Brave Story

  With a mocking laugh, the double thrust out his sword. Wataru was holding his own blade high over his head—he was wide open. The point of the Brave’s Sword slid deep into his chest.

  Wataru’s mouth snapped open. He had been holding his breath and now he exhaled in one giant heave. Arms still raised over his head, he slowly looked down at the blade sticking into his chest. Blood was seeping out around the blade, soaking his shirt. The mirror-image Brave’s Sword was buried deep in his chest.

  Wataru felt no pain, but he was freezing. The sword had found his heart and was pouring icy coldness directly into his body.

  I’m going to die.

  It was a logical conclusion.

  My double defeated me. I’m going to bleed, and then I’ll die.

  His strength left him and his legs bowed. Wataru dropped to his knees onto the surface of the lake. His arms hung limply by his side. His own sword fell loose from his grip, its sharp point hanging listlessly between his knees.

  Wataru’s conqueror yanked his sword back. Now free of the blade, Wataru collapsed to one side. Laughter rang in his ears. “Pitiful boy. Sad little boy. It’s over.”

  The assailant turned his back on Wataru and began walking toward the far shore. His gait was ebullient—he was almost skipping. Wataru’s blood dripped from the tip of the Brave’s Sword hanging from his hand as he left.

  —Wataru.

  The gemstones in his sword were calling to him.

  —Steady, Wataru.

  —Remember what the Goddess said.

  —You mustn’t fight.

  —Your double is you.

  —Remember the Goddess’s words.

  Blood flowed from his wound, spreading across the crystalline surface of the water. Wataru was lying in a puddle of his own blood.

  The Goddess’s words?

  Wataru hung on the brink of consciousness. He stretched out a hand, desperately trying to retain his grip on sanity.

  —Call him back.

  —The split soul.

  That double? That murderer?

  —Yes, yes. Because that is you, Wataru.

  Wataru lifted his head. A stream of blood trickled out of his mouth. He had no strength left in him. I’m drowning in a sea of blood.

  Somehow he mustered enough strength to sit up. The gemstones were all calling for him now.

  —Wataru, Wataru, don’t die. Don’t give up.

  —Don’t leave your other half alone. Acknowledge him. Accept him.

  After much effort, he was able to sit at the edge of the lake. His double was already standing on the far shore and had begun to disappear through the swamp reeds.

  “Hey!” Wataru called out. It took all his remaining strength to do so.

  The double stopped, turning around silently, a snake sensing its prey.

  “I’m not dead yet!”

  The smile faded from his double’s face. He lifted his sword.

  —Accept him.

  With a shrill battle cry, his double charged across the lake. He ran with the speed of a hurricane. The tip of his blade gleamed with reflected light from the crystal.

  Wataru closed his eyes and quietly spread his arms. He breathed. Fresh blood spilled from his mouth. But he stood his ground. He was calling. His heart was calm.

  I have nothing to fear. I’m just calling him back.

  Calling back the soul split from me.

  Come home!

  The double collided with Wataru—and evaporated. He was drawn into Wataru. Two became one.

  The force of the impact blew Wataru’s hair straight up and knocked him sprawling on his back.

  Quiet returned to the Swamp of Grief.

  When he opened his eyes, Wataru was looking up at the sky, his arms and legs splayed out in the shape of an X. He could feel the hard surface of the lake; it was solid beneath him.

  Wataru gingerly moved his hand, poking at his chest. His shirt was dry. He lifted his head. There was no sign of any wound, nor any blood.

  Wataru tried standing. His legs held him up.

  I’m alive.

  A smile came unbidden to his lips, then a warm wave of relief washed through his body. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart beating beneath the skin.

  Wataru had parted ways with his hatred back in the Swamp of Grief, and now it had come back. It was home in Wataru’s body where it belonged. At last, he understood. The gate he had passed through to reach the arena: the fifth pattern was the key. He hadn’t felt anything when he stood on it because the fifth pattern stood for hate.

  Wataru realized that he had spent all this time trying to keep his own hate away. He lied to himself, pretending it wasn’t his, not wanting to acknowledge the hate he felt toward Rikako, the hate he felt toward his own father. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he could even feel that way. He was deceiving himself.

