next corpse. By the time they finished, they were drenched in sweat, but they had discovered that every Kiba was female. “Well, who would have thought?” the young man said, his chest heaving. “I was sure that the Kiba were male.” He looked at Elin. “What’s next? Are you going to dissect them?” Elin stared for some time at the row of corpses that now lay belly up, then shook her head. “Let’s leave that for tomorrow. There’s something else I want to check today. Did you bring a Silent Whistle with you?” Understanding dawned in the young man’s eyes. He pulled on a string that hung around his neck and drew out a whistle from his robe. “You want to find out the sex of the other Toda, do you?” She nodded, impressed by his quickness. “Exactly. I want to check the Toda that are still alive. The fastest way to find out what killed the Kiba is to determine how they differed from healthy Toda.” Yohalu’s eyebrows flew up. “Do you plan to examine all the living Toda?” “Yes.” “Well, well,” Yohalu said with a wry smile. “The Aluhan picked the wrong man as your escort. If I’d known we’d be doing so much hard labor, I would have suggested he assign someone much younger.” The young man grinned, rolling up his sleeves. “If it’s youth you want, you’ve got me. This time, though, we’ll be looking at Toda floating in the water, which will be a lot easier.” Yohalu rolled his eyes. “We have to get in the water? Now that’s asking too much.” They spoke lightly, but all three knew how dangerous live Toda were. If the paralysis caused by the Silent Whistle wore off while they were still examining them, they would be devoured in no time. After planning out the procedure in careful detail, they began checking the Toda in each Chamber. There were more than a hundred, and working in the frigid water for hours on end was draining. When they had finished the fifth Pond, Yohalu said, “Lady Elin, how about leaving the rest for tomorrow?” The sound of his voice jerked Elin back to her surroundings. Looking up, she saw that the lips of both men had turned blue, and exhaustion was etched on their faces. “Of course,” she said hastily. “Let’s finish tomorrow.” Now that her concentration was broken, the cold overtook her, and she began to shake violently. They could barely haul themselves out of the water and had to help one another onto the ledge. Through chattering teeth, Elin gasped, “It’s cold, isn’t it?” The two men glanced at each other and burst out laughing. Clearing his throat, Yohalu said, “I wish you had noticed that a little earlier.” He rubbed the left side of his chest. “I have been worried for quite some time that my heart was turning to ice.” The young man laughed and slapped his thigh. “I was worried I’d freeze my bal—” He stopped, blushing furiously. Yohalu raised his eyebrows. “Yes, well, I must say I know exactly how you feel. However, that’s really not something to mention in front of a lady.” The droll way he said this sent Elin into a fit of laughter. She knelt with her hands on the stone floor, her shoulders shaking. Still quivering with cold, the two men burst out laughing again as they helped each other to their feet. The effects of the Silent Whistle wore off, and the Toda began swimming around the enclosure. Elin and her companions sobered as they stood staring at them. “The Toda in these five Chambers were all male,” the young man remarked. Yohalu rubbed a hand across his frigid lips. “Does that mean the Kiba died because they were female?” he asked. “Perhaps,” Elin said. “I won’t know until we’ve checked all the others, though.” Yohalu cocked an eyebrow at the young man. “How about getting some of the other young Stewards to check their sex tomorrow?” “Good idea,” the young man said. “If I try to keep up with Lady Elin, here, I may never be able to take a wife.” Elin snorted. The young man stamped his feet to get the blood circulating. “I’ll run ahead to the baths and tell them you’re coming,” he said. “I’ll drop by my house, too, and get Mother to fix you some dinner. Please stay with us tonight.” He turned to go when Yohalu stopped him. “Wait! You haven’t told us your name. Without that, how are we supposed to find your house?” The young man blushed. “Forgive my rudeness. I’m Chimulu. The baths are on the west side of the village. You’ll know by the high chimney. Please go on ahead. I’ll meet you there later.” “Wonderful!” Yohalu said. “And if you don’t mind, could you also tell our coachman where we’ll be? He stabled the horses at the Chief Steward’s place. That’s where he’ll be staying tonight.” The young man bowed, then dashed off. Watching him sprint away, Yohalu sighed. “Youth is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” As they exited the cave, they were wrapped in the soft glow of the setting sun. The heavy rain had lifted, and the bright sky was dotted with a few sunset-colored clouds. The only sound on this mild spring evening was the chirping of the birds returning to their nests. The guards bowed, and Yohalu stopped to greet them before setting off with Elin. The two walked silently along the forest path toward the village, avoiding the puddles made by the earlier downpour. Just as Chimulu had said, they saw the bathhouse chimney immediately. Watching a thin thread of smoke rise from it and disperse into the sunset sky, Elin bit her lip. How often she had walked with her mother to the bathhouse at this same time of day. Holding hands, they would chat about nothing as they strolled along. Her mother would have spent at least half the day in the icy Ponds, and her hand was always frigid. Although many years had passed since then, Elin could still remember the coldness of her skin. “Now I can appreciate why all the Toda villages have such magnificent bathhouses,” Yohalu said, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “The water in those pools chills one to the marrow. Your mother must have been quite something to have worked for so many years in that freezing water.” Elin nodded shortly. In retrospect, it was surprising that her mother never got sick. As a child, Elin hadn’t given it a thought, but standing chest-deep in water so cold it numbed the body must have been hard on her mother. The man in charge of the baths was waiting for them at the entrance. Outsiders were normally not allowed in the bathhouse. Although he looked a little uncertain, the man greeted them kindly and showed them inside. “This is the men’s bath,” he said, “and that’s the women’s. The villagers’re all done, so you can have the place to yourselves. Please take your time. Chimulu told me you were coming, so I cleaned the water. The temperature should be just about perfect.” He handed them each a towel. As the man left, Yohalu gazed at the one in his hand. “Where did he get these from? He couldn’t have had time to get towels from someone’s house.” Elin smiled. “They always keep extra on hand because children who come on their own are likely to forget theirs.” As the words left her mouth, her son’s face popped into her mind. No matter how much she scolded him, the little rascal often scampered off without his towel on purpose. She wondered what he was doing right now. Probably helping Ialu prepare the evening meal. She could picture him climbing onto his father’s back as he crouched in front of the oven and fed wood into the fire. Yohalu draped the towel around his shoulders and cocked an eyebrow at Elin. “They think of everything, don’t they? Let’s get warmed up.” He disappeared into the men’s changing area, while she entered the women’s side. The warmth of people just out of the hot tub still permeated the room. Elin removed her wet clothing and placed it to one side, then descended the steps to the bath area beside the large tub. She poured a dipper of water over herself. It felt scorching hot against her frozen skin. Recalling how her mother had taught her never to dirty the bath water, even if they were the last ones in, she washed herself thoroughly before sliding into the tub. She shivered with pleasure and let out a long sigh as the warmth spread through her body. Gazing absently at her pale legs floating in the hot water, she let all that she had seen and heard that day flow through and out of her mind. I wonder why only the Kiba were female … This point bothered her. The Stewards couldn’t have deliberately selected females for the Kiba because they never checked their sex. If so, then why were they all female while the rest were male, almost as if they’d been handpicked? And what made a Toda into a Kiba in the first place? Did any of the wild Toda grow so large? Maybe they tell them apart when they’re in the egg. Perhaps when they stole them from the nests, they picked ones of a certain size for Kiba and