Chapter 18

EIGHT PARTINGS 1 OLI’S DECISION It was a cold summer. The rain, which signaled the end of spring, should have lifted in a short time, but it never completely stopped. Staring gloomily at the sky, people in Yojeh territory cursed the clouds. The rain fell for too long on the wheat, which had almost been ready to harvest. When the farmers realized that the yield would not only be scarce but that they might not even have enough grain to save as seed for the following year, they begged the lords of their domains to reduce taxes. The long rains brought a cold summer even to Aluhan territory. Rice was the staple of its people, but fears were spreading that the crop was going to fail. If it had been just one year, the situation wouldn’t have been so serious. But the kingdom had been afflicted with cool summers, pests, and disease for over ten years, and every domain in the kingdom was scraping the bottom of its food reserves. Domain rulers in both Yojeh and Aluhan territory pondered the question of taxes. If they levied the same amount as every year, some people would starve. But if they reduced the amount, they wouldn’t be able to buy grain from the caravan cities. The Yojeh and the Aluhan had no time to rest, spending each day meeting with local rulers who came to the palace to beg for help. Seimiya was lost in thought, a deep furrow between her brows. Shunan placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, and she looked up at him with a start. “You shouldn’t push yourself so much,” Shunan said. “Why don’t you take a little rest? If the Yojeh collapsed, it would throw the people into a panic.” Seimiya smiled wanly and ran her hand over the document she had been reading. “But how can I possibly sleep? Even when I close my eyes, I can’t stop seeing these figures.” Officials had stayed up all night preparing the materials she had been studying. They included a list of remaining emergency funds and assets that the palace set aside for bad years like this, as well as the total amount of goods received as tax from each domain, and an estimate of how much it would cost to buy grain from foreign merchants. The countries to the east and south had yielded bountiful harvests, and grain merchants from the caravan cities were flocking to Lyoza, having heard rumors of a poor crop. The Yojeh could save her people from starvation if she bought the merchants’ grain and sold it in the local markets for a lower price. But if she used the palace’s reserve funds to buy grain now, and they suffered another poor harvest next year, there would be nothing left. Seimiya sighed. “I will ask the nobles of the domains in my territory to present part of their income from tariffs as an offering to the palace just for this year,” she said. The rulers of every domain imposed tariffs on trade goods. Their profits from imported grain would likely increase this year. If the Yojeh ordered them to contribute the surplus, she could prevent the commoners from suffering. But Shunan shook his head. “That’s not a good solution,” he said. “They’ll just increase taxes on the commoners as they always do to make sure they have something in reserve for the future. People who can afford to buy grain at the market will make it through, but if farmers badly hit by the poor harvest are taxed too heavily, they won’t be able to buy enough grain to eat. And besides…” Seeing him hesitate, Seimiya gave a crooked smile and finished his sentence for him. “If the Yojeh becomes indebted to the nobles like that, she’ll lose her prestige.” To the commoners, long rains and cold summers were the voice of the gods. They seemed to say, “Your kingdom doesn’t deserve to prosper. The Yojeh is no longer pure and divine. Defiled by the Aluhan, she has become a mere mortal.” Seimiya slowly shook her head, her lips still curved in a smile on her porcelain-like face. “You and I together, we have to fix the instability caused by the changes we’ve made. Otherwise, our children will be forced to deal with even more uncertainty.” Their daughter Yuimiya had inherited her father’s eyes, not the gold-tinted eyes of the Yojeh. Seimiya and Shunan would have to build a firm foundation for her to gaze with confidence at her people when she became the Yojeh. Seimiya whispered, “If the light that the gods shone upon me has dimmed, then I must learn to shine by myself. Isn’t that so?” With his hand still resting on her shoulder, Shunan murmured, “Yes, you’re right, but remember that you aren’t alone.” Seimiya seemed so thin she might collapse. He fixed his eyes upon her as he spoke. “Even should the light of the gods be dimmed, we, your people, are here to support you. Our love for you will make you shine.” He paused uncertainly for a moment, but then took a deep breath. “If you can’t sleep,” he said, “may I speak with you a little longer about the affairs of this country?” Seimiya blinked. “Of course,” she said. Shunan picked up a handbell and gave it a sharp ring. The door opened and a servant entered. “Tell Oli to come here immediately,” he said. When Oli arrived, she was dressed formally despite the late hour. She seemed subdued and preoccupied, quite unlike her normal bubbly self. Catching sight of her expression, Seimiya glanced up at her husband. “You mean…” Her voice trailed off. Shunan nodded and then turned to Oli. “Is your mind still made up?” he asked. Oli nodded. “Yes. Please proceed as soon as possible with arrangements for my betrothal to Prince Tauloka.” Looking at his younger sister, her face taut as a bowstring, Shunan felt a sharp pain pierce his heart. He was well aware whom she truly loved. He had watched the two of them since they were children playing in the mud. There was no way he could have missed it. Rolan. Even though he was a musician, as the adopted son of the lord of Amasulu, he was not unsuitable in terms of rank. But rather than asking to marry him, Oli had asked her brother to arrange her union with the prince of Tolah. Oli had already visited Tolah several times, deepening her bond with the prince. Confidentially, he had sounded out the possibility of their marriage. If they became engaged, he would offer a substantial bride price. Oli had told her brother that the prince was an intelligent man, fully aware of the significance of rescuing his bride’s country from this crisis. Yet he was also considerate enough not to flaunt his actions, but instead to present it as a gift for her hand in marriage. Although this was surely the best solution, Shunan found it hard to accept. Not only did he grieve for his sister, who must wed the prince of another kingdom to save her own, but he also found it painful to admit that he was cowardly enough to use his own sister in this way. It was Seimiya’s words that had helped him to make up his mind. If they were to make this country stable, they needed to build good relationships with their neighbors. As such, Oli’s offer was an important step to a better future. “Thank you, Oli,” Shunan said. “Although this is not what I would have wished for you.” Seimiya’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood up. “Wait!” she said. She walked over to Oli and clasped her hands in her own. Oli’s eyes widened at this unexpected gesture. “Oli,” Seimiya said. “Your offer is most appreciated. But if you mean to sacrifice yourself for our sakes, please don’t. There are other options we can choose.” “Your Majesty,” Oli protested. Seimiya caught her eyes with her own. “Rolan is the man you really love, isn’t he?” Oli’s gaze wavered, and her eyes filled with tears. She glanced down hastily and remained silent for a moment before raising her head. Seeing a smile on her tear-drenched face, Seimiya looked at her in surprise. “Thank you,” Oli said in a faint voice. “I see that I can hide nothing from Your Majesty. It is true that I love Rolan. I always have, from the time we were children. Although many say he dallies with girls in every town, I believe that he returns my feelings.” As she spoke, her voice grew stronger. “To be honest, for a long time, I agonized over what I should do. But I’ve come to the conclusion that if Rolan and I were wed, we would strangle each other’s potential.” Her eyes were still wet with tears, but her natural brightness had returned. “He’s like the wind. To tie him down would kill him. He has a magical ability to bind the hearts of people together wherever he travels and sings. That’s his strength. And I, I am the younger sister of the Aluhan, the grand duke of the divine kingdom of Lyoza. If I marry Prince Tauloka, I will one day be queen of Tolah. As such, I can serve as a bridge between our two countries. That is my strength.” She squeezed Seimiya’s hands. “Please, I beg of you, permit me to marry the prince of our neighbor Tolah. Prince Tauloka is fascinating and broad-minded. If I were forsaking a man I loved for someone I detested, that would be hard. But if it’s Prince Tauloka, I feel I will grow to love him more. I will do my best to ensure that one day our people will rejoice at the union between Your Majesty and my brother and will see how it paved the way for a better future. So please, let me realize my potential.” Seimiya’s lips trembled. She nodded silently. Gently releasing Oli’s hands, she wrapped her arms around her. “Thank you, Oli,” she whispered. “Then let us also support the kingdom of Tolah so that when you become queen, the people of Tolah will rejoice at this union with Lyoza.” Slowly Seimiya released Oli and turned to her husband. “That’s the kind of kingdom we should build, don’t you think?” Shunan nodded. “When this crisis has passed, let’s begin from scratch and consider what we want Lyoza to be. We’ll make products that people from other countries will vie for, deepen our ties with the caravan cities, and build such a solid foundation that poor harvests cannot shake it.” Prince Tauloka was overjoyed when he received word of Oli’s acceptance, but the engagement ceremony was conducted privately between the two royal houses, and the announcement delayed until the next spring. If Oli were to marry him now, he said, when everyone was talking about failed crops in Lyoza, the people of both countries would think that Oli had married for the dowry. He didn’t want his future queen to be branded with such a vulgar image. Instead, as a sign of friendship between the two countries, he sent a procession bearing a great quantity of grain as a gift. Although it was not enough to completely free Lyoza from poverty, it helped replenish the palace’s storehouses. The grand procession, with banners flying and an endless train of horse-drawn wagons piled high with grain, coupled with the Aluhan’s Toda troops, which had met the procession at the border and guarded both flanks, made a strong impression on the people of Lyoza and the rulers of its domains. Thus was the kingdom delivered from the specter of starvation. But when the chill winds brought the first hint of autumn, another dark cloud appeared on the eastern plains. 2 INTERNAL STRIFE When Ialu stepped inside the entrance to the Stone Chambers, he heard muffled shouts from deep inside. Frowning, he turned toward the noise. Not again, he thought. Others seemed to have heard the commotion, too. The sound of footsteps rushing toward the voices echoed from the different Chambers where the Toda were kept. Ialu strode down the dimly lit corridor that was hemmed with thick stone walls. By the time he reached the source of the noise, there was already a group of men gathered there. In the center, a young Rider and a middle-aged Steward were shouting at each other, but their words were incomprehensible. Waves disturbed the surface of the dark pool beyond them. Toda swam around the Pond, their undulating bodies bumping against one another. A young Steward looked up as Ialu entered, and his face brightened. “Ialu!” Pushing his way through the older men, he came running up. “Chimulu,” Ialu said, but before he could ask what had caused the fight, a clamor rose from the crowd. The Toda Rider had drawn his dagger. Shoving onlookers aside, Ialu sprinted toward the combatants. He grabbed the Rider’s wrist in his right hand, swept it upward, dagger and all, and struck the Rider’s elbow with his left hand. As the young man’s arm gave way, Ialu twisted his wrist outward, using his elbow as a fulcrum, forcing the man to his knees and then onto the rock floor. The knife clattered as it fell from the young man’s hand, but still Ialu pressed his wrist to the ground. At that moment, Ialu sensed a change in air pressure behind him. He whipped his head aside and twisted his body. Something grazed his shoulder, followed by a searing heat. Letting go of the young man’s arm, he spun to face his attacker. The middle-aged Steward who had been fighting with the Rider loomed in front of him, holding one of the hatchets the Stewards used to chop the fish they fed to the Toda. Glaring at Ialu with bloodshot eyes, he raised the hatchet high. A roar erupted from the crowd. The men stamped their feet and pumped their fists, their expressions fierce. Not one of them tried to intervene. The water in the Pond swirled violently, and the Toda raised their snouts from the water. Mouths slightly open, they swam round and round one another. Ialu felt a ringing inside his head, like the drone of hornets, and his gums itched. Blood surged through his body, along with a brutal urge to strike. The Steward brought the hatchet down as though chopping a block of wood, but Ialu slipped beneath his guard and slammed his fist into the man’s spleen. As the man retched and fell forward, Ialu struck him across the jaw with his right fist. He could feel the man’s teeth shatter with the blow. The sensation jerked Ialu back to his senses like a bucket of cold water. The Steward dropped his hatchet and fell to all fours, spitting blood and broken teeth before he collapsed on the stone floor. Curled up like a caterpillar, he lay moaning with his chin cupped in his hands. Ialu stared at him blankly. The door to the medical room opened. Ialu raised his face to see Yohalu standing in the doorway. “How’s that cut?” asked Yohalu. Ialu rose from where he was sitting on the bed and bowed. “Thank you for your concern. It’s just a graze.” Gesturing for him to sit, Yohalu pulled up a chair and sat down facing him. “I heard you were attacked with a feed hatchet. Chilumu said if you hadn’t ducked, your head would’ve been split open.” Ialu nodded. “Yes. Probably. But I hit him harder than I should have. He’d already lost the will to fight when I punched him in the gut. There was no need to hit him in the jaw.” Dropping his gaze to Ialu’s bruised and swollen fist, Yohalu’s eyes narrowed. “When they told me what had happened, I thought the same thing. It seems so unlike you.” He sat for a moment, head