A Little Trust (4)
Rachel swallowed a sharp breath and sat up.
The moment she came to after taking the mermaid monster's sonic attack head-on, she found herself lying in a bed. The back of her head and the small of her back were damp with sweat.
It was clammy, yet at the same time she caught a soft, powdery scent. A fragrance she had missed for so long.
Rachel pushed herself upright and slowly looked around.
The first thing that caught her eye was the pale pastel floral wallpaper. Next came an oak desk and a wardrobe for clothes. And there, on the shelf, sat the dolls her mother had sewn by hand.
All of it was the landscape of her room, exactly as it lived in Rachel's memory.
How?
This place was not supposed to exist anymore. It had burned to the ground that day — there should not have been a trace left. And yet here it stood, whole and intact, right before her eyes.
Rachel slapped her own cheek.
"Nngh."
It hurt. The pain was far too vivid for this to be a dream.
Climbing out of bed, Rachel suddenly realized she was shorter than usual. She hurried over to the full-length mirror on quick little steps. The reflection staring back was a child of seven or eight at most.
"That's impossible."
No matter how she turned it over, it made no sense.
"…It's a dream."
A dream of losing her parents, becoming a soldier of the Holy Kingdom, and being shipwrecked on a deserted island with an enemy mage.
What a nightmare to have. She would have preferred a dream of being swept up by a prince on a white horse. Of course, the enemy man from that dream had been ridiculously handsome, but… what was she even saying.
Rachel shook her head hard and wiped the cold sweat from her brow. She opened the door and went downstairs.
A savory smell drifted up. From the direction of the kitchen.
"Oh my, Rachel. You're up early today."
"Is the sun rising in the west? Haha."
The two adults who greeted her at the bottom of the stairs were her parents. Her mother, Sierra Brightheart, was making breakfast. Her father, Lyman Brightheart, was checking over handouts to distribute to his middle-school students.
"It's the weekend. You could have slept a little longer."
"Well, you're up now, so you might as well eat with us. But our little princess can fetch her own fork and plate, can't she?"
Mother. Father.
Barely a day should have passed, and yet the emotion that surged up felt as if she had not seen them in nearly fifteen years.
A single tear slid down Rachel's cheek.
"Huh? What's gotten into her all of a sudden?"
"Maybe she had a bad dream?"
She could not hold it in. Rachel ran to her parents and threw her arms around them. Tears poured out without end, as if someone had turned on a faucet.
Sierra looked flustered, but said nothing and simply stroked Rachel's hair. Warmth seeped through — the same touch, the same scent she remembered, as if no time had passed at all.
And so Rachel, peace restored, spent happy days with her family. They ate together, went on picnics, tended the kitchen garden, and sometimes went fishing.
Everything was perfect.
Until the plague came to the fishing village where she lived.
"Cough, cough!"
Everyone who fell ill was wracked by a cough that would not stop. The single hospital in their remote rural village was overrun in no time. The collapse of the medical system was inevitable.
"Honey, Rachel. For the time being, don't go outside. We'll make do with what we have at home. The people with the flu are in a bad way."
Rachel felt a jolt of déjà vu.
The nightmare she had dreamed a few months ago had begun right here — with the villagers falling to a disease of unknown origin.
If her memory was right, a group of outsiders would appear next, spouting the kind of nonsense only heretics would say.
"Fire! Only fire can end this plague!"
Exactly like that.
"This is divine punishment! If we leave it alone, every last one of us will be laid low!"
"People! Burn the houses of the sick at once! That is the only way to ease the wrath of God!"
Rachel's heart hammered in her chest.
"A nurse handing out disinfectant told me. Everyone who's sick says their throat burns like it's on fire. And when they cough, little particles of Ekirel come out mixed in."
Lyman said this as he came back from the hospital with quarantine supplies.
"N-no."
Rachel went pale and grabbed both of them.
"Mom! Dad! We have to leave this village right now!"
"Rachel, what's gotten into you?"
"If we stay, our whole family is going to die!"
Rachel shouted.
"Those people outside saying weird things — they're all evil mages! They're trying to use the people of our village as sacrifices to summon a demon! The plague going around right now is something they spread!"
"Oh, sweetheart. Your imagination is running away with you."
Sierra stroked Rachel's cheek.
"Our princess doesn't need to worry so much. What age are we living in? Those people are just disturbed. Don't listen to a word they say."
"Your mother's right. It'll get better soon. Even if things get hard, as long as we stay home, there's nothing to worry about."
"But if we stay like this, every house in this village is going to burn down!"
"Rachel. The village chief made an announcement yesterday, remember? Doctors and priest sisters and brothers will be coming soon. We just have to wait until then, and everything will be fine."
Maybe she was worrying over nothing. She had to believe that.
But when word came that a critically ill patient had collapsed spewing fire instead of blood, Rachel's dread hardened into certainty.
