A deep furrow cleft Yohalu’s brow as he stared at the ancient book. “He intended to tell him everything when he reached the age of twelve, but he died when my great-grandfather was only eight. Because the secrets, including how to read this book, were transmitted orally, they died with him. My great-grandfather believed that he was murdered.”
Elin leaned forward. “Murdered?”
Yohalu nodded. “Yes. One day, the Yojeh summoned him to her palace, but he came back as ashes in an urn. The family was told that he’d died of an illness while at the palace and that his body had been cremated to purify it.”
Yohalu sighed. “It was a long time ago so no one knows the truth. But my great-grandfather believed that the Yojeh had him poisoned. He thought she feared the Aluhan’s increasing military might and wanted to stamp out the secret Toda arts before he could pass them on to his son.”
Yohalu’s mouth crooked in a bitter smile. “I can imagine how my great-grandfather would’ve reacted once he was old enough to understand the meaning of his father’s death. From then on, he was consumed with an implacable, twisted hatred for the Yojeh. As he watched how her reign shaped this kingdom, he came up with the idea of the Sai Gamulu. When the time seemed right, he set this secret society into motion, burning the palace and killing the Yojeh and her heir. The only survivor was the Yojeh’s granddaughter. I suppose he wanted to inflict on them the same fate he himself had suffered—the severing of knowledge.”
The silence when he finished speaking was disturbed only by the hissing candles. So, Elin thought, hatred had sown the seeds of more hatred, transcending time to entangle those who lived now. She found it hard to breathe, as though something thick and heavy had engulfed her, stifling her breath. Trying to shake off that oppressive weight, she struggled to keep her voice level. “What was your great-great-grandfather’s relationship with the Yojeh?” she asked.
Cocking his head, Yohalu urged her to continue.
“It’s the Yojeh that puzzles me,” Elin explained. “If what your great-grandfather believed is true, then the Yojeh must not only have known that your ancestors possessed skills related to the Toda, but also that they were passed on secretly to the eldest son.”
A light kindled in Yohalu’s eyes. “You’re very sharp. You’ve already grasped the crux of this story.”
Elin shook her head. “I don’t know about that, but ever since I met that green-eyed girl in Oohan village, something’s been bothering me. It’s related to the story you just told me.”
Yohalu gazed at her intently. “What is it?” he asked.
“Long ago, when the great hosts of the Hajan attacked this country, the Yojeh’s loyal subject Yaman Hasalu begged her to give him the Toda Whistle so that he might save the people. Judging his intentions to be sincere, she gave him that sacred treasure and permitted him to ride the Toda. Yaman Hasalu crossed the Amasulu River and vanquished the Hajan.
“That was the origin of the Aluhan, a legend we’ve been hearing ever since we were children. Yet, it’s simply not possible.”
Yohalu’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Elin moistened her lips to continue, when caution suddenly overtook her. She paused. “Have you heard the tale of what happened on the other side of the Afon Noah?”
Yohalu shook his head. “No, never. All I know is that the Yojeh is not a god.” He grinned. “That’s what I consider to be the crux of this story, the point I really wanted to convey to you. But it appears you knew that already.”
Although Elin didn’t respond, Yohalu continued unperturbed. “The grandfather of the founder of Oohan village was secretly summoned from the Afon Noah, along with his family, by the Yojeh of that time. In other words, if the Royal Ancestor Jeh was a god, then the blood of the gods must run in my veins, too. But that can’t be, because I know for sure that I’m a very ordinary man.”
Scratching his chin, he said, “According to what I was told, when our ancestors came from the Afon Noah, they were kept hidden in the palace. They were called Friends of the Yojeh and met secretly with Yaman Hasalu to teach him how to control the Toda. Even after the victory of Amasulu, their existence was kept strictly confidential. After Yaman Hasalu became the Aluhan, they supported him from behind the scenes and married into his family. It wasn’t until the next generation that they appeared openly on the political stage of this country. The next generation all had dark brown eyes, but in the one after that, a green-eyed child was born. That was my ancestor, the founder of Oohan village. He was raised in secret within this very place. Eventually, the Aluhan ordered him to establish a Toda village deep in the mountains where not even the birds passed. Green-eyed children are still born in Oohan because it’s so remote that close kin often intermarry. In my own family line, no other green-eyed children have been born.”