bowed, stroking his chin, then looked up at Ialu. “The odd thing is that it was also quite unlike the other two to get into a fight in the first place. It started with an argument over something really petty. Neither of them could explain why it escalated to the point where they were trying to kill each other. I just talked with the Steward you punched. He looked at me as though he was haunted, and just kept shaking his head and saying how sorry he was for what he did.” When Yohalu finished speaking, the room grew still. Through the walls came the muffled sounds of voices, and chairs scraping the floor. The village of Tokala had grown and changed completely since Elin had come to investigate the deaths of the Kiba. Yohalu had chosen it as the site for experimenting with breeding and multiplying captive Toda. There were many new facilities, and, in addition to the local Stewards, it now housed a permanent force of twenty Toda Riders, including members of the Black Armor. Lookout towers had been erected around the village, and the outskirts were patrolled by carefully picked soldiers. Yohalu had formed a special band of Stewards, most of whom were young with keen intelligence and flexibility, and put them in charge of learning how to breed Toda. The greatest challenge they had faced was determining how much hakujisui to give them. Although it was a much weaker version of tokujisui, the potion that had been used to raise Kiba, too high a dose would prevent the Toda from reaching reproductive maturity. But if they were given too little, they wouldn’t grow strong enough for battle. It was Chimulu who had found a solution. Instead of controlling just the amount administered, he had hit upon the idea of experimenting with timing as well. He tried giving them as little as possible while they were still growing, and then increasing the amount after their first reproductive phase had passed. Through trial and error, they had succeeded in breeding Toda that could withstand the rigors of war. The Toda produced in this way were clearly different from those raised the traditional way. Their scales were lighter in color, they had bigger bones and fangs, and they were a little larger in overall size. The greatest difference, however, was their disposition, a fact that became evident during training. The Toda were quick to understand their Riders’ commands, almost as if they understood words, and followed those commands exactly. The Toda’s unerring obedience made Ialu shiver uneasily whenever he rode them. If such a dramatic change could occur in just one generation, what kind of Toda would be born in two or three generations? He was acutely conscious that the rules governing their care had been designed to prevent such Toda from being bred at all. When they began training the new Toda, Yohalu had appointed Ialu second in command of the troop. From the time Ialu had asked to become a Rider, Yohalu had openly supported him and helped him to carve a place for himself in the Aluhan’s army. Thanks in part to this, Ialu had secured a footing among the Riders and risen in rank to become a member of the Blue Armor, which was second only to the Black Armor. Ialu guessed that Yohalu supported him for a variety of reasons, but he believed it was mainly because he was Elin’s husband. He was one of the few people Yohalu could talk with openly about such things as the Toga mi Lyo, the Yojeh’s ancestry, the secrets of the Royal Beasts, and Yohalu’s relation to the Sai Gamulu. One night as they talked after supper, Yohalu compared Lyoza to a butterfly. The Yojeh and the Aluhan were its two wings, he explained, while Yohalu, Ialu, and Elin formed the base of those wings. It was their job to consider what was needed for the two wings to remain strong and for the country to move forward. As he listened, Ialu couldn’t help thinking how dangerous it was to entrust the kingdom’s rule to a select few who kept the secrets of the Yojeh and the Aluhan, the Royal Beasts and the Toda, to themselves. Such a system was far too skewed and precarious. Long ago, when Ialu had worked in the narrow confines of the Yojeh’s palace, he had been forced to see everything through a single lens: his duty to guard the life of the Yojeh. He knew from personal experience how perilous such a one-sided perspective could be. Yet he still held the warrior Yohalu in the highest esteem. It was not only that he felt comfortable with the man because he was a warrior. He was deeply impressed by Yohalu’s magnanimity in accepting and trying to understand a former Se Zan who had once killed many Sai Gamulu. He was also touched by Yohalu’s admiration for Elin. “That wound will take a few days to heal,” Yohalu said, his eyes on the bandage around Ialu’s shoulder. “This is a good opportunity. I’ll give you ten days off.” Ialu raised his eyebrows. “It’s not that serious.” Yohalu regarded him steadily. “Take a holiday. Go back to Kazalumu and see your family.” Speechless, Ialu stared at him. He heard the footsteps of booted Riders in the corridor, and their voices, talking and laughing. The sounds had receded before he finally spoke. “Are the others being sent home, too?” “I’m giving everyone who will be sent to the front lines a holiday. But finding reasons to send them home can be difficult.” I see, Ialu thought. So the time is coming. Yohalu must have gotten some news. Clearly, he was expecting something different from the small skirmishes they had experienced so far. The Toda Riders were being sent home to see their families before they died a cruel death. But if Yohalu sent them off all at once, they would guess why, and rumors of imminent war would quickly spread. Which means, Ialu thought, that the situation is still fluid. Yohalu isn’t sure if it will come to war yet or not. If rumors that they were preparing for war reached the Lahza, it could tip the balance. That’s why Yohalu was looking for excuses to send the men home. “Autumn comes early to the plateau of Kazalumu,” said Yohalu, watching Ialu’s eyes as though curious to see his reaction. “The Royal Beasts will look striking against the golden fall leaves.” 3 FATHER AND SON The carriage rolled slowly to a stop, and a guard moved swiftly to open the door. Ialu thanked him as he stepped down. A cool wind that smelled of autumn sunshine stroked his skin. Not all the leaves had changed color yet. There was still some green left on the trees in the forest hedging the pasture. On such a fine day, the inside of the carriage had been hot and stuffy. Once outside, however, the sun felt pleasant, and the sweat on Ialu’s skin dried quickly. Ialu thanked the driver and asked him to come back in three days. Turning, he saluted the guard who stood stiffly at attention. “We had word that you were injured, sir! All is well here, so please rest easy!” Although he spoke crisply and respectfully, the young man could not conceal his curiosity. He must be new to the job, Ialu thought. He was staring at Ialu’s face as if thinking, ‘So that’s him.’ Perhaps he was intrigued by the fact that Ialu had switched from being a Se Zan to being a Toda Rider of the Blue Armor. Or perhaps by the fact that he was Elin’s husband. Smiling inwardly, Ialu thanked him for his work and walked toward the school’s entrance. Muffled sounds typical of classes in session spilled from the building. Ialu scanned a group of students clustered near a goat enclosure in a corner of the pasture to see if Jesse was among them, but they looked a bit older. Their teacher gestured for them to crouch down and look under a goat’s belly as he explained something. A few of the children were distracted by a cloud of dragonflies, but the rest listened intently, their eyes fixed on the teacher’s hands. One day, those children would return home as beast doctors. As he watched them, Ialu suddenly realized how different his own childhood had been. These children, even the ones watching the dragonflies, were living the present as a means of getting to the future. They could imagine their lives stretching out before them into the distance like one long road. When he was their age, he had deliberately avoided thinking of the future. He had kept himself from painting a picture of the life ahead so that death, when it inevitably took him, wouldn’t hurt as much; so that he would feel no pain when he terminated someone else’s future. He had tried to focus only on the moment, nothing more. In those days, his life had been hard and solitary, like a succession of dots. The lives of these children, however, were a connected line. With a final glance at the clear autumn light playing softly in their hair, he passed on toward the school and stepped into the shadowed entranceway. Inside, the long corridor echoed with the indistinct voices of teachers that seeped through the thin walls of the classrooms on either side. Ialu proceeded to Esalu’s office and knocked on the door. Esalu called out from within. As he entered, she looked up from a book on her desk, and her eyes widened. “Well, well,” she said. Laying her reading glasses on the desk, she pushed back her chair and stood up. “It’s been a long time,” Ialu said with a bow. “I’m on leave because I was wounded. I just got back now.” Esalu eyed the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. “Yes, the news reached us this morning. But we didn’t expect you until tomorrow. You traveled fast.” She gestured for him to sit by the fire. “How’s your injury?” “It’s just a graze. Nothing serious. It was really just an excuse to give me a holiday.” Esalu lifted the earthenware pot that puffed with steam. “Elin’s at the training ground, so have some tea here first.” Ialu sat by the fire while Esalu poured him some tea. “Actually, I’m glad you came just now,” she said. “There’s something I want to consult you about, although I’m sorry to pounce on you like this when you’ve just arrived. I was actually going to send for Elin, but I think it’s better to tell you.” She paused, then said, “It’s about Jesse, you see.” As he took the cup from her, Ialu frowned slightly. “Did Jesse do something wrong?” Esalu took a sip of her tea and sighed. “He got into a bad fight. I’ve shut him up in the storage room without his lunch to make him reflect on his behavior.” She blew on her tea between sips to cool it down. “I believe it’s really the other boy who’s to blame. He’s in the same level as Jesse and tends to be overly sensitive about people being treated better than him. He often complains if he thinks something’s unfair, which gets him into trouble with the other students. The other teachers also think Jesse isn’t totally at fault either, but…” She grimaced and looked at Ialu. “It’s what Jesse did that bothers me,” she said. “What did he do?” “He grabbed a vase that was by the window and whacked the other boy in the face with it. Luckily it didn’t break, so he was only bruised. But if Jesse had hit him in the wrong place, he could’ve been badly hurt. And if the vase had broken, his face could’ve been cut.” Ialu stared at Esalu, barely breathing. If it had been an ordinary fist fight, he would have apologized profusely and told Esalu that he’d make Jesse understand. After all, it wasn’t unusual for boys of fourteen to get into fights. But what Jesse had done was different. Even children, Ialu thought, have a strong aversion to punching someone. Although they might flail at each other with their fists, most children would feel fear and self-loathing, not pleasure, if their fist actually connected with someone’s face. To grab a hard object like a vase and strike someone’s face with it was to cross that deeply ingrained line. “What did the boy say to Jesse?” he asked. Pain flashed through Esalu’s eyes. “He told Jesse he was the luckiest guy in the world, that he’s always protected by guards because his mother can control the Royal Beasts. He said Jesse would get special treatment his whole life.” A bitter taste spread through Ialu’s mouth. He stared at Esalu with gloomy eyes. The custodian unlocked the storage room and told Jesse he could come out. Squinting against the light, Jesse stepped from the room, only to freeze at the sight of his father. Jesse was not the only one who was surprised. Ialu blinked at the changes in his son. While Ialu had been away, Jesse had turned from a boy into a young man. Before, his head had only come up to Ialu’s chest, but he had shot up in height and now stood at nose level. His neck and shoulders were still boyishly slender, making his slimness more pronounced, as though he had been stretched vertically. The biggest shock, however, was Jesse’s expression. The eyes staring up from under his bangs held a bleakness that Ialu had never seen in him. The surprise on Jesse’s pale, rigid face gradually gave way to a sullen scowl. “I hear you were in a bad fight,” Ialu said. Jesse shrugged. “Why did you hit him with a vase?” Ialu persisted quietly, but again got no response. Keeping his mouth firmly closed, Jesse fixed his eyes at Ialu’s shoulder level, never looking up into his face. Ialu stared down at him for a while, then turned abruptly on his heel. “Follow me,” he said. He walked quickly, sensing Jesse following behind at a distance. Leaving the building, he crossed the pasture. The long yellow grasses, bathed in the autumn sunlight, swayed in the breeze. Ialu nodded at the guard who stood at the edge of the forest before he strode in among the trees. The light was dim, and the earth smelled damp where the trees kept their foliage, but where the branches were already bare, the light dappled their faces and the air smelled of freshly fallen leaves. Ialu turned onto a trail that was invisible except to those who knew it was there and walked deeper into the forest. When he heard the sound of running water, he veered off and made his way down a leaf-strewn slope toward a rushing stream. Jesse followed, slipping on the leaves. Ialu glanced up to check on him and then stopped at the river’s edge. He sat on a sun-warmed stone, feeling the heat beneath him. There was a little waterfall just up the river, and the sound of the rushing stream mingled with the sound of the water plunging into the basin below. Jesse had reached the riverbank, but he simply stood and scowled, making no move to sit down. “Turn your head and look up the slope you just came down,” Ialu said. Jesse turned and gazed up the slope. He grimaced at the sight of a soldier standing among the trees at the top, but Ialu waved a hand at the man, who bowed in return. Ialu shifted his gaze to Jesse. “Here we can be seen but not heard,” he said. “The river drowns out our voices.” Still standing, Jesse blinked. Ialu looked up at him. “How’ve you been?” he asked. Jesse slid his eyes away and shrugged. Ialu sighed. “You’ve grown a lot since I saw you last. But I guess you’ve only