Guardian of the Spirit

by Nahoko Uehashi

  I wonder why they use nahji bones, Tanda thought idly. The nahji was a migratory bird that crossed the Misty Blue Mountains and flew over Yogo on its way to the sea at the midsummer solstice. This area didn’t benefit from them in any way. Yet if one of these birds, exhausted from its flight, fell into the sea and was washed ashore, the Yakoo who lived along the coast would say special prayers for its soul, clean the bones, and sell them at the market. Yakoo from other parts of the country would pay a good price and take them home to use as charms.

  Something stirred in the back of Tanda’s mind, a distant childhood memory that he had not even known was there: his grandfather taking him by the hand as they walked beneath the nahji bones. Jealous of his grandfather, who was tall enough to make them rattle, the young Tanda had insisted that he be allowed to rattle them too. His grandfather had laughed and picked him up so his head could touch them, saying, “The nahji flies faster than the devil, faster than misfortune of any kind.”

  Tanda had begun to sing:

  “Fly, nahji, fly!

  Fly to the sea and make the rain fall;

  make the rice grow tall.”

  “Ah, you remember well. That’s the midsummer festival song. It’s telling us that the rice we plant before the festival needs lots of rain to make it grow. I hope we have a good harvest this year too.”

  How old had he been? Tanda wondered. He walked along the mountain path lost in memory. Just then, the bushes in front of him rustled and out popped a little girl of about eleven years, carrying a basket filled with taro root. Water dripped from the basket, and the white skin of her cheeks and fingertips was flushed red.

  “Oh, it’s the healer!” She smiled up at him.

  “Nina! Hello. You’ve been washing taro in the river, have you?”

  “Yes.” She fell in step beside Tanda. She looked so Yogoese that if she went to the city no one would suspect she had Yakoo blood in her. If things go on like this, the Yakoo may disappear from the face of the earth before another century goes by, Tanda thought.

  “Where are you going?” she asked him.

  “I want to ask your grandfather for some help. Can I carry that basket for you?”

  “No, I can do it.”

  At the edge of the forest, they came to the village. The smell of wood smoke wafted toward them. The villagers’ smiles were friendly, for at the turn of every season, Tanda brought herbs and medicines to each village in the area, and he always came to help when he heard someone was sick.

  Tanda had timed his visit to coincide with the noon break, when the villagers returned from the fields, and he could see by the thin wisps of smoke rising from their houses that many were back already. Greeting people as he went, Tanda headed for a house near the mountain. Nina trotted along beside him, sometimes in front, sometimes behind. When they reached the house, she put her basket down with a thump beside the door and ran in shouting, “Grandpa, there’s a guest to see you!”

  As was tradition, Tanda wiped his feet twice on a little mound of earth in front of the entranceway to brush off bad luck. Only then did he enter the dim interior. The room was filled with the pungent smell of smoke. Woven straw mats covered the dirt floor, and the family was gathered around a fire pit in the center: Nina’s grandfather, father, mother, and siblings.

  “Hello, Noya,” Tanda called.

  The old man’s eyes softened. “Why, if it isn’t Tanda! It’s been a while. Come in, come in. You’ve come at a good time — the taros are almost done. Sit and eat with us.”

  Tanda removed his straw sandals and came to sit beside the hearth. He drew a package of dried herbs from inside his tunic. “It’s not much, but I brought some todo. I heard that your daughter-in-law here is pregnant, and this will help her morning sickness.”

  The young woman smiled shyly and murmured her thanks. She gestured to Nina to bring her the taros.

  “Noya, there’s something I wanted to ask you — in fact, it’s why I came today. Your grandfather was a good friend of my great-great-grandfather’s, right?”

  “Yes, they were close friends. They often told me wonderful stories, but then your grandfather was given some fields in Toumi, where your grandmother was from. After he moved there, they didn’t see much of each other.”

  “I actually came to ask about your father’s older brother, the one who died when he was a child,” Tanda said quietly. “About the Nyunga Ro Chaga, the Guardian of the Spirit — the Moribito.”

