Chapter 13

THREE DESCENDANTS 1 THE ROAD TO OOHAN The sasha trees were in full bloom, their pale blossoms floating like a cloud above the road. Petals quivered in the barely perceptible breeze as the carriage passed beneath. “Ah, spring is the best season.” Yohalu sighed, inhaling the delicate fragrance that drifted through the window. The mellow trill of a flute was followed by a burst of cheerful music. Several musicians were playing beneath the sasha trees. They had set out a large box to collect the coins of passersby, but no one stopped. Although the musicians had chosen a well-known tune and played with skill, something was lacking. One of the instruments was a little off-key. What a waste, especially when the flute sounds so nice, Elin thought. “That lakkalu player must be an amateur,” Yohalu said with a grimace. “His strings are loose. They won’t make much in this town. People here are used to far better.” Elin looked at him in surprise. “I had no idea you knew so much about music.” “I don’t really,” Yohalu said with an embarrassed smile. “I just listen to a lot of it.” His face softened. “My son plays the lakkalu, you see.” Saying no more, he looked out the window. The road was lined with many kinds of stalls, and the people crowding the street were garbed in diverse styles of clothing. Carts piled high with sacks of wool lumbered by, swaying drunkenly each time the wheels struck a rut in the paving stones. Although firmly secured with ropes, the bags lurched precariously, as if they might tumble off. The drivers were mostly men with thick beards and long, intricately braided hair coiled on top of their heads. “I wonder where they’re from,” she murmured, round-eyed. Yohalu grinned. “They’re Asheh, from the grasslands. We’re near the border, so it’s quite common to see them here.” Elin stared at him. “The border? But you said that Oohan wasn’t far.” His eyes twinkled. “That’s right. Oohan is near the border. Although, to be precise, the closest border is about three days from here by horse and boat. Does that seem odd?” Elin shook her head. Toda villages were located far from other settlements and kept a closely guarded secret. The Stewards only dealt with the nearest villages and were never informed of where the others were—a precaution taken to prevent hostile nations from discovering their location. A sasha petal fluttered through the window and landed on Elin’s shoulder. Yohalu reached out and plucked it off. “Oohan is the oldest Toda village,” he said. “Where the first Toda were raised.” “Really?” Holding the petal between his fingers, Yohalu said, “I’m sure you’ve heard the tale of the first Toda Rider and Aluhan, the hero Yaman Hasalu.” Elin nodded. Yohalu released the petal out the window and pointed east. “This is a land of ancient history, where the Victory of Amasulu took place. Beyond those hills flows the great Amasulu River, the one that Yaman Hasalu crossed on the back of a Toda to defeat the invading Hajan army. “Even though he saved our country, Yaman Hasalu was defiled by the blood he had shed,” Yohalu continued. “Because of that, he never returned to his homeland on the other side of those mountains, which then formed the border. To reward him for his loyalty, the Yojeh bestowed upon him the title of Aluhan, grand duke, and gave him the territory from here to the mountains.” Yohalu swept his hand toward the west. “So you see, this is where Aluhan territory began.” His hand traced an arc toward the rear of the carriage. “At first, it was just a small piece of land, a fief between the river and the mountains that could have been blown away with a single breath. And it stayed that way until the time of Yaman Hasalu’s grandson, Oshiku Hasalu. He began raising Toda to create the army that would conquer, one by one, the lands of the Hajan kingdom.” Yohalu looked at Elin. A light burned deep in his eyes, and he broke into a smile. “In one sense, this is where our kingdom started. In a different way from how it began on Tahai Azeh.” Elin regarded him silently for a long moment. “You’re very proud of this land, aren’t you?” she said finally. Yohalu’s smile deepened. “Of course. This is my homeland.” She looked at him in surprise. He nodded, then shifted his gaze out the window again. “This road is very well maintained. Do you notice how it twists and turns so you can’t see ahead? It was designed and built in anticipation of enemies invading. This is the kind of place in which I was raised. I’m a Toda Rider to my very bones.” With that, he fell silent, eyes focused on the passing scenery. As he had said, the road was well kept, and the slope had been built at the perfect incline to ease the uphill passage of horse-drawn carriages. This made the ride smooth and pleasant, and they reached the top of the hill by noon. Yohalu ordered the driver to stop and invited Elin to step outside. Descending from the carriage, she gasped. Below her spread a wide plain rimmed with mountains and bisected by a great river. At the foot of the hill on which she stood lay a large town. White sails dotted the river, and she guessed that they must be merchant vessels. Rice paddies encircled the town and spread far into the distance. Fed by the abundant waters of the Amasulu River, the plain was a prosperous rice-producing district. Pale, wispy clouds drifted across the bright blue sky, and birds flitted busily to and fro. Caressed by the refreshing spring breeze, Elin gazed down, squinting against the hard, silver light glinting on the river’s surface. “That’s the Amasulu, which Yaman Hasalu crossed on his Toda to scatter the Hajan troops.” Yohalu stretched out his arm and pointed toward a spot where a smaller river merged with the larger one. “Do you see that tributary?” he asked. When Elin nodded, he said, “Oohan, the village where we’re going, is at its head, although you can’t see it from here.” Elin looked up at him. “Pardon my ignorance,” she said, “but is the Amasulu the border?” Yohalu shook his head. “No, not anymore. The eastern border is some distance away. In the past, the broad Amasulu River plain belonged to the kingdom of Hajan. The territory the Yojeh gave to the first Aluhan, Yaman Hasalu, only went as far as the riverbank on this side. It was tiny. He stayed here for the rest of his life, continuing to protect it from Hajan invasions. It wasn’t until his grandson’s time that the other side of the river became part of our country.” Yohalu stared at the narrow strip of land. “The Hajans finally stopped attacking us when Oshiku Hasalu developed his Toda army and conquered not only the lord across that river, but also the lords of Hajan domains much farther east. He signed a pact with the king of Hajan, who ceded those lands to our country on the condition that we advance no farther.” Shifting his eyes to Elin, he said, “In Yojeh territory, people speak of Oshiku Hasalu as a man who laid waste to other lands from selfish ambition. But if he hadn’t crossed the Amasulu, everyone in Lyoza would still be destitute and living in constant fear of invasion. Oshiku knew his name would be reviled through the ages, but rather than protecting his reputation, he chose to lay the foundation for this country’s stability and prosperity.” Elin remained silent for a long time, staring down at the plain. Slowly, she raised her head and looked at Yohalu. “But in the end, Hajan was destroyed, wasn’t it?” she said. Yohalu’s eyebrows rose. “You’re well informed.” He looked as if he would say more, then paused, but Elin could guess what he was thinking. The Yojeh’s subjects were rarely told anything about the enemy that now threatened the caravan cities to the east. Yohalu was probably thinking that someone had tried to persuade her to use the Royal Beasts against them by telling her the fate of Hajan. Having seen the momentary flash of consternation on his face, however, she was sure he had some other reason for expounding upon the feats of the Aluhan’s ancestors. Yohalu gave a small sigh. “Yes, the kingdom of Hajan was destroyed. It was swallowed up by the Lahza horsemen who control the plains far to the east.” He pointed eastward. “The prosperous caravan cities of Hajan that we seized lie some distance in that direction. The Lahza attack them frequently. Until now, their attacks, though fierce, have not been large in scale. They’ve just been testing us. Without a doubt, however, they hope one day to seize our kingdom.” Elin frowned. Looking at this beautiful, spacious world, she found it strange that anyone would want to invade another country. “Why would they want to conquer us?” she murmured. Yohalu smiled wryly. “Because—” he began, but then stopped and grew sober. He scrutinized Elin’s face for a moment, then shook his head lightly. “We should go. We’ve tarried here too long. By the time we reach the foot of this hill, the sun will be starting to set. The road to Oohan leads into the mountains and is quite steep. Let’s stay the night at the bottom of this hill.” Catching sight of Elin’s expression, he added, “As for your question, let’s wait until we have time to discuss it properly.” The next morning, they left the inn and headed toward the village, accompanied by four of Yohalu’s men. Around noon, they veered off the main road and began climbing the path that led to Oohan. Elin was now keenly aware of why Yohalu had avoided traveling in the dark. Far too narrow to travel by carriage, the mountain trail was typical of those used by woodsmen and hunters. It followed a deep, churning river that seemed to go on forever. Elin reached down to rub her knee as her horse plodded along behind Yohalu. She was used to riding. When she had lived with Joeun as a child, she had often ridden his mare, Tochi, and in Kazalumu, she usually rode when she went to town. But this mountain trail was so steep in places that she had to raise her hips and lean forward with her chest against her horse’s neck. Her legs had begun to ache, then her hips and even her back. Perhaps he had heard her labored breathing because Yohalu slowed and glanced back. The two soldiers who were following Elin slackened their pace as well. “Are you all right?” Yohalu asked. “Mmm, maybe not. My legs are starting to cramp,” Elin said with a rueful smile. “How much farther is it?” Yohalu grinned. “There’s still quite a way to go, but this is the last steep part,” he said. “Hang on a little longer.” Just as he had said, the trail soon leveled off, and Elin could catch her breath. Her mount seemed to have found it a hard climb as well. Its hide was sweaty, and steam rose from its flanks. She patted its neck. “Well done! That was quite a climb. Thanks for carrying me up.” The horse’s ears flicked in her direction, and it shook its head as if in agreement. Yohalu swiveled around, a grin on his face. “Terrible trail, isn’t it?” Wiping away the sweat that trickled down her temples, Elin sighed. “I thought that the village of Tokala and the one where I was born were deep in the mountains, but the trails there are nowhere near as steep as this, and they’re both closer to town. The villagers here have it pretty hard, don’t they?” Yohalu nodded, toying with the Silent Whistle that hung around his neck. It was the kind Toda Riders used, much shorter than those of the Stewards. As he fingered it, he looked down at the rushing river at the foot of the cliff. “This area’s crawling with wild Toda. Even hunters avoid it. That’s exactly why Oshiku Hasalu chose it as the place to raise his army. His first concern was to make sure no one discovered where it was.” Still talking, Yohalu dug his heels into his mount, urging it into a walk. “Even so, it’s possible for enemies to sneak across the border into the mountains and steal the eggs. And then there are the smugglers who sell eggs to other countries despite the penalty of death. But no one from any other country has been able to train the Toda and ride them into battle. In other words, the real gems of the Aluhan are not the Toda but rather the skills of the Stewards and the Riders. We have to make sure that these two things never fall into foreign hands.” Shielding his eyes from the sunlight shining through the leaves, he smiled. “Living so deep in the mountains makes life that much harder. In other villages, the Stewards feed their Toda goats, but it’s difficult to raise goats here or bring them in from outside. Instead, the Stewards of Oohan feed them mainly fish, which means they can only raise a limited number. There also isn’t much room to practice riding them. Oshiku discovered many things that needed improving while raising the first Toda here. That’s why the villages that were built later are in more convenient locations.” Elin was so intrigued that she forgot her aches and pains. “Oohan has only a little over ten Toda,” Yohalu went on. “That’s not enough to form a troop. There are three other Toda villages in Amasulu territory, and most Toda that are ridden into battle are raised in those villages.” Holding the reins in one hand and deftly guiding his horse with his legs alone, Yohalu looked back at Elin again. “The other three villages are closer to Tokala, but I wanted you to see Oohan, the first Toda village.” Elin bowed her head. “Thank you very much,” she said fervently. Although she still wondered why this old warrior had brought her here, her heart leaped at the prospect of seeing the village upon which all the others had been modeled. Squinting, she looked down at the sunlight dancing on the river’s surface. When the men of this village were summoned to battle, they probably rode their Toda down this river. And when the war was over, rode them back up again. This was where the Toda army had first begun. As the light shining through the foliage began to pale and the sun started its descent toward the horizon, the trail they were following came to an abrupt end. A sheer cliff towered in front of them, and a cascade plunged over it with a deafening roar, falling into a wide pool beneath. The emerald-green water was so clear that Elin could see fish swimming under the surface. Waves fanned out from the waterfall and lapped against the reeds in the shallows at the pool’s edge. As Elin drew near, the color of the water intensified. It must be quite deep, she thought, because the bottom was shrouded in darkness. The water carved an arc as it fell from the height of the cliff, sending up a shower of white spray. On the wind raised by the thundering water, Elin caught a faint sweet scent. Softly, she grasped her Silent Whistle. At intervals around the pool, she noticed deep purple shrubs called ogulu. “This is the gate, then, is it?” she asked. Yohalu nodded. There was always a place like this on the trails leading to a Toda village; a swamp or a pool where Toda too old to bear a Rider were kept. These served as a barrier against intruders. Toda hated the smell of ogulu. Unless there was some dire emergency, they would never go near these shrubs, and the Stewards called them Toda stoppers. To an unsuspecting traveler, this spot would look like an ordinary pool. But Elin had been raised in a Toda village; she understood that these shrubs had been planted at strategic points, such as where the Toda could slip from the pool into the river, to keep them from leaving the area. When the Toda swam out to battle, the Stewards probably got into the river and pushed the shrubs aside to make a passageway. She heard a ripple of water and saw the reeds along the pool’s edge sway. Having picked up the scent of horse and human, the Toda were on the move. “Dismount and hold your horse’s bit tightly,” Yohalu told Elin. “Then follow my footsteps.” Elin slid off her horse, as did Yohalu’s men, two in front and two bringing up the rear. They looked at Yohalu as if awaiting orders. When he slipped his whistle inside his mouth and gripped it between his teeth, his men followed suit. That motion brought back a day long ago when Elin’s mother had taken her to send off the Toda Riders from her village. That’s right, she thought. Toda Riders carry the Silent Whistle in their mouths because they need to use both hands. An enormous shape slithered out of the reeds, and Yohalu raised one finger. Elin presumed it was a signal that he would blow the whistle. She heard a hiss of air from his mouth, and instantly the Toda stiffened. Yohalu led his horse past the giant form, which stayed as motionless as a rock. Elin followed, soothing her mount, which was rolling its eyes in fear. Yohalu led his horse gently across the gravel of the shallows, making sure that its hooves didn’t slip. Elin and the guards walked behind him, their senses alert for any movement. When stalking their prey, Toda swam slowly, but when they attacked, they moved as swiftly as a flash of light. At a distance, they were impervious to the Silent Whistles, so timing was crucial. Unless one could read the ripples that radiated from their bodies as they swam beneath the surface and gauge their speed to judge their distance, it would be impossible to stop them with a whistle. Even experienced Stewards were occasionally torn to shreds because they blew their whistle at the wrong moment. The party walked carefully around the pool, conscious of the musk-like odor that mingled with the scent of water. When they neared the waterfall, a trail that had previously been concealed by the trees came into view. Just as she was thinking that it must be the path to Oohan, Elin heard something charging through the reeds toward them. Not from the pool but from the bushes along the shore. She waited for a breath, and when the muzzle of the beast appeared from the reeds, she blew. The Toda jerked upward as though it had run full force into a rock wall. Rigid, it fell with a thud onto its belly, and its sharp-clawed feet twitched spasmodically. Elin frowned. Turning, she saw that Yohalu also looked perplexed as he watched its quivering limbs. “Did you blow your whistle, too?” she asked. Yohalu shook his head, and his men hastily assured her that they hadn’t either. “Then why?” Elin muttered. Puzzled, she stared at the Toda. Blowing a Silent Whistle too soon after a Toda recovered from paralysis could cause convulsions and even death. Both Stewards and Riders were careful not to blow too frequently. The fact that this Toda was suffering from whistle shock meant someone else had used a whistle not long ago. “Maybe a villager passed through,” one of the soldiers said, his voice muffled by the whistle still clenched between his teeth. “Maybe,” Yohalu said. “But there was no sign of anyone ahead of us. Let’s ask the guards.” 