Where the Wind Takes Us
A faint breeze carried the smell of frying bam to Balsa’s nose
in the early morning. She was already practicing outside, waving her spear
around in set forms, then pretending to fight imaginary enemies.
The sound of a drum playing in irregular rhythms disrupted
Balsa’s sense of focus. A few moments later, the drumbeats matched her steps
perfectly; it was like the player was treating her practice as a dance. She turned
around and saw Kii sitting nearby,
warming up and practicing her instrument. “I’m sorry,” Kii said. “Am I
bothering you?”
“No,” Balsa said. “Were my movements that easy to read?” She
wasn’t sure how she felt about Kii creating a performance around
her spear practice.
“You have a rhythm when you fight,” Kii said. “It took me a
few tries to get it right, but it’s obvious for anyone to notice.” She played
back the rhythm of Balsa’s movements, and Balsa felt like she could hear the
pattern, too. Strange. “I’ve tried finding Jiguro’s rhythm, but every time I
think I’ve got it down, he changes it.” She shrugged.
“Yeah,” Balsa said. “I’ve never been able to anticipate what
he’ll do enough to beat him.”
Balsa caught her breath, then started walking with Kii
across the grassy field back to camp. “How long have you been practicing the
spear?” Kii asked.
“Since I was ten,” Balsa said.
Kii’s eyebrows raised. “Well, I guess I beat you then. I’ve
been practicing the drums since I was three.”
Balsa laughed. “Is that really something to boast about?”
Kii returned to her tent with her drum. Balsa kept walking into
the wooded area near the camp. It was cool in the shade of the green new leaves
overhead. Birds twittered and chirped as they awakened. She walked
around flies and gnats, watching branches rustle as the Sadan Taram got up and made their own preparations for the day. The
camp was far removed from the road, so they hadn’t seen any travelers so far.
This close to Jitan, it was unlikely that any soldiers would be looking to hunt
them down, but it never hurt to be cautious.
Jiguro walked around the camp, surveying the land around and
keeping watch. When he was satisfied, he turned and started walking back to his
tent. Balsa raised her hand to wave to him, but then thought better of it. Sari
waved to Jiguro, then gestured him into a tent so that she could change the
bandage on his wound. His throat had been slashed, and if Narook’s spear had pierced
it even a little deeper, it would have severed his jugular vein and he would have
died.
Jiguro stared into space near Sari’s shoulder as she wound
the fresh bandage around his throat. His eyes didn’t focus on anything; for a
few moments, it seemed like he was blind.
Balsa tried to turn and leave, but Jiguro had already noticed
her standing near the entrance to the tent.
“Who’s there?” Jiguro asked hoarsely.
“Uh, I’m coming in,” Balsa said.
Jiguro looked her up and down when she entered. “Why did you
come?”
Balsa shrugged. “I didn’t want you to have to talk more than
necessary.”
Sari nodded in agreement. “Too much speaking will cause the
wound to close improperly.”
Jiguro settled into a more comfortable position, then said, “Balsa,
tell Sari what Kaina told you, so I don’t have to.”
Sari looked over at Balsa. “What? Is there something I should
know?”
Balsa set her spear down on the cloth-covered floor of the
tent, then took a seat near Jiguro. “Uh, the Magua clan in the Aru region was
buying up maharan wood in Jitan to rebuild their festival space.” Balsa repeated
what she remembered of Jiguro and Kaina’s conversation as best she could.
Sari frowned slightly. “Well, that’s all very well and good,
but I fail to see what it has to do with the Sadan Taram. The marriage of Lord
Shisal and Lady Oria is common knowledge; we travel to the Valley of the Forest
King as part of our regular journeys every year, so we’re familiar with the
general goings-of the Aru region. I’ve heard that the new married couple compliments
one another well. I hadn’t heard about the maharan wood, but commercial matters
have little to do with us.”
Balsa, Jiguro and Sari thought about what Kaina had said for
a long while.
“Uh, I might be wrong, but when I was trying to figure out
what Kaina was saying, I remembered something,” Balsa said. “The maharan tree—it’s
sacred to the Tahsa people, right? So in addition to people being mad about
increased taxes or whatnot, maybe Tahsa sympathizers are mad about so many of
the trees being cut down. If there are a lot of maharan trees in the Valley of
the Forest King, you might have issues completing your rituals if there are a
lot of outside loggers and merchants in the way. Your presence would interfere
with their business, and vice versa.”
Sari nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, I can certainly see
how that would cause a problem. We have no real enemies, but it’s possible that
some rich merchant or a noble with a stake in trading for maharan wood might
see us as a nuisance.” She nodded again. “However, there are no more maharan
trees in the Valley of the Forest King than there are in the rest of northern
Rota.”
Balsa frowned slightly. “Well, I thought I’d understood what’s
going on, but now we’re back to square one.”
“Not at all,” Sari said. “I suspect that the unrest in the
Aru region might be the cause of our own troubles. The last remaining Aru region
lord is stubborn, by all accounts, and gives the Magua clan no end of grief. Politics
are complicated, and people get caught in the middle all the time. The best we
can do is try to keep our heads down and complete our own tasks without angering
anyone.”
