Jang Geon, about to sprint into the woods, stopped short. Someone was already running out of the trees.
“Jang Geon!”
It was Sad Wolf. She came up in quick, light steps, glanced around, and let out a small breath of awe.
“All of this…”
The forest path was littered with scores of blades—large and small—Dang Gyeonsang had thrown and Jang had knocked aside. Beside them lay the fresh headless corpse.
“…It’s over.”
Jang only gave a silent nod. Sad Wolf studied him a moment, then seemed to remember something.
“Ah! The antidote! We have to find antidote for the poisoned ones!”
“Any of the hireblades alive?”
“…We didn’t kill all of them.”
That made sense. Warriors using the spirits’ power would have crushed men with their footwork trapped in tight spaces.
“No need. He bluffed.”
“Huh? Bluff? You mean he lied?”
Jang walked to the corpse as he spoke.
“The hireblades were keyed up and swallowed it, but real poisons you can scatter loose in open air that kill? Rare. Very dear. You don’t use that kind of thing whenever, unless your coin is rotting in piles.”
With Sad Wolf watching, he searched Dang Gyeonsang’s clothes. He’d meant to help the tribe first and then strip the body, but someone had already picked it clean enough; he might as well finish.
More throwers spilled out—another fistful beyond the ones already used. Aside from that, there was a small purse and a little square paper packet. Nothing that hinted at identity.
Jang took the packet and peered in. Another paper showed inside, yellow blotched with red. He drew out half a dozen paper talismans. While he turned them in his hands, wondering, Sad Wolf suddenly flinched back.
“What is it?”
“T-that. What is that?”
He glanced from her to the talismans, wondering what he was missing. They were just yellow paper scribbled over in red with characters he couldn’t read. He felt nothing from them.
He held one up.
“…This?”
“Ugh! Put it away!”
She recoiled, face twisted in disgust, as if he were shoving filth at her. Jang was at a loss. To him it was just paper.
“…Why?”
“You don’t feel it? There’s something awful about it. I can’t explain it, but it’s creepy and sickening… just, don’t shove that at me!”
Jang wondered if the flaw was his. He focused inner energy into his eyes, even brought the paper to his nose. Old, musty paper—that was all he smelled. He even breathed a thread of inner power into the talisman. Nothing happened. It only stiffened like any paper would.
“I’ve got nothing.”
He shook his head and slipped the set back into the packet. One-Eye Cloud would explain better than Sad Wolf. He pocketed the purse as well and rose.
“Let’s go back.”
****
Fifteen of the thirty hireblades were dead. The rest had been disarmed, given splints where needed, faces swollen or a limb broken, and shoved inside a fenced pen at the edge of the village. They sat in a sullen cluster, reading the tribe’s eyes. Inside the pen, Sad Wolf set splints on the injured.
Red Wind came up beside Jang as he watched her and the prisoners.
“Your clothes took a few cuts. Anything broken? Looked to me that black bastard was worse than all thirty hireblades put together.”
“Nothing much.”
For all the throwers and mystic talk and poison, one clean stroke had taken the man’s head. “Nothing much” would do.
“Heh. If you say so.”
Catching the dry joke, Red Wind chuckled and nodded. He kept his gaze on Sad Wolf and the prisoners, like Jang, and said,
“Thanks to you, no one was hurt on our side. Thank you, Jang.”
“It’s not over yet. We still need the Martial Alliance branch chief here to hear us out.”
“Sure, but in that talk no one else is dying. That Central Plains man—Kang Ryung, was it?—we found the original crooked deed in his coat, and we have the hireblades. We can prove self-defense. That’s enough.”
“Don’t forget what I said before.”
“To lock down title to the valley? Got it. We’ll make it official.”
Jang nodded and turned. Red Wind called after him.
“Where to? Not hungry? It’s time to eat.”
“I need to see One-Eye Cloud.”
Red Wind smiled.
“Don’t be late for the evening feast.”
Jang only tipped his chin and walked on. Red Wind looked back to the pen, met Sad Wolf’s eyes, and went to help her.
