The Beast Warrior

by Nahoko Uehashi

  Seven legless chairs were arranged around the table, and two men and a woman were already seated. But when Elin walked through the door, one of the men rose and, coming around the table, extended his hand.

  Elin murmured her thanks but froze before she took the hand he offered. Not only was his smiling face strikingly different from any Lyoza she had ever seen, but a tattoo covered the back of his hand.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “My tattoo won’t rub off on you even if you touch me.”

  Elin started at the sound of his soft voice. “You?”

  He nodded. “Yes, pardon me for speaking to you through the curtain yesterday.”

  Elin blushed. “Oh, no, it’s I who should be apologizing. Please pardon my rudeness.” She took the hand he held out to her, and he smiled and gently helped her to step up into the room. He guided Elin toward the table, where the couple sat watching her with unconcealed curiosity. “This is my sister and my brother-in-law,” the man said.

  Elin curtsied deeply. “I am Elin.”

  “I am Sali, Yohalu Amasulu’s daughter, and this is my husband, Muhan,” the woman said, then smiled. “And the young man who is still holding your hand and won’t let go is my younger brother, Rolan. Now, please have a seat. The food will grow cold. We can explain why my brother looks so different from me while we eat.”

  With Rolan’s support, Elin gingerly lowered herself down and slipped her legs into the hollow beneath the table. She was grateful for his assistance.

  Watching her awkward movements, Sali’s face clouded. “You’re still in quite a bit of pain, aren’t you?” she said.

  Elin gave a crooked smile. “I’m fine. The medicine has relieved much of the pain, so it’s really not that bad.” Then her face grew sober. “How is Lord Yohalu?”

  “He’s fine.” Sali laughed. “He’s so tough, I’m sure he’ll live to be a hundred. But the wound is in his back, which makes it uncomfortable to sit in a chair. That’s the only reason he didn’t join us here today. There’s no need to worry.” She gestured for Elin to eat and, picking up a spoon, began sipping her soup.

  Looking at the dishes lined up on the table, Elin realized with a start that the food had been prepared to be eaten with one hand. They must have gone out of their way because her arm was still in a sling.

  The steaming soup was made with fresh fish and flavored with herbs. Although the broth was clear, it tasted surprisingly rich.

  “How do you like it?” Rolan asked from his seat beside her.

  Elin rested her spoon on her plate. “Delicious,” she said. “It doesn’t smell at all like river fish.”

  “Exactly! This type doesn’t have that muddy odor,” said Rolan.

  Sali’s lips twitched. “Don’t go praising him now. He already spends all his spare time here fishing.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” This was the first time Sali’s husband had opened his mouth. Muhan had noble features and the sturdy build of a soldier. “He just got back from an important job. Let him enjoy fishing as much as he likes. Besides, we get to enjoy his tasty catch.”

  Rolan picked a bone out of the soup and sucked on it casually, then licked his fingers. He glanced at Elin and shrugged. “We’re an odd family, aren’t we? I’m sure you can tell from my face that I’m a foster child. I was born far away on the eastern plains. I’m from Asheh. When I was nine, I was orphaned by the war. Father adopted me.”

  At a loss for words, Elin simply gazed at him. He had short-cropped brown hair and big dark eyes. Not just his voice, but his looks were strangely attractive. His face still had the innocence of youth, but his eyes were far older.

  “I had an elder brother,” said Sali, “but he died of an illness when he was nine and I was four.”

  Rolan nodded. “That’s probably why Father felt he couldn’t abandon me when he found me. I still remember how he looked in his shining black armor. I was covered in mud and tears. He plucked me up in his great big arms and gave me a home and a family.”

  He grinned suddenly. “But I didn’t turn out quite the way he wanted.”

  Sali laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “You hated sword practice, and you loved fishing, playing the lakkalu, and singing. Whenever Father wasn’t looking, you’d sneak out of the house to tag along after the musicians. I thought he’d brought home a pretty weird little brother, I must admit.” Although she spoke in a mocking tone, Elin could see that she loved him dearly, even though he was not blood kin.

