ONE
VOICE FROM THE PAST
1
THE KIBA CHAMBER
For a split second, the sky lit up like it was midday, followed moments later by a deafening crack of thunder. Before the last stomach-wrenching rumble had faded, the rain began to fall—a torrential downpour, as though the bottom had dropped from the heavens.
The officer sitting in the carriage reached out and closed the window with a crooked smile. “Well, that’s inconvenient,” he said. “We’ll have to pull up at the entrance to the Stone Chambers unless we want to get soaking wet.”
The woman sitting across from him, however, stared vacantly out the closed window without responding. Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, the officer regarded her silently for a moment before trying again. “Lady Elin. You told the driver to stop before we reached the entrance, but it’s pouring. Shall I tell him to drive us to the entrance after all?”
Elin started as though waking from some reverie and turned her eyes toward him. “Pardon me? What did you say, Yohalu?”
A faint smile rose to the man’s lips, but he repeated what he had just said. Elin cast him an apologetic look. “You’re right,” she said. “We will get sopping wet. But it’s forbidden to bring horses too close because it could excite the Toda.”
Yohalu blinked. “Yes, I know, but surely the horses’ scent wouldn’t reach inside in such a downpour.”
“You are probably right,” Elin said. “But Toda Stewards hate to break the rules.”
At this, Yohalu nodded. “True. I suppose we must get wet, then.” He reached down, picked up two conical hats of braided sedge that lay on top of a bag between his feet, and handed one to Elin. “Although I suppose these won’t do us much good in this rain,” he said.
Elin took the hat but did not put it on even when the carriage stopped. Instead, she placed it gently on the seat. Seeing the frown on Yohalu’s face, she said, “I appreciate your concern, but the Stewards don’t like people to enter the caves with their faces concealed. You are wearing a uniform, so in your case, I’m sure it won’t matter. But I had better enter with my face bare.”
She bowed and then reached out to open the door. Yohalu gently moved her hand aside and raised the handle himself, pushing the door open. “After you,” he said.
Elin bowed once more and then stepped into the onslaught. Although she was drenched in seconds, she silently thanked the chill rain that soaked her body, dripped from her hair, and ran down her forehead. This way, no one would know if the drops that poured down her cheeks were water or tears.
The smell of wet trees and grass enveloped her. The huge rock face was split by a black fissure, the entrance to the caves where the Toda were kept. It loomed ominously through the haze of rain, and the figures hurrying in and out of that crack reminded her of ants scurrying to and from their nest.
Yohalu stepped down from the carriage to stand beside her. Catching sight of him, the guards outside the entrance snapped to attention. The sweet scent of Toda slime, which not even the rain could erase, wafted toward Elin, and she gripped the collar of her robe tightly. As she made a dash for the entrance, taking care not to slip in the mud and conscious of the curious stares directed toward her, she fought to shield her mind and keep herself from being swept into the maelstrom of memories that surged inside her. Even so, she heard once again the mourning wail of the Toda, a shrill keening sound like wind whistling through a broken pipe. With it came the memory of a dawn more than twenty years ago that had changed her life forever. She shuddered.
Although this was not the Toda village where she had been raised, the caves were built just like the ones she remembered from her childhood: A large cavern inside the entrance, known as the Hall, branched off into multiple caves called the Stone Chambers. Torches in wall brackets burned vigorously, sending shadows dancing across the damp stone.
The Toda Stewards, who were gathered in the Hall, stared at Elin, wariness evident in their faces. Enormous Toda carcasses lay on straw mats spread across the floor. Five days had already passed since their deaths, and the mucous membrane that cloaked their bodies had dried, making them appear like wooden carvings coated in glue rather than the bodies of once-living creatures.
All Toda were fearsome beasts that could bear warriors swiftly across the battlefield, scattering cavalry before them, but the largest and strongest were the Kiba or “fangs.” These formed the vanguard, and they could massacre enemy troops.
Five days ago, every single Kiba in the village of Tokala had been found dead, a disaster for the Toda Stewards that managed the Stone Chambers. It was the chief inspector’s job to investigate the cause of death and punish those responsible. Soon after the news had reached him, he arrived in the village and seized the man responsible for their care. But for some reason, the man’s punishment had been deferred by order of the Aluhan, and a new inspector had been summoned. It now dawned on the Stewards that the new inspector was a woman, and their consternation deepened.
Shifting her eyes from the Kiba carcasses, Elin walked over to where the Stewards stood along the wall. “Who is your chief?” she asked.
A white-haired man jerked, then inclined his head timidly. When she drew near enough for him to see the color of her eyes, surprise suffused his face.
Text copyright © 2009 by Nahoko Uehashi
Translation copyright © 2020 by Cathy Hirano
Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Yuta Onoda