grown physically. Inside, seems like you’ve become a coward.” Jesse’s jaw clenched and his nose grew pinched. With his eyes fixed on his face, Ialu continued. “You won’t look me in the eye. You shrug your shoulders. You refuse to speak. That’s what cowards do. They build a wall to keep people from mentioning something they don’t want to hear. If anyone dares to mention it, they hit back in a low-handed way. In the past—” “I’m not a little kid anymore!” Jesse interrupted, his eyes flashing. “Don’t talk like you know who I am when you only come home once a year!” Ialu raised his eyebrows. “The other students only get to see their parents twice a year. Is there that much difference between you and them?” Jesse fell silent as though taken by surprise. “In fact, you can see your mother every day if you want,” Ialu continued. “If someone says you’re lucky, they’re right, don’t you think?” Jesse’s face flushed. “Me? Lucky?” he snapped, gritting his teeth. He was trembling so hard that even his tightly clenched fists shook. “Does it make you that angry to be told you’re lucky?” Ialu asked quietly. “You bet it does!” Jesse snarled. “What’s so lucky about me?” Ialu looked him in the eye. “What’s so lucky? You have three meals a day. You have a roof over your head when you sleep at night. You can study as much as you want. And if you become a beast doctor, you’ll never have to worry about having enough to eat. It’s true I’m away a lot, but that’s the same for the other students. And you have your mother nearby.” Jesse shook his head violently. “You just don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand anything! Other parents think about their kids all the time. Even when they’re far away, their kids come first. To them, their kids matter more than anything else in the world.” “You think we don’t care about you?” Tears welled in Jesse’s eyes. “You expect me to believe that you and Mom care about me? Really? I don’t know what matters most to you. Mom? Or maybe the country. But I do know this: I’m not the one Mom cares about most!” “That’s not true.” “Yes, it is!” “No, it isn’t.” With tears streaming down his cheeks, Jesse yelled, “It is too! If she cared about me, then why would she plan to go off somewhere and die? I get that she feels responsible for Leelan and the others. But if she really cared about me, she’d choose to live, wouldn’t she? Even if it meant giving up everything else.” For a moment, Ialu was at a loss for words. Jesse … When and how had Jesse realized what Elin had steeled herself to do? With grief in his eyes, Ialu gazed at his son, who was brushing away his tears with both hands as he hiccupped and shook with sobs. Ialu knew too well the bone-crunching pain of learning he was not first and foremost in his mother’s eyes. Even at the age of eight, he had understood that his mother had no other choice. Her husband had just died and left her with a suckling babe. But he could still remember what he had felt when she reached out to take the bag of gold in exchange for him. Nausea and loathing, the sensation that his guts were melting inside him. Though it would have meant starvation, he had longed for her to say she wouldn’t give up her son, to tell those men that this child meant the world to her. He would rather not have known that there was something more precious to her than him. Ialu stood up and, reaching out his arm, pulled Jesse close. Rather than resisting, Jesse clung to him. Wrapping his arms around him, Ialu said, “For your mother and for me, there is nothing in this world more precious than you.” Jesse tried to shake his head, but Ialu held him still. “Listen!” Holding Jesse’s head firmly against his chest, he took a deep breath. “Your mother and I,” he said, “we knew that this would happen, yet we still had you. We knew that we would cause you pain, yet we still chose to bring you into this world. From the moment you were born, the most important thing to us has always been you. All we’ve thought about is how to ensure your happiness and your future.” Tears slid down Ialu’s cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. “It’s true that the things we’ve done have trapped and bound us,” he said hoarsely. “What I’m doing, what your mother’s doing, is like fighting in a fog. We have no idea what the outcome will be. But even so, we’re doing it so we can live in peace as a family someday.” Jesse shook his head. “But Mom—” “I know, Jesse. I know.” Ialu loosened his hold and looked down at him. “But even that decision is for you, Jesse. We don’t know what will happen if she flies the Royal Beasts to battle. But unless we find out, we can never escape from the situation we’re in. We’ll spend the rest of our lives guarded by allies and hunted by enemies. That’s why your mother decided to follow this path to its end. She chose to obey the wishes of the Yojeh and the Aluhan so that we could see where that path will lead. “Flying the Royal Beasts into battle may precipitate a disaster. For that very reason, she’s decided not to let anyone else ride the Royal Beasts. Just as you fear, she alone wants to bear responsibility for whatever happens. Ironically, if no disaster occurs and the Royal Beasts achieve some astonishing feat, we’ll spend the rest of our lives under guard for the sake of the country. But if there is any sliver of hope—if there is any chance that our family and the Royal Beasts can be freed from this situation—it lies only at the end of the path your mother has chosen.” Ialu spoke slowly and deliberately. “Jesse, please. Try to understand. Your mother didn’t choose this path because the Royal Beasts are more important to her than you. She’s trying to find a way for us all to be happy.” Jesse’s face twisted. Screwing his eyes shut, he bit his lip. “Your mother’s doing her best to find a way for you to grow up and have your own family who won’t have to live like this, constantly being watched, always in danger of assassination.” Jesse wrinkled his nose. “Who says having my own family’s going to make me happy anyway? If that’s what she’s worried about, I don’t care if I ever marry.” Ialu’s lips crooked. “All right, don’t, then. But do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this?” Jesse opened his eyes and gazed up at his father. “If it means that Mom won’t have to die, then yes, I’m fine with it.” His lips were trembling. “More than anything else, I’d rather she lived.” For a long time, Ialu stared at him without speaking. Finally, he said, “Me too, Jesse. Me too.” Jesse added quickly, “The same goes for you, you know.” “What does?” “I would rather you lived. Why’d you have to go and join the Toda Riders?” Ialu released his son with a faint smile. “Because there wasn’t anything else I could do.” Jesse looked at him questioningly, and Ialu’s smile faded. “If the Toda troops can become powerful enough to defeat the enemy on their own,” Ialu said, “then the Royal Beasts will never have to fly to battle, will they?” Jesse’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see!” The bleakness that had filled his eyes when he had come out of the storage room had vanished. There was another reason Ialu had applied to become a Toda Rider, but he didn’t feel like sharing it. He prayed fervently that Jesse would never have to experience the brutal possibility that haunted his mind. 4 WHITE LIGHT OF MORNING As Ialu approached the house near the Royal Beast stable, the door opened, and a guard stepped out. Snapping to attention, he saluted and stood aside to let Ialu in. A narrow ray of westering sun shone through the window, striking a spot beside the soot-blackened oven. The guards must have just finished their meal because there were a few scraps stuck to the inside of a pot that rested on the floor. Although they took turns, living in this narrow hut and guarding the house must be suffocating, Ialu thought. And if anything happened to Elin or Jesse, the guards would be severely punished. They had to live with that fear constantly in the back of their minds and weren’t even allowed an occasional drink to help them relax. Ialu bowed. “Thank you for watching over my wife and son,” he said. “I’m indebted to you.” The young guard flushed. “Thank you for your kind words. Be assured that we will protect them with our lives.” The middle-aged guard in the back room also saluted. “At this time of year, your son sleeps in the dormitory, so your wife often spends the night in the stable. She just informed us that she’ll be staying there tonight because the Royal Beasts are unwell.” Ialu nodded. Esalu had told him at dinner that some of the Beasts were suffering from indigestion, and Elin’s meal had been taken to the stable. Esalu had told him wryly it happened quite often. Jesse couldn’t be given special treatment just because his father had come home, so he was staying in the dorm. Having injured his friend, he had been deprived not just of lunch but of dinner as well, and he hadn’t been in the dining hall. Ialu had sat with the teachers as a guest of honor. With the students casting frequent glances his way and the teachers peppering him with questions, he couldn’t remember what he had eaten. He slipped the leather satchel from his shoulder and pulled out a large package of ogalu, dried cakes of sweetened sticky rice. “This is for you,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve only brought sweets.” The men’s faces brightened, and they thanked him profusely. Although ogalu was common in Aluhan territory, it was hard to come by in Kazalumu, and the two men beamed as they accepted his gift. Ialu walked through the narrow passageway and opened the door to the house. The living room on the other side of the dirt-floor kitchen was shrouded in dusk and the hearth was cold, yet it still smelled faintly of Elin and Jesse. When he put his satchel down, he felt he had come home. He took another package of ogalu from his bag and left the house. The door to the stable was bolted from the inside. Ialu rapped on it. “Yes?” Elin called out. “It’s me,” Ialu said. He heard the sound of muffled footsteps and the jiggling of the bolt. Then the door opened and Elin’s surprised face appeared. “Ialu!” she exclaimed. “I thought you weren’t coming till tomorrow!” Ialu smiled. “I had a good driver. He got me here a little past noon. Can I come in?” Elin nodded and stepped aside. A faint warning growl came from the stalls. The younger Royal Beasts stared at him, their eyes glinting. “Quiet,” Elin said, and the sound ceased abruptly. “Amazing,” Ialu murmured, and Elin cast him an amused glance as she barred the door. “I heard they’ve got indigestion,” he said. “Are they all right?” “Yes. It was just Lesseh. He swallowed a bird whole while flying. He does that quite often, but he’s got weak intestines. It gives him a terrible stomachache until the laxative starts to work.” “So the Beasts have stomach trouble, too, do they?” Elin smiled and looked at Lesseh. “Of course they do. Just like us, some have weak intestines while others can eat anything with no problem. If Lesseh was in the wild, he would probably have died quite young.” Ialu looked down at her as he listened. She was so thin. Perhaps sensing his gaze, Elin glanced up. Her eyes caught his for a moment, then slid to his shoulder. “I heard you were cut with a hatchet,” she said. “It’s nothing serious. The wound has already closed.” “Let me take a look.” Without responding, Ialu ran his eyes around the stable. There was a small, wood-floored room on one side with a pile of folded bedding, a hearth, and a brazier with glowing coals. Beside it was a tray of untouched food. “You didn’t eat supper?” he asked. Elin shook her head. “No, I didn’t feel much like eating after dealing with the aftermath of Lesseh’s indigestion. I often don’t eat supper, you know. Then in the middle of the night I’m so ravenous that I toast some fahko over the fire and eat it.” “I’ve got something better than fahko.” He pulled the package from his shirt, and Elin’s face brightened. “Ogalu! It’s been a long time since I’ve had any.” They took off their boots and, stepping up into the wood-floored room, began to toast the rice cakes on a metal grill over the brazier. Biting into one of the sweet, fragrant cakes, Elin closed her eyes with a sigh. “Mmm. Tastes just the same. I used to beg my mother to get some whenever the merchants came to sell their wares in the village.” Ialu reached for the teapot on the table. Elin looked up and said, “Oh, sorry. The tea’s already cold. Here, I’ll boil up some water.” “No, don’t bother. Cold tea is fine.” Ialu poured it into the cups, and for a while, the two of them sat silently munching ogalu and sipping tea. When they finished, Elin rose to her knees and reached out to touch Ialu’s shoulder. “Show me,” she said. “It’s nothing, really,” Ialu protested, but he removed his top as she asked. Elin undid the bandage and peeled away an ointment-smeared cloth. “It’s a clean cut,” she murmured, probing gently around the edges. “There’s no swelling. You should be able to remove the stitches soon.” “Will you take them out for me tomorrow?” “Yes, it should be all right by then.” He felt her breath on his shoulder. Looking at her intent expression as she examined the wound, he felt a sharp pang of tenderness. He reached out and cupped the back of her neck in his hand. Elin looked up in surprise, then stretched out her arms toward him. Listening to the soft patter of the rain on the roof, Ialu stared blankly at the ceiling. Beside him, Elin stirred. “Rain?” she asked. “It’ll stop soon. The birds are warbling.” Elin stretched luxuriously. “It’s been a long time since I slept so soundly.” “Me too. I didn’t even dream.” The thought that this could be their last time together brushed Ialu’s mind, and a deep sorrow filled his chest. He wanted to let everything about this moment permeate his body. “Have you seen Jesse yet?” Elin asked. “Yeah. I was surprised to see how much he’s grown. “He’s been acting strangely lately,” Elin said in a low voice. “When we pass each other, he pretends he doesn’t see me.” Ialu smiled. “Yesterday, he went without two meals for hitting his friend.” “What?” Elin sat up with a jerk. “It’s all right. We had a long talk.” “About what?” “It’s a secret. Between men. I promised him I wouldn’t tell you, so I won’t.” “Ialu…” Hearing the anxiety in her voice, he said, “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. He’s going to be all right.” “But I want to know. What did he talk about?” Ialu cocked an eyebrow and said nothing. Elin sighed, pouting. “Honestly. You always clam up like that when it’s something important.” Ialu gave a wry grin. “Have to keep my word as a man.” With a snort, Elin rose and began putting on the clothes she had left folded by her bed. Ialu rose, too. “How long can you stay?” Elin asked