8. Curse Plague (16)
8. Curse Plague (16)
More than five hours had passed since Wonderstein and Maya left for the village, and there was still no word from either of them.
Ella's anxiety was plain to see.
Dinnertime had long since come and gone. Something had clearly happened to them. Her unease had spiked an hour ago when a scouting attempt fell apart—Gudol and Jjiksun flatly refused to go anywhere near the village. Both of them were terrified.
Thanks to her ability to communicate in simple terms with animals, she asked them why. They groped for words to express it and managed only this:
Scary. Devours.
That was a bad sign. If a large natural predator had appeared, they had their own vocabulary for it. Ella pressed them, but they shook their heads.
Different. Never seen before.
Neither of them knew what it actually was. Their animal instincts simply sensed that something dangerous lurked there.
Were Wonderstein and Maya all right?
It was hard to imagine anything in a backwater like this capable of threatening the two of them. When Ella tried to picture a dangerous being, she couldn't summon anyone who surpassed Wonderstein himself.
Her mind drifted back to the face of the person who had fled at the sight of them two hours ago. That unease she'd felt then—it hadn't been mistaken. Something was definitely happening in the village.
She wanted to go see for herself, but she wasn't sure she should. Her interference could make things worse.
What forced her hand was a thunderous crash. The ground shook as something huge splintered and crumbled—like a massive siege engine slamming into a castle wall.
Ella shot to her feet, unable to hold back any longer.
"I'm going. I have to."
At first, she meant to go alone. But the entire troupe had heard that blast, and they weren't about to let her walk off by herself. In the end, the whole circus moved toward the village together.
Ella climbed into the same wagon as Yurakne.
"They'll both be fine."
At Yurakne's offhand reassurance, Ella realized the woman was watching her hands. Her fingers were laced together, trembling.
"This is... because I'm worried about Maya."
Ella hastily tucked her hands into her sleeves. Then she tacked on a threadbare caveat.
"I don't give a damn about that man."
"...Ella, do you realize that's the third time you've said that?"
Yurakne smiled, teasing, and Ella averted her eyes.
"Be honest. You're worried about the Troupe Leader too, aren't you?"
"Th-that's absurd... He's not the kind of person anyone would worry about in the first place."
Ella had a point. Yurakne couldn't picture him in danger either.
"Can you finally tell me what happened between you and the Troupe Leader?"
Ella bit down on her lip. Careful not to provoke her, Yurakne chose her next words carefully.
"You've noticed it too. How much he's changed."
"Changed? In what way?"
"Hasn't he? Warmer. More genuine toward us, it seems like..."
"Pretending to be kind has always been his specialty. Genuine—don't make me laugh. Fine. I'll admit he's genuine about the circus. That's the only reason he ever treats us well in the first place."
Ella was finding it harder than usual to keep her feelings about Wonderstein under control. That dream earlier hadn't helped...
Catching her breath, she went on.
"How do you explain all those people he killed, then?"
Yurakne's face hardened. She, too, had never been able to shake the memories of that day.
With a single gesture of his hand, elite soldiers had burst apart like fireworks; innocent villagers had been crushed together, alive, into a ball of flesh.
Why he'd done it, how he'd been capable of it—still a mystery. But then Yurakne remembered the warm hand he'd extended to her when she lived alone in the forest. His back, shielding her. The smile he'd worn when he confided his secret to her, and to no one else.
And then she remembered her dead husband.
A sad smile crossed her face.
"Maybe the Troupe Leader had his reasons?"
Reasons? