Seirei no Moribito - Volume 1 - Chapter 3.2

CHAPTER II: IN THE SECRET ARCHIVES 

It was an unforgettable winter for Shuga as well. The Master Star Reader gave him the key to the secret archives and relieved him of all other duties and training, and he immersed himself in deciphering Kainan Nanai’s memoirs, which had lain undisturbed for almost two centuries. 
A few air vents provided the only openings in the underground archives, and no light entered from outside. Shuga brought ten fat candles and used mirrors to reflect their light. Although he would have liked to bring down a charcoal brazier for warmth, he had been warned that burning charcoal in that small space could poison him. The room was freezing, but he wore padded clothing and relied on the faint warmth of the candles for heat. 
He only left the archives twice a day, for breakfast and supper, and whenever he entered the dining hall, he had to endure the cold stares of his fellow Star Readers, who pointedly ignored him. The hatch that opened into the archives was located in the Master’s stone-tiled room, and as a result, everyone else believed that Shuga was working for the Master Star Reader on some special task. People are so petty, he thought frequently. How could these men, who had supposedly chosen the study of Tendo as their life’s work, waste their time envying his success? Would he do the same, he wondered, if he were in their position? He thought not, but he supposed it was possible he might feel very jealous. Whichever the case, he did not let such a little thing discourage him. The more he read, the more engrossed in the memoirs he became. The content was so fascinating that he often forgot to eat supper. 
Nanai’s memoirs were carved onto stone tablets, each crammed with fine script. He had probably originally written them in ink on cloth or hide, but his successors had spent much time and effort copying them onto stone so they would not disintegrate over the years. It must have been a daunting task, for his memoirs amounted to several hundred stone tablets. They began with Nanai’s memories of his youth, when he spent his days studying Tendo, being trained to read the future in the stars. He recorded everything in scrupulous detail, and as Shuga read, it gradually dawned on him why Nanai had been so meticulous about recording events: He knew that time will always twist the truth and facts will always be changed to embellish a story or create a myth. Nanai realized that he would be the main character in the story of New Yogo’s founding. Therefore, in addition to the distorted facts that eventually became legend, he secretly recorded what he had really experienced for future generations. 
Reading further, Shuga also began to see why this record had to be kept secret. The first Mikado, Torugaru, had been a weak and cowardly man without a mind of his own. It was not because he had tired of the pointless conflict in his home country that he renounced his right to the throne, but because he was afraid of being killed. Nanai had chosen him for this very weakness, for his docility: He was easy to manipulate, a puppet in king’s clothing. 
It was the tales he heard from a Star Reader and explorer that drew Nanai to the Nayoro Peninsula. According to the explorer, it was a very rich land, easy to protect from enemy attack. He had also been impressed by the Yakoo belief that the visible and invisible worlds of Sagu and Nayugu intertwined to create a vibrant universe. Nanai was terribly disappointed that the Yakoo fled into the mountains when the Yogoese reached the peninsula, as he wanted to question them and learn more. But he had no time to seek them out; he had to make the incompetent Mikado establish a new country. Comments such as I wish he’d use his own brains once in a while! peppered his memoirs, and Shuga found himself liking the man, who indulged in a little grumbling as he poured his heart and soul into his tremendous task. 
The memoirs were written in ancient Yogoese, which was very difficult to read. By the time Shuga reached the point where Nanai had founded the nation, winter was coming to an end and the new year had already begun. Although he was unaware of it, there had been much less snow than usual, and the Star Readers confirmed the coming of a terrible drought. 
 