2 THE TOGA MI LOH They traveled on until the sound of the waterfall receded and they came to a large saya tree. Here, the road forked. One branch headed downhill toward the sound of flowing water. Judging by the fresh ruts in the grass along it, Elin guessed that it led to the river from which the villagers caught fish for their Toda. They proceeded along the road on the other side of the saya tree. Gradually, the trees grew thinner and the forest brighter. Suddenly, the way before them cleared, revealing a valley with a village at the bottom. Terraced fields covered the slopes down to the village, where threads of smoke rose from the chimneys of the houses that nestled together. The building with the tall chimney set apart from the rest was likely the baths. The road into the village was blocked by a guardhouse. Two young soldiers sat in front of it, but they leaped to their feet at the sight of strangers riding toward them. Spears at the ready, they opened their mouths to challenge them, only to freeze at the sight of Yohalu. “Sir!” one of them cried. They snapped to attention and saluted. Yohalu gave them a nod. “Thank you for your work,” he said. “Where is your commander?” Still saluting respectfully, one of them said, “Sir! Captain Aoolu is out on patrol!” “Hmm,” Yohalu said. “Is the gate included in your regular patrol?” The soldier looked puzzled. “No, sir. That area is not included in the regular patrol because it is dangerous, sir. But if there is anything unusual, the patrol will go there, too.” “I see. Tell the captain to report to me when he returns. We’ll be staying a few days, and I want to tell him our plans and why we’ve come. We’ll be at the chief’s house.” “Yes, sir!” Sturdy retaining walls of black stone bordered the terraced fields. Tiny blue flowers poked between the stones and waved in the gentle breeze. The glow of the westering sun filled the valley, and the pleasant scent of freshly tilled earth wafted on the air. Women were working in the rice fields, bent over at the waist, but when Elin and the others rode along the path between the terraces, they straightened and gazed down at them. Children helping their mothers gaped like round-eyed puppies, then set off at a dash down the road. Elin guessed that they were heading for the chief’s house to let him know guests were on their way. Suddenly, the women raised their voices in song. At the sound, a wave of nostalgia gripped Elin’s chest, and her hands tightened on the reins. Long ago, she had heard the women of her village sing like this. The welcome song, a greeting sung when peddlers entered their village with permits hanging from their necks to show they were allowed in. The tune was slightly different, but very similar. Perhaps the song had originated in this very village and then been passed on to each new Toda village when it was built. People emerged from houses scattered in the valley and looked up at the visitors. Chickens fled squawking, startled by the horses, while children climbed onto the railings of a sheep corral, pushing and shoving one another as they tried to get a better look at the visitors. Four people stood smiling outside the chief’s home. Elin guessed that the elderly man in the center, who looked to be over sixty, must be the chief. His short hair was liberally peppered with gray, but he stood straight and dignified. As he peered at Yohalu’s face, his eyes grew round with recognition. “Well, well!” he exclaimed. Yohalu grinned. “It’s been over ten years since I last visited. I’ve aged since then, but you haven’t changed a bit.” The chief shook his head. “No, no, I’m getting old, too,” he said. Then, as if recollecting himself, he announced formally, “Welcome to our village. We were just saying that today something auspicious would happen because last night was such a lovely starry evening.” His voice rang as he pronounced these ritual words of greeting, and Yohalu bowed deeply in response. The women beside the chief clapped their hands and broke into a merry rendition of the welcome song. “Thank you,” Yohalu said when they finished. “It’s wonderful to see you all looking so well. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know we were coming in advance, but I hope you’ll let us stay a few nights.” “Of course! Of course!” the chief exclaimed. “What greater happiness could we ask for? As you know, we have only our humble home to offer, but please stay with us for as long as you like.” He ushered them inside, betraying no trace of curiosity for why Yohalu had come or why he had brought Elin with him. Yohalu’s men went off with some of the villagers to take care of the horses. When Elin stepped inside the chief’s house, she was momentarily disoriented by the darkness. Inside the entrance was a large earthen-floored space with a high ceiling. On the left was a kitchen with several big clay ovens. The women appeared to have been preparing the evening meal. There were freshly washed greens and chopped riko onions sitting in baskets. The walls and round beams in the ceiling were blackened with smoke and soot from cooking, showing the building’s age. Elin’s mother had sometimes taken her to visit her grandfather, and his home had been much like this. The lives of the Toda Stewards seemed to be the same everywhere. They washed their feet and stepped up into the spacious living room. The windows on the far wall were open, and sounds floated in from outside. The wooden floorboards were so well polished that they gleamed, and thick winter rugs had been laid around the hearth in the center of the room. “Even at this time of year, it gets cold at night,” the chief said, as he invited Yohalu and Elin to sit. He told the women to hurry and bring some tea. Lowering himself onto a rug, Yohalu glanced toward the corridor that led to other rooms in the back. “How is Kamalu?” he asked. “Ah. Grandfather is very well. Although he sleeps a lot these days. In fact, he’s sleeping now. Shall I wake him?” Yohalu shook his head. “No. There’s no need to disturb him. I can talk to him when he wakes up and his mind is fresh.” Yohalu chatted with the chief about different people they knew while the women prepared the meal. By the time the last light had disappeared, the large pot that hung over the hearth had begun to bubble, and the delicious smell of miso-flavored stew permeated the room. “Let’s fill our stomachs with a hot meal. Nothing special, I’m afraid.” The chief spoke less formally now. Half rising, he took some eggs and broke them into the pot, one by one. While they were still soft, he deftly ladled these along with vegetables and meat into generous bowls of steaming rice. While he did this, two women poured tea for everyone. Elin assumed they were his daughters or daughters-in-law. “This looks delicious. Thank you.” Yohalu picked up his chopsticks and, mixing the contents together, began to eat. Following his cue, Elin bowed her head in thanks and picked up her bowl. She broke the egg with her chopsticks, and the golden yolk spread into the stew. The rich flavor of the stewed vegetables and meat permeated the fluffy rice along with the creamy egg. It was so delicious she wanted to shout. Once their hunger was satisfied, they sat sipping tea while Yohalu explained to the chief what had brought them here. The chief seemed fascinated, and the women, who had begun peeling fruit, paused in their work. When Yohalu finished, the chief cocked his head to one side with a puzzled look. “All the Kiba died? That’s very strange. And there’ve been mass Kiba deaths like that in other villages as well?” “You mean it’s never happened here?” Elin asked. The chief shook his head. “No. Not even once.” “It’s just as he says, Lady Elin,” said Yohalu. He withdrew a sheet of paper from the bag that lay beside him and handed it to her. “Mass Kiba deaths have never occurred in this village. That’s one reason I wanted to bring you here.” The chief and the others exchanged puzzled looks at the deference with which Yohalu treated Elin. Seeing their expressions, he laughed. “This lady is the one who saved the Aluhan’s life.” Elin glanced at Yohalu in surprise. She had thought that he was speaking to her with deference to conceal his identity and pass as her bodyguard. But if he really treated her this way because he thought that … Rather than pleasing her, this made her feel so uncomfortable, she bowed her head. Oblivious to how she might be feeling, a broad smile spread across the chief’s face. “How wonderful! Of course she would be a Toga mi Loh. We are truly honored to welcome such an illustrious person into our home.” Elin blinked. Toga mi Loh? She rolled the words over in her mouth, wondering what they meant. A shock ran through her. “Excuse me, but did you just say ‘Toga mi Lyo’?” she asked hoarsely. The chief’s brow furrowed. “Did I say something strange?” he said. Elin shook her head. Her forehead felt numb, and her lips trembled. “You said ‘Toga mi Lyo,’ didn’t you?” The chief nodded, rubbing his chin. “Well, actually I said ‘Toga mi Loh.’ You have green eyes, you see, so I assumed you must be one.” Elin stared at him, dumbfounded. There was no mistake. The Toga mi Loh he was talking about were the Toga mi Lyo, the Green-Eyed Ones. But why? How could he have known? Filled with remorse for the tragedy they had caused on the other side of the Afon Noah, the Toga mi Lyo had kept that history carefully sealed away, never sharing its secret with the people of this country. Here, they were known as the Ahlyo, the People of the Mist, from a land far away. The only ones who knew the truth were the Ahlyo themselves. And now Elin, along with the Yojeh, the Aluhan, and Ialu. Her eyes met Yohalu’s. He was watching her reaction with a bland expression. He knows, Elin thought. Her mouth grew dry, and she struggled to breathe. Yohalu had known that if the chief saw her, he would mention the Toga mi Lyo. That’s why he’d brought her here. She was overcome with confusion. The world around her seemed to warp and bend. Desperately, she struggled to maintain her composure. “Are you all right?” the chief asked with a look of concern. “You look pale.” Elin shook her head. “I’m fine. I was just a bit surprised, that’s all.” Her eyes darted toward Yohalu and back to the chief. “Where did you learn the name Toga mi Loh?” she asked in a trembling voice. The chief blinked, as though wondering why she would ask such a question. “Where? Nowhere. We’ve always known. When a child with green eyes is born in this village, we say they’re Toga mi Loh.” Elin’s eyes widened. “There are children in this village who are born with green eyes?” The chief nodded, looking a bit taken aback. “Yes indeed. Not that many, but yes. My granddaughter is a Toga mi Loh.” He turned and said something to the women. One of them rose and, stepping into the corridor, called someone’s name. A young girl of about ten appeared and timidly approached them. She had probably been in the next room all this time. “Come,” the chief said, and she stepped forward with a shy smile. Kneeling in front of Elin and the others, she bowed. When she raised her head, Elin stared at her eyes. As the chief had said, they were green. After dinner, the women began preparing the bedding for the guests, and Elin slipped outside. The chill night air caressed her skin. She drew a deep breath. Darkness enveloped the valley, and the lantern light seeping from the houses twinkled like fireflies. Above her, the night sky was ablaze with stars. Gazing at the heavens, which seemed to suck her in, she let her thoughts flow like a rushing stream. The first Toda village. A place where green-eyed children were born and called Toga mi Loh. Her thoughts sped in the direction to which these things pointed. She trembled. Why did something so obvious never occur to me before? The Yojeh had given the sacred treasure, the Toda whistle, to Yaman Hasalu and permitted him to ride the Toda. Yet that was impossible. The Yojeh’s ancestor was a Royal Beast Rider, not a Toda Rider. It was the Toga mi Lyo, not the Yojeh, who knew how to control the Toda. And besides … The first Yojeh and the Toga mi Lyo were mortal enemies. They’d fought to the death on the other side of the Afon Noah. Why hadn’t she seen this? Why hadn’t she noticed how strange it was for Toda to have been used in a country built by the Yojeh? Somewhere along the way, the tale passed down through the generations had been twisted. Something was missing. Where and when had Jeh, the first Yojeh, learned to control Toda? The knowledge bequeathed to the Stewards and Riders was far too detailed to have been learned from hunting wild Toda as food for the Royal Beasts. Or from fighting them. Clearly, the knowledge that could transform wild Toda into weapons had belonged to the Toga mi Lyo. If so, then who had given this knowledge to the Stewards and the Riders? Not the Ahlyo. That was unthinkable. Vowing to protect the Law until the end of time, the Toga mi Lyo had become the Ao-Loh, the People of the Law, who were now known as the Ahlyo. They were the only ones she knew who could have passed on this knowledge, yet they would never have done so. Even her mother, who had been disowned by the Ahlyo, had despised using the Toda as weapons and had guarded the Law with her life. If they had known that the Toda would be used to fight for this country, the Ahlyo would never have shared the Handler’s Art that allowed people to control them. Were there Toga mi Lyo in this country other than those who had become the Ahlyo? At this thought, a memory fragment shifted deep inside her brain. The smell of smoke, the light of dawn … Ah, that’s it … As if a flame had been kindled in her mind’s eye, she saw the scorched pages of her mother’s diary. The strange lines in the middle. The words she had read so many times they were now seared in her memory. 