  But that deception had spawned his double and forced it to walk alone, carrying all of Wataru’s hate by itself.

  “Welcome home,” Wataru whispered.

  He released one last shuddering breath and stood. He sheathed the Brave’s Sword at his side.

  It was then that he noticed the mist flowing around him. Where did that come from? The area had been perfectly clear only moments before. Soon it covered the entire surface of the lake. It glimmered with a soft light, and the moisture felt like tears on his skin.

  Wataru’s eyes opened wide.

  A black robe was lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the lake, shrouded in the mist. A boot was sticking out of one side. Loose hairs spilled out of the other.

  Mitsuru.

  Wataru ran, but it was like running in a dream—he couldn’t seem to go forward. His feet slipped on the crystalline water. Burning with frustration, he clawed at the mist with his hands, trying to swim through it.

  “Mitsuru!” he shouted, throwing himself forward and finally reaching him. At first he felt nothing, only the mist against his hands. He could see the robes right there in front of him, but they had no substance. It was like grabbing a shadow.

  “Mitsuru, Mitsuru!” Wataru shouted again. Suddenly, he was there. Where there had only been an image before, now there was flesh and blood. Mitsuru came into focus.

  Wataru lifted Mitsuru in his arms.

  Mitsuru’s face was pale, his eyes were closed. His cheeks were covered with scars and his arms hung limp at his sides. One of his ankles had been twisted in an unnatural position. It was probably broken.

  “Mitsuru! Wake up!” Wataru gave him another shake, and the Sorcerer’s Staff fell from the folds of Mitsuru’s black robe. It had split clean in two. Mitsuru’s pale face, his limp body, the broken staff—they all told Wataru the truth of what had happened here.

  Mitsuru had lost.

  Mitsuru had faced his own double in this Swamp of Grief, and he had lost.

  Wataru understood now. He didn’t want to, but the proof was right in front of his face. Mitsuru had let his hate walk alone, too, and it had grown into something far, far greater than Mitsuru himself—too large for him to call back. In the end, his hate had broken him.

  What do I care what becomes of Vision?

  All I want to do is reach the Tower of Destiny.

  I’ll do whatever it takes.

  That hard determination. That will of steel. That mighty sorcerer’s power born by the strength of the gemstones—a power only a Traveler could hope to wield. Mitsuru used it all in his journey. Many were the people he injured, the towns he destroyed, the grief he caused, all leading up to his final act: the destruction of the seal on the Mirror of Eternal Shadow.

  Wataru and Mitsuru had been fooled. They both thought Mitsuru knew what he was doing. The destructive will, the desire to kill, the arrogance that led him to trample anyone in his path—these things hadn’t belonged to Mitsuru. They belonged to his double, the one that bore all his hate. Yet that hatred was so close to his own heart. He had told himself for so long that he didn’t need anything else, that his hatred would
see him through. At some point, Mitsuru had become unable to distinguish between his double and himself.

  Mitsuru, too, had struggled at first, trying to defeat his double, yet this was the same thing as defeating himself.

  Mitsuru’s eyelids fluttered, then opened.

  Wataru was speechless. It was hard enough to choke back the sob he felt rising in his throat.

  Two black eyes slowly focused on Wataru, after much long and painful effort. “You…”

  Wataru nodded. Several times. With each nod, a tear fell.

  “Why?” He said it like a schoolboy, upset with the teacher at being told to wait after class. How like Mitsuru. “I made it so far…how could this happen? What a disgrace.” Then he whispered, “I almost reached it.” His eyes looked up at the sky. “I could see it, the Tower of Destiny. It was right there. Yet…”

  “Don’t speak, you’ll wear yourself out,” Wataru said. He lifted Mitsuru from the hard lake, realizing as he did so that the other boy’s wounds were too deep to ever mend.

  “Mitani,” Mitsuru whispered. Wataru looked at him, into the clear eyes of the other Traveler. “Where did I go wrong? What mistake did I make?”

