“What?”
Seimiya gazed at Elin. “We still do that. We still send the ochiwa. At the hour of dawn as the sun breaks over the horizon on the first day of the year, the Yojeh releases an ochiwa and sends it off toward the Afon Noah. We’ve continued this ritual every year without fail.”
Elin stared at her openmouthed.
“We place a message of felicitation in a band on its leg and release it. And it always comes back. I was taught that by sending a greeting to our home in the Afon Noah, we receive the blessings of the gods in return and bring happiness to the world. But I never knew that was how it started.”
Her voice strained, Elin asked, “Do you receive a message in return?”
Seimiya shook her head. “No, nothing. The bird comes back with our message still strapped to its leg. But…”
Her face clouded, and Elin urged her on with her eyes. With a bashful smile, Seimiya said, “When we open the letter, it smells like flowers. I always thought that it was the fragrance of the gods.”
The perfume of flowers! Tiny lights burst and scattered across Elin’s mind.
“What?” Seimiya asked.
“It just might be,” Elin said breathlessly, “that the ochiwa still flies to the Valley of the Kalenta Loh.”
Seimiya’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“My mother wrote in her diary that the valley where the Kalenta Loh live is filled with the fragrance of flowers.”
The two stared at each other. Then Seimiya laughed. “But—could that really be possible?”
Elin gave a lopsided smile. “I wonder. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. But still…”
Seimiya’s face sobered. “You’re right. It’s worth trying, even if it is a chance in a million.”
* * *
The Yojeh returned to the palace, promising to come again when she could. Upon her return, she attached the letter she had written with Elin to an ochiwa and sent it off toward the Afon Noah. But it returned with the same message perfumed with the faint scent of flowers. It must have flown down to rest in a meadow on its way home, Seimiya decided. That, she thought, was the nature of an answer from the gods.
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.
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