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. 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.
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