Where the Wind Takes Us
“Sadan Taram! Sadan Taram! Make way!” Sansa called out in a bright, clear voice. “Behold these golden instruments, which banish evil and lighten the load of grief-laden spirits.”
They were walking down the wide main street of a village. Several people heard Sansa’s voice and turned to look. Three of the younger Sadan Taram women were juggling the gold-plated sticks, singing a song in time with the rhythm the bells set. A few children pointed and giggled. The more curious onlookers came closer. The other Sadan Taram smiled, encouraging people to approach.
This is an absolute nightmare, Balsa thought. She was standing a little behind the performers and was uncomfortable with all the attention they were attracting. At the end of the performance, Balsa looked toward Kii, who tossed her a juggling stick. Balsa stopped it in midair with her spear, sending it upwards. Kii laughed.
Pleased with this reaction, Balsa kept manipulating the juggling stick with her spear and her feet, creating an impromptu dance that delighted Kii and the crowd. When she was done messing around, she handed the juggling stick back to Kii.
Kii was still smiling. “You could be a Sadan Taram if you wanted,” she said quietly.
The other women got up and prepared to resume their performance. Apparently, they’d only been taking a break.
“Behold these golden instruments, which banish evil and lighten the load of grief-laden spirits!” Sansa called out again. “They bring wealth and happiness. Men, women and children delight when they dance in the sky!”
Kii broke away from the others and sang a little song, hopping from foot to foot.
Jump, jump, little sheep!
Jump for the short stalk of grain!
Jump, jump, little sheep!
Jump for the tall stalk of grain!
When the other Sadan Taram women finished their song, they clapped to the beat of Kii’s and started singing along. “Hello, one and all! We wish you well on this fine summer day!” Sari called out from behind the others. Her voice was so loud that it startled a few people.
Balsa gaped at her. The voice she cast to the crowd sounded different from her normal speaking voice. Somehow, she was scattering brightly colored flower petals around herself as she moved, though Balsa didn’t notice her hands working. None of the other Sadan Taram were scattering petals, either.
It was the season for white ratalia flowers, and Balsa noticed yellow rasshi petals, too. The Sadan Taram must have picked them along the road as they traveled.
Balsa, Jiguro and the Sadan Taram passed through town. It was early summer in northern Rota. The season for flowers growing and blooming was unusually short here.
***
As they were passing through Jitan, Sari had an idea that she decided to run past Jiguro. It was impossible for the Sadan Taram to change their visitation schedule for sacred sites, but it was possible for them to alter their route. They usually took shortcuts through the woods or mountains, but since they were in danger now, it made more sense to keep to well-traveled routes. Well-traveled meant more people, which meant more witnesses if the caravan leaders and his soldiers attacked again.
Jitan, where they were, was a large city, but they were heading to Rakul Province and the Aru domain, which were sparsely populated. An attack further north was more likely no matter what route they chose, but they could at least try to stay on the road as much as possible.
Jiguro agreed with this reasoning, but it was still important to find out why the Sadan Taram were being targeted, and by whom. Soldiers didn’t sign on to just any caravan, and he suspected that the caravan leader had lied about who he was.
Fortunately, Jitan was a good place to buy information along with everything else. He tasked Balsa with protecting the Sadan Taram, then went into the city to talk to a few purveyors of secrets.
That night, after the Sadan Taram went to sleep at the inn they’d chosen, Balsa went from tavern to tavern, searching for Jiguro. She caught sight of him drinking across from a man smoking a taju cigar and muscled her way over. The smoker was red-faced and very drunk, so with a little coaxing, Balsa got him to leave. She sat in the drunk man’s vacated chair. It was still warm from his body heat.
Balsa reached for a full drink on the table and felt Jiguro’s hand close over hers. “You’re not drinking tonight,” Jiguro said. “No one wants to hear you sing.”
“I sang one time,” Balsa muttered.
He moved a jug of wine out of Balsa’s reach, then moved the cup in front of her to his side of the table. His cheeks were slightly flushed. His eyes were alert, but Balsa knew he was more drunk than he let on. “Are you all right?”