as she tied her sash. “They gave me ten days, including traveling.” Elin’s hands paused. “Ten days? For such a minor wound? That’s an awfully long time, isn’t it?” Ialu slowly tied his belt. “It’s just an excuse. The Black Armor and Blue Armor units are being sent home for ten-day periods over the next half month. I got to leave a little early thanks to this injury.” Elin’s face went blank. “So. The war is about to start,” she whispered. Ialu nodded. “From the little that Lord Yohalu told me, it sounds like the Lahza offered us some deal concerning the caravan cities in the eastern plains. But it’s probably an offer we can’t accept.” Elin frowned and bowed her head. The blood drained from her cheeks, and her lips grew tight. Taking a deep breath, she raised her face and fixed her gaze on Ialu. Her eyes gleamed, and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She knew there was no point in voicing her plea. If she begged him to quit the Riders, if she pleaded with him not to go to war, he would say that if she found a way out herself, so would he. With trembling fingers, she pushed back a strand of hair from her forehead, then buried her face in her hands. A breath of wind stole through a crack in the wall to stroke Ialu’s cheek. The paper that had wrapped the rice cakes fluttered as it passed, and he stared at it vacantly. Even without physically touching, the pain he and Elin shared joined them together. The only way to erase the agony that seared his insides and tortured Elin was for both of them to survive and return. For both of them to come back to Jesse and grow old together. He knew what an impossible dream it was. But he couldn’t help but hope. Even if it’s not possible for me to survive, if at least Elin can, he thought as he watched the paper flutter. Jesse was only fourteen. Ialu had to at least make sure that Jesse’s mother came back. He closed his eyes at the thought of his son staying behind alone. Although Esalu would make sure he didn’t want for anything, Ialu couldn’t bear to let him suffer the grief of losing his mother. He couldn’t let that happen. That was why he had chosen to become a Toda Rider and spend these last six years away from home. But a battlefield was a maelstrom of madness. No matter how much he might prepare or how hard he might wish for it, there was no knowing if he and Elin would make it back alive. He opened his eyes. Elin had raised her face and was gazing at the Royal Beasts. The rain had stopped, and the white light of morning was shining through the skylight. How would he feel when he saw the morning’s light on the battlefield? The thought rose slowly in his brain as if it belonged to someone else, then disappeared. 5 IN THE FIELD The grass was wet with the rain that had fallen early that morning. Ialu’s boots were soaked as he strode through the field toward the cliff. “Do you want to see the Royal Beasts train?” Elin had asked. There was no longer any hesitation in her eyes. Until now, afraid of getting him involved, she’d never let him near the training grounds. But today, Ialu reflected, she’d probably decided that it would help him on the battlefield to know how the Royal Beast corps moved. There was no sign of anyone on the cliff top; just a cluster of brilliant dots flashing between the clouds far in the distance. As they drew closer, the specks of light expanded, revealing the forms of Royal Beasts. They flew in a perfect V formation as though drawn by the one in front, its wings propelling it forward with powerful strokes. Ialu’s stomach and legs began to quake as they loomed nearer, and he backed away to the edge of the forest. Perched on Leelan at the front of the pack, Elin raised her arm and then lowered it sharply. Instantly, the enormous beasts raised their wings with a crack that split the air like thunder. Curling their claws, they swooped down to land. Leelan glided gently onto the top of the cliff. The wind from her wings bent the grass and whipped up a powder of crushed leaves. Behind her, the others alighted one by one without breaking formation. Some of them perched on ledges below the cliff top so that only their heads were visible. Elin climbed down from Leelan’s back. A sense of awe gripped Ialu, squeezing his chest. There were only ten Royal Beasts, but seeing them shoot like arrows toward him had been breathtaking. That sight would have captivated the heart of any leader or statesman. He was struck by the magnitude of the situation in which they were trapped. And the reason Elin couldn’t escape. Some things have to be seen to be truly understood, he thought. This was one of them. Elin swung her arm in a circle while calling out to the Beasts. The tension drained from their bodies. Some rose and flew off to a distant cliff, while others glided down to the river below. Leelan lowered herself onto the grass in the sun and began grooming her fur. Ialu stared at Elin wordlessly. Having been exposed to the cold wind, her cheeks were ghostly white, but her eyes gleamed. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she said breathlessly. Ialu nodded. “Yes. And fast, too.” Elin’s face broke into a smile unlike any Ialu had ever seen. “Aren’t they, though!” she exclaimed. “It depends on the wind of course, but they can fly as far as Lazalu in about one hour.” Ialu’s eyebrows shot up. Even with a fast horse, it would take him a day to get to the Lazalu Sanctuary in the capital. “Really?” he asked. “Yes. Only Esalu knows, but I’ve already flown them to Lazalu three times. I’ve been training them to make night flights. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been staying overnight in the stable. So that people won’t notice I’m gone and become suspicious.” Ialu stared at her. If she’s been training them that rigorously, he thought, it’s no wonder she’s so thin. “If I let them fly at the speed they wanted,” Elin continued, “we could get there even faster. But I couldn’t endure it. The wind’s incredible.” In a rush of words, she told him how she navigated by the moon and the stars, how high the Beasts flew, and how she communicated her commands while in flight. As he watched her, Ialu’s face clouded. She was like a stranger. When she spoke about the Royal Beasts, her face became sharp, and her eyes glittered strangely, as though she were possessed. Catching sight of his expression, she broke off and stared at him. Sucking in air, she let out an unsteady breath and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. Still frowning, Ialu looked at her. Her eyes seemed hollow and vacant, and she absently wiped away the sweat that beaded her brow. “Elin,” he asked gently. “What’s wrong?” She blinked. “It’s always like that. When I ride the Royal Beasts in formation, I feel strangely exhilarated.” She began to tremble, her arms flopping uselessly, then slumped to the ground. Ialu knelt beside her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. Her skin was icy cold yet clammy with sweat. “Are you all right?” he asked. Elin nodded weakly, as if speaking were too much effort. For some time, she leaned against him with her eyes closed. Finally, she opened her eyes and let out a slow breath. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m okay now.” The flush of excitement had drained away, and her cheeks were pallid. Ialu suddenly recalled the faces of his fellow Toda Riders after training exercises with the new breed of Toda. Once they dismounted, they often trembled violently. Even veterans of the Blue Armor unit, who’d seen mortal combat many times, told him they’d never experienced anything like it when riding other Toda. Stroking Elin’s back, Ialu shared this anecdote with her. Her face tightened. “You mean the degree of excitement is different?” she asked. “Well, I guess that, too, but I think it’s more the quality that’s different.” He searched for words. “Men get really wound up in combat. It agitates and excites them. It’s not uncommon to get battle fever. But when I’m riding the new breed of Toda and training in formation, I feel strangely on edge, as if my blood is raging inside me. I’m filled with an urge to kill. It’s at its worst when we’re training to storm a building. Then the sensation becomes like a buzzing in my ears. It makes my teeth ache and my skin crawl.” Elin frowned as she listened. “A few veteran Riders say they’ve experienced something like it before,” Ialu continued, “but most never have.” He paused suddenly. “You know,” he said, “I just realized that I sometimes feel that same irritation when I’m in the Stone Chambers with the new breed. Maybe that’s why there’re so many fights among the Stewards and Riders these days.” “You mean like the one you tried to break up?” “Yeah.” The fight reminded him of something Chimulu had said. “Elin, I forgot to tell you. Chimulu wanted me to ask you a question.” “Chimulu?” “Yes. He wants to know if the Silent Whistle emits something invisible to the human eye.” Ialu’s mouth crooked. “He said he knows it’s a weird question and you may just laugh at him, but it’s really been bothering him. He thinks if we can identify what the whistle does, we could find a way to calm the Toda without using it to paralyze them. He’s a lot like you, you know. He says the craziest things.” But Elin didn’t laugh. She sat motionless, gazing off into space. “Elin?” “What does the Silent Whistle emit?” she whispered. She shook her head slightly, then said, as if to herself, “Chimulu’s amazing.” She stared at the ground, remaining silent for a long time. Finally, she raised her head and said in a low voice, “Sound is intricately related to the secrets of the Royal Beasts and the Toda. I think Toda would respond much more sensitively if we controlled them with sounds rather than with their horns.” Ialu stared at her pale, strained face. She found the manipulation of Royal Beasts and even Toda repellent, yet his job was to breed and improve the Toda. A chill spread through his heart at the thought of what she must have felt as they discussed these things. Elin’s face relaxed. “Don’t look like that,” she said gently. “Even if I kept this to myself, Chimulu is bound to realize it sooner or later. I’m sure he’ll keep discovering what the restrictions imposed by the Law prevented us from seeing.” She glanced over at Leelan who was still lazily grooming. “Leelan and the others control the Toda with sound,” she said. “Not just to kill and eat them either. They use it in more subtle ways. “I’ve been flying them one at a time to areas with wild Toda and training them to stop attacking at my command. But during this process, I noticed something interesting. When there’s only one Toda, Leelan won’t make the sound that renders them helpless for the kill.” Ialu listened, absorbed by her words. “Olamu, the Beast Hunter, once told me the same thing. Royal Beasts in the wild only paralyze and devour Toda that are trying to attack their nest, or when they run into a whole swarm of them.” Ialu’s jaw dropped. “So when Leelan attacked the Toda during the ambush of Her Majesty Halumiya and at the battle on Tahai Azeh it was because there were so many of them?” Elin nodded. “Are you sure they won’t attack if there’s only one Toda? Unless it’s attacking their nest?” he demanded. “Yes. If they aren’t hungry and there’s only one Toda, they won’t attack. But it depends on the situation. For Leelan, the pasture is her territory and the stable is her nest. Even so, if a Toda on its own is behaving aggressively because it’s mating or egg-laying season, she’ll threaten it, warning it not to attack.” “Threaten? How?” “With her voice. The cries of a Royal Beast, which sound like notes on a finger flute, are incredibly varied. Even within the range of what I can hear, she distinguishes between many different sounds. Interestingly, Toda also use a varied range of sounds to communicate. I’ve been studying wild Toda these last six years, and the males have a special intonation to attract females, while their young have a cry to call for their parents. Toda are fascinating creatures, you know. Lizards and snakes don’t raise their young, but Toda actually spend quite a long time raising and protecting them. As a pack. They have a strong instinct to protect hatchlings within the pack, even if they aren’t their own.” She breathed a short sigh. “The Toga mi Lyo must have studied all of the Toda’s cries in great detail and used that knowledge to develop the Handler’s Art.” Ialu saw grief rise in her eyes. “I’m sure that art is still passed down among the Ahlyo,” she said hoarsely. “But I don’t even know the real meaning of the song my mother played to save my life. Toda and Royal Beasts are mysterious creatures. They’re different from other animals. The more I learn about them, the more I’m sure of that. If Toda bred by men are different from those in the wild, there must be a reason. But I would need far more time to find out. I’d have to spend years studying and comparing them.” She looked down and rubbed her chilled fingertips to warm them. The autumn wind shook the grasses and stroked her hair. Far away, she heard a bird call twice, then silence. She raised her head and gazed sightlessly at the swaying ears of grass. “What I’ve managed to find out so far has just scraped the surface. But thanks to that, I’ve learned a lot. Toda are such powerful creatures that, except for other Toda, Royal Beasts are their only predators. Without the Beasts, they would soon overproduce and end up eating each other, or starving to death. They don’t produce as many young as lizards or snakes, but compared to Royal Beasts, which only bear an average of two cubs in a lifetime, they’re far more prolific. That’s probably why Royal Beasts wield such power over them. For Royal Beasts, Toda are the only creature capable of killing their cubs. And if their cubs are eaten, they could be wiped out.” Turning her face up to the autumn sunshine, she narrowed her eyes. “The relationship between Toda and Royal Beasts is deep and complex. I’m certain the catastrophe we were warned about is connected to that relationship in some way.” She turned to Ialu. Frustration burned in her eyes. “Even though I’ve managed to find out that much, I’m still missing crucial pieces. For some time now I’ve been pondering the same question Chimulu asked. Because the Silent Whistle is unique to the Toda and the Royal Beasts. It doesn’t affect any other animal. Dogs and humans aren’t paralyzed by it, so why do both Royal Beasts and Toda freeze when someone blows it? “And why,” she whispered as if chasing her own thoughts, “can Royal Beasts tell how far apart they are in heavy mist or avoid rock formations in the middle of the night? How do they pick up on such things without using their eyes? If the Whistle doesn’t make a sound, then what knocks them rigid when we blow it?” She