Guardian of the God - God's Appearance - Part 3 Chapter 2 - Clothed in Flowers

  Guardian of the God

-

God's Appearance

(Book 5 of the Guardian of the Spirit Series)

 

Author: Uehashi Nahoko

Translator: Ainikki the Archivist

 

  Part 3 - Invitation to a Trap

Chapter 2 - Clothed in FLowers

    Balsa and Asra arrived at the back service entrance of a clothing shop in Shirogai at sunset. The door to the back entrance was wide open, revealing a garden behind it bathed in the golden light of early evening. The garden was scrupulously well-tended.

    The area surrounding the back service entrance was completely quiet, entirely unlike the busy front entrance that faced the main road. Balsa saw people darting back and forth across the garden and into the shop through the open door ahead of her and Asra.

    The front of the store featured splendid new items for sale, but the back door was clearly a relic of a bygone era. The figure of a flower was carved into its wood; the image of this specific flower was believed to bring luck and good fortune and signified that this store belonged to an established family in the area.

    A boy stood in front of the back service entrance, keeping watch. He regarded Balsa and Asra with a dubious expression as they approached. Balsa carried a large bundle of bamboo wrapped in thick layers of cloth that might be taken for handwork by an uncritical eye. To the boy, Balsa appeared to be a mother coming to sell her crafted goods at the store—but her face didn't resemble the little girl's at all.  

    "Do you have some business here?" the boy asked politely, in simple terms. Choosing to deal with customers forthrightly instead of pompously or highhandedly was a hallmark of this store.

    "Yes," Balsa said. "Does Martha Samada live here?"

    "You have some business with the owner of the store?"

    "I would be very happy to see her, if possible," Balsa said. "My name is Balsa."

    The boy nodded, then rang a small bell attached to the handle of the back door. A young boy that appeared to be around ten years old came running toward them. The boy watching the back service entrance whispered something in his ear; he nodded and dashed off in the direction of the store.

    A short time later, a sliding door that led to the store's kitchen opened. A small, slight woman crossed the flagstones paving the garden path until she reached the back entrance. When she saw Balsa, she smiled.

    Martha Samada was a middle-aged woman with silver-white hair and a dignified air. She wore her hair completely up. Her clothing was simple, but extremely well-made.

    "Balsa!" She grinned widely, but didn't say another word. She looked Balsa in the eyes, then extended her arm so that it hovered above Balsa's shoulders in a gesture of protection as she guided Balsa and Asra through the store's back entrance.

    "Let's do proper greetings and introductions later," Martha said. "Please come in and make yourselves at home. That includes you, little miss."

    Balsa put Asra down. Asra had never seen a Yogo-style store before; she was clearly captivated by the bright colors and unfamiliar sights and smells. She forgot her exhaustion as she followed after Balsa and Martha, looking avidly at everything she passed.

    Martha didn't lead them into the main store. Instead, she took them to a detached structure along the eastern end of the property. It looked like a house used to welcome and entertain guests. When they went inside, Martha showed them into a large room room. This guest house had a main living area, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a full bathroom. There was no one else inside when Martha, Balsa and Asra entered.

    Martha asked Balsa to take a seat. When she complied, Martha sat across from her and leaned forward, staring intensely at her face. "You're hurt," she said. "Where?"

    Balsa smiled at her. Her arrow wounds had stopped bleeding quite some time ago and her hair hid the gash on her forehead. She'd also washed the blood out of her clothes before reaching Shirogai. Most people wouldn't guess that she was injured at all, but Martha still had the ability to see right through her.

    Martha had always been perceptive. Her eyes could discern the finest details of whatever she saw and make quick judgments based on that information. This ability helped her greatly in managing her prosperous store.

    "Your eyes are as sharp as ever, Martha. I'm injured, but only a little."

    "Show me."

    Balsa shook her head. "We can't stay here long. I'm sorry if I cause you any trouble—we're being followed. I only came to buy new clothes and change in privacy, so that we can pass through Shirogai unnoticed—"

    Martha interrupted Balsa's words with an irritated cutting gesture of her hand. "It doesn't matter if you're being followed," Martha said. "You need medical attention, food, and rest. Take a look at that poor child. She's sick and needs tending as much as you do." Martha said all this in a tone that brooked no argument, then stood up. "Leave it all to me."

