PART 3: MIDSUMMER’S DAY
CHAPTER I: WINTER AT THE HUNTING CAVE
Chagum had expected the hunting cave to be small, but when they reached it, he found it was far different from what he had imagined.
They had followed the Aoyumi River, climbing ever higher, until they passed beyond a waterfall and came to a grassy glade similar to the one in front of Tanda’s hut. Behind this rose a gray cliff covered in a tangle of ivy and tree roots, which grew stoutly from any bit of soil lodged in the cliff’s cracks or ledges and spiderwebbed across its face. Now, at the end of autumn when the signs of winter deepened, the trees had shed their leaves, exposing the gray stone in many places.
There was a small opening in the rock, just large enough for one person to stand in. Tanda lit a torch and entered. A moment later he called Chagum, who timidly stepped inside, then looked about in amazement. A cavern at least as large as the great hall in the palace lay before him. The ceiling was so high that the light of the torch did not reach it, nor could it penetrate the darkness at the cave’s farthest end. He had expected the cave to be damp and dripping, but instead it was surprisingly dry.
“We call this the entranceway,” Tanda said, his voice echoing hollowly. “It’s too big, which makes it cold. Come this way, and I’ll show you our home.” Chagum hurried after him, with Balsa and Torogai not far behind. The torch illuminated three openings, one of which was covered by a wooden shutter. “You must never go into the cave on your right alone. It’s very deep and has many branches. If you lose your way in there, you’ll never get out again. The cave in the middle has a spring a little way inside with fresh, clean water. And the one on the left is the door to our house.”
Tanda removed the shutter with a clatter and went inside. Chagum noticed a faint light farther in. A few steps through the door, the cave opened up into a wide space that made him gasp in astonishment. The walls of the oval chamber were smooth and dry. On the left wall near the ceiling, three smoke holes allowed the sunlight to pour through. Sturdy split logs covered the floor, with woven rush mats laid over them. A hearth was cut into the middle of the floor, and at the far end of the room, three large earthen jars and shelves lined with various pots stood testament to the cave’s long use. There was even bedding, wrapped carefully in oiled paper to keep it from getting damp.
“It looks so comfortable!” Chagum exclaimed.
“Of course! It’s where we hibernate in winter. Give me a hand, will you? The bedding needs airing, and we have lots of cleaning to do.”
For two days they worked hard to prepare for the long winter. On the morning of the third day, when most of the work was done, Torogai headed off with Tanda to Shigumano Canyon, where she hoped to meet the Juchi Ro Gai, the Mud Dwellers of Nayugu, and learn more about Rarunga.
“We ought to get there before the snow falls,” she announced. “The Juchi Ro Gai might have already started their long winter sleep, but I suppose it’s worth a try. Balsa, you take good care of that egg.”
To Chagum’s annoyance, she made it sound as if only the egg mattered. Seeing his expression, Tanda laughed. “Don’t waste your time being angry. That’s how she gets her kicks — making people mad — so don’t give her the pleasure. Balsa,” he added, “you take care.”
Balsa folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. “Right, and what about you? Are you sure you can make it back before the snows come?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll be all right.”
When they had left, the place seemed suddenly quiet. Chagum looked up at Balsa. “It feels lonely somehow.”
“That’s because they’re so noisy! But we have so much to keep us busy that we won’t have time to be lonely.” She smiled. “And first, I’ve got to toughen you up.”
Chagum’s face fell.
In the days that followed, Balsa put the former prince through hours of chiki moves and many long runs through the forest. She also worked on improving his balance and taught him how to fall. Although Balsa was a strict teacher, she did not push him beyond his capacity, nor did she urge him on with praise or encouragement. Her approach was very matter-of-fact. The time flew by. Although Balsa remained alert for any sign of the Mikado’s men, she saw none, nor did she sense any hint of Rarunga, that fearsome Egg Eater of Nayugu. They were busy with training and daily chores from dawn to dusk.
