Where the Wind Takes Us
The wind whispered through the grass as Tanda and Balsa walked across the plain. Tanda paused briefly to adjust his pack on his shoulder. Balsa glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
Tanda had been gravely wounded in battle, and though he had mostly recovered after he and Balsa returned to the mountain hut near the capital, this long journey was taking its toll on him. She looked him over for signs of pain and distress, but he just shook his head and smiled at her.
“Is something wrong?” Balsa asked.
“Not at all,” Tanda said. “I was just thinking that people are made of pretty strong stuff. You can knock ‘em down over and over again, and they always get up. Like weeds. They’re tough enough to grow anywhere."
Balsa huffed out a little laugh. It had been a year and a half since New Yogo’s war with the Talsh Empire had ended. This area hadn’t been affected by any battles, but Balsa and Tanda had seen many soldiers—injured and not—during their journey. They’d also met families who had lost sons, fathers, and brothers. In some cases, the bodies had never even been recovered.
Tanda had lost his left arm during the war, but he wasn’t self-conscious about it. Several men in the market had missing limbs or had suffered other obvious injuries. The war had been a terrible one; the Talsh were responsible for the burning of trading cities like Shirogai (although they didn't burn all the cities themselves). New Yogo’s capital, Kosenkyo, had been destroyed by a cataclysmic flood caused by spring coming to Nayugu. Poverty, like war wounds, was a lot more common than it used to be.
Kosenkyo was now little more than a stone mound on a muddy plain, though efforts to rebuild it were underway. Families built small homes out of wood and lent their efforts to erecting more permanent structures with their neighbors. By good luck, Rota had been blessed with excellent harvests for the past few years, and their merchants were more than happy to cross the newly reopened borders to trade food for other goods. The new Mikado subsidized food purchases to make it easier for people to buy it.
The Herb Market, where Balsa and Tanda were, was right on the border between New Yogo and Rota. It was held once a year at the end of autumn, and was open for only three days. Despite this limitation, many people from all the nations on the northern continent gathered to purchase quality herbs, ingredients, and medicines from the market. Balsa saw Yogoese, Sangalese, Kanbalese and Rotan merchants scattered in the crowd.
The first Herb Market after the war ended had been more sparsely attended than this. Rotan cities like Shirogai needed time to rebuild and recover, and trade routes had to be re-established after New Yogo opened its border to foreign travelers again. This year, the market was just as lively as Balsa remembered from the time before the war. The pride of the herbalists who ran it was the backbone that kept this place the foremost market for medicines in the region.
Clear autumn sunlight illuminated the shops to either side of the street. There were far more Rotan people here than Balsa expected to see. It wasn’t common for there to be more Rotan people at the Herb Market than Yogoese people. I guess after the war, everyone’s eager for a little shopping and entertainment, to take their minds off it, Balsa thought as she passed by another Rotan man.
Balsa was glad that this place was looking lively again. It was better to have it be like this than muted by fear and loss.
Riders kicked up clouds of dust as they rode down the street. Families strolled from shop to shop, pointing out rarities and odd-looking items. Their excitement was infectious; Balsa smiled.
The shops did a brisk business, and so did the street musicians scattered throughout the crowd. Balsa tapped her foot to the beat, feeling the lure to start dancing or singing along with the music, though she refrained. They were almost at Tanda’s favorite herb store. She could tell because he was leaned forward and practically drooling, and also because the store was quite a bit bigger than the ones around it. He clenched his right hand in excitement and adjusted his pack as he entered inside.
Balsa was still smiling as she thought of all the times she and Tanda had visited this store together before. The last time they’d been here, Balsa had noticed Asra and Chikisa being dragged away by a slave trader as she’d waited for Tanda to finish paying at the counter. She wasn’t expecting to make any such fateful encounters today, but she kept her eye on the outside of the store, as usual. The harshness of the sunlight made it difficult to see clearly.
The music drew Balsa’s attention again. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because the music wasn’t Yogoese? It sounded Rotan or Kanbalese to her. She let herself listen more closely and realized that she’d heard the song before in Kanbal when she was just a little girl. She’d heard it since, too, on her long caravan journeys with Jiguro, and when she’d finally returned to her homeland a few years before. The noise of the people and horses around her muffled the sounds of the singing voices, flutes and the drums, but she’d know that song anywhere. It stirred a strong emotion within her.