    "Um, no, Martha, really—"

  Martha glared at Balsa. "It's no use complaining. You saved my Toun's life, I'll have you remember, and I intend to pay you back whether you want me to or not. So you're going to rest here for a while. I'll fetch the doctor and bring you some food." Martha got up and left the guest house before Balsa could say anything else.

    Asra couldn't speak Yogoese, so she had no idea what was going on. She was standing near the wall of the main room with her eyes darting back and forth. Balsa came closer to her and said in Rotan, "A long time ago, my foster father Jiguro and I worked here as guards. Her son Toun got into a big, stupid fight over something that escalated into a fight to the death."

    "Did you save him?"

    Balsa shrugged. "Jiguro and I together managed to resolve that particular problem. Toun was seventeen or eighteen at the time. He was a violent hothead in those days, but now he's known throughout Shirogai as a fine upstanding merchant. Jiguro and I were being paid when we extricated Toun from that fight, but Martha insisted that we were his saviors and kept trying to pay us back. Even now, it seems." The corners of Balsa's mouth twitched upward. "To tell you the truth," Balsa said in a conspiratorial whisper, "part of me wishes we hadn't saved him, sometimes. I never wanted to cause Martha any trouble, but it may be too late now. I just hope Martha knows what she's getting herself into."

    Asra suddenly understood why Martha had spent so much time staring at Balsa's face. Her features were calm and composed, but beneath this mask were clear signs of bone-deep exhaustion. Balsa hadn't said anything to complain, but she'd carried Asra through the mountains for days without rest, and she'd been wounded even before that. The men chasing them had given her fresh injuries. She must need rest desperately.

    Balsa unwrapped her spear from the bundle of bamboo she'd been carrying and held it in her hand. She propped the spear up against the wall, closed her eyes and muttered, "Martha is very smart, and she doesn't frighten easily..." Balsa lapsed into silence. Asra was afraid she might collapse. When Asra looked up at her and heard her soft breathing, she realized that Balsa had fallen asleep on her feet.

    The last light of the sun streamed through the room's circular window. The room was quiet and covered in honey-colored light. The shadow of the windowpane's intricate fretwork pattern fell across Balsa's sleeping face. Asra took her time looking at Balsa; this was the first time they'd been able to stop for long enough for Asra to really look at her.

    It was strange. She and Balsa had been complete strangers just days ago. Why did she save me? She doesn't know me at all.

    Balsa's mouth was slightly open. Her lips here chapped and dry and her face was slightly pale from blood loss. Asra saw the bit of cloth Balsa had used to bandage her shoulder peeking out from under her clothes. She looked as worn out as an old rag.

    Balsa smelled like dry grass warmed by the sun. Asra remembered her first night with Balsa, which she'd spent surrounded by Balsa's warmth and unfamiliar scent. Her heart was full of an unfamiliar emotion. Her throat felt parched and hot; she probably still had a fever. Asra pursed her lips and frowned. She wanted to thank Balsa, but she should probably wait until she woke up.

    Asra took a deep breath. Her eyes fell on Balsa's pack sitting in the corner of the room. Asra stood up and tiptoed to the corner, careful not to make a sound. She undid the fastenings on the pack and saw Balsa's oiled paper folded up inside. Removing the paper from the pack would make a lot of noise.

    Balsa continued to sleep standing upright. Her breathing was quiet and even.

    Asra removed the oiled paper from the pack as quietly as she could. Balsa didn't wake. Asra made her way silently over to Balsa and wrapped her in the oiled paper all the way up to her shoulders so that she wouldn't get cold while she slept. This done, Asra crept as close to Balsa as she dared, resting her head near Balsa's feet before stretching out completely on the floor. The floor was carpeted and surprisingly soft against her cheek. Asra was asleep the moment she closed her eyes.

 

 

    Asra dreamed of her mother. She was sitting with Asra in front of a fire with her hand resting gently on Asra's head. It was warm. Her mother's hands and smell were soothing and familiar.

