Wedged between the rice cakes and the edge of the basket was a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Tsulana flicked her eyes toward it and whispered, “If I couldn’t meet you, I was going to ask someone to give you this. There’s a letter in that parcel and something else that I think will make you very happy. Read the letter when you’re alone, though.”
“Thank you,” Elin said. With her back still turned toward Yohalu, she took the package and slipped it inside the front of her robe.
Handing her the basket, Tsulana gripped Elin’s hand. “I’m so glad I was able to meet you. Please take care of yourself. Live long and well for the sake of your parents who died so young.”
Elin squeezed her hand in return. She didn’t want to let her go, but she understood all too well her reluctance to stay and chat. This was a Toda village where people were sworn to secrecy. Anything even slightly out of the ordinary would seem suspicious and cause them to overreact.
Still holding Tsulana’s hand, Elin said, “Thank you so much. I will treasure what you shared with me today forever. May you also have a long and prosperous life. I will pray for your happiness from the bottom of my heart.”
Tsulana bowed her head and gently released Elin’s hand. She waved goodbye and walked away as though reluctant to leave. Elin watched her until she finally vanished among the trees before returning to where Yohalu waited.
Yohalu finished talking with the guard and cocked an eyebrow at her. “I knew you’d be safe with these fine men here to guard you. I was just a little concerned that you might not be feeling well.”
“My apologies. A woman who said she was my father’s cousin brought me a basket of petal rice cakes.” She showed him the contents, and he smiled.
“Mmm. They smell lovely. Why don’t we take a break, then?”
One of the guards took a kettle of boiling water from over the fire and made them some tea. After the long, grueling hours in the cold cave, the hot tea tasted delicious. But even as she sipped the tea and munched on the petal-scented sweets, Elin couldn’t take her thoughts from the letter inside her robe. Tsulana had told her to read it when she was alone, but the only time that happened was when she went to the outhouse or soaked in the bath. Otherwise, there was always someone around. She even slept in the same room as Chimulu’s mother, so finding an opportunity to slip the letter out and read it was not going to be easy.
It was not until dawn of the following day that she finally got a chance to open the parcel. Chimulu’s mother was still asleep when the first light of morning cast a thin glow through the window. Listening to her rhythmic breathing, Elin turned away onto her side and slipped the parcel from under her pillow. She unfolded the outer wrapping cautiously so that it wouldn’t crackle. Inside was a three-page letter and another parcel wrapped in oiled paper.
She turned the letter to catch the feeble morning light that fell through the window. Words had been scrawled across the pages by a hand clearly unused to writing. Elin could almost see Tsulana, who had never gone to school, struggling to recall the letters her parents had taught her when she was young. The content was the same as what she had told her today—that she was Elin’s father’s cousin and had played with her when she was little. But as Elin peered at the words, trying to decipher them, she suddenly caught her breath.
The parcel wrapped in oiled paper, Tsulana had written, is a memento from your mother, Sohyon. Your neighbor, Mistress Oki, sent it to me. Do you remember Saju, the little girl you used to play with? Mistress Oki was her mother. Sohyon left behind many notes, but no one could read them. Your grandfather was afraid they were evil Ahlyo magic, so he burned them all. Saju’s mother felt bad that everything Sohyon had left was burned, so she saved some pages that she found in the ashes. But there were only a few. She was afraid that if she kept them, her husband would be angry, so she sent them to me, Sohyon’s friend.
With trembling fingers, Elin unwrapped the oiled paper. Inside was a sheaf of yellowed pages the size of her hand. Although more than two decades had passed, they still smelled faintly of smoke. The edges were charred black in places. Flipping through them, she saw that they were covered densely with neat handwriting in an odd script. Breathing shallowly, Elin stared at the pages.
She saw her mother sitting in front of the clay oven late at night, writing. Tears filled Elin’s eyes, blurring her sight so that she could no longer make out the letters. She wiped her tears away with her fingertips and stared intently at the page in the white glow of the morning.
