Wataru looked up. The blade of the guillotine shone as though with evil intent in the reflected light of the bonfire. He felt like it was smiling at him, teeth bared, ready for the kill.
This is ridiculous. That was all he could think. How could this happen to me? What have I done?
“And so we see that evil, too, knows fear,” the robed man said in a gentle voice. “But do not worry. Only by destroying your body, puppet of the Goddess, will your soul be purified. By the benevolence of the great Old God, your purified being will be reborn again in Vision, in whatever form you desire…”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Wataru spat. “You have no right to kill me! I don’t believe in your Old God. I’m a Traveler, from the real world. I came here to change my destiny, not die!”
The robed men smiled even more broadly. “We have no words for those enslaved to the false beliefs.”
“Whatever! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Wataru yelled. He turned to the other believers gathered there. “You know what you’re doing? Do you even know? Why…”
Just then, Wataru noticed someone standing beyond the guillotine. He wore the same robe as the rest of them, and he was holding an axe. Wataru’s words froze in his mouth. That’s the axe that will cut the rope that holds the blade…
“Enough of your foul words, polluted daemon.”
Wataru was pushed hard from behind onto the forest floor. The believers swayed, rapturous with joy and anticipation.
Heavy hands dragged Wataru to his feet, pulling him toward the guillotine. He stuck out his legs and jabbed to the side with his elbows, trying to resist, but the man holding him was incredibly strong. He only succeeded in kicking up dust, and further amusing the believers. He felt dizzy and nauseated. I’m only wasting my strength. I won’t be able to escape this way. But how, then…how?
The hands yanked on his chains, and he took a few more wobbly steps toward the platform. No, I don’t want to die this way! This is insane!
The more he shouted, the louder the song of the believers rang in his ears.
“I will give you one chance,” the robed man said, walking toward Wataru. “To truly purify your soul, and ease your rebirth into Vision, you must confess before your execution. Now, tell me, where is the other Traveler?”
Wataru’s hair stood on end. He’s asking about Mitsuru! They want to capture him too!
“I don’t know!”
“So you will be difficult.”
“I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know!” Wataru shouted, his voice hoarse. He spat at the robed man, surprising even himself. Didn’t know I could do that. No one ever taught me to do that.
His aim was good. His wad of spit scored a direct hit. The robed man slowly wiped his cheek, and smiled broadly. “You are pitiful, you who are to be sacrificed. The Goddess has consumed you, and destroyed your soul. Our voice, no matter how righteous, cannot hope to reach you as you are now.”
“Righteous? Says who?”
“We serve the Old God,” the robed man said solemnly, as though that in itself were proof enough.
“I don’t care!” Wataru yelled, summoning all his strength. “What? Are you from the Northern Empire? Let me guess. You don’t give a whit about the Old God. You just want to spread your system of prejudice to keep yourself on top!”
At last, the smile faded from the robed man’s face. His mouth formed a straight line. “Speak,” he said in a low voice. “Where’s the other Traveler?”
“Never!”
“If you do not tell us, we will search for him by our own means. And we will find him. But I fear much blood will be spilled along the way. Many will look into the flames and scream for mercy before our work is done.” The man laughed. “Those deaths will be on your conscience.”
Wataru stood dumbfounded. What did he mean, the flames? “That fire near Maquiba—did you do that?”
The robed man did not answer, but instead asked again. “Tell me. Where is the other?”
“Here,” came a clear voice from the dark sky above their heads.
Chapter 20
Mitsuru
Wataru looked up, his mouth still hanging open. Where did that voice come from?—there, on top of the hospital building, at the highest spot overlooking the courtyard where the guillotine sat.
A small figure stood on top of the high rock wall. His black robes stood out even against the dark sky. The gem atop his staff shone with a clear blue light. And illuminated by it was…
Mitsuru.
The robed man looked up. “You!” he shouted out in surprise. The man holding the axe by the guillotine and the man grabbing Wataru by the neck stood frozen in place.
