Seirei no Moribito - Volume 2 - Chapter 1.1

PART 1 INTO THE DARKNESS 
CHAPTER I THE GUARDIAN OF THE DARKNESS 

Balsa stood on a rocky ledge beside a cave, the overlapping ridges of the Misty Blue Mountains dropping away beneath her. A stream rushed from the cave mouth and thundered into a basin far below, wrapping her in the tingling scent of fresh water. The hot, dry summer had passed, and the green foliage was beginning to fade. Within a month, the mountain slopes would be covered in a blaze of autumn leaves. 
Balsa closed her eyes. The setting sun burned a red circle against her eyelids. She had stood on this shelf once before, after her foster father, Jiguro, had led her weeping through the caves. Just six years old, she had trembled to see the foreign land spread out below her; she could not begin to imagine the life that awaited her there. Years later, she was a bodyguard by trade, her black, weathered hair bound carelessly into a ponytail and her belongings slung over the end of her well-used spear. Those mountains to the south now separated her from everyone she loved in New Yogo, while to the north, through the cave, lay her native Kanbal, whose very name stirred bitter memories within her. 
And yet now that was where she must go. 
With her eyes still closed, she gently ran a finger over the long, twisting line carved into her spear shaft. Right at the first branch. Right again at the second branch, left at the third … She could hear Jiguro’s deep voice reciting the route that the mark represented. 
The rugged land of Kanbal followed the contours of the Yusa mountains, “the mother range,” which hid a deep labyrinth of caves. Parents constantly warned their children to stay out of the caves, telling them stories of the darkness ruled by the Mountain King and the terrible hyohlu who guarded his kingdom. Despite these warnings, however, probably every child in Kanbal ventured a little way inside at least once in his or her life. While the rock near the surface was limestone, it soon gave way to smooth white hakuma stone. A piece of hakuma was the highest badge of courage among Kanbalese children, for it proved that the bearer had gone into the darkness beyond the reach of daylight. Every few years, one or two children who snuck into the caves failed to return. Perhaps they were eaten by the hyohlu as their parents claimed, or perhaps they simply lost their way in the complex maze of tunnels. 
Balsa too had been taught to fear the caves, and though she had survived countless battles through strength and bravery alone, she felt the familiar terror rising in her stomach as she stood before the dark opening. She could have entered Kanbal through the official border gate like other travelers. Rogsam, the king of Kanbal who had hunted her for fifteen years, had died a decade ago. She was the only person alive who knew how he had seized the throne; she did not need to fear reprisal, even if she strode boldly across the border. But she wanted to return through this same cave. Somehow she felt that it was the right thing to do — to walk alone through the darkness, retracing her steps to her native land. 
She had tried so hard to forget Kanbal. Thinking about it hurt like an old scar, tender to the touch. Physical wounds healed over time, but the more she tried to ignore the pain in her soul, the deeper it seemed to fester. There was only one way to deal with it: She must confront it head-on. 
Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath, bidding a silent farewell to the Misty Blue Mountains and everyone she loved in New Yogo. Then she turned abruptly and stepped into the darkness. 
Balsa walked along the stones close to the wall, carefully staying clear of the rushing stream. The light behind her dwindled to a tiny point and then vanished altogether, but she continued on slowly, her eyes open, keeping one hand on the wall. She knew that beneath her feet, the limestone of the surface rock would soon give way to the smooth white hakuma and eventually milky green lyokuhaku. Legend held that if a traveler went far enough into the cave, he might find the palace of the Mountain King, which was supposedly made of the most precious gem in Kanbal: luisha, the luminous blue stone. Balsa wished she could see her way now. 
Never take light into the caves. 
Jiguro’s voice echoed in her mind. The memory was as fresh as if it had been yesterday, not years and years ago. 
The hyohlu hate fire. If you bring a torch or lantern, they’ll smell it and track you down. The only way to get through here alive is to walk slowly, feeling the rock. 
Perhaps he had been trying, in his clumsy way, to comfort her, a little girl sobbing with fear. 
