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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