Guardian of Heaven and Earth - Rota - Part 3 Chapter 1 - Advance Warning

 Guardian of Heaven and Earth

-

Rota

(Book 8 of the Guardian of the Spirit Series)

Author: Uehashi Nahoko

Translator: Ainikki the Archivist

 

 Part 3 - Blizzard

Chapter 1 - Advance Warning

    Tanda climbed up the steep mountain path to the summit and gazed down at Terano plain. Tanda held his breath. The vast plan spread out before his eyes; there seemed to be no end to it. The rice fields had recently been harvested; stalks and stubble floated in the wind. The mountains sloped the land, creating peaks and valleys that were visible from his high vantage point. Taking it all in like this reminded Tanda that New Yogo was a fertile country with rich soil. If he squinted, he could see other fields that were growing crops other than rice.

    He wondered what the first Yogoese settlers must have thought when they'd crossed the sea and seen the land for the first time. They'd called it New Yogo, in their arrogance, but for all the time that had passed, the southern part of the nation was still full of Yakoo settlements and steeped in Yakoo culture. Terano was a Yakoo name for this place, which meant "wide field" in their language. Terano plain was New Yogo's breadbasket; no other place in the country produced as much rice and grain.

    The plains were bordered here by the Yauru mountains and the Touhata mountain range to the east. The plain was interrupted by the Amata mountain range to the west; that mountain range was blanketed by an evergreen forest that stayed lush and vibrant even in winter.

    The Blue Bow River flowed through Terano plain. It had rained for several days prior to this, but today's weather was clear; the river looked like a strip of light gleaming in the sun. The ocean was faintly visible at the river's mouth in the far distance.

    New Yogo's border with Sangal to the west began at the Touhata mountain range. New Yogo had some authority over the waters outside its port, but New Yogo was not largely seafaring and rarely made use of this authority.

    Tanda saw a smooth stretch of white beach in the distance. If invaders truly were intending to come, he would expect them to land on the beach rather than try traversing the mountains. Attacking Terano plain from the coast would be very easy; it didn't take a military strategist to see that.

    New Yogo's generals and military veterans believed that the first large battle of the war would likely take place on Terano plain. At least two thousand soldiers were already stationed here, regimented into seven different units. The unit that Tanda was traveling with was approaching the train from the north. They'd followed the line of the river for a while until they were forced to turn into the mountains to take on more recruits. Every village the unit passed gave up ten more men for the war effort. Their names were read out in each village square as families trembled with dread.

    Tanda's unit had started with forty men. By the time they reached the plain, there would be ninety--or maybe more. They'd stopped at five villages so far. When they descended from the mountains and reached the river again, they were assigned tasks and told to either float down the river in boats to reach a larger camp, or follow the horses and guard the supplies that were heading south. No man who did not come into the army mounted was given a horse. They were too rare and precious for most soldiers to even consider using.

    The horses currently in the army were also, typically, bought or conscripted from villages. Horses were vital for farmers; this was known even in the imperial court, so most villages were compelled to give up only one or two of their horses for the war. Some villages were so poor that no one had a horse at all; the soldiers recruited there often carried supplies and luggage in a horse's stead.

    The village that Tanda was originally from had only one horse: an old one, very thin and not able to lift much weight. Still, the soldiers taking the horse was a blow to the village. Tanda was so sorry for it that he wound up lightening its heavy load by taking additional supplies into his own pack. Carrying the extra weight for the long journey made Tanda's back, neck and legs ache and twitch from exhaustion. Everything hurt; most nights, he couldn't even sleep.

    The old horse seemed to understand Tanda's consideration. He would often walk beside Tanda and try to rub noses with him as a sign of affection. The horse's name was Hocha, which meant "uncle" in the Yakoo language. While it was true that Hocha was old and no longer very strong, his eyes were sharp, and he was sure-footed even on narrow and treacherous mountain paths.

    "Hey there, Hocha," Tanda said. "It's been a long day, but we'll rest soon."

    Tanda's unit started descending the mountain in neat, orderly lines. Tanda paused in his march to pat Hocha on the neck. He tried not to think about the plain below becoming a battlefield where people would lose their lives. The mere idea made his chest hurt. The plain was so bright and beautiful and pure; he couldn't believe that anything so terrible as a battle would ever take place upon it.