stared off into space, thinking, then looked at Ialu. Her eyes gleamed with an uncanny light. “You said that the strange irritation becomes stronger when you’re inside a building or the Chambers, didn’t you?” “Yes.” “Then maybe the Toda are emitting something that bounces off the walls or objects.” Her voice rose with excitement. “I’ve been wondering if that might be the case for a long time. If they measure the distance between themselves by emitting something invisible and inaudible to us, then the training I’ve been doing may not have been wasted!” Ialu frowned. “Is there anything that we can’t see or hear?” “Yes. Lots of things in this world exist even though we can’t see them with our eyes. Just think about tokujisui. To us it simply looks like a liquid, but the solution contains elements that react with something inside Toda and Royal Beasts to change them. From the outside, we can’t see the effects of tokujisui or the changes it causes. If only they were visible!” Ialu’s eyes narrowed. “That reminds me. Speaking of changes, the body fluids of the new breed are more toxic.” Elin’s eyes widened. “Really?” “Chimulu told me. According to him, one of the Stewards accidentally cut his hand on a scale. He went rigid and collapsed, and the cut bled profusely even though it was quite shallow. Maybe the bleeding helped wash out the poison, because the rigidity soon wore off and he recovered. But I’ve never heard of that happening before when people came in contact with Toda fluids. Have you?” Elin shook her head, her eyes gleaming. “It sounds like the toxins are not only stronger but also produce different symptoms,” she said. “I wonder what could’ve caused such a change in the nature of the poison. I’ll have to look into it.” The excitement in her face faded. To investigate the cause would mean staying in Tokala village for an extended period. She couldn’t do that and still continue training and studying the Royal Beasts. If Ialu told Yohalu how important this research was, he would appoint someone to do it. But she would prefer to see the nature of the change with her own eyes. She shoved her hair back from her forehead and looked at the sky. “I need more time!” she exclaimed. “Time to find out all the things I want to know! Human lives are just too short.” Clouds swept like thin brush strokes across the autumn sky. Gazing at them, she let the tension seep from her shoulders. “At times like this, I always remember what Yuyan used to say: ‘You haven’t got eight brains and eight hands y’know, Elin. You’ve just got one head and one body. It’s only natural that you can’t do everything.’” Ialu smiled. Elin’s face always softened when she spoke of her old friend. They used to exchange letters frequently. Yuyan would tell her all about her eight kids, her husband, Kashugan, and all the little village intrigues. Her cheerful disposition came through in her writing, and they would all burst out laughing when they read her letters. Jesse loved it whenever they got one. As for Ialu, each time he came in contact with Yuyan’s unhurried, pragmatic approach to life, it made him keenly aware of the speed at which he and Elin were living their own lives. Elin had stopped sending letters once she began training the Royal Beasts for fear of repercussions on Yuyan and her family. But even now, her friend remained in her heart, reminding her to slow down when she was going too fast. “Ialu,” Elin murmured, still gazing at the sky. “Is there any meaning to what I’ve been doing? Did I accomplish anything?” Ialu stared at her. He didn’t bother searching for words to respond. Even as she asked this question, Elin knew there was no answer. They sat together in the autumn field for a long while, staring up at the light blue sky and feeling precious time slipping away. 6 THE TODA OF LAHZA Stars glittered like grains of sand in the broad heavens. Omilu glanced up at the night sky above the buildings as he trudged along the dark road. That last pub was one too many, he thought. The pungent odor of spices lingered in his mouth, making him feel queasy. The whole town reeked of it. Everything about this place, the buildings, the women’s skin, smelled different from his hometown. When he was first posted to the caravan city of Ulamu, it had all been new and exciting. His eyes were drawn to the women with their long slender necks and firm, high breasts, and the tenderly stewed meat marinated in spices had melted in his mouth. But the novelty had since worn off, and he had grown tired of this place. Things that at first had seemed exotic now seemed cloying. Whenever he saw children running in the streets, where multi-hued fabric flapped in the breeze, he would think of his daughter, who must have been playing back home, and each night he spent time with a woman whose skin was slick with fragrant oil, he recalled his wife’s hair, which smelled of the hearth. Five more years. That was how long he had to go before he could leave this foreign place. The thought made him sigh. Maybe they’d let me go home if I got sick, he thought. But it would take him a month and a half by carriage to get there. Even on a fast steed, he would need at least twenty days. The reality of the distance pierced his heart. He turned onto the main road. His face clouded. It seemed abnormally quiet. It should have been bustling with groups of soldiers off duty on their way back to their quarters, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Am I the last one? Just as he had thought, he should never have gone to that last tavern. He should have gone back with his comrades instead of being greedy and insisting on going to another spot. If he was late getting back and arrived on his own, the senior officer might notice and berate him. The night wind blew down the wide thoroughfare. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The road led to the thick outer wall of the city and the imposing main gate. It was known as the Thunder Gate because of the noise the chains made when the heavy drawbridge was lowered across the moat that protected the city against invasion. As he approached it, Omilu frowned. It was still open. It should have been closed at sunset, and there were no guards or Toda to protect it. Even more surprising, the drawbridge was down. His scalp crawled, and he sobered up instantly. Placing a hand on his hilt, he moved into the shadow of the great stone wall circling the city and broke into a dash, heading for the guardhouse. The sweet odor of Toda wafted toward him, but there were still none in sight. Nor did he see any of his comrades. He peeked inside the guardhouse. The light of the candles illuminated the space to the back of the room, but all he saw was a deck of cards scattered across the table. Rather than walking through the towering main gate, he opened a wooden door on one side of the guardhouse as he always did, and stepped onto the drawbridge. The wind struck him forcefully, bearing the scent of Toda and something that reminded him of copper. Blood. His pulse hammered like a gong. No one was there. Sinking into the darkness, all that was visible were the moat filled with dark water, the Toda stables—ten stone structures along the edge of the moat, and the fort that also served as the soldiers’ living quarters. As he started across the drawbridge, the smell of blood grew stronger. Peering over the railing, he let out a little scream. A corpse floated in the moat. Or half a corpse. Its torso was gone from the midriff up. For a moment he thought that the gatekeeper’s Toda must have gone mad and eaten him, but then he noticed a huge log-like shape floating beyond the body. Dead. A dead Toda floating in the moat! His head felt numb. Everything seemed to warp and pull away from him, as though he were in some kind of nightmare. He broke into a stumbling run, drawn toward the fort where his comrades ought to be. His mind kept telling him to go back, to run for it, to hide in a cheap inn or tavern in the town, but he couldn’t stop his feet from moving. He ran across the bridge and onto the grass beyond. As he passed the first Toda stable, he thought he heard something moving. Cautiously, he approached the half-open door and peered inside. His eyes widened. Bobbing in the large Pond were the corpses of Toda and men. At the edge of the pool stood a large Toda, and on its back … A sharp blow struck his temple, and he knew nothing more. When Omilu came to, the first thing he noticed was the smell of cold stone. Opening his eyes, he saw wet paving stones and beyond that, the Toda Pond. The raw odor of blood and the musk-like scent of Toda wafted toward him from its surface. Nausea gripped him, and he cleared his throat. His head was pounding. He tried to touch it but couldn’t move his hands. Each time he struggled, ropes bit into his wrists. When he understood that he had been tied up and rolled to the edge of the Pond, memory came flooding back. Breathing shallowly, he tried to make out what was going on. For several minutes, his mind had registered sounds, but now that he was fully conscious, he realized the sounds were voices. “The lucky soldier appears to be awake.” The man’s voice was startlingly close. Although he was speaking Omilu’s language, the accent was so thick he sounded as if he was twisting his tongue as he spoke. “Sit him up.” With that command, he heard footsteps coming toward him. Someone grabbed his arms roughly and forced him to a sitting position. Omilu’s head jerked and pain shot through his skull. Bile rose in his throat, but he forced it down. Gradually the world stopped spinning around him, and three men came into focus. Two wore leather vests and had a sword slung at their hips. One of them, a fierce-looking warrior with skin tanned a deep copper, gripped Omilu’s arms, while the other, a stocky, middle-aged warrior, stood gazing down at him. They were both Lahza. Omilu’s flesh tightened from his stomach to his chest. Shaking, he stared up at the older man in front of him. Beside him stood what looked like a musician. From the lakkalu slung across his back and his loose robes, it was clear at least that he wasn’t a warrior. The stocky man turned to the musician. “This one’s yours. Take him back with you as a living witness, a remnant of the Lyoza army.” The musician, his face haggard, looked down at Omilu. He was a young man, bronze-skinned like the Asheh. When he began to speak, however, he sounded like a native of Lyoza. “What about the others?” he asked. “Will you not let even a few more prisoners free?” The warrior shook his head. “They’re hostages. Whether we set them free depends on the Yojeh’s answer.” He stroked his beard and continued in a soft voice. “Minstrel with the eyes of an Asheh and the heart of a Lyoza, tell your father just how easily we took this town tonight. Tell him with that silvery tongue of yours that the plains belong to us and the fearsome Toda are no longer his kingdom’s alone.” Cold sweat trickled down Omilu’s face as he listened to the conversation above his head. Slowly it dawned on him that he wasn’t going to be killed after all, and a warmth spread up from the pit of his stomach. At that moment, however, he was yanked to his feet and, for the first time, his eyes took in the whole Pond. He began to shake again. Before, he had merely registered that there were corpses in the water. Now, however, he could see their faces and their uniforms. These were the bodies of his comrades that he had bid farewell to at noon. Or what remained of them, for they had been ripped and chewed by Toda jaws. Two Toda sat on the other side of the pond, their long tongues flicking in and out of their mouths. They looked a bit different than usual, but the light was too dim for Omilu to see clearly. One thing he knew for sure, however, was that the men mounted on them were Lahza warriors. Mesmerized, he stared at this nightmare, barely breathing. Turning in his saddle, Omilu saw a red glow spreading along the horizon, and the green grass of the plain emerging from the dark. Dawn was breaking. He kept his horse at a gallop, ignoring his aching head. The musician who rode in front looked over his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked. But Omilu couldn’t answer. Although the pounding in his head grew worse, he kept spurring on his horse. He was petrified that no matter how fast or how far they ran, the Lahza would soon come galloping up behind. Desperate to put as much distance between them as possible, he dared not ease his pace. The musician brought his horse closer. “Slow down,” he said gently. “That was a hard knock you got to the head. You don’t want to shake it too much.” “But they—” Omilu said in panic. “The Lahza won’t come after us,” the musician said flatly, cutting through Omilu’s fear. “I guarantee it. They want us to go back to Lyoza and tell everyone what happened.” When his words finally sank into Omilu’s mind, something deep inside him loosened. He pulled back on the reins, slowing his pace. Panting, he wiped the sweat from his brow. The musician took a flask hanging from his saddle and passed it to him. The cool water slid down Omilu’s throat, and his mind cleared. “Thank you,” he gasped as he handed back the flask. The musician took it with a nod, and Omilu snuck a peek at his profile. His eyes looked fierce, and his gaze was fixed on some far-off point across the grassy plain. “Pardon me,” Omilu asked hesitantly, “but who are you?” The man glanced at him. “Rolan,” he said quietly. “Rolan Amasulu.” Omilu gaped. Several pieces of the puzzle that had been bothering him fell into place. “I see,” he murmured. Every Toda Rider knew that Yohalu Amasulu of the Black Armor had adopted an Asheh as his son, and Rolan’s fame as a musician was so great he was known in every caravan city. Omilu couldn’t help but stare at him. “You were lucky,” Rolan said, his eyes still on the plain. “If you’d returned on time, you’d have been thrown into the dungeon like the other off-duty soldiers. Or killed by Toda if you happened to be on duty.” Shuddering, Omilu gripped the reins tightly. “What on earth…” He swallowed audibly, and tried again. “How could they have overcome fifty Toda so easily?” Rolan’s expression hardened. “Poison.” “Poison?” Omilu’s voice squeaked. “Yes, they poisoned the sheep carcasses that were fed to the Toda. By the time the Lahza arrived, the Toda had gone into convulsions and were unable to fight.” Omilu gave him a hard stare. “How do you know that?” Rolan looked at him. “Ozkula, the older warrior with the beard, told me. He’s a senior officer under the grand chief Nozgula of Western Oolish. He held me captive for a long time. I was wondering why he kept me alive, but now I know. He wants me to tell my father in person just how easily the Oolish Oh subdued the caravan city of