Where the Wind Takes Us
Balsa nodded. The western sky was dark, and only getting darker. The air carried the smell of rain. They would be in for a storm soon.
It was bad timing. Kemiru Hill was very close now, but they couldn’t reach it before the weather worsened. Thunderstorms in northern Rota at this time of year were common, though, so they weren’t completely unprepared.
“I can see Takan’s Inn!” Gamal called out. He was walking near the front next to Jiguro. He pointed to a building in the distance. “Run! If we start running now, we might beat the rain!”
The other Sadan Taram broke into a run. The poor packhorses pulling the Sadan Taram’s wagons shied and started until they were soothed, but then kept pace with the others.
There was a stone road leading all the way to the inn, making it easier to stay together during the sprint. Fat raindrops plopped on the stone street as the Sadan Taram and their guards rushed onward.
Lightning struck a tree in the woods surrounding them. The ground shook as the tree caught fire, sending spiraling smoke into the darkening sky.
“Lightning!” Gamal shouted. “Run faster!”
They were just outside the inn. Balsa saw five buildings: a house, a shed, a barn, a food storage building, and a stable. Jiguro lifted a bar off the door of the main building and called out, “Balsa, leave your spear here! There are no weapons allowed inside!”
Regretfully, Balsa tossed her spear down, then followed him and the other Sadan Taram into the main building. The instant the door closed, rain lashed loudly against the roof. An elderly couple emerged from the top floor of the building to welcome their guests.
“Hello, everyone!” the woman said with a little bow. “Let’s get your animals settled in the stable. We have umbrellas here for you to help keep the rain off.”
After the horses were fed and cared for, the woman led many Sadan Taram to a shared room so that they could rest. The elderly man, Takan, helped the other Sadan Taram men unpack their luggage. He introduced the woman to Balsa and Jiguro as his wife.
As the Sadan Taram women laid out their bedding, they shook water out of their hair and laughed. “Well, that was a close one!”
Takan’s wife came in with a basket full of clean rags so that they could dry themselves off. The women thanked her. When a few men returned from the stable soaked to the skin, they shared the remaining rags with them. Takan stomped his muddy boots in the entryway, making his wife scold him. “Stop making a mess!”
Takan grumbled and looked down, but he removed his boots before coming further inside.
One large interior room contained a table that was long enough for all of the guests to sit and eat together. The room was lit and heated by a fireplace; Takan was adding firewood as Balsa entered. The wind blowing in from outside was unseasonably cold.
“It’s good to see you all,” Takan said. “When we saw the storm comin’, we feared we’d have no guests at all for the next little while.”
Sansa wrung out her hair with a rag. “I seem to remember two or three years ago--we ran into a storm on our way here, too. I’m certainly happy to be inside.”
Takan’s wife nodded. “That was a terrible windstorm, indeed, and you weren’t lucky enough to reach us before it hit, then. Looks like your luck’s better this year.” She shrugged. “Storms are common this time of year. It’s the beginning of autumn.”
Satisfied with the newly built-up fire, Takan turned away. “Still, you all come every year on the same day. Not sure how you manage it so regularly.”
The Sadan Taram took off their sodden boots and shoes and changed into dry clothes. The pounding of rain on the roof was deafening. Balsa looked around, taking in her surroundings.
The main dining area was a rectangular room with a high ceiling supported by four large wooden columns, one at each corner. The walls were made of lacquered-over stone and were smooth to the touch and shiny to look at. Wind couldn’t tear through walls like these. Although Gamal and the others called it an inn, to Balsa, this place looked more like a rancher’s homestead or a farmhouse built to withstand northern Rota’s brutal winters.
It was obvious that Takan and his wife lived on the top floor and rented out the bottom one and their extra rooms on the second floor for guests. Balsa had stayed in places like that before, though never this far north.
Takan warmed his hands by the fire. “How many years has it been since Nakol was born? Eight?” He shook his head. “Time really flies. How is the lad?”
“He’s well,” Sari said. “His health has always been good, but he’s a bit of a scamp. He would have come to greet you, but he wanted to help his aunts and uncles with the unpacking and spent too long outside. I think he caught a cold.”
“But it’s not serious?” Takan asked.
“No,” Sari said. “He should be feeling much better in a day or so.”
Takan nodded solemnly. “Health is the most important thing.”
Takan’s wife introduced herself as Yora. She brought out a large kettle of heated water and passed it around, allowing the Sadan Taram women to pour themselves tea. “Well, then. Let’s rest a moment and have a friendly chat. I put raku stew on the stove the moment we saw you coming, but it’s not quite dinnertime yet. I have some baked candies to tide you all over, if you like.”
The Sadan Taram enjoyed their tea. The candies were filled with jellied fruit. Yora and the Sadan Taram women talked about the events of the past year. The rain and lightning of the storm outside retreated. The inn felt comfortable and safe.
Takan accepted one of the candies, splitting it open and eating only the filling and not the shell. “We haven’t seen too many other guests at all this year,” he said sadly. “It’s not the best location; everyone knows that. The Aru region isn’t as prosperous as it used to be.” He sighed. “Another year like this, and we might have to think about closing up.”
Sari’s eyebrows drew together. “Are matters truly so dire?” she asked. “If we did not have your inn to come to in this season, it would be more than an inconvenience.”
Yora shook her head. “You’re different, dears. You’re welcome anytime. Without your visits, the province would be even worse off--the sheep and cows wouldn’t give milk or bear young anymore if you stayed away too long. We’ve been waiting pretty impatiently for you to get here this year,” she said.
“Why?” Sari asked. “Is something wrong?”
“The white shahan sheep are sick again,” Yora said. “Very sick. And that’s not all. There was an earthquake not six months past, at the start of the year, that destroyed dozens of homes and crushed many people to death.”