Jiguro waved his hand dismissively. “Is everyone safe at the inn?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Balsa said. “I left Okuri to keep watch. He should be up when we get back. If you won’t let me have wine, can I at least order some fruit juice?”
“Sure, I’ll pay for that.”
Balsa signaled to a waitress and order a spiced fruit juice called harah.
“Is that Jiguro I see?” a woman called out from a corner of the tavern. Her voice was high-pitched and almost girlish. “And ordering fruit juice, of all things? Are you losing your alcohol tolerance as you age?”
The woman’s voice was shrill enough to cause a faint ringing echo. She sauntered over to their table and leaned down, staring at Jiguro. Balsa plugged her ears.
“Don’t you dare plug your ears, you saucy girl,” she said. She picked up the wine jug at the table and poured herself a glass. Swirling the wine in her hand, she said, “I hear you’re looking for a few friends around here. I’m willing to tell you everything I know, if you’re willing to pay for the privilege.”
“And why would I do that?” Jiguro asked.
“Aw, you haven’t heard of me?” the woman pouted. “My name’s Kaina.” She looked at Balsa. “That’s Miss Kaina to you. And I know damn near everything that goes on in this town.”
“Do you have to talk so loud?” Balsa asked. Her hands twitched around her ears.
Kaina frowned at Balsa severely, then pulled up a chair next to Jiguro. “You’re raising your daughter wrong,” she said. But she was speaking more quietly now.
Jiguro grimaced. “Seems like you’re the one I’m here to see. Sorry if my daughter offended you.”
Kaina’s eyes lit up. “I thought that might be the case. What kind of intel are you looking for?”
“We’re working as guards for the Sadan Taram. They’ve been targeted by some shady people, but we don’t know why. Know anything about that?”
Balsa pursed her lips. She wouldn’t have come right out and said it like that. If Kaina traded in information, she could use what he’d just told her and sell it to someone else, including their enemies.
“The Sadan Taram? Traveling musicians with no money or possessions to speak of? Yeah, anyone targeting them is bound to be an oddball. But why do you ask? They certainly can’t afford to pay for your services. Or has a pretty one turned your head?”
Jiguro hmphed. “Refrain from commenting on me unnecessarily or I won’t pay for any information even if you have it.”
Kaina ran her fingers through her long black hair in what looked like a nervous gesture. “I’ll try. Hazard of the business. We talk a lot and notice a lot. I like you, so I like to share.”
“Then share something useful.”
“Where are they headed?”
Jiguro narrowed his eyes. “Tell me everything you know about the Tahsa people and northern Rota.”
“Tahsa, huh? Haven’t heard a peep out of them in ages; there are so few left. But it’s summer, so that means the annual festival is getting set up in Rakul Province. It’s always a big to-do. Ranchers from every homestead bring out a head of cattle and present it to their lords as tribute.”
Kaina kept talking--and drinking--with Jiguro interjecting the occasional question.
“I’ve heard they’re remodeling the building where the main festival is held,” Kaina said. “It’s made of wood, of course--those southern lords might be able to afford something fancier, but we’re talking about the north. And they’re not using just any wood, either. They’re using maharan.”
Jiguro’s eyebrow twitched. “I see.”
Maharan was a luxury material, especially by the standards of northern Rota. Its wood grain was almost perfectly straight and even. The wood was strong, water-resistant and made good building material. The bark could be used to make some kinds of perfume. The maharan tree didn’t grow anywhere in the north, so the materials to upgrade the festival space were imported at great additional expense.
This was a widespread rumor. Balsa had heard it before, but she didn’t really understand why it mattered. The ins and outs of commerce and why wood moved to one area of a country instead of another all seemed very dull and pointless to her, but Jiguro’s questions and Kaina’s commentary helped her put this information into new perspective.
A trade of this magnitude would have to be authorized by a northern Rotan clan lord, who would also have to sign off on the expense. Northern Rota was much poorer than the south, and when people learned about the maharan trade deal, it sparked unrest, especially among those who were struggling to feed themselves and their families.
“A purchase that large would send taxes in the province up by double digits,” Jiguro said. “How can the people afford it?”