Sometimes when Chagum wandered through the forest, where the birds warbled sweetly, or when he sat by the hearth with Balsa in the evening, he felt disoriented, as though his previous life had been some strange illusion. Only a month had passed, but his life in the Second Palace seemed very long ago. He no longer dreamed about wanting to “go home” to some unknown place, and many days went by where he did not even feel like he was carrying the spirit’s egg — as long as he did not remember why he was living in the cave with Balsa.
He fell into the habit of thinking in the late afternoons, while he gathered firewood alone in the forest. As the rays of the westerly sun shone through the branches, his mind always returned to the same question. Why me? Out of all the people in the world, why was I chosen to carry the egg?
His first thought was that he had been chosen because he was a prince. But if that were true, then what about the Yakoo boy in the legend of Torugaru, and Noya’s uncle a hundred years ago? They were commoners, and Yakoo. And besides, he was not a prince anymore. Every time he remembered this, his heart ached and he was overcome by a strange feeling. In the past, he had never questioned the fact that he was a prince; like the fact that he was the child of his mother and father, it seemed like something that would never change. Yet look how easily he had lost that rank and privilege! A person’s fortune could turn at any time.
Oddly enough, he rather liked this new self, this boy who was collecting firewood. In fact, when he thought about the old Chagum, the prince who had never dressed or even washed himself because someone else always did it for him, he wondered what on earth he could have been thinking. At first, he had not even been able to tie a knot around the kindling he gathered every day. Now his hands deftly wound the string around the bundle and secured it tightly.
Not bad, he thought. Then he smiled. I like being able to do things for myself. It’s boring to do only what others tell you to. I don’t want to be trapped as a prince anymore. He swung the bundle of firewood onto his back and glanced up at the sky, with its clouds dyed red. A shadow crossed his face. But now, he thought, I’m trapped as the Moribito, the Guardian of the Spirit.
He had chosen neither role. He had never asked to be born a prince and certainly not to be the Moribito. Filled with a futile, choking anger, he came full circle back to his original question: Why me?
On the tenth day after Tanda and Torogai left, with a sound like a sigh, it began to snow. It fell thick and fast, burying the earth and the trees. Chagum helped wash up after dinner. That night, he put his hands out to warm them at the fire, only to draw them back hastily. For the first time in his life, they had become chapped, and the heat made them sting.
Balsa took his hands in hers. “Let me see. My! Just look at that chapped skin!” Chuckling, she rose and began rummaging among the things on the shelf. Finally, she returned with an ointment that she rubbed into his cracked fingers. Chagum looked at her hands as they worked. They were so different from his mother’s — thick and rough and covered in calluses from wielding the spear. But when he felt their warm, dry touch, tears welled unbidden and spilled down his cheeks.
Balsa said nothing, but simply kept rubbing his hands. The blizzard raged outside, but the cave under the snow was warm and silent, as if they were in the bowels of the earth.
“I hate snow,” Chagum whispered. “It swallows up sound, and I feel like I can’t breathe.”
Balsa patted his hands lightly and let them fall. “Then how about I tell you a story to help you?” she said.
Chagum’s face brightened instantly. “What kind of story?”
“The story of a country far to the north, and of a little girl who was the daughter of the king’s physician.” Staring into the crackling flames, she began. “If you travel across the Misty Blue Mountains and keep going north, farther and farther, you will come to a country called Kanbal. Unlike your country, Kanbal doesn’t have good fields — only mountains covered year-round in snow, and some steep, rocky slopes. The people survive by planting tough grains and potatoes and raising goats on the mountainsides. The huge eagles that live on the cliffs feed on mice and goats, or other animals that fall to their deaths…. They especially love the marrow inside the bones, and they’ll drop them from great heights to crack the bones open and get the marrow. I can still hear the sound of the bones hitting the rocks, echoing in the valley — crack, crack. That’s what Kanbal, my homeland, is like.
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