Ulamu.” Rage suffused his face. “It’s all because of Ola,” he said, cursing the governor of Ulamu. “He was such a careless imbecile! I warned him time after time, begging him not to become complacent. He governed Hoza for so long, he thought he knew what he was doing, but Ulamu and Hoza are totally different. I told him he should dine with leading figures in the city to gain their trust. But he wouldn’t listen!” Rolan’s face was tight and his eyes burned as he spilled forth everything he had dammed up inside. “Unlike Imeelu and Hoza, Ulamu was built by the kingdom of Hajan and most of its leaders are Hajan descendants who see us as invaders. They appear friendly on the surface, but their hatred for us runs deep. “The only reason the city held fast this long, despite repeated attacks from the Lahza, was because Ola’s predecessor, Kassomu, worked hard to develop close connections with the city’s leaders and gain the cooperation of Ulamu’s citizens. That fool Ola made no effort to nurture those connections. Instead, he treated the people with contempt. No wonder they betrayed us!” Omilu listened openmouthed to this scathing criticism of the governor. He wondered why Rolan was telling him all this, but guessed he probably didn’t care who was listening. He just needed to vent his pent-up frustration. Oblivious of Omilu’s thoughts, Rolan continued his rant. “It’s the people of Ulamu who deliver food for the Toda. Ola stopped having dogs test the food for poison. I suppose he figured that everyone was so grateful for our protection, they’d never do something like poison the meat. But the citizens of Ulamu chose to abandon us in favor of the Lahza.” He turned and glared at Omilu. There was such a wild light in his eyes, that Omilu tensed. Even though Rolan was staring straight at him, he seemed to be talking to someone else. “The caravan cities are strung on a delicate thread,” he said. “If the news that Ulamu sided with the Lahza reaches the other cities, they might make the same choice.” Omilu licked his lips. “You mean the other cities are at risk, too?” Rolan sighed. The rage drained from his face, replaced by deep fatigue. “I suppose not yet. The governors of the other cities aren’t as stupid as Ola. And they’re still testing the Toda’s food for poison.” Omilu breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll be all right, then. As long as they can’t poison our Toda, no one can withstand us.” Rolan frowned and stared at Omilu as though he were some strange creature. “But you saw them with your own eyes, didn’t you? Didn’t you notice anything?” Notice what, Omilu was about to ask, when he realized what Rolan must be talking about. “You mean the Toda?” he asked. “The ones the Lahza were riding so proudly? They took our Toda and…” His voice trailed off, realizing that what he had just said was impossible: If any of their own Toda had survived, his comrades would never have been so easily defeated. Which could only mean that the ones he had seen belonged to the Lahza. “But that can’t be,” he breathed. Without responding, Rolan turned his face forward. A ray of sunlight struck his back. Staring at the edge of the plain ahead, which still lay in darkness, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. 7 THE YOJEH’S WORDS “It’s time for tea,” Seimiya announced. The nobles of Yojeh territory turned to stare at her aghast. They were in the middle of a meeting. Consumed with anxiety, they had been arguing heatedly, each insisting on his own point of view. Her words quenched this feverish exchange like a bucket of cold water. Although they could not hide their displeasure, they scraped back their chairs and, with a deep bow to the Yojeh, filed from the room. The warlords of Aluhan territory followed after. When the door snapped shut, a hush fell over the room like the silence after a storm. Seimiya sighed and looked up at Shunan, who sat beside her. A wry smile touched his fatigue-worn face. “If only there was a Silent Whistle that worked on humans,” he said. Seimiya gave a weak laugh and gazed around the room. The heat of the gathering still lingered in the air. “Instead, the Yojeh uses tea time,” she said. “When my grandmother taught me how to conduct these kinds of meetings, I didn’t understand what she meant, but now I do.” Her grandmother’s soft voice sounded in her ears: “When you think that all possible opinions have been shared and the discussion has come to a dead end, announce that it’s time for tea. It’s very important to get the timing right. If you miss the moment when everything that can be said has been said, people will go on repeating themselves until everyone is weary. Be sure to end the meeting nicely before that happens.” Traditionally, the Yojeh listened to the opinions of the warlords and the nobles, and when she judged that she had heard them all, she declared that it was time for tea. This tradition had begun with the Royal Ancestor Jeh who had always had a cup of tea before making a major decision, and each successive Yojeh had followed in her footsteps. As Seimiya sipped the fragrant tea, she thought once again that the past Yojeh must have known human nature very well. To ensure complete control over the final decision without making anyone feel slighted—that is what this custom was for. Not only that, but when Seimiya sipped her hot tea and reflected quietly on the content of the meeting, it helped her see the main points and get a clearer picture of what needed to be done. The nobles of Yojeh territory were mean-spirited, motivated by self-interest, yet even so, because their rule benefited their domains, it also benefited the country as a whole. The warlords of Aluhan territory would have protested just as vehemently if they felt their own profits were threatened. But Seimiya knew that the reactions of both were really inspired by fear. Although Lyoza had managed to scrape through the crisis precipitated by the year’s poor harvest, there was no guarantee that next year or the year after would be any better. Everyone in the country was probably afraid that they would slide into poverty and famine. Seimiya clenched her jaw. I changed this kingdom by marrying Shunan. I can’t let this reformation lead to decline. I mustn’t let my people think it was a mistake. If we’re to live in peace, we can’t afford to lose the prosperous caravan cities. There was really only one choice that would please them all. She placed her cup on the side table with a click and turned to her husband. “Have you come to a conclusion?” he asked. Seimiya sighed. “It seems that war is the only way.” Two months ago, a secret messenger sent by grand chief Nozgula of Oolish Oh had delivered a letter to Aluhan Ula, Shunan’s castle. In it, Nozgula had proposed that they enter into an agreement. If the kingdom of Lyoza would renounce all territorial rights to the three caravan cities of Ulamu, Ikishili, and Togulamu, which were located closest to Lahza, Lahza would recognize the territorial rights of Lyoza to the caravan cities of Imeelu, Hoza, and Kasholu, which were closest to Lyoza; in addition, Lahza would order the clans loyal to Lahza not to attack Lyoza. Nozgula had also stated that he would first demonstrate the wisdom of accepting this agreement. True to those words, Lahza warriors mounted on Toda had attacked and conquered Ulamu, the caravan city farthest from Lyoza. Half a month earlier, Rolan had arrived in Ikishili, the caravan city nearest to Ulamu, and told those in charge what had happened. Soldiers from the Toda troop stationed in Ikishili were sent to Ulamu to find out if his report was true. They discovered the city gate guarded by warriors wearing Lahza armor and mounted on Toda decorated with unfamiliar headdresses. They also saw Toda swimming in the moat. Although smaller than those raised in Lyoza, they were swift and agile. Having confirmed that Ulamu had fallen, the soldiers decided their first priority was to defend Ikishili. Abandoning any attempt to infiltrate Ulamu, they hurried back to their base. Messengers and carrier pigeons sent from Ikishili had reached the Aluhan just five days earlier. Around the same time, a detailed letter addressed to the Aluhan and Yohalu had arrived from Rolan, who had reached Imeelu, the closest caravan city to Lyoza. News that the Lahza had developed a Toda army capable of defeating Lyoza’s seasoned troops was a major blow. Summoning the warlords of Aluhan territory, Shunan had spent the last five days consulting on strategies without rest. For the last twenty years, the Lahza had harried the farthest protectorates: Ulamu, Ikishili, and Togulamu. Many soldiers from Aluhan territory had lost their lives defending them. These cities were flourishing trade centers to which goods flowed from many eastern countries for processing and distribution. The taxes levied for their defense brought the kingdom such prosperity that the advantage of protecting them was far greater than the cost of maintaining forts and stationing Toda troops nearby. Faces flushed, the warlords and the nobles had insisted almost unanimously that accepting the terms of Nozgula’s proposal was inconceivable. In all the skirmishes fought to date, Lyoza had never suffered a clear defeat. Ulamu may have been taken temporarily in this surprise attack, they said, but that was no reason to start compromising now. Their indignation was fueled by shock and fear. They were terrified by the thought that the Lahza were capable of defeating their elite Toda troops, but they were ashamed to admit their terror in front of the Yojeh and the Aluhan. To cover up their consternation, some nobles began calculating the impact on the country’s finances of lost tax income from the three cities. Only two men disagreed with the rest: Lord Saluma from Jiki, a domain on the southern edge of Aluhan territory neighboring Tolah, and Lord Yohalu from Amasulu on the edge of the eastern plains. While basically opposed to accepting Nozgula’s proposal, they argued that it would be wiser to show a willingness to negotiate. Although the three caravan cities named by Nozgula provided substantial tax income, discontent among the soldiers protecting these far-off lands was leading to corruption within the Toda ranks. In addition, these three cities were populated largely by Hajan, who harbored a deep resentment toward Lyoza for bringing about their kingdom’s downfall long ago. Lyoza soldiers stationed in these cities lived in constant fear of revolt by the local people. Yohalu and Saluma recommended exploring the possibility of compromise to gain time before engaging in a decisive battle, while in the meantime communicating secretly with influential people in the caravan cities to win them over to their side. They proposed finding a new approach to governing those cities that would satisfy their leaders and encourage their citizens to work with Lyoza to defend themselves against the Lahza. Few people, however, agreed with this idea. Even if Lyoza were to seek a new approach, they insisted it should only be done once the Lahza had been routed. To try and placate the Lahza in the hope of buying time was foolhardy. Saluma continued to argue against open rejection, but when it became clear that the majority was opposed, Yohalu said that if they insisted on routing the Lahza first, he would accept their decision on one condition: If they failed to achieve a resounding victory over the Lahza, he asked that they accept his and Saluma’s proposal to explore possible concessions while developing a new approach to running the protectorates. It was just as people were beginning to protest that the Yojeh had announced it was time for tea. “Yohalu presented his argument in that way to push his proposal for compromise and a new way of governing,” Shunan said in a low voice. “He told me about this idea some time ago.” Shunan lowered his voice even further. “But he also told me that if we’re going to go to war, it’s probably better to do it sooner rather than later.” Seimiya nodded. “Before the Lahza Toda troops grow even more powerful.” “Yes. The reason he started off by insisting that we should avoid confrontation was to make the nobles of your territory and the warlords of mine push even harder for war.” “And by doing so, he made it clear where responsibility lies if there’s no resounding victory,” Seimiya said with a smile. “He really cares about you, doesn’t he?” Thanks to Yohalu, she thought, the nobles of Yojeh territory wouldn’t be able to blame the Aluhan after the fact for starting the war. With a wry smile, Shunan cocked an eyebrow at her. “Yes, indeed. But his words didn’t just save me, did they?” Still smiling, Seimiya said nothing. He was right, she thought. Yohalu’s words had saved her, too. She’d been forced into a position where she’d have to declare war. This wouldn’t be a skirmish like the many battles fought before, nor a defensive action required to protect her country from invasion. To rebuff the hand extended by the enemy and declare war for the sake of national interest would be to change the very nature of the divine Yojeh, who had always rejected bloodshed as defilement. Yet this is what she had to do. Thanks to Yohalu and Saluma, she could at least excuse herself by claiming she’d made that decision in response to the entreaties of her people. By offering her this escape route, Yohalu had demonstrated his sincere desire to support the Aluhan and, for his sake, to avoid defiling the position of the Yojeh. I know I should be grateful, she thought. But Yohalu was a warrior. To him, war was a necessary means for resolving conflict. That was fundamentally different from the view held by the Yojeh of every generation. She could her hear grandmother’s voice in her mind: “No matter what the reason, never try to justify bloodshed. Drill that into your bones.” This way of thinking, which had been passed down from their royal ancestor Jeh, is what made the Yojeh who she was. Grandmother, Seimiya thought, addressing that kind, gentle woman who was now long gone. I will command my people to fight, but I will never seek to justify war. For generations, the Yojeh had trained her people to revere her as a god, attempting through that reverence to instill in their hearts an aversion to war. Yet, at the same time, every Yojeh had profited from war, while pressing the sin of killing onto the Aluhan and his people. This hypocrisy made it impossible to successfully guide the country’s affairs. We will never find an alternative to war until every one of us—nobles, commoners, and even warriors—is convinced that bloodshed must be avoided at all costs. To convince her people: that was her real task as the Yojeh who, resolved to bear responsibility for war, had married the Aluhan. For some time, she fixed her melancholy gaze on a ray of sunlight