Joeun sat up slowly behind her. “Joeun,” she whispered. He nodded and peered carefully over the edge.
“A wild Royal Beast.”
“Really?” Elin stared at it, fascinated. So this was the Sacred Beast that the gods had bestowed on the Yojeh as a sign of her royal sovereignty. Elin had heard that many of these Royal Beasts were raised under the protection of the Yojeh. If their number decreased, it was believed that disaster would overtake the land.
“Yes. That’s a Royal Beast,” Joeun murmured. “I’ve seen them in the capital… But I never thought that I would see one in the wild. They’re very rare, and I’ve heard their numbers are declining because they only bear one offspring at a time. Yet for some reason the ones raised under the care of the Yojeh never bear young. They have to capture cubs in the wild and bring them to the Royal Garden to maintain their numbers.” He sighed. “I wonder how on earth they manage to take them from under the wings of such fearsome mothers as that.”
By noon, Joeun had regained quite a bit of movement. Although steep, the cliff face was not vertical, and he could climb it using the rope if he went one step at a time. Elin went first to find footholds, and Joeun followed after, placing each foot where she had shown him. When they reached the top, the relief was so great that they both shook from head to foot. Feeling exhausted and lethargic, they packed up and silently headed home.
As they walked along the narrow trail, Elin’s thoughts remained fixed on the Royal Beast, on its bright silver body glinting in the sunlight, on its song that reminded her of her mother’s finger flute. It used it to immobilize the Toda. Does the Royal Beast’s song freeze Toda, just like the Rider’s soundless whistle? No. It wasn’t the same. When the Riders blew their soundless whistles, the Toda turned as stiff as logs. They didn’t turn over and lie defenseless, exposing their bellies like that. In her mind, Elin saw her mother whistling through her fingers. The Toda had stopped instantly, en masse, and looked at her intently, like loyal hounds listening to their master. Then one of them had swum up, as if obediently following her orders, and had let Elin ride him when her mother had hoisted her onto its back. Her mother had manipulated the Toda with her finger flute… And the Beast had manipulated the Toda with its song.
Were the sounds it made like a language to the Toda? She suddenly remembered that the morning the Kiba had died, the other Toda had whistled for a long time. That sound, too, had resembled the finger flute. Both her mother and the Royal Beast had used complex modulations… If that was the language of the Toda, could she, too, make them obey her by reproducing the same sounds? A shiver ran down her spine.
If I could make the Toda obey me by whistling… If I could do the same thing my mother did… Could I control the Toda?…
She tripped over a root and almost fell, returning with a jolt to reality. Joeun turned to look back at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. Seeing his pale face, she thought he should be worrying about himself, not her. “Do your legs hurt?”
Joeun gave a short laugh. “My legs hurt. My back hurts. My jaw hurts… I hurt all over, but there’s no way I want to spend another night out in the open. Tonight I’m going to curl up in my nice warm bed and sleep soundly.”
He turned around and began walking again. Following behind, Elin’s thoughts returned to her mother; to the smell of waterweeds in Lagoh Marsh; to her mother’s cold cheek pressed against hers in the frigid waters as she held her tight.
Whenever she felt lonely, Elin recalled this scene, as if pulling it out of her breast pocket to look at it. But something about it had always bothered her. Her mother’s face before she blew the finger flute. Clearly she had been torn, frowning as she struggled to decide. Then, as if pushing her doubts away, she had said, Elin, you must never do what I am about to do now. To do so is to commit a mortal sin. And placing her fingers to her mouth, she had commanded the Toda with her music and saved Elin’s life.
But what sin had her mother forbidden her to commit? Had she meant that Elin must not try to control the Toda with the finger flute? If so, why? Why was that such a terrible crime? Her mother had hesitated to use it even to save Elin’s life… Anguish spread through her chest. In the end she chose to save me. Yet her hesitation, however slight, showed how great a sin it must be…
Each time Elin reached this conclusion, the question that she had tried so hard to bury in the depths of her heart raised its head. Her mother could control the Toda. If so, then she must have been able to save her own life, too. Then why did she choose instead to give herself to the serpents? Why had she chosen death instead of life together with Elin? She desperately wanted to believe that this wasn’t true. But no matter how she suppressed it, she could not banish this thought from her mind.