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 … Shivering, Elin hugged herself. Who were the Kalenta Loh, the people her mother, an Ahlyo, had longed to meet? At that moment, she heard the rattle of a door behind her. Turning, she saw Yohalu silhouetted by the light spilling from the house. He strolled up and stood beside her. Stretching, he took a deep breath of night air, then smiled at her. “You knew that there were people in this village with green eyes, didn’t you?” she murmured. “Yes, I did,” he answered. “The girl’s great-uncle had green eyes, too. I was surprised when I first met him. Unfortunately, he died in an accident eight years ago.” “Her great-uncle?” “Yes, the chief’s younger brother. In fact, I just learned that the daughter of the chief’s brother was the girl’s mother. She married her cousin, the chief’s son.” “Both the chief’s granddaughter and his younger brother have green eyes? They seem to be rather common in his family.” “There’s a reason for that,” Yohalu said with a wry smile. “It’s not something they want to boast about, I’m sure. I’m guessing the chief didn’t tell you because he hadn’t explained it to his granddaughter yet. Would you like to hear it?” Seeing her nod, Yohalu launched into the tale. “When Oshiku Hasalu decided to build the first Toda village here, he left everything up to a man that he trusted completely. Oshiku told him to take any men who wished to become Toda Stewards into this mountain valley along with their families. They built the Toda Hall and Chambers and raised Toda hatched from eggs. This man trained the first Stewards, teaching them everything they needed to know. “He must have had exceptional talent to be so trusted by the Aluhan, but he appears to have been rather loose with women. It took them several years to build the village, and during that time he got the wife of one of the Stewards pregnant. That must have gotten him into trouble. Once the work reached a certain point, he left and never came back.” “And the child that was born was—” “That’s right. The chief’s ancestor.” Elin rubbed her cold hands absently. Was he a Toga mi Lyo? It seemed very likely that a Toga mi Lyo, and one who was not an Ahlyo, had come to this country to raise Toda as weapons. If so … Suddenly, Yohalu grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her behind his back. “Who’s there?” he barked, his voice splitting the darkness. “Step out into the open!” A figure appeared from behind the stable. A man. With a sword hanging from his belt. It was too dark to see his face clearly. He walked slowly toward them, then brought his heels together and bowed. With his hand still on the hilt of his dagger, Yohalu snapped, “Who are you?” In a muffled voice, the man replied, “Captain Aoolu.” Yohalu scowled. “Captain Aoolu? You were supposed to report to me as soon as you finished your patrol. Why’re you so late?” “I came but you were in the middle of your meal,” the man said sullenly. Yohalu waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. “So?” Yohalu demanded. “You’re saying you didn’t want to bother us?” The man nodded. “What were you doing over there?” The man shrugged. “I was waiting for you to finish,” he said. Yohalu glared at him. “Without a light, behind the stables?” The man shrugged again. “This village is like my own backyard,” he said, his voice flat. “I can see well enough by the light of the stars.” Yohalu scowled, but then sighed as though to dispel his irritation. Removing his hand from his hilt, he said, “How long have you been posted here?” “Ten years.” “I see,” he said, his voice still tinged with annoyance. “Did anyone pass through the gate before us this afternoon?” “No. No one.” Yohalu gave him a piercing look. “But someone must have, because one of the Toda clearly went into whistle shock.” Although his face was only a blur in the darkness, Elin could tell that the man’s expression didn’t change. “There’s one Toda that often goes into convulsions,” he answered in a low voice. “He’s been at the gate a long time. It was probably him.” Yohalu finally nodded. “All right. That’s all I wanted to know. Thank you. You may leave now.” The man bowed and shuffled off, vanishing into the darkness. “There’re many like him among the soldiers who serve in remote regions like this. He must have some skill as a Rider to have been given the post of captain. But if he’s been here ten years already, he likely made a mistake, or did something wrong, and was posted here to redeem his honor.” Ten years. To redeem his honor … Elin sighed inwardly. To be separated from one’s family and forced to live in this isolated village for so long. No wonder he behaved like that. A bird called somewhere: a long, thin whistle that crossed the darkness, then melted away. 3 AN ARROW SPLITS THE DARK The old man pointed his cane toward the entrance to the caves that spread out deep within the mountain. “Welcome to the oldest Toda complex in the country,” he said with evident pride. “Please come in.” Stooped with age, he tottered forward on unsteady feet. The chief hastily grasped his elbow. “Father, please, allow me to walk beside you.” But the old man brushed his hand away irritably. Yohalu broke into a smile. “Master Kamalu, how old are you now?” Kamalu turned and gave him an almost toothless grin. “I’ll be eighty-eight this year!” he said. “Not bad, huh? But enough chatter. Follow me.” He set off, and the chief hurried after, casting Yohalu and Elin an exasperated look as he held the lantern high. The Stone Chambers were naturally formed caves. The only places that showed the trace of human hand were the channels that led out of the caves. It was damp inside, and water dripped from the ceiling. Distracted by the surroundings, Elin slipped and almost fell. “Whoops!” Yohalu reached out and steadied her. Elin blushed. “I’m so sorry. Thank you.” Yohalu chuckled. “I expect these Chambers are different from the ones you’re used to.” “Yes. I was just realizing what a lot of work must have gone into the ones I know. The floors are smooth, wall torches keep down the damp, and smoke holes clear the air.” As they moved deeper inside, the moist smell of moss and the scent of Toda grew stronger. Elin sensed movement and heard the muffled sound of voices. The Stewards must be tending the Toda, she thought. “Here we are,” announced Kamalu from up ahead. “This is the Kiba Pond.” As Elin stepped inside the Chamber, a raw stench assailed her nostrils. With a fish in each hand, a middle-aged Steward stood gaping at them, then ducked his head in a bashful greeting. At his feet was a basket full of fish. “It’s all right, Kolu. Carry on,” Kamalu said. The man nodded and began throwing fish into the dark pool one by one. They arced through the air and fell out across the water. The first had barely touched the surface before a large head reared up and swallowed it whole with a great spray of water. Three other Toda rose, mouths opened to expose sharp fangs. They pushed against one another as they vied for the fish. Elin frowned. They’re so small. They were at least a whole size smaller than the Kiba she knew. And if these were the Kiba, then the other Toda would be even smaller. Yet their movements were swift and powerful. “The Kiba of Oohan are known for their small size and agility,” Yohalu said. “So much so that it’s the custom to use them for scouting missions and night raids.” The other men beamed with pride. “Do you only feed them fish?” Elin asked. Kamalu scowled. “Of course. I’ve heard that the villages built after us feed their Toda goats, but in the end, that’ll make them sick. Toda were originally fish eaters, you see.” The chief cleared his throat and cocked an eyebrow at Elin. “Wild Toda do eat animals sometimes, but ordinarily, they eat fish. So that’s what we’ve always fed the ones we raise here.” “What about tokujisui?” “Of course we give them tokujisui. We give the Kiba plenty.” With the chief’s permission, Elin put her face close to a tub of it in a corner of the cave and sniffed. It smelled just like the solution she was used to. She asked the men many questions, which they answered willingly, but the only difference between the Toda of Oohan and those in the other villages seemed to be their diet of fish. When she expressed the wish to check the Kiba’s sex, Kamalu’s eyes almost popped out of his head. The men’s respect for Yohalu, however, was deep, and when Elin slipped into the cold pool and began examining the paralyzed Toda, the chief and Kolu jumped in to help. The Kiba were all male. “I guess that means the problem must be their diet,” Yohalu said as they exited the caves, squinting in the light. Elin, her purple lips quivering, shook her head. “Possibly, but I have a feeling that it’s something else. The fact that they only eat fish could cause physical differences, but even so, it still leaves an unsolved riddle.” “Oh?” Yohalu said. The two other men also paused to stare at Elin. “It was egg-binding that killed the Kiba in Tokala village. In other words, they died because they were female. But in this village, there has never been a mass die-off of all the Kiba. I can think of only two possible reasons. The first is that Kiba females that eat fish don’t suffer from egg-binding. But I think we can rule that possibility out.” The chief raised his eyebrows. “Why?” “Because even though you don’t check their sex, if any Kiba had been female and remained healthy after maturation, there should’ve been reports of them laying unfertilized eggs. Yet neither you nor Kamalu mentioned anything about that.” “You’re right,” Kamalu said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” “And the second possibility?” Yohalu urged. “That there have never been any female Kiba here. But the probability of that happening for over two centuries seems incredibly low. Especially when the method for choosing Kiba is exactly the same as that in the other villages.” Yohalu and the chief both frowned. “I see,” Yohalu muttered, stroking his chin. “Then what’s the difference between this village and the others?” “From what these people told me, there seems to be absolutely no difference at all,” Elin said. “However, it may be something so slight that it would normally go unnoticed. Or it could be related to the location. Where they’re born and the natural features of the place in which they’re raised can have a big impact on the bodies of living creatures.” The three men listened intently. “There may be some natural mechanism in Oohan that prevents people from choosing eggs containing females, even though they aren’t consciously aware of it.” Kamalu nodded. “Have you ever been egg gathering?” he asked. “No. Never.” “Then you should get them to take you. It’s always best to try things for yourself. When you see with your own eyes and hear with your own ears, things look different. It’s egg-laying season, and although it’s still a little early for gathering, you might learn something just by seeing where the nests are.” Elin’s face shone. “Yes, please. That would be wonderful!” At this, the chief spoke up. “In that case, I’ll take you.” He paused, then added, “But there’s one thing you should know. Egg gathering can be dangerous. Toda get very excitable once they’ve laid their eggs, so we only go after the temperature drops and they’re sluggish. That means going to the river when it’s pretty dark, either at evenfall or dawn. If you miss your footing, you could slip into the river and drown.” His face clouded. Catching sight of his expression, Yohalu murmured, “That’s how he died, wasn’t it?” The chief nodded. “He was always so careful, too. He went off with two others to collect eggs, but he was the only one who never returned. They heard him cry out once and then a splash. After that, nothing.” He glanced at Elin and sighed. “We’re talking about my younger brother. He was a Toga mi Loh. You met my granddaughter yesterday, right? He was also her grandfather, on her mother’s side. He was a cautious man, but kind, and a very good Steward.” Kamalu cleared his throat. “Let’s not speak of it. Talking won’t change anything.” The chief gave his head a quick shake as though to dispel his gloomy thoughts, then set off toward the village, his clothes still dripping with water. Elin was about to start after him when she felt as if she was being watched. Turning, she saw a group of soldiers talking near the trees beside the entrance to the caves. Among them, one figure stood looking her way, his face surly. That’s the man from yesterday. She hadn’t been able to see his face clearly in the dark, but from his build and behavior, she guessed it must be Captain Aoolu. Under his thick eyebrows, his narrow eyes were trained on Elin and her companions. Kamalu predicted that there would be heavy mist the next morning, so they decided to look for eggs that very evening. The chief had insisted that he would take them, but Kolu, the Steward who had fed the Kiba, offered to go instead. The chief had already spent a long time in the icy waters of the Pond, Kolu said, and another cold soak in the river might aggravate his sore hip. Although the chief protested that his hip didn’t bother him at all, he appeared grateful and agreed to let Kolu be their guide. Yohalu and Elin followed Kolu through the last light of day toward the river. By the time they began descending the narrow trail that led off from the big saya tree, the sun was slipping behind the trees, and the breeze had turned chilly. “This is the river where you catch fish, isn’t it?” Elin said, eyeing the ruts left by cart wheels. Kolu nodded. “Yes. The children catch them in the morning and bring them to the village.” The sound of rushing water grew louder, and the river came into view. It was a fast-flowing stream that sprang from the top of the mountain. Elin guessed that the rock in this area was quite solid because the river snaked along the contour of the land. In a large bend, the water slowed and pooled into a deep pot-shaped well, then overflowed and cascaded down in multiple steps. Mist drifted above the water, and the dry reeds surrounding the edge of the pool rattled each time the water pushed against them. “This way,” Kolu whispered, beckoning them with his hand. He stood on a spot slightly away from the rushing river where water lapped over the bank, making the ground muddy. Thick reeds, taller than a man, grew there. A sickly sweet scent filled the air, and the hairs on Elin’s skin stood on end. If they were attacked by wild Toda, Silent Whistles would be useless. Toda raised by men had their ear flaps cut off while they were still young, but not wild Toda. Even if she managed to stop the first one with her whistle, the rest would plug their ears and keep on coming. Still, she and Yohalu held their Silent Whistles at the ready as they made their way toward Kolu. “This is the time when Toda are the most docile,” Kolu said. “See?” Peering toward the shadowy reeds where he pointed, Elin saw the tip of a tail. “When they’re like that,” he explained, “they won’t budge even if they hear noise or smell humans.” He pointed to another spot. In the dying light, Elin saw a mounded shape. A Toda nest. She glimpsed what looked like several eggs nestled in the pile of reeds and grasses. It was damp with water that overflowed from the pool. “Are those the kind of eggs you gather?” Elin whispered, and Kolu nodded. “For Kiba, too?” Kolu started to nod, then shrugged. “This isn’t a year for choosing Kiba, but if it were, we wouldn’t use eggs from that nest.” Elin blinked. “Why?” Kolu gave a wry smile. “It may sound superstitious, but we have a saying that eggs from the upper basin don’t grow as well.” “Basin?” Kolu pointed toward the stream. Elin realized he must be referring to the pot-shaped pools at each step of the waterfall. The one at the top level was small and shaded by thick branches. Although water pooled where the river plunged into it, it quickly overflowed, cascading down to the pool below. “We call pools like that at the base of each waterfall ‘basins.’ All the eggs taken from the same one are raised in the same Pond. But that nest is too close to the upper basin, so in years when we collect Kiba eggs, we take them from nests a little farther down.” He stopped and pointed to a spot deep within a patch of reeds. This pool was much larger, and the water looked darker and more sluggish. Where the water flowed out of it onto the shore, Elin saw a hump of wilted reeds. “We would choose a nest like that one.” Elin stared at the nest for some time, then she crouched down, pushed aside the reeds, and stepped into the swampy water along the shore. “Elin?” Yohalu said in a startled voice, but she didn’t stop. She pushed her way slowly toward the first nest he had pointed to and slipped her arm inside it to feel the water and the eggs. Then she turned and carefully climbed down to where the second nest was, once again feeling inside. It’s warm! The water inside this nest was warmer than that in the first one. There were no branches above this pool. During the day it would be exposed to the sun, which would heat the water. The nest was built with packed mud mixed with Toda saliva and slime and covered with withered grass and reeds. Soaked in water, the vegetation may have begun to ferment, which would also generate warmth. The nest on the upper level, however, would be constantly filled with cold water, which would suppress heat. She brought her face closer to the nest to get a better look, when suddenly she heard the twang of a string. Startled, she turned and saw Yohalu stagger. An arrow protruded from his back. “Yohalu!” she cried. “Run!” he shouted hoarsely. Far from fleeing, however, Elin ran toward him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kolu pushing through the reeds as he escaped. When she reached the spot where Yohalu knelt concealed among the reeds, the sun had completely set, and his figure was only a vague blur. She probed the arrow gently, checking its position in relation to his shoulder and chest. Trembling, she breathed a sigh of relief. “It missed your vital organs,” she whispered, and Yohalu nodded. Like her, he was trembling. Although he must have been in great pain, he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. Raising a finger to his lips, he peered into the darkness. Elin heard a rustle of movement near the forest and then voices. The intonation seemed strange, and she couldn’t understand the words they said. A foreign language? Someone clicked their tongue. It sounded surprisingly close. “Over here!” a man barked impatiently. “Hurry! He’s been hit. Find him!” Elin’s eyes widened. Captain Aoolu! She heard the sounds of several men moving this way, speaking in some foreign tongue. “Lazy brutes!” Aoolu muttered. “How many times do I have to tell them to speak our language?” Then he yelled out, “Don’t kill the woman. She’s worth far more than any Steward you might catch.” He said something more but she couldn’t hear it. The dusk deepened. Although she could see no one, she could tell by the noise that the men were pushing through the reeds toward them. If she and Yohalu stayed here, they would be captured. But if they moved, they would give themselves away. She heard the faint sound of metal and guessed that Yohalu had unsheathed his dagger. Terror caught in her