Don’t worry. I know the way. 
As Balsa’s feet and hands automatically searched a route through the darkness, her mind wandered back over the history that had taken her away from Kanbal. Jiguro had been a man of few words, very different from Balsa’s father, Karuna, who had talked and laughed a lot. And yet the two men had been very close. Karuna had been the physician to Naguru, the king of Kanbal, while Jiguro served as the king’s master of martial arts. 
Ironically, this good fortune led to tragedy for them both. Naguru had always been sickly, and one winter he came down with a bad cold that lingered on into spring. His younger brother, the Crown Prince Rogsam, saw his chance. He ordered Karuna to poison the king. If Karuna refused or tried to reveal the plot, Rogsam said, he would kill the six-year-old Balsa. 
Well aware of Rogsam’s cruelty, Karuna was forced to do as he said. He asked him if he might use a poison that weakened the body slowly over time, so the courtiers would attribute Naguru’s death to illness rather than murder. Rogsam agreed. He kept a close watch on Karuna until he began administering the poison, but as the king grew visibly weaker, he relaxed his vigilance. After all, Karuna could not possibly betray him now. 
But Karuna knew the prince well, and he was sure that Rogsam would never let him live once the king was dead. Nor would he stop there: He would kill Balsa too to prevent future reprisals. In the time allowed him by Naguru’s slow death, Karuna told Jiguro what had happened and begged him to save his daughter. 
And Jiguro gave up everything — life as he had known it — to help his friend. 
Balsa paused for a moment before moving on. Although she had been only six, her memory of the evening Jiguro took her away remained as clear and cold as crystal. It had been a warm night at the end of spring. The sweet scent of blossoms lingered on the air, and the trees and the stone wall encircling the house cast long shadows over the grass. Kanbalese houses were built of thick stone to protect against the long cruel winters, and Balsa loved to sit on the wide windowsill overlooking the garden. Karuna had not returned from the castle for several days, leaving Balsa at home with her nanny, and she had been waiting for him then, bare feet dangling out the window, hoping to catch sight of her father. 
Suddenly she heard a dull thud, like two soft objects colliding. Startled, she looked toward the sound. She saw Jiguro opening the wooden gate into the yard, a bundle under his arm, and shivers ran through her when she realized the bundle was a man. 
Jiguro looked at Balsa and raised a finger to his lips. The man was unconscious, and Jiguro swiftly laid him down against the garden wall in the shadow of some shrubs, bound him to a tree, and gagged him. When he gestured to Balsa to come down from her perch, she slipped quietly to the ground, moving as if in a dream. 
Jiguro grasped her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Your father told me to take you away from here. You must come with me right now.” 
She looked up at him. “But Nanny said it’s almost dinnertime,” she said. “I have to tell her where I’m going.” 
“You can’t tell her anything. If she knows you’ve escaped with me, she could get in trouble. You see that man over there? He was waiting to kill you. If you don’t want to die, you must do as I say.” 
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along after him. She began to weep silently. “My … my shoes,” she whispered as they reached the gate. 
“Ah, yes,” he said. “I came prepared.” He knelt and took a pair of shoes out of his knapsack. They were too big, but he laced them up tightly. “They’ll have to do,” he said as he stood up. Then, clutching her arm in his large hand, he all but dragged her out of the garden. 
Years later, Balsa headed steadily deeper into the caves. She bit her lip as the memories came flooding back. From the time she had fled through this same darkness with Jiguro until Rogsam’s death fifteen years later, her life had been hell. Six months after their escape, some migrant workers from Kanbal told them that Karuna had been murdered by thieves. It was a cruel blow, for the hope that she would one day see him again had kept the young Balsa going through months of fear and confusion. Jiguro told her everything then — why her father had been killed, why they had had to run. He spoke to her as if she were already grown up, and a terrible hatred toward Rogsam sprouted in her heart, becoming a hard knot buried deep inside her. 

