The bushes swayed and a Hunter stepped out, a shuriken grasped in his hand. As he sneered at her, a weighted chain flew at Torogai from behind: A second Hunter had snuck up on her. She dodged the chain and leapt into the air, as agile as a monkey. But the Hunters had foreseen this move, and before she could swing herself up onto a tree branch, shuriken had lodged themselves in her wrist and thigh. She fell to the ground with a shriek.
The two Hunters rushed toward her where she sprawled helplessly on her back. One grabbed her arms and held them firmly while the other drew his short sword, placed a foot on her stomach, and slit her throat.
Her head disintegrated into a pile of dirt.
The Hunters jumped back and stared in amazement as the old woman’s body crumbled before their eyes. Then suddenly the man who had slit her throat threw back his head, tore at the air with his hands, and fell over backward, frothing at the mouth. His arms and legs twitched convulsively. The other Hunter somersaulted away from the spot. Jumping over a rock, he sprang up and grabbed a tree branch, but before he could swing himself to the next tree, his body became as heavy as lead. His skin grew cold; a white light flickered before his eyes. His heart beat like a drum, pounding in his ears. Breaking out into a cold sweat, he fell to the ground, his arms flailing uselessly.
The old woman slid easily down from the tree. “Beautiful flowers have thorns. Clay dolls have thorns too, stupid dogs.” She grinned and kicked the man where he lay unconscious. “If you want to catch old Torogai, you’d better learn all her tricks!” From the moment she called out to them, the Hunters had fallen under her spell. Hypnotized by her voice, they saw only the doll, and convinced that it was Torogai, they attacked. But as soon as they touched it, the drug-smeared thorns hidden inside pricked their skin.
“You should be grateful,” she told the Hunter as she undid his belt. “I could have smeared those thorns with a poison that meant instant death, but instead I chose something that would only knock you out. Very kind of me!” The magic weaver took off the man’s jacket. In his waist pouch she found a bamboo writing case containing a brush and ink. Opening the ink vessel, she dipped the brush in it and began writing smoothly on the inside of his jacket. When she had finished, she dressed him once again.
“Make sure you deliver my message like a good little hound.” She slapped his chest. Then, as if an idea had come to her, she felt once again in the little pouch attached to his belt and drew out two silver pieces. Her face broke into a smile. “You’re pretty flush in the pocket, aren’t you now? I’ll just take this in return for you trying to slit my throat. Now I can go into town and drink some good wine for a change. I might even go to the White Deer for some hot venison stew.”
Pleased with herself, she chuckled, then suddenly clapped her hands together. “Wait! I’ve got an even better idea! There’s no need for me to tax my poor old body. I can watch my apprentice do the work while I eat good food. Yes, it’ll be excellent training for him too. What a splendid idea! It seems I think better when I’m being chased by smelly old mutts.”
She disappeared into the forest, still muttering to herself.
Beneath the Mikado’s sleeping chamber was a secret room known only to the Mikado, the Master Star Reader, and the Hunters, and at the moment, it was steeped in a silence heavy with anger and frustration. The Mikado sat partially concealed behind a thin bamboo screen, the Master Star Reader and Shuga in front, as the three men listened to Mon’s report.
That he and his men had let the prince slip through their hands was an unforgivable blunder by itself, but then the Hunters who had gone after the magic weaver had fallen easily into her trap and come back empty-handed. Their failure was so dismal that Mon could see no choice but to pay for it with his life. He had woken several hours after his confrontation with Balsa and was still plagued by a splitting headache and dizziness. His face was so pale he looked as if he were already dead.
“How can this have happened?” the Master Star Reader said bitterly. “One of you is slashed across the face, another stabbed in the shoulder, and yet another so badly wounded he will be lucky to survive. And you, their leader, were hit in the head and knocked senseless.” Mon could say nothing. “Was this woman really such a dangerous foe?”