  Beside her, Muhan smiled for the first time. “It’s very fortunate for me that Rolan is the kind of man he is. If not, I’d have no hope of becoming the next ruler of Amasulu.”

  Rolan laughed. “It’s fortunate for me that you joined our family. Thanks to you, Father finally let me go. Ah, the relief when I knew I could spend the rest of my life playing my beloved lakkalu! I shall forever be in both your debts.”

  From there, they launched into memories of the past, many of them so funny that Elin couldn’t stop laughing. No one mentioned what had happened in Oohan, nor did they ask Elin anything about herself. Perhaps Yohalu had ordered them not to. Or maybe they were trying to make her comfortable. Whatever the reason, by the end of the meal, Elin found that she liked Yohalu’s strange children very much.

  6

  KURIU

  When they finished their meal, Muhan left to join the men in the great hall, while Sali stepped outside to enjoy a glass of wine in the garden.

  Rolan turned to Elin. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “The color has returned to your cheeks, but if you’re tired, I’d be happy to guide you back to your room.”

  Elin shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve slept for two whole days already.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. If so, then let’s enjoy some fruit and conversation together.”

  Elin nodded. It occurred to her that most young women would probably agree just as readily if invited by this young man. Although there was no romantic attraction, something about him made her want to see him smile.

  He led her a short distance down the wide corridor. Stopping in front of a door embossed with sasha leaves, he opened it and ushered her inside. The room was small. No lights had been lit yet, and the interior was sunk in shadow, but the large window opening onto the garden had been flung wide, imparting a sense of spaciousness. Small lanterns shone like fireflies in the blue dusk of the garden, and people enjoying a quiet after-dinner stroll drifted along the paths like vague shadows.

  Rolan lit the candles. A soft glow filled the space, illuminating what appeared to be a huge tapestry covering one wall. Drawn toward it, Elin saw that it was a finely detailed map, and her eyes grew round.

  A sudden sound startled her, and she turned. A woman was sitting in an armchair in a dark corner. She stretched and leaned forward, blinking against the light. Looking at the woman’s face, Elin guessed she was in her sixties. Despite her age, she was beautiful—tall with large eyes and well-defined eyebrows in a slender face, and a long, graceful neck. She had a shadow on her upper lip, like a faint mustache, but Elin quickly realized it was a fine-drawn tattoo.

  Running a hand through her hair, the woman looked up at Elin and Rolan. “Oh dear. I must have dozed off.” She spoke with an odd intonation.

  Rolan deftly caught the book that was slipping from her knees. He handed it to her with a smile. “It’s quite late, you know. Did you fall asleep without eating dinner?”

  The woman shrugged. “I’ve been up late these last few nights.” A violent fit of coughing seized her. Rolan reached out a hand to rub her back but she waved him away and took a sip of tea from the cup on the side table.

  “You need to get proper rest,” Rolan said with a frown.

  The woman snorted. “As a musician, you should talk. No need to worry about me. Time is what you make of it. I’m just using my time the way I want. That’s better for my health anyway.”

  She poked her head around Rolan and smiled at Elin. “Good evening,” she
said.

  Elin bowed. “Good evening. I’m Elin.”

  The woman nodded. “I thought as much. Pleased to meet you. I’m Kuriu.” The foreign-sounding name confirmed Elin’s guess that she must be from another country.

  Rolan leaned out the window and hailed a servant, asking her to bring some food for Kuriu. “And while you’re at it, bring three servings of fruit.”

  Kuriu glanced at him, then beckoned to Elin. “Come a little closer. That’s it. Have a seat in that chair.”

  She indicated a chair beside the window and, when Elin sat down, scrutinized her face. “Your eyes really are green. That’s a color I’ve never seen, not even in Imeelu. I’ve seen brown and blue, but not green.”

  “Imeelu?”

  Kuriu raised her brows. “You haven’t heard of it?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Kuriu laughed. “No need to apologize. So even teachers like you don’t know it exists.”