She had vowed to kill Rogsam, and she had begged Jiguro to teach her to fight. He shook his head. “Fighting is for men,” he said. “No matter how hard you try, you’re still a girl. You’ll never have the muscle to amount to anything. And right now you’re just a kid, so training could stunt your growth.” 
But she refused to give up. When Jiguro rose at dawn to practice, she rose with him and watched him intently, mimicking every move in his daily regimen of exercises. When he began working as a bodyguard for a rich merchant, she rushed to the scene of every scuffle and studied how he fought. 
Then one day something terrible happened: One of Rogsam’s hunters found them. While Balsa had watched Jiguro fight many times, she had never seen a battle as harrowing as that one. The two men appeared to be dancing — thrust, strike, parry, their spears whirling too fast for her eyes to follow. As his opponent’s spear sliced across his shoulder, Jiguro’s spear plunged through the other man’s chest. 
The smell of blood and the agony of death turned Balsa’s legs to jelly. She could not move, even when she saw Jiguro crumple over his opponent as though he too were dying. But he was not dying. He sprawled across the dead man and wept soundlessly, his body heaving with sobs. It was the first time she had ever seen him cry. 
It was not until much later that she learned why he grieved. The man Rogsam had sent to kill them was one of Jiguro’s best friends. The king was not only powerful; he was also vicious. After this incident, Jiguro finally agreed to teach her to fight, for she would need combat skills if their pursuers ever killed him. 
Balsa had thrown herself into practice with all she possessed, the thick, hot lump of hate erupting with every thrust of her spear and every jab of her fists. Although she was only eight, she fought like a mad thing, heedless of injury. “You’re a born warrior,” Jiguro muttered one day. “Perhaps you were fated to do this.” His next words remained seared on her memory. “Conflict seems to follow those who learn to fight. If I could, I would spare you a life of bloodshed. But I have no choice.” 
Nor did he have any choice himself, for no matter how far they ran, Rogsam’s assassins always found them. But Jiguro was strong — stronger than all of them. By the time Rogsam died, he had killed eight friends to save his own and Balsa’s life. 
Balsa was jolted back to the present by a change in the flow of air. She ran her hand along the rock wall, stretching out her arm until it ended abruptly and left her fingers swimming in space. She took a few careful steps forward, groping in the dark until her hand met stone on the other side. She had come to the first branch. 
She checked the mark on her spear handle. She had copied it on impulse from Jiguro’s spear when he died, not sure if she’d ever come back. Even if I make a mistake, I can still find my way back as long as I remember how many turns I took and in which direction, she reassured herself. She was beginning to regret her decision to come through the caves. Perhaps it was just foolish pride, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. The longer she spent trapped in this thick, impenetrable darkness, the more she felt the air being squeezed out of her chest. She struggled to keep herself from bursting into a run. Besides the obvious foolishness of running blindly, her footsteps would echo deep into the caves, and if the hyohlu heard, she would never get out alive. 
Moving carefully back until her hand touched the right wall, she turned the corner. The next turn would be on that side. Right at the next branch, then left, and after that, left once again and I should be outside. The rushing stream, which had roared continuously in her ears, gradually receded into the distance, and though her straw sandals muffled her footsteps, her breathing now seemed very loud in the silence. 
She had just reached the next passage and was turning the corner when the acrid smell of smoke stung her nose. An image flashed into her mind: a midwinter’s night, her father returning home through a blizzard, and in his hand, a torch that smelled just like this one, drenched in tallow to burn through the wind and snow. 
A scream jerked her back to reality. The wordless wail bounced off the walls, echoing through the caves — a child’s voice, high and shrill. 
Dropping her bag on the ground, Balsa took her spear and sped cautiously through the dark. The crisscrossing caves distorted sound, making it hard to locate the scream’s origin. At the next branch, however, she saw a light and raced toward it, taking care to remember the route back. 