"Mom, Dad! It really is the mages! We have to run! Or we'll end up as sacrifices too!"
"Come on. Surely not…"
Rachel's parents looked doubtful first and foremost. Anyone would. A person dying while vomiting fire — unless you saw it with your own eyes, how could you believe it?
"Isn't that just a rumor those strange outsiders are spreading?"
"Let's wait a little longer for the priests to arrive."
"No! We have to run right now! I dreamed it — I had a dream! Tonight those lunatics are going to set fire to our house too!"
Rachel shouted herself hoarse, but it was useless. Instead of listening to their only daughter, Lyman and Sierra soothed her, telling her not to be so afraid.
Rachel forced down the choking frustration. She could not leave it like this. She needed to pack clothes and food. At the very least, she had to leave the front door slightly ajar so that if the house caught fire, she could get her parents out fast.
She was about to put the thought into action when —
"Wh-what?"
Time around her began to accelerate.
She had only blinked. But the sun that had been high overhead a moment ago had sunk into the earth. Rachel checked the clock and went rigid.
"Wh-what is this. Why is it suddenly the middle of the night…?"
"Honey! Get up! I smell smoke in the house!"
Rachel felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
There was no time to think. She yanked the curtain aside and looked out the window. Smoke rose from every direction, blackening the sky. It looked like the end of the world.
The sparks stinging her nostrils did not smell of burning alone. Something damp and foul was mixed in.
Mana.
The stench of Ekirel converting into Mana.
"Rachel!"
Her father Lyman's voice came from downstairs. Rachel ran down the steps and met her parents at the front door.
"Dad! Mom!"
"Rachel, you were right! Let's get out of here! Wait—!"
"What's wrong?"
"The doorknob is burning hot!"
Flames punched through the front entrance.
"Damn it! Even if we smash the door, we can't get out this way!"
"Escape through the windows!"
But the entire first floor was already ringed in fire — nowhere left to go. Rachel's parents took her and a thick blanket and climbed to the second floor.
The second-floor windows were all narrow compared to the ones below. The previous owner had roughly converted what used to be an attic. The windows were just large enough for a small child like Rachel to squeeze through.
"Rachel, wrap yourself in the blanket and jump down."
"But, Mom!"
"You don't have to be scared. One second — just hold on for one second and it'll all be over."
Jumping was not what she feared. What truly terrified her was the future in which, if she jumped now, she might never see her parents' faces again. The fear that the dream from that day would continue into reality.
"Where are you and Dad going to escape from?!"
"Once Rachel jumps first, Mom and Dad will find another window and get out too. Or we'll turn on the water in the bathroom and wait, so Rachel can come back with the firefighters and save us. All right?"
"Our little princess. Promise?"
Sierra and Lyman spoke to her with quiet resolve.
She wanted to scream that she refused — that she would rather die with Mom and Dad.
But reason knew better. The only way to save her parents was to get down first and call for help from outside.
Rachel rolled herself in the blanket, barely squeezed through the window, and tumbled down. A heavy jolt slammed into her small body.
"Hah, hah — Mom, Dad…!"
She threw off the blanket and turned around. The entire house was blazing. The two houses on either side were the same. This was no ordinary fire.
Rachel ran. Toward the fire station.
The whole village was burning. The firefighting facilities might already be paralyzed. Dodging the occasional flying ember, she scorched her face more than once.
Her grim prediction did not miss.
The fire station itself was on fire.
"Ah…"
There was truly nothing left she could do. All that remained was to run the streets and beg the villagers for help.
So Rachel ran, and ran, and ran again. She tore down the main road looking for anyone who could help. In a child's body, even a little movement left her gasping for air.
But with the entire village swallowed by fire, there was no one to help Rachel. Calling for outside aid was impossible too — the village chief's house, home to the only long-range communicator, was also burning.
Helplessness. Exhaustion.
Rachel came back to the house that was still burning, and began to cry without end.
"Please help me!"
Was there any salvation?
"Is anyone there?"
Probably not.
"My mom and dad are inside the house!"
There hadn't been any in the dream either.
"Anyone — please, help me — hic…"
Rachel screamed until her strength gave out and she collapsed forward.
Maybe the dream from that day had been a premonition. The Goddess had tried to warn her in advance — to persuade her parents and flee before the tragedy of the future could unfold.
Rachel had failed. She had treated the dream as only a dream. She had never imagined it would become real.
She was clawing at the ground with her nails, still screaming, when —
"W'HE DISSA."
Footsteps.
A group of people appeared.
"QUNO NIDDH FAIH?"
She had no idea what they were saying. But one thing was certain. These were mages — the ones who had reduced the village she lived in to this state.
In the dream, she never met them. In the dream, Rachel was rescued by the priests who arrived after everything was over, and only then learned the full story. The mages had intended to use this village as a sacrificial lamb for an evil ritual.