  Elin blinked. This woman seemed to know a lot about her. Perhaps she’d heard that from Yohalu.

  “Elin lives in Yojeh territory, that’s why,” said Rolan. “They don’t get many foreign merchants there. Not like here.” He stepped away from the window and rested his hand on the back of Elin’s chair. “Imeelu is a large caravan city on a great river that runs through the eastern plains.” Strolling toward the wall, he pointed at the map. His finger was long and slender, befitting a musician. “That’s Imeelu.”

  Elin rose and went to stand beside him. Rolan touched a spot on the map. “This is Amasulu territory, where we are now.” He traced a line back to the other spot. “And this is Imeelu.”

  As Elin gazed at the places he had pointed out, the picture presented by the map gradually revealed itself to her. When she deciphered the shape of her own country, goosebumps rose on her skin.

  It’s so small …

  The kingdom of Lyoza, which lay along the southeast side of the Afon Noah, took up only an eighth of the map. Between Lyoza and the sea lay a single country, which she recognized as the kingdom of Tolah. But to the east spread many countries, only a few of which she knew. It had never occurred to her that there could be so many. As she stared at the map, shock numbed her brain. She had spent her life oblivious of the world in which she lived …

  “It’s a pretty big world, isn’t it? In fact, probably even bigger than what you see here.” Rolan swept his finger across the southwest and southeast parts of the map. “There could be more countries in these areas that we haven’t heard of yet,” he said.

  He moved his finger to a point in the eastern plain. “This is Asheh,” he said, “Where I was born.”

  Elin narrowed her eyes and stared at the spot. Some words had been written over it in a script she couldn’t read. “What language is that?” she asked.

  “Shalamu. My mother tongue,” Kuriu said from behind her. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s lovely both to look at and to listen to.”

  “Shalamu.” Elin repeated. Even the name was new to her.

  Kuriu rose and walked slowly over. Elin was tall for a woman, but Kuriu was almost the same height. A floral fragrance wafted from her robe, and Elin guessed that it had been scented with incense.

  “This map tells many stories,” Kuriu murmured. “It traversed a strange path before it ended up on this wall.” She stopped without elaborating, and the three of them stood gazing at the map for some time, lost in their own thoughts.

  What kind of lives had this tall woman and this foreign-featured youth led, Elin wondered. She thought about the days of which they would never speak and which she would never know. A breeze stole through the garden, carrying with it the moist chill of evening. The last glow of twilight had vanished, along with the murmur of people in the garden.

  “We call Imeelu the white city,” Kuriu said abruptly. “It’s dazzlingly white and sits on a great river that intersects many roads leading from other countries. Although it’s surrounded by grasslands and desert, our ancestors who built it came from across the seas. At least, that’s what our legends say.”

  She stretched out her hand and pointed one by one to several other towns. “These were once under the rule of the kingdom of Hajan. When Lyoza defeated Hajan, these caravan cities, including Imeelu, became your protectorates.”

  “Protectorates? Not domains?” Elin asked.

  Kuriu cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. Can you guess why?”

  Elin stared at the towns on the map, taking in the grasslands and desert that surrounded them and their distance from Aluhan territory. “To stretch the border this far would be difficult and expensive,” she said finally. “It would take a huge army to protect such a broad expanse of land.”

  Kuriu’s eyebrows shot up, and her smile deepened. “I can see why you caught Yohalu’s attention. You’re an interesting woman.”

  Kuriu walked over to the side table and picked up a book that was lying facedown. Bringing it over to Elin, she said, “The caravan cities are prosperous centers that attract people and goods. But they’re small, with little capacity to protect themselves. If the safety of the roads isn’t guaranteed, merchants will take their trade elsewhere, leaving the cities to wither. What they need is a country with a strong army to shelter them.

  “When the Hajan ruled, we paid them high taxes. And when Lyoza defeated Hajan and seized control over this area, we cozied up to you. No matter who rules, we live on, resilient. That’s the way we’ve chosen.”

