Where the Wind Takes Us
By the time the caravan broke camp and found the fork in the road that would take them to Mahal Marsh, it was late afternoon. The marsh was impassable for wagons, so only the caravan leader and a group of guards would accompany him to his final destination. The other merchants made camp, prepared for another meal and moved their inventory around in the wagons to create more space.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” the caravan leader said to the other merchants. “No one really likes sleeping out in the open.”
The merchants shrugged off his apology. The only thing that surprised them was that he intended to take all of the caravan’s guards with him. He wouldn’t leave even a single one to protect the cargo and the other merchants.
“We’re close to a guardhouse here, so no one should attack,” the caravan leader said. “I’m not overly concerned about being attacked, either, but I might lose my way in the darkness. Any guards who live in this area surely know the legends of this place. What I fear is a danger that I cannot foresee.”
Balsa was alarmed at the caravan leader’s proposal, but then she looked to Jiguro, who seemed entirely relaxed. She frowned. What does he think this is, a vacation? We can’t just leave the others here, can we?
This was, without a doubt, the oddest caravan that Balsa had ever traveled with.
***
The side-road that led to Mahal Marsh was in terrible disrepair. The guards and the caravan leaders were skilled riders, but their horses’ footing was so bad that they were nearly thrown several times.
One of the soldiers pretending to be a guard pulled up on his reins a little to slow his mount down. “This road sure is awful, huh?” the man asked. He was looking at Balsa.
Balsa nodded. “Yep. Sure is.”
“You’re a good rider,” the man said. “Haven’t seen your horse slip even once.”
“Thanks,” Balsa said. “I’m used to riding on roads that are this bad.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m sixteen.”
“Sixteen, huh.” The man sighed. “My oldest daughter is the same age as you. She got married last year. I heard just before the caravan left that she gave birth to a little girl.” His eyes drifted to Jiguro. “I know you Kanbalese are a fierce lot. I never expected a Kanbalese man to force his daughter into this life. It’s impressive.”
“It’s what I wanted,” Balsa said, irritated. “Jiguro never forced me to do a godsdamn thing. I’ll ask you not to speak ill of my father in my presence.”
The man looked surprised again. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone,” he said quietly. “Pardon my ignorance. We all know the risks of being a caravan guard, and when I noticed your youth I assumed the worst. It was rude of me.” He sighed. “I can’t even imagine training my own daughter to do this work.” He was looking at Balsa, but he was muttering as if he were talking to himself.
The man fell silent, following behind Balsa at a slight distance. The darkness hid the expression on his face and the cruel light burning in his eyes.
***
The cry of a waterfowl shattered the stillness. Balsa could smell the river downwind of where they were, as well as the faint sulfur smell of rotten eggs. There were dangerous gases in this swamp; Balsa was certain that the one she smelled was nitrous oxide. Building a fire anywhere near here would be extremely dangerous.
It’s gonna be a real pain to find a place to camp, Balsa thought. She and Jiguro had gone through the marsh once before with a small caravan that wanted to buy a large quantity of ahara feathers from the trappers that lived nearby. Ahara were water-loving birds that flocked to Mahal Marsh.
Balsa saw a familiar trapper’s hut in the distance. One of the trappers came out to meet them and guide them through the rest of the marsh safely. He knew where the most toxic gases were and could lead them around other hazards, like quicksand. The dangerous gases were called hiru tah, and they’d killed many unwary travelers that weren’t fortunate enough to have a guide.
There were no perfectly straight and even paths through Mahal Marsh, but the trappers who caught ahara birds could navigate it better than anyone else. The marsh was surrounded by hills on every side, so there were a few areas of higher elevation along the route. Balsa tried to keep Jiguro in her sight line, but the uneven ground and thick vegetation made that impossible.
Eventually, Balsa and the others emerged from the swamp on top of a slight hill ringed by trees. The view was breathtaking. Starlight sparkled on the waters of the marsh. Trees and high-growing reeds sprang up in all directions. Balsa could still see a few of the guards ahead of her, but Jiguro had already moved out of sight.
The path ahead was marked by a series of flags that meant they were at the edge of the marsh. The flags had probably been white to start with, but the wind, rain and mud had turned them brown. Just ahead, there was a group of unfamiliar people in brightly colored clothing standing in a gap in the vegetation. The reeds and grasses beneath their feet had been tamped down, clearing a larger space to walk.
The people were Sadan Taram.
The guard riding next to Balsa gasped and drew his bow. Jiguro turned around and made a gesture indicating that the Sadan Taram weren’t a threat, but the guard still didn’t lower his bow.
But then the caravan leader rode up and commanded the guards to draw bows against the Sadan Taram.
Jiguro readied his spear and used it to deflect the first volley of arrows.
“Dad!” Balsa shouted. She wanted to get to him, but before she could move her horse, the man next to her attacked.
“I’m sorry,” the guard said. He drew his dagger and leaned across to stab her with it. Balsa had time to deflect the dagger, but the guard shifted his grip and pushed it into her thigh. Pain, white and hot, coursed through Balsa, but she ignored it.
The guard was trying to kick Balsa off her horse. She recognized that as being a common tactic among cavalrymen and whacked the shaft of her spear smartly against his horse’s ear.
The horse screamed, reared and threw the guard off. When he landed, Balsa slammed the butt end of her spear into his collarbone, breaking it instantly. The man groaned and rolled, trying to kick Balsa’s horse in the stomach. Balsa brought her horse up short and watched the man’s momentum carry him downhill.