    Ah, I remember this! She was like this a long time ago. Before...

    Her mother had been so kind. Asra wanted to stay here with her longer, but the scene of her dream spiraled away from her and changed to something else. She was still with her mother, but now she was frowning and clearly troubled by something.

    Asra shook her head and willed the dream to change back to the way it was before. And the dream did change—but she didn't get to go back to her kind mother sitting in front of a fire. Instead, the dream placed her in the middle of her very worst memory.

    Light from pine torches above her flickered. Sparks flew off the torches into the surrounding dark. Rotans appeared and seized her mother's arms. Her mother screamed. Asra rushed forward, but someone tripped her from behind to keep her away from her mother. Whoever that was grabbed her and bound her arms as well, but she barely noticed them; all she cared about was going with her mother. She saw her mother's desperate face as they were dragged off and taken away together—

    Talhamaya! Save us! Please!

    Asra's body twisted in her sleep. As she sprawled her limbs out completely on the floor, she felt a terrible piercing pain, but at the same time she was amazingly comfortable. The world of her dream went hushed and still under the harsh light of a full moon.

    Chikisa grabbed her arm. His hands were sweating. In a voice that shook, he said, "A-Asra? What have you done?"

    The wind blew toward her, carrying the strong smell of blood with it. Asra was completely overwhelmed and closed her eyes. She stopped up her ears with her fingers and tried to shut out Chikisa's voice.

    "It wasn't me, Chikisa! You're wrong—it wasn't me! I didn't do it!" Asra cried out. Why couldn't Chikisa understand?

    "You saw it all, didn't you?" her mother asked. "Isn't it wonderful? You've been chosen by the god Talhamaya! Everything will change now. We don't need to be afraid of anything ever again. The evil people of Rota will be like dust beneath our feet!"

    "Chikisa, do you hear her, too?" Asra asked. "Mom said all those people were evil and cruel. If that's true, we should want to kill them," Asra said in a tone of desperation. "If they're like dust anyway, it shouldn't matter if they die. Talhamaya passes judgment on them. Can't you understand that? Am I wrong? If I'm wrong, why did Talhamaya choose me?"

    She repeated her explanations over and over, but Chikisa only stared at her in clear incomprehension and horror. He stood under the pale light of the moon and shook his head vehemently at everything she said.

    Asra writhed painfully and woke up. She didn't remember where she was at first.

    A man she'd never seen before led Martha into the room. Seeing Martha made Asra remember that she was in Shirogai with Balsa. A fire had been lit in the room; the world outside the window was pitch black. Someone had wrapped Asra in a warm blanket.

    Martha introduced the man to Balsa, who was also awake. The three of them left the room together; Asra followed at a little distance.

    The man with Martha asked Balsa to take a seat on the floor and knelt down next to her. He exposed the wound in her left side and examined her arrow wounds. Clearly, he was some kind of doctor. He noticed Asra looking at them and said something; Balsa shifted around to face her.

    The doctor pressed down on Balsa’s wounded side, making her grimace. Asra frowned; she didn't like to see Balsa in pain.

    Balsa smiled at her. "There's no need for such a sour face," she said. "I'm all right."

    "But doesn't it hurt?" Asra asked. Her voice was dry and quiet from her long sleep.

    "I'm used to pain," Balsa said, still smiling. "Thank you for wrapping me up in the paper. I appreciate it."

    Asra blushed and cast her eyes down. She heard the sound of the door sliding open behind her. Martha entered carrying a bucket covered in white cloth. She placed the bucket next to the doctor, then smiled kindly at Asra. She said something to her, but Asra couldn't understand it.

    Balsa told Martha that Asra couldn't speak Yogoese.

    "Ah! I'm sorry," Martha said to Asra in fluent Rotan. "I didn't know you were a Rotan child."

    Asra wanted to say that she wasn't a Rotan child, but she stayed silent. She didn't want the woman in front of her to frown at her when she learned Asra was Tal. Her brother had told her that the people of New Yogo didn't know much about the Tal people and weren't hateful and prejudiced like Rotans, but she didn't know how much of that was true.