“They can’t, and it’s all anyone can talk about. The blame for it all is going to the Magua clan, and they’re expected to pick up the tab.” Kaina’s eyes brightened suddenly from drink or emotion; Balsa couldn’t tell which. “You mentioned the Tahsa people. As it turns out, I just might know something...”
Kaina smiled. “But it’ll cost ya. You know much about liquor? This place sells araku.”
Jiguro snorted. “How much do you want?”
“A silver coin’s worth.”
As Balsa looked on, Jiguro dug a silver coin out of his pocket and pressed it to Kaina’s palm.
“Thanks,” Kaina said. She took another swallow of wine. She leaned over the table and spoke in a low voice. “Say... d’you know about the Tahsa people who live in Aru region? Like I said before, there aren’t many left, but that used to be where a bunch of them lived, and some are still there.”
“I know the basics,” Jiguro said. “The Aru region is where one of the more powerful Tahsa lords lived a long time ago. They rule over the northern forests that includes the Valley of the Forest King.”
“You’re right; that’s the basics.” Kaina took another drink. “What you might not know is that the Tahsa people has been dying out, and the few that are left have been consumed by radicalism and bigotry against the Rotans. The poor people of the north aren’t the only ones on the edge of rebellion at the moment. And the maharan tree is sacred to the Tahsa people, so cutting so many of the trees down hasn't helped matters.
“But anyway, the Magua clan are trying to make nice with those Tahsa people. Do you know why?” She raised an eyebrow. “Apparently they’ve managed to get maharan to grow there, finally. And found some old-growth groves in the more remote forests.”
“The Aru region will be as rich as the stars soon, then,” Jiguro said.
Kaina nodded. “All the maharan imported this year had to come from far away. If the Magua clan could source it from the north, the quality and freshness of the wood would be even better. And it’s also a profitable material to export.”
Jiguro and Kaina kept talking for a while, but their conversation went in circles. Jiguro set his glass down with a bit more force than was necessary and said, “Stop boring me with your absurdities and tell me something I can actually use.”
Kaina laughed. “That’s all the information I’ll give you for one silver piece. Well, no, there’s one other thing. Two years ago, the lord of the Aru region fell in love with a woman from the Magua clan--a pure-blooded Rotan. Their parents opposed the match, but against all odds, they married last year. Isn’t that remarkable? It’s like something out of a storybook.”
“This is useful?” Jiguro asked.
“The Magua clan had only one daughter to marry off, so it’s a loss for them. They’re also the ones insuring the purchase of the maharan wood and putting up collateral. That’s all the major goings-on in Rakul Province that I know of. I hope the information helps your Sadan Taram friends.”
Jiguro poured Kaina another glass of wine. “I should have expected you to keep the best information you had for last. You know your business.”
Kaina drained her glass in a single gulp. “Ah, that’s the good stuff.”
Jiguro got up from his chair, using Kaina’s shoulder for support as he steadied his feet. He’d drunk far more than he usually did. “Let’s call it a night,” he said. He put the money to pay for their drinks on the table, then gestured to Balsa. They were on their way out the door when Kaina called them back.
“Say, how long are you in town?” Kaina asked.
“Not sure,” Jiguro said. “Does it matter?”
“Not really.” Kaina shrugged. “Farewell. And come back again so that I can drink you under the table.” She staggered to her feet, picked up the table’s half-empty wine jug, and sauntered over to another table.
Jiguro spared Kaina one last glance. Then Balsa and Jiguro left the tavern as quickly as possible. Balsa had trouble keeping up. The touch of the clear, cool night air after being cooped up in the tavern for so long was refreshing. The stars glittered in the sky overhead.
“Is something wrong?” Balsa asked.
“No,” Jiguro said. “Go back to the inn before me. Tell them I’m buying a hangover cure or something, if they ask.” He walked off, completely steady on his feet, and Balsa wondered if he’s amplified his own drunkenness for Kaina’s benefit.
She wanted to get back to the inn, but she also had no idea what Kaina’s information was worth. When Jiguro was out of sight, she returned to the tavern and waved to Kaina, who was sitting at a different table.
“Oh, back so soon?” Kaina asked.