To eyes accustomed to the dark, the light of the torch seemed as bright as day, reflecting off the white hakuma stone with a brilliance that lit up the entire cavern. Then a streak of light whistled through the air and struck the torch, quenching its flame. Darkness returned, but not before the scene had imprinted itself on Balsa’s mind: a boy gripping a torch, his back pressed against the wall, and a girl cowering on the ground beyond him. 
The smoke from the extinguished torch tickled her nose as she felt her way to where she had seen the boy. His ragged breathing told her that he was still alive and, as she did not smell blood, she was fairly certain he was unharmed. Reaching his side, she grabbed his shoulder. He jumped. “Don’t scream!” she whispered fiercely. “Tell me what happened.” 
“My sis — my sister … the hyohlu …” 
Balsa turned in the direction of the little girl. Something lurked in the darkness just past her — something uncanny. Swinging her spear toward it, Balsa exhaled slowly. The stillness that always came before battle settled over her, and adrenaline surged through her veins, shrinking the world down to nothing but herself and the enemy before her. Drilled to fight even in the dark, she could just make out a phosphorescent pale blue glow. Keeping her eyes wide open, she shifted her gaze slightly to the side until she discerned a shape within the bluish haze. So that’s a hyohlu, Balsa thought. She felt chilled to the core. 
When she stepped forward, so did he. When she leveled her spear at him, he moved his toward her. It was like watching her reflection in a mirror. A deep, crackling tension bound them together and the heat of it flashed through her body. Energy rolled toward her, slamming into her chest like a wave crashing against the shore. She leapt toward him, but just before she drove her spear home, a shiver raced across her core. She jerked away quickly and a black wind grazed her side. Faster than thought, she knocked the hyohlu’s spear aside with her own. Sparks flew at the impact, but already his rebounding spear was arcing down upon her head. Their weapons clashed with dizzying speed, thrusting, parrying, and whirling through the air like windmills. Balsa no longer relied on her eyes or even her conscious mind; her body moved automatically, waiting to the last possible second before knocking away her opponent’s thrust and striking back. 
A strange sensation crept over her. It was like she was dancing in a dream with her opponent as her partner, each move leading naturally to the next in the comfortable rhythm that controlled her body. Although their spears whined with ferocious speed, time seemed to move slowly, liquidly. 
I’ve done this before, she thought in wonder, a long time ago. Indeed, there was something familiar about the hyohlu; he reminded her of someone she should have known. Their spears began to slow and the storm that had raged between them lessened, until finally they both came to perfect stillness. 
Balsa exhaled a gust of air and realized with surprise that she had forgotten to breathe. Their duel, which had seemed so long, had lasted but a single breath! She thought she saw the hyohlu bow slightly, and she inclined her head in return. The dimly glowing figure receded into the darkness, and Balsa stared blankly after it. 
What was that? she wondered. The encounter had been more like a wordless conversation than a desperate fight for her life. Once, long ago, when she had been practicing with Jiguro, their moves had matched so perfectly that they had fused into a single flow. “The Spear Dance!” Jiguro had murmured in disbelief. “So you’ve actually reached that level.” 
Balsa broke into a cold sweat. Was the apparition she had just faced not a hyohlu after all? Could it have been Jiguro? Don’t be ridiculous! she chided herself. He died six years ago. You buried him with your own hands. 
Just then she heard a faint moan behind her — the little girl. Balsa collected herself abruptly and turned around. Moving cautiously toward the sound, she reached out to touch the child. “It’s all right now,” she said. “The hyohlu has gone. Are you hurt?” 
“My foot …” the girl answered between sobs. 
Balsa felt the boy approach uncertainly. His hand, waving about in the dark, touched her head, and she took it to guide him toward the girl. 
“Gina, are you all right?” he whispered. 
“Kassa!” the girl cried. 
“It’s all right now,” Balsa repeated quietly. “But let’s get out of here. I’ll carry your sister. Grab the end of my spear and follow me quietly.” 
The boy helped the girl climb up on Balsa’s back. Recalling the route she had taken to find them, she traced her way back to the passage where she had left her bag. By the time they finally left the cave, the moon was already sinking in the west.