    Despite her silence, Martha kept speaking to her in a lively and energetic tone. "We'll have dinner soon, but you should have a bath before we eat. We need to leave Balsa alone with the doctor for a little while so he can treat her injuries. All right?"

    Asra lifted her eyes to Martha's face and nodded. Martha extended her hand. Asra stared fearfully at it for a while, then slowly placed her own hand in Martha's.

    Martha lifted Asra up one-armed with a strength that belied her small frame. She kept one hand in Asra's and carried her all the way to the bathroom of the guest house. The bathroom was built in the Yogo style, so Martha carefully explained all of its features and amenities to Asra. When she finished, she asked, "Did you get all that? Should I leave you alone to bathe?"

    Asra nodded.

    Martha gave her another kind smile. Her gaze became somewhat measuring and clinical, as if she were sizing up Asra for new clothing. "How old are you?" she asked.

    "Twelve," Asra said.

    "Hm, I thought so. My granddaughter is about the same age. She's taller than you, but she's always been skinny. I'll bring you something new to put on, so please put what you're wearing in the corner." Martha showed her where to put her dirty clothes, then left the bathroom.

    Martha reminded Asra of a little bird fluttering to and fro. She was so small and moved so fast. Asra waited until she couldn't hear Martha's footsteps anymore, then undressed herself.

    She climbed into the bath and settled herself on the bottom, a little afraid. The bottom of the tub was cold. There was a strange slippery stone sitting along the edge of it. She saw a drain near her feet and a large opening in the side that let in hot water from somewhere outside the room.

    The tub resembled an enormous jar. Asra picked up a bucket outside the tub as Martha had instructed, scooped up some of the hot water pouring into the tub, and poured the water over her shoulders. The sensation of hot water cascading over her back was entirely new and strange, but not unpleasant. This was the first time she'd ever had a Yogo-style bath. Tal people bathed in clear streams and rivers; they never used hot water.

    In a porcelain container next to the tub, there was a fine powder like sand. Asra took some of the powder in her hand and rubbed it on her arm. The friction and water changed the sand into soft bubbles.

    "Ah! It smells so nice!" The bubbles smelled like flowers. Asra was happily surprised at this new discovery and washed herself thoroughly. She used up most of the powder that smelled like flowers, then rinsed herself with fresh hot water from the bucket.

    Asra stepped out of the tub feeling flushed and warm, but a short time later she started shivering. The tips of her toes tingled with a sensation like pain. Her chest ached suddenly. She bore with the pain and stayed standing still for a little while. The pain passed and she suddenly felt a whole lot better. All of her muscles relaxed. Her skin had felt tight and cold before her bath, but now it was supple and warm again. Asra bent down and hugged her knees. Steam still rose from the bath. She looked up at the tiles on the ceiling and noticed they were painted with patterns and designs.

    Asra felt like something she'd been missing for a long time had suddenly returned to her. It was almost like all the terrible things that had happened to her lately hadn't really happened at all, but had been some kind of nightmare.

    Why do I feel that way?  Asra wondered. Her entire life had changed overnight; she'd been sucked into the rapids of a river and had no idea where it was taking her.

    I never knew Yogo people used hot water in their houses,  she thought. When she thought about her ordinary life with her family before, she realized that if she'd stayed there she would never have found out what a hot bath was. I wonder what Chikisa would think of all this...

    Asra's chest hurt again. She felt pressure and heat building inside her nose and suppressed a strong desire to cry.  I want to see Chikisa.

    The god would save Asra's life from bad people, but the god couldn't save Chikisa; not from here. He was too far away. Asra was tormented by thoughts of what was being done to him. But Chikisa had also been injured by the god. Asra had been a little afraid of the god ever since she'd seen his cut-open hand. She didn't want Talhamaya to kill other people just to keep her and Chikisa safe.

    But she shouldn't think of Talhamaya that way. Talhamaya was pure and holy—thinking of her simply as a powerful force that killed people was blasphemous. Without the power of the god, Asra was nothing more than an ordinary twelve-year-old girl. She wouldn't be able to do anything to help herself or her brother at all.