She sighed. There were so many things she wanted to ask. Her mother had left so many unanswered riddles. She wanted to understand what her mother had meant, to know why she had done what she did. Then her memories would no longer be clouded by cold strands of doubt; then she could love her mother without question…
The image of the beautiful Royal Beast tenderly cradling its cub under its wing rose into her mind. As it swooped down from the heavens, had it hesitated to control the Toda in order to save its young?
Such were her thoughts as she gazed up into the sky softly tinged with twilight.
CHAPTER 3
The Gift of the Cub
1 SWIFT-FOOTED IALU
By the time Ialu laid his piece of sandpaper on the floor, the afternoon sun slanting through the window had turned the color of pale honey. He ran a finger softly along the top of the meticulously sanded drawer and sensed from the touch that it was good. This was the last one. He picked it up and slid it into the dresser. It slipped in snugly, as though sucked inside, and the bottom drawer popped out with a puff of air. Ialu smiled. It was done.
He took the broom from where it leant against the wall and began sweeping up the wood shavings on the floor. Just then he heard a knock at the door.
“It’s me, Yantoku, the cabinetmaker. I’ve come to deliver your order.” Although Ialu recognized the gruff voice of his foster brother, he did not unlock the door immediately. Instead, he stood inside the entrance, listening intently for anything out of the ordinary. Only then did he slowly open the door.
A large man with a ruddy complexion stepped inside bearing lumber in his arms. No sooner had he entered than Ialu closed the door and latched it firmly. Yantoku raised his eyebrows. “As cautious as ever,” he said in a teasing tone. “There’s no one out there, you know.” Ignoring this remark, Ialu led him into the back room. When Yantoku saw the chest of drawers, he laid his load on the floor and went to kneel in front of it. Stroking the wood with knowing hands, he checked the workmanship. Then, still kneeling, he looked over his shoulder at Ialu and grinned.
“Nicely done. No one would doubt me if I told them I’d made it myself. Impressive work from someone who isn’t even a carpenter by trade.”
“That’s because it’s just a hobby,” Ialu responded quietly. “I can work on it as long as it takes to make it right.”
Yantoku stood up, one hand still resting on the dresser. “Right, then. Let’s leave it at that. Otherwise I won’t be able to hold my head up as a carpenter.” He stroked the top once more and then cocked an eyebrow at Ialu. “Are you sure you won’t take any payment for it? Work of this quality would fetch at least ten large gold pieces, but you only let me pay for the materials. Don’t you want even some of the profit?”
Ialu shook his head. “…I don’t do this for the money. I do it because I like making things. It gives me pleasure, and if it brings you some profit at the same time, what could be better?”
Yantoku frowned. The room in which they stood was empty but for the dresser and Ialu’s tools. Dust motes drifting through the air glinted in the late afternoon sunlight. It seemed to him more like a prison cell than a home. He could not help feeling sorry for his foster brother. But I bet I’m the only person i
n the world who pities a member of the Se Zan, the Impenetrable Shields who guard the royalty…
Ialu was the third-born son of Yantoku’s neighbor. He and Yantoku had been raised like brothers among the tumble-down shacks on the back streets behind Sakkala, home to the poorest craftsmen in the royal capital. Ialu’s mother had been sickly, and all her children but two, Ialu and his younger sister, had died soon after birth. When Ialu was born, she had been unable to nurse him, and Yantoku’s mother, who had just given birth to Yantoku, had suckled them both, holding one in each arm.
Though he was a man of few words, Ialu’s father had been a skilled cabinetmaker who had won favor with the master carpenter. If things had gone on without incident, Ialu would have inherited his father’s trade, taken a bride, and be raising his own kids by now, just like Yantoku. The day that had so radically changed Ialu’s life remained vividly imprinted on Yantoku’s memory.
