Khatia woke with the suddenness of her battle-honed instincts, immediately alert for danger. It took her a moment to remember where she was – on the road, several days out from Lian B’hir Mountain, in the tent she shared with Sujia. She relaxed as she realized that it was her traveling companion that had awakened her. The young monk was moaning in her sleep, thrashing in her twisted blankets, and occasionally muttering unintelligible words aloud.

“Sujia! Wake up, you’re having a bad dream,” Khatia called out firmly, but quietly, so as not to wake those in the other tents ranged around their central campfire. She reached out to grasp the dreamer’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. Sujia’s eyes few open, and she jerked upright, staring blankly at her friend for a moment. Gradually, the light of reason returned to her eyes, and she relaxed, although a look of confusion remained.

“I– I’m sorry if I woke you, Khatia,” she mumbled, pulling away from the other woman’s light touch and shuddering briefly, like a dog shedding water after a swim… in a very cold river. 

“It’s alright,” Khatia replied, propped up on one elbow now and looking intently at her friend. The girl was covered in a sheen of sweat, despite the cool night air of spring, and her eyes still held an echo of… something lost. That was what sprang to her mind, for some reason. “Are you all right? What were you dreaming of that so disturbed you?”

“I’m fine, I– I don’t remember what it was, exactly… just a nightmare of some sort…” She didn’t look at Khatia as she said this, focusing intently on untangling her blankets.

“Are you sure? If you want to talk about it, Sujia, I’m—“

“I said I don’t remember!” Sujia snapped, a brief flash of annoyance passing over her usually placid features. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.” She lay back down, turning to put her back to her tent-mate and pulled the blankets up over shoulders.

Khatia lay back and frowned. That sharp retort was not at all like Sujia’s usual calm and almost too-polite demeanor. Well, a nightmare could unsettle anyone’s mind… she remembered one time in her teens when she’d woken up furious with her own mother, for something the poor woman had done in Khatia’s dreams. It had taken her days to get over the anger, even though she knew it was unreasonable. No doubt Sujia will be fine in the morning, she thought as she drifted back into sleep.

• • • • •

The next morning Sujia was indeed her usual placid self, and made no mention of the midnight incident. Khatia shrugged and figured the girl probably didn’t even remember it. She put it out of her own mind soon enough, busy with the work of breaking camp and preparing for another day’s march.

They were coming down out of the the lightly-settled hills east of Lian B’hir, and today would see them well into the hinterlands west of the great city of Bako, the Pona Hanni’s next destination. But that was still several days travel away. Today’s goal was to reach a small hamlet set along the road, home to a particularly fine kirusi [keer-OO-see].

“I don’t remember the name of the little farming hamlet itself,” Viroj had said several nights before, when they were all wrapped in their blankets and sitting around the campfire at the highest, and coldest, point on the road over the hills. “But I will never forget the Cherry Blossom Kirusi – nor will you, my friends!”

“A kirusi?” Edain had said. “Isn’t that just another name for an inn?” 

He’d had that inward look which Khatia had come to realize meant he was focusing on the magical torc around his neck. The artifact translated any language for him, and it worked so well that it was easy to forget her own language was not his native tongue. But occasionally there was a word which, while he might understand its literal definition, didn’t convey the full meaning as a native speaker would understand it. 

“Inn?!” Viroj had laughed. “Well, my young friend, that’s true enough I suppose – if you consider these hills, as high as they are, to be mountains! Or if you think a ditty scratched onto a scrap of parchment is the same as a leather-bound volume of the poetry of K’hil Vartan! Or if you imagine these donkey’s of ours, however true and strong, compare to—“

“I think he gets the point,” Khatia had interrupted, laughing herself. Usually Sujia would have been the one to come to the Pona Hanni’s aid, but she had been quieter than usual that night, and a bit withdrawn. “A kirusi is indeed an inn, but one at a much more elevated level than the common establishments usually found along the roads, even the Imperial highways. They take especial pride in providing the very best of everything – food, accommodation, beverages, service, art, and peaceful relaxation.”

“That sounds… expensive,” Edain had said. “Very expensive.”