“I want to understand what you were saying before. You didn’t make any sense.”
Kaina laughed. “Well, if that’s what you want, you’ll have to pay for it.”
“How much do you want?”
“Hm, thirty copper coins.”
Balsa counted out the money and passed it to Kaina.
Kaina accepted the money with a little grin. “Pleasure doing business. Truth is, a man Jiguro is looking for is in Jitan at the moment. A Kanbalese man carrying a spear. He’s been asking around for Jiguro, you see.”
Balsa’s blood turned to ice. A Kanbalese warrior--a King’s Spear? Here? “Where is he?”
“He’s staying at an inn near the eastern canal,” Kaina said. “That’s all that thirty copper coins will get you.” She turned away, talking to a man across the table.
Balsa seized Kaina’s arm. Kaina turned back to her with an expression of irritation. “What now?”
“I don’t want you betraying what you know about us to other people.”
Kaina shrugged. “What I do with my information is my own business. Certainly not yours.”
“If you do sell us out, I’ll kill you,” Balsa said in a low voice. Then she turned her back on Kaina.
***
Balsa tracked down the Kanbalese warrior to the inn near the eastern canal. It was a cheap place, and small; the only place available for guests was above the kitchen. In winter, the fires from the kitchen warmed the small rooms there, but summers were unbearably hot. The rooms were so cheap in summer that even the very poorest travelers could rent them.
Staring up at a window covered by a length of dirty cloth, Balsa waited. When no one appeared, she called out, “If there’s a Kanbalese warrior here, show yourself!”
The cloth moved away from the window. It was a little before dawn and difficult to see. Balsa gripped her spear and peered upwards.
“What do you want of me?” a man asked in Kanbalese.
Balsa hadn’t heard Kanbalese for a long time. His accent was a little different from her and Jiguro’s, but she still missed hearing the language of her childhood home.
“I have some information about the people you’re looking for,” Balsa said. “If you want to know about them, follow me.” Then she turned her back and started walking.
A few moments later, Balsa heard the door of the inn close, then measured footsteps following after her. His leather boots scuffed the street as she walked ahead of him. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. She had to deal with this man before he found out that she and Jiguro were being employed by the Sadan Taram.
I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle this.
Balsa didn’t want Jiguro to be forced to kill any more of his friends. That was a burden she’d happily accept for him. She led him out of the city and onto the plains outside, near the shores of a small lake. Finally, she stopped and turned to face him.
The man was around Jiguro’s age, carrying a spear. He was tall and hale, prepared to fight, though not hostile. He looked her up and down, then asked, “Who are you?”
He looked like a King’s Spear.
“I’m…” She hesitated, then swallowed. “I’m Balsa. Jiguro Musa’s daughter.”
The man’s eyes went wide.
Balsa unsheathed her spear and assumed a ready stance. “You’re after us, aren’t you? Him and me. Well, I’m your opponent.”
The man unsheathed his own spear, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Grief and anger intermingled in his eyes as Balsa struck out with her spear. He caught it against hers, then shoved her down, moving faster than the eye could see. She struggled to get up, but his spear was there, cold and forbidding.
She lost all sense of time until Jiguro’s voice shattered the silence.
“Balsa!”
Jiguro was red-faced and out of breath. He looked between the Kanbalese warrior and Balsa with a deep frown. “So… Narook, then?”
No one moved for a tense moment.
“Narook,” Jiguro said. “I’m on a job at the moment, but it’ll be over soon. I swear that the moment it is done, I’ll return here and cross spears with you.”
Narook didn’t say anything. Then he shook out his shoulders. “I have taken the oath that binds what I hear and what I speak. I cannot listen to the words of an exile and an outlaw.”
Jiguro closed his eyes. His own spear was clasped in his fist. “I see. Then this shall be our final battle on this earth.”
Balsa glanced between Jiguro and Narook and realized that Narook was crying. Tears fell from his eyes onto the street.
Sari dashed up the street and grabbed Balsa’s arm. “What’s going on?” The other Sadan Taram were following behind her more slowly. “A woman named Kaina came to the inn and told us to come, so we came.”
