The Beast Player Page 10

Kailu returned his gaze steadily. “What about you, then?”

  A sad smile touched Ialu’s eyes. “Me? I’ve killed too many people to let myself doubt now.”

  Silenced, Kailu fell into step behind him. He had never heard his comrade talk like this before. Ialu had a quiet air, reminiscent of a forest in winter. When dressed in tradesmen’s clothes, he looked like nothing more than an ordinary craftsman. No one passing them now would ever suspect that this was the swift-footed Ialu. But as soon as he was on duty, he became an agile warrior. True, he had killed more men than any other Se Zan… But that was because he was the first to notice danger and therefore the first to dispatch an adversary. The assassin was usually dead before anyone else realized what was going on.

  There were times when Kailu was sure his comrade must have eyes in the back of his head. Not having killed yet, he had envied Ialu’s prowess. Until now. In the dying light, the long shadows of the trees fell across Ialu’s back. Kailu watched him wordlessly as they walked toward the palace.

  2 THE YOJEH AND THE ALUHAN

  Shunan felt the breeze caress his cheek as he descended from the carriage. As it passed, it rustled the newly unfurled leaves on the branches, causing the light to shimmer. Before him spread a forest so silent it was hard to believe the bustle of the city lay just behind him. Birds warbled somewhere deep within.

  This was the immaculate forest—the forest where the Yojeh resided—and there was something decidedly sacred about it. Standing on the white path that led to the palace, Shunan placed both palms to his forehead and bowed low in reverence.

  His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of his father clearing his throat. Assisted by a member of his retinue, the Aluhan stepped down from the coach and, turning his sullen face toward the palace, bowed formally. From this point onward, not even the grand duke was permitted to ride in a coach: he must proceed on foot. He set off with his son down the stretch of white sand, his guards walking in front and behind. A large procession of attendants followed silently, bearing gifts of precious metalwork, elaborate brocades, and clocks ornamented with coral and pearl-shell, brought all the way from the seat of the Aluhan to celebrate the Yojeh’s birthday. The soldiers who had accompanied the grand duke thus far remained behind with heads bowed as the procession disappeared into the forest.

  The white sand path glittered in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. After walking for some distance, the palace finally came into view at the far end. It was a maze of buildings, extending far behind the visible façade, with walls of huge planks of unvarnished wood and connecting passageways roofed in blue ceramic tiles. There were no ramparts nor any gates or guards to protect it. Each time he came, Shunan found himself in awe. Excessively plain, the palace’s sole ornamentation was the sheen of its well-polished wooden columns, and despite having been rebuilt after a fire only fifty-seven years ago, it looked ancient. To Shunan, it seemed more like a shrine to a god than the seat of a ruler.

  The palace in which he had been born and raised was at least ten times the size and its luxurious interior had been crafted by the finest artisans. A deep moat guarded its walls, vigilant soldiers manned its stout ramparts round-the-clock, and forbidding gates towered at its entrance, impressing upon any would-be enemies the castle’s impenetrability.

  With his eyes fixed on his father’s back, Shunan’s thoughts turned to what he knew must be on his father’s mind. The heavy sacrifices made by generations of faithful Aluhan for its protection were the sole reason the Yojeh’s palace required no defenses. “The Yojeh’s subjects,” his father often said, “dismiss us as upstart warriors tainted with blood. But without us, they could enjoy no peace nor remain safe from the aggression of their neighbors. We willingly ride the Toda, which they consider unclean, and defile ourselves with blood, so that this country may prosper and the Yojeh may live enshrined in this sacred forest without sullying her hands.”

  This, Shunan knew, was true.

  *

  Long ago, when the Yojeh’s ancestor had first appeared, the kingdom had been on the verge of extinction. The crown prince of that era had feared his younger brother would rise up against him when he took the throne, so he slew him and massacred his followers. His nephew, however, escaped, and when he reached manhood, he led the nobility against the king to avenge his father’s death. The two sides were evenly matched, and many died in the prolonged struggle, including the king and his nephew. When the land teetered on the brink of destruction and the people’s spirits lay broken, Jeh, the Royal Ancestor and the first Yojeh, crossed the Afon Noah into the corpse-strewn plains.