    Tanda sighed and followed his unit down the mountain.

 

 

    Tanda's unit reached the edge of the plain at sunset. The vast field had become a huge military encampment; Tanda saw tents lined up for as far as his eyes could see. The gold thread on the flags flying above the camp glinted in the red light of the sun.

    Most of the men already present in the camp had started preparing dinner. Smoke from a dozen nearby fires wafted into the air. Horses were kept tethered at one end of camp: hundreds of them. Tanda was assaulted by all the smells: of cooking, of smoke, of men and of horses.

    "Northern unit, keep advancing," the leader of the unit called out. Tanda passed by armed and armored soldiers eating dinner and felt a painful pang of hunger. He kept his eyes straight ahead and kept advancing with Hocha next to him.

     Tanda was astonished when he and his unit arrived at the place they were assigned. Their camp was on a ravine that bordered some grassland; fully four hundred men were already encamped there. There was certainly enough space for everyone--including the newcomers--to sleep, but there wasn't space for tents. Tanda saw cooking fires dotted here and there, but there wasn't a single tent to be seen.

    Ordinarily, people would likely have chosen to split up by village or by family to give them greater ease as they slept, but there simply wasn't space. They would all be sleeping together under the stars tonight, and mostly among strangers.

    "Disperse, five villagers to a fire," the leader called out, "but first, take care of the horses. And help the others finish digging latrines before nightfall. You can have your dinner then."

    The men surrounding Tanda moved sluggishly, but they did as ordered and started taking care of the horses.

    "Didn't you say something different before? I thought we could rest as soon as we finished making camp," one man grumbled.

    "That's true, but our superiors still need help finishing their preparations for the night. You can rest after."

    Some of the men in Tanda's unit whispered to one another--mostly complaints, from what Tanda could hear, but no other man was brave enough to make his objections aloud. Several of them had been whipped by officers for their complaints on the way here.

    Eight men commanded the regular footsoldiers assembled on the plain. They used special care to separate themselves from regular soldiers and workers in both their words and their actions. Tanda had heard several of them claim that their knowledge of weapons and warfare made them more qualified to lead. They didn't accept advice or suggestions from the regular soldiers--or complaints, either.

    The commanders rode around the camp on their splendid horses while Tanda and the other men worked, giving grand speeches about the glory of protecting one's homeland and risking their lives for greatness and renown. Tanda had heard such speeches before, too. The commanders claimed that only a few days remained before the men assembled here would be tested in battle.

    One of the commanders lifted up a man who had been hanged earlier in the day: a deserter. Every man from his village had been whipped to within an inch of their lives as part of his punishment.

    The assembled men looked at the dead man and listened to what had happened to the men of his village in clear astonishment. Most of these men had never left their home villages even once before being marched here. They'd never seen the commanders or any soldiers or imperial guards, either, except for when it was time to collect taxes. The appearance of these men--armored from head to toe with swords bared and sharp enough to cut men's throats--was utterly terrifying. More than one man trembled as he worked.

    Soldiers--men who fought and killed--were not the same as these ordinary farmers and innkeepers from ordinary villages. Despite their fear, many of the regular soldiers continued their quiet grumbling as they worked. They had no other way to make their displeasure known.

 

 

    Night was always colder than the day. Tanda hadn't slept outside in a long time and found this night unusually cold. Men gathered around cooking fires and ate simple evening meals with blankets wrapped around their shoulders.

    Tanda heard joints cracking as he lay down. The journey had been long; all his limbs were tired. He shifted on the ground, trying to get comfortable. His blanket was over his head to help him conserve warmth, but his breath still steamed in front of his face. He was so tired that he didn't care; he was asleep almost as soon as he hit the ground.

    When Tanda awoke, it was still night. Someone was screaming. The fire near him had died almost to embers; the light of the moons was all he really had to see by. There was a group of men standing around someone; Tanda heard the sound of blows and winced.

    "Stop it! You'll cause nothing but more problems for us!"

    The only response was a choked-off sob. Someone groaned, then cried out as they were struck. Tanda saw no sign of any of the commanders about; everyone he could see was a regular soldier. All the officers slept in tents in the larger camp--that must be why none of them had heard this commotion.

