The path followed the stream for a long time.
It wound down through the forest, past mossy boulders and fallen logs and little waterfalls that splashed white over the rocks. The temple bell rang again, somewhere ahead, slow and deep. The trees began to thin. The light grew brighter. And then, without warning, the forest simply ended.
Jin stopped at the edge of a high ridge and looked down.
Below him, the land fell away into a wide green valley. Rice fields stretched out across the bottom of it in neat, shining squares, full of water that reflected the sky. A river wound through the middle. And on its bank, nestled among the fields, sat a village. Maybe forty or fifty houses, low and wooden with thatched roofs, clustered around a small square. On a little hill at the far end stood a temple, its curved roof dark against the sky, a bronze bell hanging at its gate.
It looked peaceful, almost like a watercolor painting.
Then the screaming started.
