The Beast Warrior Page 9

  An enormous shape slithered out of the reeds, and Yohalu raised one finger. Elin presumed it was a signal that he would blow the whistle. She heard a hiss of air from his mouth, and instantly the Toda stiffened. Yohalu led his horse past the giant form, which stayed as motionless as a rock. Elin followed, soothing her mount, which was rolling its eyes in fear.

  Yohalu led his horse gently across the gravel of the shallows, making sure that its hooves didn’t slip. Elin and the guards walked behind him, their senses alert for any movement. When stalking their prey, Toda swam slowly, but when they attacked, they moved as swiftly as a flash of light. At a distance, they were impervious to the Silent Whistles, so timing was crucial. Unless one could read the ripples that radiated from their bodies as they swam beneath the surface and gauge their speed to judge their distance, it would be impossible to stop them with a whistle. Even experienced Stewards were occasionally torn to shreds because they blew their whistle at the wrong moment.

  The party walked carefully around the pool, conscious of the musk-like odor that mingled with the scent of water. When they neared the waterfall, a trail that had previously been concealed by the trees came into view. Just as she was thinking that it must be the path to Oohan, Elin heard something charging through the reeds toward them. Not from the pool but from the bushes along the shore. She waited for a breath, and when the muzzle of the beast appeared from the reeds, she blew.

  The Toda jerked upward as though it had run full force into a rock wall. Rigid, it fell with a thud onto its belly, and its sharp-clawed feet twitched spasmodically. Elin frowned. Turning, she saw that Yohalu also looked perplexed as he watched its quivering limbs. “Did you blow your whistle, too?” she asked.

  Yohalu shook his head, and his men hastily assured her that they hadn’t either. “Then why?” Elin muttered. Puzzled, she stared at the Toda. Blowing a Silent Whistle too soon after a Toda recovered from paralysis could cause convulsions and even death. Both Stewards and Riders were careful not to blow too frequently. The fact that this Toda was suffering from whistle shock meant someone else had used a whistle not long ago.

  “Maybe a villager passed through,” one of the soldiers said, his voice muffled by the whistle still clenched between his teeth.

  “Maybe,” Yohalu said. “But there was no sign of anyone ahead of us. Let’s ask the guards.”

  2

  THE TOGA MI LOH

  They traveled on until the sound of the waterfall receded and they came to a large saya tree. Here, the road forked. One branch headed downhill toward the sound of flowing water. Judging by the fresh ruts in the grass along it, Elin guessed that it led to the river from which the villagers caught fish for their Toda.

  They proceeded along the road on the other side of the saya tree. Gradually, the trees grew thinner and the forest brighter. Suddenly, the way before them cleared, revealing a valley with a village at the bottom. Terraced fields covered the slopes down to the village, where threads of smoke rose from the chimneys of the houses that nestled together. The building with the tall chimney set apart from the rest was likely the baths.

  The road into the village was blocked by a guardhouse. Two young soldiers sat in front of it, but they leaped to their feet at the sight of strangers riding toward them. Spears at the ready, they opened their mouths to challenge them, only to freeze at the sight of Yohalu.

  “Sir!” one of them cried. They snapped to attention and saluted.

  Yohalu gave them a nod. “Thank you for your work,” he said. “Where is your commander?”

  Still saluting respectfully, one of them said, “Sir! Captain Aoolu is out on patrol!”

  “Hmm,” Yohalu said. “Is the gate included in your regular patrol?”

  The soldier looked puzzled. “No, sir. That area is not included in the regular patrol because it is dangerous, sir. But if there is anything unusual, the patrol will go there, too.”

  “I see. Tell the captain to report to me when he returns. We’ll be staying a few days, and I want to tell him our plans and why we’ve come. We’ll be at the chief’s house.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  * * *

  Sturdy retaining walls of black stone bordered the terraced fields. Tiny blue flowers poked between the stones and waved in the gentle breeze. The glow of the westering sun filled the valley, and the pleasant scent of freshly tilled earth wafted on the air. Women were working in the rice fields, bent over at the waist, but when Elin and the others rode along the path between the terraces, they straightened and gazed down at them. Children helping their mothers gaped like round-eyed puppies, then set off at a dash down the road. Elin guessed that they were heading for the chief’s house to let him know guests were on their way.

