The Beast Player

by Nahoko Uehashi

  Damiya might appear flippant on the surface, but he was quick-witted and adroit at drawing out those things that Seimiya found difficult to confide in her grandmother. He would point out an aspect that she had not considered and turn her worry into laughter. He insisted that one was bound to find a better solution by being optimistic and carefree than by worrying all the time. But Seimiya could not adopt such an easy-going attitude—not when she considered the damage that she, as the designated future Yojeh, could cause to the entire nation by a single mistake in judgment.

  Nor could those around her help being cautious in the way they treated her. The man she married would be the father of the next Yojeh, and therefore the Aluhan could not dismiss Damiya’s jest lightly. Scowling, he gave Damiya a hard stare. “It’s true my son is now a grown man. No man could look upon the princess’s beautiful face and not be affected. But I’ll have you know that my son knows his place.”

  Halumiya sighed. “Of course, Aluhan. We’ve never doubted that. Come,” she continued brightly, “let’s think of other things. It’s my sixtieth birthday after all—although I’d rather not announce my age very loudly.” She turned to her chamberlain. “The preparations must be ready by now. Open the big window.” The chamberlain raised his head and signaled to the servants aligned on the south side of the banquet room. The window opened with a loud noise, and the bright spring light flowed into the room. Shunan squinted his eyes against the glare.

  Petals fluttered into the room, carried on the cool breeze. The sasha trees that lined the edge of the enormous garden were in full bloom, their branches bowing under a profusion of delicate white flowers. The whole garden was bathed in a soft light, as if to celebrate the sixtieth birthday of this frank old woman born in the spring so many years ago.

  3 THE GIFT OF THE CUB

  A banquet had been laid out in the garden on tables set in a semicircle facing the hall. There the many nobles who had gathered to celebrate the Yojeh’s birthday were seated in order of rank. Food-laden plates were being carried to the tables, and the assembled guests were enveloped by the delicious aroma, mingled with the fragrance of the flowers. A white felt carpet had been spread over the lawn in the center of the garden where graceful maidens waving pink silk ribbons danced to the lively accompaniment of a band of musicians. The capital’s best jesters had also been gathered, drawing laughter with their banter and keeping the party well entertained.

  Evening approached, and the Golden Hour arrived, when the world was bathed in a golden glow. Dawn and sunset represented the boundary between the Time of Life and the Time of Death; that point in time when spirits were most fulfilled. The musicians and dancers withdrew, and the white carpet was removed. A solemn mood fell over the banquet. The Yojeh rose and stepped up onto the broad dais that overlooked the garden. The people bowed their heads. Raising her arms wide, she closed her eyes and began reciting a prayer of gratitude to the gods who ruled heaven and earth for protecting her for sixty long years.

  When she opened her eyes, the sound of a flute could be heard from deep inside the garden. Everyone turned to look as several strong men appeared pulling a huge cart. It rumbled as it rolled into sight. More carts followed until sixteen carts had formed a line, leaving ample space between each one. The crowd stirred, and those sitting in the back rose part way out of their seats, straining to see the creatures within. Sixteen Royal Beasts, their wings catching the golden light, faced the Yojeh. Their feet were chained securely to the carts and, although they occasionally flapped their wings, they did not fly into the air.

  Even when raised from birth by human hands, Royal Beasts could never be tamed. Yet captive beasts never flew, even after their wings were fully formed. They simply sat there, awesome and silent, emitting an aura distinct from any other beasts. The fact that their handlers stood alert and ready to use the Silent Whistle at any time was because they knew only too well just how fearsome they could be. There was no guarantee that they would not rip their chains asunder should something upset them.

  All the guests at the banquet had seen a Royal Beast before, yet today the murmur of the crowd was louder than usual. There was a cub among the others. It seemed very young, still covered in downy fur and only as tall as the bellies of the mature Beasts on either side. It appeared to be very uneasy. Brought to an unfamiliar place, it now found itself exposed to the eyes of many strangers. It flapped its wings repeatedly and kept turning its head, gazing around anxiously.