  Wherever Jeh went, a Royal Beast hovered protectively overhead, and whenever she came to a river, the Toda bowed their necks before her, forming a bridge for her to cross. To the local people, this tall woman with her shining hair and golden eyes appeared to be a noble goddess. They prostrated themselves before her and begged her to stay and live among them. This plea she granted. Like a loving mother, she gathered together all the nobles, craftsmen, merchants, and farmers who had been scattered by the war, and rebuilt the country from its foundations. This was the beginning of the Divine Kingdom of Lyoza.

  Peace reigned for many long years, lasting until the rule of the Royal Ancestor’s great-granddaughter. Then, the neighboring kingdom of Hajan rose up to invade Lyoza. Jeh’s great-granddaughter, however, refused to fight back. Under the law of the gods, it was an unpardonable sin to stain one’s hands with another’s blood; anyone who violated this law was forbidden to pass into the paradise of Afon Aluma after death. Rather than let her people suffer the consequences of such a heinous crime, the ruler offered to surrender herself to the enemy. One of her retainers, however, stopped her. This was Yaman Hasalu, Shunan’s ancestor. “Even should you give your life,” he reasoned, “your sacrifice would be meaningless, for the Hajan will never understand why you would do this. It is your people who will suffer if the Hajan conquer us. Allow me to accept defilement in order to defend this country. I swear I will live thereafter in exile so that no stain shall fall upon the royal capital. For the sake of your people, I beg you to give me the divine treasure, the Toda Whistle.”

  Deeming his intentions to be sincere, Jeh’s great-granddaughter granted his wish. Yaman led his troops to the great River Amasalu and used the whistle to ride the Toda through the waters and over land to destroy the Hajan army. Once he had vanquished the enemy, he kept his vow and, without returning to the capital, went to live on the other side of the mountains so that Lyoza would remain undefiled.

  Touched by his faithfulness and sincerity, the ruler of Lyoza interceded on his behalf, granting him laku la, absolution for deliberately choosing defilement to protect the lives of others. Through her intercession, those who fought to save their people could now be cleansed at death and enter Afon Aluma, wrapped in pure light. She bestowed upon Yaman the title of Aluhan, grand duke, and allowed him to govern a region across the mountains.

  The first cracks in this relationship emerged in the time of Yaman’s grandson, Oshiku Hasalu. Oshiku reared herds of Toda and organized the Toda Riders into powerful fighting units. With these, he subdued neighboring countries, expanding his domain and accumulating wealth. Each time he swallowed up another kingdom, he sent the ruler of Lyoza gold, silver, and jewels, as well as many rare and precious treasures. The ruler, however, considered such trophies to be unclean and refused to accept them.

  She also commanded Oshiku to stop invading other lands, but he refused to obey. The countries surrounding Lyoza, he argued, were just waiting for a chance to attack. True peace and security could only be obtained by subjugating these territories and spreading the belief that killing was a sin. Besides, more territory would give the people access to a greater variety of goods, and more subjects would mean greater prosperity for all.

  Although at first the ruler of Lyoza dismissed this reasoning as dangerous, she could not ignore the fact that many of her subjects were secretly migrating across the mountains. With its
broad and fertile plains crossed by numerous rivers, the grand duke’s territory covered the best farmland, and under his policies, bustling towns sprang up and trade thrived so that even the common folk prospered. In comparison, the land where the ruler lived was mountainous, harvests were erratic, and trade was far from robust. When she learnt that some of her people were almost starving, the ruler relented. She stopped rejecting Oshiku’s gifts and instead accepted them, to share with those who lived on her side of the mountains.

  At some point, the people began to call this army-less ruler the Yojeh. They continued to worship her as the soul of their country—the pure one who brought the kingdom divine protection. For this reason, her subjects referred to the goods they gave her as “offerings” rather than as “tax”. In her hands rested the authority to make final judicial decisions, and it was she who commanded district and central officials and who governed affairs of state.

