Snow thumped as it hit the ground. The day was quite warm for this time of year, and here and there, snow slipped from sun-warmed branches in the forest.
Light shone through the trees and shimmered across the backs of Van’s brother-in-law, Zakka, and Ohfan, chief of the Ahfal Oma, as they strode ahead. Ohfan’s voice carried back to Van. “…the Zakato Ravine, then?”
Zakka nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. The Zakato clan sent a runner to tell us they found sled tracks. They should be able to figure out how far they’ve gotten sometime today. The tracks were well hidden, but they’re unlike anything found on the trails through the other two ravines—undoubtedly left by sleds bearing heavy loads.”
Ohfan smacked his fist into his palm, clearly incapable of containing his excitement. “Finally! They’ve finally come to Zakato!”
The warriors of the Ahfal Oma followed the two men silently. Van watched Zakka with mixed feelings. Half a month had passed since he’d been reunited with his brother-in-law. During that time, he’d discovered that his people had surprisingly deep ties with the Ahfal Oma.
Van knew that after the Ahfal Oma’s exile from the Yukata Plains, the People of the Fire Horse had split into groups of about fifteen families and been sent to different areas by order of the King of Aquafa. However, when Zakka told Van that the Gansa took in Ohfan’s people after they eventually made their way to the Toga Mountains, he couldn’t help but be startled by the strange, convoluted web of fate.
“We lost so many seasoned warriors like you during that long fight against Zol,” Zakka had told Van as they breakfasted together on the morning after their reunion. “With our best men gone, the Mukonians stepped up their attacks, affording us no time to rest. We were exhausted.
“We always warn the Zolian garrison when the Mukonians come, but they never budge until the last minute. They use us as a shield, wearing down our strength to spare their troops for other conflicts.”
A bitter smile had formed on Zakka’s lips. “So you see, welcoming the Ahfal Oma into our midst was actually to our advantage. They’re valiant warriors and risk their lives to fight with us. We’re like brothers now. I know they’ve got their own motives, but in the end, what they want leads to what we want.”
Ohfan and his people were originally taken in by mountain people farther south, but they had gotten into a dispute with the locals over some trivial matter. The Ahfal Oma came to the Gansa shortly after the latter group swore allegiance to Zol. Ever since, the two peoples had collaborated closely to repel the Mukonians. It was only natural for the Ahfal Oma to fight alongside the Gansa in return for being allowed to live with them. And that, Zakka had said, made it easy to plot together without the Zolians knowing. “It’s been very useful,” he’d admitted with a laugh.
Which means…
It was quite possible that Van’s clansmen had known about the plan to attack the salt mine. Zakka never spoke on it, but if he and the other Gansa clan members had known of Van’s fate, they undoubtedly would have assumed that death from the bite of a Kinma dog was preferable to being captured and enslaved.
While Van thought on this, something else occurred to him, and his expression clouded.
Could it have been Zakka, my own kinsman, who suggested abducting Yuna? Zakka would have known how much Van hated disease. He might have warned Ohfan that Van was likely to refuse to cooperate if he knew the strategy involved using a sickness as a weapon, even if it was to regain lost homelands. Try as he did, Van couldn’t dismiss the possibility.
When they reached the foot of a large hoki tree, Zakka halted. Ohfan and the rest followed suit and watched Zakka silently. He put his hands to his mouth and, after turning toward a deeper part of the forest, produced a perfect imitation of a pyuika call.
“Puohhh.”
Soon after, there was a rustling in the bushes, and a pyuika bounded out of the trees. It ran straight for Zakka and nuzzled his side.
Van’s eyes narrowed as he beheld a familiar face. “Muffu is looking well,” he said.
Zakka grinned. “Why don’t you try calling, too?” he said.
Van regarded his brother-in-law with surprise. “Really?”
Zakka nodded. “Yes, really. I had them bring Olaha today. Go ahead. Call him. He’s not used to the Ahfal Oma, so he’s probably anxious, wondering if it’s safe to come out.”
Van’s jaw clenched. He closed his eyes for a moment. Upon opening them, he put his hands to his mouth and called. The bushes shook, and a superb rack of antlers appeared above them. A fine buck ran toward him, sunlight dappling the creature’s back.
Van felt his nose grow hot inside, and tears gathered in his eyes, blurring the pyuika’s familiar figure. Olaha’s father, Liafu, whose name meant “thunder cloud,” was Van’s mount for so many years until he was slain in battle along the Kashuna River. Olaha meant “dawn,” and he’d been born at daybreak. Van had first stroked him when he was still wet from his mother’s womb. When Van left his homeland, Olaha had been a gangly foal. Now he was a proud and sturdy buck.
He trotted toward Van, only to come hesitantly to a stop, black eyes gleaming as he regarded Van steadily.
Van clicked his tongue. “Olaha,” he called, and the buck’s ears straightened up. Mewling, he approached and butted Van with his nose, seemingly chiding him for being gone so long, before rubbing his neck against Van’s chest. Breathing in his scent, Van stroked Olaha’s flank, then wrapped his arms around his neck. His throat shook, and tears poured down his cheeks.