She was too exposed here: there were too many places for archers and ambushers to hide. Jiguro was being helped by a few of the Sadan Taram who carried bows themselves, but they were outnumbered. They were also standing in the open; more arrows whizzed at them from patches of tall grass and reeds. A woman screamed.
It was impossible to kill all the enemies unless Balsa and Jiguro could see them. Thinking quickly, Balsa rode a little ways away from the thick of the battle, then pulled three arrows from her quiver and tucked them to her chest. She rummaged through her pack, finding a small jar of kerosene buried underneath some clothes and her leftover bam from dinner. She coated the arrowheads in kerosene, then clicked her spearhead against her horse’s tack to create a spark.
It took a few tries, but her first arrowhead caught fire. But the arrow was top-heavy and fell to the ground before she could draw and nock it. The fire was extinguished in the mud.
It took some time to light a second arrow. She sent it flying high above her head, then moved out of the way before it could land. The marsh caught fire and spread in all directions, likely helped along by the toxic and volatile swamp gases.
Balsa fixed her eyes straight ahead toward the top of the hill where Jiguro and the Sadan Taram were still fighting. She hacked her way through vegetation, guiding her horse with her legs. She startled a flock of birds out of hiding during her violent passage.
There was more commotion ahead: the guards attacking Jiguro and the Sadan Taram had noticed that the fire was spreading out. Jiguro was locked in combat with two men. One was a guard, and the other was the leader of the caravan.
Balsa struck out wildly with her spear at the merchant-turned-traitor, making him fall from his horse. “Dad, follow me!” she shouted to Jiguro.
Jiguro made short work of his other attacker, then pulled up on his reins. He nodded to Balsa.
Balsa and Jiguro rode to the edge of the marsh where the flags were, followed by a few Sadan Taram. Balsa jumped off her horse, wincing from the wound in her leg.
“We can carry the injured Sadan Taram away from here,” Jiguro said.
Balsa doubted that. Their attackers were a swarming mass, and she was too injured to carry another person. But before she could tell Jiguro that, he pointed to an injured man on the ground.
“You take him and go ahead of me,” Jiguro said. “I’ll catch up to you.” He lifted a large man over his shoulder.
Balsa carried her charge with difficulty. Some of the Sadan Taram tried to help. Running, feeling her wound smart with every step, Balsa caught a glint of water in the middle distance. “There are boats there!” Balsa cried out. “We have to get to them! Hurry!”
The Sadan Taram moved faster. From this distance, Balsa could tell that these boats belonged to the trappers that lived in the swamp. They weren’t too far from a trapper’s hut, swaying slightly in the shallow water close to the shore.
“Get in, quick!”
The two injured Sadan Taram piled into one boat; Jiguro and Balsa took another. The last Sadan Taram, who appeared to be the youngest, got into a boat by herself.
“Push off!” the leader of the Sadan Taram called out. There were poles near the shore to help the boats get farther into the water. They also assisted with steering. Balsa and the others picked up poles and pushed against the shore, sending their boats adrift.
Traveling away from the battle seemed to take a long time, but no one followed them. When the boats came to rest against another marshy shore, Jiguro, Balsa and the others got out of the boats and looked around. There was still smoke rising from the swamp in the far distance, and a few soldiers were visible standing on the hill, illuminated by fire. They were so far away that they appeared to be the same size as insects.
“Can we do something to put the fire out?” Balsa asked.
The leader of the Sadan Taram reached out and squeezed Balsa’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. The wind is still now, so it’s not spreading. And it looks like it’s going to rain soon.”
Balsa looked up. Sure enough, there were storm clouds on the horizon.
“We need to get out of here before the fires go out and they come looking for us,” the leader of the Sadan Taram said. She turned to Balsa and bowed her head. “Thank you. Without your help, we never would have survived that attack.” She had beautiful eyes.
Balsa looked down. “It was nothing. Your people saved my life once, too.” She looked toward the hill where the soldiers still stood. “I don’t think they’ll move tonight. The way back is pretty long, and we took the only boats that were nearby.”
The leader of the Sadan Taram nodded. “Yakkal isn’t safe for us, even though it’s closest. We’ll go east. There’s a small village called Okal at the edge of the marsh that’s hard for most people to find. We can take the boats most of the way there. Kii, tell the boats where we’re headed.”
The young girl who’d climbed in a boat on her own nodded and tapped a small drum she held, creating a rhythm. To Balsa’s surprise, the boats creaked, then echoed the same rhythm that Kii was playing. She blinked.
“Well, that’s settled,” the Sadan Taram leader said. “The boats can move in the darkness, so I suggest that we treat our injuries first, before we travel further.”
The injured woman Balsa had carried had taken an arrow in her shoulder. The man Jiguro had carried had taken another arrow in the gut. Neither wound was fatal, but they were difficult to treat in the dark. It was a new moon, and they only had a thin sliver of red-orange sunlight and the light of the stars to see by.
As the night drew on, the wind picked up, blowing cold over the water. Rain was in the air. Everyone piled back into the boats and started rowing. The Sadan Taram were practiced at it, and rowed in perfect time.
Balsa was impressed at how fast they were moving. She looked to Kii, the young girl who’d drummed out a beat toward the boats.
Kii smirked. “These boats are like our legs in this place. It’s easier to navigate on them instead of our feet. I can’t tell them where to go, but they can help us keep moving without getting lost.”
No one talked about the attack they’d just suffered. When the rain started, no one complained. They kept rowing in silence until a little past dawn, when the three boats came to rest against the eastern edge of the marsh.
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