I know the song, but I don’t know what it’s called.
Then Tanda called out to Balsa from behind, and she turned to look at him. He was standing next to a tall Rotan woman wearing elaborately patterned red and yellow clothing. Her long brown hair was braided and coiled on top of her head. The uncoiled ends of the braid hung nearly to her waist. A few prayer bells were sewn to a sash that hung from her shoulder. Every time she nodded, the movement was accompanied by the tinkling of bells.
That looks like a Sadan Taram musician, Balsa thought. That made sense. She’d heard the Sadan Taram play the song that had just captivated her on several occasions. She and her foster father, Jiguro, had traveled with the Sadan Taram once when she was around sixteen or seventeen years old. She could still remember the sight of all those men and women in bright-colored clothing moving through the tall grass with Jiguro bringing up the rear, guarding them.
Jiguro was one of the King’s Spears—a great warrior of Kanbal who was sworn to serve the nation’s king. He was the youngest man to earn that position in a hundred years, and considered something of a prodigy. Jiguro had thrown all of that away to save Balsa’s life when the brother of the King of Kanbal, Rogsam, ordered her killed. His best friend, Karuna, was Balsa’s father and the King’s physician. Balsa was only six when she and Jiguro fled from Kanbal. Jiguro would never return, except as a spirit.
Balsa’s life with Jiguro was far from easy. They were constantly being pursued by assassins who wanted both her and Jiguro dead. But that threat was long past. Looking back on her years with Jiguro now, Balsa felt no lingering fear or resentment for their treatment, only a gentle sadness.
Jiguro and Balsa had met many people in the course of their travels. She couldn’t be expected to remember them all. She had no trouble remembering the time she and Jiguro had spent with the Sadan Taram. They were colorful and unique in how they presented themselves, and music had a way of lingering in her mind.
The Sadan Taram woman was talking to Tanda animatedly, nodding up and down as she said, “Yes, that’s right! That green light around it is yaral sha. It’s more expensive than most herbalists can buy, but if you really want it, can…”
They started haggling over price. The Sadan Taram woman wanted two silver coins for it, which was certainly excessive. However, she’d heard of Tanda by word-of-mouth and was willing to drop the price to one silver coin and five copper coins.
“It’s my best offer!” the Sadan Taram woman said. “I wouldn’t give it to you if you weren’t so cute.”
Tanda glanced in Balsa’s direction, flushing a little in embarrassment. “Uh, it’s not really right to call a man past thirty ‘cute,’ is it?”
Balsa smiled at him and shrugged. If he had to flirt a little to get a better price, she didn’t care.
The Sadan Taram woman looked at Balsa, her eyes widening in surprise. The light streaming in from the shop’s doorway made it difficult to see Balsa’s face from where she was standing, but no one should have any trouble seeing the spear clutched in her hand.
The Sadan Taram woman called out to Balsa, but her words were drowned out by the sound of hoofbeats and shouting outside the shop. Balsa went outside to see what was going on.
There were six riders in the street ahead of Balsa, all with their backs to her. They were Yogoese; she could tell by embroidered symbols on their sword belts. Those symbols represented a minor noble family that lived to the east of here in Midori Mansion. They’d probably crossed the border into Rota to serve as guards for the Herb Market.
“Sadan Taram!” one guard shouted imperiously. “Thieves! Hand over all your belongings right now!”
A woman answered him. Her voice shook, but her words were clear enough. “I don’t know what you mean, sir. We’ve done this every year for a very long time and I’ve never heard this kind of complaint. Have we committed some kind of crime?”
“Confiscate everything,” the guard commanded the others. “Our lady’s bracelet must be here.”
Three guards dismounted and approached the Sadan Taram woman. The guard captain and two other guards remained mounted with their spears raised, preventing anyone in the immediate area from fleeing.
“We’re not thieves!” the Sadan Taram woman cried out. “We paid for our permits and offered thanks to your lord for allowing us to be here, just like everyone. This is the first time we’ve ever been accused of something so heinous! If you do find a bracelet, what’s to stop you from claiming it belongs to your lady simply so you can punish us? It isn’t fair!”