    Is there a way that I can live without harming or killing anyone else?

    She remembered what Balsa had told her about Sufar, the magic weaver. He wanted to kill her to prevent some kind of disaster from happening. He was allied with the Rotans. Even if she promised never to cause harm to anyone, she was certain Sufar wouldn't believe her. And she had her mother's wishes to consider. If Asra honored her mother's desires and did what she'd wanted to do with Talhamaya's power... Well, the Rotans would undoubtedly consider that a disaster.

    Asra shook her head. She was convinced that her mother hadn't truly understood the power of the god; she couldn't possibly expect Asra to do something so evil and cruel. She didn't want to believe her mother had wanted her to wage a bloody war against Rota.

    I never wanted to kill anyone...

    Tears escaped the corners of her eyes. How had all of this happened? She remembered gathering firewood and bringing it back to her family's small hut in the forest during a terrible winter. A blizzard buried the woods in snow, and Asra had become hopelessly lost. The wind had cut through her and frozen the tears in her eyes. She'd kept expecting to see her house, but everything around her had been whited out. She'd kept walking until the wind made it hard to breathe.

    She remembered her utter helplessness in that situation because she felt almost the exact same way now. What could she do? She was lost.

    When she'd been lost in the snow, her father had eventually found her and carried her home. The strength of his arms as he'd carried her reminded Asra of Balsa.

    Balsa was a complete mystery to Asra. She'd saved Asra as if that was the obvious thing to do, even though she'd never even met her before. She reminded Asra of her father a lot, because she was strong and knew a lot about living in the woods. She was stoic like he was, too. Even when she'd been severely injured, she'd never screamed or cried.

    Before they'd entered Shirogai, Balsa had stopped to clean her wounds in a shallow creek of cold water and change out of her bloodstained clothes. Asra had gotten her first long look at the extent of Balsa's injuries. She'd wanted to cry out herself at seeing them, but Balsa hadn't made a sound. Asra wondered why she hadn't. What was the point of suppressing or hiding her pain? She'd just told Asra that she was used to pain, but Asra didn't really know what that meant. Pain was pain; it hurt. Being used to it shouldn't make it hurt any less.

    As soon as she'd cleaned her wounds and changed, Balsa had gone into a bamboo grove and cut enough bamboo to create a bundle to hide her spear. Balsa never talked much, but Asra had found that particular silence uncomfortable. She hadn't had the courage to ask Balsa why she'd saved her. She still didn't have the courage to face her past.

    Asra placed her palm over her throat. Thinking about Talhamaya scared her. She wanted to stay in the bathroom with the warmth and comfort of the hot water and sweet-smelling bubbles.

    There was a knock on the door. Asra almost jumped out of her skin.

    "May I come in?" Martha asked from the other side of the door.

    "Yes," Asra said.

    Martha entered the bathroom. She carried a large cloth and a stack of folded clothes. She unfolded the cloth with one hand and passed it to Asra. "Use this to dry yourself," she said. "Then we'll get you dressed and I'll bring you back to Balsa. It's almost time for dinner."

    Martha led Asra to a changing area behind a curtain in the bathroom. Asra accepted the clothes that Martha had brought and faced the curtain.

    As she watched Martha turn to leave, Asra said, "Um..."

    Martha faced her again.

    "Thank you," Asra said. "Thank you so much."

    Martha's eyebrows lifted in surprise. She smiled. "You're very welcome. It was my pleasure."

    Asra went behind the changing curtain and dried herself. Then she unfolded the clothes Martha had given her to wear. The dress was red like a field of sarayu flowers blooming in spring. The collar of the dress was scoop-necked and came with a wide decorated sash. The dress was easy to put on and light as a feather to wear; it was also surprisingly warm. She tied the sash around her waist and watched the loose ends fall toward her feet. The dress was stunningly beautiful.

    As soon as she was dressed, Asra realized that the dress and sash smelled like flower petals. Can you weave cloth out of flowers?  she wondered.

    Asra left the bathroom and went down the hall to the room where she'd last seen Balsa. She found both her and Martha sitting across from one another. The doctor must have left.