  Putting down his glass, the Yojeh’s nephew Damiya walked over to the Yojeh and bowed. “Most honorable Aunt, please accept this birthday gift from your unworthy nephew.”

  Her eyes still on the beast, the Yojeh murmured, “So you are the one who captured this cub.”

  “Yes. I present it to you with a prayer for a long-lasting reign.”

  The Yojeh nodded. “Thank you.”

  Ialu watched the entire banquet as though he were gazing at a moving picture. It was a method he had acquired naturally once he began guarding the Yojeh as a Se Zan. Mentally he stepped back and opened himself to everything around him, never letting any single point capture his attention. When he allowed himself to feel the whole picture like this, even in the midst of the confusion of this banquet, he could sense the instant something was out of place, like a post disturbing the flow of water in a stream.

  Today, too, he watched. But when the Royal Beasts appeared, he could not help but look at them, despite the knowledge that any distraction would give enemies an opening. They were beautiful beasts, yet the sight of them always inspired in him a feeling of pity. The young ones in particular wrenched his heart. Ialu slid his eyes away and glanced at the Yojeh. Her expression startled him. For a brief instant, pain crossed her face. Her look was not that of someone who found power in bending these Royal Beasts to her command. Feeling that he had seen something he shouldn’t, Ialu turned his gaze straight ahead and pulled himself together, opening his senses once again to his surroundings.

  The presence of the cub among the Royal Beasts disturbed the air. The other Beasts beat their wings and swayed from side to side, as if the cub’s anxiety was contagious. Each time the large wings flapped, blossoms fell from the sasha trees lining the edge of the garden and swirled in the air, concealing the crowd and the banquet in a blizzard of petals. Ialu frowned. He did not know what, but he had felt something… Wings rising, up, then down… A blizzard of petals… A space, wide open, just above the cub, which stood shorter than the beasts around it… He saw the beast handler on the far right raise the Silent Whistle to his lips. It made no sound but in the next instant, the Royal Beasts stopped moving.

  Just as their wings froze, something glinted in the top of a sasha tree behind the beasts. Ialu struck an arrow to his bow and leapt out in front of the Yojeh, shooting toward the tree. At the same moment, a shaft loosed by an invisible assassin nicked the cub’s shoulder and then sank into Ialu’s abdomen. The cub’s shrieks shook the garden as blood spurted from its shoulder. A black shadow fell from the sasha tree, landing with a thud like soft, ripe fruit.

  “Ialu!”

  He heard someone shout his name, but the arrow lodged in his stomach made it impossible to breathe. A cold sweat broke out on his face and he crumpled to his knees, his mouth open. He could not breathe. He grasped the arrow shaft in his hand and wheezed as air rattled in his throat. Everything seemed to be turning dark.

  “Ialu! Ialu!”

  Listening to his name, he slipped into the blackness.

  When his mind rose at last from a pit of spinning darkness, his body felt numb and leaden.

  Someone spoke. “Are you awake?”

  Ialu opened his eyes and focused on the owner of that voice. A doctor looked down at him. “Can you hear me?”

  Ialu blinked to show that he could. His stomach felt as stiff and hard as a board, and the pain was both dull and sharp. He did not feel like speaking.

  “You’re going to be all right,” the doctor said cheerfully. “You were incredi
bly lucky. The arrow lodged itself in the muscle without even grazing any of your organs. It must have lost some of its momentum when it struck the Beast… You owe that cub your life, you know.” He went on to explain how he had treated the wound and how long Ialu would need bed rest. Then he took a spoonful of tisane and tipped it into Ialu’s mouth. “Swallow that carefully, like you’re licking something, so that it doesn’t get into your lungs.”

  Ialu did as he was told, swallowing slowly, only to feel hot pain run through his stomach. The thought that he would have to endure this agony every time he tried to eat or drink was depressing. The doctor told him to get plenty of rest and then left the room. There must have been a sedative in the tisane, Ialu thought. He was overcome with a drowsiness that sucked him back down into darkness. As he descended that dark slope, the events before and after the assassin loosed his arrow played out in his mind. Those scenes bothered him. He had had a vague feeling that something was out of place at the time, and now it came back to him distinctly.