  —Not only the one who runs fastest and first may reach the Tower of Destiny.

  The Elder in Sakawa was right.

  —The Goddess is still waiting for you.

  And Kee Keema, standing before the ruins of Solebria. He was right too.

  —Wherever you go, I’ll follow.

  Wataru was never alone. Meena was always by his side. And when they last saw each other, she held him close and told him to be careful…

  I had friends. They watched over my path for me. They didn’t let me stray.

  But Mitsuru was always alone. The lone Traveler. Even if he stepped off the path, there was no one there to tell him so.

  Mitsuru chose his own path. He chose to be alone.

  Even so, it seemed too unfair, the conclusion too cruel.

  “I’m sorry.” It was all Wataru could say. He could have ignored Wayfinder Lau’s warning. He could have traveled together with Mitsuru. But I didn’t, and look what happened.

  “What are you apologizing for?” Mitsuru said, attempting a smile. That same imperious smile he had turned on Wataru so many times before. It wasn’t working. “You’ve won. Be happy. Why are you crying?” He shook his head. “Too nice for your own good…down to the bitter end.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  “I won’t lie to myself,” Mitsuru said, his voice softening with a sudden kindness. “I’ve lost. I’m going to die here. I couldn’t change my destiny.” Then, after a pause, he muttered, “I brought this on myself.” His mind had gone through the same process Wataru’s had and come to the same conclusion. “I just…I wanted reach the Tower of Destiny. No matter…no matter what I had to do, I needed to go.”

  “I know,” Wataru said. “Even if no one else will ever understand, I do. I know, Mitsuru.”

  Mitsuru closed his eyes and smiled. “Get going. Take the gemstone, leave me here, and go.”

  “No, I won’t. I can’t leave you here alone, Mitsuru.”

  “Fool. Let it go.” Mitsuru’s body twitched. His breathing became congested, rough. “It’s…better alone.”

  Mitsuru to the very end.

  Wataru lay him gently down atop the lake in the Swamp of Grief. Lying down, his eyes closed, Mitsuru seemed that much closer to death.

  There was nothing left for Wataru to do. Mitsuru wanted to be alone.

  Then a memory surfaced in the back of his mind. The quiet forest, where he had said his goodbyes to Kutz…

  “Mitsuru.”

  “What?”

  “Can I…pray for you?”

  “I don’t need prayers.”

  “Just let me, okay?”

  Mitsuru’s eyes opened. They fixed on Wataru.

  “Please,” Wataru said.

  “Do what you want.”

  Wataru reached out his right hand and grabbed Mitsuru’s. He placed his other hand on his friend’s forehead.

  Now do I remember the words?

  Wataru began to speak, hesitantly at first. “We are the children of the Goddess. We leave the dust of the earth, and rise to you.”

  Mitsuru had once again closed his eyes. Wataru gently brushed his forehead.

  “Light most pure, source and mother of all, lead us now. Light the darkness at the feet of this traveler who now comes to join you.” Wataru grabbed Mitsuru’s fingers tightly. “Little child, child of the land. Do you repent your trespasses in the Goddess’s eyes?” Wataru’s lips trembled, the words came haltingly. Whenever he spoke, the back of his throat burned. I can’t cry, not now, he commanded himself. There was a moment of silence, during which the only thing Wataru could hear was his own ragged breathing. Then, he saw Mitsuru’s mouth move.

  “Yes,” he said. He answered the prayer. He said yes. He repents.

  Wataru’s vision blurred with tears, and he swallowed. “Do you repent your sins as a child of man, the conflict, the anger, the empty struggle, the foolish ignorance?”

  This time, the pause was shorter. “Yes,” Mitsuru said again.

  “Do you repent the lies, your own greed, your failure to accept the glory that the Goddess has given unto the children of man?”

  “Yes.”

  Wataru could no longer stop the tears. “Here then your penance is done, your sins upon the land wiped clean as you were at birth. Know peace, child of man, for you will surely be called into that eternal light’s embrace.” Tears like rivers down his face, Wataru finished the prayer. “Vesna esta holicia. Though a child of man knows time, life itself is eternal.”