  It was the Aluhan, however, who controlled the army and held the wealth of the country in his grasp. With this division between authority and power, friction was inevitable. Those who lived in Aluhan territory had come to see themselves as the backbone of the country. After all, it was they who shed their blood and deliberately accepted defilement so that Lyoza could prosper. It rankled that the officials dispatched by the Yojeh and the people living in her territory, despite being noticeably poorer than those in Aluhan territory, looked at them with disdain and called them “Wajaks” for staining their hands with blood and intermarrying with those they conquered.

  Discontent gave birth to a rebel group known as Sai Gamulu, literally “blood and filth”, whose members wished to see the Aluhan made king of Lyoza. They blamed the divisions in the country on the Yojeh and saw her as an obstacle to development. To eliminate her and place the Aluhan on the throne, they believed, was the only road to prosperity for the Divine Kingdom. It was a thwarted assassination attempt that finally caused the Yojeh to acquire her own bodyguards.

  The incident occurred during the reign of the Yojeh Sheemiya, grandmother of the current Yojeh, Halumiya. Had it not been for a faithful servant, who shielded her from an assassin’s blow at the cost of his own life, the Yojeh would have died. Worse still, her attackers set the palace on fire. Once again, it was through the desperate efforts of loyal servants that she managed to escape alive. Three-year-old Halumiya was rescued along with her, but the Yojeh’s daughter, Meemiya, perished in the flames.

  This tragedy shook the kingdom of Lyoza to the core. It signaled the end of an era in which the division between authority and power lay hidden beneath a veneer of friendship, and exposed the strained relationship to the light of day. The fact that anyone would want their ruler dead shocked not only those who lived in Yojeh territory, but also those who lived in Aluhan territory. While they might resent being looked down upon, the majority revered the Yojeh as a pure and selfless descendant of the gods.

  The Yojeh summoned the Aluhan, Lamashiku, to her palace and announced that if he insisted on killing her people and trying to control the country for personal gain, she would revoke laku la. This caused Lamashiku to tremble with fear. To die without being cleansed from defilement was to be condemned to hikala. And besides, he, too, revered the Yojeh. The Aluhan already had wealth and power. While he might covet the throne, he knew that, without the support of the gods, kingship would be far too heavy a burden for him to bear. He swore to the Yojeh that he had no ambition to rule and no connection with the Sai Gamulu. In fact, he vowed to hunt down and execute those misguided souls.

  But the Sai Gamulu could not be rooted out. Like a rotting swamp in which rank foam oozes to the top, sympathy for the cause continued to fester beneath the surface. The invisible group of assassins survived like a smoldering fire, slipping beneath the blanket intended to smother it only to burst out elsewhere. Its members swore an iron oath never to reveal their allegiance to it, even on pain of death. People from all walks of life, from farmers and merchants to the Yojeh’s own retainers, were rumored to have joined its ranks. The diverse backgrounds of those who died trying to kill the Yojeh seemed to verify this. The movement was also intimately connected to the nobility and high-ranking officials. For those hindered from increasing their wealth because the Yojeh judged such intentions to be impure, the Sai Gamulu were very convenient assassins.

  Clearly, the awe in which the Yojeh was held as the descendant of the holy one who first crossed the Afon Noah was no longer enough to protect her. Sheemiya therefore chose from among her most faithful servants those who excelled at martial arts, and assigned them to protect her and her granddaughter Halumiya, the future Yojeh. This was the origin of the Se Zan.

  Shunan was acutely aware of where he stood in the history of his country, and of the responsibility he was expected to bear. As the eldest son, he must succeed his father as the Aluhan. The brooding face of his younger brother, Nugan, left behind in their castle, flitted through his mind. Though Nugan never said so, Shunan knew that he must curse his position as the younger son, fated to spend his life in service to his elder brother. But in this age, when dissension could be felt even among the common people, the rank of Aluhan was not as enviable as Nugan imagined. Though Shunan knew his father’s wishes and why he valued his eldest son, in his own heart, he harbored a different dream.

  As he followed the lady in waiting along the wooden corridor, moving ever deeper into the palace, a gleam of anticipation kindled in his eyes and he could not keep his heart from racing. In a few moments, I’ll be in the presence of Princess Seimiya. Has she changed in this last year? In the dim light, Shunan, young heir to the Aluhan, prayed his father would not notice the blush that rose in his cheeks.