  Suddenly, the women raised their voices in song. At the sound, a wave of nostalgia gripped Elin’s chest, and her hands tightened on the reins. Long ago, she had heard the women of her village sing like this. The welcome song, a greeting sung when peddlers entered their village with permits hanging from their necks to show they were allowed in. The tune was slightly different, but very similar. Perhaps the song had originated in this very village and then been passed on to each new Toda village when it was built.

  People emerged from houses scattered in the valley and looked up at the visitors. Chickens fled squawking, startled by the horses, while children climbed onto the railings of a sheep corral, pushing and shoving one another as they tried to get a better look at the visitors. Four people stood smiling outside the chief’s home. Elin guessed that the elderly man in the center, who looked to be over sixty, must be the chief. His short hair was liberally peppered with gray, but he stood straight and dignified. As he peered at Yohalu’s face, his eyes grew round with recognition. “Well, well!” he exclaimed.

  Yohalu grinned. “It’s been over ten years since I last visited. I’ve aged since then, but you haven’t changed a bit.”

  The chief shook his head. “No, no, I’m getting old, too,” he said. Then, as if recollecting himself, he announced formally, “Welcome to our village. We were just saying that today something auspicious would happen because last night was such a lovely starry evening.”

  His voice rang as he pronounced these ritual words of greeting, and Yohalu bowed deeply in response. The women beside the chief clapped their hands and broke into a merry rendition of the welcome song.

  “Thank you,” Yohalu said when they finished. “It’s wonderful to see you all looking so well. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know we were coming in advance, but I hope you’ll let us stay a few nights.”

  “Of course! Of course!” the chief exclaimed. “What greater happiness could we ask for? As you know, we have only our humble home to offer, but please stay with us for as long as you like.” He ushered them inside, betraying no trace of curiosity for why Yohalu had come or why he had brought Elin with him. Yohalu’s men went off with some of the villagers to take care of the horses.

  When Elin stepped inside the chief’s house, she was momentarily disoriented by the darkness. Inside the entrance was a large earthen-floored space with a high ceiling. On the left was a kitchen with several big clay ovens. The women appeared to have been preparing the evening meal. There were freshly washed greens and chopped riko onions sitting in baskets. The walls and round beams in the ceiling were blackened with smoke and soot from cooking, showing the building’s age. Elin’s mother had sometimes taken her to visit her grandfather, and his home had been much like this. The lives of the Toda Stewards seemed to be the same everywhere.

  They washed their feet and stepped up into the spacious living room. The windows on the far wall were open, and sounds floated in from outside. The wooden floorboards were so well polished that they gleamed, and thick winter rugs had been laid around the hearth in the center of the room.

  “Even at this time of year, it gets cold at night,” the chief said, as he invited Yohalu and Elin to sit. He told the women to hurry and bring some tea.

  Lowering himself onto a rug
, Yohalu glanced toward the corridor that led to other rooms in the back. “How is Kamalu?” he asked.

  “Ah. Grandfather is very well. Although he sleeps a lot these days. In fact, he’s sleeping now. Shall I wake him?”

  Yohalu shook his head. “No. There’s no need to disturb him. I can talk to him when he wakes up and his mind is fresh.”

  Yohalu chatted with the chief about different people they knew while the women prepared the meal. By the time the last light had disappeared, the large pot that hung over the hearth had begun to bubble, and the delicious smell of miso-flavored stew permeated the room.

  “Let’s fill our stomachs with a hot meal. Nothing special, I’m afraid.” The chief spoke less formally now. Half rising, he took some eggs and broke them into the pot, one by one. While they were still soft, he deftly ladled these along with vegetables and meat into generous bowls of steaming rice. While he did this, two women poured tea for everyone. Elin assumed they were his daughters or daughters-in-law.