  Kuriu opened the book and flipped through the pages. “This is my work. I’m writing a comparative history on three of the caravan cities. It’s quite fascinating and gives me a much clearer picture of what moves a city or kingdom. When I study the choices and foolish actions people have repeated for centuries, I can see how diverse and yet how similar we humans are.”

  As she listened, Elin felt something stirring in her breast, a burning urge she had often felt as a child—a sense that something connected to the invisible threads that moved this world was almost within reach. Impulsively, she said, “I study the laws of nature that govern living creatures. Because I want to know why they’re the way they are, in all their amazing diversity.”

  She reached out and softly touched Kuriu’s book. “What you just said you’re doing, it’s the same thing, isn’t it? But for those creatures we call humans?”

  Kuriu’s eyes shone. “Yes! Exactly!” Beaming, she turned to Rolan. “Remember what you said? ‘Even if people are pursuing different fields, they still share common ground’?”

  She turned her eyes back to Elin. “I want to know why humans fight one another. But to find out, I have to examine and explore an enormous volume of cases. I’m sure you understand the incredible amount of work that involves.”

  Elin nodded.

  “Even though you’re a teacher, you know nothing about the caravan cities, despite their importance to this kingdom. Many people have no idea of the shape of the world in which they live. It doesn’t even occur to them to look at the way cities or countries interact with one another. But I was born into the house of the pathfinders. I had the good fortune to meet many different people, and was exposed to many books.”

  She ran a finger over her tattoo. “This is the mark of the pathfinder. I’m sure you can’t imagine the power invested in the one who bears it. The words of the pathfinder steer the city of Imeelu.”

  Kuriu’s eyes, which were so rich with expression, suddenly darkened with a mixture of impatience and sorrow. She shrugged her slender shoulders and, moving away from the map, sank into a chair. “To know, and to tell. To know, and to tell,” she muttered as though chanting, then shook her head. “For centuries, generations of pathfinders have searched for the way, but no matter how deftly they have dodged and squirmed, they’ve never been able to avert war. The lives of humans are too short. They’re always snuffed out before their ideas have sufficient time to mature.”

  As her voice died away, a note plucked from a string trembled on the air, then swelled into a rich and undula
ting melody. While they were talking, Rolan had picked up his lakkalu. He stroked the strings, head bent, then looked up and raised his voice in song.

  Day breaks, men awake, hold your swords to the red sun.

  Hark to the thunder of hooves rolling like a storm across the plain.

  The song resonated in the pit of Elin’s stomach. For a moment, she saw countless men charging across a field on horseback. Her blood stirred in response to the violent twanging of the strings. There was something tragic about the sound, yet it made her heart beat wildly.

  Day breaks, children awake. The morn of your father’s death has come. The melody changed to a slender thread of sorrow, a song of mourning for dead fathers and brothers, for torched homes and gutted villages.

  Day breaks, people awake. Behold. Night gives way to dawn. This last refrain was repeated several times, like a wave crashing against the shore and receding, only to rush back again before finally fading away. Even when the last reverberation had ceased, Elin remained motionless for some time. She felt as if something enormous had passed through her.

  Casting her a faint smile, Kuriu flicked her eyes toward Rolan. “He’s always like that,” she said. “He seems to see right through your mind, weaving what he finds there into song.”

  She sighed and rested her head against the back of her chair. “You’re right, Rolan. War makes people’s hearts throb. Even though they know the cruelty and the misery of it, still they sing of battle.”

  Rolan didn’t respond, but only smiled with his arms wrapped around his lakkalu.

  “You’re right about one other thing, too,” Kuriu said, gazing up at the ceiling. “People will keep searching, endlessly. Like ants whose path has been blocked, they’ll pace back and forth looking for a way through.”

  * * *

  “Interesting, isn’t she?” Rolan said as he guided Elin back to her room. “Quite amazing really. She gave up her position as pathfinder, passing that mantle on to her nephew. But even now her words carry weight; not only in Imeelu, but in many other caravan cities. And her nephew still comes to her for advice.”