One of the guards seized a bag that the Sadan Taram woman held and dumped its contents onto the street. There was makeup inside and some jewelry as well, but none of it was Yogoese in style, and it was all too poor of quality for a Yogoese noblewoman to lay claim to.
“You see?” the woman fumed. “What do you intend to do, search my person next?” She undid her belt with hasty, furious movements and prepared to undress, but the guard captain shouted at her to stop.
“We don’t do such uncivilized things as strip naked in front of a crowd here,” the guard captain said contemptuously. “Search her instrument. Break it apart if you have to. The bracelet may be hidden inside.”
Well, shit, Balsa thought. She’d hoped the guards would back off after searching the woman’s bag, but this situation had just taken a turn for the worse. If the bracelet wasn’t found inside the broken instrument, the guards would probably drag her off for further interrogation, and she would resist. The loss of her instrument was a blow to her pride and her livelihood, yes, but it was even more serious than that, from her perspective. She wouldn’t allow the guards to take her away, and it was very likely that she would be killed.
Balsa wasn’t about to let that happen. She wasn’t sure if the guards knew that they were provoking the woman to the point where she would die rather than lose her instrument, but that didn’t really matter.
One of the guards picked up the woman’s 13-stringed zither and prepared to break it.
A young man with a slight beard—also Sadan Taram, judging by his clothing—seized the guard by both wrists and squeezed. He glared up at the bearded guard captain and said, “You are an ignorant Yogoese guardsman. I am of the ancient Tol Asa people. We play the instruments that delight you and ring the bells that signal evil fortune. That instrument is a sacred object, a relic known as shata, the water harp. The Sadan Taram are the only ones who may touch it. If you destroy it, it will be the same as killing us in cold blood.”
The young man looked familiar to Balsa. Is that... Gamal?
The guard captain snorted a laugh. He let out a shrill whistle and drew his sword from his hip. The other guardsmen did the same. The young man forced the guard to let go of the water harp and knocked him down into the dirt while the woman carefully retrieved the instrument. She set it behind her and picked up a short quarterstaff that lay among her scattered belongings.
She and the young man had no chance. The guardsmen were almost certainly war veterans, and they were trained to fight. The Sadan Taram were not. The young man’s quarterstaff was larger than the woman’s and he knew that he should use it to block oncoming attacks, but he wasn’t able to go on the offensive. A guard kicked him hard in the chest, breaking a few ribs, but he scrabbled to his feet and kept defending.
A guard came up behind the young man and slashed his back open. He fell again, screaming as his blood dripped onto the street. Only the heavy pack that he carried on his back prevented the sword cut from being a fatal wound. The young man turned towards the guard who had attacked him and elbowed him hard in the chest. The guard went tripping backwards, but he pulled the young man down with him; they landed face-up in the street.
The mounted guards removed the scabbards from their spears and raised their weapons to kill the young man and the Sadan Taram woman accused of theft. Just before their strikes fell, another spear struck a mounted guardsman’s, breaking off the tip of the weapon with a strident clang.
The next instant, the guardsman with the broken spear went flying off his horse. He’d been kicked off, but everyone was so distracted by the street fight that no one could tell who’d done it at first. The other two riders moved to protect their comrade, kicking up dust as their horses moved and further obscuring the new combatant.
Balsa—of course it was her—ignored the other two mounted guards for the moment, placing herself between the young man who looked like Gamal and his attackers.
The guard captain frowned in puzzlement. What was a thirty-something Kanbalese woman doing, attacking them with a short spear in the middle of the street? Balsa herself offered no explanation. She crouched down with her spear at the ready and glared at the guard captain.
Another mounted guard ran up on his horse and aimed his spear at her right shoulder. The blade gleamed too bright in the early autumn sun, making it difficult to see and aim; Balsa avoided the strike with ease and pulled him off his mount.
The other mounted guard was still coming, spear raised. Balsa tucked the shaft of his spear into her armpit and used the butt of her own spear to push him from his horse with a hard shove. The guard went flying off his horse. He didn’t even have time to cry out. He landed on his back with a soft thump like a fallen sack of flour.