those were all female. She got that far in her reasoning and then muttered to herself, “No. That’s impossible.” From what the Chief Steward had said, it sounded like he had seen wild Toda mating. This made sense because collecting Toda eggs from the wild would have been an important task for the Stewards. They couldn’t steal any eggs unless they kept their eye on where the Toda lived and knew where they laid them. If they had seen Toda mate, then they should know if there were any features that identified sex, such as one sex being larger than the other. In that case, however, they should have responded immediately that the Kiba were female when she’d asked. Yet not only the Chief Steward, who strictly adhered to the laws governing their care, but Chimulu as well had assumed that the Kiba were males. This could only mean that there was no obvious trait that distinguished males from females in the wild. The last rays of sunlight shone through the ventilation window, casting a rosy glow on the white wall of the bath. Besides, if the Kiba were always females and sex had anything to do with their deaths, mass Kiba die-offs should have occurred more frequently. The deaths had been sudden. Those that had died must have shared some unique characteristic not found in the other Kiba. Elin sighed and rubbed her face with her palm. No matter what line of reasoning she followed, she simply did not have enough knowledge. She would have to learn as much she could from the Stewards. That would be her starting point. Her arms glowed white in the shimmering water. She missed holding her son, Jesse, on her lap. He was always on her mind. The littlest thing would remind her of his face and the softness of his skin. Had she always been on her mother’s thoughts like this? She could almost see her mother’s arms wrapped around her, the way they had when she’d sat on her mother’s lap. Her mother had left this world with so much still locked away inside her. Yet, even so, each thing that Elin discovered about the Toda might teach her what her mother had left unsaid. She wiped a hand over her face once more, then rose and stepped from the bath. 3 CHIMULU’S HOUSE “Oh, I do apologize. Our house is really not suitable for people like you. It’s such a mess. So cramped and noisy.” Chimulu’s mother ducked her head repeatedly as she pushed her children aside and beckoned Elin and Yohalu into the house. The homes of Toda Stewards were all of similar structure: a large dirt-floored space with a sink and a clay oven that led straight into a raised wooden-floored room with a hearth. A corridor alongside this led to other rooms in the back. Elin had lived in a similar house with her mother. But she remembered it as being more spacious than this, perhaps because it had only housed the two of them. Chimulu’s family was large, and six children were staring wide-eyed at Elin and Yohalu, fingers in their mouths. “I’ve got seven brothers and sisters,” Chimulu said. “But these ones will stay at my grandparents’ tonight.” He turned and shooed them out. “Off you go now. Stop making such a racket!” But even when he gave them a swat on the bottom, they didn’t budge, remaining rooted in the entranceway, chattering excitedly as they stared at the visitors. Chimulu’s mother finally spread her arms and swept the children out of the house. The door snapped shut, and everything grew quiet. “Phew!” She sighed as she faced her guests. “Sorry for all that noise. I meant to send them off before you arrived, but I wanted to feed them first, and then it got too late.” Like Chimulu, she was short with a bright, energetic disposition. Although talkative, she never stopped working. Having heard from Chimulu that they had come to save her eldest son, she showered them with hospitality. “My husband passed away,” she said. “During that malaria epidemic a few years back, if you remember. So my eldest son took his place as a Steward. He was always a smart boy, and earnest, too. That’s why he was chosen to help care for the Kiba.” While she talked, she filled their bowls with steaming-hot rice. Her eldest son supported the household now, she told them, and he worked hard, despite his youth. At this she choked up, and her eyes filled with tears. Yohalu glanced at Elin and then turned to Chimulu’s mother. “Unless he was clearly negligent in his duties, your son won’t be accused of any crime. There’s no need for you to worry so much. You must be patient and wait a little longer.” The woman nodded. Chimulu chimed in, “He’s going to be all right, Mum. I’m sure of it. I know how carefully he took care of the Kiba. If these people investigate thoroughly, I’m sure they’ll be able to prove that it wasn’t his fault.” He looked at Elin and Yohalu with a defiant light in his eyes. “I’m so relieved you’ve come. My biggest fear was that the inspector might accuse him to avoid being blamed himself.” To voice any doubts about the inspector was to question the Aluhan’s ability to rule, but the challenge in Chimulu’s eyes made it clear that he knew this and had said it anyway. Yohalu expressed neither sympathy nor rebuke, but simply picked up his chopsticks and ran his eyes over the food on the table. His face brightened. “What a feast! Shall we dig in?” The table was laden with dishes typical of mountain villages. Slices of grilled pheasant basted with miso and minced tsushi, tenderly stewed bamboo shoots, and sweet-and-sour pickled oolika fruit. When grilled, the slightly bitter tsushi-miso had an aromatic fragrance that made normally gamey meat rich and savory and the fatty layer under the skin succulent and delicious. Elin took a mouthful of rice. Tears welled suddenly in her eyes, and her nose stung. The food brought back her childhood. Since the day she had washed ashore in Yojeh territory, she had eaten only fahko, an unleavened bread made of mixed grains—never rice and rarely any miso. “Don’t you like it?” Chimulu’s mother asked. Startled, Elin looked up and said, “Oh, of course I do! It’s delicious.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t keep the quiver from her voice. She drew a deep breath and tried again. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this food tastes so familiar. It really is delicious.” “Ah. I forgot,” Chimulu’s mother said. “You’re from Akeh.” “Is this what they eat in Akeh, too?” Chimulu interjected. Elin nodded. “Yes. We ate tsushi-miso often at this time of year. I used to go down to the stream in the spring with my friends to dig up the shoots. My mother was always delighted when I came back with an armful.” Chimulu laughed. “Really? When I was a kid, I hated them. I never went tsushi picking, even when my friends asked me to go along. They’re so bitter, you see. I only found out how good tsushi-miso tastes recently. After I was old enough to drink. That’s when I realized it’s really quite delicious. Weird.” As he talked, he leaned over and poured them wine. They chatted about different seasonal dishes for some time. Toward the end of the meal, Elin said, “Memories from my childhood have been coming back ever since I arrived here, but they’re mostly insignificant little details. Even though my mother was a Steward, I don’t know anything about the Toda.” She looked Chimulu in the eye as she spoke. “There’s so much I need to learn. Would you be willing to teach me? About the work of the Stewards?” Chimulu’s face shone. “Of course! I’d be glad to tell you everything I know.” He paused and laughed, looking a little embarrassed. “But I’m just a novice. If it were my older brother, now, he could tell you everything.” His mother piped up. “You’re right, there. You don’t have any experience, and you tend to be a bit careless. Unlike your brother who—” “Hold on now!” Chimulu said hastily, raising his hand for her to stop. “No need to go on so much about my brother.” He turned to Elin. “Pardon me. What is it you wish to know? Ask me anything. I will be only too glad to answer. I was being modest, but to tell you the truth, I know at least as much as my brother.” Elin couldn’t help laughing. “All right. I won’t hold back, then. First, tell me about the Kiba. How are they chosen? Can you tell the difference between them and the other Toda when they’re still in the egg?” Chimulu slapped his thigh. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about this whole time! You know what surprised me most? That all the Kiba were female. The strange thing is, the eggs they hatch from are no different from those of the other Toda. It’s impossible to tell which are female and which are male. The ones that will be raised as Kiba aren’t chosen for any characteristic of their eggs. We simply raise all the Toda hatched every five years as Kiba.” Elin raised her eyebrows. “Every five years?” “Yes. We collect eggs every year, but once every five years, we put all the eggs gathered into the Kiba Pond and raise the hatchlings with tokujisui. They grow quicker and larger than the other Toda and have big, strong fangs. In other words, the only difference is that Kiba are given tokujisui while the rest aren’t. When we found out that all the Kiba were female today, I was shocked. Do you think that giving them tokujisui turns them into females?” As Elin mulled his question over, her thoughts were drawn to the Royal Beasts. Those raised on tokujisui never fully matured, but Leelan, who had been raised without it, had matured and mated with Eku to produce their cub Alu. She frowned. Alu and her siblings should have reached maturity by now but had not. Esalu had said that there was no need to worry just yet: with large animals like Royal Beasts, there was quite a bit of physical variation. But Elin couldn’t help feeling that something important was lacking in Alu and her siblings’ environment. Elin had raised them without tokujisui in conditions very similar to those in nature, so why hadn’t they started mating yet? Perhaps with Royal Beasts there were multiple factors, complexly interrelated, that affected sexual maturation. Even so, it was clear that tokujisui affected reproduction. That must be why the Kiba, as well as the other Toda, which were given a diluted version known as hakujisui, didn’t mate and reproduce. But was tokujisui really powerful enough to determine sex? If it was and all the Kiba given heavy doses became female because of it, then it was unlikely that tokujisui caused the mass deaths. Elin raised her face and looked at Chimulu. “Do any Kiba die of old age?” Chimulu nodded. “Yes, of course.” He glanced at Yohalu. “But they’re surprisingly susceptible to disease, and many are killed in battle, too. I’ve only seen two or three Kiba that died of old age.” Yohalu gave a wry smile. “Because Kiba form the vanguard. The Kiba troops lose the greatest number of Toda Riders, too.” Elin stroked her chin. “But some Kiba do die of old age. In that case, the fact that all the Kiba were female may not be the direct cause.” Chimulu and Yohalu looked taken aback. “Ah, I see,” Yohalu murmured. “If being female is what caused their deaths, mass die-offs should occur much more often.” “You’re right!” Chimulu exclaimed. “And while they may not live to be that old, many live ten years or more.” “How old were the Kiba that died this year?” Elin asked. “They were all three.” Elin frowned. “They were all the same age? Do you mean that you kept only one generation of Kiba in the Stone Chambers of this village? Weren’t there any older ones?” Chimulu grimaced. “No, there weren’t. Like I said, they’re more susceptible to disease and more often killed in combat. The last of the older ones were all killed in the most recent battle. There were six of them, eight years old and thirteen years old—” “Hang on a second.” Elin stopped him as she tried to catch the tail end of a thought. She pressed a finger to the spot between her eyebrows, and gradually, the idea came back. Eyes bright, she gazed at Chimulu. “The Kiba that died this time were all three years old,” she said slowly. “But the older ones that you had left, which would’ve been the eight-year-olds and thirteen-year-olds, were still healthy before the last battle. Excluding those that had already died of illness or been killed.” Chimulu nodded, looking a bit perplexed. “The Kiba that died this time were all three-year-olds,” Elin repeated as if to herself, her eyes still on Chimulu. “Yes. What about it?” he asked. But Elin didn’t hear him. The dead Kiba were all born in the same year. If so, something may have happened that year that led to their deaths. Maybe some difference in the weather or the water temperature when they had hatched had caused some kind of physical change. Hope dawned in her heart. There were still too many unknown factors to judge, but she felt sure this line of reasoning could help her find the cause of the mass deaths. A hot rush of excitement warmed her skin, but she quenched it; when a breakthrough seemed within reach was when she needed to use the most caution. If she became obsessed with exploring a single path, it could blind her to other possibilities. They knew so little about the Toda. She had to collect facts, one by one, and think them over. Still, she was happy to have found a clue that would serve as a starting point. She would take her first steps from there. The path she had glimpsed through the mist might be a mirage, but she would never know until she followed it. 4 ESALU’S CONCERNS A chill spring wind rustled through the grass, which was wet with morning dew. In the meadow, two Royal Beasts rubbed their heads against each other, sniffing each other’s chests, then looked up and trilled in fluty voices. Lululululu. Esalu, headmistress of the Kazalumu Royal Beast Sanctuary, gazed at this scene with a twinge of anxiety. Based on past experience, she knew that Leelan and Eku would take their mating flight today or at the very latest tomorrow. And if they did, Leelan would most certainly conceive. Over ten years had passed since Leelan had borne her first cub, Alu. She hadn’t mated again for another two years, but when three Royal Beasts at the sanctuary had died the following year, she and Eku had mated and conceived a second cub as though trying to fill the empty spaces. That cub, Kalu, was now fully grown, and his younger sister Mina, born a few years later, was growing well and romping about the plateau. Overjoyed by the births, the Yojeh and the Aluhan had not only granted the sanctuary a generous sum of money each time, but had also sent healthy wild Royal Beast cubs. Celebrating each birth with a lavish banquet, they had proclaimed far and wide that it proved the god was pleased with the new Yojeh’s rule. Esalu guessed that they sought to allay people’s uneasiness about the Yojeh’s marriage to the Aluhan, a union unheard of in the nation’s history. It was the gift of the wild cubs that particularly worried Esalu. Royal Beasts raised at the sanctuary on tokujisui never mated. At Elin’s insistence, however, Leelan had never been given tokujisui, and she became the only Royal Beast in captivity to reach sexual maturity. When Eku, a mature wild male, was brought to the sanctuary to be treated for an injury, she had come into heat, mated, and conceived. This fact had captured the interest of both the Yojeh and the Aluhan. Seimiya had never commanded Elin to breed more Royal Beasts. When she had begged Elin to fly Leelan in order to save Shunan from death at the hand of his younger brother, she had vowed never to use the Royal Beasts as weapons again. But it would be foolish to assume the rulers of this land would be indifferent to creatures powerful enough to vanquish the Toda. Esalu knew this and was sure that Elin knew it, too, though she never mentioned it. Everyone had believed that Royal Beasts could never be tamed. But the sight of Elin flying Leelan into battle and single-handedly subduing the Toda troops was seared into their minds, along with the possibility that Royal Beasts could become invincible weapons. So when the Yojeh and her husband sent wild cubs to Kazalumu to commemorate the births of Alu, her younger brother Kalu, and little sister Mina, Esalu couldn’t help but suspect an ulterior motive. Had they sent them so that the newborn cubs would each have a mate when they matured? Were they hoping that the Royal Beasts would multiply? She looked at Nola, a female sent as a gift at Kalu’s birth, and Ukalu and Tohba, both males. They stood slightly apart, watching with keen interest as Leelan and Eku nuzzled each other. Tohba, who was not yet fully grown, showed no change, but the chests of both Nola and Ukalu had flushed to a delicate pink in response to the scent of the courting pair. There was a rattling noise, and Esalu turned to see Tomura, one of the teachers, wrestling with the gate. When they neared mating, Royal Beasts could become aggressive. To prevent anyone from disturbing them, Esalu had asked the custodians to erect a temporary fence around this part of the field. Perhaps it had been put up too hastily, because the gate always got caught on the frame. After a brief struggle, Tomura succeeded in opening it and came to stand beside Esalu. “They’re so lovey-dovey, it’s almost embarrassing to watch, isn’t it?” he murmured, gazing up at the pair. With a slight frown, he added, “It looks like they’ll take their mating flight soon, don’t you think?” “Yes, could be anytime now,” said Esalu. Tomura shifted his gaze to Ukalu and the others. “Their courtship seems to be affecting those youngsters over there. Do you think Ukalu will fly when Leelan and Eku mate?” Esalu folded her arms. “He might. Male animals often fight over a female in heat, although we don’t know if that’s true for Royal Beasts.