The Beast Warrior

by Nahoko Uehashi

  Yohalu stared at her as though dumbfounded. Returning his gaze steadily, Elin said, “The main difference between Toda in the Ponds and wild Toda is tokujisui, the potion that turns Toda into giant Kiba. Although females grow very quickly when given tokujisui, it must cause some kind of deformation. When it’s time to lay their eggs, the tokujisui becomes toxic. Although that toxin isn’t fatal to the other Toda, which are only given diluted tokujisui, it still seems to stop them from sexually maturing.

  “I’m guessing that wild females don’t lay eggs unless they mate, but the Kiba, which are fed heavy doses of the solution, produce unfertilized eggs. The tokujisui also causes lumps to form in the fallopian tubes and those lumps block the eggs. This man,” Elin said, pointing to the diary, “knew how to make tokujisui and what effect it would have on the Toda. He knew, and yet he still gave it to them.”

  Yohalu’s features twisted with revulsion. Shaking his head, he said, “But the purpose was to make the Toda strong so they’d be suited for battle. Surely, they’d never have done something so hideous? They’d never have intentionally deformed living creatures to prevent them from multiplying.”

  “It’s true that tokujisui increases the size and strength of the Toda. But if that were the reason for using it, why not use it to make all the Toda into Kiba?”

  Yohalu opened his mouth and closed it again. His eyes slid away from hers. After a long silence, he whispered, “You’re right. Why isn’t the same dose given to all the Toda? If all the troops were Kiba, we would have a much stronger army…”

  Frowning, he looked at Elin. “Why would they make a rule that only Toda hatched from eggs collected every five years could become Kiba?”

  Elin sighed. “Because this man knew. He knew that if female Toda were given undiluted tokujisui they would die when it was time to reproduce.”

  “But if that was the case, then why not select only male Toda as Kiba and—” Yohalu stopped.

  Elin nodded. “Exactly. The Stewards couldn’t do that. Because the man who made the rules for raising Toda forbade the Stewards from checking their sex. It was more important to him to keep the Toda’s sex unknown than to produce a large number of Kiba. If the Stewards started checking the Toda’s sex, they’d realize that the Toda in each Pond were either all male or all female.”

  Elin rubbed her arms, which felt cold and clammy. “I can’t say for certain without checking every Pond in all the Toda villages, but I suspect there’re no Ponds in which both male and female Toda are raised together. And if my suspicion is true, then that’s what caused the mass Kiba deaths.”

  Yohalu cast her a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I once read a report about the galyo, a poisonous, water-dwelling lizard inhabiting the wetlands in the southern part of this country. Their sex is determined by the water temperature in the year they hatch. In years when the water temperature during the egg-laying season is high, horned males are born, while in cold springs, hornless females are born. Do you remember the eggs we saw in the wild Toda nests? Before we were attacked?”

  “Yes.”

  “In Oohan, we were told that eggs from nests in the same basin are always raised in the same Pond. When Kolu said they never pick eggs from nests in the upper basin for Kiba because they don’t grow as well, I thought that water temperature might have something to do with sex. That’s why I went to check out the nests in each basin.”

  “And?”

  “The water in the nest in the upper basin, which they avoid when choosing Kiba eggs, was much colder than the water in the one below. I’m guessing it’s because of this custom that females have never been chosen as Kiba in Oohan.”

  “I see,” said Yohalu. “The other villages don’t have the same topography, so they never passed on the custom of picking eggs from the lower instead of the upper basin.”

  Elin nodded. “Are there any other villages with a river like the one in Oohan?”

  “No. None are as high in the mountains or on such a steep incline. They’re all in places with enough room to make large ponds and a training ground. I doubt there’s any difference in water temperature where the wild Toda nest.”

  “Which means,” Elin said, “that the Toda Stewards just gave tokujisui to those Toda hatched every fifth year. If it was a cool spring that year, all the Kiba would have been females. And they would’ve died of egg-binding when they reached maturity. In the report you showed me, mass Kiba deaths occurred in several villages at once. If those villages were established in the same year and have similar climates, then it would be a strong indication that this hypothesis is correct.”