  Noya’s face clouded, and he rubbed his chin with a gnarled hand. “Ah. Yes, my uncle was the Nyunga Ro Chaga. I heard about that. But, though they tried, our family couldn’t protect him and the spirit’s egg, and he died a horrible death…. It made my grandmother so sad whenever she thought of him that we just stopped talking about it. I’m sorry, I really don’t know anything. If I did, you can be sure that I’d tell you.”

  Tanda’s spirits sank. He should have expected this. It had been a terrible tragedy for Noya’s family, and it was only natural that they would want to forget. Seeing the disappointment in his face, Noya said apologetically, “If you had come last year, when my mother was still living, it would have been different. She was the daughter of the village storyteller, and she knew a lot more than I did about my uncle and the Nyunga Ro Chaga, and spirits and things…. I was never really interested in all that. Besides, it happened so long ago — a hundred years now. Why do you want to know?”

  For Tanda, this seemed the final blow: Even those who were related to the Guardian of the Spirit had forgotten the importance of this year, a century after his death. Just as he feared, the Yakoo were losing their lore with the years. We’ve got to find Torogai, he thought. But can we do it in time?

  Suddenly there was a clatter as Nina dropped the taros and they rolled across the floor. She stood staring at the men with her mouth open. “Grandpa! Has it really been a hundred years since Nyunga Ro Chaga was killed!? But that’s terrible! That means this is the year Nyunga Ro Im’s egg will hatch!”

  Everyone stared at her in amazement, but the most surprised of all was Tanda. “Nina, how did you know that?”

  “I heard the story from my great-grandma,” Nina said.

  Noya hit his fist against his palm. “Why, of course! Nina was very attached to my mother — she was always badgering her to tell stories. Nina, what tale is this? Tell Tanda what she told you.”

  Nina blushed at the unexpected attention. “Nina, there’s a good girl,” Tanda said gently. “Come sit by me and tell me what you remember. Take your time.”

  She sat down beside him and, after squirming a little, began to speak. “Well … let’s see … um, when grandfather’s father’s, um, older brother was, um, just a little boy, Nyunga Ro Im, the Water Guardian, laid an egg,” she began. At first she stumbled over her words, but gradually she grew more relaxed and confident as the familiar phrases poured out. As he listened, it dawned on Tanda that fortune had smiled on him after all: Nina was telling him things that he had never known before.

  “Nyunga Ro Im is born from an egg in the sea of Sagu, in this world. When it grows bigger, it swims up a river in Nayugu, in the other world, and makes its home at the bottom of the deep, deep water. Once it’s fully grown, it doesn’t move. Great-grandma thought it became a huge shellfish. The energy it breathes out forms the clouds that cause the rain to fall in Nayugu as well as here in Sagu, and every hundred years it lays its egg and dies.

  “After Nyunga Ro Im lays its egg, the clouds gradually disappear, and the sun beats down. To make sure the new Nyunga Ro Im is born and breathes clouds again, the Yakoo decided that they must help the egg. Since long, long ago, when the creatures of Sagu and Nayugu were still friends, they have done this. The spirit’s guardian in this world, Nyunga Ro Chaga, nurtures the egg like a mother bird, protecting it until it is ready to hatch.

  “But just as the snake seeks birds’ eggs, so fearsome Rarunga, the Egg Eater, loves the eggs of Nyunga Ro Im and hunts them once they have been laid!” The little girl
gave a violent shudder. “Great-grandma said that Grandpa’s uncle was torn apart by the claws of Rarunga — torn in half! If a hundred years have passed, will Rarunga come to eat us?”

  Tanda placed his hand on her shoulder. “Nina, it’s all right. Rarunga only eats the eggs of Nyunga Ro Im. You can be sure he won’t eat you, so don’t be afraid.”

  Everyone’s eyes were riveted to Tanda and the little girl. Even her mother had stopped in the middle of peeling more taros.

  “Nina, about Rarunga, did your great-grandmother tell you anything at all about what kind of monster it was?”

  “Yes, she said that her father saw it. They couldn’t see anything until it ripped the Nyunga Ro Chaga in two, and then it just appeared! He remembered its big claws gleaming.”

  Then it is a creature of Nayugu, not the Mikado’s men, Tanda thought. “Did she tell you if it had any weaknesses?” he asked her.

