Chapter 3 — A Committee Was Expecting Her

"Please," said the woman standing at the front of the gathering, whose serene, weathered face suggested she had remained calm through floods, political disagreements, and at least three generations of stubborn relatives, "put down the stick."

"It's a very good stick," Chimi replied, making absolutely no attempt to lower it.

"We do not doubt its quality."

"Good."

"We merely believe it will not be necessary."

"You've clearly never been chased by a wild boar."

The woman blinked.

"No."

"Then I respectfully submit that your life experience is incomplete."

A ripple of confused murmurs spread through the crowd.

Apparently, wild boars were not a common point of discussion among mysterious mountain civilizations.

The woman, however, merely smiled.

"My name is Aum Tshering."

She pressed her palms together and bowed.

Instantly, every one of the forty-odd people behind her repeated the gesture in perfect harmony.

Silk robes rustled softly.

Jewelry caught the strange lavender light.

For a brief moment, the entire gathering moved like a single living organism.

Only now did Chimi properly study the crowd.

Some appeared completely ordinary.

Others...

Well.

One elderly gentleman possessed skin the blue-grey color of polished river stone.

A graceful woman near the front had eyes that shimmered like molten gold whenever she blinked.

Another elder sported delicate antlers rising through neatly braided silver hair as naturally as if everyone grew antlers after reaching retirement.

Then there was the owl.

Not merely someone wearing an owl mask.

Not someone with feathers.

An actual owl's head sat comfortably atop a perfectly human body, blinking at her with enormous amber eyes.

The owl-headed gentleman noticed her staring.

He inclined his head politely.

Chimi, deciding that manners cost nothing, bowed back.

Nobody laughed.

Apparently this was entirely normal here.

"Right," she said slowly.

"I'm going to need someone to explain several things."

Aum Tshering nodded.

"Firstly, where exactly am I?"

"You are in Lhayul."

She waited.

Nothing else came.

"It really feels like there should be another sentence after that."

"There usually isn't."

"Right."

Chimi pointed upward with her stick.

"Then perhaps we could move on to question number two."

The entire council obediently looked upward.

"...Why," Chimi asked carefully, "is there a sky inside a mountain?"

Several council members exchanged uncertain glances.

One elderly scholar quietly whispered to another.

The second scholar shrugged.

Finally Aum Tshering answered.

"The mountain shelters our valley."

"I understand mountains."

"It also shelters the sky."

"I don't think mountains usually do that."

"This one has always done so."

"And everyone simply accepted it?"

"It seemed easier than arguing with the mountain."

Chimi considered that.

"I suppose mountains probably win those arguments."

"They have an excellent record."

Despite herself, Chimi smiled.

"Fair enough."

Aum Tshering returned the smile.

"I am Aum Tshering, First Elder of the Council of Lhayul."

"Nice to meet you."

"And you..."

Something changed in the elder's expression.

Relief.

Wonder.

Hope.

The sort of hope people carried only after waiting an impossibly long time.

It immediately made Chimi nervous.

"...are the one our prophecy foretold."

"No."

The answer arrived so quickly that several council members jumped.

"I really don't think so."

She lowered the stick slightly.

"Wrong person."

"It cannot be."

"It absolutely can."

"Our records are quite precise."

"So are delivery mistakes."

A few younger council members looked scandalized.

The owl-headed gentleman, however, made a sound suspiciously similar to a chuckle.

Chimi took that as encouragement.

She had developed a personal principle over the years.

Whenever someone announced that you were the chosen one, matters generally concluded with one of three outcomes.

A war.

A wedding.

Or an unreasonable amount of unpaid labor.

Occasionally all three happened simultaneously.

She preferred collecting firewood.

Firewood never asked anyone to fulfill destiny.

"You entered through the Threshold Cave," said a short, anxious-looking man who had been struggling heroically with a scroll nearly twice his height.

Every few moments it escaped his grasp and unrolled another several feet across the polished floor.

He rescued it with practiced resignation.

"Uninvited."

He consulted the scroll.

"Correct."

"Unsummoned."

Another glance.

"Also correct."

"During the Era of Sonam's Decline."

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Definitely correct."

He peered over the parchment.

"...Carrying firewood."

He looked back down.

Then looked up again.

"...Yes."

A longer pause.

"It specifically mentions firewood."

"I was collecting it," Chimi explained.

"It was becoming cold."

The scholar blinked.

"I had not considered seasonal practicality."

"It usually arrives around autumn."

He made a careful note in the margin.

"Interesting."

"What are you writing?"

"'Subject appears unusually practical.'"

"I don't think that's prophecy."

"One cannot know in advance."

He cleared his throat dramatically before reading aloud.

"'Chapter Nine, Verse Three: A woman shall come bearing wood from the world beyond and shall know what the wise do not.'"

The chamber became perfectly silent.

Forty pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon Chimi.

She looked behind her.

Nobody else was standing there.

"I know how to gather dry firewood."

Silence.

"I know not to light a fire beneath pine branches."

More silence.

"I can also tell when mushrooms are probably trying to kill you."

Several scholars exchanged hurried whispers.

One began writing.

Another started searching through an entirely different scroll.

The anxious scholar adjusted his spectacles.

"I believe," he announced carefully, "that these may qualify as examples of practical wisdom."

"They qualify as common sense."

"There is often less difference than people imagine."

Chimi frowned.

"Has nobody here ever gathered firewood?"

Several council members looked politely embarrassed.

One elderly noble quietly admitted,

"We generally ask the forest spirits."

"The forest spirits collect your firewood?"

"They have always been very accommodating."

"...That seems unfair."

"They rather enjoy helping."

"No wonder the prophecy sounded impressed."

The scholar wrote even faster.

"'Demonstrates independent wood-gathering techniques.'"

"I feel like you're making the prophecy longer."

"I am merely adding annotations."

"Those become footnotes."

"Eventually."

"So future generations are going to think I possessed mystical knowledge because I picked up dry branches?"

He considered the possibility.

"...It has happened before."

Chimi closed her eyes.

For just a moment.

Then sighed.

"I'd like to go home now."

The words hung quietly in the air.

Something changed.

The hopeful expressions around the chamber faltered.

The excitement dimmed.

For the first time since she'd arrived, Chimi noticed how tired these people looked.

Not physically.

Spiritually.

Like people who had been waiting for something or someone for far longer than hope should reasonably survive.

Aum Tshering stepped forward.

Her smile remained gentle, but sadness now rested quietly behind it.

"We understand."

Her voice was calm.

"And under ordinary circumstances, we would gladly return you to your home."

She paused.

Her eyes drifted toward the distant valley beyond the chamber, where the colossal tree stood beneath the twin moons.

The leaves shimmered weakly in the strange light.

"But..." she said softly.

"I'm afraid there is one rather significant problem."

Chimi followed her gaze.

"The tree," she whispered.

Aum Tshering nodded.

"Yes."

She looked back at Chimi with the patient expression of someone about to ask a favor so impossibly large that refusing it would require remarkable determination.

"About that..."

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