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Even small animals like tomcats will fight ferociously for a mate, but between Royal Beasts, such a contest could be ghastly.” Tomura looked at Esalu. “But they wouldn’t go so far as to kill each other, would they?” “Probably not. As long as one backs down, the fight will end. In the animal world, that is. Only humans go so far as to kill each other over a female,” Esalu said caustically. Her face grew thoughtful. “Still, when it comes to Royal Beasts, we just don’t know. While they might not kill each other outright, the wounds could be fatal. We’d better be prepared.” The Royal Beasts in the sanctuary were the property of the Yojeh, and Esalu, as the headmistress, was responsible for their protection. It was unlikely she would be blamed too harshly if anything happened. Because there had never been more than one pair ready to mate before, no one could expect her to anticipate the consequences. If they weren’t prepared, however, that would be a different story. This thought caused a constant tightness in Tomura’s chest for he had been entrusted with the care of Leelan and the others in Elin’s absence, but Esalu, who had decades of experience at the sanctuary, betrayed no trace of concern. Tomura glanced at Alu, Kalu, and Mina, who were some distance away from their parents, and his face clouded. “Alu hasn’t come into heat yet, has she?” he said. The three siblings frolicked in the sunshine, apparently oblivious to the scent of their parents or of the wild Beasts. As Esalu watched Alu patiently endure her younger sister Mina’s playful tugging, she felt a heaviness fill her chest. She’d been concerned about them the last few days as Leelan, stimulated by Eku, came into heat, and Ukalu and Nola showed signs of response. Alu and her siblings had never been given tokujisui or been frozen with the Silent Whistle. In that sense, they’d been raised in conditions closer to those in the wild than Leelan had. Yet they showed no interest at all in the scent of the wild Royal Beasts and no sign of sexually maturing. Esalu shook her head slowly. “Let’s worry about them later,” she said. “It may be that Royal Beasts mature at different times. Humans do. Not all women begin their periods in the same year.” “That’s true,” Tomura said. He sighed. “What a time for Elin to be absent. It’s been quite a while since the Aluhan summoned her. Has there been any word about when she’ll return?” Arms still folded across her chest, Esalu heaved a sigh. She’d heard nothing since she had received a brief letter from the Aluhan explaining that he had sent Elin to investigate the cause of some Toda deaths. Considering that any information related to the Toda was top secret, she hadn’t expected to hear more. But she couldn’t help worrying. She opened her mouth to speak, but then paused, eyebrows raised. Her eyes had caught a movement among the trees at the edge of the broad expanse of forest that stretched behind the Beasts. Squinting, she realized what it was. One of the Aluhan’s soldiers, who guarded the sanctuary, was waving to her. She could tell from the motion that it wasn’t an emergency, but when she turned in the direction to which he pointed, she clicked her tongue. Tomura cast her a quick look of surprise, then followed her gaze. “Not again,” he muttered with a frown. A little figure was creeping through the meadow toward Alu, crawling on all fours like a pup. He probably thought he was concealed by the long grasses, but from here, he was clearly visible. “He must have snuck around from the valley,” Tomura said with an exasperated look. “Though I suppose I should at least give him credit for having guts.” No one was allowed in the sanctuary without permission. The front and back gates were well guarded, and people who climbed the road up the hill from the village couldn’t get through without being detected. Even if they did, because Leelan was nearing her mating flight, they would need a key to open the gate through the fence. The dorm students were keenly aware of how dangerous the Royal Beasts were, and none, no matter how rebellious, would dare to approach them. Still, the fence had been built to discourage climbers. The only way for someone coming from the village to get near the Royal Beasts was to approach from the rear through the forest. This meant traveling a long way around to ford the mountain stream and climb the steep cliff on the other side, before hiking through the trees, where the Aluhan’s soldiers kept watch. The soldier who had waved signaled that he was leaving the intruder in their hands. Tomura took a step toward the boy, but Esalu stopped him and strode off, making a wide arc so as not to get too close to Alu and the others. Alu and Mina paused in their play and stared at Esalu as she walked purposefully past them. She gripped the Silent Whistle that hung from her neck, prepared to blow it at any moment. When he realized that he had been discovered, the boy rose from his hiding place behind Alu. For a moment, he looked as if he was about to run, but to do so could startle the Royal Beasts, and he appeared to reconsider. Rather than dashing off, he began to back away slowly. He looked so comical that laughter rose in Esalu’s throat, but she forced it down. Keeping her face stern, she strode up to him and grabbed him by the collar. Silently, she hauled him some distance away from the Royal Beasts, then glanced at Alu. Although Alu and her siblings were watching her curiously, they made no sign of approaching. The Royal Beasts were wary of Esalu, and never came up to her or cooed the way they did with Elin. Once she confirmed they wouldn’t follow, she turned back to the boy. “Surely you realize what you’re doing, Jesse?” He pursed his lips and looked up at her. His short-cropped black hair and dark eyes were just like his father’s, but the way his eyes gleamed and the stubborn set of his jaw reminded her of Elin when she was younger. His hair was tangled and his soft cheeks were scratched, as if he had crawled through a thicket. “Answer me, Jesse.” The boy cringed at the sharpness in her voice, but his eyes showed no sign of being cowed. “I just came to see my brothers and sisters!” he said. “That’s all!” Esalu’s eyebrows rose. “Your brothers and sisters?” For a moment, she struggled to grasp what he was talking about, then sighed. He’d been coming to this meadow ever since he was a baby on Elin’s back and had been playing with Alu and the others for as long as he could remember. She supposed that to him they must seem like family. Elin had raised him very strictly, and whenever he was with her, he wore a solemn expression as if to say he understood very well how dangerous the Royal Beasts were. But how could a boy of just eight possibly understand their true danger? Esalu opened her mouth to give him a good scolding, only to close it again in futility. No matter what she might say, he was simply too young to understand why he shouldn’t go near Alu and the others. Plus, his stubbornness was formidable. If he believed he was right, he wouldn’t budge. Changing tacks, she decided to strike his weak side. “I see,” she said, feigning disgust. “Well, I’m really sorry to hear that. I had no idea that you cared so little about your family. It doesn’t even bother you that your actions are going to make them suffer.” Jesse looked puzzled for a moment. “What do you mean?” he snapped. “I’m not going to make them suffer.” “Yes, you are. Because of you, I’ll have to lock Alu and the others in the stable. If there’s a possibility that an intruder—and by that, I mean you, Jesse—could approach them, I can’t let them out into the pasture. What choice have you left me but to keep them inside? From now on, I’ll have to shut them up in the dark. They won’t like it, but it can’t be helped, can it? As long as there’s someone like you around who just can’t obey the rules.” Jesse’s expression changed to one of shocked disbelief. Then his face crumpled. Though young, he was old enough to understand Esalu’s logic. He looked at Alu and the others, then raised his eyes to Esalu’s face. The coldness of her expression told him that she was quite serious, and tears sprang into his eyes. He sniffled hastily and struggled to suppress his sobs, but his lips trembled. “I’m sorry!” he shouted. Startled, Alu and the other young Beasts swiveled their heads toward him. Esalu raised the Silent Whistle to her lips, but Jesse stretched up, grabbing her hand in his small