“Servant of evil, what business have you on our holy ground!” the robed man shrieked in a high voice. “Come down! Come down here! Do you know what penalty your trespass carries?”
The circle of believers wavered, losing its shape, and the candles began to flicker. Some went out in the commotion.
Mitsuru didn’t move an inch. His face was drawn in his usual condescending smile. Even though he stood quite a distance away, his expression was clear. Somehow, the sight of those slightly crooked lips made Wataru incredibly homesick. No time for that now, he thought. They’re going to capture Mitsuru!
“Mitsuru, run!” Wataru shouted as loud as he could. “Get away from here! Quickly! Run, and call for help!”
Mitsuru turned, looking at Wataru. Then he sighed—another familiar gesture. “Exactly who would I call for help?” he asked, shaking his head. “While I was traipsing through the woods looking for someone, you’d be here losing your head.”
“Go or they’ll get both of us!”
“I think not.” Mitsuru sighed again. “I never took you for the self-sacrificing sort. Such a good kid.”
“What’re you saying, Mitsuru? Quickly, we don’t have…”
“Time, I know,” Mitsuru finished the sentence for him. With his free hand, Mitsuru pointed directly at the robed man. “The one who inscribed the magic circle on this rooftop—is that you?”
Though he had only pointed his finger, the man reeled as though struck with an arrow, his face twisting into a grimace. “Watch your tone, young whelp! Just who do you think you are talking to?”
“You.”
Mitsuru’s voice contained not a grain of hesitation, but instead rang with all the confidence of a teacher scolding a naughty pupil. “I have no idea what you were trying to summon up here, but you got it all wrong,” Mitsuru said, chuckling. “Your orientation is off, and the lines are the wrong length. Where did you study? Did you even graduate?”
“Y-you!!” The man ran up to the building. It looked as though he might claw his way up the side in his rage, but he merely stamped his feet, powerless. “You mock me!”
“I’m only asking you a question. But you’re a little far away—I couldn’t quite hear you. Why don’t you come up here? Just cast an air ladder. Simple, no?”
The robed man’s face went pale. The circle of believers had completely dissolved, making a ragged semi-circle, not centered on the robed man, but on Mitsuru.
“What, you can’t even chant up an air ladder?” Mitsuru asked with mock surprise. “Well, then you’re quite hopeless. Isn’t the Old God a sorcerer?” Mitsuru put his hand to his chin and frowned. “Are you sure you haven’t been taken in by some creature claiming to be the Old God?”
“You blaspheme!” the robed man hissed, raising his scepter in the air. Just then, Mitsuru extended his finger above his head and uttered a brief incantation. In the next instant, a single bolt of lightning cut across the sky.
“Augh!” screamed the man in robes. The blinding light flashed, and the lightning bolt disappeared into the ground, leaving behind a hole—a sharp, jagged hole, as though a giant spear had pierced the earth.
“I won’t miss next time,” Mitsuru said. “If you don’t want to be blackened to a crisp, I suggest you remove those chains from Wataru.”
The robed m
an fell upon the ground, his mouth flapping uncontrollably. Mitsuru’s gaze turned from him toward Wataru—and then to the giant standing by him. “Hey, you. Yeah, you—the big guy!”
Wataru heard the giant suck down a mouthful of air.
“Release those chains!” The giant followed Mitsuru’s instructions with hardly a moment’s hesitation. His large fingers were clumsy and trembled terribly, making the simple task of inserting a key into a keyhole a difficult feat.
“Look, I’ll do it,” Wataru said, and took the key from his hand. He unlocked the chains himself. Mitsuru watched until Wataru was free. He then pointed up toward the sky again and swung his hand back down at the guillotine. A lance of light shot through the killing machine’s rope, and disappeared into the top of the platform. In the brief flash, Wataru saw the guillotine blade drop, biting into the platform. Behind it, the man with the axe fell to the ground.