The brief distraction gave Narook an opening to lunge. The tip of his spear slashed Jiguro’s throat. At the same instant, Jiguro buried his spear in Narook’s neck, so deep that blood fountained everywhere. Narook fell, and Jiguro continued digging his spear into his neck so that Narook’s blood splashed all over his face.
Narook’s spear fell from his spasming hands. Jiguro cast his spear aside and picked Narook up, holding him until he stopped moving and it was clear that he was dead. He stayed still for a very long time.
When Jiguro finally looked up, his wound was no longer gushing. “Forgive me,” he forced out hoarsely, “but I have to bury this man. I need a shovel, and to find a plot of land outside town. It should only take me a few hours.”
“You’re bleeding,” Sari said, eyes wide with concern. She knelt down next to Jiguro and handed him a clean rag, which he pressed to his throat. Balsa moved to Jiguro’s side as well, and was stunned when he turned and punched her in the face.
Balsa hit the ground and rolled, and for a second she felt like she couldn’t move. The smell of blood overwhelmed her, nauseating, as it streamed from her nose.
“Do you really think you were ready to take on Narook as an opponent?” Jiguro asked quietly.
Balsa got up onto her hands and knees and didn’t look at him.
“Never do anything so stupid again,” Jiguro spat like a curse. He turned away from Balsa and didn’t face her again for the rest of the night.
***
Jiguro’s wound was more serious than it had appeared at first. He spent a few days under the care of a physician before he was well enough to resume the journey with the Sadan Taram. He didn’t charge the Sadan Taram for the days he was undergoing treatment, since he couldn’t guard them adequately. Sari didn’t mind paying the usual rate while Jiguro recovered, but Jiguro refused to accept any offered payment.
Later that night, after they all returned to the inn, Balsa verified that all the Sadan Taram were sitting together, then went outside to the well to wash her face and hands. The moonlight reflected off the water’s surface. She remembered Jiguro hitting her and telling her she wasn’t fit to fight Narook. He hadn’t looked her in the eye since.
Balsa understood why Jiguro had hit her. His reasoning hurt her worse than the blow itself had, but she understood it. She wished that he’d simply explained himself instead of hitting her. She was young and impatient and angry: Jiguro knew that as well as anyone, but he wasn’t about to make excuses for her.
Yes, Balsa understood, but it galled her. She didn’t want Jiguro to be angry at her, and she was mad at him herself for overreacting like that. The right thing to do would be to reconcile, but Balsa wasn’t sure how. Confronting Narook had been wrong on her part—she could still remember the tears in his eyes and his face setting in deep-carved lines after he died. She remembered Jiguro holding his emotions in, but she could easily guess what he was feeling.
Yesterday, Narook had taken lodgings at a cheap inn inside Jitan. Now he was buried in an unmarked grave outside of the city. Balsa was stunned by that—by the idea that a life could be so quickly ended. Snuffed out like a candle. She wished that the last day could be a dream, and that she could wake up and do it all over again. She wondered if Jiguro wished for the same thing. He probably did. No one wanted to kill their own friend—much less over and over again.
This wasn’t a nightmare, but that was what it should be.
***
Balsa awoke in the darkness to the sound of footsteps. Someone was standing over her, looking down. She reached for her spear.
“Are you all right?” Kii asked quietly. “I never thought he’d hit you. It must come as quite a shock.
Balsa sat up. There was faint light coming through her room’s window, so she could just make out Kii’s face.
“I’m fine,” Balsa muttered. “It’s nothing serious.”
Kii frowned. “If he’d wanted to reprimand you, he could have done it with an open palm. That would have harmed you far less.”
Balsa sat up. She could use a drink of water. “He’s hit me like that since I was a kid. I’m used to it.” There was no self-pity in her tone; she wanted Kii to understand that this was a regular occurrence. “Our lives are much different. If I wasn’t used to some level of violence, I’d never be able to protect myself or others. Or to kill.”
For people unused to violence, being struck by someone else was a terrifying prospect. Jiguro had told her that without proper physical conditioning, she might be rendered unconscious by a single strike. That was why he’d hit her so often—not to punish her, but as part of combat training, to make her stronger. He hadn’t wanted to do it, either—often, she saw him gritting his teeth and looking away during that stage of training. That saddened her. Balsa herself found it difficult to strike out at people her own age or younger, even if they’d made themselves her enemies.