The script did look odd. That alone would have unnerved her rigid grandfather who had despised the Ahlyo. But the language was actually one that he and everyone else knew well. She reached out to grasp the small hand mirror that lay by her bed and placed it so that it reflected the page. Although the cursive handwriting was a little hard to read, the script in the mirror was the same one she used all the time. Mirror writing. Elin had thought it was magic the first time her mother had shown her. Choking back tears, Elin followed the writing across the page.
The first line recorded the condition of the Toda’s scales and the second line was the date.
It’s her diary.
The book must have been so thick that the flames never reached the middle, leaving these pages intact. Skimming through them to the end, she saw that this remnant covered a period of ten days, two years before her mother was executed. Most of the entries were short and simple, describing the condition of the Toda that day. But there was one spot, a few lines, in which her mother expressed her feelings like a sigh.
… The rot that has set in on these scales could be cured by applying a solution made of ground tsuma grass roots. I’d like to try it, but I’ll have to be careful because this cure has not been taught to the Toda Stewards. It couldn’t cause any harm to heal scale rot, so why on earth weren’t they taught this? There is so much missing from the knowledge given to the Stewards. Oh! How I wish I could go to the Valley of the Kalenta Loh, the People Who Remain. Oh, Paleh, the valley fragrant with flowers. If I could go there, I might learn why the knowledge was passed on in this way this …
The Valley of the Kalenta Loh, Elin thought. What had her mother meant by that? What was in this valley that smelled of flowers?
Chimulu’s mother groaned behind her and stretched. Hastily, Elin pulled the covers over the pages. Closing her eyes, she listened to the woman rise while letting her thoughts run over what her mother had written. This record had survived fire and twenty-some years to reach her hands. She was struck by the strangeness of this coincidence. Although barely ten pages had survived, the fragments of this diary contained her mother’s thoughts when she was alive. Her voice came through so vibrantly because she hadn’t intended these words to be read by others.
When I leave this world, how will Jesse remember me when I was alive? What kind of traces will I leave behind?
For a long time, Elin lay listening to the birds chirping busily outside the window as she let her thoughts roam.
* * *
In the late afternoon, two days later, she finally finished dissecting the Kiba and binding their bodies with fabric to cover up the incisions. After wiping her hands on a cloth, she exited the Stone Chambers with Yohalu. The shadows of the trees stretched long in the honey-colored light. Removing the mask that covered her nose and mouth, she savored the sweet, refreshing breeze.
Walking slowly beside her, Yohalu murmured, “You’ve finished your investigation. It looks like all of them suffered damage to the same organ.”
Elin nodded. “Yes. I didn’t see any other notable pathological changes.”
“Which means,” Yohalu concluded, “that’s what must have killed them. What we need to find out next is what caused this change in their bodies.”
Elin opened her mouth to respond, when someone shouted, “Lady Elin!” Chimulu dashed out of the caves and came racing up. “I’m sorry,” he said, his face clouded. “But I have bad news. The Toda in Ponds eleven and thirteen are all female. The Kiba weren’
t the only females after all.”
Elin’s lips crooked in a smile. “But that’s good.”
Chimulu’s eyebrows rose. “It is? Why? Doesn’t that mean the cause of death is no longer certain?”
Elin shook her head. “If there’d been no other females at all, then it would’ve meant one more factor we needed to investigate, so actually, I’m relieved to know there were others.”
Seeing his perplexed expression, she added, “The fact that the Kiba weren’t the only females proves that tokujisui doesn’t determine the Toda’s sex.”
“Oh!”
She was about to explain to him what had caused their deaths, but then glanced up at Yohalu. “May I tell Chimulu the results of the autopsy?”
Yohalu gazed down at Chimulu for a few moments before responding. Finally, he said, “You’ve worked hard and helped us well, Chimulu, so I’ll let Lady Elin share with you her findings at this stage. But you must not tell anyone else until the inspector officially announces it. Do you understand?”