one. “Don’t blow it,” he whispered fiercely. “Please! Don’t! I promise I won’t come here anymore. So please, please don’t shut them up in the stable. That would be too cruel.” Esalu kept her gaze stern, resisting the urge to smile. “You expect me to believe that?” she said. “You already promised once before that you wouldn’t come again, yet here you are. Do you expect me to believe someone who breaks their promise for their own selfish reasons?” At this, the tears rolled unchecked down Jesse’s cheeks. Hiccupping, he wailed, “I’m sorry! I’ll never break my promise again, so please, please don’t lock them up! I’ll keep my promise! Really, I will!” Esalu glared at him. Although still hiccupping, he never let his eyes waver from hers. At last, she said quietly, “You’re sure I can trust you?” Jesse nodded emphatically. His face deadly serious, he raised his index finger and pointed to his chest, a gesture that meant if he broke his promise, she could kill him. Esalu bit back a laugh, but couldn’t keep a lopsided smile from her lips. Placing a hand on his small shoulder, she gave him a little shake. “Then I won’t lock them up. Now come. I’ll ask Professor Tomura to take you home to your father.” Nudged by her hand on his shoulder, Jesse had fallen into step beside her, but now he scowled. “I can go home by myself, you know.” “I’m sure you can,” Esalu said coldly, “but there’s no guarantee you’d go straight home. Especially as you probably disobeyed your father’s orders by coming here.” Jesse’s shoulders drooped, and he heaved an exaggerated sigh. Craning his neck, he stared at Alu, as though reluctant to leave her. “Do you love Alu so much?” Esalu asked gently. Jesse gave a cocky shrug. “Of course I do. She’s my big sister.” He looked up at Esalu. “Will Mother be home soon?” Esalu blinked. “It looks like she’ll be away a little longer. I’ll let you know as soon as we receive any word. I’m sure you must miss her, but try to be patient.” Jesse pressed his lips together and stared at the ground, but his mouth was trembling. Esalu’s chest tightened. 5 AUTOPSY Dissecting the Kiba took a long time. Toda hide was so hard it could repel arrows, and no ordinary knife could penetrate where it was covered in scales. With a small, sharp dagger used by the Toda Stewards, Elin made her incisions in the underbelly. It was scaleless, but no easy task to cut through. Chimulu offered to do it for her, but Elin declined, partly because she knew it would be painful for him to insert a knife into the Kiba he’d helped raise from hatchlings, but even more so because she wanted to learn everything she could, including the feel of the hide, the layer of subcutaneous fat, and the flesh beneath. Even if she dissected the Kiba, there was no guarantee that she’d be able to determine their cause of death. In fact, it would be almost impossible to determine if there was no obvious internal damage. The care of both the Toda and the Royal Beasts was bound by countless taboos. Everything had to be done strictly according to the Toda Laws or the Royal Beast Canon, and no deviation was permitted. Toda had never been dissected before, and no records of their anatomy existed, so she wouldn’t be able to compare her findings with previous cases. Yet she had decided to dissect them anyway to pursue a hunch. If tokujisui was involved in their deaths, then the most likely cause would be a reproductive abnormality. As all the Kiba were female and it was egg-laying season for wild Toda, some change, such as ovulation, could have precipitated their deaths. She had to find out if her suspicion was right. Slowly and methodically, Elin dissected the first carcass and checked the various layers of tissue between the hide and the reproductive organs, examining them thoroughly and recording everything she saw. The work was much harder than she had expected. The protective slime that covered their hides was toxic and could have disastrous effects if she cut herself and got any in the wound. Just in case, she kept a cloth drenched in an antidote close at hand. Each time she stopped to pick up her pen, she had to wipe her hands first, which made the work much slower. All the while, she was conscious of Yohalu’s presence beside her. Like Elin, he had covered his mouth and nose with a cloth, and he stood silently watching her, showing no trace of emotion, even at the sight of the decomposing innards or at the ripe stench. He only left her side to relieve himself. As she examined the innards, Elin measured the intervals between Yohalu’s bathroom breaks. When she approached the reproductive organs, she took her time with other tasks, waiting for him to get up and leave. But this time it seemed like he never would. Not knowing what else to do, she began carefully feeling each vein with an expression of intense concentration, as though they intrigued her. “Is there something strange about those veins?” Yohalu asked from behind her. Without looking at him, she said, “Sometimes poison can cause lesions on the veins.” “Hmm,” Yohalu said, as if interested. Then he murmured, “I must be getting a bit chilled in here. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” As he left, she began cutting swiftly near the reproductive organs. Although she was in a hurry, she bit her lip and forced herself to slow down, moving the knife with care. Suddenly, her eyes widened. What’s that … The Kiba’s fallopian tube looked swollen and deformed. She slit it open and found that it was plugged with multiple hard lumps. Her knife touched something different. Slowly, she explored the spot, and a round, fist-sized ball slipped out onto her palm. She stared at it. An egg. This Kiba, raised in an unnatural way, had reached maturity and produced unfertilized eggs without mating. Footsteps sounded at the entrance to the Chamber, and Yohalu returned to her side. He peered over her shoulder at what lay on her palm. “What’s that?” he asked. She glanced up, and their eyes met. For an instant her gaze wavered, and she regretted looking at him, but it was too late. Yohalu’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed her inner turmoil. “That’s an egg, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded. She wished that she could have a little more time to think before she told him, but there was no way to avoid it now. Besides, if blocked fallopian tubes had killed the Kiba, she couldn’t lie to him anyway. “Was it pregnant?” he asked. Hearing the excitement in his voice, Elin shook her head. “No. I believe this is an unfertilized egg.” She pressed the point of the knife against the lumps in the tube. “Look here, and here. Here, too. Do you see these?” “Yes.” “These growths blocked the fallopian tube, preventing the egg from passing through. The death of organ tissue spreads out from here. I can’t say for certain yet, but I believe this is what caused their deaths.” Yohalu fixed his eyes on hers. “But what could have caused such a change? Poison?” Returning his gaze, Elin shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. And until I determine whether any other pathological change occurred, I can’t tell if this is what actually killed them.” She kept her eyes downcast as she spoke, grateful for the white cloth that masked her lips, because she couldn’t keep them from trembling. Tokujisui! Although she had no conclusive proof, there was no doubt in her mind. It was tokujisui that had caused this deformation—because that was the only difference between the Kiba and wild Toda. Shivers rose in waves from the pit of her stomach. Unable to suppress them, she stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to step out for some fresh air.” Bobbing her head once in apology, she hurried from the caves. The guards bowed to her as she passed, but she did not see them. Only when she was inside the forest did she stop. Birds warbled, and sunlight filtering through the leaves dappled her face. Pressing her back against a tree, she closed her eyes. Tokujisui. What a dreadful potion. It turned living creatures into aberrations, yet, for centuries, they’d been giving it to the Toda to make them into powerful giants. The sunlight played on her closed lids. An image of her mother’s face rose in her mind, and she could hear the echo of her voice. “Tokujisui makes their fangs harder and their bones larger than Toda in the wild. But at the expense of other parts.” She realized now that her mother should never have shared such thoughts with her young daughter, but she’d probably been unable to stop herself. Think about it, her mother had said. 