Thinking back on it, Mon realized that what made her dangerous was her fearless disregard for personal injury. “She saw my sword thrust coming, yet she didn’t even try to dodge the blow. Most people, no matter how brave, would instinctively try to block it. Yet she chose to hit me in the head instead of avoiding my blade — without even stopping to think. You can’t do that consciously. You can’t do it by steeling yourself for the hit, either. You would have to be used to it, to have been cut again and again since you were a child.”
A cold voice came from behind the bamboo screen. “What you mean is that you, the Head of the Hunters, have less skill than a woman.” Mon did not raise his head. Though he could not see it, the Mikado’s thin elegant face was trembling with rage. Never in his life had his will been thwarted. This was the first time anyone had failed to carry out his wishes. He was seized by an urge to strike Mon where he knelt with his forehead pressed against the floor. He was smart enough, however, to suppress his feelings, though he barely managed it. “What is worse, the men you sent after that Yakoo magic weaver came back with their tails between their legs. Never in all our history has a Mikado had such incompetent Hunters.”
These last words, which were almost spat out, cut Mon to the heart. At that moment, he heard a faint rapping on the door to the underground passage. Recognizing it as the Hunters’ secret signal for urgent business, he bowed in apology, stood up, and went to open the door. One of the Hunters who had tried to kill Torogai stood pale-faced in the corridor. “What do you want?” Mon snapped.
The Hunter flinched and showed him his jacket turned inside out. “When I was changing, I noticed this message. It appears to be from Torogai.”
Mon snatched the garment from his hands. It was true: There were letters written on it. He glared at the Hunter, hot anger burning inside him. Only the presence of the Mikado stopped him from hitting the man. “Go,” he barked, and the Hunter fled.
“What is it?” the Mikado demanded.
Mon prostrated himself on the floor and said, “There’s a message from Torogai on the inside of the Hunter’s jacket.”
The Mikado and the Master Star Reader glanced at one another through the screen. Then the Master Star Reader stood up and took the jacket from Mon, making a gesture to ward off evil spells as he did so. “It may be cursed. Let me see it first.” As he read the difficult handwriting, the frown between his eyes deepened.
“What does it say?” the Mikado asked impatiently.
The Master Star Reader groaned. “It is just as well that I read this first. As I feared, it casts a curse on the Mikado. I must reverse the curse immediately and burn it.” He turned the garment right side out, so that the writing was on the inside, and folded it carefully. “Your Highness, give me leave to work on this until tomorrow. To make haste is to risk failure. Shuga and I will need a little more time to think.” Bowing, he took Shuga and exited the room, leaving behind the Mikado and Mon, who both longed to ask more questions.
The Master Star Reader did not say another word until he had returned to his own room in the Star Palace. Only after he was inside and had made sure that no one was nearby did he finally speak. “Curse that Yakoo magic weaver! She’s left us a strange message.” He handed the jacket to Shuga. “Here. Read it yourself. There was no curse on it.” Shuga took it and began reading the scrawled letters.
My dear Star Readers,
Are you so busy with the stars and your little games that you’ve forgotten where you are? We stand at a turning point that comes once a century. Instead of wasting your time on me, protect the egg — it’s hidden in one of your people, after all! If you fail, a terrible drought will strike the land.
The egg-stealing Rarunga is awake and has already begun to seek t
he egg. Two centuries ago, your ancestors were smart enough to join the Yakoo and destroy Rarunga. Though I hate to admit it, my dear Star Readers, we Yakoo have also left precious knowledge back beyond the ends of time. We have forgotten how to slay Rarunga. If by any chance you have preserved this knowledge, then hurry! Quit watching the sky and turn your eyes to the land. Come and kill the Egg Eater!
Torogai
Shuga read it twice and then looked up at the Master Star Reader, puzzled. “Surely she is making fun of us.” The tone of the message was not just confident, but insolent and cocky. The men who read the stars were revered; even the Mikado followed their advice. Never had Shuga run into anyone who dared to refer to them so cheekily as “my dear Star Readers.” She was nothing more than a Yakoo magic weaver, yet she addressed them as if speaking to her equals. “Who is this Torogai? From her letter, it sounds like she knows much more than we do about the water demon.”