While Shuga remained secluded in the archives, a great change had taken place within the palace. The Mikado’s first-born son, fourteen-year-old Sagum, had caught a cold early that winter, and he was now deathly ill. The Master Star Reader stayed closeted with the prince’s physician in Ichinomiya Palace for days on end, trying desperately to save the boy’s life. 
Sagum and Chagum were the Mikado’s only sons; the Third Queen had as yet only given him daughters. The Mikado privately consulted the Master Star Reader about his gravest fear. “Sagum may die,” he said in an anguished voice. “Should that happen, what am I to do about Chagum?” Chagum was, after all, his son. They might not live under the same roof the way commoners did, but he still loved him. He had tried so hard to live up to his role as ruler that, when he had learned that his second son harbored the water demon, he had steeled himself to sever any attachment to him — ordering his death, because that is what a Mikado must do. But once the heat of the moment had passed, Chagum’s face had begun to haunt him. 
“Mikado,” the Master Star Reader said. “Haste is dangerous. Do not worry. There are many possible ways to handle this, depending on how things develop. Our first priority must be to heal Prince Sagum. In the meantime, I will order the Hunters to find Prince Chagum as quickly as possible and bring him safely back to you.” With these words, he calmed the Mikado’s fears. 

He left the Mikado’s presence, and as he walked toward the Star Palace, he happened to glance up at the sky. Stars were scattered like sand across the firmament in a breathtaking display. He felt something akin to pain stir in the depths of his heart. It has been so long since I read the stars. To think that a Star Reader should have no time for that! He was no longer a Star Reader, he thought, not in the true sense of the job. 
He resumed walking, following his servant, who carried a lantern to light their way. Instead of a Star Reader, I’ve become a lantern bearer, lighting the path this country will take. He was suddenly acutely aware of the heavy burden of responsibility he bore, and with it, a great fatigue, something he had been too busy to notice for a long time. 
When he reached his chamber, Gakai was already there waiting for him. “Have you prepared the statement to the people about the impending drought?” the Master Star Reader asked him. 
Gakai nodded. “Here is the message that will be given to every village chief,” he said. 
The Master Star Reader took the paper from him, but the expression on his face grew stern as he read it. He raised his head abruptly, his keen eyes fixed on Gakai. “This is not what I told you. My orders were to reduce the percentage of rice planted to one-fifth, and to plant tougher crops like shiga and yassha instead. But you’ve written that they should plant one-third of their fields with rice. Why did you change it without asking me?” 
A thin film of sweat shone on Gakai’s forehead, but he returned the Master Star Reader’s gaze steadily. “I apologize for acting on my own. But the Chief Treasurer strongly objected to cutting rice production to one-fifth. He insisted that it would ruin the country.” 
Rice was the country’s most valuable crop because the people paid their taxes with it. It was collected from each village and then brought to the country’s storehouses, from which a certain amount was sold to merchants for cash. It was only natural that the Chief Treasurer, who was responsible for the nation’s coffers, would violently object to reducing rice production, and the Master Star Reader had fully expected his interference. He breathed a mental sigh. Gakai would obviously never be suited to serve as the Master Star Reader. “Of course the Chief Treasurer complained,” he said. “That’s his job — to protect the government’s wealth. But why did you, a Star Reader, do what he said without question?” 
Gakai looked perplexed. “Because … I thought that protecting the country is the most important thing for Star Readers too.” 
The Master Star Reader shook his head slowly. “What on earth have you learned in all the time you’ve been in the Star Palace? You’ve spent your days studying the majestic truth that all those who live on this earth are inextricably bound to the stars in the heavens, moved by invisible threads — yet you still don’t understand how this country works! Anyone involved in the political affairs of this land, not just the Chief Treasurer, is going to put the nation’s wealth first, especially the government officials who skim profits off the merchants. To them, the death of one or two hundred peasants from starvation is far preferable to reducing the amount of money in the treasury. This is precisely why we need Star Readers. We can see much farther into the future than anyone else, with much broader vision. It is this that enables us to lead the country properly. 
“Can’t you see? If we make the farmers plant rice because of our greed, in the fall we will reap only withered crops and the bitter anger of people dying from starvation. And that anger will run deep and swell until it shakes the country to its foundations.” Gakai stared at the ground. The Master Star Reader’s voice was quiet but firm, brooking no further argument. “Rewrite the message and make sure it reaches every chief in the land as quickly as possible. Do you understand?” 
Gakai could only nod his head.