  Nina shook her head sadly. “No. I asked her that too, because no matter how terrible the monster is, if you knew its weak point, you could kill it. But Great-grandma said that if they had known that, they wouldn’t have let the boy be killed.”

  Tanda nodded. “That makes sense.” He patted her shoulder. “Thank you, Nina. You’ve helped a lot. And it looks like you’ve inherited the storyteller’s gift! I can see you’re on the way to becoming a masterful storyteller, just like your great-grandmother.”

  Nina laughed happily, but on the other side of the hearth, Noya looked worried. “Tanda, I must ask you again: Why do you come to us now with these questions?”

  Tanda looked at all of them and said, “I’m sure that you’ve already guessed; Nyunga Ro Im has laid its egg. And I want to protect it. But I beg you not to tell anyone what I’ve just said.”

  “Why?”

  “The Mikado’s sacred ancestor was supposed to have killed the Nyunga Ro Im, right? If word gets out that the Yakoo claim Nyunga Ro Im laid another egg, everyone who speaks of it will be beheaded as a traitor.” The others exchanged shocked glances. “That’s why it would be better not to mention this to anyone.”

  They nodded and placed the little fingers of their left hands to their lips in the Yakoo vow of silence. Tanda turned back to Nina. “You must promise too. Don’t tell anyone, all right?”

  She looked disappointed; she had clearly been planning to run and tell her friends all about it. Seeing the stern expression on her grandfather’s and Tanda’s faces, however, she made the vow of silence with her own little finger. Tanda smiled at her. Noya said solemnly, “Tanda, you must also vow to remain silent. Promise us you won’t tell the authorities what we told you.” Tanda nodded and made the sign. Then he stood up and bade them farewell, regretting that he left them in such a gloomy mood.

  But as he passed through the door, Nina called after him. “Tanda, wait! I just remembered something! Something Great-grandma told me.” He turned to look at her. Her eyes shone. “According to the legend, Rarunga doesn’t come in winter. She thought it probably hibernates, like a mountain animal.”

  Her words seemed to have jogged Noya’s memory, for he nodded and said, “She’s right. My father’s older brother was killed when it was almost midsummer. My grandmother always used to say how she wished that winter had never ended.”

  Tanda’s heart leapt; this unexpected piece of information was priceless. He thanked them sincerely and, bowing low, left Noya’s house. On his return, he passed quietly beneath the Boundary Marker, careful not to rattle the nahji bones. They swayed in the wind, which carried the faint scent of snow. It must already be snowing in Kanbal, Balsa’s native land, which lay on the other side of the Misty Blue Mountains.

  Looking up through the branches of the trees, he noticed that the red autumn leaves framing the cold gray sky were faded and sparse, exposing the bare branches. The signs of impending winter would normally have caused his spirits to sink, but right now he could only feel grateful. He walked along the mountain path, lost in thought.

  Chagum was drenched in sweat. Balsa looked at him, her hands on her hips. “Are you tired?”

  He nodded, unable to speak. After Tanda left, Balsa had begun teaching the boy some basic self-defense moves on the grassy space in front of the hut. The moves were the first forms of a martial art known as chiki, which she had learned at the age of six. Each movement was made in time to the rhythm of one’s breathing — in, out, in, out, thrusting, striking, and kicking in slow motion. One hand struck while the other moved to protect a vital point, combining attack and defense in a single form, each designed to be practiced without a partner. After only twenty repetitions, Chagum was already gasping for breath.

  “This will never do,” Balsa said. “We’ll have to build up your strength first. You’re still a child and your bones aren’t fully formed yet, so I don’t want to push you too hard. But you’ll have to at least get to the point where you don’t run out of breath.”

  Chagum wiped the sweat from his eyes and winced. He hadn’t known that sweat could sting so much. “How long must I practice before I become like you, Balsa?”

  “Twenty years,” Balsa answered calmly.

  “Twenty years! That is impossible!”

  “Chagum, you should say ‘I’ll never make it’ or something like that to sound a little less regal. You don’t want people to guess who you are every time you open your mouth, do you? As for not making it, a boy of your age with just a few months of training could never be a match for the kind of men who are after you.”

  “Then why should I bother — I mean, what’s the point?” Chagum demanded indignantly.