Still, Jiguro was committed to teaching Balsa to defend herself, and that meant she had to be ready for any potential threat. If Balsa lost her life during a battle, all that training and preparation would be for nothing.
Balsa glanced up at Kii. “Jiguro… was afraid.”
Kii knelt down and wiped dried blood from Balsa’s face with a clean cloth.
“That man—he could have killed me. That’s why Jiguro was scared.” He’d been sweating—completely out of breath—and the light in his eyes wasn’t caused by rage, but terror. What would have happened if he’d come too late?
Kii nodded. “You’re probably right. He looked panicked when he ran after that Kaina woman. I’ve never seen him look like that before.”
Balsa closed her eyes. Yes, that was it. Jiguro had been terrified of losing her. After he’d made sure she was all right, that terror had transformed instantly to anger, because Balsa had put herself in danger. But Balsa didn’t think that was all there was to it. Jiguro had killed another friend, because of her. Every time he looked at her, he saw the death of those friends in her face.
Kii was still crouched down next to Balsa. She didn’t open her eyes. “That man you saw—he wasn’t your enemy. He wasn’t after you.”
“How can you be sure?” Kii asked.
“Because Jiguro knew him,” Balsa said. “We have… a secret.” Narook and the other King’s Spears were trying to kill her and Jiguro, not because of anything they’d done, but because the King of Kanbal was corrupt. It didn’t matter where she and Jiguro ran, or that they hadn’t caused Kanbal any trouble in years: their enemies were waiting around every corner, and they’d never stop searching. Balsa’s father was dead because of the same corruption: King Rogsam of Kanbal had murdered him. Balsa’s future—all her choices—had been taken from her when she was six years old, and Jiguro’s life was plunged into unending darkness.
Sari knocked on the door of Balsa’s room, then stuck her head in. “I, um,” she said, “I was thinking we could hold a ceremony for the dead man. To put his spirit to rest.”
Kii nodded. “I think we should.” She looked to Balsa. “What do you think? Isn’t that a good idea? You could—” Kii noticed Balsa’s shadowed expression and swallowed down her words.
There were tears at the corners of Balsa’s eyes. She wiped them away, then stood up slowly. “Jiguro might want to go to a funeral for him. I’d prefer not to.” It was her fault that Narook had died today, but it wasn’t her fault that he was dead. That blame belonged to himself, and the king standing behind him, giving him orders.
“Why don’t you wish to come?” Sari asked.
“I’ve never seen a spirit,” Balsa said. “I don’t know if they exist, or if they can be put to rest or anything. And I don’t care. All I know is, that man came to kill me and Jiguro, and he would have done it if Jiguro hadn’t killed him first. There’s no point in me hoping that his spirit is at rest or whatever.”
Sari shook her head. “That’s not—I mean, laying a spirit to rest, it’s different. The ceremony isn’t only for the spirit of the person who died.”
“I get that,” Balsa said. “If you want to hold that ceremony so that Jiguro will feel better, do it. Just leave me out of it. I have no reason to grieve for a rotten bastard who wanted to kill me.”
Sari and Kii glanced at one another, silent. The faint light coming from outside Balsa’s window flickered and went out; the inn’s workers were putting out the lights for the night.
Sari sighed. “You know, you and Jiguro are very much alike—gruff, and stubborn. It’s all right, sometimes, to live freely, like the wind blowing through the grass. If you spend your entire life like a wild pig, fleeing from danger to danger without rest, well… can you really call that living at all?”
Kii nodded. “Doesn’t it… hurt? To live like that all the time?”
Balsa shook her head. “You don’t get it. We stop running, we die. It’s really as simple as that.” She sighed. “Look, I appreciate you trying to be nice and all, but really, this is just another ordinary day. You don’t need to worry about me or him. It’s our job to protect you, after all.”
Sari nodded shallowly. A shaft of moonlight illuminated her face. Her concern was plain to see, but she said nothing.
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