    Tanda stood up. He knew that interfering might be stupid in this case, but he was awake, and he wasn't the sort of man who could pretend he hadn't seen someone being beaten. He approached the men and saw that there were three of them, all surrounding a crouched-down figure. The men were kicking whoever was in the middle.

    "What's going on?" Tanda asked.

    The men turned to face him. "None of your business, you bastard. Go back to sleep," one of them said. The man's voice cracked as he spoke, from nerves or fear, maybe. Tanda looked at his face and noticed that he was very young. Tanda kept coming closer until he could see whoever the men were beating better.

    "I heard you and woke up," Tanda said. "You'll get the commanders mixed up in this if you don't keep it down."

    The three men snapped their mouths shut. They understood what the consequences of waking any of the commanders would be. Then the young man who had spoken previously seized Tanda's collar and hissed, "And who are you, to interfere in our business? Leave us alone."

    Tanda stared at the young man and didn't say a word. The young man spat, then slugged Tanda hard in the gut. The pain was sharp, severe, and immediate, like something had broken open inside him. It was hard to breathe. Tanda crouched protectively over his stomach and looked down.

    "Oi!" One of the other men said. He turned toward the young man who had punched Tanda, then gestured around. Seven more men around camp had stood up after being awakened by the noise. The young man went pale. All of the men who'd stood up were from Tanda's village; they glared at the young man with clear resentment in their eyes.

    The three young men who'd caused the commotion quickly retreated to their own cooking fire at a sprint, leaving Tanda and the man they'd been beating alone. "Are you all right?" Tanda asked, rubbing the man's back. He, too, was young.

    The man lifted his head and nodded. He was trembling slightly. Tanda thought that he couldn't possibly be any older than eighteen. He was pitifully thin with arms like ropes; only his eyes showed any sign of life and vitality at all. His face was covered in blood.

    "I'll treat your injuries," Tanda said. "Please come with me."

    "Thank you," the man said.

    Tanda supported the man so that he could stand. The men who had been beating him before glared at him and Tanda as they moved, but they didn't speak. They returned to their sleeping places and lay back down.

    Tanda didn't know any of the men of his home village well and had usually kept some distance between him and them as a matter of course, but he was deeply grateful to them now. He hadn't expected them to be such staunch allies in support of one of their own.

    Tanda guided the young man to the side of the slow-trickling tributary of the Blue Bow river and helped him sit down. "Can you wash your own face? If not, I can do it."

    The young man nodded. "Thanks. I can do it." He cupped water in his palms and brought it up to his bloody, bruised face, wincing all the while. Tanda fished around in his pack for something wrapped in oiled paper. He found what he was looking for and unwrapped it, revealing a powder that could help stop bleeding. He dusted his hands and made a sort of paste to place over the cuts on the man's face.

    "Some of these injuries are older," Tanda said with a frown. "They must have been beating you for a long time."

    The man nodded.

    "Why?" Tanda asked.

    The young man answered in fits and spurts, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say. "They tell me to shut up all the time. 'We can't sleep with you near us.' That's what they say. I feel like I'm stuck in a dream all the time and I can't wake up. I thought that would stop happening after I left home, but it's even worse here."

    The man's voice hadn't dropped yet; Tanda thought he sounded more like a girl than a boy--and certainly not like the man he was. The man sank into silence.

    "What kind of dreams?" Tanda asked.

    The young man didn't answer immediately. When he did, it was like he was spitting teeth. "Run! Run! Get away from here!...It's like there's a voice inside me, screaming--all the time."

    He was shaking again. Tanda put a hand on his shoulder.

    War is terrifying. It's no surprise that he just can't stand it anymore.

    The man's eyes suddenly opened wide. He seemed to be seeing through Tanda as he faced the mountains and stared fixedly.

    The air around Tanda felt threatening and oppressive. Goosebumps rose along his arms. He prepared the words of a spell to help calm himself. There was a loud sound like the rushing of water. All of the birds in the forest behind him took flight at the same time, calling in a cacophony to one another in the night sky. Something emerged from the grass at the foot of the mountain; it was difficult to tell what it was. A fox? Another wild animal? Whatever it was ran toward the river at top speed, then jumped over it and concealed itself in the tall grass.

    That was only the first beast to flee the mountain. Others followed it, crossing over the river in droves.

    The man in front of Tanda shook violently. His neck moved back and forth as he shouted at the top of his lungs, “There’s danger here! Run! Get away!”