throat, strangling her. Her mind raced. What was going on? Why had they been attacked? What were foreigners doing here? She pushed the panicked confusion whirling around her brain to one side and focused on what she should do. Yohalu was wounded. If they fought, he would surely be killed. And she would be captured … “Don’t kill the woman. She’s worth far more than any Steward…” These words kept echoing in her ears. If they caught her, she would be taken away and used. She would rather die than let that happen. The faces of Jesse and Ialu rose in her mind, and tears welled in her eyes. She clenched her teeth. The men were coming closer. Mingled with the sounds they made, she heard something else. The hair rose on the nape of her neck. Toda! The Toda were on the move. Had they caught the scent of Yohalu’s blood? Stealthily, she raised the Silent Whistle to her lips. The touch of the cold metal coupled with the stench of Toda wrenched her back in time, conjuring up a memory so vivid, it cut her heart like a knife. Toda circling. A dagger clenched between her teeth. Her mother’s pale hands. And with that memory, an idea flashed through her mind. She grasped Yohalu’s hand, and he looked up at her in surprise. “Can you run?” she whispered in his ear. Yohalu nodded. “Then trust me and do as I do.” She rose and dashed in the direction of the river. The ground was invisible in the darkness, and she ran without knowing what lay beneath her feet or what slashed her legs. Behind her, she heard shouts and men crashing through the reeds, closing in. The roaring of the river grew louder, and the cloying odor of water and Toda engulfed her. Yohalu followed closely, his breath coming in painful, ragged gasps. The reeds blocking their path vanished, and the ground beneath their feet turned hard. Rocks. Elin slipped on a clump of moss and stumbled. Although she didn’t fall, she banged her fist and couldn’t help letting out a sharp cry. The glow of the night sky gilded the river’s surface. Long dark shadows slithered into the water with a quiet splash. She stepped into the river. The current was much stronger than she had expected, pushing against her legs. “You’ll never make it by river,” Yohalu gasped. “It’s too fast. And the Toda—” There was a loud thud, and his voice was cut short. Elin turned and ran back. “Yohalu!” she cried. He groaned and struggled to rise. Elin slid beneath him and, hoisting him onto her back, staggered doggedly toward the water. A large shape forged against the current, and the waves cresting around its head glowed faintly. Nearby, she felt more Toda stirring. The men who had followed her must have felt them, too, because they stopped among the reeds, and began arguing. “It can’t be helped,” Aoolu yelled. “We can’t let him live! Shoot! It doesn’t matter if you hit the girl.” Bows twanged, and a flurry of arrows sailed through the air. Elin heard a loud whirring by her right ear, and a burning pain shot through her earlobe. A shock ran through her left elbow, as if it had been hit with a club, followed by a fiery agony. She heard the sound of a heavy weight mowing down the reeds. Twisting her head, she saw several Toda slither from the reeds into the river. Her pulse pounded like a warning bell. She pressed her fingers to her lips. As she did so, she saw her mother’s face; the sorrow in her eyes. She seemed to say, “You know what will happen if you use the finger whistle, don’t you?” Mother. For a moment, she closed her eyes and gazed at her mother’s face. Then, she opened them again. Just as the Toda reared and bared their fangs, she blew. The notes of her finger flute rose shrill and clear. The high, complex melody rang across the river’s surface and faded. The dark shapes stopped. Like hunting dogs awaiting their master’s signal, they gazed straight at Elin. She blew again, high and low, finishing with a flourish of strong, complex modulations. The shadows of the Toda surged forward, racing to her like a pack of dogs. Still bearing Yohalu on her back, she grabbed the horns of the nearest one and climbed on. “Yohalu!” she cried. “Hold on to me!” With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her waist. The creature began to run. Water splashed Elin’s face and within moments they were swimming down the river. Arrows rained down. Elin gripped the horns desperately, but she had no strength in her injured arm, and it slipped off. Instantly, the Toda began thrashing about. We’ll sink! At that moment, a thick arm reached out and grasped the left horn. “The right one, too,” Yohalu gasped. Elin relinquished the other horn. Yohalu slid his hands up to a certain point, turned his wrists at an angle, and gripped both horns strongly. The Toda jerked, then began swimming straight ahead as if it was fleeing for its life. “No one,” Yohalu murmured into her ear, “can beat a man of the Black Armor when he grips a Toda’s horns.” Riding the torrent, their mount came to the lip of a plunge pool. Kicking with its feet, it crossed the ledge and slid nimbly down the river. The moon had risen, and the water gleamed palely. The Toda glided across the surface as if it were flying. 4 THE LORD OF AMASULU With each break in the branches overhead, the silver moonlight flashed through, only to vanish again as the darkness closed in. Elin and Yohalu sped through that darkness, entrusting their lives to the Toda. It had taken more than half a day to climb the trail to the village, but the Toda swept down the rushing stream with astonishing speed. Where the stream joined the tributary of the Amasulu River, the lights were still on in the houses that lined the road. The Toda beneath them began to sink, and Elin blanched. The water was so deep she could not touch bottom. The weight of two adults had taken a toll on the poor creature. It writhed and twisted as it swam, raising its jaw above the surface. Yohalu’s rasping breath had sounded in Elin’s ears throughout their journey, but now it came in quick, short gasps. Turning her head, she said, “Hang on. There are houses ahead. Let’s stop somewhere along here and get help.” Yohalu muttered something, but the gurgling water drowned out his words. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” Elin asked. “Let’s go to Amasulu,” Yohalu gasped. “There’s a little channel just before this tributary joins the river. Let’s pull in there.” Elin nodded. This was Yohalu’s home. He knew it best. Relief at seeing houses must have released her taut nerves because the throbbing in her arm became intense. The arrow must have cut deeper than she had thought, and the loss of blood made her feel weak and cold. Yohalu’s breathing grew even shallower. She feared he wouldn’t make it to the channel. The river flowed more slowly, and the Toda struggled to stay afloat, sinking and rising and sinking again. Silently, Elin urged it on. Just a little farther now. I’m so sorry. You must be so tired. When the broad surface of the Amasulu River appeared ahead, Yohalu suddenly yanked the beast’s horns to the right. It turned into a narrow canal thickly lined with reeds and overshadowed by branches that plunged them into darkness. The channel was barely wide enough for a single Toda to pass. Gradually, the trees thinned, and then a wide vista opened before them. Elin blinked. A smooth lawn spread along both sides of the channel. Up ahead she saw a stately manor that looked like it must have belonged to the ruler of the domain. Lights shone in some of the windows, and the smell of hearth fires wafted on the air. A small hut stood by the channel. “Go…,” Yohalu gasped. “Get help … Tell them … my name.” Elin ducked under Yohalu’s arm and slid her rigid body off the Toda’s back. She slipped into the water gingerly, unable to see the bottom in the dark, but it was shallower than expected; the tips of her toes touched ground when the water reached her chest. Placing her sound arm on the edge of the channel, she wiggled her way out of the water onto the grass. She tried to rise, but her knees gave out. Gritting her teeth, she crawled to the hut, then pounded on the door with her fist. The door swung open, and she heard a gasp. Light flooded around her, and she squinted. A man knelt beside her. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What’s going on?” “Help. Please. Yohalu … in the channel.” The man dashed off, and Elin rested against the doorframe. Through her fading consciousness, she heard the man say something to Yohalu. He ran back to the hut and picked up what looked like two pieces of fence that were leaning against the wall. Hurrying back to the channel, he placed one piece at each end of the Toda, then angled them so they pressed against the animal’s head and tail. A Toda weir. Elin had seen the Toda Riders tether their mounts in the channels like this when she was young. For some reason, Toda became quite docile when the fence touched their head. She stayed conscious long enough to see the man pull Yohalu from the Toda’s back before she fainted. For a long time, she lay at the bottom of darkness, listening to faint strains of music that came from far away. The strumming of the strings changed to Leelan’s voice. She saw Leelan fly up into the air, her fur dazzling. Ah, she’s going to mate again. Joy and sorrow pierced Elin’s breast. She heard the cheerful voice of an official. “The Yojeh is overjoyed to know that the offspring of the Royal Beasts are increasing.” Yet for those in power, that was not just a blessing, but also a threat. Which path would they choose: to multiply the Beasts, or destroy them? As Elin followed the thread of what would happen and what she should do, she came upon a different memory. The forms of Leelan and Eku disappeared, and she was in a dimly lit room. Someone’s breath brushed against her ear, and a voice groaned, “We shouldn’t do this. Our child will be doomed to bear a cruel fate.” Elin shook her head. Sorrow turned to anger, erupting from the bottom of her heart, and tears poured down her cheeks. I will never wish that I hadn’t been born. Even if I knew the life I would lead before I came into this world. We can’t choose when or where we’re born. Every living thing has to live the best it can wherever it happens to drop … Is that all you feel about your life? Regret? To conceive a life with the one she loved—how could such an act be an abomination? She would never accept that, even if the child were bound by the fetters that constrained her own life. But when she saw her son’s face for the first time, when she heard his cry and cradled his warm little body in her arms, a fierce regret tore her heart. This child would have no choice but to be swept up in his parents’ fate. The thought of how much he would suffer made Elin want to scream with fear. Confronted with her red-faced, bawling son, her feeble logic was no support at all. Her arms and legs hurt. Suddenly she was running through the darkness. Her body felt as heavy as mud, and dense reeds barred her way. “Don’t kill the woman. She’s worth far more than any Steward…” Squirming shadows rushed up from the depths of darkness. Elin ran for her life. She couldn’t let them catch her. She couldn’t let Jesse suffer the grief of losing his mother. Sobbing, she twisted and turned until she shook off the leaden dream. Her breath came in gasps, and she wiped away the tears that streaked her cheeks. The dregs of the dream lingered, and she gazed stupidly into the air, unable to register what she was seeing. Gradually, it dawned on her that she was looking at a ceiling decorated with wooden squares. Each one framed three delicately carved flowers. She turned her head, and groaned as pain shot through her. Fumbling, she tried to touch her ear but instead encountered a thick cloth that was bound around her head. With that sensation, memory came flooding back. That’s right … She remembered being carried into a large room where a doctor, a plump man, had tended her wounds. He had smelled faintly of wine, and she supposed that he had been interrupted in the middle of a bedtime drink. But he’d sewn her up deftly. Her suluma, women’s trousers, had been shredded by the Toda’s scales, and deep scratches covered her legs. The doctor had washed them thoroughly with shilan solution. “Imagine riding a Toda without tsuppa to protect your legs!” he had grumbled. “Of all the foolhardy things to do!” He had rattled on like this, but Elin had been too exhausted and weakened from blood loss to care. The noises around her had faded to an indistinct murmur that seemed to come from very far away. After she had been given a sedative, she remembered nothing. She supposed they must have carried her to this room. Though small and bare, it was pleasant, and each time the breeze filled the curtains over the window, she caught the faint scent of flowers and grass. It must be early afternoon, she thought. She had no idea how long she had slept, whether half a day or a day and a half. Somewhere, the soft strains of music sounded again. A quiet tune, like surf washing against the shore. It eased her mind. She half closed her eyes and gave herself up to the melody. Waves rolling in and rolling out … Gradually, the tangled remnants of her dream unwound, and all that was left was a deep lethargy. Footsteps approached, and the door opened quietly. It was the doctor. When he saw she was awake, his face brightened. “Ah! You’ve come around,” he said. “I thought you might be awake by now.” He lowered himself onto a chair beside the bed and took her pulse on the wrist of her good arm. “How are you feeling?” he asked. Elin moistened her lips and said hoarsely, “Quite a bit better. Thank you.” The doctor placed a hand on her forehead. “Hmm. Your fever’s gone down. Let me have a look at your legs.” He pulled back the covers and unwound the bandages. “Those scratches were covered in mud. I was worried they might fester, but the swelling’s almost gone. Shilan’s very effective.” With pudgy fingers, he began redoing the bandages. “How is Yohalu?” Elin asked. The doctor raised his eyebrows. “He’s fine. His fever has gone down, too.” His lips twitched. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t call him that in front of anyone else. They might not like it.” “What?” “The man you so lightly call ‘Yohalu’ is none other than Lord Yohalu Amasulu, who governs this domain.” Elin gazed at the doctor silently. Having suspected something of the kind, she was not particularly surprised. But the uneasiness that had lurked in the bottom of her mind now turned to sharp suspicion. If he was lord of the land where Aluhan territory had begun, then his rank and authority must have been substantial. Why would such a person serve as her bodyguard? A cold lump began expanding inside her, only to be interrupted by a bright flurry of music. It sounded very close. Elin and the doctor looked toward the window in surprise. A shadowy figure visible through the white curtains wavered each time they fluttered. The soft thrumming of the strings reminded Elin of spring sunlight. The musician played a single verse of a love song, then let the tune fade. After a short pause, he said, “My father is worried about you, Elin.” His voice was pleasant; clear yet deep. “It was his duty to protect you, but instead he placed your life in danger.” The man chuckled. “I’m sure you know what my father is like. He has been complaining bitterly that he has disgraced the Black Armor.” “Please,” Elin said hastily, “tell him not to think such things.” The shadow beyond the curtain nodded. “Thank you. Please rest and let nothing trouble you. I will have them prepare a hot meal that will restore your strength. Eat and sleep well.” When the shadow disappeared, the doctor stood up. Looking a little uncomfortable, he left the room, muttering to himself. In the silence, Elin stared blankly at the bright sunshine-filled curtains. 