that fell on the long table in the middle of the room. Finally, she sighed and looked at Shunan. “Let me follow the example of Lord Yohalu and Lord Saluma and take a step to deepen the bond between us.” Shunan raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Seimiya said coolly, “For the Yojeh to declare war is lunacy. The least I can do is to make a change for the better, no matter how small it may be. You once showed me the tragic sacrifices your soldiers make. The people of Aluhan territory are expected to give so much for me. And for the people of my territory, who reap the benefits without sacrificing anything themselves and without any gratitude. The warlords and commoners of your territory resent this injustice, so let me at least help relieve some of that ill feeling.” Shunan’s face clouded. “Are you sure? That’s bound to upset the nobles in Yojeh territory.” The smile that lit up Seimiya’s face seemed incongruously bright. “They’re already upset because I married you. Don’t worry. I won’t handle this so clumsily as to make life difficult for our children.” A strong light gleamed in her eyes. “Those who wish to profit must bear the responsibility involved. I will simply make sure the nobles pay what is due.” After tea, the Yojeh summoned all the warlords and nobles back to the meeting room. There she asked them if they truly wished her to reject the agreement offered by Nozgula of Oolish Oh and whether they were resolved to accept the outcome if rejection should lead to war. The nobles placed their hands over their hearts and declared that this was their will. To them, she said, “In the past, when the Hajan attacked this country, my ancestor chose not to fight and expressed her willingness to offer them her head. I have the utmost admiration for my ancestor’s wish.” Her voice was thin but piercing. A shadow of unease crossed the faces of the men at these unexpected words. “To the Yojeh,” said Seimiya quietly, “the shedding of human blood is a sin. I detest war with my whole being. If, in order to avert conflict, I should take the hand that Nozgula has extended to me and give him the three caravan cities he demands, would you respect my decision?” The men blanched, and their expressions froze. Then with bewildered looks, they searched the other faces in the room. Observing their consternation, Seimiya continued, “Or would you dissuade me, as Yaman Hasalu, the ancestor of my husband the Aluhan, once dissuaded the Yojeh of his time by offering to accept the defilement of bloodshed in her stead and expressing his willingness to lay down his life?” A murmur arose and spread through the room. Color returned to the men’s faces and they nodded, glancing at one another. Seimiya turned her face to the nobles of the oldest family lines. “Toiyala? Somaya? Akizalaku? Which path will you choose?” Asked point-blank, they blushed, but Toiyala said, “Your Majesty, I humbly beg your forgiveness, but I wish to dissuade you.” Somaya and Akizalaku immediately chimed in. “For the sake of this country, we also wish to dissuade you. This impure decree has not come from Your Majesty. Rather it is our wish.” They had regained their composure, and relief showed in their faces. Having read behind Seimiya’s words her desire to keep the position of the Yojeh unsullied, they had concluded that all they needed to do was respond to her wish. With her eyes fixed on theirs, Seimiya drove her point home. “So,” she said, “you wish to emulate Yaman Hasalu, the Aluhan’s ancestor. Is that correct?” Only Somaya showed a trace of apprehension at these words. The other two nodded magnanimously. “That is correct, Your Majesty,” Toiyala said. “As sincere and loyal subjects, we are concerned for Your Majesty and for the country.” Seimiya nodded and shifted her gaze to Akizalaku and Somaya, then to each of the other nobles. A few looked troubled, but when she gazed into their eyes, they all nodded without exception. She rose from her throne. “Not only the loyal vassals of Aluhan territory but my own nobles are urging me to declare war. I ask you, my people, should I choose to fight?” They pressed their hands to their hearts and declared in unison, “Yes.” “My people, I do not wish to drag you into the chaos of war. I ask you once again. Do you truly wish for war in which your own blood may flow?” With their hands still on their hearts, they declared that they did. Seimiya nodded and let her eyes sweep the room. “I understand. If you truly wish to shed blood for the sake of profit, then I, the Yojeh, will respect your wish. Oh, nobles of my realm, I have heard this plea from your heart. Let me reject the hand that Nozgula has offered. If war should result, then so be it. And, my faithful nobles, I hereby give you permission to ride into the battlefield as Yaman Hasalu did of old.” The nobles, who were listening to her words with flushed faces and shining eyes, froze. Giving them no chance to speak, Seimiya said, “Until now, the Yojeh has made the Aluhan and his people shed blood for her sake, but see how blessed I am to have such loyal subjects as you. Your high-minded ideal that those who seek profit should bear equal responsibility and pay the same price for their actions is truly noble. It is my intention to join my husband in the battlefield and stand by you in this decision. So that there may be no one who profits without sacrifice.” As her words rang through the room, the nobles of Yojeh territory were not the only ones who paled. The warlords of Aluhan territory looked as though they had been struck by a lightning bolt. At that moment, everyone knew: The Yojeh stood with the Aluhan. That was her wish. 8 THE COURIER COMES Elin was feeding Leelan when she heard someone pounding on the stable door. Ever since bidding Ialu farewell, she had felt hollow. No matter what she did, she couldn’t dispel the emptiness. She looked up at Leelan and sighed. Although there was still meat in her food box, Leelan had turned away and begun preening herself. She had less appetite than usual, and her coat of fur and the hairs around her muzzle had lost the luster of youth. Whenever she noticed signs that Leelan was aging, Elin felt a pang of loneliness. The average lifespan of Royal Beasts in the wild was unclear, but those in the sanctuary lived about twenty years. And while thirty years was possible, it was considered a remarkably long life. Leelan was already past twenty. Looking up into her gentle eyes, Elin thought how quickly time had passed. It was at that moment that she heard the knock on the steel door. Someone called her name. After wiping her hands on her apron, she raised the bolt and opened the door. One of the guards stood in the morning sunlight, his face strained. “A courier has just arrived with an urgent message from Her Majesty, the Yojeh. You are asked to read it and respond immediately.” Elin broke the seal and spread open the pages inside. As her eyes followed the words, a chill numbness spread across her forehead. Written in a code that only Seimiya, Shunan, Elin, and Esalu could understand, the message described the defeat of Ulamu in a surprise attack by a Lahza Toda troop, the Yojeh’s rejection of a proposal from Nozgula, grand chief of the Western Oolish, and the fact that she and the Aluhan were preparing for war. Elin read as far as the Yojeh’s request that she fly the Royal Beasts to the capital, but got no farther. Her eyes kept skidding off the page. She raised her face. “Please tell the courier that I received the message and will begin composing a reply immediately,” she said to the guard. “But it will be faster for me to take the Royal Beasts and deliver my reply in person, so please tell him that I’ll take it myself.” The guard saluted sharply, then turned on his heel and dashed away. Elin did not fly the Royal Beasts that day. Instead, she spent hours at her desk in her room. The Yojeh and the Aluhan had asked her to gather the Royal Beasts immediately at the Lazalu Sanctuary in the capital. Assuming that the main battle would take place near one of the caravan cities, they were now building enclosures at each city to station the Royal Beasts. Once it became clear where the battle would be fought, they would ask her to fly them from Lazalu to the battlefront. To the Royal Beasts, Toda were just Toda. They couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe. A clear plan of action was needed to prevent them from attacking their own side. The Aluhan and his men had studied each potential battlefield and had developed a number of plans, which were conveyed in the letter. Elin examined each one and wrote detailed comments about which might be difficult and about adjustments that should be made in consideration of the Royal Beasts’ nature. By the time she finished, it was already late afternoon, and the light slanting through the window onto the edge of her desk had turned a rosy hue. There was a dull ache deep in her eyes. She pressed her fingers against her temples as she carefully reread the words she’d written. With a sigh, she rolled and sealed the letter tightly. She had been requested to leave Kazalumu within the next two days at the latest. Today she would have to tell Esalu everything and prepare her luggage. Had they given her so little time to pack because it was so urgent, or because they didn’t want to give her time to think? Elin gazed out the window. The setting sun gilded the treetops. In her mind, she imagined the Royal Beasts shooting up like fireworks at a single command and scattering across the vault of the evening sky. I have done what I could. That thought dropped into her breast and spread through her being. She had studied the nature of Royal Beasts for a long time. Based on that, she had pondered what kind of disaster might have happened beyond the Afon Noah. She had added to this all that she had learned from Ialu about the habits of the Toda to make her own deductions and train the Royal Beasts so that she could respond to whatever happened on the battlefield. There were still some things she would have liked to try if there had been a little more time, but she had no regrets about what she had done so far. A ray of red light bathed her bookshelf. On it were all the documents that she had written and bound roughly with thread. Records of the characteristics and nature of Toda and Royal Beasts, as well as a record of her own life and the path that had led her here. She had written these accounts, hoping to give them to Jesse when he was old enough to read them. Their paper spines were fuzzy because she had flipped through them many times, adding passages. She stared at them for some time. Then, slipping the scroll she had written inside the front of her robe, she stood and opened the door to her room. The living room with the hearth had already sunk into blue shadow. The sight of the cold hearth reminded her suddenly of Jesse, who usually sat there waiting for her, and a sharp pain ran from the pit of her stomach up to her chest. They would have to part so soon. When she left tomorrow, she might never sit around that hearth with Jesse again. Her skin grew cold, and she felt as though her body was shriveling up and sinking deep into her chest. She fumbled for the wooden post with her hand, and when she found it, pressed her forehead against it. A huge wave of grief rose inside her. She couldn’t breathe. Clinging to the pillar, she pressed her forehead against the smooth wood surface and gasped for air. Even now, some corner of her mind told her not to cry out loud because the guards were in the next room. For a long time, she clung to the post, breathing raggedly through her mouth. When his teacher told him to spend the night at home, Jesse felt the world around him recede into the distance. Everyone had been talking about the special courier from the palace who had arrived that morning, and Jesse’s friends told him they had seen his mother go into the headmistress’s room. He had worried all day that the courier’s message had something to do with his mother. So when he heard that an exception was being made to the school rules and he was being allowed to spend the night at home, he knew that what he had feared had now come to pass. As he opened the door to his home, the aroma of fresh-baked fahko tickled his nostrils. Elin was kneeling in front of the oven removing a thin baking sheet. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “Welcome home. Perfect timing, too. Would you get me that big plate?” Jesse hurried over to the sink and quickly washed his hands, then got out a large plate and held it out for his mother to slip the fahko on it. It was a large thin disk like those sold in the stores, rather than the kind she usually baked. Noticing thin slices of boar meat on a cutting board in the kitchen, he guessed what she must be making. “We’re going to have charcoal-grilled boar?” he asked. Elin nodded. “Yes, we are. Although I’m a little late getting started.” A pot hung over the hearth, filled with piping hot vegetable soup. Wrapping a towel around the handle, his mother removed the pot and put it off to one side, then placed a four-legged metal grill over the coals. She greased the pan with a chunk of fat and arranged the slices of meat on it. They made a sizzling sound. As he watched, Jesse spread mazu, a sweet-and-spicy miso, on the steaming fahko and topped this with leafy greens. He loved this dish. Well-grilled boar, a little burnt around the edges, wrapped in fahko spread with mazu. When they’d lived in town, his mother always used to make this for him on his birthday and for special occasions. “It’s done,” Elin said. “Here.” When she placed the sizzling meat on top of the greens and fahko, Jesse’s eyes blurred, and he could no longer see. Keeping his head down and gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to cry. He heard his father’s voice in his ears: “When the time comes, don’t make your mother sad. Send her off without tears.” He sucked in his breath repeatedly, determined not to let her see him cry, but a sob caught in his throat, and he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. The plate was lifted from his hands and placed beside him, and he was wrapped in his mother’s arms. Clinging to her, he wept. He pressed his head into her chest, just as he had done as a child, and sobbed. The thought that he might never see her again burned his chest, and the tears wouldn’t stop. He cried until his head swam. Feeling the strength of his mother’s arms as she held him to her, Jesse stayed wrapped within her warmth. Finally, like the receding tide, something drained from his heart, leaving only a hollow loneliness. Once again, the words his father had said before he left Kazalumu rang inside him: “When the Yojeh gives the command, your mother must leave. No matter how much you might cry, there’s nothing that can be done to change that. So Jesse, don’t cry. When the time comes, don’t make your mother sad. Send her off without tears.” Jesse took a deep breath and gently withdrew his arms. Looking up at his mother through tear-drenched lashes, he saw that her face was also streaked with tears. 