Chimulu nodded silently, and Yohalu gestured for Elin to go on.
“The cause of death was necrosis of the organs resulting from blocked fallopian tubes,” she said. “That explains why all five died at the same time. They were all the same age, right? They all reached the breeding age at the same period, and they all died from egg-binding.”
Chimulu’s face brightened. “Egg-binding? You mean that eggs blocked their tubes? That proves it wasn’t my brother’s fault! That’s fantastic news!”
Elin could not keep from smiling. A warmth flared in her chest at the thought that by discovering the cause, they had proven his brother’s innocence. She wanted to jump up and down for joy just like Chimulu, but knowledge of the cause did not erase the fact that the Kiba, the gems of the Aluhan, had been lost. To let him rejoice now before the Aluhan had passed judgment would be cruel. Placing a hand gently on his shoulder, she said, “I promise to explain to the Aluhan that your brother wasn’t at fault. And I’m sure that he will make a wise decision. But as he has not yet confirmed your brother’s innocence, please don’t tell your mother for now.”
Chimulu’s expression sobered for a moment, but then he patted his chest as if to encourage himself. “It’ll be all right. Not one of the Stewards ever suspected that Toda raised in the Ponds might bear eggs. There’s nothing in the Laws about their care that takes that into consideration. I’m sure the Aluhan will understand.”
Elin nodded. “I think so, too.”
Chimulu’s face brightened, and they set off together. “Even so, it’s strange,” he continued. “Why were all the Toda born in the same year female? Don’t you think that’s odd? The females we found today, too, were all hatched from eggs collected the same year. If all the eggs laid in one year are either male or female, then do they reach reproductive maturity in different years?”
“I know,” Elin said. “That question has been bothering me, too.” His quickness of mind impressed her. The children of Toda Stewards had no opportunity to go to school. It seemed such a shame not to give someone as smart and curious as Chimulu the chance to study. There could have been many other Stewards in the past who were just as bright as him. If they had been allowed to study the lives and natures of living creatures from childhood, one of them might have questioned the Kiba deaths and discovered the cause much sooner.
Elin’s face tightened at this thought. Of the entire artisan class, only the Toda Stewards and the Royal Beast Hunters were not allowed to attend school. This had never struck her as odd before because both of these groups lived in isolated villages, which made it impossible for them to attend school. Now, however, she couldn’t help but think there was some cunning design behind it.
Reaching the edge of the forest, they stepped out of the gloom beneath the trees into the light of open space and set off along the village path. Thin threads of smoke rose from the village houses. The women must have been in the midst of preparing the evening meal.
“I’ll run on ahead and tell my mother to prepare a hot meal for you,” Chimulu said. “You can take your time.”
Elin gazed after him as he dashed away. “I wish he could study at Kazalumu School.”
Yohalu smiled. “I know what you mean. He’s a clever young man.” The amber light bathed his face. “But he’s a Toda Steward. He can learn everything he needs to know here and nowhere else.” He narrowed his eyes, squinting against the sun. “As you’re a teacher,” he added quietly, “I’m sure there’s no need to say this, but it wouldn’t do to give knowledge to everyone equally. It’s by controlling what those who belong to each profession learn that this country maintains its current order, don’t you think?”
Elin stared at him. He was a strange man. She was sure what he was thinking far exceeded what he put into words. “With all due respect,” she began, but he laughed and raised a hand to stop her.
“There’s no need to tell me,” he said. “I can guess what you’re thinking without you saying it. Our positions are different. We would just be arguing on different planes.” He laid a hand lightly against the small of her back and urged her forward, then changed his tone. “Well then, have you thought about which Toda village to investigate next?”
His question came like a blow to the chest. She already knew what had caused the egg-binding. The time had come to tell him. Her pulse quickened, but she took a deep breath to steel herself. “No,” she said. “As I was about to tell you before, the answer is already clear. There’s no need to visit any other villages.”