5 YOHALU’S CHILDREN It was not until the evening of the second day that Elin finally saw the person who had spoken to her from outside the window. Hearing that Elin was recovered enough to be up and eat proper meals again, Yohalu’s children invited her to have supper with them. The lady-in-waiting, who came to escort Elin, helped her to dress. “The dining room is not far,” she told Elin. “It’s just on the other side of the great hall. But unfortunately, the hall is full of soldiers, so I’m afraid I’ll have to take you through the garden and then around by the covered walkway.” The commotion inside the hall was so loud that Elin could hear it as they crossed the garden, and the men who passed them along the walkway on the other side wore fierce scowls. A faint musk-like scent hung in the air as the men went by. Elin frowned. The smell of Toda permeated their clothing. They must be Riders, she thought. “Is the manor always like this?” Elin asked. The woman shook her head with a wry smile. “No, not at all. Although the castle is located on the same grounds, this manor is Lord Amasulu’s home. He usually governs affairs from the castle.” Then she lowered her voice. “He really should rest a little more. He was seriously wounded, but he keeps on summoning soldiers and giving orders even while his bandages are being replaced. It makes us ill with worry to think about it.” “How is he?” Elin asked. “He says that it’s nothing. But he’s paler than usual. And a wound that bad couldn’t possibly have healed so quickly.” While they talked, they came to a large door. “Here we are.” The woman pulled a string that hung beside it, and a little bell rang. She opened the door and gestured for Elin to go inside, then closed the door behind her. The room was large with a high ceiling, yet it felt comfortable and pleasant, as if it was a place where the family often gathered. The floor, built a step higher than the passageway outside, was covered in a thick luxurious rug. In the center was a large low table with a recess beneath it for people to put their feet. In winter, the space underneath would have held a charcoal brazier to keep everyone’s legs warm. Seven legless chairs were arranged around the table, and two men and a woman were already seated. But when Elin walked through the door, one of the men rose and, coming around the table, extended his hand. Elin murmured her thanks but froze before she took the hand he offered. Not only was his smiling face strikingly different from any Lyoza she had ever seen, but a tattoo covered the back of his hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “My tattoo won’t rub off on you even if you touch me.” Elin started at the sound of his soft voice. “You?” He nodded. “Yes, pardon me for speaking to you through the curtain yesterday.” Elin blushed. “Oh, no, it’s I who should be apologizing. Please pardon my rudeness.” She took the hand he held out to her, and he smiled and gently helped her to step up into the room. He guided Elin toward the table, where the couple sat watching her with unconcealed curiosity. “This is my sister and my brother-in-law,” the man said. Elin curtsied deeply. “I am Elin.” “I am Sali, Yohalu Amasulu’s daughter, and this is my husband, Muhan,” the woman said, then smiled. “And the young man who is still holding your hand and won’t let go is my younger brother, Rolan. Now, please have a seat. The food will grow cold. We can explain why my brother looks so different from me while we eat.” With Rolan’s support, Elin gingerly lowered herself down and slipped her legs into the hollow beneath the table. She was grateful for his assistance. Watching her awkward movements, Sali’s face clouded. “You’re still in quite a bit of pain, aren’t you?” she said. Elin gave a crooked smile. “I’m fine. The medicine has relieved much of the pain, so it’s really not that bad.” Then her face grew sober. “How is Lord Yohalu?” “He’s fine.” Sali laughed. “He’s so tough, I’m sure he’ll live to be a hundred. But the wound is in his back, which makes it uncomfortable to sit in a chair. That’s the only reason he didn’t join us here today. There’s no need to worry.” She gestured for Elin to eat and, picking up a spoon, began sipping her soup. Looking at the dishes lined up on the table, Elin realized with a start that the food had been prepared to be eaten with one hand. They must have gone out of their way because her arm was still in a sling. The steaming soup was made with fresh fish and flavored with herbs. Although the broth was clear, it tasted surprisingly rich. “How do you like it?” Rolan asked from his seat beside her. Elin rested her spoon on her plate. “Delicious,” she said. “It doesn’t smell at all like river fish.” “Exactly! This type doesn’t have that muddy odor,” said Rolan. Sali’s lips twitched. “Don’t go praising him now. He already spends all his spare time here fishing.” “And what’s wrong with that?” This was the first time Sali’s husband had opened his mouth. Muhan had noble features and the sturdy build of a soldier. “He just got back from an important job. Let him enjoy fishing as much as he likes. Besides, we get to enjoy his tasty catch.” Rolan picked a bone out of the soup and sucked on it casually, then licked his fingers. He glanced at Elin and shrugged. “We’re an odd family, aren’t we? I’m sure you can tell from my face that I’m a foster child. I was born far away on the eastern plains. I’m from Asheh. When I was nine, I was orphaned by the war. Father adopted me.” At a loss for words, Elin simply gazed at him. He had short-cropped brown hair and big dark eyes. Not just his voice, but his looks were strangely attractive. His face still had the innocence of youth, but his eyes were far older. “I had an elder brother,” said Sali, “but he died of an illness when he was nine and I was four.” Rolan nodded. “That’s probably why Father felt he couldn’t abandon me when he found me. I still remember how he looked in his shining black armor. I was covered in mud and tears. He plucked me up in his great big arms and gave me a home and a family.” He grinned suddenly. “But I didn’t turn out quite the way he wanted.” Sali laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “You hated sword practice, and you loved fishing, playing the lakkalu, and singing. Whenever Father wasn’t looking, you’d sneak out of the house to tag along after the musicians. I thought he’d brought home a pretty weird little brother, I must admit.” Although she spoke in a mocking tone, Elin could see that she loved him dearly, even though he was not blood kin. Beside her, Muhan smiled for the first time. “It’s very fortunate for me that Rolan is the kind of man he is. If not, I’d have no hope of becoming the next ruler of Amasulu.” Rolan laughed. “It’s fortunate for me that you joined our family. Thanks to you, Father finally let me go. Ah, the relief when I knew I could spend the rest of my life playing my beloved lakkalu! I shall forever be in both your debts.” From there, they launched into memories of the past, many of them so funny that Elin couldn’t stop laughing. No one mentioned what had happened in Oohan, nor did they ask Elin anything about herself. Perhaps Yohalu had ordered them not to. Or maybe they were trying to make her comfortable. Whatever the reason, by the end of the meal, Elin found that she liked Yohalu’s strange children very much. 6 KURIU When they finished their meal, Muhan left to join the men in the great hall, while Sali stepped outside to enjoy a glass of wine in the garden. Rolan turned to Elin. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “The color has returned to your cheeks, but if you’re tired, I’d be happy to guide you back to your room.” Elin shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve slept for two whole days already.” “I’m glad to hear that. If so, then let’s enjoy some fruit and conversation together.” Elin nodded. It occurred to her that most young women would probably agree just as readily if invited by this young man. Although there was no romantic attraction, something about him made her want to see him smile. He led her a short distance down the wide corridor. Stopping in front of a door embossed with sasha leaves, he opened it and ushered her inside. The room was small. No lights had been lit yet, and the interior was sunk in shadow, but the large window opening onto the garden had been flung wide, imparting a sense of spaciousness. Small lanterns shone like fireflies in the blue dusk of the garden, and people enjoying a quiet after-dinner stroll drifted along the paths like vague shadows. Rolan lit the candles. A soft glow filled the space, illuminating what appeared to be a huge tapestry covering one wall. Drawn toward it, Elin saw that it was a finely detailed map, and her eyes grew round. A sudden sound startled her, and she turned. A woman was sitting in an armchair in a dark corner. She stretched and leaned forward, blinking against the light. Looking at the woman’s face, Elin guessed she was in her sixties. Despite her age, she was beautiful—tall with large eyes and well-defined eyebrows in a slender face, and a long, graceful neck. She had a shadow on her upper lip, like a faint mustache, but Elin quickly realized it was a fine-drawn tattoo. Running a hand through her hair, the woman looked up at Elin and Rolan. “Oh dear. I must have dozed off.” She spoke with an odd intonation. Rolan deftly caught the book that was slipping from her knees. He handed it to her with a smile. “It’s quite late, you know. Did you fall asleep without eating dinner?” The woman shrugged. “I’ve been up late these last few nights.” A violent fit of coughing seized her. Rolan reached out a hand to rub her back but she waved him away and took a sip of tea from the cup on the side table. “You need to get proper rest,” Rolan said with a frown. The woman snorted. “As a musician, you should talk. No need to worry about me. Time is what you make of it. I’m just using my time the way I want. That’s better for my health anyway.” She poked her head around Rolan and smiled at Elin. “Good evening,” she said. Elin bowed. “Good evening. I’m Elin.” The woman nodded. “I thought as much. Pleased to meet you. I’m Kuriu.” The foreign-sounding name confirmed Elin’s guess that she must be from another country. Rolan leaned out the window and hailed a servant, asking her to bring some food for Kuriu. “And while you’re at it, bring three servings of fruit.” Kuriu glanced at him, then beckoned to Elin. “Come a little closer. That’s it. Have a seat in that chair.” She indicated a chair beside the window and, when Elin sat down, scrutinized her face. “Your eyes really are green. That’s a color I’ve never seen, not even in Imeelu. I’ve seen brown and blue, but not green.” “Imeelu?” Kuriu raised her brows. “You haven’t heard of it?” “No. I’m sorry.” Kuriu laughed. “No need to apologize. So even teachers like you don’t know it exists.” Elin blinked. This woman seemed to know a lot about her. Perhaps she’d heard that from Yohalu. “Elin lives in Yojeh territory, that’s why,” said Rolan. “They don’t get many foreign merchants there. Not like here.” He stepped away from the window and rested his hand on the back of Elin’s chair. “Imeelu is a large caravan city on a great river that runs through the eastern plains.” Strolling toward the wall, he pointed at the map. His finger was long and slender, befitting a musician. “That’s Imeelu.” Elin rose and went to stand beside him. Rolan touched a spot on the map. “This is Amasulu territory, where we are now.” He traced a line back to the other spot. “And this is Imeelu.” As Elin gazed at the places he had pointed out, the picture presented by the map gradually revealed itself to her. When she deciphered the shape of her own country, goosebumps rose on her skin. It’s so small … The kingdom of Lyoza, which lay along the southeast side of the Afon Noah, took up only an eighth of the map. Between Lyoza and the sea lay a single country, which she recognized as the kingdom of Tolah. But to the east spread many countries, only a few of which she knew. It had never occurred to her that there could be so many. As she stared at the map, shock numbed her brain. She had spent her life oblivious of the world in which she lived … “It’s a pretty big world, isn’t it? In fact, probably even bigger than what you see here.” Rolan swept his finger across the southwest and southeast parts of the map. “There could be more countries in these areas that we haven’t heard of yet,” he said. He moved his finger to a point in the eastern plain. “This is Asheh,” he said, “Where I was born.” Elin narrowed her eyes and stared at the spot. Some words had been written over it in a script she couldn’t read. “What language is that?” she asked. “Shalamu. My mother tongue,” Kuriu said from behind her. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s lovely both to look at and to listen to.” “Shalamu.” Elin repeated. Even the name was new to her. Kuriu rose and walked slowly over. Elin was tall for a woman, but Kuriu was almost the same height. A floral fragrance wafted from her robe, and Elin guessed that it had been scented with incense. “This map tells many stories,” Kuriu murmured. “It traversed a strange path before it ended up on this wall.” She stopped without elaborating, and the three of them stood gazing at the map for some time, lost in their own thoughts. What kind of lives had this tall woman and this foreign-featured youth led, Elin wondered. She thought about the days of which they would never speak and which she would never know. A breeze stole through the garden, carrying with it the moist chill of evening. The last glow of twilight had vanished, along with the murmur of people in the garden. “We call Imeelu the white city,” Kuriu said abruptly. “It’s dazzlingly white and sits on a great river that intersects many roads leading from other countries. Although it’s surrounded by grasslands and desert, our ancestors who built it came from across the seas. At least, that’s what our legends say.” She stretched out her hand and pointed one by one to several other towns. “These were once under the rule of the kingdom of Hajan. When Lyoza defeated Hajan, these caravan cities, including Imeelu, became your protectorates.” “Protectorates? Not domains?” Elin asked. Kuriu cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. Can you guess why?” Elin stared at the towns on the map, taking in the grasslands and desert that surrounded them and their distance from Aluhan territory. “To stretch the border this far would be difficult and expensive,” she said finally. “It would take a huge army to protect such a broad expanse of land.” Kuriu’s eyebrows shot up, and her smile deepened. “I can see why you caught Yohalu’s attention. You’re an interesting woman.” Kuriu walked over to the side table and picked up a book that was lying facedown. Bringing it over to Elin, she said, “The caravan cities are prosperous centers that attract people and goods. But they’re small, with little capacity to protect themselves. If the safety of the roads isn’t guaranteed, merchants will take their trade elsewhere, leaving the cities to wither. What they need is a country with a strong army to shelter them. “When the Hajan ruled, we paid them high taxes. And when Lyoza defeated Hajan and seized control over this area, we cozied up to you. No matter who rules, we live on, resilient. That’s the way we’ve chosen.” Kuriu opened the book and flipped through the pages. “This is my work. I’m writing a comparative history on three of the caravan cities. It’s quite fascinating and gives me a much clearer picture of what moves a city or kingdom. When I study the choices and foolish actions people have repeated for centuries, I can see how diverse and yet how similar we humans are.” As she listened, Elin felt something stirring in her breast, a burning urge she had often felt as a child—a sense that something connected to the invisible threads that moved this world was almost within reach. Impulsively, she said, “I study the laws of nature that govern living creatures. Because I want to know why they’re the way they are, in all their amazing diversity.” She reached out and softly touched Kuriu’s book. “What you just said you’re doing, it’s the same thing, isn’t it? But for those creatures we call humans?” Kuriu’s eyes shone. “Yes! Exactly!” Beaming, she turned to Rolan. “Remember what you said? ‘Even if people are pursuing different fields, they still share common ground’?” She turned her eyes back to Elin. “I want to know why humans fight one another. But to find out, I have to examine and explore an enormous volume of cases. I’m sure you understand the incredible amount of work that involves.” Elin nodded. “Even though you’re a teacher, you know nothing about the caravan cities, despite their importance to this kingdom. Many people have no idea of the shape of the world in which they live. It doesn’t even occur to them to look at the way cities or countries interact with one another. But I was born into the house of the pathfinders. I had the good fortune to meet many different people, and was exposed to many books.” She ran a finger over her tattoo. “This is the mark of the pathfinder. I’m sure you can’t imagine the power invested in the one who bears it. The words of the pathfinder steer the city of Imeelu.” Kuriu’s eyes, which were so rich with expression, suddenly darkened with a mixture of impatience and sorrow. She shrugged her slender shoulders and, moving away from the map, sank into a chair. “To know, and to tell. To know, and to tell,” she muttered as though chanting, then shook her head. “For centuries, generations of pathfinders have searched for the way, but no matter how deftly they have dodged and squirmed, they’ve never been able to avert war. The lives of humans are too short. They’re always snuffed out before their ideas have sufficient time to mature.” As her voice died away, a note plucked from a string trembled on the air, then swelled into a rich and undulating melody. While they were talking, Rolan had picked up his lakkalu. He stroked the strings, head bent, then looked up and raised his voice in song. Day breaks, men awake, hold your swords to the red sun. Hark to the thunder of hooves rolling like a storm across the plain. The song resonated in the pit of Elin’s stomach. For a moment, she saw countless men charging across a field on horseback. Her blood stirred in response to the violent twanging of the strings. There was something tragic about the sound, yet it made her heart beat wildly. Day breaks, children awake. The morn of your father’s death has