The smile in Yohalu’s eyes deepened. “Your ancestors had green eyes, too. If we traced our ancestry back, we might find that we’re relatives.”
Wordlessly, Elin gazed at this affable yet fathomless man. Long ago, his ancestors had crossed the Afon Noah to settle here, just like hers. The thought filled her with awe, as if she had touched upon something incredibly vast.
“Well, what do you think? Does that solve your riddle?” Yohalu asked.
Elin shook her head with a rueful laugh. “It’s only compounded it.” She shared with him the tale she’d heard from the Ahlyo about the tragedy on the other side of the Afon Noah. As she did so, she remembered how she’d shared it with Seimiya just after she became the Yojeh. She recalled the astonishment on Seimiya’s porcelain features as she had sat wrapped in the steam that rose from the bath. She’d looked so very young.
“So.” Yohalu whispered, staring at her with a look of astonishment. “Far from being friends, the Royal Ancestor Jeh and her people were sworn enemies of the Toga mi Lyo.”
Elin nodded. “At least, according to the tale passed down among the Ahlyo. Or the Ao-Loh—the People of the Law—as they call themselves. Jeh’s people must have been Royal Beast handlers who lived in the valleys of the Afon Noah. The Toga mi Lyo came from across the sea where they had fled their homeland. They took refuge in a prosperous country at the foot of the same mountains.”
“And you’re saying those two peoples, one mounted on Toda and the other on Royal Beasts, launched a war so disastrous that it wiped out both their armies and even the creatures they rode, and destroyed their nations?” asked Yohalu.
“Yes.”
Yohalu took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Well. Of all the…” He shook his head and sighed. Looking at Elin, he smiled wryly. “Now I understand why you’ve stubbornly refused to wield the Royal Beasts.”
Elin remained silent. Her reasons for not wanting to control the Beasts were far more complex than what Yohalu imagined, but she didn’t think he would understand even if she tried to explain. Suddenly she felt terribly tired, as if she had traveled the space of centuries in this short time.
“There’s so much that we simply don’t know,” she said quietly. “Far too much. What did those people who lived and died so long ago do? And why? What were they thinking and feeling?” She wiped her brow. “I wonder what really happened on the other side of the Afon Noah. Were our ancestors—the Toga mi Lyo—really enemies of Jeh and her people? Why did Jeh come here and why did she choose to become the ruler of this country? Why did she summon your ancestor and ask him to use the Toda?”
Yohalu nodded. His face was ashen. He fastened his eyes on the diary, which looked as if it might disintegrate at any moment. “That could tell us some of the answers, don’t you think?” He gave a lopsided smile. “But even with a mirror, I doubt I could make much sense of it. How about you? Do you think you could read it?”
Elin pointed at it. “May I take a look?”
“Of course.”
The inside cover felt more like rough cloth than paper. She turned it gingerly, revealing a page covered with elegant handwriting. Even with the mirror, she couldn’t read
the ancient script fluently, but she could still grasp most of the meaning.
Running her eyes over the page, she murmured, “The letters and words my mother taught me were the language of her people, but I was surprised when one of our professors well versed in the classics read us a poem. It sounded very similar to the words my mother had taught me.”
As she stared at the letters, her eyes blurred with tears. She’d been torn from her mother when she was too young to understand anything. Yet with each step she took along this path, she would probably keep stumbling upon fragments of her mother’s life. Just like this.
“Elin,” said Yohalu. “That’s enough for tonight. I’m a bit tired, and you must be even more so. This diary hasn’t been read for more than a century. I’m sure it won’t complain if it has to wait one more day.”