    When Balsa's eyes fell on Asra, she gasped in surprise. "Well, would you look at that!"

    Martha appeared extremely pleased with herself. "It's a perfect fit, just right for your height and coloring. If we do your hair up right and get some color back into your cheeks, you'll be the perfect image of a flower."

    Asra blushed.

    "But we should eat now," Martha said, changing the subject. "Eat as much as you like so you get healthy and strong again. Good health looks good on everyone, and I can already tell that you're going to be the kind of girl that turns a lot of heads."

    Asra looked back and forth between Martha and Balsa and blushed even deeper. Martha's praise warmed her heart. "These clothes...smell really nice," she said softly. "Did you make them out of flowers?"

    Martha's eyes filled with joy. "Make clothes out of flowers? I only wish I could. That fabric is made from the soft fibers of the shulam tree, which has a naturally sweet fragrance. Clothes made from the tree's fibers smell nice and prevent insects from eating them. I first thought of making fabric from the shulam tree more than thirty years ago. It's the most popular product at the Samada store. If you like those clothes, I'll give them to you as a gift. Please think of me kindly whenever you wear them."

    Asra's face lit up. "Thank you so much! I promise I'll take good care of them."

    Balsa had never seen Asra looking so happy and relaxed. She seemed like an entirely different person. Martha's amazing, as always.

    Balsa sighed inwardly. To think that Asra would change so much with just a hot bath and a change of clothes. She would never have believed it if she weren't seeing it with her own eyes.

    Martha had given Balsa a dress once. It had been the deep blue color of the autumn sky, with details embroidered in gold thread. "Someday, you'll have an occasion to wear this dress," Martha had told her. But Balsa had never even tried it on. For all she knew, it was still sitting in a chest somewhere in Tanda's house.

    Dinner was brought in on a tray by an elderly woman that Balsa recognized. She was one of the women that had worked at the Samada store since Balsa had been a teenager. The woman nodded to Balsa in recognition, asked if she was well, then put down the dinner tray and withdrew quickly as if she didn't want to overstay her welcome.

    "I don't want anyone that I don't trust knowing you're here," Martha said. "The messenger, doctor and the boy at the gate have all received detailed instructions from me. You should be perfectly safe here."

    Balsa bowed her head. "Thank you."

    Martha brushed aside Balsa's thanks with a nonchalant wave of her hand, then started explaining the different foods on the table to Asra.

    "This is a pheasant that gets brined all night in spiced oils, then roasted over a charcoal pit. Try eating some with these diced-up onions."

    Shirogai received fresh food from both Rota and Sangal. The town sold exotic spices and rare fruits and vegetables that weren't usually available in the rest of New Yogo. Because of their direct access to the supply chain, the food in Shirogai was often more varied and fresher than it was in Kosenkyo.

    Asra tried a bit of the pheasant that Martha had recommended. The oil had saturated its skin, so when she bit into the meat she found it soft, yet crispy. It was also sweet and salty at the same time, from the spices. As the first bite slid down her throat, Asra's stomach reminded her how hungry she was; she started stuffing her cheeks with the roast pheasant.

    Balsa and Martha ate more slowly, speaking to one another in Rotan. For a little while, it was easy to forget that Balsa and Asra were still being pursued. The night passed peacefully.

 

 

    The Samada store didn't just sell clothes and accessories; it also sold a wide variety of woven and spun goods as well. There was also a workshop attached to the store.

    Martha was the kind of person that couldn't keep her hands still; she was always doing or making something. The morning after Balsa and Asra's arrival, she had breakfast and stayed with them for a long while, switching between reading a pamphlet on making clothes, showing them new products from the store and workshop, and embroidering fabric. She talked the entire time.

    Asra seemed fascinated by the pamphlet about clothes. Martha gave it to her to look at and asked, "Do you like this? Why?"

    Asra's voice shook as she answered, "The collar and shoulders of this one look so comfy—I was thinking about what it would be like to wear it. I think it would look really nice with a sash, like with my dress."