  “Simple. You’ll have a better chance of escaping if you’ve practiced than if you haven’t. Listen, Chagum. The tiniest thing can make a difference between life and death. If you can confuse your attacker for even one second, it just might give you the chance to get free. And an opening like that increases my chances of saving you. Believe me, it’s better to have practiced than not,” Balsa said. Suddenly she whipped around, her spear pointed toward the bushes. “Who’s there?”

  The bushes rustled and a monkeylike figure appeared. Balsa’s eyes grew round with surprise. “Tor — Master Torogai!”

  The magic weaver snorted. “What? You’re here too? Looks like you’re still reckless, lugging around that dangerous weapon as usual. And who’s that kid?” Chagum was staring dumbfounded at this strange old woman dressed in tattered clothes. Her eyes narrowed suddenly. Without a word, she brushed past Balsa, stood squarely in front of him, and stared at him intently. They were almost the same height. When she placed her gnarled hand on his forehead, he shrank away from her. “Don’t move!” she commanded, and he froze as if her words had gripped and bound him.

  Barely touching him, her fingertips traveled from his forehead to his chest. The next moment, Chagum experienced a strange sensation: Her fingertips seemed to penetrate his clothes, his skin, even his muscles — to go right into his chest. He broke into a cold sweat; although the feeling was not painful, it was so strange he felt nauseated. Just when he thought he could bear it no longer, she removed her hand, and suddenly he was free. He crumpled to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings and sat there limply.

  A thin sheen of sweat covered Torogai’s brow. “Well, well,” she muttered and, shaking her head slowly, turned to look at Balsa. “This must be what they call fate. The threads that tie us together in this world are strange indeed. Did the Second Queen hire you?”

  Balsa nodded. There was no point in being surprised; Torogai was one of the sharpest people she had ever met. “Master Torogai,” she said. “I was looking for you. If this is fate, then for once I must be thankful for it.”

  Torogai grinned. “Me too. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble. But still —” She broke off for a second to look at Chagum, who had managed to get back on his feet. “A long life has its rewards. To think that I would live to see the egg of Nyunga Ro Im, the Water Guardian, with my own eyes.”

  Chagum’s eyes widened. “You — You saw i
t? The thing inside my chest? Tell me what you saw. I command you to tell me!”

  Torogai looked hard at him, then threw her head back and laughed. “Oho! Now I see. You’re the Second Prince, are you? No wonder those hounds that came after me were so desperate.” After she had had a good laugh, she turned back to him. “Your body is here in Sagu — because you are a creature of this world, you see. There’s no egg embedded in your flesh or anything like that. I must say that I’ve never seen anything like it before: a creature of Nayugu superimposed on a creature of Sagu. What I saw was a small egg that glowed bluish-white. It doesn’t have a hard shell; it’s soft, like a fish egg.”

  Chagum grimaced. Despite her reassurance that it was not actually in his flesh, the idea was still repellent. He shook his head, struggling desperately to fight down his nausea. The magic weaver, however, paid no attention. “What did you do anyway?” she demanded. “How did you wind up with the egg?”

  He glared at her. “I don’t know. I remember nothing. I hoped that you would answer this question for me when we met. Why must I bear this spirit’s egg?”

  “You thought I would know? Well, boy, I hate to tell you, but there are some things that even I don’t know! Hmm, too bad … I would love to learn how Nyunga Ro Im lays its eggs. Well, maybe you’ll remember later — I guess I’ll just have to wait. Hey, Balsa! Where’s that dolt of an apprentice? Did you eat him?”

  Balsa laughed. “I’m not so hungry as that! Tanda is —” she began and then turned to look behind her. A moment later, the bushes stirred and Tanda appeared, his hair covered in leaves. He stopped dead when he saw all three of them staring at him.

  “What? What? Oh! Master Torogai! I’ve been looking for you!” His timing was so perfect that Balsa, Chagum, and Torogai looked at one another in disbelief.

  “You know the saying, ‘Speak of the sun and it shines’? Looks like there’s some truth in that,” Torogai said to Chagum with a grin. Then she turned to Tanda. “Look at your hair!” she yelled. “It’s full of leaves! You’ll never find a wife if you don’t take care of how you look.”