    Animals kept crossing the river and fleeing the mountain. More soldiers woke and rubbed their eyes. Tanda stood up and took the shouting man by the hand, then led him toward the other sleeping soldiers.

    “Everyone, up!” Tanda yelled. “The animals are fleeing the mountain! We’re in danger here!”

    Most people didn’t react to Tanda’s words, but a few did get themselves up and start running. More than half looked up at him with perplexed, disbelieving faces, clearly resentful over being woken up.

    Tanda called out to everyone to run one more time, then paused and took a breath. The earth shook beneath his feet. A low roar emanated from the ground like a shout. The trees in the forest wavered and fell; Tanda heard them crashing down behind him in a sound like the wave of a tsunami.

    There was a sound like distant thunder as the earth ripped itself asunder. Uprooted trees slid down the mountain and into the soldiers’ camp. A landslide caused trees from farther up the mountain to skid down the slope at great speed along with a huge quantity of mud.

    Someone screamed in the dark.

    Tanda pulled the young man forward by the hand over the uneven ground, moving as fast as he could in an attempt to get them out of danger. He could do nothing but watch as the side of the mountain fell down upon them.

    Tanda relaxed a little he looked at the encroaching earth. Landslides had been common this year in many places; it seemed this mountain was no exception. That meant that there had been a landslide here before. He could tell based on the bare patches of earth and gaps in vegetation that he could see. As terrible as this situation was, it could have been far worse.

    He and the young man he was with were completely buried in earth before they could escape the danger. Tanda wriggled and managed to poke his head above the mud. The shifting mess around him was comprised of trees and river stones as well as mud, so he couldn’t move very easily.

    The landslide didn’t last too long. Everything went eerily quiet when it was all over. Tanda looked around for the young man he’d lost track of after getting buried alive. He found him nearby and helped pull him up.

    Tanda faced back toward the camp and squinted. Well over a third of the encampment had been buried in the landslide.

    Tanda coughed and almost gagged; he had mud in his mouth. The young man next to him coughed so hard he almost doubled over, back into the mud. Tanda found his filthy hand and gripped it in his. He rubbed his back for him until he stopped coughing.

 

 

    The men who’d survived the landslide searched for survivors, carrying pine torches aloft in the darkness. Rescuing Tanda and the young man proved difficult; they were wedged between two trees and the gap between them was so narrow that only two men could enter at a time to help haul them up.

    By morning, the death count had been finalized: twenty-five men had been buried completely in the landslide. Two of the men who’d died were from Tanda’s home village. The work began to start digging corpses out of the rubble, but it was hard work and took time. The eight commanders ordered all the survivors to gather and abandon their work cleaning up the landslide.

    “We understand that this was a disaster, but we don’t have time to keep digging and wasting time,” one of them said. “You’ll all be leaving this place at noon. We need to start putting strategies in place to defend against the enemy’s cavalry forces. It’s difficult work, but we expect all of you to cooperate.”

    The soldiers glanced at one another. Most of them were covered in mud from the landslide or from digging out friends and comrades after. Not content to mutter their discontentment, several men released primal shouts of rage. Searching for survivors and honoring the dead were not a waste of time.

    No one knew who shouted first, but the shout was taken up by a dozen men, a hundred, more; the commander went pale and sped away on his horse. He was only twenty-five years old. He was a maroku--a commander in charge of three hundred men--but for most of his tenure, that position had been a symbolic one, granted to him because of his family’s rank. No one ever expected New Yogo to actually go to war.

    His second-in-command rode up next to him. “Silence!” he called out. His second-in-command was nearing sixty years old and was a seasoned warrior. His family’s rank was much lower than the commander’s and his family were all considered lower-class warriors, but in an actual battle, his experience would certainly be of more use. He was specially selected for his position so that he could assist the commander in any way he could.

    The disgruntled soldiers stopped shouting at his command, but they kept digging through the debris left by the landslide. Their rage was obvious in their faces and their movements.

    The commander’s second-in-command called out to the soldiers in a placating tone of voice. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “There might still be some survivors buried under the rubble here. Leaving feels like abandoning them. But consider the situation we’re in. This was a terrible disaster. How much time would it take for all of us to dig through it all to the bottom and recover everyone? Our orders were given long before this happened; we can’t be expected to shirk them now. Even if we stayed here and dug until nightfall, we wouldn’t finish the work. Do you intend to dig all day tomorrow, too, with the same result? We’re needed elsewhere.