Having summoned her uncle with a glance, Sad Wolf watched Jang’s back recede. The broad, solid back looked somehow lonesome. A moment later she shifted to wondering how to sit at his side tonight without making it obvious.
Red Wind shook his head, watching his niece blush and drift. Maybe it was time for her to leave his care.
Jang, leaving them behind, went straight for One-Eye Cloud’s tent. Reaching it, he meant to call from outside. A low voice came first from within.
“Come in.”
Jang wondered if the shaman’s art let him see through canvas and stepped inside. The riot of colors was the same as before; his face was cleaner today. Both eyes were open. A fire-pit in the tent’s center set the red and silver rings in those eyes flickering.
“First, thank you, Jang. Truly. Thanks to you, not a single one of ours was hurt.”
“As I told Red Wind, it isn’t entirely over. We need the branch chief to confirm self-defense and the valley’s title.”
One-Eye Cloud grinned as Jang sat.
“It will go well. Our quiet life here will continue.”
Jang looked into those white-and-red eyes—prophecy or hope, he couldn’t tell—then drew the small packet from his coat.
“It seems the valley’s gold wasn’t their real aim. Just a pretext to push the tribe out. The most dangerous one had this. Sad Wolf was repulsed by it. Can you tell me what it is?”
One-Eye Cloud took the packet without a word and, with careful, slow fingers, drew out the talismans. He examined each of the five in turn, thoroughly.
When he had checked all five, he slid them back into the packet and held it out to Jang again. Only when Jang took it did his lips part.
“Five pieces woven into one—an enchantment stitched with a very wicked power. Now I know what they truly wanted.”
Jang waited for more; the shaman only stared into the fire. He’d been talkative before; tonight he clammed up. Jang finally spoke first.
“What is it?”
“Eh? Ah. Right. I should say it. I drifted off thinking about the feast—we haven’t had one in so long. Do you know how long? Not since two months ago, when Swaying Tree and Hasty River married. We used to feast at least monthly. Roast the fish we’d kept, drink the liquor we bought in the lower village. What was it called? Bamboo Leaf Green? We traded two fine deerskins for some—good stuff. Red Wind hid a few bottles; tonight will be worth seeing…”
Jang rubbed his brow with his thumb and let out a breath. One-Eye Cloud caught it, coughed, and looked sheepish.
“…Getting old gives you wrinkles and words. Here I am rambling in front of a benefactor.”
He cleared his throat again and continued.
“You didn’t meet them in the end, but there is a Spirit in this valley. The one who opens our warriors’ chests and gives me insight. They are part of nature and all of it, our ancestor and our descendant both. They teach the wisdom and joy of life and bless generosity and love. The reason we won’t leave this valley is because they’re here…”
He lifted his chin and looked up through the round smoke-hole to the sky. He stayed that way a while, then spoke again.
“…I once heard that in your lands, beings like our Spirit are called spirit-beasts. And that you drag them out of their peace, slit them open, and eat them—for nothing but advancement in those martial arts of yours.”
Jang thought he knew where this was going.
“That spell’s purpose is to drag the Spirit down to the earth and hurt them—to scar the soul and scatter the will. No wonder Sad Wolf recoiled. She’s to be our next shaman after me…”
The sky beyond the smoke-hole split into red and indigo as he went on,
“Swift Raven must have sold the valley and the knowledge together… In any case, the spell is yours now. You took it from the wicked in a fair fight; do with it as you please… My selfish request is only this: do not use it here. Do not harm the one we love and who loves us… Beyond that, I have no advice.”
Jang fingered the packet as he listened. If it was that dangerous, One-Eye Cloud could have tossed it on the fire the instant Jang handed it over. It was, after all, just paper. Handing such a threat to an outsider without a word felt careless at first glance.
But Jang understood: this was the most respect the shaman could show—an ethic that even if the thing could kill him, if it wasn’t his, he wouldn’t presume to handle it.
So Jang—without a second thought, without waiting to be asked—flicked the packet into the fire where it lay before him.
One-Eye Cloud’s eyes widened.
“…I’ve heard the martial world bets lives on elixirs made from spirit-beasts.”