    Martha nodded. "You and I have similar tastes. I also like this style a lot." Martha's hands still held her embroidery needle and the fabric she was working on, but she wasn't embroidering. Her fingers tapped her embroidery hoop in a repeated pattern. Asra looked down at Martha's hands.

    Balsa was consumed with nothing except her and Asra's speedy departure, but Martha wouldn't even hear of such a thing until Balsa's wounds were healed. "Use this time to recover and think about your next move," Martha said. "In business, it's not good policy to rush things along and hope that everything turns out well. I just heard from Toun that some merchant caravans will be leaving Shirogai soon. Several of them are looking to hire guards for their journey. I'll have Toun look into it for you if you like. A caravan should provide some cover for your escape."

    Balsa looked at Martha as she sat embroidering by the window and considered her idea. She was forced to admit that Martha had planned well and that both she and Asra needed more rest. She really could use the extra time to figure out what she and Asra should do next. If they simply fled Rota and never went back, they wouldn't be able to free Tanda and Chikisa. She needed to understand why Sufar and the others with him were fixated on killing Asra.

    Asra clearly possessed a violent and terrible power, but as far as Balsa could tell, she'd never harmed Sufar or anyone he knew. Asra was difficult to understand in some ways. She'd surrounded herself in a protective shell, as Balsa herself had once—but compared to Balsa, Asra was a much more kindhearted girl. She was considerate of others and didn't like seeing them hurt. She'd never once said that she wanted to use her power against Sufar to save her brother, even though she likely could.

    Balsa was the kind of person that liked to swim against the current. She liked challenges for what they brought out in herself. Asra wasn't like that at all. She curled in on herself at the first sign of trouble and rode the raging stream of her life wherever it might take her. Sufar believed her capable of causing some kind of terrible large-scale disaster, but Balsa didn't believe that was possible. As long as she had her brother with her, she'd probably be able to live peacefully in New Yogo for the rest of her life.

    "Asra."

    Asra looked up at Balsa with a nervous expression.

    "What would you say to living in New Yogo? It's probably different from what you're used to, but..."

    Asra's nervous tension vanished in an instant. She grinned and said, "I really like it here—Martha, the clothes, the bath, the food, everything! Sitting on the floor and not using chairs is a little strange, but it's so warm here that I don't mind."

    Asra spoke somewhat haltingly, but it did seem like her mind was made up. "I never even thought people could live like this in Rota. If Chikisa was here, this would be the best place in the world."

    "So you're saying that if you had Chikisa with you, staying in New Yogo would be good? Remember, you won't ever be able to go back to Rota again."

    Asra nodded. She thought for a moment, then whispered, "When we were at the inn, Chikisa said that Mr. Tanda was a good person. He doesn't hate the Tal people, and he was kind to us. Chikisa wanted to become Tanda's apprentice, maybe. I know we might seem like a burden to him, but we'd work really hard, and when we grow up I know we'll find some way to pay him back. That's what Chikisa and I talked about. We wanted to ask Mr. Tanda what he thought, but we never got the chance."

    Balsa's heart was touched by this unexpected revelation, so much so that she wasn't able to say anything right away.

    "We...we don't have any family, and if we stay in Rota they'll kill us. We don't have any money, either, and we're still kids, so I don't know how we could live in New Yogo now..." Asra's voice shook. "I want to live in New Yogo, but how?"

    Balsa reached out and lifted Asra's chin. She was crying. Asra buried her face in Balsa's lap and sobbed.

    "Tanda's a very kind person, but he's not exactly rich," Balsa said. "Living with him would be a lot different from living with Martha and Toun. You're not related, so he'd have to make you apprentices. But I can promise the food he'd make for you would be the best you've ever tasted."

    Balsa tried to lighten the mood, but Asra just clung to her knees and kept crying. She looked up at Martha, who appeared deeply worried. Her eyes seemed to ask, What are you planning? Will you raise this girl?

    Asra was a stranger. Balsa owed her nothing. But the time had come for Balsa to make a choice. She hadn't abandoned Asra and Chikisa at the inn, and she didn't intend to abandon them now. She wanted Asra to be able to live a normal life; she wasn't going to give up until that happened. Remembering how Asra had so carefully wrapped her in the oiled paper was heartbreaking. Asra deserved better.