  Yohalu stared at her. “You mean, our ancestors went to such extreme lengths to…” His words died away.

  Elin glanced down at the diary. For a long time, neither of them spoke. At last, Yohalu’s chair creaked as he turned to stare blankly out the window. His face twisted. “How ironic. For years, my father and I pondered how to raise more Toda and build a stronger army. To think that it was my own ancestor who obstructed this dream—one cherished by every Toda Rider!”

  Returning his gaze to Elin, he said slowly and deliberately, “Elin, I thank you. We have perpetuated this monstrous waste for far too long. Because our family’s oral tradition was severed. Thanks to you, we can fix that. This will probably be my last and greatest undertaking.” He rapped the side table with his knuckles. “I must inform the Aluhan immediately and have the Stewards’ regulations revised. I’ll also get the Stewards to determine the sex of every Toda. We must figure out how to multiply the Toda and start doing so right away.”

  As she stared at his stern, warrior-like features, something cold spread from Elin’s shoulders down through her chest. She laid her fingers on the diary. “Are you sure that what this man did was a mistake?” she whispered.

  A faint smile lifted the corners of Yohalu’s mouth. “I know without even asking what you’re thinking, what you fear. You worry that if the Toda army swells, it will bring another disaster like the one that occurred beyond the Afon Noah. But, Elin, think. Time changes things. The conditions in this kingdom today are completely different from those several centuries ago. This man’s grandfather said they lacked the knowledge to control a pack that exceeds the size nature intended and avert disaster. Those words may have been true then, but not anymore.”

  Elin stared at him. “You think we can control hordes of Toda without causing a disaster?”

  Yohalu let out a breath and shook his head slightly. “I’m saying we should look at it from the other way around. To refrain from trying because we might not be able to prevent a disaster is to take a step backward. Don’t you see? Time moves on and things change with each passing minute. I’m saying we should move with it. We should examine the situation carefully so we can choose the best strategy.”

  Fixing his eyes on hers, he said, “When we stood on the hill overlooking the Amasulu River, you asked me why the Lahza attack our country. Do you know why I didn’t answer you?”

  “No.”

  Yohalu nodded. “You see? Even you, who’re so clever, can’t guess. That’s exactly why I didn’t answer you. Because I couldn’t.” He turned his face toward the window and gazed outside. The white light of morning that had poured through the window earlier had deepened to the color of noon. “If you were just a commoner, I probably would’ve told you the Lahza are greedy barbarians who love to conquer other lands, that they’ve swallowed up many smaller countries to swell their own. And now that they’ve gained great military strength, they wish to conquer this land, which is not only wealthy but serves as a passage to countries that lie along the sea.”

  Slowly, he shifted his gaze back to her. “And if you knew the situation of this country and of the eastern plains as well as I do, you wouldn’t even have asked that question, because you would’ve known that even if you asked, you could never get a correct answer.”

  A bitter smile touched his lips. “Why do the Lahza invade this country? Neither I n
or the Aluhan know the real reason. Many different theories come to our ears, and we can make some assumptions from those. But at this time, no one in this country has seen with their own eyes or heard with their own ears what kind of people the Lahza are or how they govern their affairs. The capital of Lahza lies far across the great plains. Not even my son Rolan travels that far.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “You can’t question whether it’s right to increase and strengthen the Toda forces. Because you know absolutely nothing about the military affairs of this country.” He smiled quietly. “So, you see, there’s no need for you to bear the burden of that decision. The burden is mine. I, the descendent of the man who made the Toda troops, will create a new Toda army that suits this day and age.”

  The birds flitting among the trees outside the window warbled cheerfully. Elin kept her head bowed, unable to find any words. A feeling of impotence spread through her, as though her bones had turned to dust.

  Yohalu rose from his chair and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. At that moment they heard a commotion outside the room. A deep voice penetrated the closed door.

  “Father. It’s Muhan.”