The Master Star Reader folded his arms. “That’s because she’s a magic weaver with Yakoo blood in her veins. She probably knows a lot about the demons and spirits that dwell in this land.”
“She tells us to ‘protect the egg,’ but in the legend of our sacred ancestor, weren’t the Yakoo afraid of the water demon? And she writes as if the Master Star Reader Nanai joined the Yakoo to destroy this thing she calls Rarunga, the Egg Eater.” Shuga stopped suddenly, struck by a possibility that made him shiver. “It can’t be,” he whispered.
“What can’t be?” The Master Star Reader stared at him intently, his eyes cold.
Shuga knew he must choose his words carefully — very carefully — but his mind raced with a sudden apprehension.
“I was thinking,” he began, “that when the Official History was recorded, New Yogo was just a newly formed country. Those who wrote it might have omitted facts that could make the people uneasy or cause unrest. If this letter is correct, not one but two creatures appear every hundred years: an egg and an Egg Eater. Not only that, but the sacred founder, Torugaru, and the first Master Star Reader joined forces with the Yakoo to kill the Egg Eater in order to protect the egg. The egg has some relation to water, and if it is not protected, a drought occurs. Which means that the Egg Eater is actually the demon — and it’s the egg, not the demon, that’s inside the Second Prince! If only we had known this sooner!”
The Master Star Reader did not respond. Looking at his face, Shuga feared that he had said too much. In his distress, he had unintentionally criticized the Master Star Reader’s ignorance. Although he regretted his thoughtlessness, it occurred to him that if the Master Star Reader was angered by something like this, he was not worthy of his respect.
“Shuga.” The Master Star Reader spoke at last. His voice was cold but it held no trace of anger. “People may discover and learn many things over time, yet they may also forget. The Star Palace has always had two sides. One is reading the future in the stars, to which we Star Readers have devoted our lives. The other is to guide this country’s affairs aright.
“People always create problems, stirring up political intrigue. In every age, we Master Star Readers have been so busy running the country’s affairs that we have little time left for Star Reading. Over time, we can come to see the world only from the viewpoint of politics. When I learned that something was inside the Second Prince, my first concern was how this would affect the government, even though I knew I should find out what the creature was.” The hard edge had gradually left his voice. He stated objectively, without emotion, “The Hunters are not the only ones to blame. The first and gravest mistake was mine. I should have started by searching through the secret archives of the first Master Star Reader, Nanai.”
“Secret archives?”
“Yes. In the Star Palace, there’s a secret library, known only to the Master Star Reader, with the stone tablets on which Nanai recorded confidential information. But because the texts are written in ancient Yogoese, it takes a long time to decipher them.
“Shuga, I cannot search those records for clues now. It is my job to find a solution to the immediate political situation, which will take considerable time. Therefore, I must entrust this work to you. Make haste. Find out what happened two centuries ago.”
Shuga bowed deeply. The Master Star Reader is a wise man deserving of respect after all, he thought with relief.
But the Master Star Reader was not finished. “Listen carefully, Shuga. We are not acting on the advice of that Yakoo magic weaver. We are doing this of our own accord. When you find the answer and everything has been resolved, this must be recorded in our history as the achievement of the Master Star Reader. You understand that, don’t you? This is how the country is governed.”
Shuga nodded. Yes, his heart whispered. This is what must have happened two hundred years ago.
The anxiety that had gripped him did not abate even after he left the room. It was not just their mistake in identifying the creature inside the prince or in dealing with it that bothered him. Until now, Tendo had been everything to him. He had believed that by mastering the knowledge of the Star Readers, he would some day reach the truth. Never had he doubted this. But now he wondered if it was really true. A disturbing thought stirred in the recesses of his mind: If the Yakoo magic weaver had known something that even the Master Star Reader did not, could other things affect this world besides Tendo?