    “It’s a tragedy. I understand. But in the time it would take to save any potential survivors, they will likely perish where they’re buried. We can’t spare the time to search for everyone, and even if we could, the chances of saving anyone else are slim.”

    The rage went out of the soldiers’ movements. Grief and sadness replaced it, making their movements jerky and uncoordinated.

    “You are soldiers. Soldiers die, but you are all alive. You can still save others in this fight. Think of your families, your children, and stay strong. If we fail to stop the enemy’s cavalry from advancing now, many of your villages could be overrun by Talsh and Sangal. This is war, men. We expect the enemy to attack sometime within the next month. If we stay here much longer, we won’t have any chance of stopping the cavalry forces. Our nation will be overrun with enemy forces instead of mud and stone and trees, but people will die just the same.

    “Think about your children’s faces. Pray for the strength to cut down our enemies when they attack. I’m sure the men who died here would forgive us so long as we protect their homes.”

    Many of the men digging whispered to one another. “We should eat. We have less than an hour left before noon.”

    The men began to disperse and pack up for departure. The commander and his second-in-command retreated to make preparations of their own. The diggers remembered that they were soldiers and looked at one another with wide-eyed expressions. Tanda stood alone among them, surrounded by whispers. He wiped the mud from his knees, then went into the forest alone.

    There was a type of grass in the forest called suga, with broad, distinctive stems. He gathered up twenty-five stems of grass, then went back to the soldiers’ camp. He asked the names of all those who were dead or missing and cut their names onto the grass with a small knife.

    “You’re a magic weaver, aren’t you?” one of the soldiers asked him.

    “I’m still an apprentice,” he said sadly, “but I know enough to send their souls off properly, the way they deserve.”

    Several men clustered around Tanda and watched what he was doing. Tanda lined up the grass with all the missing or dead men’s names written on it on the ground. When he was finished carving all the names, he looked up.

    “I will send their souls on from this world,” he said. “Please pray for them so that they find their way safely.”

    The men nodded gravely. This was a solemn and sacred ceremony; they would do all they could to assist with it.

    Tanda took the first blade of grass in his hand and began speaking the words that would send his soul to its rest after death. “Akucham, become a bird, and fly away. Let the wind lift you into the sky to find your last resting place. Sleep. Your war is over. If you are ever reborn in this world, may your soul know peace.” He took the grass in both hands and threw it high into the air.

    The grass flashed with white light, then transformed into a bird. Tanda watched it fly higher and higher into the sky until it disappeared from view.

    “Goodbye, Acham!” Many of the men waved at the bird. Some were crying. Tears streaked the mud on their cheeks. “Farewell.” 

    The men howled with grief as Tanda laid the souls of their friends and families to rest. Their dead comrades would never go home. Tanda lifted each blade of grass one by one and sent them flying high into the sky.

 

 

    Tanda sought out the young man who’d been beaten the previous night before he and the other soldiers broke camp. He wanted to take a closer look at his wounds and make sure he was all right to travel.

    He was astonished at how young the man looked in the clear light of the morning sun. “How old are you?” he asked.

    “Fourteen,” he said. “My brother was selected. I went in his place.” Tears overflowed in his eyes.

    Tanda patted him on the head reflexively. He’s just a boy. The boy jerked away from Tanda like a wild dog, watchful and wary, but then leaned into him and rested his forehead against Tanda’s chest.

    Tanda knew that this boy’s story was common. There were many young men whose parents were dead, or whose fathers had been taken already in previous recruitment campaigns; the young men and boys left had no one to protect them when the recruiters came again. There were several men in Tanda’s unit who were younger than eighteen.

    “My father picked me,” the boy said. “He said I was weird and that the family didn’t need me. Not as much as my older brother.”

    Tanda hugged him tighter and whispered, “Weird, huh? I got that a lot, too, when I was younger.”

    The boy looked up at him in surprise. His face was red from weeping; snot dripped from his nose. “You...too?” he asked tentatively.

    Tanda smiled kindly. “I can see the souls of the dead. A lot of people thought I was creepy as a kid. Why did your father think you were weird?”