Clinking and footsteps outside the tent, along with the
smell of more bam, told Balsa that breakfast was almost ready. Balsa helped
Sari finish up treating Jiguro’s wound and put away extra bandages and
supplies. Before they left the tent, Balsa asked, “What is the Valley of the
Forest King like? I’ve never been there before.”
“Well…” Sari considered. “Many consider it a frightening,
forbidding kind of place. Anyone who enters it carelessly runs the risk of
being cursed.” She nodded. “It’s known for ravening wolves, like much of
northern Rota. Some say that to enter the valley heedlessly invites the wrath
of the Forest King, who sends the wolves to tear intruders to pieces.”
Balsa looked at Sari, puzzled. “I thought the Sadan Taram visited
the Valley of the Forest King every year.”
“We do,” Sari said. “But we do not enter the valley itself.
Only the lord of the Aru region may do that safely.” She lifted the flap of the
tent, preparing to leave, then looked at Balsa again. “Do you know the legend of
the water harp, as my people tell it?”
Balsa looked to Jiguro, who looked to Balsa. Neither of them
knew the story.
Sari let the tent flap drop. “Well, then, you should hear it.
But it is not a happy story, and it’s somewhat long, so we should probably tell
it as we’re eating.” She left the tent; cooking smells wafted inside. Sari
waved brightly to everyone. “Good morning!”
Kii, who was sitting near a pile of firewood, glanced over
at her. “Conductor? What are you doing out here?”
“Eating breakfast,” she said, taking a piece of fried bam
from a plate. “And then, I shall tell the legend of the water harp.” She picked
up a few more pieces of bam for Balsa and Jiguro.
“I dunno that it’s the best story to tell in the morning…”
Kii mumbled.
Sari ignored her and returned to the tent where Balsa and Jiguro were still sitting. She distributed the bam, resting her own portion on her lap. Then she began her story.
“Long, long ago, when Aru clan of the Tahsa
people was still relatively unknown, the Tahsa people and the Magua clan of
Rota were embroiled in a terrible war that stained the earth red with blood.
“At the time, there was much strife between pure-blooded Rotans,
Kasal Ah Rota, and the Tahsa people, Yugi Ah Rota. The remnants of the Shiul
clan and those loyal to Sada Talhamaya struggled to find a place in this new
world of constant war. Finally, King Kiran united all of Rota’s clans and
peoples. The many branchings of all the different ethnic groups joined together
on a single tree.
“But among the Tahsa people, there was discontent. Some said
that King Kiran favored the pure-blooded Rotans over their own people. The Aru
clan of the Tahsa people held the Aru region in the north of Rota; it was their
duty to govern and protect it, then as now. While wars ended in other places, in
the Aru region, the fighting continued. Corpses were strewn across the land from
the border of the province all the way to the Valley of the Forest King.”
The moment Sari had begun speaking, all of the other Sadan
Taram had fallen silent. Balsa only noticed that now, as she glanced outside the open tent flap. No one was talking except
for her. They ate their bam with butter or honey, keeping very quiet as they
listened to her tale. They must know the story—Kii certainly seemed to—so Balsa
didn’t see much of a reason for them to listen. Maybe they just liked Sari’s soothing,
pleasant voice.
“The Valley of the Forest King was a battlefield and graveyard
both. Armies that fought there were massacred. The Aru clan tried to hold off
their enemies and found themselves killed by them, or devoured by wolves, their
bodies never buried. The stench of rot was in the air, and death and decay soaked
into the earth. The flocks of the Aru clan sickened and died, and the few sheep
that survived bore no live young.”
Balsa frowned. It was a bright, sunny morning, but Sari’s
tone cast a gloom over everything. She almost felt like she could smell death
on the wind and hear the cries of the dying.
“And to this terrible place, the Tol Asa people came. There
was a young girl among them, just twelve years old, who was a wonderful harp
player. She played her six-stringed children’s harp with all the delicacy and
skill of an adult’s instrument. She had relatives among both the Tahsa people
and the clans of Rota, so her heart was torn as she stepped into the Valley of
the Forest King. No matter which side won, her family would die. They were
already dying.
“The girl decided to put the spirits of her relatives to
rest, but before she could begin the ceremony, a great wolf entered the Valley
of the Forest King.” Sari took the bam in her lap and lifted it with both
hands. “The great wolf and his pack made no sound as they padded through that
desolate place. The young girl faced the great wolf and begged to be allowed to
end the suffering of her family’s spirits.
“A voice resounded from among the trees. ‘Break your harp. The
wind blowing through the broken pieces is fitting music to accompany the wails
of the dead.’”
Balsa swallowed heavily.
“The girl protested. ‘If my harp is broken, how can I play
it? I cannot end the suffering of the spirits without music.’”
“The voice said nothing in response, but the wolves closed
in. The girl was not about to abandon the spirits she had come to soothe, so
she broke her harp, closed her eyes, and tried to play a song. The sound was
abrasive, grating, and out of tune. The wind was called to the hole in the
instrument. The girl opened her eyes, looking down at her instrument, which
became heavier the more she tried to hold it up. When she ceased playing, the
harp played itself—or rather, the wind did. And the sound was like the soothing
whisper of water moving over stone.”