Elin nodded and gently closed the book. “May I come again tomorrow?” she asked.
“Of course. If you feel up to it. But please be careful not to overdo it.”
Elin smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She bowed deeply, filled with a quiet affection that she had not felt for him before.
A faint smile touched his lips, and he sketched a bow in return. Then he pulled a string that dangled beside the bookcase. “Please wait a moment. A maidservant will come to fetch you shortly.”
Elin nodded, but then her face clouded. There was one other thing she must say, something that couldn’t be said once the servant came. “You said that the Sai Gamulu wished to kill me. I assume that that hasn’t changed?”
Yohalu’s face grew serious. “No, it hasn’t. However—and I’m not just saying this to make you feel better—as long as you’re with me, you’ve nothing to fear. As for what comes next, we’ll work something out.”
“Thank you. But it’s my family that I am concerned about. If they can’t get at me, isn’t there a possibility they’ll try to take my family hostage?”
Yohalu shook his head. “I was worried about that myself, but I believe it’s highly unlikely as long as you remain under my protection. You see, even if they took your family hostage, they’d still have to go through me if they wished to negotiate.”
He frowned. “And I suppose, in a sense, you being with me actually fulfills their purpose.”
“Ah, yes. I see,” Elin said. As long as she was with Yohalu, she couldn’t fly Leelan for the Yojeh. But that also meant she’d have to remain under Yohalu’s protection if she didn’t want to be murdered by the Sai Gamulu.
“I know,” Yohalu said, reading her expression. “You have a life. I won’t ask you to stay forever. As I said, we’ll think of something.”
Before Elin could respond, she heard the voice of a maidservant from the other side of the heavy door. “Please,” Elin said quickly. “Take me to them. Let me tell them to their faces that I’ll never use the Royal Beasts to reinforce the power of the Yojeh. If they could understand that—”
Yohalu shook his head. “For them, your intention isn’t the problem. Still, there must be some solution. Let’s keep thinking about it.”
He called to the servant and opened the door.
The chilly corridor was dimly lit and smelled faintly of night air. As she gazed down it, Elin felt as if she were looking at the long road that stretched endlessly before her. Once again, she had to walk alone.
At that thought, pain ran through her, as if her breast was being gouged with a sharp pick. How she longed to see Ialu and Jesse, to hold them in her arms. Slowly, she walked down the cold corridor, cradling the feelings that welled up inside her.
9
THE DIARY OF THE KALENTA LOH
“While spring is young and snow remains, then comes the ochiwa.” It was with this phrase that the diary began.
The rain of the previous evening had lifted with the dawn, and the sky was now dazzlingly bright. Clear morning light poured through the study’s open window. Yohalu sat in his chair listening as Elin read aloud, her finger slowly following the letters on the page.
“How pure its white form as it flies, slender legs together. Oh, noble bird that crosses the steep mountain ridges to our valley, bearing that precious black leg ring.
“Like us, one generation replaces the next, yet still the faithful ochiwa fulfills its mission, winging its flight once a year.
“Letters borne by the ochiwa. A custom begun by my great-great-grandfather to cheer the spirits of the young maiden who had once again donned that heavy mantle, her heart troubled by the fate of a people in the lowlands far away. Even now, that bond continues in this way.
“Did my great-great-grandfather harbor love in his heart for that maiden? I ask this of Grandfather, but he shrugs and laughs. If that maid won ten million hearts, he says, then it would not be strange if his heart was one of those. An artful dodger is Grandfather.”
Without a doubt, the book was a diary. To read it was to hear the voice of a young man who had lived in the distant past and was no longer in this world. He had recorded his travels from the land he called “the valley” to Lyoza. Suddenly impatient, Elin marked the page she was reading with a finger and turned to the last page, skimming its contents.
“Where does it end?” Yohalu asked, craning his neck to peer at the words.
“It leaves off where he begins living in the Yojeh’s palace. Do you have any more books like this?” Elin asked.