They had been eight at the time. He and Ialu had left home a little before noon bearing packed lunches for their fathers. The two men were working on the interior of a new house being built for a rich merchant. Ordinarily, the boys would rather have played than run errands, but delivering lunch was an important task, and they headed straight for the west side of town where the wealthy merchant class lived.
It was a fine day and the sun was hot. Puffy white clouds swelled in the blue sky, and the trees that lined the boulevards of the west district cast dark shadows against the white walls of the manors. Ialu and Yantoku had just turned a corner and come into view of the house where their fathers were working when the ground heaved under their feet and began to sway violently, as if some giant creature were shaking itself beneath them. The boys tumbled to the ground. Crawling on all fours, they raised their heads and saw the building begin to tilt. Then, with a shriek of wood against stone, it collapsed. A cloud of dust rose in the air, enveloping the wreckage.
Only when the dust began to clear did the two boys come to their senses and run toward the heap of rubble. Choking on the dust that clogged their noses and throats, they screamed for their fathers as though half crazed.
Yantoku’s father had been lucky. He had been standing in the garden when the quake hit. Though covered in a shroud of ash-like dust, he had escaped with only a few scrapes. Ialu’s father, however, lay buried beneath the debris. The crimson blood spurting from his nose and mouth seemed strangely vivid against his dust-smeared face.
Ialu froze at the sight. Then he shouted, “I’ll get a doctor!” and, turning on his heel, broke into a run. Taken by surprise, Yantoku turned to race after him, but he could not catch up. Ialu ran as if a fire was on his tail, and the distance between them only widened. Still, he managed to keep him in sight until he reached the main avenue. Just as Ialu’s small figure stepped into the street, disaster struck. A horse galloping down the road stumbled on a crack caused by the quake. It crashed to the ground, upsetting the carriage behind it. A horse-drawn coach careening down the street from the opposite direction collided with the overturned carriage in a thunder of noise and slowly toppled over.
Yantoku stared in horror. Ialu was right in the path of the falling coach. Just as it came down on top of him, he kicked the ground with his right foot and pitched forward, twisting his body. Somehow he managed to slip through the tangle of harnesses and wreckage and shimmy over the belly of a horse where it lay convulsing on top of the heap, its legs flailing in the air. Then he leapt off onto the other side and disappeared from sight, leaving Yantoku staring in amazement.
Yantoku was not the only one who had witnessed Ialu’s spectacular feat. A member of the Se Zan just happened to be passing and saw it, too. Impressed, he hunted Ialu down patiently, arriving at his house five days later while the family was still in the midst of the funeral rites. The elegantly garbed Se Zan offered Ialu’s astonished mother enough money to support the family for life, in return for apprenticing Ialu. To his mother, who had lost the family’s breadwinner and been left with a baby and an eight-year-old son, this proposal seemed their only hope.
The Se Zan were living shields, existing solely to protect the Yojeh and her family. To guard against any vulnerability, they were forced to sever all ties with their own families and were forbidden to marry. Duty required these solitary warriors to lay down their lives for those they guarded. In return, regardless of the rank into which they had been born, they were treated as nobility and given the honor due to the Yojeh’s most loyal subjects. Those who gave their sons into service as Se Zan were rewarded with a large sum of money. Ialu’s mother had had no choice but to agree.
Yantoku could still remember the day Ialu had left the home in which he had been born, his hand held firmly by the Se Zan. Yantoku had wept loudly, but Ialu had not uttered a sound. Biting his lip, eyes on the ground, he had left the alleys of Sakkala without once looking back.
They did not meet again until twelve years later. By then, Yantoku was a cabinetmaker in his own right, and he and his father ran a small shop. One day, Ialu had walked in by chance. When he realized who had come out to serve him, his expression hardened and he made to leave, but Yantoku grabbed his arm. Fortunately, his father had not been in the shop that day, and the apprentices had gone off for lunch. He pleaded with Ialu to stay, promising that he would not tell anyone that they were foster brothers and offering to give him news of his family. Thus began their clandestine friendship.