  “Come in!” Yohalu called out. His son-in-law opened the door and walked in accompanied by a soldier.

  “Father, I have just received an important report from this man here. I brought him with me so that you could hear it for yourself.”

  The soldier, who was standing rigidly at attention, bowed and then glanced at Elin.

  “It’s fine. You may proceed,” said Yohalu.

  The man nodded. “We captured the men who attacked you, my lord. Captain Aoolu was discovered with two foreign bandits trying to sneak across a tributary of the Amasulu; they were apprehended.”

  “Well done. Were you there yourself?”

  “Yes, sir. The captives were taken away but rather than accompanying them, I came here instead. One of the foreigners divulged valuable information, and I thought it should be conveyed as soon as possible.”

  Yohalu frowned. “What is it?”

  “The foreigner was from Asheh. Fearing that he’d be executed, he offered us information in exchange for his life.”

  Asheh … The same country as Rolan, Elin thought. In her mind, she saw the spot on the eastern plain to which he had pointed on the map.

  Standing rigidly at attention, his face tense, the soldier plowed on. “According to him, their plan was to kidnap a Toda Steward and sell him in Lahza. They’d be rewarded so well, they’d never have to work again.”

  The meaning of his words seeped into Elin’s brain, and a shudder ran down her spine as though a lump of ice had been pressed against the nape of her neck. Her eyes swung to Yohalu’s face, but it registered no surprise. With a stern expression, he asked, “You mean they were after Stewards, not Toda eggs?”

  “Yes, that’s what the man said. It seems that Lahza has been sending out bandits like these for over a decade with the same mission. The Toda villages are so well concealed that almost no one has managed to abduct a Steward. But eight years ago, it seems that someone did succeed, and the rumor of the fortune he received has been the envy of the others.”

  Yohalu’s jaw tightened. “Someone succeeded? Eight years ago, you said?”

  “Yes. The man from Asheh said he found out that it was Aoolu who had assisted the successful bandit. That’s why he made contact with him.”

  Yohalu’s clenched fists shook.

  Eight years ago … Elin recalled the tale she had heard in Oohan. The younger brother of the chief; the great-uncle of the green-eyed girl. They’d assumed he drowned in the river, but his body had never been found.

  Yohalu stood as motionless as a statue. His eyes were focused on a single point, and he seemed lost in thought. No one spoke, and a heavy tension pervaded the room. At last, he shifted his gaze to his son-in-law and said, “Send soldiers to every Toda village immediately and strengthen their guard. Recall the sentries posted in each village and replace them with new ones.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Interrogate each sentry you recall and find out if any of them have had contact with foreign bandits. Aoolu should be thoroughly cross-examined. Make him cough up every detail about who was abducted and how, and also about how he became connected to foreign thieves.”

  Muhan nodded, his face grim. “As you wish, sir.” Briskly, he repeated Yohalu’s orders for confirmation.

  “Right, then,” Yohalu said. “Carry out those orders as you see fit. And make sure you amply reward this good man here and the others who captured them.”

  “Yes, sir!” Muhan saluted, then turned and led the soldier from the room. When the door closed, Yohalu looked at Elin. “What I feared most has finally happened,” he said as if to himself.

  “Was it the chief’s younger brother who was taken?” Elin asked.

  “Probably. I can only pray he killed himself, as a good Steward should.” His words were cruel, but Elin understood what he meant. If the man had shared his knowledge with the Lahza to save his own life, those eight years would take on a terrible significance. Stewards and Riders often said, “Three years do a Toda make.” It took three years to raise and train a newly hatched Toda to bear a warrior into battle. If they had started eight years ago, then the Lahza might already have a considerable number ready for battle.

  Yohalu took a deep breath. With a slight shake of his head, he said, “I apologize for the rush, but we can’t allow ourselves to be put on the defensive again. Tomorrow morning, I’ll leave for the palace and take you with me.”

  Wordlessly, Elin gazed up into his face. The fierce warrior before her seemed a different man. What he saw in her expression she didn’t know, but something like sorrow flickered in his eyes. In a soft voice, he said, “Considering the circumstances, it’s no longer possible for this old man to protect you on his own. I know this will be hard on you, but please be patient.”

  Gripping her icy hands together, Elin whispered, “So you mean to place me under the supervision of the palace?”

  Yohalu nodded. “And not just you, but anyone who has the ability to influence you. They must all be placed under our complete protection.”

  Elin stood staring at him silently while the room and everything in it seemed to fade away.

  FOUR

  FATHER AND SON

  1

  THE BATHHOUSE

  Kokari wood felt as smooth as satin when properly polished. As Ialu ran his fingers over the white surface, his thoughts drifted to Elin. Images of her popped into his head—a casual gesture or expression. He let his mind follow these traces while keeping his hands and eyes focused on planing wood and assembling cabinet pieces, never pausing in his work.

  Perhaps because Elin wasn’t there, most of the memories that floated through Ialu’s brain were from their early days before they married. The way she had looked on the day he first saw her, when he was still a Se Zan. The uncertainty on her face as she stood unannounced outside the door of his dingy little house in the capital. Scattered fragments from the time when, despite their efforts, it became increasingly difficult to keep their distance.

  A shrill clanging startled Ialu from his reverie—the evening bell. It’s that late already?

  For some time, the light had been too dim to see his hands clearly. The late afternoon sun that had shone through the latticed window had faded, and the room was sunk in blue shadow.

  Brushing the wood shavings from his knees, he stood up. No flame burned in the lamp in the corner of the room or in the clay oven in the dirt-floored kitchen. Recently, Jesse had become obsessed with striking the flint, reporting eagerly how many strikes it had taken to ignite the fire. But today he was nowhere to be seen. Ialu slipped his feet into his sandals and walked to the clay oven. Children’s shouts came through the open door. There must be a fight going on somewhere, he thought. He could hear jeers and hoots mingled with voices pleading for someone to stop; his son’s shrill voice was among them.

  Ialu knelt in
front of the oven and swiftly lit a fire. A neighbor had given them some fahko yesterday. With stewed fish and tsupa, vegetable soup, Ialu figured it would be enough for their supper. But when he looked in the basket where he’d left the fahko, he scowled. There was only half left, hardly enough for their supper, let alone breakfast tomorrow.

  Jesse … He had probably found another pup. Whenever Jesse snuck off with some fahko, it usually meant he’d taken a stray under his wing and hidden it somewhere.

  Banking the ashes around the fire, Ialu pulled a few coins from a pouch that hung above the oven and went outside. Though fairly wide, the lane in front of his house was cluttered with potted plants, laundry racks, and other paraphernalia the neighborhood women left out. The aroma of roasting meat and freshly baked fahko wafted through the air, borne on a thin haze of smoke from the cooking fires.

  A short distance down the lane was a major thoroughfare. Just before it was another lane that led to a grocer’s backyard. A gang of boys were gathered there, shrieking and shouting. No doubt the grocer would come out shortly and douse them with a bucket of water to shoo them away. A single glance told Ialu that Jesse was one of the two boys grappling in the middle, but he continued on without turning aside.

  The lanterns hanging over the shops on both sides of the main road had already been lit. The exhausted faces of the lower-ranked artisans hurrying home glowed briefly in the faint lamplight, only to vanish once again into the blue dusk. Ialu bought a round of fahko, the flatbread still warm and steaming from the oven. Folding it in half, he slipped it under his arm and headed home. Lamplight spilled from the doorways, casting bright stripes across the darkness that lay over the road. Ialu made out a shadowy figure standing in front of his house. The figure’s eyes were on the doorway, avoiding the light. A dark puddle spread around its feet.

  “Jesse,” he said. The shadow jumped. Even in the darkness, Ialu could see the boy’s sorry face and bloodied nose. He was sopping from head to toe and looked as miserable as a drenched pup. But he kept his lips pressed firmly together, and his whole body seemed to shout, “It wasn’t my fault!”