Guardian of the Spirit

by Nahoko Uehashi

  “What?”

  “That — thing — in the boy, it’s Nyunga Ro Im, or at least, that’s what the Yakoo call it. It means the Water Guardian. You said that in his sleep he starts walking toward water, right? That you saw a blue light coming from him and the water in the river changed?”

  “Yes, it seems to happen when he’s asleep or unconscious. Did you notice anything like that in the last two nights?”

  “No. Nothing. Maybe we’re too far from the river.”

  Chagum was listening to their conversation with a frown.

  “And what is this Nyunga-whatever? Is it some kind of river spirit?” Balsa asked.

  “I don’t know much about it myself. But surely you’ve heard the legend of Torugaru, the Mikado’s sacred ancestor, and how he founded this country by slaying a water demon.”

  “Yes, I know the story. But he killed the demon, didn’t he? So how could it show up now?”

  Tanda started to speak and then hesitated. “It’s rather complicated.”

  “That’s okay. Tell me what you know. It’s going to be a long night anyway.”

  Tanda had been gazing steadily at Chagum, but he nodded as if he had made a decision. “Chagum, what I am about to say may make you angry, but you have to know sometime. Will you be patient and hear me out?”

  Although he looked anxious, Chagum nodded.

  “All right then. Long, long ago, only the Yakoo lived in this land. They knew that there were two worlds, the one that we can see, called Sagu, and another, invisible world, called Nayugu. I want you to understand that this is not the world that the Yogoese call the ‘Other World’ — it isn’t heaven or hell, where the souls of the dead go. Sagu and Nayugu exist together in the same place, here, now. You see?

  “The most important thing to understand is that these two worlds are interconnected, each supporting the other, although not even the Yakoo are sure how. But there is one thing they know for certain, and you must remember this well. There lives in Nayugu a creature capable of changing the weather in both worlds. The Yakoo believe that once every hundred years, this creature lays an egg. The year after that there is a bad drought. If the egg doesn’t hatch by the full moon of the summer solstice, the drought will continue and bring on disaster.

  “There is another important point to this story. For some reason, this creature, which the Yakoo call Nyunga Ro Im, lays its egg in a creature of Sagu.”

  Balsa and Chagum gaped at him. “Do you mean to say that this Nyunga Ro Im has laid an egg in Chagum?” she breathed.

  Chagum pressed both hands to his chest and looked like he was going to be sick. He stood up suddenly and dashed outside. Tanda followed him, and after a few moments, they returned together, Chagum looking very pale. Tanda rubbed his back gently with one large hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the boy. “It’s not a very pleasant story for you. But I want you to know that the Yakoo regard Nyunga Ro Im as something very special. The child chosen to bear the egg was known as the Nyunga Ro Chaga, the Guardian of the Spirit — or as you would call it, the Moribito. The child was always protected very carefully.”

  “But Tanda, wait a minute,” Balsa said. “That’s very different from the legend of Mikado Torugaru conquering the water spirit. In that story, the child’s parents wept because the child who bore the water spirit would die, and they begged Torugaru to kill the monster. Isn’t that right?”

  Tanda looked troubled. “That’s what I meant when I said my story might make Chagum angry.”

  “Oh, I see.” Balsa nodded.

  Chagum, pale-faced, glared at her indignantly. “What do you see? I will not become angry. Tell me.”

  Balsa sighed. “Chagum, no matter where you go, you’ll find that people in high positions like to make themselves look good. A general, for example, must always be a hero, because who will respect him if he is a coward? I’ve traveled to many countries and heard many stories, and a victory in battle is always the general’s, even when it’s won by the hard work of ordinary soldiers. And when time passes, these stories often develop into legends.”

  “So, you are saying that our sacred ancestor, the first Mikado, also told such lies?” Chagum asked sternly.

  Balsa hesitated and glanced at Tanda. The boy was wiser than his eleven years, and therefore the pain the truth would cause him would be deeper. But she was sure that he could face this. “I don’t want to lie to you,” she said. “So I’m going to speak to you as if you were a grown man. The legend of your sacred ancestor probably has some truth to it. But I’m now convinced some parts of it are false.”

  “Why do you believe the Yakoo legend rather than the legend of our sacred ancestor?” he demanded.

  Balsa looked at him in surprise, and a smile, unbidden, touched her lips. He really was a tough kid. “For two reasons. First, I know Tanda very well. He is a deep thinker, and he rarely makes mistakes. Second, from my own experience, the strong usually manipulate the legends of the weak to fit their own wishes, not the other way around.”

  Tanda had been listening to the two of them talk with some amusement, but here he interrupted. “No, Balsa. Although that’s true sometimes, I think the oppressed often embellish their legends too. If they didn’t, they couldn’t keep their pride. But I don’t think the story of Nyunga Ro Im is one of those. It was passed down centuries before the first Mikado ever came, so it’s not likely that it was purposely changed to resist the kingdom of New Yogo. Besides, there’s something I haven’t told you yet.”

  He looked at Chagum. “I’m sure you can see by the color of my skin that Yakoo blood runs in my veins. My grandmother on my mother’s side was Yakoo. She told me a very frightening story she heard when she was a child from her grandfather, which would make him my great-great-grandfather. It went like this.

  “One hundred years after your sacred ancestor killed the water spirit, the spirit laid its egg in the son of my great-great-grandfather’s good friend. This friend was Yakoo, but his wife was Yogoese, so the blood of both peoples ran in the child’s veins. My great-great-grandfather and all the villagers tried desperately to save the boy, but they failed and he died.”

  “Why? How did he die?” Balsa asked, but Tanda shook his head.

  “My grandmother only told me this story after her memory had gotten hazy. I don’t know the details. She said he was killed by Rarunga, the Egg Eater, but I don’t know if that meant the Mikado’s men, who were trying to protect the legend of the first Mikado, or if it was something else. Master Torogai thinks Rarunga was a creature of Nayugu, the unseen world.”

  Chagum’s face had turned chalk white, but his voice was calm. “Master Torogai? The magic weaver to whom my mother sent a letter?”

  “That’s right,” Balsa said. “Torogai is Tanda’s teacher, and probably the greatest living magic weaver in the world.”

  Chagum stared at Tanda, his eyes round. Tanda scratched his head, embarrassed. “Master Torogai is part Yakoo too, you see,” he said.

  “But I heard the Yakoo were illiterate. How can someone who cannot read possibly be wise?” Chagum asked suspiciously.

  Tanda smiled. “They may not know how to read, but the Yakoo know a lot about this world. Think about it. The Yakoo have lived here for ages. Any person knows his own home better than a stranger.”

  Balsa clenched her hands on her knees. “We’ve got to find Torogai, or else another Yakoo who knows more about this water spirit. I haven’t a hope of protecting Chagum if I don’t even know what the Rarunga is. If it really is the Mikado’s men, then there are steps I can take, but if not, the task is beyond me.”

  Tanda nodded but frowned. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. But Master Torogai is so unpredictable, there’s no way to get in touch. As for the Yakoo, we’ve had so much intermarriage that we’re all mixed with Yogoese or Kanbalese blood, like me … We’ve forgotten our heritage. I don’t know if there’s anyone left who knows about Nyunga Ro Im.”

  “Well, we have to try. What ab
out the descendants of your great-great-grandfather’s friend? They might know more about the story.”

  “You’re right. I’ll check that out first thing in the morning.” Chagum was still looking pale, and Tanda placed his hand on his shoulder. “I know you must be terrified, but I’m sure we’ll find a way to protect you. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better! Think about it: Nyunga Ro Im would have disappeared long ago if none of its eggs had survived. Obviously some of them must have hatched, even if we’ve never heard of them. Besides, if the spirit just laid its eggs in children for them to be killed, why would the Yakoo have treated it with such reverence?”

  Balsa thought privately that they might have considered these children necessary sacrifices to avert disastrous drought, but she kept her mouth shut. Chagum must already be frightened to death; she didn’t want to make him suffer any more. Chagum, however, said in a surprisingly steady voice, “That is what the magic weaver told my mother. The one who carries the creature only dies if he fails to protect it.”

  Balsa looked up in shock; she had forgotten that. A faint hope blossomed in her heart. “You’re right. I remember your mother telling us that. Tanda!”

  “I’m with you. We need to find Torogai.”

  “I’m sure Torogai escaped. That sly old magic weaver would have been the first to guess what the Mikado would do.”

  “And therefore be on the other side of the Misty Blue Mountains by now.”

  They looked at each other. Balsa whispered, “I didn’t want to get you involved in this.”

  Tanda laughed. “Don’t worry. I should be thanking you for getting me involved. This may just provide me with answers to a lot of questions.”

  “What do you want to know, Tanda?” Chagum asked.

  Tanda searched for words. “Many things. Though I may not seem like much, I want to be a magic weaver. For that, it’s important to know about the world — and not just Sagu, the world we can see, but the invisible world of Nayugu.”

  Balsa grinned and said, “He’s always wanted to know everything ever since he was a kid. He was never any good at martial arts, but when it came to medicines or spirits, he had amazing concentration. He can’t make his living yet as a magic weaver, but he does very well selling herbs. And when you do become a famous magic weaver, Tanda, you better charge those rich people lots of money and treat me to a fancy dinner.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. You’re lucky I’m still unknown and I sew up your wounds for free! When I become a famous magic weaver, I’ll charge you a gold coin for every stitch.”

  Chagum looked from Balsa to Tanda and said, “Have you known each other since you were children?”

  “Since we were this high!” they chimed in unison, placing their hands about waist height. The gesture and even the expressions on their faces were identical. They laughed.

  “Balsa was the foster child of Jiguro, a wandering warrior,” Tanda told Chagum. “They came here when she was about ten and stayed for several years to train. Jiguro was a hard teacher, and sometimes Balsa was badly injured. Whenever that happened, Torogai, who used to live here, would patch her up. Jiguro paid in cash, and for a magic weaver who didn’t want much to do with the villagers, this was convenient.”

  “Jiguro knew Torogai could sew me back together again, so he didn’t worry about drilling me to death. Honestly!” Balsa grumbled. “Was that any way to treat a beautiful young girl?”

  Tanda ignored her and continued. “I’m two years younger than Balsa. When I was a kid, I used to sneak away from my farm chores when my parents weren’t looking and hang around Torogai’s place. That’s how I met Balsa. Torogai was one shrewd old woman.”

  “What?!” Chagum burst out. “You mean the magic weaver is a woman?!”

  “That’s right,” Balsa replied. “The Yakoo call anyone with great ability ‘Master,’ regardless of their gender. And Torogai is one tough, clever old lady who doesn’t mince words. She must have been fifty-five or fifty-six then, so I guess she’s around seventy now, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I think she just turned seventy,” Tanda agreed.

  “Then she will never get away!” Chagum cried. “She is too old to run! She cannot possibly escape the kind of men who attacked us, can she?”

  “You bet she can!” Balsa and Tanda said at once.

  “If anyone can, she can,” Balsa added. “She may be old, but she’s more goblin than human.”

  Tanda laughed wryly. “Balsa, if Torogai finds out what you just said, you can give up any hope of her helping us. And besides, when you get old, you’re going to be just like her.”

  They teased each other lightly as they shared memories of their past. The hollow loneliness that had ached inside Chagum since he parted from his mother gradually began to ease. His home was now this simple hut: a single room, floored by wooden planks and dirt, with a hearth set in the middle. Yet it was dear to him. The fire crackling in the hearth warmed the entire room, comforting him. For the first time since he had left the palace, he felt safe.

  In the heart of the Misty Blue Mountains, a tiny old woman in a rough hemp tunic was weaving magic. Unruly wisps of white hair framed her wrinkled brown face, with its wide nostrils, tight puckered lips, and black eyes that glittered in narrow slits; but while this face was hideously ugly, it also suggested hidden power. This was Torogai, the very woman Balsa and Tanda sought.

  She was sitting on the edge of a spring wreathed in ferns, stretching her wrinkled bony legs out between the damp rocks, her eyes half-closed. Only her hands moved, caressing a rock and drumming on its surface — ta-tap, tap, ta-tap — her fingers playing the rock as if it were an instrument. All the while she whispered in her mind,

  “Oh, Water Dwellers of Nayugu.

  Oh, Shining Ones who live in water.

  Oh, Long Ones. Oh, Undulating Ones.

  Come and speak with me.

  I am of the Land Dwellers of Sagu,

  one who walks the lands of Sagu,

  who lives above the earth.

  The year of Nyunga Ro Im has come —

  the time when Sagu and Nayugu intertwine.

  Come speak to me. Come tell me.”

  Suddenly, she heard a noise from the spring where it flowed from between the ferns: ta-tap, tap, ta-tap. It was identical to the rhythm she was drumming on the rock and came back to her with a hollow sound, like an echo from inside a cave. The air around her grew dim, as if the sunlight no longer reached her, as if the color of the very air around her changed. As she listened, the sound echoing from the water began to form words in her mind.

  “Oh, Child of the Land Dwellers of Sagu.

  Oh, Child of the Dry Ones who live on the earth.

  Oh, Child of the Free-Roaming Ones,

  the Wielders of Fire.

  I have come in answer to your call.

  I am of the Water Dwellers of Nayugu,

  one who lives in the waters of Nayugu.”

  The outline of Torogai’s body faded as if she were evaporating. A blue light drifted over the spring’s surface, blurring the boundary between water and air. She knelt down and pressed her face into the space where the two joined. Something gradually began to emerge from the blue haze. The sandy bottom of the shallow spring vanished, and in its place blue-green water, so beautiful it made her heart ache, extended deep, deep below. From its depths appeared something that resembled a human in shape, but its hair was like seaweed, and a slimy bluish-white film covered its skin. Its eyes were lidless, its mouth lipless, and it had only two small holes for a nose.

  “Well met, Yona Ro Gai, Water Dweller,” Torogai said, her face pressed close to the other’s.

  “To Ro Gai, Land Dweller, speak with me,” the creature responded.

  Torogai nodded. Sweat beaded her brow; it was exhausting to keep her face between two worlds in this way. “Yona Ro Gai, listen. Has Nyunga Ro Im, the Water Guardian, laid its egg?”

  “Yes. Five eggs in Nayugu and one in Sagu.”

&
nbsp; “Is Rarunga on the move?”

  The creature shuddered. “Yes. Two of the eggs laid in Nayugu are already gone. Rarunga ate them. The eggs laid in Nayugu are food for Rarunga.”

  “How does it find them?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Who can tell me more about Rarunga?” It was so hard to breathe that Torogai’s face contorted with the strain.

  “Rarunga is an earth spirit. You must ask the Juchi Ro Gai, the Mud Dwellers of Nayugu.” The water creature was obviously finding it a struggle too. Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water.

  “Where must I go to speak with the Juchi Ro Gai?”

  “To the crack in the Earth — where Sagu and Nayugu meet….” And with those words, the Yona Ro Gai vanished. The blue light disappeared at the same time, and the smell of the damp air returned.

  Torogai gasped for breath and sprawled backward to lean spread-eagled against a rock. “Damn! That almost killed me!” she grumbled. “And now the Yona Ro Gai tells me I have to do it again! I bet it’s no easier talking to the Mud Dwellers either. What accursed magic!” Her huge nostrils flared and quivered. “And those tiresome hounds are still on my trail. Pah! How they stink. I’ve had enough of their foul smell. Maybe I should kill them right now.” She spat out the last words but then shook her head. “No, that won’t do. I need to have a little chat with those Star Readers first. Their heads are so stuck in the clouds they can’t see the ground. What a pain! Nyunga Ro Im sure chose a rotten time to lay its eggs. Why couldn’t it have done it when I was a bit younger?”

  She grabbed a handful of mud and began kneading it in both hands, all the while muttering complaints. Scowling, she yanked a strand of hair from her head and buried it in the ball of mud, which she shaped into a clay doll. Occasionally she removed something from inside her robe and kneaded it into the figurine. When it was complete, she stopped and stared intently at the roots of a camphor tree some distance away. “You there!” she yelled suddenly. “Out you come!”