“I’m not betting mine. I don’t even know how to use it.”
Jang dusted his hands and stood. Something serene in him made the shaman say,
“You’re… leaving? Now?”
“My work here seems done.”
“Eat with us and leave tomorrow…”
Jang brought his hands together and bowed with fists overlapped.
“If I stay for supper, my feet may grow heavy and I’ll linger. I can’t do that to you.”
“How would your staying be a burden? You could remain as long as you like.”
“Farewell, One-Eye Cloud. I’ll see you again.”
The shaman pursed his lips, then said,
“…All right. Go well, Jang. We are truly grateful for what you did for our tribe and our Spirit.”
Jang gave a faint smile, turned, and stepped out. One-Eye Cloud brought his hands together and bowed to his back as he went.
Jang headed straight for his own tent, where Jojo was tied. He didn’t have much to pack. He could leave at once.
On the way he passed tribefolk. In the bustle of feast-prep, old and young, warrior and not, they greeted him lightly with smiles. Jang answered each and walked on. He wished, as One-Eye Cloud had said, that they would keep this quiet life.
At his tent, Jojo looked plumper from a few lazy days. As Jang tightened the cinch, the horse snorted and fussed, seeming to guess.
“Come on. You’ve lazed enough. Don’t you feel the fat?”
At his words, Jojo only tossed his head with deeper sighs, as if to say there’s no such thing as too much play. Jang smirked and brushed the horse’s mane.
A child’s giggle chimed. Jang turned. A tribe child sat on the stump where he used to sit, chin propped on both hands, smiling.
When their eyes met, the child giggled again and asked,
“He’s so funny. So clever. Almost a person.”
“…More cunning than clever.”
Jang repeated an old line, feeling a strange twinge. He looked at the child—but it didn’t feel like looking at a child. The child saw his face and laughed again.
“That face is funny too. You’re funny.”
Those golden eyes were guileless as a child’s and yet old with wisdom. The child let him look long enough, then suddenly asked,
“Leaving?”
“…Yes. I’ve done what I can here.”
Chin still propped, the child tilted their head, playful.
“You’re a wanderer. The road is your floor and the sky your roof, and you’re the only pillar in that house. A lone pillar. That’s kind of cool.”
Jang thought he knew what he was facing now—the being who opened the warriors’ chests, who taught love and wisdom.
“Thank you, wanderer. For keeping the children from harm. And for burning that thing instead of hurting my friends.”
Jang, looking at the valley’s Spirit in a child’s form, only gave a small smile.
“…It stank. Carry it and I’d smell like it too.”
“Hm. True. No one likes a smelly person. Whoever made it must be very unpopular.”
The Spirit grinned at his answer and rose in a hop. They came close and held out a small fist.
“What?”
“Take it. Good people should always be repaid.”
Jang set his palm under the fist. The Spirit placed something on it.
“I meant to open your chest like the children. But I thought you’d hate that. So I prepared this instead.”
A tiny bead lay there. Unlike a pearl’s hard gleam, it was soft to the touch.
“You can keep it in your belly.”
An elixir? A spirit-pellet? He didn’t know what to call it, but it would be good for body and inner energy—that much he could guess. He turned to thank the Spirit—no one stood there.
He stared a moment at the spot where they’d been, then tucked the bead away. He’d find a warm, sunny place to take it and digest it with his breathing method. Jojo, who’d been quiet when the Spirit appeared, shoved his nose in, sniffing for it.
“Out of the way. You’ve lazed and eaten plenty; now you want this too?”
He pushed the horse’s head aside, finished the cinch, and mounted. He looked over the busy village one last time, clicked his tongue twice, and tapped Jojo’s flank. Jojo took the cue and plodded toward the edge of the village.
People saw him go and stared after him, puzzled. By the time Red Wind and Sad Wolf heard and ran, his back was already far below, leaving the valley.
Those who’d been prepping the feast all came out and, under the reddening stone of the evening sky, watched the wanderer draw away. Dozens of them, staring at one point, all very quiet.
They stood like that until he was so far he couldn’t be told from a dot—letting silence serve as their farewell.