Thanks to the priests' purification, the ritual itself had failed — but that day had destroyed Rachel's life completely. After losing her parents and entering the orphanage, she never truly smiled again.
And the nun at the orphanage had a habit of saying: mages were all an evil breed, and in the Middle Ages they had been the Devil King's lackeys, bringing evil into the world at his side.
From then on, hatred of mages took root in Rachel down to the bone.
It was also why she had enlisted in the Holy Kingdom's air force. The Magic Kingdom was a nation founded by mages. There was nowhere else to aim her revenge.
"DILL RUKE AUFH ROETSSHEM BH KM. HYUIFR."
"SU, SHI INDALLAH FAIH NON LIDTEEMARAN CHUI BLA…"
"TAUF. FAIH CAST NORZEN KENNIQ PI OLORHA VEMON EFF MIZCHEKH SANDALR U HOM. AL?"
The mages muttered in the Demon's Language. Then a tall man in a robe seized her leg and dragged her.
"Let go! Let go of me!"
She tried to resist, but it was meaningless. In this body, a contest of strength with an adult man was not even possible.
"ZEINNH SIE UPOH TRAGHA."
The man was about to hurl Rachel into the inferno when a stone came flying from the side and smashed into his temple.
"Guh—!"
He crumpled. His companions recoiled, murmuring in alarm. One of them sensed the presence first and pointed in the direction the stone had come from.
Out of the ashes, a young man in a Magic Kingdom military uniform was walking toward them.
When Rachel saw his face, her pupils contracted.
"…Erihi Ronshstein?"
The enemy mage officer from her dream. Her second nightmare — the one who had taken the lives of the comrades who had been her friends since the orphanage — stepped out of the dark.
"Rachel Brokenheart."
He spoke.
"Wake up. This is an illusion."
Magic is no different from a kitchen knife. Used well, it is a useful tool for preparing food. Used poorly, it becomes a means of random murder on the street.
That is why mages created a set of rules called the Covenant — to keep trash who wielded magic however they pleased from crawling out of the woodwork.
The Mage's Covenant. Also known as the Covenant of Jeriem.
After the founding of the Magic Kingdom, the Covenant became part of national law. Systems were built to control mages' power, starting with the State Mage institution, and destructive magics were designated outright as Forbidden Arts — anyone who used them faced life imprisonment or the death penalty.
And among the hundreds of Forbidden Arts, illusion magic was classified at the highest tier: an Instant-Death Forbidden Art.
A vicious black art that let the caster freely manipulate the target's every joy and sorrow — and, at the end, physically rupture their nerve cells.
"What the hell."
"Why's the kid here?"
"Looks like she got out somehow. Pick her up and throw her back in."
"Hey, even so — she's a child…"
"Who cares. We all know a kid's bone powder is ridiculously efficient for the Devil King's resurrection."
It seemed the place I was standing in was inside the Valkyrie's memories.
"Let go! Let go of me!"
"I'll send you to your parents."
Even from the fragmentary information, it was clear. This scene must have been the most wretched, most painful days of her life.
At the same time, I finally understood why she flinched from campfires.
"Tch."
I picked up a rock lying nearby. Then I treated the black-robed man about to hurl Rachel into the burning house to the time-honored tradition of our Magic Stone Department: a good old-fashioned rock to the face.
"Guh—!"
"Who the hell is that?!"
The remaining group glared at me. But by the time they noticed, stone spheres were already embedded between their eyes.
"Return."
As I chanted in Whieon, the world began to blur. Rachel was looking at me. She had started to recognize this world as an illusion.
"…Erihi Ronshstein?"
"Rachel Brokenheart. Wake up. This is an illusion."
"What? What do you mean…"
"This is inside your memories. Think. What were you doing just before this."
There was no life in Rachel's eyes. Whatever shock she had taken, it was no small thing. Damn it — this was exactly why Forbidden Arts were dangerous.
I raised my voice.
"Right now the two of us are stranded alone on a deserted island! We tried to escape in a lifeboat, fell into a cave, and ran into a mermaid monster! We're seeing this scene because we got hit by that monster's illusion magic! You don't know a single word of the Magic Kingdom's language! Just the fact that you're talking to me right now should tell you the answer!"
"Th-then…"
Rachel murmured.
"It wasn't a dream. All of it. Everything that happened was real?"
"I don't know much about your past, but… probably, yes."
The girl's mouth twisted. Her eyes looked like a dead fish's.
"Take my hand, Rachel. No — Valkyrie."
Rachel slowly took my hand and stood. The world shifted. The sea of fire conjured by the illusion vanished, and a white space appeared. We had reached the backstage of the illusion magic.
The Valkyrie, already back in her original form, was sniffling. Enemy or not, I could not just watch that — so I wiped her tears away.
"Damn mages. I'll kill every last one of them."
"Leave me out of that."
"…I'll think about it."
The world the magic had woven began to collapse. It was time to return to reality.
"First let's beat that fish bastard to death, then we can talk."