  The Beast Handler. Why had he blown the Silent Whistle? And why had his eyes been drawn to that particular Handler, the one on the far right of the Beasts?

  The last thing he remembered before everything dissolved once again into darkness was the blood spurting from the cub’s shoulder and the sound of its scream.

  While the Royal Beasts were being presented to the Yojeh on her birthday, the Toda were being paraded in the Aluhan’s castle far away. The Aluhan’s younger son, Nugan, had been left in charge during his father’s absence. He stood watching the parade, his back erect, leaning on the hilt of his favorite sword, a crude and hefty weapon, the tip of which rested on the ground. In the courtyard, the Toda changed battle formations to the beat of a drum. With each movement, dust whirled in the air and their sweet musk-like scent wafted toward him. The heat of excitement stirred within him every time he smelt it. He found it far more thrilling to watch the Toda devour their prey than to embrace a woman.

  If only I could use the invincible Toda as I pleased. Then we’d have nothing to fear from any other country.

  As a child, Nugan had worshipped the first Aluhan, Yaman Hasalu, the hero who had arisen to save the Yojeh and this country, who had ridden the Toda across the plains to destroy the enemy, not for personal gain but for the ruler and her people. His way of life had been so pure and beautiful. The first time Nugan had heard the story, it had moved him to tears, and his whole body had trembled with emotion. Laying a large hand on his head and stroking his hair, his father had said, “Grow up to be like Yaman.” But at his coming-of-age ceremony, when Nugan had voiced his longing to emulate his hero, his father had snorted. “Are you still talking such nonsense?” he had jeered. Nugan vividly remembered the burning rage he had felt.

  Unable to direct his anger at his father, he had vented it in military training. The Yojeh’s nephew, Damiya, happened to be visiting. One day, while watching Nugan practice, he seemed to intuit Nugan’s feelings. Nugan could recall the day Damiya had first spoken to him as if it were yesterday. He had never really liked the man. While he respected the sacred blood that ran in his veins, he scorned his slender build and effeminate beauty, not to mention the fact that his frequent visits were attributed to a dalliance with one of the castle chef’s daughters.

  But that day, he had found Damiya to be far more broad-minded than he had ever guessed. “When people are exposed to corruption for so long,” Damiya had said with a friendly smile, “it’s only natural that they are ashamed to have lofty aspirations. What really matters is the degree to which you can maintain such aspirations despite the corruption around you… Nugan, don’t ever lose your admiration for Yaman Hasalu.”

  Nugan still treasured those words in his heart. How could anyone consider it immature to admire the life of Yaman Hasalu? Now he understood that his father and brother, far from being wise and noble, had ulterior motives. While on the one hand they condemned as disloyal those assassins who sought to remove the Yojeh, on the other, they let them carry on without interference. Obviously, they must secretly hope to take the Yojeh’s place one day. Nugan could not bear the thought that he, who had inherited the true spirit of the Aluhan, should be forced to live as their vassal for the rest of his life.

  If only I could hate my brother, he thought. Then he could dream of deposing him and succeeding to his station. But he loved Shunan. Although his brother’s patience toward his own selfishness and defiance frequently annoyed him, Nugan found it impossible to dislike him. Whenever he thought about hating his brother, his mind always went round in circles, as if he were lost in a maze.

  The demonstration finished and Nugan was turning to go back into the castle when a Toda merchant who had been waiting on the edge of the courtyard approached him. “Your pardon, my Lord,” he said.

  Nugan stopped and looked down at him. “What do you want?” he asked.

  The man bowed low and held out a letter. “I was asked to deliver this message into your hands. Please take it.”

  Nugan frowned as he took it. It had no seal or other mark to identify the sender. He ripped it open roughly and spread out the neatly folded sheet of paper. As he read it, a strange light began to gleam in his eyes. By the time he had finished reading it, his face was white. He folded it up again and slipped it into the breast of his robe. Then he looked at the bearer. “And just what is your relationship with the sender?” he asked.