  When the Aluhan and his eldest son were ushered into the dining room, Yojeh Halumiya was already seated at a large dining table laden with food for the celebration. With her were her granddaughter, the princess Seimiya, and her nephew, Damiya. Ialu and the other Se Zan stood behind the Yojeh and the princess, their eyes sharp and alert, ready to protect them at a moment’s notice.

  The Yojeh and her family rose, smiling in welcome. “Aluhan, Shunan,” the Yojeh said. “Thank you so much for coming.” It was her sixtieth birthday, but despite her white hair, she stood tall and straight, and her skin was so smooth it was hard to believe her age.

  The Aluhan and Shunan knelt before her, pressing both palms to their foreheads as they bowed low. “Great Yojeh Halumiya, allow me to congratulate you on the anniversary of your birth,” the Aluhan said in his deep voice.

  “Thank you… Now please, let us dispense with protocol. Come to the table. They served the dishes a little too soon. We’ll have to hurry if we are to eat before the meal grows cold.”

  Shunan rose with his father and sat down in the place prepared for him. The Yojeh spoke kindly and easily to everyone, as if they were family. Her manner differed entirely from any of the rulers he had met during his travels with his father. She has no need to maintain her dignity through formalities, Shunan thought. Even when she smiled with the warm affection of a grandmother, something in her golden eyes naturally subdued people. Her granddaughter Seimiya had inherited this same air of being wide open to all those she met without allowing familiarity. But Seimiya, who had just turned sixteen and had yet to acquire the Yojeh’s life experience, had a fresh, almost precarious quality that reminded him of a butterfly newly emerged from its cocoon.

  Shunan suddenly noticed that the princess had turned her brown eyes and bright smile on him, and he felt his heart begin to beat wildly.

  The Yojeh looked him up and down, her expression gentle. “What a fine young man you’ve become, Shunan,” she said. “It’s hard to believe that the little boy you once were has already turned twenty. No wonder I’m growing old. You’re a head taller than your father, too.”

  “Thank you,” Shunan responded, feeling nervous. “I passed father in height three years ago.”

  Damiya, the Yojeh’s nephew, said with a grin, “You’ve grown in more than body, Shun
an. The look you gave Seimiya just now is proof that you’re a man.”

  It was just the sort of remark Damiya would make. He loved to make light of everything, but his words wiped the smiles from the faces of Shunan and his father. The Aluhan turned to him with frowning eyes and opened his mouth to speak when Seimiya said in a clear, light voice, “You know what Uncle Damiya is like, Shunan. Don’t pay any attention. He just loves to tease. I’ve told him a hundred times to stop, but he never listens.” With this she glared at Damiya, who merely smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  The rank of Yojeh was passed from mother to daughter—a tradition derived from the first royal ancestor, the tall, stately woman who had come from beyond the Afon Noah. Thus, even though he was the Yojeh Halumiya’s own nephew, Damiya could never succeed to her position. Far from being troubled by this fact, however, he appeared to relish the carefree nature of his standing. Though close to thirty, he remained single. Tall and handsome and fond of women, he was notorious for his affairs, not only with aristocratic widows but also with common maids. Yet even should such dalliances result in the birth of a daughter, no one but Seimiya’s daughter would have the right to become the next Yojeh.

  Damiya used his relatively unfettered position to advantage, traveling widely in place of the Yojeh. He had visited the Aluhan’s castle many times. His observations were extremely helpful to the Yojeh in making decisions. The Yojeh’s line produced mysteriously few offspring, only one or, at the most, two children. Seimiya was the only daughter of Halumiya’s only daughter. She had lost both parents ten years ago in an unfortunate accident when their carriage had crashed into a tree, and since that time, her grandmother, the Yojeh Halumiya, had raised her as if she were her own daughter. Whereas Halumiya was broad-minded and decisive, Seimiya was more reserved and inclined to mull things over carefully. Damiya was the one person with whom she could relax. Although he was, accurately speaking, her cousin rather than her uncle, they were on such comfortable terms that she called him “Uncle”.