9 MOTHER AND CHILD “Is the war going to start?” Jesse whispered. “Probably. But nobody knows yet what’s going to happen. Or if I’ll need to fly Leelan and the others. I was told to wait at Lazalu for further orders.” “When are you leaving?” “Tomorrow night.” “That soon!” Elin nodded, and Jesse’s face twisted. “Are you taking them all? Even Alu?” “I’m leaving Alu and Ukalu here. Because Alu’s pregnant.” When Jesse heard this, he clenched his teeth and looked down for a moment. Raising his face, he said, “You’ll come back again, won’t you?” She was about to nod but hesitated, something Jesse didn’t miss. A hard light gleamed in his eyes. “You can’t die, Mom! Promise me you won’t!” he cried. “You’re taking Leelan and the others to war because that’s what the Yojeh and the Aluhan want. It’s not your fault! There’s nothing you can do about it, so don’t go thinking that you have to take responsibility for it!” Elin looked at him in surprise. “What are you talking about, Jesse?” “I know what you’re thinking, Mom! You feel guilty for training Leelan and the others as weapons of war, don’t you? You feel you’ve betrayed them. If they’re killed on the battlefield, you plan to die with them to pay for what you’ve done, right? Don’t think I don’t know! I heard what you told the Yojeh. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. “Father said you’re trying to find a way for our family and the Royal Beasts to live in peace, but if you die, we’ll never be happy. Don’t you get that?” His voice had risen shrilly. “Hush, Jesse. Lower your voice,” Elin whispered, glancing at the door, and he fell silent. “So you heard us talking, did you?” Elin asked. Jesse nodded defiantly, biting his lip. I see, Elin thought as she stared at her son. That’s why he’s been acting so odd lately. The tension inside her ebbed away, replaced by a strange peacefulness. “Jesse,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to die to pay for what I’ve done.” Jesse pulled in his chin as though caught off guard. “Really?” he said. She nodded. “Really. How could I even think of such a thing when you’re here? I won’t choose death to pay for what I’ve done. If I want to make amends, I’ll do it by living, even if I have to crawl to do it. What I meant by taking responsibility is that I won’t shove that burden onto anyone else just to escape from it.” She paused, then added, “Jesse, ever since I was your age, I’ve dreamed of returning Leelan and the others to the wild. I’ve always believed we should let creatures born in the wild live as they would have. But when I tried to do that, I ended up twisting the bonds that bind the Royal Beasts even tighter.” She turned her eyes to the hearth and stared at the red coals. “Even now, I still don’t know what was the right thing to do. If I hadn’t interfered, if I’d given the Beasts tokujisui, they would never have had to go to war. But left like that, they would never have flown, or mated, or borne cubs either. They would have spent their lives waiting to die.” She turned her gaze back to Jesse, a bitter smile on her lips. “In the end, I couldn’t return them to the wild, and I couldn’t stop us from going to war either. But there is one thing that I can do. And it’s something only I can do.” “What?” “Expose the truth.” Jesse frowned. “Expose the truth?” Elin fixed her eyes on his and said quietly, “I can reveal the truth that the Royal Ancestor Jeh and my own ancestors sought to hide.” Jesse blinked. “You mean the disaster that killed all the beasts and humans?” “Yes. If that tale is true, I may actually cause such a disaster.” She looked straight at him. “But I’ve been searching this whole time for a way to prevent it. You’ve watched me train Leelan and the others to fly together, haven’t you?” Jesse nodded. “If what I’ve done is right, and I’m able to stay connected with Leelan and the others on the battlefield, I might be able to avert disaster.” Her voice trailed off huskily. If only she could make that dream come true, how much easier she would feel. If only she could close with her own hands the door she had opened when she was a girl and get through this crisis without hurting anyone, man or beast … She closed her eyes for a moment as longing filled her chest. Slowly, she opened them again. “Yet no matter how hard I might try to foresee what will happen when a pack of Royal Beasts falls upon a thousand Toda, I just don’t know. What happens may exceed anything I could ever have imagined. So if a catastrophe does occur…” She looked at her son, her face pale. “I will stand witness to what happens when Royal Beasts are used as weapons.” Jesse’s eyes widened. Gazing into them, Elin said, “If we choose to use the Royal Beasts like this, despite knowing that a catastrophe may occur, then we must accept the consequences. Those who decided to wage this war, and I, who couldn’t stop it, we must bear responsibility for it.” She paused, then drew a deep breath and whispered, “I want everyone to know this, Jesse. All of it.” Jesse listened silently, frowning. “The Royal Ancestor Jeh and the Ahlyo hid the true nature of Royal Beasts and Toda so that men, driven by greed, wouldn’t do something foolish. Like putting blinkers on a cart horse. My mother died to protect that secret.” Her voice trembled slightly. “But you know, Jesse, I think hiding the truth was a mistake. I think that people need to be aware of their actions and of the consequences. Regardless of what it is, I don’t think it’s right to hide knowledge. Even if humans are stupid. Even if they’re so foolish that they’ll use the knowledge they gain for the wrong purpose.” She heard a door close outside. The guard was leaving to do his regular rounds. Listening to that familiar sound, Elin reached out her arm and gently clasped Jesse’s hand in her own. “I once told your father that if humans can’t maintain a balance except by killing one another, then let them. Even if it means they all perish. For a long time, I kept this cold, cruel thought in my mind. But I don’t think so anymore.” She smiled faintly. “People will never stop killing one another. There will probably always be war. We’re separate. Although we have words to communicate, we can never adequately convey what we think and feel to one another. Yet humans will keep looking for a way through. That’s the kind of creature we are.” Jesse listened silently as Elin continued. “When people know, they think. Many different people, each with their own perspective and motive, will keep on thinking. When one dies, another will look for a new path to avoid extinction. That’s how the human herd has survived this long. “But we can’t explore such questions if we’re ignorant. We need knowledge to think. It’s only when we have thought everything through to the end, when we’ve studied how we came to cause such a catastrophe, what stupidity drove us to it, why we behaved the way we did, that we can ever find a meaningful way to prevent it. “And that’s why,” she said quietly, “I’ll never give up, Jesse. I will never choose death for myself. If what I’m doing causes a catastrophe, I’m going to fly into the midst of it to see if there’s a way through to the future. And I’ll do my best to tell everyone what I find out.” She reached over and stroked his cheek. “Just watch me, Jesse.” A bird chirped a high-pitched note. Shadows flitted across the evening sky as birds flew home to roost. The remnants of the sunset still lingered in the west, while the east was already sunk in blue darkness. “He’s late. What on earth can that boy be doing?” Esalu muttered, turning to look back toward the school with a frown. Behind her, the guards stood quietly at the edge of the forest watching Elin and the Royal Beasts preparing to leave. Perched on the cliff top, the Beasts appeared unperturbed. They loomed beautiful and majestic like snowy peaks, their fur shining golden in the last rays of the sun that was disappearing below the rim of the mountains. Gazing at their figures, Elin reflected that it was their beauty that had first captivated her and drawn her to this point in time. Even now, she vividly recalled the brilliant silver forms of the wild mother and cub she had seen with Joeun so long ago. She had longed to return Leelan and the others to the wild where they could mate and bear children, where they could rule the mountain valleys and be masters of their own lives, not tools of men. But in the end, she had failed. In her mind, she spoke to the Beast that towered like a statue above her. What are you thinking right now, Leelan? she asked. They had taught each other their language and could now understand from the slightest gesture what the other was going to do. Yet she still didn’t know what went on in Leelan’s mind. These creatures would now fly at her command and devour the enemy. If she ordered them to dive into the jaws of death, they would obey without protest. Yet even then, she would never know what they thought. How often she had wished that they weren’t so obedient. If only they were like cats, if only they would ignore her commands and live as they pleased, she would never have had to lead them to their deaths. “Alu will be entering the more stable phase of her pregnancy soon, won’t she?” Esalu asked. Elin turned to look at her and nodded. “Maybe it’s a good thing the order to fly came now,” she said. “You mean we can at least save those two,” Esalu said with a shrug. Elin gave a wry smile. “Yes. And besides, I doubt they could fly with this pack anymore.” Esalu’s eyes widened slightly. “Really?” “Yes. I tried bringing Alu and Ukalu close to Leelan and the others, but they all raised their hackles and began to growl.” Watching Leelan groom her fur, Elin said, “If they formed their own separate pack and flew some distance apart, it would be possible, but to do that…” “Someone other than you would have to lead them,” Esalu said, finishing her sentence. Elin nodded. “I see,” Esalu murmured, her eyes on Elin. “So you’ve come to another line. If you don’t cross it, you can keep others from being dragged into the conflict. What you’re really saying is that being summoned now means you can bear this burden alone.” There was a hard ring to her voice. Elin gazed at her aging teacher. Her hair was much grayer now, and although her back was still straight, she seemed somehow smaller. Seeing Esalu’s thin lips tremble, Elin felt a deep emotion well up and spread through her chest. Stepping closer, Elin hugged her shyly. “Thank you,” she said. Elin had never known her father’s face and had lost her mother when she was very young. Despite this, though, she’d been happy, because of the affection with which Joeun had raised her and the stern yet profound love with which Esalu had nurtured her. Esalu squeezed Elin tightly, then pulled herself away. “Don’t say things like that,” she snapped in her typical fashion. “It’s bad luck!” Her face was wet with tears. “If you really want to thank me, come back. Come back and let me see you again.” Elin nodded, brushing her tears away with the palms of her hands. At that moment, she heard a commotion behind her. Turning, she saw Jesse push through the guards and come running toward her, bearing a bundle in his arms. “Mom!” Gasping for breath, he placed the bundle on the ground and began undoing the cloth that bound it. Various things started tumbling out. Jesse grabbed a large parcel wrapped in wax paper and handed it to her. “I asked the dorm mother to bake these for you. They just came out of the oven. Cookies rolled in red sugar. They’re still hot, but it’s cold up there, isn’t it? Eat them on your way. There’re some for Leelan and the others, too. Give them one each when you get to Lazalu. They taste good even when they’re cold. And this is a scarf. I’ve already warmed it with a hot water bottle, so put it around your neck before you fly.” He shoved the scarf into his mother’s hands and then gazed up at her. “You don’t have to worry about Alu,” he said. “I’ll take good care of her. You said you weren’t able to return these ones to the wild, but you don’t know that yet. It might still be possible. When you get back, I’ll help you. Let’s find a way to free Alu and the others.” A fierce light burned in his eyes, and his mouth was firmly set. Esalu cleared her throat and rapped Jesse lightly on the top of his head. He looked up at her in surprise. “I’ll give you credit for your good intentions,” she said with a scowl, “but only students in the upper level are permitted to take care of the Royal Beasts. Remember that, young man. You aren’t anywhere near old enough for me to leave Alu in your care.” Jesse looked put out, but Esalu fixed him with a beady glare. She brought her hand up to Elin’s eye level. “If you want to help your mother, work hard until you at least measure up this high. There are no shortcuts in studying. You’ll never understand all your mother has learned these many years unless you knuckle down and study. Once you’ve mastered all your subjects, then you’ll start to grasp what she has written. That’s the nature of science and learning, so do your best, Jesse.” Although Jesse looked at her with a puzzled frown, in the end he nodded reluctantly. Seeing his expression, Elin burst out laughing. A leaden pain had weighed on her heart, but now she felt warmth radiate to every corner of her body. She pulled him close. “Thank you, Jesse,” she murmured. “Please watch out for Alu.” Holding him tightly, she tried to imprint on her being the warmth and even the scent of him. In her heart, she whispered, I’ll give you a new future. I promise. She gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to show him any tears right now. She released him slowly, as though peeling away her longing to stay, and bowed deeply to Esalu. “Please take care of Jesse,” she said. Then she turned to the guards standing at the edge of the forest and bowed her head low. They looked at her as if surprised and saluted. Tying the bundle that Jesse had given her onto the riding harness, Elin settled herself on Leelan’s back. The wind caressed her hair. With the two fingers remaining on her left hand, she grasped the worn and battered harp that was attached with a long rope to the saddle. With her right hand, she plucked a string. It reverberated sharply. Instantly, the Royal Beasts raised their heads and, spreading their wings, leaped into the air. Jesse and Esalu stood staring after them until they vanished into the sky, where distant stars were beginning to twinkle.