The Beast Warrior

by Nahoko Uehashi

  Cold sweat trickled down Omilu’s face as he listened to the conversation above his head. Slowly it dawned on him that he wasn’t going to be killed after all, and a warmth spread up from the pit of his stomach. At that moment, however, he was yanked to his feet and, for the first time, his eyes took in the whole Pond. He began to shake again. Before, he had merely registered that there were corpses in the water. Now, however, he could see their faces and their uniforms. These were the bodies of his comrades that he had bid farewell to at noon. Or what remained of them, for they had been ripped and chewed by Toda jaws.

  Two Toda sat on the other side of the pond, their long tongues flicking in and out of their mouths. They looked a bit different than usual, but the light was too dim for Omilu to see clearly. One thing he knew for sure, however, was that the men mounted on them were Lahza warriors. Mesmerized, he stared at this nightmare, barely breathing.

  * * *

  Turning in his saddle, Omilu saw a red glow spreading along the horizon, and the green grass of the plain emerging from the dark. Dawn was breaking.

  He kept his horse at a gallop, ignoring his aching head. The musician who rode in front looked over his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  But Omilu couldn’t answer. Although the pounding in his head grew worse, he kept spurring on his horse. He was petrified that no matter how fast or how far they ran, the Lahza would soon come galloping up behind. Desperate to put as much distance between them as possible, he dared not ease his pace.

  The musician brought his horse closer. “Slow down,” he said gently. “That was a hard knock you got to the head. You don’t want to shake it too much.”

  “But they—” Omilu said in panic.

  “The Lahza won’t come after us,” the musician said flatly, cutting through Omilu’s fear. “I guarantee it. They want us to go back to Lyoza and tell everyone what happened.”

  When his words finally sank into Omilu’s mind, something deep inside him loosened. He pulled back on the reins, slowing his pace. Panting, he wiped the sweat from his brow. The musician took a flask hanging from his saddle and passed it to him. The cool water slid down Omilu’s throat, and his mind cleared. “Thank you,” he gasped as he handed back the flask.

  The musician took it with a nod, and Omilu snuck a peek at his profile. His eyes looked fierce, and his gaze was fixed on some far-off point across the grassy plain. “Pardon me,” Omilu asked hesitantly, “but who are you?”

  The man glanced at him. “Rolan,” he said quietly. “Rolan Amasulu.”

  Omilu gaped. Several pieces of the puzzle that had been bothering him fell into place. “I see,” he murmured. Every Toda Rider knew that Yohalu Amasulu of the Black Armor had adopted an Asheh as his son, and Rolan’s fame as a musician was so great he was known in every caravan city. Omilu couldn’t help but stare at him.

  “You were lucky,” Rolan said, his eyes still on the plain. “If you’d returned on time, you’d have been thrown into the dungeon like the other off-duty soldiers. Or killed by Toda if you happened to be on duty.”

  Shuddering, Omilu gripped the reins tightly. “What on earth…” He swallowed audibly, and tried again. “How could they have overcome fifty Toda so easily?”

  Rolan’s expression hardened. “Poison.”

  “Poison?” Omilu’s voice squeaked.

  “Yes, they poisoned the sheep carcasses that were fed to the Toda. By the time the Lahza arrived, the Toda had gone into convulsions and were unable to fight.”

  Omilu gave him a hard stare. “How do you know that?”

  Rolan looked at him. “Ozkula, the older warrior with the beard, told me. He’s a senior officer under the grand chief Nozgula of Western Oolish. He held me captive for a long time. I was wondering why he kept me alive, but now I know. He wants me to tell my father in person just how easily the Oolish Oh subdued the caravan city of Ulamu.”

  Rage suffused his face. “It’s all because of Ola,” he said, cursing the governor of Ulamu. “He was such a careless imbecile! I warned him time after time, begging him not to become complacent. He governed Hoza for so long, he thought he knew what he was doing, but Ulamu and Hoza are totally different. I told him he should dine with leading figures in the city to gain their trust. But he wouldn’t listen!”