come. The melody changed to a slender thread of sorrow, a song of mourning for dead fathers and brothers, for torched homes and gutted villages. Day breaks, people awake. Behold. Night gives way to dawn. This last refrain was repeated several times, like a wave crashing against the shore and receding, only to rush back again before finally fading away. Even when the last reverberation had ceased, Elin remained motionless for some time. She felt as if something enormous had passed through her. Casting her a faint smile, Kuriu flicked her eyes toward Rolan. “He’s always like that,” she said. “He seems to see right through your mind, weaving what he finds there into song.” She sighed and rested her head against the back of her chair. “You’re right, Rolan. War makes people’s hearts throb. Even though they know the cruelty and the misery of it, still they sing of battle.” Rolan didn’t respond, but only smiled with his arms wrapped around his lakkalu. “You’re right about one other thing, too,” Kuriu said, gazing up at the ceiling. “People will keep searching, endlessly. Like ants whose path has been blocked, they’ll pace back and forth looking for a way through.” “Interesting, isn’t she?” Rolan said as he guided Elin back to her room. “Quite amazing really. She gave up her position as pathfinder, passing that mantle on to her nephew. But even now her words carry weight; not only in Imeelu, but in many other caravan cities. And her nephew still comes to her for advice.” Elin cocked her head. “Then why is she here? It seems so far from her home.” “She’s an old friend of my father’s. A very good friend. It’s her custom to come here every year in late fall to spend the winter. Because she has asthma. Imeelu’s too dry in winter, which makes her condition worse.” Rolan smiled briefly. “But maybe that’s just an excuse. Perhaps she wants to spend the winter with Father.” I see, Elin thought. With a pair like Kuriu and Yohalu, that was certainly a possibility. She smiled suddenly and gave a slight sigh. Rolan cast her a quizzical look. “What?” Elin shook her head. “I was just thinking how small my world is.” “Small?” “Yes. At this very moment, people like Kuriu are living in distant lands, yet I’d never even stopped to think about it. But here, you’re so closely connected to other countries that I suppose it’s quite normal to be broad-minded.” Rolan smiled. “Indeed, it is. Amasulu is very small, but it’s an important intersection.” “Intersection?” “A place where many people come together.” A grim look displaced Rolan’s smile. “But there are far too few gathering points like this in Lyoza.” Seeing Elin’s gaze, he shrugged lightly. “Here’s your room. My apologies for keeping you up so late. I just hope that I didn’t tire you out.” Elin shook her head. “It was a wonderful evening. Thank you.” As she entered the room, Rolan kept his hand on the door. “My father wishes to speak with you,” he said quietly. “May I take you to his room tomorrow evening?” Elin inclined her head. Although her heart grew heavy just thinking of what Yohalu would ask when they met, there was no escape. Rolan’s expression relaxed. “Good. Please rest well.” 7 YOHALU’S SECRET The next day dawned cloudy, and by evening, rain was pelting down. Perhaps because of the weather, or maybe simply because she was not fully recovered, Elin felt heavy and listless all day and spent much of her time napping. After the evening meal, however, her strength returned. By the time Rolan came to fetch her, she had dressed and steeled herself as best she could for her meeting with Yohalu. Rolan led her slowly along a dimly lit, high-ceilinged corridor until they came to a large oak door. He stopped and called out, “Father, I have brought Lady Elin.” Through the thick wood, they heard the muffled sound of Yohalu bidding her to enter. Rolan pushed down on the handle and opened the door. He ushered Elin inside and then left. The moment she stepped inside, Elin’s eyes were drawn to a large bookcase. Sturdily built, it was jammed with books. “Elin.” At the sound of her name, she recollected where she was with a start and blushed. “I beg your pardon. You have such an impressive book collection that I couldn’t help myself.” Yohalu smiled. “How like you to notice my books before anything else.” Elin walked over to the large armchair in which Yohalu was sitting. He sat on the edge leaning forward rather than resting against the back. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot, and the wound wasn’t that deep. How about you? Your ear will be scarred, I’m afraid.” Seeing the concern in his face, Elin smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “But I’ll be fine. The scar might even give me a little prestige and make cheeky students pay more attention when I glare at them.” Yohalu laughed. “I see. I forgot you were a teacher of unruly rascals.” “Yes. Although I can’t show them the mark of the arrow on my back, the one on my ear will be in plain sight. Besides, I’ve been scarred by Leelan already. I can add this to my collection.” Her face grew sober. “What happened to the Toda that carried us?” “Ah. It was given a feast of fish and taken to the Amasulu where it was set free. The poor thing suffered a lot to save us. Toda raised by the Stewards can swim for a night and a day with two men on their back. But not wild Toda. Now that I’ve ridden one, I realize how useless they’d be in battle.” He paused with his eyes fixed on Elin. “You can control wild Toda, can’t you?” he said finally. Elin gazed back at him wordlessly. From the moment she had used the finger whistle, she had known that he would ask this question. Even now, in a forest somewhere, warned by their ancestors’ souls animating the Spirit Beast, the Ahlyo would be lamenting that Elin had committed an irreversible sin. But she’d had no choice. If she hadn’t used the finger whistle, Yohalu would have been killed, and she herself abducted. For the last two days, as she had lain in bed, a thought had taken shape in her mind—she could not choose death to guard the secret of the Toda. She could not do what her mother had done, even if revealing what she knew should lead to multiplying and strengthening the Toda forces. She could understand why the Ahlyo wanted to prevent another catastrophe. But the way they sought to achieve that goal seemed wrong. She wasn’t sure why it was wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to tread the same path. Maybe it was because the Law of the Ahlyo had driven her mother to her death. Yet she sensed it was more than that. Something told her that it was wrong to conceal knowledge, even to avert disaster. And if that’s how I feel … She must choose the path that felt right, even if it meant groping her way along. “It was a gamble,” Elin said finally. Yohalu’s eyebrows shot up. “A gamble?” “Yes. To be quite honest, I wasn’t at all sure those wild Toda would respond. The tune was the same one my mother blew for me. To save me from the Toda…” Her voice shook, and she paused for a moment to steady her breath. “The sound of my mother’s finger flute, which she played just before she died, has been seared on my memory ever since. I often try playing it when no one is around. But the finger flute is difficult. At first, I couldn’t reproduce the notes I remembered. With practice, I gradually learned how.” Yohalu blinked. “You mean it’s one of the Ahlyo’s secret skills?” With her eyes fixed on his, Elin nodded. “I think so. Because before she blew it, my mother told me that I should never do what she was going to do, because it was a mortal sin.” Silence enveloped the room. Finally, Yohalu rose, steadying his shoulder with one hand. A strong light gleamed in his eyes. “I thank you from the depths of my heart for using that finger flute to save my life,” he said. “Please accept my deepest apologies for placing your life in danger. I offered myself as your bodyguard but instead I have caused you great pain. Forgive me.” He bowed deeply. “Please raise your head,” Elin said hastily. “There was no way you could’ve known that man would attack us.” Standing erect, Yohalu shook his head. “It’s true I never expected Aoolu to attack us. However…” He paused and gestured with his eyes toward a chair beside the bookcase. He waited for Elin to sit before lowering himself into his own chair. “I knew that your life was in danger.” Yohalu’s study was located deep inside the building. The bustle of the soldiers rushing along the large corridor didn’t penetrate this far. The only sound was the occasional scraping of branches against the windows when the breeze ruffled the trees. In that silence, Elin frowned slightly, staring at Yohalu. Yohalu pressed his right hand against his left shoulder, then coughed slightly. Picking up a flask on the side table, he poured himself some water and took a sip, then placed the cup down with a small click. “I knew that someone was planning to attack you. Not Aoolu, but the Sai Gamulu.” Elin’s mind went numb. “The Sai Gamulu?” she blurted out. “They want to kill me? But why on earth?” The Sai Gamulu, which literally meant “blood and filth,” was a secret society. Its members blamed the Yojeh for the cracks in the kingdom’s system. For generations, they had sought to assassinate her and make the Aluhan the sole ruler of the country. Bound by strict rules, they swore themselves to silence, never revealing their identity as members even when faced with death. Not even the Aluhan knew who they were. After Shunan married Seimiya, however, rumors of such plots had faded away. The Sai Gamulu’s wish that the Aluhan rule the kingdom had been fulfilled, and Elin had assumed they no longer had any reason to assassinate the Yojeh. “For the Sai Gamulu,” Yohalu said in a low voice, “you are the one piece in this game that could overturn all the others on the board.” The candle flame wavered, sending Yohalu’s shadow dancing across the wall. “Although more than a decade has passed since Lord Shunan married the Yojeh, this country remains in a state of confusion, like an ant nest that’s been stepped on. Nobles, soldiers, and commoners alike are bewildered, not knowing to whom they should turn for guidance—the Aluhan or the Yojeh.” “But—” Yohalu raised a finger, cutting off Elin’s protest. “Yes, it’s true Lord Shunan and Lady Seimiya have joined hands to rule this nation. But we want to know whose will it is that governs our affairs. Which one moves this country, the Aluhan or the Yojeh? If this were obvious, we could follow wholeheartedly. But for some reason, the answer remains unclear.” Yohalu sighed. “Her Highness, the Yojeh, is the cause. For the last few years, she’s rarely shown herself, and that makes those who see her as this country’s soul unbearably anxious. They worry she conceals herself from shame, that she believes her union with the Aluhan has defiled her and caused disease to spread. “For those of us who revere the Aluhan as our lord, on the other hand, her attitude’s exasperating. She ought to be supporting the wise decisions of Lord Shunan and guiding her people in a beneficial direction, but instead, she’s torn by indecision. That’s destabilizing political affairs in this country, which outrages quite a few people. She’s supposed to be the Yojeh, they say. They can’t help but wonder what on earth she’s thinking!” Anger flared in his eyes. He fixed them on the candle beside him and took a deep breath, then shifted his gaze back to Elin. “It’s terrifying not to know what Lady Seimiya is thinking. What if she’s regretting her decision to marry the Aluhan or prefers the old way of doing things, with the Yojeh ruling alone by divine right? That would tear our people apart. Even though she married the Aluhan, the majority still revere her as a god. If she should decide to dissolve her marriage and stand as the sole ruler of this country—” “But that’s ridiculous!” Elin shook her head. “That could never happen. Even if she wanted to, it’s impossible.” A chill ran up her spine as she said this. Suddenly, she saw why the Sai Gamulu had chosen her as their target. She said no more, and Yohalu nodded. “You’re an intelligent woman. I’m sure you can see that you’re the one piece that would allow the Yojeh to fulfill such a wish. The vision of you and that mighty Royal Beast, symbol of the noble Yojeh, scattering the Toda army is branded on all our memories. If, at her bidding, you should arise to fly the Royal Beasts—” Elin shook her head violently. Seeing her expression, Yohalu grimaced. “I know. You’d never do that. Nor would Lady Seimiya ask it of you. But as long as you live, that possibility will never vanish from our minds. Nor, I suspect, from hers. “That’s why the Sai Gamulu decided to kill you. Without you, Lady Seimiya has no card left to play. They wish to make it crystal clear that she has no hope.” Elin stared at him, robbed of speech. His brow furrowed slightly. “But I didn’t want you to be killed.” Elin frowned. “Why?” He stared at her calmly, not answering. The expression in his eyes made her uneasy. “When I heard that all the Kiba in Tokala village had died,” he said finally, “I saw it as an opportunity—an excuse to place you under my protection. Fortunately, Lord Shunan was interested. He probably thought my proposal to disguise myself as your bodyguard was just a whim, sparked by an old man’s desire to retire and leave things in the hands of his son-in-law. He smiled indulgently when he gave me permission.” Elin wrinkled her forehead. “You mean you didn’t accompany me at the behest of the Aluhan? It was your idea?” Yohalu nodded. “Yes. Lord Shunan doesn’t know that you’ve been targeted by the Sai Gamulu. I used the investigation of the Kiba as an excuse to get his consent for me to guard you.” Elin’s heart pounded sickeningly in her chest. Grasping her knees with icy fingers, she said unsteadily, “But how? How could you know that the Sai Gamulu wished to kill me when the Aluhan did not?” Yohalu kept his eyes fixed on hers. “I know what the Sai Gamulu plan before they act. Because the man who started it was my great-grandfather.” The silence that covered the room hurt Elin’s ears. The faint sputtering of the candles sounded disturbingly loud. Yohalu rubbed a hand over his face. He looked drained. “Yes, it was my great-grandfather who formed the Sai Gamulu. For a time, I ran it, too. But one day, I realized that such means could never bring peace to this country. I relinquished my role as the leader to a friend. A few called me a traitor and insisted that I should be terminated, but most said nothing and let me go.” The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “They trust me, you see. While they were annoyed that I chose a different path, they didn’t try to kill me. Besides, they value the blood that runs in my veins. That’s why I believed you’d be safe with me.” He rose abruptly, then winced and moved slowly toward the bookshelves, being careful of his wound. He pulled a thin chain with an old key on it from his neck. Bending low, he inserted the key into a hole in a drawer at the bottom. There was a small click. Yohalu returned the key to his robe, pulled open the drawer, and reached inside. With the utmost care, he took out a bundle wrapped in deep blue brocade and placed it on the large desk, gesturing for Elin to come and see. When she drew near, he unfolded the cloth to reveal a thin book wrapped in oiled paper. It appeared quite ancient, and the spine and cover were falling apart. Gently, Yohalu opened it to expose the inside cover. The paper was yellowed and chewed by insects. “I keep bug repellent with it and air the drawer well, too, but even so, it’s impossible to protect something this old from getting damaged. I was planning to transcribe it when I retired. At this rate, though, it may fall apart before I get a chance.” But Elin barely heard him. He glanced at her chalk-white face and murmured, “I thought so. You can read this, can’t you?” Staring at the inside cover, Elin forgot to breathe. The words were written in mirror writing, although the script seemed a bit different from her mother’s. She could only read the title without a mirror because part of it was already branded on her memory. The Diary of the Kalenta Loh 8 ORIGINS Yohalu leaned forward and grasped Elin’s wrist. “Please. Tell me. What does it say?” His voice was quiet, but a fierce light burned in his eyes, and his hand felt hot where it touched Elin’s skin. She didn’t try to shake off his grip. “Do you have a mirror?” she asked calmly. He blinked, then released her. “A mirror?” “Yes. Or something that reflects like a mirror?” Yohalu thought for a moment, then went to the desk and pulled a hand mirror from a drawer. He gave this to Elin, and she placed it so that it reflected the book’s title. Yohalu drew in a sharp breath. Squinting, he ran his eyes over the letters. “Ka … len,” he muttered. “I can’t read the next one. Is the one after that ‘loh’?” “Yes. Kalenta Loh. It’s an ancient script. I think it means ‘the people who remain.’” Still staring at the letters in the mirror, Yohalu rubbed a hand across his brow. “So that’s it! It was meant to be read with a mirror.” He slumped into his chair, resting his forehead on his palm. “Yes. It’s written in a very loose hand,” Elin