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. Mother knew. She had known that it would kill female Toda to give them the tokujisui that made them into Kiba. The chill that gripped Elin intensified. The Toda Stewards had no idea what effect the tokujisui would have, but her mother did. The change in the slimy membrane occurred during the egg-laying season. And with that change their odor probably changed, too, attracting winged insects. That’s why she told me not to tell anyone they smelled different. Which meant that her mother had noticed the change in the membrane. She’d noticed, yet had still given them that potion, even though such a high dose would encourage ovulation and turn the tokujisui to poison. Elin didn’t need to ask why she would do such a thing. If she had told the Stewards they should stop using it, she would have had to explain why. And that was something she could never do. If she did, people would learn that Toda could be bred and multiplied by humans. Tokujisui and its diluted version were designed to prevent that. If the Toda were raised without tokujisui under conditions similar to those in the wild, they would mate and reproduce, just like Leelan had. Even though Mother was expelled by her people, she still … Adherence to the Law had been that important. Long ago, her mother’s ancestors had used Toda as weapons, destroying a nation that had flourished on the other side of the Afon Noah, the Mountains of the Gods. Filled with remorse, the Ahlyo, the People of the Mist, had lived ever since in strict obedience to the Law to prevent such a tragedy from recurring. Born and raised an Ahlyo, Elin’s mother would have tried to prevent others from breeding Toda, even if it meant her execution. But … Although Elin could follow her mother’s reasoning, emotionally she couldn’t accept it. How could she have done that to the Toda? It was so hard to understand. She pressed her palm against her forehead. Could I do that? Could I bring myself to give Leelan and Alu tokujisui to prevent them from being used as weapons? Just the thought of it filled her with revulsion. She doubted that she could ever do it. Even so, maybe it was something that had to be done. Another scene rose in her mind. Her mother’s face when she had thrown the Silent Whistle into the fire, her eyes and cheeks lit by the glow of the flames in the oven. “What I’ve done will make life so much harder for you,” she had said. “Yet, to be honest, I’m glad that I’ll never have to use that thing again … I hate watching the Toda freeze whenever I blow it … To see wild beasts controlled by humans is a miserable thing. In the wild, they would be masters of their own destiny. I can’t bear to watch them grow steadily weaker when they live among men.” Beneath her closed lids, Elin’s eyes burned. It must have been so hard for her to bear. Elin squeezed her eyes tight. Yet, despite that pain, despite her abhorrence for what she was doing, in the end, her mother had still chosen to continue perverting the growth of the Toda. Elin covered her face with her hands. If I had never been conceived … If she could have continued living as one of the Ao-Loh, the People of the Law, the true name of the Ahlyo, instead of becoming a Toda Steward … Surely her life would have been much easier, and so different. Would she have been freed of such dilemmas? Her mother, a Steward with the heart of an Ao-Loh, had been forced to witness firsthand just how cruelly the Law perverted the Toda. What had she been thinking as she stood chest deep in the chill waters of the Pond day after day? Had she ever doubted the wisdom of the Law? Once again, she saw her mother inside the Stone Chamber; saw her kneel on the frigid stone floor and bow her head to the Kiba as water from her sodden garments spread in a dark pool around her. That cold, dark water seemed to seep inside Elin and pool at the bottom of her chest. Knowing her mother, she had been begging the Kiba to forgive her. For killing them with tokujisui. What am I going to do? Now that she knew what her mother had known, what should she do? Should she conceal the secret of the tokujisui to prevent people from breeding Toda and make up some plausible explanation for why their eggs had been blocked? Or should she continue to investigate and, once she discovered the whole truth, confront it head-on? For the sake of the Toda, she would rather find a road that would keep them from being used as weapons. But there was no way that the Toda army, the kingpin of the country’s defense, could ever be dismantled. So what should she do? What could she do? Behind her lids, she saw the lifeless, infertile Kiba. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the dappled light. The leaves fluttered in the breeze, but the trunk stood steady. Narrowing her eyes against the light, her face grew calm. I can never give living creatures something that deforms them and prevents from ever bearing young. That much she knew. She took a deep breath and pulled away from the tree, feeling the cool breeze caress her sweat-drenched back. A twig cracked beneath someone’s foot, and she turned. In the shadow of a tree stood a woman. 6 A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST The woman was slender and looked to be about fifty years old. She stood with a basket in her arms and stared at Elin as though she wanted to talk. Although she was a stranger, something about her seemed familiar. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. At last, she seemed to gather her resolve and stepped out of the tree’s shadow. “You probably don’t remember me,” she said, walking slowly toward Elin. “I’ve been coming here as often as I could, hoping that I might have a chance to speak with you. I can’t enter the Stone Chambers, and it would be hard to talk where others might be listening.” “Excuse me, but who are you?” Elin asked. The woman flushed. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I should have introduced myself first. We’re actually related. I’m your father’s cousin, although I don’t know what relation that makes us exactly.” Elin stared at her openmouthed, feeling as though she had been hit in the chest. “It’s true,” the woman said, her words tumbling out. “We’ve met before. I used to play with you quite often, you know. But I married a man from this village when you were only five, so you’ve probably forgotten.” She smiled suddenly, as if remembering that time. “You couldn’t pronounce my name properly so you called me Auntie Chacha. My name’s Tsulana.” The name Auntie Chacha echoed in Elin’s ears, jogging a distant memory—the blurred brightness of day, a laughing voice, a flowered apron. “I remember,” Elin murmured hesitantly. “Not clearly. But I do remember. Did you wear an apron? One embroidered with yellow flowers or something?” Tsulana’s face brightened. “Yes! Yes, I did! I’d completely forgotten about it, but I used to wear an apron like that then. Amazing! So you do remember me!” The tension between them dissolved, and they smiled at each other. “I’m so glad!” Tsulana said. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain things to you. I mean, I never dreamed you’d remember me, and it would be so odd to have a stranger tell you they’re your father’s cousin.” “Yes, you really took me by surprise,” Elin said, finding her voice. “But I’m so glad you came.” Tsulana nodded. “Me too. I thought you’d died with Sohyon, so when my husband told me you were here, the shock knocked the breath out of me. Of course, I was thrilled to know you’d survived.” She stopped and gazed at Elin, then added, “You look so like your mother. Not just your eyes, but your mouth and your build, too. Your eyebrows and nose, though, remind me of my cousin.” Elin could hardly remember her mother anymore, yet Tsulana could see Sohyon in her face. And her father, whom Elin didn’t remember at all. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and her lips trembled. Tsulana’s face twisted. “It was just so cruel. And Sohyon was so young, not even thirty.” Elin realized with a shock that she had not even known her mother’s age. She had been only ten at the time, and to her, Mother was just her mother. It had never occurred to her to wonder about her age. “How old was she?” she asked with a quiver in her voice. “Twenty-seven, I think,” Tsulana answered quietly. “Because she was only seventeen when she gave birth to you.” That young? Elin pressed her hand against the tree to steady herself. Many girls married at sixteen, so it wasn’t unusual to bear a child at seventeen. Yet the thought that her mother had been only sixteen when she’d chosen to abandon her people and marry a Toda Steward pierced Elin’s heart. Tsulana seemed to be thinking the same thing. “My cousin died at eighteen and Sohyon gave birth to you at seventeen,” she said. “They were both awfully young, weren’t they? I was just sixteen then, too, but Sohyon seemed so grown up, I never thought of her as being just one year older than me. I knew their situation was awkward, but I’d always liked my cousin. Of course, I was a bit frightened of Sohyon at first. I mean, she was an Ahlyo, and that in itself was somehow scary … But she was a good person. The more I got to know her, the more I understood why my cousin had fallen in love with her. I really loved those two.” Elin listened, barely breathing. She wanted to hear anything she could about her mother and father, like how they’d come to be married or whether they’d had a wedding. “What was my father like?” she asked. Tsulana’s eyes shone softly. “He was such a warm person. He didn’t talk much, but when he smiled, he brightened up the world around him.” Muffled sounds came from the distance, and they both stopped, startled, turning their heads toward the noise. Yohalu had come out of the caves and was looking at them. Elin took a step toward him, but he raised his hand and waved her away, as if to say not to worry about him. He turned and began talking to the guards in front of the entrance. “Do you think it’s all right?” Tsulana murmured, peering anxiously toward Yohalu. “Yes. It should be fine. I can tell him later.” Despite this reassurance, however, Tsulana continued to frown, staring in Yohalu’s direction. “Auntie,” Elin said. Tsulana shifted her eyes toward her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s better if we don’t talk too long, although I know there must be so much you’d like to ask. And so much I’d like to ask you, too.” “But—” Tsulana shook her head. “I’m sure you know that in a small village like this, rumors tend to spread. Because people are afraid.” She thrust the basket she carried toward Elin. “Here. Take this. I made some rice cakes with shizu petals for you.” Wedged between the rice cakes and the edge of the basket was a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Tsulana flicked her eyes toward it and whispered, “If I couldn’t meet you, I was going to ask someone to give you this. There’s a letter in that parcel and something else that I think will make you very happy. Read the letter when you’re alone, though.” “Thank you,” Elin said. With her back still turned toward Yohalu, she took the package and slipped it inside the front of her robe. Handing her the basket, Tsulana gripped Elin’s hand. “I’m so glad I was able to meet you. Please take care of yourself. Live long and well for the sake of your parents who died so young.” Elin squeezed her hand in return. She didn’t want to let her go, but she understood all too well her reluctance to stay and chat. This was a Toda village where people were sworn to secrecy. Anything even slightly out of the ordinary would seem suspicious and cause them to overreact. Still holding Tsulana’s hand, Elin said, “Thank you so much. I will treasure what you shared with me today forever. May you also have a long and prosperous life. I will pray for your happiness from the bottom of my heart.” Tsulana bowed her head and gently released Elin’s hand. She waved goodbye and walked away as though reluctant to leave. Elin watched her until she finally vanished among the trees before returning to where Yohalu waited. Yohalu finished talking with the guard and cocked an eyebrow at her. “I knew you’d be safe with these fine men here to guard you. I was just a little concerned that you might not be feeling well.” “My apologies. A woman who said she was my father’s cousin brought me a basket of petal rice cakes.” She showed him the contents, and he smiled. “Mmm. They smell lovely. Why don’t we take a break, then?” One of the guards took a kettle of boiling water from over the fire and made them some tea. After the long, grueling hours in the cold cave, the hot tea tasted delicious. But even as she sipped the tea and munched on the petal-scented sweets, Elin couldn’t take her thoughts from the letter inside her robe. Tsulana had told her to read it when she was alone, but the only time that happened was when she went to the outhouse or soaked in the bath. Otherwise, there was always someone around. She even slept in the same room as Chimulu’s mother, so finding an opportunity to slip the letter out and read it was not going to be easy. It was not until dawn of the following day that she finally got a chance to open the parcel. Chimulu’s mother was still asleep when the first light of morning cast a thin glow through the window. Listening to her rhythmic breathing, Elin turned away onto her side and slipped the parcel from under her pillow. She unfolded the outer wrapping cautiously so that it wouldn’t crackle. Inside was a three-page letter and another parcel wrapped in oiled paper. She turned the letter to catch the feeble morning light that fell through the window. Words had been scrawled across the pages by a hand clearly unused to writing. Elin could almost see Tsulana, who had never gone to school, struggling to recall the letters her parents had taught her when she was young. The content was the same as what she had told her today—that she was Elin’s father’s cousin and had played with her when she was little. But as Elin peered at the words, trying to decipher them, she suddenly caught her breath. The parcel wrapped in oiled paper, Tsulana had written, is a memento from your mother, Sohyon. Your neighbor, Mistress Oki, sent it to me. Do you remember Saju, the little girl you used to play with? Mistress Oki was her mother. Sohyon left behind many notes, but no one could read them. Your grandfather was afraid they were evil Ahlyo magic, so he burned them all. Saju’s mother felt bad that everything Sohyon had left was burned, so she saved some pages that she found in the ashes. But there were only a few. She was afraid that if she kept them, her husband would be angry, so she sent them to me, Sohyon’s friend. With trembling fingers, Elin unwrapped the oiled paper. Inside was a sheaf of yellowed pages the size of her hand. Although more than two decades had passed, they still smelled faintly of smoke. The edges were charred black in places. Flipping through them, she saw that they were covered densely with neat handwriting in an odd script. Breathing shallowly, Elin stared at the pages. She saw her mother sitting in front of the clay oven late at night, writing. Tears filled Elin’s eyes, blurring her sight so that she could no longer make out the letters. She wiped her tears away with her fingertips and stared intently at the page in the white glow of the morning. The script did look odd. That alone would have unnerved her rigid grandfather who had despised the Ahlyo. But the language was actually one that he and everyone else knew well. She reached out to grasp the small hand mirror that lay by her bed and placed it so that it reflected the page. Although the cursive handwriting was a little hard to read, the script in the mirror was the same one she used all the time. Mirror writing. Elin had thought it was magic the first time her mother had shown her. Choking back tears, Elin followed the writing across the page. The first line recorded the condition of the Toda’s scales and the second line was the date. It’s her diary. The book must have been so thick that the flames never reached the middle, leaving these pages intact. Skimming through them to the end, she saw that this remnant covered a period of ten days, two years before her mother was executed. Most of the entries were short and simple, describing the condition of the Toda that day. But there was one spot, a few lines, in which her mother expressed her feelings like a sigh. … The rot that has set in on these scales could be cured by applying a solution made of ground tsuma grass roots. I’d like to try it, but I’ll have to be careful because this cure has not been taught to the Toda Stewards. It couldn’t cause any harm to heal scale rot, so why on earth weren’t they taught this? There is so much missing from the knowledge given to the Stewards. Oh! How I wish I could go to the Valley of the Kalenta Loh, the People Who Remain. Oh, Paleh, the valley fragrant with flowers. If I could go there, I might learn why the knowledge was passed on in this way this … The Valley of the Kalenta Loh, Elin thought. What had her mother meant by that? What was in this valley that smelled of flowers? Chimulu’s mother groaned behind her and stretched. Hastily, Elin pulled the covers over the pages. Closing her eyes, she listened to the woman rise while letting her thoughts run over what her mother had written. This record had survived fire and twenty-some years to reach her hands. She was struck by the strangeness of this coincidence. Although barely ten pages had survived, the