“He is. Which means that, one day, I will be the elder’s wife.” Though the thought of traveling to an unknown place to wed a complete stranger made her nervous, she felt some pride in knowing that she was to be a person of standing in her new home.
“Tell me,” her brother said then, “have you heard of the role that the elder of Toksa must play in their local custom-a custom not observed anywhere else?”
Oneh shook her head. Her brother turned his gaze away from her to the rough, mud-plastered walls of his home.
“Brother?” Oneh said after he had been silent for some time.
When he spoke again, his voice was as calm as before, but it seemed to her that a shadow had come over his eyes. His eyes had always betrayed his emotions. That had been true since they were children.
“You know I would never object to your being married. Toksa is a peaceful, prosperous place, as you say. You needn’t be worried about a thing.”
“But-”
“You are strong, Oneh. Stronger than your parents think. And you have wisdom far beyond your years. You will make a good wife.”
She knew her brother meant what he said, but to hear such sudden praise made Oneh all the more uneasy. “What is this custom you speak of?” she asked.
“I was wrong to say anything,” her brother replied, his smile weak. “I did not mean to concern my lovely sister with trifling matters so soon before she is to be married. There is no cause for alarm. All villages have their customs. That is all I meant.”
Her brother’s smile did not fade, but the darkness in his eyes grew deeper. Oneh knew that he had something else to say, as she also knew it was better not to ask so many questions at times like these. Her brother was an honest man. If there were something she needed to know, he would tell her when the time was right.
“Toksa is a beautiful, bountiful place,” her brother said, speaking slowly. “That is its reward, you might say.”
Oneh didn’t understand. She was about to ask him after all, when he smiled broadly and turned to face her. “You must write,” he said.
“I’d like that.”
“I know you couldn’t have from home, not with everyone watching over your shoulder. But in your new home, no one will think twice about a sister corresponding with her distant brother.”
Oneh nodded, smiling.
“And if your lord husband should become jealous, just tell him you write to your peculiar brother in the capital. Tell him all I do is read books, that the dust from between their pages collects in my hair, and I delight in nothing more than walking between library shelves, my long sleeves dragging upon the floor behind me.”
Oneh laughed. “I will tell him that you are a renowned scholar. That the seminary begged you to become a priest-no, the high priest.”
“Ahh,” her brother exclaimed, “that is why you are my favorite sister.” He laughed out loud then, but even that merry sound did not drive the sadness from his eyes.
Their correspondence began soon after. They did not write often- all together, her brother’s letters fit easily inside a single parchment box. He wrote mostly concerning Oneh’s living arrangements, the weather, and how the crops were faring that year.
Once Oneh became a mother, he wanted to know everything about her children. Oneh sent detailed reports, and in return, her brother would tell her about the children he taught in his village and the fascinating books he had read. Sometimes he would talk about his studies or write humorously of the latest fashions in the capital. But not once did they correspond regarding the custom of Toksa Village he had alluded to that night.
Not until that day, thirteen years ago, when Ico was born and Oneh’s husband told her everything. Overcome with emotion when she rubbed her hand across the baby’s head and felt those round protrusions that would one day be horns, she wrote another letter to her brother that very night.
At last do I understand what you were talking about that day I visited you before going to be married.
Her brother’s response, when it came, was the longest he had ever written.
Because you are my sister, you know well that the great Sun God, Sol Raveh, to whom we pray in our temples, gives birth to all, mends all, and governs all with love’s power.
It seemed to her that her brother’s voice on the page sounded different than it had before. Even the letters were written in a careful, elegant style.
Yet even the God of Light had to walk a path beset by hardship before bringing peace to our land. He waged wars and fought many battles. Toksa was the site of one, particularly fierce.
He went on to tell her that Sol Raveh had fought a powerful adversary near Toksa. The enemy had been defeated and successfully imprisoned, yet victory had not come without a sacrifice: Toksa’s unusual custom, and the first child born with horns upon its head.
The Sacrifice is born a captive, even as he is a warrior of the Light and a keystone in the wall that imprisons the enemy. Though the horned child may appear human, that is not his true nature. The child is a pawn of a greater power. You who must raise him must never forget that the child carries a part of that divinity within him.
Oneh quickly wrote a response. She asked whether the enemy that Toksa Village had feared for many long years was the master of the Castle in the Mist. She asked how it was that the Sacrifice eased the master’s anger. He replied:
In Toksa, this is known only to the Sacrifice. Only a horned one, or the highest of priests, may seek to learn this.
Parts of her brother’s letter made sense, while others did not. Though each ended as it began, with words in praise of God, as she read reply after reply Oneh started to wonder whether he truly believed the words he wrote.
Once, she asked him straight if there was a connection between why her brother had given up on becoming a priest and the custom of Toksa. She was, in effect, asking whether he had questioned his faith in his youth. Oneh knew that if she showed the letter to anyone else, they would have taken it from her and thrown it away. The God of Light is great. Through his benevolence is our land blessed with peace. To cast doubt on the divine was to sin deeply.
No reply came. Instead, she received word that her brother had passed away.
The Sacrifice is born a captive, even as he is a warrior of the Light-
Oneh closed her eyes and talked to the familiar ghost of her brother that lived on in her mind.
Brother, she said, to me, Ico is nothing but a child, a dear child. How can I send him to the castle with a still heart?
“Mistress Oneh?”
She heard a small voice from the window. Oneh looked up. “Is that you, Toto?” He must be standing on tiptoe to see in like that, she imagined. “Have they sent you to summon me?”
The sun had set some time ago, and the weaving room was already completely dark. Oneh fumbled with her hands to retrieve the copied pages from an old book she had propped up next to the loom and rolled them together like a scroll. Without a light, she couldn’t even see her own feet between the times when the sun set and when it rose again in the morning. This was one of the reasons they gave her an escort to and from the weaving room.
“No,” the boy whispered quickly. “I came on my own. It’s secret.” He looked from side to side, belatedly checking that no one had seen him.
“Why are you here then?”
“I figured you’d know where that priest from the capital is by now.”
The capital was distant. A rider had come ten days before to announce the priest’s departure. It had been two days since they received word that the entourage had finally arrived at the lodgings nearest to Toksa on the high road, but that was still two mountain passes and a river ford away.