  “I humbly beg your pardon but I am not permitted to speak of that.”

  Nugan glared at this impudence and said in a low voice, “I could have you apprehended and tortured to get that information from you, you know.”

  The man’s face stiffened, but he answered quietly, “If you did so, the sender would interpret that to mean that you reject his proposal. Is that what you wish?”

  Nugan clenched his fists. He must judge carefully where the path before him might lead. He must avoid making a hasty decision. Yet even so, he felt a rush of exhilaration, as if he had finally glimpsed an exit from the maze in which he had been trapped.

  CHAPTER 4

  Kazalumu, The Royal Beast Sanctuary

  1 JOEUN’S SON

  The foal staggered up onto spindly legs and thrust its head under its mother’s belly. Butting its nose against her teat, it began guzzling milk. Joeun’s face relaxed. He glanced at Elin where she stood beside the foal. “Thank goodness that’s over,” he said. “They should be all right now.”

  He had been reluctant for the mare to foal, but Elin had insisted that it wasn’t fair to prevent Totchi from experiencing motherhood. She now had three hives of her own, and the income from the honey they produced was hers. When Joeun learnt that she had set aside enough to pay for a stallion to service the mare, he finally relented. The owner of the horse Joeun borrowed each summer came to help them when Totchi’s time drew near. It was just bad luck that on the very day the mare went into labor, the farmer’s son had cut himself with a hoe. Joeun and Elin had been up all night trying inexpertly to help with the mare’s first foaling.

  “You’ve got straw in your hair,” Joeun said. Elin smiled and reached up to pull a wisp of straw from her head. She had grown considerably taller in the last four years. Although her limbs were still as thin as sticks, her slim figure was becoming more feminine. Joeun watched her as she smiled fondly at the foal and its mother, and realized once again that she was changing from a child into a woman.

  Each time he noticed, he worried that the absence of a mother in her life might be a bad thing. She did not seem aware that she was steadily climbing the ladder to womanhood. Although old enough to wear her hair up, she still cut it in a shoulder-length bob, and she insisted on making her clothes from his hand-me-downs because, as she put it, “I won’t have to worry about getting my clothes dirty.”

  Looking at other girls her age in town, he worried that he had failed to raise Elin properly. But how could he help her be like them when he had never raised a daughter of his own? If she was still like this when she r
eached marriageable age, he wondered if she would ever find happiness. Though not beautiful, her features were fresh and pleasing. Yet she had a certain air that kept others at a distance, and when lost in thought, her stillness—like a lake deep in the mountains—made it hard to believe she was only fourteen. Still, she was never moody, and her smile was like a ray of sunshine that pierced the clouds and lit up the world around her.

  “You must be tired,” Joeun said. “Go wash up and get some sleep.”

  Elin shook her head. “I want to stay a bit longer. You should get some rest yourself.”

  Joeun stretched, with a groan. “All right, I will then. I must be getting old. When I was younger, missing a night’s sleep never bothered me… Don’t overdo it though, Elin.”

  She nodded and began rubbing the sweat gently from Totchi’s neck.

  Joeun stepped out of the stable into the brilliant sunshine and drew in a deep breath of spring air fragrant with the scent of warm earth and soft green buds. At that moment, a fierce pain shot from his chest to his back. It was as if someone had clamped his heart in an iron fist and was squeezing it tight. Unable to breathe, he clasped his hands to his chest and fell to his knees in the grass. Cold beads of sweat dripped down his face as he struggled against the pain. Slowly the agony dissipated, but the dark cloud of fear that spread through his breast in its wake kept him on his knees.

  The pain he had just experienced was no trifling matter. Recently, he had noticed his heart racing at times, for no reason, and occasionally felt short of breath or a pressure in his chest. But that violent pain had been a clear warning that something was wrong. He put his hands on his knees and rose slowly to his feet, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his hand.