At this, Yohalu gave her a light pat on the back. “True. We know what caused their deaths. But”—he smiled and looked her straight in the eye—“you have not yet solved the riddle Chimulu raised, have you? The mystery of why Toda hatched at the same time are all the same sex.”
Elin frowned slightly, taken aback. “Yes, but—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Yohalu interrupted. “You’ve completed the task that was asked of you. From now on, if we check the Toda’s sex and choose only males as Kiba, we can prevent this problem from recurring. But since we’ve come this far, it seems a shame not to continue. I would love to thoroughly examine other things about the Toda that are as yet unknown.”
Elin stopped and stared at him. Anxiety surged in her chest, grating coarsely. If she went to other villages, her return to Kazalumu would be delayed for quite some time. “I’d like to find out those things, too,” she said finally. “But the Royal Beasts in my care at the sanctuary will be mating soon. I don’t want to delay my return any longer if possible.”
“In that case,” Yohalu said reasonably, “how about just one more village? There’s one in particular where I would like to take you. Oohan. I am sure that you will find it fascinating. Let’s stop there first before I escort you back to Kazalumu.”
His expression was mild, but there was something in his voice that brooked no argument. Elin continued to stare at him, her brow furrowed. This man had belonged to the Black Armor, the highest-ranking unit within the Aluhan’s army. She was sure that he really did want to learn as much as he could about the Toda. And yet, although she didn’t know why, she was just as sure that that was not all.
A smile rose to Yohalu’s lips. Once again, he tapped her on the back and urged her forward.
TWO
SEIMIYA’S DAYS
1
THE VOICE INSIDE
The gossamer curtains billowed in the warm spring breeze. Outside, the light was slowly fading. Music ebbed and flowed in the distance like the murmur of the sea, but in her seat by the window, Seimiya sat lost in thought with no ears to hear. The voices of her children who were playing with their nurse and maidservants rose sharply, but even then, she did not twitch an eyebrow.
“Mother! Mother!” Her daughter, Yuimiya, ran from the other side of the room and grabbed her by the knees. “Mother! Yonan says he saw a frog! A frog, Mother! But there are no frogs, are there? Not in the garden!”
Tall for he
r five years, she still tripped over her words sometimes, and her cheeks were flushed as she accused her brother of teasing her.
Yonan rushed over, looking flustered. “Yuimiya!” he scolded her. “Mother’s not well. You shouldn’t shake her like that.” He would turn nine this year and still looked young, but already he had the quiet air of his father.
“Does your tummy hurt, Mother?” Yuimiya asked.
Seeing the frown on her daughter’s face, Seimiya smiled gently. “No, it doesn’t hurt, dear. I’m just being quiet because your little brother or sister is sleeping inside me.”
Yuimiya reached out a hand to stroke her mother’s belly with her fingers. “Be a good baby, now,” she said solemnly. “Don’t be mean to Mother.”
Seimiya stroked her daughter’s hair. It was smoother than silk.
The trill of a flute sounded through the thick door, announcing the arrival of her husband. The door opened, and Shunan entered dressed in formal attire, although without his sword.
Yuimiya leaped up at the sight of him. “Father! Father!” she cried. Running over, she wrapped her arms around his waist and jumped up.
“Hey there, little Princess,” said Shunan. “Careful, please. I’m all dressed up today.”
Yonan came over, trying to act grown up, but his cheeks glowed as he gazed up at Shunan. “Father, have those foreigners arrived yet?”
Shunan raised his eyebrows. “You mean the prince of Tolah? He arrived just a little while ago.” His face grew stern. “But, Yonan, it isn’t right to refer to an official delegation from another country as ‘those foreigners.’ They’ve followed every protocol and come seeking our friendship. We must greet them with the same courtesy.”
Yonan blushed. “Yes, Father.”
Handing Yuimiya to her nurse, Shunan walked over to Seimiya and knelt beside her chair. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
The Beast Warrior Page 6