  “This looks delicious. Thank you.” Yohalu picked up his chopsticks and, mixing the contents together, began to eat. Following his cue, Elin bowed her head in thanks and picked up her bowl. She broke the egg with her chopsticks, and the golden yolk spread into the stew. The rich flavor of the stewed vegetables and meat permeated the fluffy rice along with the creamy egg. It was so delicious she wanted to shout.

  Once their hunger was satisfied, they sat sipping tea while Yohalu explained to the chief what had brought them here. The chief seemed fascinated, and the women, who had begun peeling fruit, paused in their work.

  When Yohalu finished, the chief cocked his head to one side with a puzzled look. “All the Kiba died? That’s very strange. And there’ve been mass Kiba deaths like that in other villages as well?”

  “You mean it’s never happened here?” Elin asked.

  The chief shook his head. “No. Not even once.”

  “It’s just as he says, Lady Elin,” said Yohalu. He withdrew a sheet of paper from the bag that lay beside him and handed it to her. “Mass Kiba deaths have never occurred in this village. That’s one reason I wanted to bring you here.”

  The chief and the others exchanged puzzled looks at the deference with which Yohalu treated Elin. Seeing their expressions, he laughed. “This lady is the one who saved the Aluhan’s life.”

  Elin glanced at Yohalu in surprise. She had thought that he was speaking to her with deference to conceal his identity and pass as her bodyguard. But if he really treated her this way because he thought that … Rather than pleasing her, this made her feel so uncomfortable, she bowed her head.

  Oblivious to how she might be feeling, a broad smile spread across the chief’s face. “How wonderful! Of course she would be a Toga mi Loh. We are truly honored to welcome such an illustrious person into our home.”

  Elin blinked. Toga mi Loh? She rolled the words over in her mouth, wondering what they meant. A shock ran through her. “Excuse me, but did you just say ‘Toga mi Lyo’?” she asked hoarsely.

  The chief’s brow furrowed. “Did I say something strange?” he said.

  Elin shook her head. Her forehead felt numb, and her lips trembled. “You said ‘Toga mi Lyo,’ didn’t you?”

  The chief nodded, rubbing his chin. “Well, actually I said ‘Toga mi Loh.’ You have green eyes, you see, so I assumed you must be one.”

  Elin stared at him, dumbfounded. There was no mistake. The Toga mi Loh he was talking about were the Toga mi Lyo, the Green-Eyed Ones.

  But why? How could he have known? Filled with remorse for the tragedy they had caused on the other side of the Afon Noah, the Toga mi Lyo had kept that history carefully sealed away, never sharing its secret with the people of this country. Here, they were known as the Ahlyo, the People of the Mist, from a land far away. The only ones who knew the truth were the Ahlyo themselves. And now Elin, along with the Yojeh, the Aluhan, and Ialu.

  Her eyes met Yohalu’s. He was watching her reaction with a bland expression. He knows, Elin thought. Her mouth grew dry, and she struggled to breathe. Yohalu had known that if the chief saw her, he would mention the Toga mi Lyo. That’s why he’d brought her here. She was overcome with confusion. The world around her seemed to warp and bend. Desperately, she struggled to maintain her composure.

  “Are you all right?” the chief asked with a look of concern. “You look pale.”

  Elin shook her head. “I’m fine. I was just a bit surprised, that’s all.” Her eyes darted toward Yohalu and back to the chief. “Where did you learn the name Toga mi Loh?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  The chief blinked, as though wondering why she would ask such a question. “Where? Nowhere. We’ve always known. When a child with green eyes is born in this village, we say they’re Toga mi Loh.”

  Elin’s eyes widened. “There are children in this village who are born with green eyes?”

  The chief nodded, looking a bit taken aback. “Yes indeed. Not that many, but yes. My granddaughter is a Toga mi Loh.” He turned and said something to the women. One of them rose and, stepping into the corridor, called someone’s name. A young girl of about ten appeared and timidly approached them. She had probably been in the next room all this time.