  Rolan’s face was tight and his eyes burned as he spilled forth everything he had dammed up inside. “Unlike Imeelu and Hoza, Ulamu was built by the kingdom of Hajan and most of its leaders are Hajan descendants who see us as invaders. They appear friendly on the surface, but their hatred for us runs deep.

  “The only reason the city held fast this long, despite repeated attacks from the Lahza, was because Ola’s predecessor, Kassomu, worked hard to develop close connections with the city’s leaders and gain the cooperation of Ulamu’s citizens. That fool Ola made no effort to nurture those connections. Instead, he treated the people with contempt. No wonder they betrayed us!”

  Omilu listened openmouthed to this scathing criticism of the governor. He wondered why Rolan was telling him all this, but guessed he probably didn’t care who was listening. He just needed to vent his pent-up frustration.

  Oblivious of Omilu’s thoughts, Rolan continued his rant. “It’s the people of Ulamu who deliver food for the Toda. Ola stopped having dogs test the food for poison. I suppose he figured that everyone was so grateful for our protection, they’d never do something like poison the meat. But the citizens of Ulamu chose to abandon us in favor of the Lahza.”

  He turned and glared at Omilu. There was such a wild light in his eyes, that Omilu tensed. Even though Rolan was staring straight at him, he seemed to be talking to someone else. “The caravan cities are strung on a delicate thread,” he said. “If the news that Ulamu sided with the Lahza reaches the other cities, they might make the same choice.”

  Omilu licked his lips. “You mean the other cities are at risk, too?”

  Rolan sighed. The rage drained from his face, replaced by deep fatigue. “I suppose not yet. The governors of the other cities aren’t as stupid as Ola. And they’re still testing the Toda’s food for poison.”

  Omilu breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll be all right, then. As long as they can’t poison our Toda, no one can withstand us.”

  Rolan frowned and stared at Omilu as though he were some strange creature. “But you saw them with your own eyes, didn’t you? Didn’t you notice anything?”

  Notice what, Omilu was about to ask, when he realized what Rolan must be talking about. “You mean the Toda?” he asked. “The ones the Lahza were riding so proudly? They took our Toda and…” His voice trailed off, realizing that what he had just said was impossible: If any of their own Toda had survived, his comrades would never have been so easily defeated. Which could only mean that the ones he had seen belonged to the Lahza.

  “But that can’t be,” he breathed.

  Without responding, Rolan turned his face forward. A ray of sunlight struck his back. Staring at the edge of the plain ahead, which still lay in darkness, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks.

  7

  THE YOJEH’S WORDS

  “It’s time for tea,” Seimiya announced.

  The nobles of Yojeh territory turned to stare at her aghast. They were in the middle of a meeting. Consumed with anxiety, they had been arguing heatedly, each insisting on his own point of view. Her words quenched this feverish exchange like a bucket of cold water. Although they could not hide their displeasure, they scraped back their chairs and, with a deep bow to the Yojeh, filed from the room. The warlords of Aluhan territory followed after. When the door snapped shut, a hush fell over the room like the silence after a storm.

  Seimiya sighed and looked up at Shunan, who sat beside her. A wry smile touched his fatigue-worn face. “If only there was a Silent Whistle that worked on humans,” he said.

  Seimiya gave a weak laugh and gazed around the room. The heat of the gathering still lingered in the air. “Instead, the Yojeh uses tea time,” she said. “When
my grandmother taught me how to conduct these kinds of meetings, I didn’t understand what she meant, but now I do.”

  Her grandmother’s soft voice sounded in her ears: “When you think that all possible opinions have been shared and the discussion has come to a dead end, announce that it’s time for tea. It’s very important to get the timing right. If you miss the moment when everything that can be said has been said, people will go on repeating themselves until everyone is weary. Be sure to end the meeting nicely before that happens.”

  Traditionally, the Yojeh listened to the opinions of the warlords and the nobles, and when she judged that she had heard them all, she declared that it was time for tea. This tradition had begun with the Royal Ancestor Jeh who had always had a cup of tea before making a major decision, and each successive Yojeh had followed in her footsteps. As Seimiya sipped the fragrant tea, she thought once again that the past Yojeh must have known human nature very well.