“That’s horrible!” Sari said. “We haven’t heard of anything happening like that, even in rumors.”
Yora nodded. “That’s not the worst of it. After the earthquake, people started saying that the Aru domain--and what remains of the Aru clan--is cursed. That’s been the gossip around here for months.”
Aru clan, Balsa thought. If this is the Aru domain, then the people who live here might not be Rotan. Are they Tahsa people?
Takan added another log to the fire. “I guess since travelers haven’t been coming this year, the news hasn’t spread. It’s a shame. Those of us left could really use a helping hand.”
“Is that all that’s happened?” Sari asked. “Not that it isn’t awful, but you both seem so troubled. And why would people believe that the land is cursed? Earthquakes aren’t very common, but neither are they rare.”
Takan nodded. “Lagaro’s grave... during the earthquake, it collapsed and fell apart. There’s nothing left of it now. That’s why people say there’s a curse. I went up to Kemiru Hill to check myself, and saw the coffin broken. Could be the bones spilled out, too.”
Yora looked at Takan disapprovingly, perhaps because he’d chosen to discuss a corpse over tea.
“We want to rebuild it, of course, but there’s no safe way to do that without you here,” Takan said. “Traveling through the Valley of the Forest King without the Sadan Taram as a guide is impossible.”
Sari nodded. “I cannot believe we were not informed. If it’s truly been half a year... why did no one tell us? Tending to the spirits of warriors and heroes like Lagaro is our purpose.”
Yora nodded. “Perhaps they did send for you, and the message never went through. Or perhaps they didn’t. There was a days-long windstorm after the earthquake, and just after, all the shahan sheep in the province started dying. It’s been a difficult year for us all. And after that, the young menfolk started getting weird ideas in their heads about curses and--”
“Enough,” Takan said, interrupting his wife. “Our clan lady has that well in hand. You don’t need to go around spreading rumors just as unpleasant as the ones we’ve already shared with our guests.”
Yora nodded reluctantly.
“It doesn’t matter anymore if the curse is real or not,” Takan said. “You’ll go to the Valley of the Forest King and set the grave to rights. Once that’s done, the spirit of Lagaro shouldn’t be angry with us, if he even was to start with.”
“That’s right,” Yora said. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about now. Come, play us a song. We look forward to hearing your music all year.”
Takan smiled. “Oh, yes! Just the other day, some merchants came by looking for you. They said they’d return and stay at the inn while you were in town.”
“Who was this merchant?” Sansa asked, leaning forward.
“I didn’t get a name, but according to gossip in town, he was asking around everywhere for the best inn to stay at.” Takan’s chest puffed out with pride.
Balsa looked over at Jiguro. It was clear from the look on his face that they were thinking the same thing. Sansa seemed to have caught on to the situation, too. Jiguro nodded to her, and she went outside, leaving the other Sadan Taram to their tea and talking.
The first thing Balsa did was retrieve her spear. It was out in the yard close to the barn. She wiped off mud and water, then trudged around the yard, looking for footprints and signs that they’d been followed.
All the footprints she could identify came from the Sadan Taram, her, or Jiguro, but that didn’t mean much. Their party numbered over a dozen, and there were so many footprints between the stable and the main building that picking out one particular set would have been difficult even if the ground was level. Cautiously, she looped around each of the inn’s buildings, keeping an eye out for intruders or other workers. None appeared.
Balsa heard a harp song drifting into the yard from the inn’s main building and frowned. The Sadan Taram certainly made themselves easy to track. The inn itself was made of stone and was fairly defensible, but it was surrounded on all sides by trees; the forest encroached almost to the front door. Anyone who wanted to hide in the woods and wait for them to come out could do that easily. If Balsa wanted to kill the Sadan Taram, that was what she would do--lie in wait and spring an ambush.
There were no signs of any attackers in the woods. Balsa went inside, rubbing her chilled palms together, and found Jiguro. She pointed to a side-room off the main dining hall where the Sadan Taram were eating stew and playing songs.
“I didn’t see any enemies in the woods,” Balsa said quietly.
Jiguro nodded. “If they’re out there, they’ll attack at dawn or dusk--times when it’s harder for us to see them. We don’t need to worry about them trying to sneak in.” That was true. This was northern Rota, so all the inn’s windows were small. The windows on the first floor were too small for even a child to squeeze through.
“They might try to poison the water,” Balsa said.
Jiguro shrugged. “Perhaps, but it’s not sure enough, and they’d kill Takan and Yora that way, too. I don’t think they’re targets, and neither are we. The Sadan Taram are the ones in danger.”
“But the sheep are dying,” Balsa said. “Couldn’t that be a sign of poisoning?”
“It’s a disease, not a poison, and it doesn’t pass to humans,” Jiguro said. “Shahan sheep are susceptible to diseases. Even if someone were helping their deaths along with poison, there’d be signs of it. Traces of it left behind. The land would be sick from it, not just the sheep.”
Balsa nodded in understanding. “They might try fire arrows. The walls are stone, but the roof’s not.”
“Well, the edging is, and in storm season it’ll be hard to make the roof catch fire. I think the likeliest outcome is that they’ll try to surround us and drive us out. In that case, I put our odds of winning at fifty-fifty.”
Jiguro looked out of one of the small windows at the red-purple evening sky. Kemiru Hill loomed in the distance, majestic like a mountain peak. “Them attacking us is the best case,” he said. “Saves us the trouble of hunting them. Or of waiting for them to catch up when we’re out in the open.”
“I’m sure they’re thinking the same thing,” Balsa said. She didn’t like taking their chances here. It felt too much like being trapped.
Jiguro kept looking out the window at the hill. He didn’t say another word.
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