Sari smiled. “That harp is, of course, the water harp. When
the girl ceased her song and returned to her people, she was chosen to lead
them. The leader of all the Sadan Taram inherits the harp, as they have for
many generations. The only way to enter the Valley of the Forest King safely is
to play the harp. The Forest King hears, and keeps danger away while the Sadan
Taram soothe the restless spirits of the battlefield.”
Sari dipped a piece of her bam in honey and ate it. “The
Valley of the Forest King is still quite the sight. It’s always dark, whether
it’s noon or midnight. The white-bleached nanna trees look like gates of bone
from a distance. A cold wind blows against you with every step you take. I get
goosebumps just thinking about it.”
“Have you ever seen a torin?” Kii asked from outside the
tent. “They’re
the spirits of the nanna trees that have died there.”
A fifteen- or sixteen-year-old Sadan Taram woman sitting
near Kii nodded. “I’ve seen them before, and you’ll probably see at least one
this year.”
Kii hugged herself: a gesture of self-comfort. “Scary!” she said,
ducking her head. “I didn’t know it would be so scary…” She looked at Balsa. “I’ve
never gone into the valley, ever. When the Conductor goes in, it looks so cool!
But I’d never do it. What if I never came out?”
Sari simply smiled. She dipped a bit of her bam in butter.
“I might be mistaken,” Jiguro said hoarsely, “but I thought
the Valley of the Forest King was the grave site of some Tahsa hero or other.
Not a cursed battlefield.”
Everyone was a bit surprised to hear Jiguro speak. Sansa
nodded, then said, “One doesn’t preclude the other. There is a grave at the
center of the valley where the spirit of an ancient Tahsa lord wanders. The
Sadan Taram visit the valley to soothe his spirit, and many others.”
Sari set aside her bam and took a sip of tea. Then she spoke
again. “The hero’s name is Lagaro.”
“Who’s Lagaro?” Balsa asked.
“Lagaro was a lord among the Tahsa people who wanted to make
peace with the Magua clan. He’s not well-known outside Rakul Province, and even
some of his own descendants have forgotten him, but he was considered just and
wise when he was alive, and many Rotan warriors revere his memory.
“Lagaro was just a boy when the Sadan Taram girl received the
water harp from the Forest King. The sight of battlefields and devastation saddened
him just as much as it did her. When he grew up and became the lord of the Aru
region, he approached Magua clan representatives and sued for peace. The Magua
clan permitted him to come back to their lands for negotiations, but while he
was staying in their palace, he took sick and died—from poison or some other
cause.
“But Lagaro was well-respected even among his enemies. It is
said that the lord of the Magua clan bore his coffin to the grave and paid for
the expense of the funeral. The Aru clan was stunned and saddened by Lagaro’s
sudden death, but when they saw the Magua clan grieving alongside them, they
decided to work for the peace that Lagaro had long hoped for. That was the
beginning of a period of peace for both sides of that war.
Because of that peace, later Rotan Kings were able to negotiate
with the Tahsa people on friendly terms. That’s why northern Rota hasn’t
suffered a civil war in so long.” Sari smiled. “Aru clan lords swear their loyalty
to Rota’s King, just like the other Rotan clan lords do.”
Balsa shook bam crumbs from her shirt, then asked, “Why is Lagaro buried in the Valley of the Forest King? That doesn’t seem like the best
place to bury a hero.”
“He was buried there because it was his wish,” Sari said. “Some
say it was his last request, to be laid to rest on the battlefield that claimed
so many of his people’s lives, and the Rotans. Even in death, he wanted to be
in a place where he could observe the effects of that war—and perhaps, one day,
the effects of peace. The woman who received the water harp from the Forest
King guided in his pallbearers and played her song all through his funeral.”
Okuri, the Sadan Taram’s generalist who handled most of
their money, looked at Balsa. “We’re headed for Kemiru Hill next, and you can see
the grave from there. The hill overlooks the Valley of the Forest King. From
above, the place looks blighted—like a hole in the world. It’s an awe-inspiring
sight.”
Kii nodded, then smiled a little. “That’s why we go to
Kemiru Hill first. Didn’t you know that? We have to go there so that we can
find our way to the grave. That’s the way our legends say to do it.”
“I didn’t even know who Lagaro was or where he was buried
until five minutes ago.” She returned Kii’s smile, but it looked strained. “I
hoped we’d figure out who was after you all by now. The fact that we haven’t has
me worried.”
Kii snorted. “Is that all you were thinking about during
that whole long story?”
“It’s my job,” Balsa said.
One of the cooks sitting near Okuri was staring at Balsa.
Balsa felt the young man’s eyes on her and faced him. “What are you looking at?”
she asked.
The man grinned. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking that you’re
very single-minded and quick-thinking. Like a minnow swimming upstream.”
Okuri slapped the man upside the head. “That’s not how you compliment
a young lady, Gamal. Try to have some respect for yourself.”
Balsa’s suppressed laugh was almost a giggle. Jiguro settled his hand over his injured throat and laughed into his shoulder where no one would see.
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