  Mitsuru’s mouth moved slowly. “Those words…”

  “Huh?”

  “Vesna…esta holicia. Do you know what they mean?”

  Wataru shook his head.

  “Until you shine through…again…” Mitsuru muttered, his eyes closed. “Goodbye.”

  However many times they had said goodbye before, Wataru knew this one would be the last.

  Mitsuru slowly began to fade. The mist gathered as it had before. It wrapped around him and covered him in its gentle embrace. Growing pure and luminescent, the mist took in Mitsuru’s life.

  On his knees, Wataru wept as he watched Mitsuru’s outline fade. Then he noticed a single ray of light shining from above his head. It was like the light from a small spotlight, as large as his fist. It shone a pale, warm gold, coming down to the dissolving Mitsuru like a hand reaching out.

  Mitsuru noticed its touch. Wrapped in mist, his head moved, his face lifting slightly upward. Half-closed eyelids opened again. A small circle of light shone into his eyes.

  This light—could it be?

  A sudden realization hit him. Wataru swallowed and a warm feeling of security rose in him.

  When we die, we become light. A light shining upon the ground. Until the day we are born again.

  This light was surely Mitsuru’s sister. His little sister, the one he wanted to bring back to the real world so badly, the one for whom he wanted to change his destiny. She had come back to Mitsuru.

  She had come to welcome him.

  Mitsuru seemed to understand this too. He smiled faintly. His fingers twitched weakly, moving to meet the light—like he was trying to grab his sister’s hand.

  “Go with your brother,” Wataru said quietly. The golden light winked once in reply.

  Soon, Mitsuru had completely disappeared, becoming nothing more than a swirling, glowing cloud of mist. The tiny golden circle of light surrounded it and led it quietly upward.

  Still on his knees, Wataru thrust out his arms toward the sky. It was as though he were giving another caged bird its freedom.

  To the sky…

  When it was done, the mist covering the Swamp of Grief disappeared. A final tear dropped from Wataru’s chin.

  Slowly, Wataru picked up the fallen sorcerer’s staff and rose to his feet.

  The gem at
the tip of the staff was glowing with a faint purple light. Soon, four distinct points of light appeared within the gemstone. They too, rose into the air, following after Mitsuru.

  Only one point of light remained behind, hovering at Wataru’s eye level. Wataru drew his sword.

  Darkness and light be with you, Brave.

  Then the final gemstone found its place in the star pattern on the hilt of the Brave’s Sword. A powerful blast of energy ran from the hilt to the tip of the blade. Then it echoed back, traveling up Wataru’s arm, infusing him with strength.

  The five gemstones were gathered together at last. The Demon’s Bane was complete.

  Wataru lifted his eyes. He knew what would be there, across the lake, waiting for him before he saw it.

  The Tower of Destiny stood with its doors open, revealing a long spiral staircase that rose inside, quietly beckoning.

  Chapter 55

  The Tower of Destiny

  The spiral staircase was barely wide enough for Wataru to walk on. It ran up along the inner wall of the giant, hollow tower as far as his eye could see. The shape reminded him of a model of a DNA double-helix he had seen in a science book.

  The Tower of Destiny was made of the same radiant blue crystal as the collage of towns and cities he had just walked through—even the stairway was made of the stuff. After circling the interior of the tower a few times, the translucent steps made it hard for him to judge distance. Wataru ran his right hand along the wall as he climbed so as not to mistakenly step off the edge.

  Though the light coming from the crystal was cold, the material of the wall itself was warm to the touch. When he looked closer he could see his own reflection—and someone else’s. Who’s that smiling?

  Mom. Wataru stopped. An image of his mother was suspended in the crystal before him. She was much younger than the last time he had seen her. Her hairstyle was different. She was wearing a pastel-colored sweater, and carrying…

  A baby? Who is that?

  It’s me. She’s carrying me. The nursing infant in her arms was barely able to hold its own head up. He was trying to touch his mother’s face with both hands. She would cover her eyes with a hand then pull it away. Peekaboo! The baby Wataru laughed and laughed.