Ialu, however, appeared to regret having given in to Yantoku’s pleas and remained vigilant about concealing their friendship. When Yantoku had teased him for his caution, Ialu had smiled wryly, but without anger. “In my world, compassion is viewed as a weakness that can be used to one’s own advantage. There are people out there who would use your life and the lives of your loved ones to bargain with me if they knew that we were close. If you value your family’s happiness, don’t get involved with me any more than you need to.”
The last twelve years of Ialu’s life must have been completely different from mine, Yantoku thought. Although there were traces of the old Ialu around his mouth and eyes, at times he exhibited a cool-headedness that reminded Yantoku of a well-honed blade.
Ialu removed his sawdust-covered tunic, folded it and placed it by the wall. Then he turned to Yantoku. “I’ll be off duty again in ten days. You can come and get the dresser then, around noon. Bring an apprentice to help you if you want. But make sure you don’t tell him my name.”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to keep warning me… Are you leaving for work at this time of day?”
Ialu nodded as he pulled an indigo cloak, the kind worn by artisans, off a hook on the wall. He never wore his uniform until he was inside the palace. Instead, he dressed as a craftsman, his face concealed beneath a conical straw hat, and mingled with the other tradesmen who frequented the palace. As Yantoku turned to depart, leaving Ialu to change, he heard him say, “Take care.”
Yantoku grinned. “Of course.”
The sky deepened slowly to the blue of twilight, leaving a single streak of sunlight on a cloud. The smell of grilled fish and smoke from the kitchens hovered in the narrow lane through which Ialu walked. He stepped out into a broad avenue crowded with people heading home from work and rowdy groups of men off for a drink at the taverns in Lasan district. Passing an alleyway, he heard shouting. A cluster of men were cursing and kicking a huddled form in the shadow of a stack of wine barrels. A youth of just fifteen or sixteen lay curled up on the ground to protect his stomach from their feet. Ialu frowned but slid his eyes away, pressing his lips tightly together.
Just then he heard familiar footsteps threading their way through the throng. He continued on without slackening his pace. “Hey!” A hand grasped his shoulder. He came to a halt and turned to face a tall, powerfully built man dressed much like him. The faint scent of the perfume used by women in the red light district still clung to his clothes. It was his colleague, Kailu. He regarded Ialu with raised brows. “You’re cold-hearted. Are you just going to pretend you don’t se
e that?”
Ialu returned his gaze coolly without responding. Kailu clicked his tongue in disgust. “So that’s how it is. Well, I don’t need your help anyway.” He turned on his heel, but Ialu grabbed his elbow.
“Kailu, leave it.”
Kailu glared at him. “I’m off duty. Don’t try to stop me.”
Ialu shook his head. “We are never off duty.” The blood rose to Kailu’s face and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Tomorrow the Aluhan arrives in the capital,” Ialu continued. “Anything could happen. Surely you haven’t forgotten Ossalu? If you still insist on going despite that, then do as you please.” He removed his hand from Kailu’s elbow, and Kailu shook his arm in irritation.
“I’m not so stupid as to let an assassin disguised as a hoodlum kill me like Ossalu,” he snapped. Still, he turned away from the alley and fell into step beside Ialu. The two walked silently up the gentle slope toward the palace. The forest surrounding it was covered in a soft halo of new leaves backlit by the dwindling glow of dusk.
As they walked, Kailu blurted out, “What a lousy way of life.”
At this, Ialu came to an abrupt halt. Kailu, who had kept on walking, turned to look at him. “What?”
“If you don’t like it,” Ialu said in a low voice, “then get out. Now. Renounce your vows. You can’t possibly do the work of a Se Zan with any trace of doubt in your mind.”
“But—”
Ialu cut him off. “There’s no point in continuing if you feel that way. You’ll just be miserable, right?”
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