“Oh to be sure, the cost is more than what you’d expect to pay at the usual roadside dive,” Viroj had agreed. “But not unreasonably so, all things considered… it’s well worth it, I promise you. And I think, after so many days of roadside camping, we will all deserve a day or two of comfort and pampering. 

“The Cherry Blossom Kirusi is run by Madame Wei Li, an amazing woman who seems to know exactly what every patron needs – and then provides it! Her staff are well trained, the building itself beautiful and well-built, and the food some of the best you’ll find outside the Imperial City. And the baths! Ah, how I look forward to a hot bath and the ministrations of the most diligent of attendants…”

Even Edain had been swayed by the Moon Monk’s description and his tales of the two other times he had stayed within the luxurious precincts of the Cherry Blossom Kirusi. Certainly the thought of it had made the discomforts of their early-spring travels more bearable, and now they were only one easy day’s walk from those promised delights.

• • • • •

Shingli had stayed in any number of rough and ready inns in the few years since he’d run away from his father’s ambitions for him, but he had never stayed in a true kirusi before. He was awed by the beauty of the Cherry Blossom Kirusi as he stood in the late afternoon sunlight before its wide, red-lacquered doors. Even from outside its two stories of dark woods, elegantly carved and detailed in places, straight and elegantly simple in others, contrasting with the white paper and pale plaster of the walls, was breathtakingly harmonious. 

The doors swung open almost immediately at Viroj’s banging of one of the two great brass dragon-shaped knockers, revealing a tall, elegantly dressed woman with silver-streaked black hair. Beautiful, the youth thought, despite her obvious great age… or maybe because of it, he realized. 

“Welcome, travelers,” she said in a beautiful alto, softened with age but still strong. “Enter this refuge, and let the cares and weariness of your journey fall from you while you are within its walls.” 

She stood aside and bowed, gesturing them to pass within. Two young men appeared to take the mules to the stables, and the Wanderers stepped into the entry courtyard. Madame Wei, as she insisted they call her, greeted each traveler, starting with Viroj, whom she clearly remembered from his earlier visits. 

“Welcome back, young demon-hunter! It has been too long since you last graced our kirusi. But I am glad you have brought friends this time, for dark days seem to be upon the land, and it is not good for even one as strong as you to travel alone.”

Viroj then introduced each of his traveling companions in turn, and the proprietress gave a greeting that seemed meaningful to each in. To Shingli she said “Welcome, warrior! May the coming days prove the worth of your decisions, made in the face of such great resistance, and bring you peace.”

To the young warrior’s surprise, they were each guided to their own private room… or rooms, for each had a sitting/eating area as well as a separate sleeping area! Apparently the kirusi was unusually empty just now, and at his questioning the young woman who led him to his room on the second floor explained.

“The roads around have become more dangerous in recent months, sir. Many travelers and local folk have vanished, and people have become reluctant to move about unless they must. But the mistress will no doubt explain more over supper. Which shall be served within the hour, once you have had time to refresh yourself.”

Indeed, over the absolutely perfect meal Madame Wei explained that some great menace had long hung over certain hills to the northwest, but seemed to have become much worse in recent months and to have expanded even to edges of this village. No one quite knew the precise nature of this danger – only that both people and livestock were vanishing with growing frequency.

“There has long been rumors of a haunted cave in the hills to the northwest, which twenty years past was known to be the home a reclusive, but powerful, sage. The man vanished, however, and legend has it that his ghost still haunts his cave… locals have avoided it, save for foolish youths who will challenge one another to approach it on occasional. But several years ago something darker than a mere ghost seemed to come over the place, and since then not even the stupidity of youth has been enough to entice any to go near the place. Not once a few people had vanished after entering…

“But now the threat, whatever it is, seems to be expanding, and I am uncertain what the future may hold… people are becoming more fearful…”

Shingli was not sure why the pretty-boy singer was so eager, after hearing this tale, to wander about the small hamlet, but when Snow Crow announced his intention to do so after the final course of flavored ices, Madame Wei insisted that he not go alone. The girl monk, Sujia, volunteered to go with the singer, and Shingli wondered if he should accompany them… but they were adults, and frankly, the idea of the hot baths was just too tempting!