    Balsa gave Martha a bitter smile. "Maybe it's fate. It's probably best for us to keep moving until I figure out a way to save Tanda and her brother. I'm used to that kind of life."

    She wondered if Asra would keep opening up to her as they traveled. Balsa needed to know exactly what had happened at Shintadan. She wouldn't be able to plan effectively unless she understood the thing hidden inside Asra.

    But she wouldn't be able to gain that understanding just by asking, and if she tried to force the information out of Asra she'd lose any possibility of building trust between them. If Sufar was right, Asra was going to kill a lot of people. Balsa had the feeling that if she pushed Asra too hard, she risked bringing the terrible power within her to full alertness. If that happened, there'd be no going back.

    Balsa hadn't known Asra for very long, but she knew that she wasn't the kind of person that enjoyed killing people. Even so, Asra had already killed many people. Balsa didn't know how to help her recover from such an act. Her crime would probably weigh heavily on her for the rest of her life.

    Balsa realized suddenly that she might be able to make a deal with Sufar—one that he might accept. Thinking about Tanda made her heart ache. She wanted to free him as soon as possible and see him smile at her again.

    But Tanda wouldn't want her to rush things for his sake. She could almost hear him say, "Keep doing things your own way, like you always do. Don't let me be a distraction."

    She'd find out more about the caravans Martha had mentioned and find some way to get a letter to Torogai, Tanda's master. She might be able to come up with some new ideas on how to save him. Balsa knew that Torogai would do everything she could to help Tanda if she knew he was in trouble.

    But getting a letter to Torogai would take a long time—at least ten days. And Torogai was prone to wandering, so she might not be at home to receive a letter. Balsa wouldn't be able to rely on Torogai's help for quite some time. If she was going to save Tanda, she'd have to do it herself.

    Asra stopped crying and stood up, keeping her face to the ground in shame. She turned away from Balsa and went to wash her face. Balsa heard her footsteps fading down the hall.

    "Balsa, it's Toun," a man said from the entrance of the guest house. "I'm coming in."

    Toun entered the guest house’ s main room and stopped in front of Balsa. He was about thirty years old and had a deep, rumbling voice. He wasn't very tall, but his shoulders were broad. The gleam of intelligence in his eyes matched his mother's. All in all, he carried himself with an unassuming air of personal dignity.

    Balsa rose to greet Toun. "It's been a long time," Balsa said. Toun was a successful merchant in his own right now and bore little resemblance to the boy she'd known. "It's weird. You're so...respectable, now."

    Toun laughed and slapped his gut. "Respectable and fat!  I was a much worse person when I was skinny as a bamboo pole. But you—you haven't changed at all, Balsa. Has it really been five years since your last visit?"

    "I think that's about right."

    Toun gestured politely for Balsa to resume her seat. Toun pulled up a cushion and sat across from her as she sat back down. He glanced over at Martha, who was still embroidering at the window. "Mom, the weaving master wants to see you."

    Martha waved one hand dismissively and shrugged. "The weaving master always wants to see me. I'll go see him in a minute."

    Toun chuckled, then nodded. He returned his attention to Balsa. "I wish we had more time to talk, but it seems the circumstances won't permit that. I just came back from talking with Tachiya. There are three caravans preparing to depart from Shirogai within the next five days. All of them are looking to hire guards. One's headed for Kosenkyo, one's headed for Sangal, and one's headed for Rota's capital. Tachiya is a bit tough to work for since he's spoiled for choice—you'll undoubtedly have competition. These caravans are hiring only one guard each because they're smaller and can't afford the city's professional guard services. Do you want me to keep asking around, or...?"

    "No," Balsa said. "I'll work for Tachiya, if he'll take me. I know he's a bit gruff, but he also doesn't talk much and knows how to be discreet. And I'm glad the caravans are small. Not every guard-for-hire likes working with women."

    Toun nodded. "So that's settled. I'll secure your employment for you, so no one will know that it's you who's looking for work. The caravans are leaving in five days."

 

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