“Never liked those things,” Mitsuru muttered almost to himself, then changed his position slightly. Turning toward Wataru, he said, “You may not realize it, but we’re inside a circle here.”
“A circle?” Wataru shouted up to him.
“Yes, a magical barrier. Quite primitive, really, but I think the sula trees help make it more effective.”
“I’m not sure I get you.”
The believers followed the exchange between them, looking back and forth like a crowd of onlookers at a tennis match. Hands holding candles were lowered to the ground.
“There’s no such thing as the Triankha Hospital,” Mitsuru continued. “Oh, there used to be, long time ago. But now the only thing remaining is the ruins. They drew their barrier around this place, to use it as their fortress.”
One hand at his waist, Mitsuru snorted. “The only annoying thing is the sula wood. The raw essence of magic fills the place. It will take more than a weak-willed sorcerer—such as the one trembling in his boots over there—to break this. You understand what I’m saying?” Mitsuru said, now to the robed man. “You made this barrier, sure, but you drew in too much magic from the sula trees.”
“Nonsense,” the robed man said. Though he was hunched over, looking anything but dignified, a bit of his earlier strength had returned to his voice. “This is blasphemy most foul. You shall be punished!”
Crawling to his feet, the man began to chant a spell. On the roof, Mitsuru leaned on his staff and looked down at him, an expression of deep interest on his face.
As Wataru watched, the dried leaves of the sula trees began to swirl together into two figures—leaf-men like the ones who had attacked him before. Just looking at them made the bile rise in his throat. Wataru took a step back. The giant who had been standing by his side had long since run back to the circle of believers.
“Faithful servants! Destroy the evil blasphemer before us!” the robed man shouted, pointing at Mitsuru.
The leaf-men strode to the outer wall of the hospital, and began to climb like great apes. Mitsuru watched from the top of the roof with great interest. Then, when they were close to the top, he swung his staff and began another incantation. “Arrow of my inner will be upon you!” he shouted, and the two monsters of dried leaves stopped cold. Then they began to descend just as fast as they had gone up.
“What? What’s happening?” The robed man gaped. He staggered back, stepping on the hem of his robe and falling to the forest floor with a thud. His scream cut through the darkness as the leaf-men approached.
“I banish you!” rang out Mitsuru’s sharp voice, and the two leaf-men—their hands around the robed man’s throat—lost their form, and collapsed into piles of dried leaves.
“And that’s that,” Mitsuru said, throwing his staff over one shoulder. “Call up as many of those as you want, you’ll wear yourself out.”
The group of believers wavered and dropped their candles. Expecting the worst, Wataru braced himself. But when he saw what happened next, he could only laugh.
All at once, the believers began prostrating themselves on the ground. Some held their heads in their hands, begging that their lives be spared, while others bowed over and over again—and not to the robed man. They were bowing to Mitsuru where he stood atop the roof of the hospital.
Wataru, still smiling, looked up at Mitsuru. “I think we’re okay! Thanks.”
Mitsuru wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked almost frightened. He let his staff down from his shoulder and stood with his feet wide apart.
“You sicken me,” he said looking at the believers and spitting. “Following the strong. You’re happy as long as you’re doing what everyone else is doing, is that it?”
“Mitsuru? Come down!”
Mitsuru turned his cold gaze toward Wataru. “The show is over, but there’s still a barrier to be broken.”
“Huh?”
“I’m only standing up here because I didn’t want to get too close to the sula trees and their magic—it’s too thick, and troublesome to fight against. But with so many people on our side now…”
Wataru took a step toward the building. “What are you talking about? What are you going to do?”
“It takes focused willpower to break a magical barrier. I need to gather enough magic to cut down the forest and scatter every leaf to the four winds.”
“Mitsuru…”
“Sorry,” Mitsuru said with a grin, glancing at Wataru. “I’ve no idea where we will be blown to. That’s up to the wind. Curl up and cover your head as best you can. I’ll pray that you don’t get hurt too much.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“This.”
