Chapter 4 — Nobody Explains Anything Properly, Ever

What followed was, in Chimi's later assessment, the single worst briefing she had ever received.

This was saying something.

She had once been subjected to a two-hour explanation from her Uncle Dorji on the correct procedure for filing a land dispute with the district office.

That lecture had diagrams involved.

And a stick.

Not the good kind of stick.

By comparison, the current explanation somehow managed to be even less organized.

She was led.....

No.

"Led" suggested calm guidance.

She was swept along.

The experience felt less like being escorted and more like being a leaf caught in a mountain stream that had developed very firm opinions about where leaves ought to be.

The council flowed around her in a sea of silk robes and quiet conversation as they descended broad white stone stairs that curved gracefully through the mountain.

The stone glowed faintly beneath their feet, needing neither torch nor lantern.

Chimi had given up asking where the light came from.

She suspected the answer would somehow involve destiny.

"So," she said as they walked, "does anyone intend to explain all of this from the beginning?"

"Certainly," Aum Tshering replied.

Chimi waited.

"We are explaining."

"You are explaining *different* things."

"Knowledge comes in many forms."

"So does confusion."

Nobody disagreed.

"Lhayul has existed alongside your world for longer than either history can properly measure," Aum Tshering began.

"We believe the two realms were once one," added another elder.

"Until they weren't," supplied someone else.

"Very informative."

"The separation was necessary."

"For what?"

Nobody answered.

Instead, another voice joined in from somewhere behind her.

"The larger moon is named Yeshey."

"The smaller one is Dolma," said Lopen Sangay, finally managing to keep his enormous scroll from escaping down the staircase.

"They are married."

Chimi looked up.

The two moons continued their graceful dance across the strange lavender sky.

"They're married?"

"Yes."

"They're moons."

"Indeed."

"They orbit each other."

"They have always done so."

"...Is that normal?"

"In Lhayul? Entirely."

"In my world, astronomers would faint."

"They sound delicate."

"They're academics."

"Ah."

Several elders nodded in immediate understanding.

Apparently, this explained everything.

They reached a broad balcony overlooking the valley.

The sight stole Chimi's breath all over again.

White terraces cascaded through forests of silver-green trees.

Rivers of glowing light wound silently across the landscape.

Birds with tails like ribbons drifted through the air.

One appeared to leave tiny sparks behind every flap of its wings.

Chimi decided not to ask.

She was rapidly approaching her daily limit for impossible things.

A third elder stepped forward.

"Magic is the foundation of everything in Lhayul."

He swept an arm across the valley.

"Our homes."

A cluster of elegant buildings shimmered into view between the trees.

"Our harvests."

Fields below rippled with golden grain although nobody appeared to be working them.

"Our weather."

As if on cue, soft rain began falling over one distant hillside while brilliant sunshine continued everywhere else.

"Our transportation."

A bridge stretched across the valley.

It appeared to be made entirely of pale moonlight woven into solid form.

People crossed it as casually as one might cross an ordinary wooden footbridge.

Chimi stared.

"That's..."

She searched for the appropriate word.

"...deeply impractical."

The elder blinked.

"It is?"

"It glows."

"Yes."

"So everyone can see where it is."

"Precisely."

"What if someone wants a bridge that doesn't announce itself from five miles away?"

The elder looked genuinely puzzled.

"Why would anyone want that?"

"I don't know."

She shrugged.

"I'm trying to contribute."

The elder accepted this graciously.

"We want for nothing," he said proudly.

Chimi looked back toward the enormous tree standing at the center of the valley.

Its leaves shimmered weakly.

Even from here she could almost feel the exhaustion radiating from it.

"Except," she said quietly, "apparently a healthy tree."

Conversation stopped.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

The silence that followed possessed a very particular quality.

It was the silence of relatives who had spent an entire dinner avoiding one uncomfortable topic until someone innocent wandered in and asked exactly the wrong question.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody even coughed.

Several council members suddenly became fascinated by the scenery.

One examined the architecture with suspicious intensity.

Lopen Sangay pretended to reread a section of his scroll upside down.

Finally Aum Tshering sighed.

"The World Tree Sonam," she said carefully, "is the source of all living magic within Lhayul."

"The root of everything," another elder added.

"If you will forgive the metaphor."

"It seems unavoidable when discussing trees," Chimi replied.

A faint smile appeared on several faces.

Aum Tshering continued.

"As Sonam flourishes..."

"Our lands flourish."

"Our rivers flow."

"Our harvests grow."

"Our people thrive."

"And as Sonam weakens..."

The sentence remained unfinished.

Chimi looked upward.

The two moons drifted unusually close together before slowly separating again.

"They start doing..."

She gestured vaguely toward the sky.

"...whatever that is."

"Yes."

"The glowing rivers?"

"Weaker each season."

"The strange weather?"

"Unpredictable."

"The magic bridges?"

"They require constant repair."

"The forests?"

"Growing quieter."

"The animals?"

"Many have begun leaving."

Chimi frowned.

"And nobody knows why?"

Forty beautifully dressed, extraordinarily powerful magic users looked at one another.

Then, almost as one, lowered their eyes to the floor.

It was remarkable.

She had never seen so many respected elders suddenly become interested in their own shoes.

Finally Lopen Sangay cleared his throat.

"That," he admitted softly, "is what we hoped the prophecy woman would tell us."

Chimi closed her eyes.

She inhaled slowly.

Very slowly.

It was the same deep, patient breath she took whenever her mother suggested introducing her to another perfectly respectable bachelor with excellent prospects and an unfortunate personality.

When she opened her eyes again, everyone was still watching her.

Waiting.

Expecting.

"I gather firewood," she said.

Nobody answered.

"I gather dead branches."

Silence.

"I know which wood burns cleanly."

More silence.

"I know how to tell if mushrooms are poisonous."

Still nothing.

"I once successfully chased a bear away from our vegetable patch."