    The boy gritted his teeth. His words came slowly, as if he were carefully selecting every single one. “I see things that aren’t there. I see rivers when everyone else sees a mountain, and bright lights when there’s no light, and...well, things like that.”

    Tanda’s eyes widened. “What do you see here? Anything?”

    “We’re underwater,” the boy said with an expression of horror. “So far under, there’s no bottom. I see strange things swimming around me, so many of them--I can’t even count them all.”

    Tanda stared at the boy for a few moments, then decided to verify if what the boy was saying was true. He muttered an incantation to open his eyes to the world of Nayugu.

    Gem-toned bright blue water surrounded him on every side. If he craned his neck, he could see the water’s surface and the sun above it. So many creatures and fish surrounded him that it was hard to see very far in any direction except upwards. He’d never seen so many Yona Ro Gai gathered in a single place before. Golden fish swam in vast schools that swam right through Tanda. Dots of green and gold light sparkled and shone above his head, forming a river of light flowing from the south to the north.

    Tanda returned to Sagu and sucked in a deep breath. The boy was looking at him with an expression of concern. This boy is like Asra, he thought. He can see Nayugu.

    What Tanda had just seen reminded him of Asra’s letter. The soldiers here couldn’t be expected to listen calmly and ask questions of the boy as he had with Asra; he understood now why the boy had been so frequently attacked. Asra’s dream had troubled her deeply--so much so that she’d traveled the long road from Rota to New Yogo with Martha and her brother in order to warn him and Balsa. He understood how she felt now: knowing that she had to do something, but not knowing what she had to do.

    Asra had that dream every night for months. She cried out in her sleep even though she can’t speak.

    Whatever was going on in Nayugu was something that only natural magic weavers like Asra and Chagum could sense. He gasped as he thought, Maybe they’re only the first to notice, the first to see. They’re our advance warning that something is very wrong.

    Like canaries in a coal mine, or the weakest animals in an ecosystem, there were always some animals who either sensed or suffered from danger long before everything else did. In Yogoese, these creatures were called o-chal my by magic weavers: sometimes the weakest of the herd, but more often the first to perceive danger. The term wasn’t commonly used among most people; only magic weavers knew it. Tanda had learned of o-chal from Torogai.

    Tanda remembered that the birds had been the first to fly from the trees before the earthquake that caused the landslide came. The boy had known about the landslide before Tanda; he’d shouted for everyone to run away...and been beaten for his trouble.

    Even among populations of animals, some individual members reacted faster and understood more about a situation than others. Tanda had wondered for a long time why people like Asra, who could see Nayugu and Sagu simultaneously, were born. One possible explanation was so that people like her and the boy in front of him could warn others of danger before it happened.

But Asra’s warning had been vague. The boy’s had as well. What they feared wasn’t clear enough to convey to others. Tanda knew that events in Nayugu could affect Sagu; he assumed that Asra’s warning, and possibly the boy’s, came from the interplay between the two worlds in some way.

    If only Master Torogai were here...I know she’d be able to figure this out.

    Something was happening in Nayugu. He didn’t know what, but he was determined to figure it out.

    The war is coming. I might die. I need to tell Torogai what I know before it’s too late.

    “Are you all right, mister?” the boy asked.

    Tanda smiled faintly. “I’m fine. My name is Tanda. What’s your name?”

    The boy smiled a little. “Kocha. It’s good to meet you, Tanda.”

    “Kocha?” Tanda frowned. ‘Kocha’ meant ‘tiny’ in Yogoese.

    Kocha grimaced. “People called me that for so long that it became my name. My dad decided that it should stay my name no matter how much I complained.”

    Tanda smiled in sympathy. The bells that signaled that it was time to depart chimed in the distance.

    When o-chal gave the herd advance warning, the entire herd moved. But people were dispersed and didn’t all belong to the same herd. There might not be a way to warn everyone--even if Tanda understood what the o-chal were trying to warn him about.

    Men started lining up at their point of departure. Tanda followed them, walking with Kocha. This was the dividing line between peace and war. When they set out, they would be heading toward their first battle.

    Tanda frowned as if he was in pain as men shuffled to their places. War was like the landslide. Even though he’d done his best to warn people of the danger, many men had still died. No amount of advance warning could save these men from what was to come.

 

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