  “Come,” the chief said, and she stepped forward with a shy smile. Kneeling in front of Elin and the others, she bowed. When she raised her head, Elin stared at her eyes. As the chief had said, they were green.

  * * *

  After dinner, the women began preparing the bedding for the guests, and Elin slipped outside. The chill night air caressed her skin. She drew a deep breath. Darkness enveloped the valley, and the lantern light seeping from the houses twinkled like fireflies. Above her, the night sky was ablaze with stars. Gazing at the heavens, which seemed to suck her in, she let her thoughts flow like a rushing stream.

  The first Toda village. A place where green-eyed children were born and called Toga mi Loh. Her thoughts sped in the direction to which these things pointed. She trembled.

  Why did something so obvious never occur to me before?

  The Yojeh had given the sacred treasure, the Toda whistle, to Yaman Hasalu and permitted him to ride the Toda. Yet that was impossible. The Yojeh’s ancestor was a Royal Beast Rider, not a Toda Rider. It was the Toga mi Lyo, not the Yojeh, who knew how to control the Toda.

  And besides …

  The first Yojeh and the Toga mi Lyo were mortal enemies. They’d fought to the death on the other side of the Afon Noah. Why hadn’t she seen this? Why hadn’t she noticed how strange it was for Toda to have been used in a country built by the Yojeh?

  Somewhere along the way, the tale passed down through the generations had been twisted. Something was missing. Where and when had Jeh, the first Yojeh, learned to control Toda? The knowledge bequeathed to the Stewards and Riders was far too detailed to have been learned from hunting wild Toda as food for the Royal Beasts. Or from fighting them. Clearly, the knowledge that could transform wild Toda into weapons had belonged to the Toga mi Lyo. If so, then who had given this knowledge to the Stewards and the Riders?

  Not the Ahlyo. That was unthinkable. Vowing to protect the Law until the end of time, the Toga mi Lyo had become the Ao-Loh, the People of the Law, who were now known as the Ahlyo. They were the only ones she knew who could have passed on this knowledge, yet they would never have done so. Even her mother, who had been disowned by the Ahlyo, had despised using the Toda as weapons and had guarded the Law with her life. If they had known that the Toda would be used to fight for this country, the Ahlyo would never have shared the Handler’s Art that allowed people to control them.

  Were there Toga mi Lyo in this country other than those who had become the Ahlyo? At this thought, a memory fragment shifted deep inside her brain. The smell of smoke, the light of dawn …

  Ah, that’s it …

  As if a flame had been kindled in her mind’s eye, she saw the scorched pages of her mother’s diary. The strange lines in the middle. The words she had read so many t
imes they were now seared in her memory.

  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 …

  Shivering, Elin hugged herself. Who were the Kalenta Loh, the people her mother, an Ahlyo, had longed to meet?

  At that moment, she heard the rattle of a door behind her. Turning, she saw Yohalu silhouetted by the light spilling from the house. He strolled up and stood beside her. Stretching, he took a deep breath of night air, then smiled at her.

  “You knew that there were people in this village with green eyes, didn’t you?” she murmured.

  “Yes, I did,” he answered. “The girl’s great-uncle had green eyes, too. I was surprised when I first met him. Unfortunately, he died in an accident eight years ago.”

  “Her great-uncle?”

  “Yes, the chief’s younger brother. In fact, I just learned that the daughter of the chief’s brother was the girl’s mother. She married her cousin, the chief’s son.”

  “Both the chief’s granddaughter and his younger brother have green eyes? They seem to be rather common in his family.”

  “There’s a reason for that,” Yohalu said with a wry smile. “It’s not something they want to boast about, I’m sure. I’m guessing the chief didn’t tell you because he hadn’t explained it to his granddaughter yet. Would you like to hear it?”

  Seeing her nod, Yohalu launched into the tale. “When Oshiku Hasalu decided to build the first Toda village here, he left everything up to a man that he trusted completely. Oshiku told him to take any men who wished to become Toda Stewards into this mountain valley along with their families. They built the Toda Hall and Chambers and raised Toda hatched from eggs. This man trained the first Stewards, teaching them everything they needed to know.