Mitsuru spread his arms and looked up toward the sky. Then he began to chant in a loud and clear voice:
“Great spirit of the winds, with your power filling all the heavens, I who walk the paths of magic summon you. In your benevolence, sweep away all the magic that binds us, send it to the very depths of the chaotic abyss. Aero lar stenigel…”
The gem on the end of Mitsuru’s staff shone brightly. A part of the night sky suddenly became brighter. The clouds split.
Then the wind came.
He’s calling the wind down from above the clouds.
That was the last coherent thought that passed through Wataru’s mind. The next instant, he was tossed like a rag doll to the ground. Finding nothing to grab on to, he hugged his knees and rolled until he bumped into the hospital building. There, he latched on to a standing column, and somehow managed to regain his feet.
He could barely comprehend what he saw next.
From out of the blackness of night, a great cyclone, shimmering with a faint silvery light, whirled into view. Its movement was slow and curving, almost graceful as it whipped from side to side.
It was nearing the ground. One by one, the vortex sucked up the believers. Wataru could see them flailing, and he knew they must be crying, shouting, and praying, but the roar of the winds swallowed them all. He also saw the guillotine snap in two and disappear into the center of the cyclone. The axeman and his axe were also sucked up into the swirling torrent—disappearing forever.
Wataru saw something like a discarded washcloth whipping through the sky. From its folds a hand emerged, then a foot. Finally, he saw a head. It was the robed man, his mouth caught in a soundless scream.
Wataru felt the column shift in his grip. It suddenly became nothing more than a pile of dried leaves. Dismantled by the wind, they scattered in all directions.
And then Wataru too was pulled up into the air.
Chapter 21
The Swamp of Grief
Wataru shot across the sky, wrapped in winds, flying so high it made his head spin.
He saw stars through a gap in the clouds below. But they were not stars; they were the lights of various towns. It was strangely quiet here in the eye of the cyclone. A constant, gentle updraft cradled him like a baby in its mother’s arms, ensuring he would not fall.
He descended gradually, at last breaking through the clouds. He had no way of knowing how far the storm had ca
rried him—everything below was shrouded in darkness. He could see no signs of where he might be—no roofs of houses, or pastures, or mountain ridges. It seemed to him as though it wasn’t the cyclone that was descending, but rather that he was slowly moving toward the bottom of the funnel. It was like he was going down an elevator in the sky.
He touched ground. Released from the cyclone’s embrace, his right calf suddenly throbbed with pain, and he fell to the ground. The soil beneath him was wet, sodden, like a sea of mud.
He looked back around to see the silvery tail of the cyclone disappearing up through the clouds. The sky was still dark, and studded with stars.
Mitsuru had warned him that the cyclone wasn’t quite under his control. But the storm, ultimately, had been quite kind. Wherever he was now, it was certainly better than where he had been moments before. When he had seen that guillotine, it was like death had been staring him in the face. It had even been worse than the night he spent in that Gasara cell.
His life had been saved two times along the way.
The mud where he lay was cold but soft. Chilly air wrapped around him. Realizing he couldn’t sit there forever, he tried to stand, but the ground was so slippery even that proved difficult. He looked around for something to hold on to, but the only thing nearby was a patch of thin reeds, and they provided little in the way of support.
By the time he was standing on two feet again, Wataru was covered in mud. The bandage around the arrow wound on his calf was black and filthy. He knew he had to change it soon. What was that horrible disease Mom was always saying I’d get? Tetanus or something?
Wataru parted the stand of reeds with his hands and saw a flat black expanse of ground ahead. A clearing, he thought. But when he approached, he found it was less of a clearing and more of a muddy lake. The water rippled faintly in the night breeze, reflecting the starlight. He stood at the quiet shore, and the cold night air enveloped him.
Wataru sneezed. He began to shiver.
Where am I now? It’s so dark here, so cold. I’m practically freezing.