Balsa’s wound healed even faster than Tanda had expected. “I’m lucky they didn’t break any bones. Otherwise I would never have healed so quickly,” Balsa murmured as Tanda removed the bandage to look at her wound.
He shook his head in mock disgust. The skin was already knitting together. “You get well so fast it’s hard to believe that you’re already thirty. But remember, you still don’t heal as quickly as you used to. You’re getting too old to push it.” He pointed to her side. “Ah! I remember this one. I sewed you up that time too.” He traced the scar tenderly with his finger.
Balsa pulled away from his touch. “Stop that! It tickles. You keep your hands off me.” She grabbed the bandage from him and began to wrap it around the wound. Tanda drew back and rubbed his hands together. When the bandage was finished, Balsa stood up abruptly and went outside, keeping her face hidden.
Tanda sighed as he knelt beside the hearth to pick up the jar of ointment.
“Why are you sighing?” Chagum asked, looking into his face. He was trying to whittle a cooking skewer from bamboo — something Balsa had taught him to do — using a small knife he held awkwardly in his hands.
“If you don’t keep your eyes on what you’re doing, you’ll cut yourself,” Tanda said. He took the jar and placed it on a shelf, Chagum’s eyes still following him.
“Tanda?”
“Mm.”
“Why do you not marry Balsa? You get along so well.”
Tanda looked slowly around at Chagum. “Don’t ask me that,” he said. “You shouldn’t ask such things, you know.”
“But —”
“Please, don’t ask. Especially not when Balsa is here. Ever. Promise me.”
Chagum looked as if he wanted to protest, but he said nothing. Tanda sat down beside him and said quietly, “There is something that Balsa has vowed to do. Her decision to become a bodyguard and her decision to risk her life in order to save yours is part of that vow. Until she fulfills it, I don’t think that she will ever marry anyone.”
“What is the vow?”
“She vowed to save the lives of eight people.”
“Why?”
“That’s not for me to say. Someday you should ask Balsa. You’re smart, so I’m sure you’ll know when it’s a good time. Ask her when she feels like sharing memories from her past.” He smiled at Chagum and then went outside.
Balsa was standing beneath a tree, moving her arms and legs slowly as if drawing circles. Then she struck out suddenly with a jab and kick. “Ouch!” Her face twisted. She glanced at Tanda, who stood watching her with arms folded, and smiled wryly. “It still hurts a lot.”
“What did you expect? Balsa, I’m going to Yashiro village. How about you?”
“You’re going to find out about Nyunga Ro Im?”
“Yeah, I’ve asked around a bit and it seems that the person who knows most about it lives in Yashiro. Do you want to bring Chagum and come with me?”
Balsa shook her head. “I’ll stay here. I’m a bit worried about letting other people see him, and I’m even more nervous about leaving him on his own. I thought I’d try teaching him some basic martial arts, a little at a time. That way he can at least protect himself in a pinch.”
Tanda nodded. “All right, then. Help yourself to food from the storeroom when you’re hungry. I may be a while, so don’t worry if I don’t make it back tonight.”
Balsa nodded, but avoided his eyes.
The village to which Tanda hurried was a small community of about thirty people in the upper reaches of the Aoyumi River. Rice grew in the few fields along the river, while the terraced fields carved into the steep hillside were planted with various grains and vegetables. The villagers were a mixed race of Yakoo and Yogoese who lived in dome-shaped mud dwellings that looked like bowls turned upside down. Although such houses were traditional to the Yakoo way of life, their clothing, which consisted of a simple unlined jacket fastened with a wide belt over knee-length leggings, was typical of Yogo farmers. Some were dark-skinned like the Yakoo, while others were so fair they could not be distinguished from pure-blooded Yogoese. Yogoese was the common tongue, but, when startled, the elderly occasionally lapsed into Yakoo.
Tanda approached the Boundary Marker, a rope strung with bones that hung across the path between two wooden posts. As was the custom, when he passed beneath it, he brushed the top of his head against the bones to make them rattle. The Yakoo believed these bones had special powers of protection, and the rope kept evil spirits and demons from entering the village.
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