  To ensure complete control over the final decision without making anyone feel slighted—that is what this custom was for. Not only that, but when Seimiya sipped her hot tea and reflected quietly on the content of the meeting, it helped her see the main points and get a clearer picture of what needed to be done.

  The nobles of Yojeh territory were mean-spirited, motivated by self-interest, yet even so, because their rule benefited their domains, it also benefited the country as a whole. The warlords of Aluhan territory would have protested just as vehemently if they felt their own profits were threatened. But Seimiya knew that the reactions of both were really inspired by fear.

  Although Lyoza had managed to scrape through the crisis precipitated by the year’s poor harvest, there was no guarantee that next year or the year after would be any better. Everyone in the country was probably afraid that they would slide into poverty and famine.

  Seimiya clenched her jaw. I changed this kingdom by marrying Shunan. I can’t let this reformation lead to decline. I mustn’t let my people think it was a mistake. If we’re to live in peace, we can’t afford to lose the prosperous caravan cities.

  There was really only one choice that would please them all. She placed her cup on the side table with a click and turned to her husband.

  “Have you come to a conclusion?” he asked.

  Seimiya sighed. “It seems that war is the only way.”

  * * *

  Two months ago, a secret messenger sent by grand chief Nozgula of Oolish Oh had delivered a letter to Aluhan Ula, Shunan’s castle. In it, Nozgula had proposed that they enter into an agreement. If the kingdom of Lyoza would renounce all territorial rights to the three caravan cities of Ulamu, Ikishili, and Togulamu, which were located closest to Lahza, Lahza would recognize the territorial rights of Lyoza to the caravan cities of Imeelu, Hoza, and Kasholu, which were closest to Lyoza; in addition, Lahza would order the clans loyal to Lahza not to attack Lyoza.

  Nozgula had also stated that he would first demonstrate the wisdom of accepting this agreement. True to those words, Lahza warriors mounted on Toda had attacked and conquered Ulamu, the caravan city farthest from Lyoza.

  Half a month earlier, Rolan had arrived in Ikishili, the caravan city nearest to Ulamu, and told those in charge what had happened. Soldiers from the Toda troop stationed in Ikishili were sent to Ulamu to find out if his report was true. They discovered the city gate guarded by warriors wearing Lahza armor and mounted on Toda decorated with unfamiliar headdresses. They also saw Toda swimming in the moat. Although smaller than those raised in Lyoza, they were swift and agile. Having confirmed that Ulamu had fallen, the soldiers decided their first priority was to defend Ikishili. Abandoning any attempt to infiltrate Ulamu, they hurried back to their base.

  Messengers and carrier pigeons sent from Ikishili had reached the Aluhan just five days earlier. Around the same time, a detailed letter addressed to the Aluhan and Yohalu had arrived from Rolan, who had reached Imeelu, the closest caravan city to Lyoza. News that the Lahza had developed a Toda army capable of defeating Lyoza’s seasoned troops was a major blow. Summoning the warlords of Aluhan territory, Shunan had spent the last five days consulting on strategies without rest.

  For the last twenty years, the Lahza had harried the farthest protectorates: Ulamu, Ikishili, and Togulamu. Many soldiers from Aluhan territory had lost their lives defending them. These cities were flourishing trade centers to which goods flowed from many eastern countries for processing and distribution. The taxes levied for their defense brought the kingdom such prosperity that the advantage of protecting them was far greater than the cost of maintaining forts and stationing Toda troops nearby.

  * * *

  Faces flushed, the warlords and the nobles had insisted almost unanimously that accepting the terms of Nozgula’s proposal was inconceivable. In all the skirmishes fought to date, Lyoza had never suffered a clear defeat. Ulamu may have been taken temporarily in this surprise attack, they said, but that was no reason to start compromising now.

  Their indignation was fueled by shock and fear. They were terrified by the thought that the Lahza were capable of defeating their elite Toda troops, but they were ashamed to admit their terror in front of the Yojeh and the Aluhan. To cover up their consternation, some nobles began calculating the impact on the country’s finances of lost tax income from the three cities.

  Only two men disagreed with the rest: Lord Saluma from Jiki, a domain on the southern edge of Aluhan territory neighboring Tolah, and Lord Yohalu from Amasulu on the edge of the eastern plains. While basically opposed to accepting Nozgula’s proposal, they argued that it would be wiser to show a willingness to negotiate.

  Although the three caravan cities named by Nozgula provided substantial tax income, discontent among the soldiers protecting these far-off lands was leading to corruption within the Toda ranks. In addition, these three cities were populated largely by Hajan, who harbored a deep resentment toward Lyoza for bringing about their kingdom’s downfall long ago. Lyoza soldiers stationed in these cities lived in constant fear of revolt by the local people. Yohalu and Saluma recommended exploring the possibility of compromise to gain time before engaging in a decisive battle, while in the meantime communicating secretly with influential people in the caravan cities to win them over to their side. They proposed finding a new approach to governing those cities that would satisfy their leaders and encourage their citizens to work with Lyoza to defend themselves against the Lahza.

  Few people, however, agreed with this idea. Even if Lyoza were to seek a new approach, they insisted it should only be done once the Lahza had been routed. To try and placate the Lahza in the hope of buying time was foolhardy.

  Saluma continued to argue against open rejection, but when it became clear that the majority was opposed, Yohalu said that if they insisted on routing the Lahza first, he would accept their decision on one condition: If they failed to achieve a resounding victory over the Lahza, he asked that they accept his and Saluma’s proposal to explore possible concessions while developing a new approach to running the protectorates.

  It was just as people were beginning to protest that the Yojeh had announced it was time for tea.

  “Yohalu presented his argument in that way to push his proposal for compromise and a new way of governing,” Shunan said in a low voice. “He told me about this idea some time ago.” Shunan lowered his voice even further. “But he also told me that if we’re going to go to war, it’s probably better to do it sooner rather than later.”

  Seimiya nodded. “Before the Lahza Toda troops grow even more powerful.”

  “Yes. The reason he started off by insisting that we should avoid confrontation was to make the nobles of your territory and the warlords of mine push even harder for war.”

  “And by doing so, he made it clear where responsibility lies if there’s no resounding victory,” Seimiya said with a smile. “He really cares about you, doesn’t he?” Thanks to Yohalu, she thought, the nobles of Yojeh territory wouldn’t be able to blame the Aluhan after the fact
for starting the war.

  With a wry smile, Shunan cocked an eyebrow at her. “Yes, indeed. But his words didn’t just save me, did they?”

  Still smiling, Seimiya said nothing. He was right, she thought. Yohalu’s words had saved her, too. She’d been forced into a position where she’d have to declare war. This wouldn’t be a skirmish like the many battles fought before, nor a defensive action required to protect her country from invasion. To rebuff the hand extended by the enemy and declare war for the sake of national interest would be to change the very nature of the divine Yojeh, who had always rejected bloodshed as defilement. Yet this is what she had to do. Thanks to Yohalu and Saluma, she could at least excuse herself by claiming she’d made that decision in response to the entreaties of her people. By offering her this escape route, Yohalu had demonstrated his sincere desire to support the Aluhan and, for his sake, to avoid defiling the position of the Yojeh.

  I know I should be grateful, she thought. But Yohalu was a warrior. To him, war was a necessary means for resolving conflict. That was fundamentally different from the view held by the Yojeh of every generation. She could her hear grandmother’s voice in her mind: “No matter what the reason, never try to justify bloodshed. Drill that into your bones.”

  This way of thinking, which had been passed down from their royal ancestor Jeh, is what made the Yojeh who she was.

  Grandmother, Seimiya thought, addressing that kind, gentle woman who was now long gone. I will command my people to fight, but I will never seek to justify war.

  For generations, the Yojeh had trained her people to revere her as a god, attempting through that reverence to instill in their hearts an aversion to war. Yet, at the same time, every Yojeh had profited from war, while pressing the sin of killing onto the Aluhan and his people. This hypocrisy made it impossible to successfully guide the country’s affairs.