said. “And because the book is so ancient, it’s natural to assume the script is some foreign language.” Yohalu nodded, speechless. “When I was a child,” Elin murmured, looking at the words reflected in the mirror, “my mother used to write every night after dinner, once she’d cleaned up. I liked to wrap myself around her shoulders and watch. She taught me how to read and write like this. It seemed like magic, and I was dying to show my friends. But Mother wouldn’t let me. She told me it was a secret, just between the two of us.” She raised her face and looked at Yohalu. Her pulse was beating painfully fast. “Why do you have this book?” Slowly, Yohalu raised his head. His gaze met hers. “It’s the diary of my ancestor seven generations before me. Or at least, that’s what I was told. It contains secrets passed down to the firstborn son and direct heir of the ruler of Amasulu. That ancestor was said to have had green eyes.” Elin caught her breath and stared at him. “Do you remember the story I told you when we were in Oohan?” Yohalu asked. “About the man who built the first Toda village, the one who was clever but loose with women?” Elin nodded. “That man,” Yohalu continued, “was the grandson of the author of this diary and the grandfather of my great-grandfather. There aren’t many tales of him left in my family. The stories passed down by the villagers of Oohan may paint a more accurate picture. They say he died young, before my great-grandfather was born. “My great-grandfather was strong and vigorous. He must have been about eighty-five when he died. I was only eight, and I remember him as having a loud voice and a hot temper. Sometimes he’d explode with anger, and at those times, he was terrifying. But I’ve heard he was also very intelligent.” He paused to take a sip of water. “Was he the one who started the Sai Gamulu?” Elin asked. “Yes. And the reason is closely linked to this book.” Yohalu gestured to the diary with his chin. “My great-great-grandfather learned many things from his father, the founder of Oohan village, including how to read this book. But he wasn’t able to pass on that knowledge to his son, my great-grandfather.” A deep furrow cleft Yohalu’s brow as he stared at the ancient book. “He intended to tell him everything when he reached the age of twelve, but he died when my great-grandfather was only eight. Because the secrets, including how to read this book, were transmitted orally, they died with him. My great-grandfather believed that he was murdered.” Elin leaned forward. “Murdered?” Yohalu nodded. “Yes. One day, the Yojeh summoned him to her palace, but he came back as ashes in an urn. The family was told that he’d died of an illness while at the palace and that his body had been cremated to purify it.” Yohalu sighed. “It was a long time ago so no one knows the truth. But my great-grandfather believed that the Yojeh had him poisoned. He thought she feared the Aluhan’s increasing military might and wanted to stamp out the secret Toda arts before he could pass them on to his son.” Yohalu’s mouth crooked in a bitter smile. “I can imagine how my great-grandfather would’ve reacted once he was old enough to understand the meaning of his father’s death. From then on, he was consumed with an implacable, twisted hatred for the Yojeh. As he watched how her reign shaped this kingdom, he came up with the idea of the Sai Gamulu. When the time seemed right, he set this secret society into motion, burning the palace and killing the Yojeh and her heir. The only survivor was the Yojeh’s granddaughter. I suppose he wanted to inflict on them the same fate he himself had suffered—the severing of knowledge.” The silence when he finished speaking was disturbed only by the hissing candles. So, Elin thought, hatred had sown the seeds of more hatred, transcending time to entangle those who lived now. She found it hard to breathe, as though something thick and heavy had engulfed her, stifling her breath. Trying to shake off that oppressive weight, she struggled to keep her voice level. “What was your great-great-grandfather’s relationship with the Yojeh?” she asked. Cocking his head, Yohalu urged her to continue. “It’s the Yojeh that puzzles me,” Elin explained. “If what your great-grandfather believed is true, then the Yojeh must not only have known that your ancestors possessed skills related to the Toda, but also that they were passed on secretly to the eldest son.” A light kindled in Yohalu’s eyes. “You’re very sharp. You’ve already grasped the crux of this story.” Elin shook her head. “I don’t know about that, but ever since I met that green-eyed girl in Oohan village, something’s been bothering me. It’s related to the story you just told me.” Yohalu gazed at her intently. “What is it?” he asked. “Long ago, when the great hosts of the Hajan attacked this country, the Yojeh’s loyal subject Yaman Hasalu begged her to give him the Toda Whistle so that he might save the people. Judging his intentions to be sincere, she gave him that sacred treasure and permitted him to ride the Toda. Yaman Hasalu crossed the Amasulu River and vanquished the Hajan. “That was the origin of the Aluhan, a legend we’ve been hearing ever since we were children. Yet, it’s simply not possible.” Yohalu’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” Elin moistened her lips to continue, when caution suddenly overtook her. She paused. “Have you heard the tale of what happened on the other side of the Afon Noah?” Yohalu shook his head. “No, never. All I know is that the Yojeh is not a god.” He grinned. “That’s what I consider to be the crux of this story, the point I really wanted to convey to you. But it appears you knew that already.” Although Elin didn’t respond, Yohalu continued unperturbed. “The grandfather of the founder of Oohan village was secretly summoned from the Afon Noah, along with his family, by the Yojeh of that time. In other words, if the Royal Ancestor Jeh was a god, then the blood of the gods must run in my veins, too. But that can’t be, because I know for sure that I’m a very ordinary man.” Scratching his chin, he said, “According to what I was told, when our ancestors came from the Afon Noah, they were kept hidden in the palace. They were called Friends of the Yojeh and met secretly with Yaman Hasalu to teach him how to control the Toda. Even after the victory of Amasulu, their existence was kept strictly confidential. After Yaman Hasalu became the Aluhan, they supported him from behind the scenes and married into his family. It wasn’t until the next generation that they appeared openly on the political stage of this country. The next generation all had dark brown eyes, but in the one after that, a green-eyed child was born. That was my ancestor, the founder of Oohan village. He was raised in secret within this very place. Eventually, the Aluhan ordered him to establish a Toda village deep in the mountains where not even the birds passed. Green-eyed children are still born in Oohan because it’s so remote that close kin often intermarry. In my own family line, no other green-eyed children have been born.” The smile in Yohalu’s eyes deepened. “Your ancestors had green eyes, too. If we traced our ancestry back, we might find that we’re relatives.” Wordlessly, Elin gazed at this affable yet fathomless man. Long ago, his ancestors had crossed the Afon Noah to settle here, just like hers. The thought filled her with awe, as if she had touched upon something incredibly vast. “Well, what do you think? Does that solve your riddle?” Yohalu asked. Elin shook her head with a rueful laugh. “It’s only compounded it.” She shared with him the tale she’d heard from the Ahlyo about the tragedy on the other side of the Afon Noah. As she did so, she remembered how she’d shared it with Seimiya just after she became the Yojeh. She recalled the astonishment on Seimiya’s porcelain features as she had sat wrapped in the steam that rose from the bath. She’d looked so very young. “So.” Yohalu whispered, staring at her with a look of astonishment. “Far from being friends, the Royal Ancestor Jeh and her people were sworn enemies of the Toga mi Lyo.” Elin nodded. “At least, according to the tale passed down among the Ahlyo. Or the Ao-Loh—the People of the Law—as they call themselves. Jeh’s people must have been Royal Beast handlers who lived in the valleys of the Afon Noah. The Toga mi Lyo came from across the sea where they had fled their homeland. They took refuge in a prosperous country at the foot of the same mountains.” “And you’re saying those two peoples, one mounted on Toda and the other on Royal Beasts, launched a war so disastrous that it wiped out both their armies and even the creatures they rode, and destroyed their nations?” asked Yohalu. “Yes.” Yohalu took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Well. Of all the…” He shook his head and sighed. Looking at Elin, he smiled wryly. “Now I understand why you’ve stubbornly refused to wield the Royal Beasts.” Elin remained silent. Her reasons for not wanting to control the Beasts were far more complex than what Yohalu imagined, but she didn’t think he would understand even if she tried to explain. Suddenly she felt terribly tired, as if she had traveled the space of centuries in this short time. “There’s so much that we simply don’t know,” she said quietly. “Far too much. What did those people who lived and died so long ago do? And why? What were they thinking and feeling?” She wiped her brow. “I wonder what really happened on the other side of the Afon Noah. Were our ancestors—the Toga mi Lyo—really enemies of Jeh and her people? Why did Jeh come here and why did she choose to become the ruler of this country? Why did she summon your ancestor and ask him to use the Toda?” Yohalu nodded. His face was ashen. He fastened his eyes on the diary, which looked as if it might disintegrate at any moment. “That could tell us some of the answers, don’t you think?” He gave a lopsided smile. “But even with a mirror, I doubt I could make much sense of it. How about you? Do you think you could read it?” Elin pointed at it. “May I take a look?” “Of course.” The inside cover felt more like rough cloth than paper. She turned it gingerly, revealing a page covered with elegant handwriting. Even with the mirror, she couldn’t read the ancient script fluently, but she could still grasp most of the meaning. Running her eyes over the page, she murmured, “The letters and words my mother taught me were the language of her people, but I was surprised when one of our professors well versed in the classics read us a poem. It sounded very similar to the words my mother had taught me.” As she stared at the letters, her eyes blurred with tears. She’d been torn from her mother when she was too young to understand anything. Yet with each step she took along this path, she would probably keep stumbling upon fragments of her mother’s life. Just like this. “Elin,” said Yohalu. “That’s enough for tonight. I’m a bit tired, and you must be even more so. This diary hasn’t been read for more than a century. I’m sure it won’t complain if it has to wait one more day.” Elin nodded and gently closed the book. “May I come again tomorrow?” she asked. “Of course. If you feel up to it. But please be careful not to overdo it.” Elin smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She bowed deeply, filled with a quiet affection that she had not felt for him before. A faint smile touched his lips, and he sketched a bow in return. Then he pulled a string that dangled beside the bookcase. “Please wait a moment. A maidservant will come to fetch you shortly.” Elin nodded, but then her face clouded. There was one other thing she must say, something that couldn’t be said once the servant came. “You said that the Sai Gamulu wished to kill me. I assume that that hasn’t changed?” Yohalu’s face grew serious. “No, it hasn’t. However—and I’m not just saying this to make you feel better—as long as you’re with me, you’ve nothing to fear. As for what comes next, we’ll work something out.” “Thank you. But it’s my family that I am concerned about. If they can’t get at me, isn’t there a possibility they’ll try to take my family hostage?” Yohalu shook his head. “I was worried about that myself, but I believe it’s highly unlikely as long as you remain under my protection. You see, even if they took your family hostage, they’d still have to go through me if they wished to negotiate.” He frowned. “And I suppose, in a sense, you being with me actually fulfills their purpose.” “Ah, yes. I see,” Elin said. As long as she was with Yohalu, she couldn’t fly Leelan for the Yojeh. But that also meant she’d have to remain under Yohalu’s protection if she didn’t want to be murdered by the Sai Gamulu. “I know,” Yohalu said, reading her expression. “You have a life. I won’t ask you to stay forever. As I said, we’ll think of something.” Before Elin could respond, she heard the voice of a maidservant from the other side of the heavy door. “Please,” Elin said quickly. “Take me to them. Let me tell them to their faces that I’ll never use the Royal Beasts to reinforce the power of the Yojeh. If they could understand that—” Yohalu shook his head. “For them, your intention isn’t the problem. Still, there must be some solution. Let’s keep thinking about it.” He called to the servant and opened the door. The chilly corridor was dimly lit and smelled faintly of night air. As she gazed down it, Elin felt as if she were looking at the long road that stretched endlessly before her. Once again, she had to walk alone. At that thought, pain ran through her, as if her breast was being gouged with a sharp pick. How she longed to see Ialu and Jesse, to hold them in her arms. Slowly, she walked down the cold corridor, cradling the feelings that welled up inside her. 9 THE DIARY OF THE KALENTA LOH “While spring is young and snow remains, then comes the ochiwa.” It was with this phrase that the diary began. The rain of the previous evening had lifted with the dawn, and the sky was now dazzlingly bright. Clear morning light poured through the study’s open window. Yohalu sat in his chair listening as Elin read aloud, her finger slowly following the letters on the page. “How pure its white form as it flies, slender legs together. Oh, noble bird that crosses the steep mountain ridges to our valley, bearing that precious black leg ring. “Like us, one generation replaces the next, yet still the faithful ochiwa fulfills its mission, winging its flight once a year. “Letters borne by the ochiwa. A custom begun by my great-great-grandfather to cheer the spirits of the young maiden who had once again donned that heavy mantle, her heart troubled by the fate of a people in the lowlands far away. Even now, that bond continues in this way. “Did my great-great-grandfather harbor love in his heart for that maiden? I ask this of Grandfather, but he shrugs and laughs. If that maid won ten million hearts, he says, then it would not be strange if his heart was one of those. An artful dodger is Grandfather.” Without a doubt, the book was a diary. To read it was to hear the voice of a young man who had lived in the distant past and was no longer in this world. He had recorded his travels from the land he called “the valley” to Lyoza. Suddenly impatient, Elin marked the page she was reading with a finger and turned to the last page, skimming its contents. “Where does it end?” Yohalu asked, craning his neck to peer at the words. “It leaves off where he begins living in the Yojeh’s palace. Do you have any more books like this?” Elin asked. Yohalu shook his head with a look of regret. “No, none. He may have written more, but this is the only one that was left to me.” Elin returned to the place she’d marked with her finger and resumed reading aloud. From the pages rose the image of a bold young man filled with curiosity. The ochiwa had come bearing an urgent plea from the Yojeh begging the Toga mi Lyo to aid her beleaguered kingdom. The Hajan, the Yojeh wrote, threatened to invade and overrun the country. After some hesitation, the young man decided to take his family to her aid. His wife and children were also bold by nature. Far from being worried, the prospect of starting a new life in some distant land filled them with a sense of purpose. Although sad at parting, the young man’s grandfather and the people of the valley blessed their journey. From the description of the farewell banquet, it was clear they had no hesitation about sharing the knowledge of the Toda with the Yojeh. Rather, the valley people seemed to accept her request without question, as though they’d anticipated that such a day would come. Unfortunately, the diary did not say why. Nor was there any mention of the battle that had occurred on the far side of the Afon Noah, or the reason the Toga mi Lyo had begun exchanging messages with the Yojeh, the leader of their enemies. The man writing the diary must have considered these things too obvious to require an explanation. There was, however, an interesting entry about the Toda. The night before the young man’s departure he spoke with his grandfather about them. “Should the Toda increase in number, the nation will expand and its population increase. That is the beginning of the end, Grandfather says. Every beast in nature knows the right balance. Males fight for females and form packs. Weaker males receive no mate and leave no offspring. Thus is the number of packs perfectly maintained. Should that balance be broken and they grow too large in number, disease will spread, conflicts will arise, and once again catastrophe will strike. This, he says, is the law of nature. “‘Man is more intelligent than the beasts,’ I say, but Grandfather laughs. “‘As yet, man lacks the knowledge to control a pack that has exceeded the size nature intended and so avert disaster. How tragic!’ “His words sink into my mind. “The peace of a small impoverished herd. The wealth of a large herd that is constantly fighting. We must always keep the number of Toda within our grasp. These words do I engrave upon my heart.” Elin stared at that last sentence. A stillness spread through her. The thought that she had been mulling over for some time had been right, then. “This fits with what you were telling me last night, doesn’t it?” Yohalu murmured. “If they caused a war on the other side of the Afon Noah but managed to survive and settle in the place they called the valley, it makes sense that they would want to hold fast to such a rule.” Their eyes met, and they nodded at each other. This one passage showed that the road followed by their ancestors began at the same place. “‘We must always keep the number of Toda within our grasp.’” Yohalu cocked his head. “It almost sounds like they knew how to do that.” Elin said nothing, but Yohalu’s sharp eyes did not miss the subtle change in her expression. He leaned forward. “You mean they did? There is a way?” Elin’s pulse began to race. She had known that if she read this diary, it might mention that fact, and if asked, she had resolved to tell the truth. But now that she was faced with the decision, her heart wavered, torn by an indecision akin to fear. If she told Yohalu how they controlled the Toda, there would be no turning back. “Elin, please, tell me. I have a right to know. If my ancestor wasn’t murdered, that knowledge would have been passed down to me, too.” Elin gripped her knees. “Yes. There is a way,” she said. “Your ancestors knew it. I believe that even as they built their villages and began building up the Toda troops, they carefully controlled their number to prevent them from over multiplying.” “How?” Elin sighed. “With tokujisui.” Yohalu’s eyes widened. “What? Tokujisui? Does it have the power to do that?” Elin nodded. “Do you remember the eggs that killed the Kiba?” “Yes,” Yohalu said hoarsely. “Are you saying that it was tokujisui that caused that?” “Yes. I believe it wasn’t just coincidence or the operation of some natural law. Why is it that only Kiba die en masse? Why don’t other females suffer from egg-binding? Why don’t Toda raised in the Ponds mate and reproduce? All these things are related to a single factor.” Yohalu stared at her as though dumbfounded. Returning his gaze steadily, Elin said, “The main difference between Toda in the Ponds and wild Toda is tokujisui, the potion that turns Toda into giant Kiba. Although females grow very quickly when given tokujisui, it must cause some kind of deformation. When it’s time to lay their eggs, the tokujisui becomes toxic. Although that toxin isn’t fatal to the other Toda, which are only given diluted tokujisui, it still seems to stop them from sexually maturing. “I’m guessing that wild females don’t lay eggs unless they mate, but the Kiba, which are fed heavy doses of the solution, produce unfertilized eggs. The tokujisui also causes lumps to form in the fallopian tubes and those lumps block the eggs. This man,” Elin said, pointing to the diary, “knew how to make tokujisui and what effect it would have on the Toda. He knew, and yet he still gave it to them.” Yohalu’s features twisted with revulsion. Shaking his head, he said, “But the purpose was to make the Toda strong so they’d be suited for battle. Surely, they’d never have done something so hideous? They’d never have intentionally deformed living creatures to prevent them from multiplying.” “It’s true that tokujisui increases the size and strength of the Toda. But if that were the reason for using it, why not use it to make all the Toda into Kiba?” Yohalu opened his mouth and closed it again. His eyes slid away from hers. After a long silence, he whispered, “You’re right. Why isn’t the same dose given to all the Toda? If all the troops were Kiba, we would have a much stronger army…” Frowning, he looked at Elin. “Why would they make a rule that only Toda hatched from eggs collected every five years could become Kiba?” Elin sighed. “Because this man knew. He knew that if female Toda were given undiluted tokujisui they would die when it was time to reproduce.” “But if that was the case, then why not select only male Toda as Kiba and—” Yohalu stopped. Elin nodded. “Exactly. The Stewards couldn’t do that. Because the man who made the rules for raising Toda forbade the Stewards from checking their sex. It was more important to him to keep the Toda’s sex unknown than to produce a large number of Kiba. If the Stewards started checking the Toda’s sex, they’d realize that the Toda in each Pond were either all male or all female.” Elin rubbed her arms, which felt cold and clammy. “I can’t say for certain without checking every Pond in all the Toda villages, but I suspect there’re no Ponds in which both male and female Toda are raised together. And if my suspicion is true, then that’s what caused the mass Kiba deaths.” Yohalu cast her a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?” “I once read a report about the galyo, a poisonous, water-dwelling lizard inhabiting the wetlands in the southern part of this country. Their sex is determined by the water temperature in the year they hatch. In years when the water temperature during the egg-laying season is high, horned males are born, while in cold springs, hornless females are born. Do you remember the eggs we saw in the wild Toda nests? Before we were attacked?” “Yes.” “In Oohan, we were told that eggs from nests in the same basin are always raised in the same Pond. When Kolu said they never pick eggs from nests in the upper basin for Kiba because they don’t grow as well, I thought that water temperature might have something to do with sex. That’s why I went to check out the nests in each basin.” “And?” “The water in the nest in the upper basin, which they avoid when choosing Kiba eggs, was much colder than the water in the one below. I’m guessing it’s because of this custom that females have never been chosen as Kiba in Oohan.” “I see,” said Yohalu. “The other villages don’t have the same topography, so they never passed on the custom of picking eggs from the lower instead of the upper basin.” Elin nodded. “Are there any other villages with a river like the one in Oohan?” “No. None are as high in the mountains or on such a steep incline. They’re all in places with enough room to make large ponds and a training ground. I doubt there’s any difference in water temperature where the wild Toda nest.” “Which means,” Elin said, “that the Toda Stewards just gave tokujisui to those Toda hatched every fifth year. If it was a cool spring that year, all the Kiba would have been females. And they would’ve died of egg-binding when they reached maturity. In the report you showed me, mass Kiba deaths occurred in several villages at once. If those villages were established in the same year and have similar climates, then it would be a strong indication that this hypothesis is correct.” Yohalu stared at her. “You mean, our ancestors went to such extreme lengths to…” His words died away. Elin glanced down at the diary. For a long time, neither of them spoke. At last, Yohalu’s chair creaked as he turned to stare blankly out the window. His face twisted. “How ironic. For years, my father and I pondered how to raise more Toda and build a stronger army. To think that it was my own ancestor who obstructed this dream—one cherished by every Toda Rider!” Returning his gaze to Elin, he said slowly and deliberately, “Elin, I thank you. We have perpetuated this monstrous waste for far too long. Because our family’s oral tradition was severed. Thanks to you, we can fix that. This will probably be my last and greatest undertaking.” He rapped the side table with his knuckles. “I must inform the Aluhan immediately and have the Stewards’ regulations revised. I’ll also get the Stewards to determine the sex of every Toda. We must figure out how to multiply the Toda and start doing so right away.” As she stared at his stern, warrior-like features, something cold spread from Elin’s shoulders down through her chest. She laid her fingers on the diary. “Are you sure that what this man did was a mistake?” she whispered. A faint smile lifted the corners of Yohalu’s mouth. “I know without even asking what you’re thinking, what you fear. You worry that if the Toda army swells, it will bring another disaster like the one that occurred beyond the Afon Noah. But, Elin, think. Time changes things. The conditions in this kingdom today are completely different from those several centuries ago. This man’s grandfather said they lacked the knowledge to control a pack that exceeds the size nature intended and avert disaster. Those words may have been true then, but not anymore.” Elin stared at him. “You think we can control hordes of Toda without causing a disaster?” Yohalu let out a breath and shook his head slightly. “I’m saying we should look at it from the other way around. To refrain from trying because we might not be able to prevent a disaster is to take a step backward. Don’t you see? Time moves on and things change with each passing minute. I’m saying we should move with it. We should examine the situation carefully so we can choose the best strategy.” Fixing his eyes on hers, he said, “When we stood on the hill overlooking the Amasulu River, you asked me why the Lahza attack our country. Do you know why I didn’t answer you?” “No.” Yohalu nodded. “You see? Even you, who’re so clever, can’t guess. That’s exactly why I didn’t answer you. Because I couldn’t.” He turned his face toward the window and gazed outside. The white light of morning that had poured through the window earlier had deepened to the color of noon. “If you were just a commoner, I probably would’ve told you the Lahza are greedy barbarians who love to conquer other lands, that they’ve swallowed up many smaller countries to swell their own. And now that they’ve gained great military strength, they wish to conquer this land, which is not only wealthy but serves as a passage to countries that lie along the sea.” Slowly, he shifted his gaze back to her. “And if you knew the situation of this country and of the eastern plains as well as I do, you wouldn’t even have asked that question, because you would’ve known that even if you asked, you could never get a correct answer.” A bitter smile touched his lips. “Why do the Lahza invade this country? Neither I nor the Aluhan know the real reason. Many different theories come to our ears, and we can make some assumptions from those. But at this time, no one in this country has seen with their own eyes or heard with their own ears what kind of people the Lahza are or how they govern their affairs. The capital of Lahza lies far across the great plains. Not even my son Rolan travels that far.” He rubbed his jaw. “You can’t question whether it’s right to increase and strengthen the Toda forces. Because you know absolutely nothing about the military affairs of this country.” He smiled quietly. “So, you see, there’s no need for you to bear the burden of that decision. The burden is mine. I, the descendent of the man who made the Toda troops, will create a new Toda army that suits this day and age.” The birds flitting among the trees outside the window warbled cheerfully. Elin kept her head bowed, unable to find any words. A feeling of impotence spread through her, as though her bones had turned to dust. Yohalu rose from his chair and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. At that moment they heard a commotion outside the room. A deep voice penetrated the closed door. “Father. It’s Muhan.” “Come in!” Yohalu called out. His son-in-law opened the door and walked in accompanied by a soldier. “Father, I have just received an important report from this man here. I brought him with me so that you could hear it for yourself.” The soldier, who was standing rigidly at attention, bowed and then glanced at Elin. “It’s fine. You may proceed,” said Yohalu. The man nodded. “We captured the men who attacked you, my lord. Captain Aoolu was discovered with two foreign bandits trying to sneak across a tributary of the Amasulu; they were apprehended.” “Well done. Were you there yourself?” “Yes, sir. The captives were taken away but rather than accompanying them, I came here instead. One of the foreigners divulged valuable information, and I thought it should be conveyed as soon as possible.” Yohalu frowned. “What is it?” “The foreigner was from Asheh. Fearing that he’d be executed, he offered us information in exchange for his life.” Asheh … The same country as Rolan, Elin thought. In her mind, she saw the spot on the eastern plain to which he had pointed on the map. Standing rigidly at attention, his face tense, the soldier plowed on. “According to him, their plan was to kidnap a Toda Steward and sell him in Lahza. They’d be rewarded so well, they’d never have to work again.” The meaning of his words seeped into Elin’s brain, and a shudder ran down her spine as though a lump of ice had been pressed against the nape of her neck. Her eyes swung to Yohalu’s face, but it registered no surprise. With a stern expression, he asked, “You mean they were after Stewards, not Toda eggs?” “Yes, that’s what the man said. It seems that Lahza has been sending out bandits like these for over a decade with the same mission. The Toda villages are so well concealed that almost no one has managed to abduct a Steward. But eight years ago, it seems that someone did succeed, and the rumor of the fortune he received has been the envy of the others.” Yohalu’s jaw tightened. “Someone succeeded? Eight years ago, you said?” “Yes. The man from Asheh said he found out that it was Aoolu who had assisted the successful bandit. That’s why he made contact with him.” Yohalu’s clenched fists shook. Eight years ago … Elin recalled the tale she had heard in Oohan. The younger brother of the chief; the great-uncle of the green-eyed girl. They’d assumed he drowned in the river, but his body had never been found. Yohalu stood as motionless as a statue. His eyes were focused on a single point, and he seemed lost in thought. No one spoke, and a heavy tension pervaded the room. At last, he shifted his gaze to his son-in-law and said, “Send soldiers to every Toda village immediately and strengthen their guard. Recall the sentries posted in each village and replace them with new ones.” “Yes, sir!” “Interrogate each sentry you recall and find out if any of them have had contact with foreign bandits. Aoolu should be thoroughly cross-examined. Make him cough up every detail about who was abducted and how, and also about how he became connected to foreign thieves.” Muhan nodded, his face grim. “As you wish, sir.” Briskly, he repeated Yohalu’s orders for confirmation. “Right, then,” Yohalu said. “Carry out those orders as you see fit. And make sure you amply reward this good man here and the others who captured them.” “Yes, sir!” Muhan saluted, then turned and led the soldier from the room. When the door closed, Yohalu looked at Elin. “What I feared most has finally happened,” he said as if to himself. “Was it the chief’s younger brother who was taken?” Elin asked. “Probably. I can only pray he killed himself, as a good Steward should.” His words were cruel, but Elin understood what he meant. If the man had shared his knowledge with the Lahza to save his own life, those eight years would take on a terrible significance. Stewards and Riders often said, “Three years do a Toda make.” It took three years to raise and train a newly hatched Toda to bear a warrior into battle. If they had started eight years ago, then the Lahza might already have a considerable number ready for battle. Yohalu took a deep breath. With a slight shake of his head, he said, “I apologize for the rush, but we can’t allow ourselves to be put on the defensive again. Tomorrow morning, I’ll leave for the palace and take you with me.” Wordlessly, Elin gazed up into his face. The fierce warrior before her seemed a different man. What he saw in her expression she didn’t know, but something like sorrow flickered in his eyes. In a soft voice, he said, “Considering the circumstances, it’s no longer possible for this old man to protect you on his own. I know this will be hard on you, but please be patient.” Gripping her icy hands together, Elin whispered, “So you mean to place me under the supervision of the palace?” Yohalu nodded. “And not just you, but anyone who has the ability to influence you. They must all be placed under our complete protection.” Elin stood staring at him silently while the room and everything in it seemed to fade away.