Yohalu shook his head with a look of regret. “No, none. He may have written more, but this is the only one that was left to me.”
Elin returned to the place she’d marked with her finger and resumed reading aloud.
From the pages rose the image of a bold young man filled with curiosity. The ochiwa had come bearing an urgent plea from the Yojeh begging the Toga mi Lyo to aid her beleaguered kingdom. The Hajan, the Yojeh wrote, threatened to invade and overrun the country. After some hesitation, the young man decided to take his family to her aid. His wife and children were also bold by nature. Far from being worried, the prospect of starting a new life in some distant land filled them with a sense of purpose.
Although sad at parting, the young man’s grandfather and the people of the valley blessed their journey. From the description of the farewell banquet, it was clear they had no hesitation about sharing the knowledge of the Toda with the Yojeh. Rather, the valley people seemed to accept her request without question, as though they’d anticipated that such a day would come. Unfortunately, the diary did not say why. Nor was there any mention of the battle that had occurred on the far side of the Afon Noah, or the reason the Toga mi Lyo had begun exchanging messages with the Yojeh, the leader of their enemies. The man writing the diary must have considered these things too obvious to require an explanation.
There was, however, an interesting entry about the Toda. The night before the young man’s departure he spoke with his grandfather about them.
“Should the Toda increase in number, the nation will expand and its population increase. That is the beginning of the end, Grandfather says. Every beast in nature knows the right balance. Males fight for females and form packs. Weaker males receive no mate and leave no offspring. Thus is the number of packs perfectly maintained. Should that balance be broken and they grow too large in number, disease will spread, conflicts will arise, and once again catastrophe will strike. This, he says, is the law of nature.
“‘Man is more intelligent than the beasts,’ I say, but Grandfather laughs.
“‘As yet, man lacks the knowledge to control a pack that has exceeded the size nature intended and so avert disaster. How tragic!’
“His words sink into my mind.
“The peace of a small impoverished herd. The wealth of a large herd that is constantly fighting. We must always keep the number of Toda within our grasp. These words do I engrave upon my heart.”
Elin stared at that last sentence. A stillness spread through her. The thought that she had been mulling over for some time had been right, then.
“This fits with what you were telling me last night, doe
sn’t it?” Yohalu murmured. “If they caused a war on the other side of the Afon Noah but managed to survive and settle in the place they called the valley, it makes sense that they would want to hold fast to such a rule.”
Their eyes met, and they nodded at each other. This one passage showed that the road followed by their ancestors began at the same place.
“‘We must always keep the number of Toda within our grasp.’” Yohalu cocked his head. “It almost sounds like they knew how to do that.”
Elin said nothing, but Yohalu’s sharp eyes did not miss the subtle change in her expression. He leaned forward. “You mean they did? There is a way?”
Elin’s pulse began to race. She had known that if she read this diary, it might mention that fact, and if asked, she had resolved to tell the truth. But now that she was faced with the decision, her heart wavered, torn by an indecision akin to fear. If she told Yohalu how they controlled the Toda, there would be no turning back.
“Elin, please, tell me. I have a right to know. If my ancestor wasn’t murdered, that knowledge would have been passed down to me, too.”
Elin gripped her knees. “Yes. There is a way,” she said. “Your ancestors knew it. I believe that even as they built their villages and began building up the Toda troops, they carefully controlled their number to prevent them from over multiplying.”
“How?”
Elin sighed. “With tokujisui.”
Yohalu’s eyes widened. “What? Tokujisui? Does it have the power to do that?”
Elin nodded. “Do you remember the eggs that killed the Kiba?”
“Yes,” Yohalu said hoarsely. “Are you saying that it was tokujisui that caused that?”
“Yes. I believe it wasn’t just coincidence or the operation of some natural law. Why is it that only Kiba die en masse? Why don’t other females suffer from egg-binding? Why don’t Toda raised in the Ponds mate and reproduce? All these things are related to a single factor.”
The Beast Warrior Page 14
