Sohyon was different. She was taller than any of the village women. Walking beside her now, Elin wondered when she had first realized that the shape of her face, the color of her eyes, were different. It was probably the day Saju had said, “Elin, your eyes are green, like your mother’s. Do all Ahlyo have green eyes?” Then, lowering her voice, she had asked, “Can you do magic, too, Elin? Were you bitten by a devil? Everyone says it’s wrong to make children with an Ahlyo. They call them Akun Meh Chai, ‘devil-bitten child’.” Elin had smiled blankly without answering. Somehow she had known that it was safer to dull her mind and let such comments pass over her. Instinct told her that if she played dumb and didn’t ask questions, she and her mother would suffer less grief.
As they stood watching the sunset clouds skirting the mountain ridges, Elin snuck a peek at her mother. Do you belong to the Ahlyo, the People of the Mist, Mother? What was Father like? Am I Akun Meh Chai? She burned to ask these questions, but no words came to her. Turning, her mother looked down at her, perhaps sensing her gaze. “…You must be tired,” she murmured. Then she smiled. “How about some wild boar for supper tonight?”
“Really?” Elin exclaimed. Wild boar cured in miso was a special treat reserved for celebrations or festivals. “We’re really going to have boar for supper?”
“We sure are. A delicious meal is just what we need to chase away fatigue and make us strong for tomorrow.”
When they reached home, her mother told her to light the fire and went into the back room. She returned with a small package.
“What’s that?” Elin asked.
Ignoring her question, her mother said, “The rice has been washed already. Could you put it on to cook? I’ll be back by the time it’s ready.” Then she went next door to Saju’s house. She was gone for such a long time that Elin wondered what on earth they could be talking about. Just as the fragrance of steamed rice began to fill the room, her mother finally returned. She knelt before the stove and checked the fire.
“That smells great, Elin… You must be hungry. I’ll start cooking the meat.” But she showed no sign of moving. After staring at the flames for a long moment, she drew the whistle from her robe and cast it into the fire.
“Mother!” Elin exclaimed.
Sohyon stood up and drew her close. “…I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “What I’ve done will make life so much harder for you… Yet to be honest, I’m glad that I’ll never have to use that thing again.”
Elin looked at her in surprise. “Why? Don’t you like taking care of the Toda?”
Her mother shook her head. “It’s not taking care of the Toda that I mind… It’s that whistle. I’ve always hated using it.” Stroking Elin’s hair, she spoke in a low murmur, as if she were talking to herself. “I hate watching the Toda freeze whenever I blow it… To see beasts controlled by humans is a miserable thing. In the wild, they would be masters of their own destiny. I can’t bear watching them grow steadily weaker when they live among men…”
“Is it bad for the Toda to be raised by humans?” Elin asked. “I thought that special potion, the tokujisui, was supposed to make them stronger.”
“It makes their fangs harder and their bones larger than Toda in the wild. But at the expense of other parts.”
“What parts?”
Sohyon rested her hand on Elin’s head and thought for a while. There was regret in her voice when she finally spoke. “I’ve told you much more than I should have. Forget what I said. None of the other Stewards have noticed, and if you told them, it would only cause trouble. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
Elin frowned. This was not the first time her mother had made her vow to keep silent. “All right. I promise. But in return, tell me the answer. Please. What gets weaker?”
Her mother smiled. “Think about it. What can Toda in the wild do naturally that Toda raised in the Ponds can’t? I’m sure you’ll find the answer for yourself one day. But when you do, don’t tell anyone. Not until you understand why you shouldn’t tell them what you know.” She ruffled Elin’s hair and then gently drew her hand away. “Go on, now,” she said, “Get some meat out of that jar.”
While Elin took out the meat and scraped off the miso, her mother made a hollow in the ashes inside the oven and spread a large lacos leaf on top. Elin’s eyes grew round as she watched. “What’re you doing?”
Her mother laughed. “Watch and see.” Taking the lump of meat from Elin, she placed it on top of the leaf and spread the sweet, shredded flesh of the lacos fruit on top. Over this she sprinkled a little spicy miso called toi. Quickly tucking the leaf around the meat and fruit, she covered the entire parcel in hot ashes. After that, they waited for what seemed like forever. Just when Elin thought she could bear her hunger no longer, her mother removed the parcel from the ashes and placed it on a large unglazed plate. As she unwrapped the leaf, a cloud of steam rose, giving off a delicious aroma.
The sweetness of the fruit and the spiciness of the toi had permeated the tender steamed boar, filling Elin’s mouth with a deliciously complex flavor. She began devouring the meal, oblivious of all else. “It’s good, is it?” her mother asked. When Elin nodded, she laughed. “Try pouring the juice over the rice.” Elin obediently poured the liquid remaining in the leaf over her rice and took a large mouthful. This, too, was delicious. “Lacos trees keep their leaves year-round, even in winter. You can find them easily if you look along mountain slopes exposed to the sun. I used to cook with them just like this when I wandered through the mountains. They’re a good substitute for a pot and they also take away the odor of meat and give it a very pleasant aroma.”
Elin put down her chopsticks to listen. Her mother’s face looked so peaceful. Elin had never heard her talk about the past like this before. Now, she sensed, was the time to ask her questions. Her heart beat a little faster. “You mean, you didn’t grow up in the village? Where did you live?”
Her mother searched her face, as if noting the tension in it. “We traveled from one place to another. I never told you about myself, did I? You never asked either… Did you think you shouldn’t?”
Elin nodded and her mother nodded back. “…You’re old enough to understand much more now,” she said. “Tonight let me tell you about myself and about your father.” She rested her plate on her knees. “You heard your grandfather call me an Ahlyo today, right? What do you think of when you hear that word? The villagers call us Ahlyo, ‘People of the Mist’, because they see us as tall and mysterious, appearing out of the mist and vanishing back into it. They see us as peddlers of effective remedies who excel at the healing arts. But they also see the Ahlyo as outlandish strangers, followers of unfamiliar gods. Is that how you see them?”
Elin gave a small nod. A smile touched her mother’s eyes. “To outsiders, that’s probably what we would look like… After all, we don’t settle in one place or live with other people, and we have protected our own way of life. But Ahlyo is not our real name. The first people who met us heard it wrong, and the sound of it, Ah meaning ‘mist’ and Lyo meaning ‘people’, probably fit the image of what they saw. But our true name is Ao-Loh, Ao meaning ‘oath’ and Loh meaning ‘guardian’ or ‘protector’.”
“Oath?”
“We swore an oath to protect ourselves from repeating a terrible, terrible mistake made long ago. My mother taught me that the Oath was more important than my own life or the lives of my family. Because we dedicated our lives to obeying the Oath, we called ourselves the Ao-Loh.”
“What mistake?”
Her mother remained silent for some time, as if searching for words. “…It was disastrous—a gross violation that brought men and beasts to the brink of extinction. My ancestors vowed that they would never allow that to happen again and they became wanderers who lived in the wild and served neither the Yojeh, the True Ruler, nor the Aluhan, the Grand Duke. Since that time, every Ao-Loh, from the moment of birth, is strictly raised to adhere to the Law… They are forbidden to marry outside their people
and they must never settle down in one place.” A sad smile touched her lips. “Elin, I broke the Oath. The moment I met your father and chose to live in this village, I ceased to be an Ao-Loh.”
Elin blinked. “But… what about your parents? Where are they now?”
“My father died young… And I suppose my mother must be living the life of a wanderer still.”
Not knowing what to say, Elin could only stare at her. She could not grasp the idea of this Oath or the Law. Why was it wrong for her mother to love her father and live in this village? Why would anyone forbid her to see her family just for that? She frowned as she mulled these questions over in her mind.
“Was my story hard to understand?” her mother asked.
“Mmm.”
“I suppose it would be… Wait until you grow up then, Elin. When you’ve become a woman, remember what I just told you and think it over carefully. By then, I’m sure you’ll understand it much better.” She beckoned Elin to her. Setting down her plate, Elin walked over and sat on her mother’s lap. Sohyon wrapped her arms around her, just as she had done when Elin was small. “I met your father on the rocks of Samock. I was looking for chachimo, the purple flower that helps digestion, but instead I found a man lying halfway down the cliff.”
“That was Father?”
“Yes… He had lost his footing while out hunting deer.”
“Was he hurt?”
“He’d hit his head and his leg was broken.”
“So you helped him, didn’t you?”
Her mother smiled and gently rocked her. “That’s right. That was how I met your father. Asson… He was a kind and gentle man, not at all like your grandmother or your grandfather. He didn’t talk a lot, but when he laughed, it was like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds. It brightened up everything. You’re just like him, you know… You warm my heart just by being here.” She hugged Elin close.
3 SOHYON’S FINGER FLUTE
Elin stood among the women, taut with anxiety as she watched the approaching horsemen. They rode in file, flanked by grim-faced foot soldiers bearing spears. Most of the villagers, their faces somber, had gathered in front of the meeting hall to greet the chief inspector and his troop. Elin’s mother was there, too, standing with the
Toda Stewards, one pace in front of the crowd. The inspector, robed in red with an ornate sash and black coronet, did not deign to dismount. He glared down at the assembled Stewards. “…Is it true that you let all ten of the Aluhan’s precious Kiba die?”
Elin’s grandfather stepped forward and bowed deeply. “It is true. We beg your pardon.”
The skin around the inspector’s temple twitched violently. “Who was in charge of the Kiba?” he shouted. “Step forward!”
Elin started. She saw her mother step toward him and bow respectfully, her palms pressed together before her chest. “I cared for the Kiba.”
The inspector’s eyes widened. “What?… You can’t be… An Ahlyo?” Eyes flashing, he turned to Elin’s grandfather, the Chief Steward, and roared in a dreadful voice, “You! What were you thinking? How could you let an Ahlyo wench care for the priceless gems of the Aluhan!”
The Chief Steward’s face was rigid. “Forgive me, your honor, but this woman has outstanding skill as a healer—”
Raising his whip, the inspector lashed out. Blood spurted from the Chief Steward’s brow. He pressed a hand against the wound but did not retreat. He continued to bow low before the inspector.
“Outstanding skill! Of course, she has outstanding skill, you fool! She’s an Ahlyo. It’s in their blood. But listen carefully! Being skilled in medicine is not enough. The most important qualification for the care of the Toda is unwavering loyalty to the Aluhan! How can you call yourself Chief Steward and be ignorant of that!”
Elin’s grandfather raised his head. “I beg your forgiveness. This woman was cast out of the Ahlyo more than ten years ago. She married my son and became one of us. She no longer obeys the Law of the Ahlyo and has sworn fealty to the Aluhan.”
The inspector snorted. “So you say, but for the Ahlyo, the Law supersedes all else. They will kill even their own children for breaking it.” He glared at Elin’s mother. “Tell me. Why did all the Kiba in your care die? If you are so skilled in medicine, then surely you know what caused their deaths. Answer me!”
“Please allow me to explain,” Elin’s mother said. Her voice was hard. “The cause of death was poisoning.”
A hush fell over the assemblage. The inspector frowned. “What? Poison? What do you mean by that? Are you saying that you fed them poison?!”
Elin’s mother shook her head. “No… The tokujisui that we give the Toda has some very powerful ingredients. All the Stewards know this. But the mucous film that covers the Toda’s scales has protective properties. If the tokujisui mingles with this as it is being consumed, no adverse effects occur and only the beneficial properties remain. Yesterday morning, however, I noticed thin patches in the mucous film. As I had seen no evidence of this the previous night before when I made my midnight rounds, I administered the tokujisui as usual.”
The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “You mean this change occurred within the space of just a few hours? Why?”
Elin’s mother looked up at him and shook her head. “…I don’t know.”
A heavy silence fell over the square. The inspector turned abruptly to the soldiers behind him. “Seize her!” he barked. “She will be questioned and then punished.”
Elin began to shake. Pain stabbed her heart. “Mother!” she cried, but before she could run to her, Saju’s mother grabbed her from behind and held her.
“You must stay here!” she whispered, clamping a beefy hand over Elin’s mouth to smother her wails. She was a large woman and strong. Though she fought wildly, Elin could not escape the arms that held her. She watched through tear-blurred eyes as her mother was bound with ropes and marched away.
Of the next three days, Elin remembered almost nothing. Apparently, her mother had asked Saju’s parents to care for her and had given them a large sum of money saved from her earnings. They took Elin home and treated her with kindness. Although the logical people to care for her should have been her grandparents, her mother and Saju’s parents knew all too well how they would feel about that. Saju and her parents tried to comfort her, but Elin’s mind was consumed with grief and fear, and she only registered their voices as sounds far off in the distance.
On the night of the third day after her mother was arrested, Elin woke from her slumber and went to the outhouse at the far end of the garden. As she was returning to the house, Saju’s mother’s voice rose shrilly inside, and Elin froze in her tracks.
“… You mean they sentenced her to the Judgment of the Toda? Tomorrow at dawn?”
“Shh! Not so loud! What if you wake the children?”
Saju’s mother dropped her voice, but as she was a naturally boisterous person, Elin could still hear her from the garden. “But how could they? Regardless of the crime, how could they do that to her? It’s far too cruel a punishment…” Her husband said something so quietly Elin could not hear, but then Saju’s mother spoke again. “Ah… So that’s it. The Aluhan will hold the inspector responsible if he can’t explain their deaths. So he’s going to blame it all on Sohyon. But to let the wild Toda devour her, that’s terrible…”
Elin did not stay to hear more. Taking care to tread quietly, she set off at a run. Guided by the light of the moon, she slipped behind Saju’s house and through the trees to her own home. Cold hands seemed to grip her throat, strangling the breath from her. She must help her mother. She must, or her mother would be killed at dawn—by the Toda.
The Judgment of the Toda: a punishment reserved for informers and traitors of the Aluhan. Elin had heard the villagers speak of it with dread. Bound hand and foot and weighted with stones, the accused were thrown into Lagoh Marsh where the wild Toda swarmed. She stood trembling on the cold earthen floor of her house. She must leave quickly, before
Saju’s parents realized she was gone. If they found her, they would bring her back and keep her inside until the execution was over.
Elin knew where Lagoh Marsh was. It was a long way from the village but there was still time before dawn. If she traveled as fast as she could, she should make it before the execution started. She grabbed her mother’s dagger from where it hung on the wall. Surprised by the weight of it, she almost dropped it. The blade was keen and sharp. If it could cut through tough Toda scales, it should be able to cut the ropes that bound her mother. She would hide along the banks of the marsh until they threw her mother in, then swim out and cut her bonds with this dagger.
Slipping it inside her shirt, she pulled a lantern off the shelf. The hearth had long since grown cold. Even the embers buried in the ashes had ceased to glow. Elin hastily struck a spark from a flint and lit the lantern. Then she exchanged her straw sandals for leather boots and ran outside. The spring moon glowed hazily against the indigo sky and the trees and grasses slept peacefully, dark shadows in the night.
Pressing her lips firmly together, Elin set off for the marsh.
It was a long night. Though she walked and walked, the mountain road went on endlessly. Occasionally she heard unidentifiable creatures darting through the underbrush, rustling the leaves. “Mother, Mother,” she whispered over and over again, forcing herself to go on. She focused all her thoughts on the future. Once I’ve saved her, we’ll leave the village and wander the mountains together, just like she used to do when she was young. She pictured the two of them walking through the wilderness, taking shelter in towns along the way. She recalled the taste of roasted boar and her mother’s warmth. And as she did so, the dark mountain road grew less frightening.
By the time the trees thinned to reveal a field of reeds stretching out before her, the dark sky had paled to blue and then to a red-tinged gray as night gave way to dawn. She had just begun pushing through the reeds when the thunder of drums filled the air. She could feel them reverberating in her stomach. Boom. Boom. A startled flock of birds rose from the marsh. The drums rolled on.
The Beast Player Page 2