fragments of this diary contained her mother’s thoughts when she was alive. Her voice came through so vibrantly because she hadn’t intended these words to be read by others. When I leave this world, how will Jesse remember me when I was alive? What kind of traces will I leave behind? For a long time, Elin lay listening to the birds chirping busily outside the window as she let her thoughts roam. In the late afternoon, two days later, she finally finished dissecting the Kiba and binding their bodies with fabric to cover up the incisions. After wiping her hands on a cloth, she exited the Stone Chambers with Yohalu. The shadows of the trees stretched long in the honey-colored light. Removing the mask that covered her nose and mouth, she savored the sweet, refreshing breeze. Walking slowly beside her, Yohalu murmured, “You’ve finished your investigation. It looks like all of them suffered damage to the same organ.” Elin nodded. “Yes. I didn’t see any other notable pathological changes.” “Which means,” Yohalu concluded, “that’s what must have killed them. What we need to find out next is what caused this change in their bodies.” Elin opened her mouth to respond, when someone shouted, “Lady Elin!” Chimulu dashed out of the caves and came racing up. “I’m sorry,” he said, his face clouded. “But I have bad news. The Toda in Ponds eleven and thirteen are all female. The Kiba weren’t the only females after all.” Elin’s lips crooked in a smile. “But that’s good.” Chimulu’s eyebrows rose. “It is? Why? Doesn’t that mean the cause of death is no longer certain?” Elin shook her head. “If there’d been no other females at all, then it would’ve meant one more factor we needed to investigate, so actually, I’m relieved to know there were others.” Seeing his perplexed expression, she added, “The fact that the Kiba weren’t the only females proves that tokujisui doesn’t determine the Toda’s sex.” “Oh!” She was about to explain to him what had caused their deaths, but then glanced up at Yohalu. “May I tell Chimulu the results of the autopsy?” Yohalu gazed down at Chimulu for a few moments before responding. Finally, he said, “You’ve worked hard and helped us well, Chimulu, so I’ll let Lady Elin share with you her findings at this stage. But you must not tell anyone else until the inspector officially announces it. Do you understand?” Chimulu nodded silently, and Yohalu gestured for Elin to go on. “The cause of death was necrosis of the organs resulting from blocked fallopian tubes,” she said. “That explains why all five died at the same time. They were all the same age, right? They all reached the breeding age at the same period, and they all died from egg-binding.” Chimulu’s face brightened. “Egg-binding? You mean that eggs blocked their tubes? That proves it wasn’t my brother’s fault! That’s fantastic news!” Elin could not keep from smiling. A warmth flared in her chest at the thought that by discovering the cause, they had proven his brother’s innocence. She wanted to jump up and down for joy just like Chimulu, but knowledge of the cause did not erase the fact that the Kiba, the gems of the Aluhan, had been lost. To let him rejoice now before the Aluhan had passed judgment would be cruel. Placing a hand gently on his shoulder, she said, “I promise to explain to the Aluhan that your brother wasn’t at fault. And I’m sure that he will make a wise decision. But as he has not yet confirmed your brother’s innocence, please don’t tell your mother for now.” Chimulu’s expression sobered for a moment, but then he patted his chest as if to encourage himself. “It’ll be all right. Not one of the Stewards ever suspected that Toda raised in the Ponds might bear eggs. There’s nothing in the Laws about their care that takes that into consideration. I’m sure the Aluhan will understand.” Elin nodded. “I think so, too.” Chimulu’s face brightened, and they set off together. “Even so, it’s strange,” he continued. “Why were all the Toda born in the same year female? Don’t you think that’s odd? The females we found today, too, were all hatched from eggs collected the same year. If all the eggs laid in one year are either male or female, then do they reach reproductive maturity in different years?” “I know,” Elin said. “That question has been bothering me, too.” His quickness of mind impressed her. The children of Toda Stewards had no opportunity to go to school. It seemed such a shame not to give someone as smart and curious as Chimulu the chance to study. There could have been many other Stewards in the past who were just as bright as him. If they had been allowed to study the lives and natures of living creatures from childhood, one of them might have questioned the Kiba deaths and discovered the cause much sooner. Elin’s face tightened at this thought. Of the entire artisan class, only the Toda Stewards and the Royal Beast Hunters were not allowed to attend school. This had never struck her as odd before because both of these groups lived in isolated villages, which made it impossible for them to attend school. Now, however, she couldn’t help but think there was some cunning design behind it. Reaching the edge of the forest, they stepped out of the gloom beneath the trees into the light of open space and set off along the village path. Thin threads of smoke rose from the village houses. The women must have been in the midst of preparing the evening meal. “I’ll run on ahead and tell my mother to prepare a hot meal for you,” Chimulu said. “You can take your time.” Elin gazed after him as he dashed away. “I wish he could study at Kazalumu School.” Yohalu smiled. “I know what you mean. He’s a clever young man.” The amber light bathed his face. “But he’s a Toda Steward. He can learn everything he needs to know here and nowhere else.” He narrowed his eyes, squinting against the sun. “As you’re a teacher,” he added quietly, “I’m sure there’s no need to say this, but it wouldn’t do to give knowledge to everyone equally. It’s by controlling what those who belong to each profession learn that this country maintains its current order, don’t you think?” Elin stared at him. He was a strange man. She was sure what he was thinking far exceeded what he put into words. “With all due respect,” she began, but he laughed and raised a hand to stop her. “There’s no need to tell me,” he said. “I can guess what you’re thinking without you saying it. Our positions are different. We would just be arguing on different planes.” He laid a hand lightly against the small of her back and urged her forward, then changed his tone. “Well then, have you thought about which Toda village to investigate next?” His question came like a blow to the chest. She already knew what had caused the egg-binding. The time had come to tell him. Her pulse quickened, but she took a deep breath to steel herself. “No,” she said. “As I was about to tell you before, the answer is already clear. There’s no need to visit any other villages.” At this, Yohalu gave her a light pat on the back. “True. We know what caused their deaths. But”—he smiled and looked her straight in the eye—“you have not yet solved the riddle Chimulu raised, have you? The mystery of why Toda hatched at the same time are all the same sex.” Elin frowned slightly, taken aback. “Yes, but—” “I know what you’re going to say,” Yohalu interrupted. “You’ve completed the task that was asked of you. From now on, if we check the Toda’s sex and choose only males as Kiba, we can prevent this problem from recurring. But since we’ve come this far, it seems a shame not to continue. I would love to thoroughly examine other things about the Toda that are as yet unknown.” Elin stopped and stared at him. Anxiety surged in her chest, grating coarsely. If she went to other villages, her return to Kazalumu would be delayed for quite some time. “I’d like to find out those things, too,” she said finally. “But the Royal Beasts in my care at the sanctuary will be mating soon. I don’t want to delay my return any longer if possible.” “In that case,” Yohalu said reasonably, “how about just one more village? There’s one in particular where I would like to take you. Oohan. I am sure that you will find it fascinating. Let’s stop there first before I escort you back to Kazalumu.” His expression was mild, but there was something in his voice that brooked no argument. Elin continued to stare at him, her brow furrowed. This man had belonged to the Black Armor, the highest-ranking unit within the Aluhan’s army. She was sure that he really did want to learn as much as he could about the Toda. And yet, although she didn’t know why, she was just as sure that that was not all. A smile rose to Yohalu’s lips. Once again, he tapped her on the back and urged her forward.