The onlookers that had initially been drawn to the spectacle withdrew a little, giving Balsa and the guards some room as the riderless horse went berserk and broke into a gallop in the middle of the market. By good luck, the horse ran into the other guard who was attacking on foot, so they were both incapacitated.
The guard captain stared speechless at Balsa. All five of the other guards were on the ground, leaving only him mounted and ready to fight. The young man, accused woman and several other Sadan Taram gathered protectively around the water harp, but they made no move to fight.
The guard captain frowned. “This is none of your concern. Tell me who you are so I can write you up for your punishment later.”
“My name’s Balsa.” She wasn’t even out of breath from the fight. “And this is my concern. The Sadan Taram fed and sheltered me when there was no one else. It’s only right for me to express my gratitude.”
Gamal was still on the ground, but now he forced himself up to his elbows. He recognized Balsa.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” the guard captain asked. “Shielding a thief is the same as being one, under the law.”
Balsa nodded. “I don’t believe they’ve stolen anything, but if they have, I’ll accept any punishment you want to give us all. But you didn’t find the stolen bracelet in their things, so you don’t have any evidence of theft.”
“Everyone knows they hide their spoils inside their instruments. If we don’t search inside, we’ll never know if they stole it or not.”
“Impossible,” Tanda called out from the crowd. His Rotan was accented, but passable, and the gentle tone to his voice carried over from language to language. “The Sadan Taram do not conceal objects inside their instruments. They don’t even use them for storage.”
Balsa frowned at Tanda as he approached. She didn’t want him getting embroiled in any trouble. He should have stayed at the store until this situation had blown over, but she understood why he hadn’t. Tanda was no better at ignoring people who needed help than she was.
Tanda passed Balsa by and knelt next to Gamal to check his injuries. “The Sadan Taram’s sacred instruments are believed to hold the shapes of their guardian spirits. There’s nothing more important to their culture. The idea of hiding a bracelet in one would never occur to them.”
“This looks bad, but the wounds are shallow,” Tanda muttered in Yogoese so that only Balsa could hear. “Looks like they were planning to interrogate him.”
“This man needs treatment, and so do the wounded guards,” Tanda said in Rotan. “I think that should be everyone’s first priority. There’s a hospital right there that should have enough beds. When everyone’s treated, we can all talk further and settle this issue peacefully.”
The guard captain paled, but he was furious, not frightened. He knew that Tanda’s proposition was likely the right one, under the law and in the eyes of the many witnesses to this event. Even so, he didn’t like being made a fool of by a foreign herbalist. If he still had his other guardsmen on his side, he might have tried arresting Balsa and the others now and accepting the consequences later.
Another man on a fast horse rode up to the guard captain. The people in his path moved away for safety reasons. He pulled up on his reins and asked, “What’s going on here?”
The guard captain rode closer to the newcomer and whispered in his ear. The newcomer whispered something back, and the guard captain frowned. He considered for a long, drawn-out moment, then faced Gamal.
“It seems the lady simply misplaced her bracelet. It has been found.”
Gasps and titters from the surrounding crowd. The guard captain removed a silver coin from a pouch and tossed it at Gamal. “For your medical expenses.”
The accused woman picked up the coin and was about to hurl it back at the guard captain, but Balsa shook her head. “Now’s not the right time for anger. Let’s get him better first. Go after revenge later.” She took the coin from the woman’s fingers carefully, then slipped it into Tanda’s bag.
To the guard captain, Balsa said, “We’ll keep this. He’s an herbalist, so he knows where to buy medicine.”
Tanda smiled faintly and nodded. “The cuts aren’t deep, but there are a lot of them, and getting hit in the back was a shock. As long as he doesn’t start coughing up blood, he should be fine, but I need to start treatment right away.”
“Oi! Shouldn’t you get an actual doctor for him?” one of the onlookers asked.
“I am a doctor,” Tanda said. But they were in the Herb Market; there were probably a dozen doctors more qualified than he was within a hundred yards. Several men and women pushed their way out of the crowd to help Tanda within moments, and the busy street became an impromptu hospital tent.
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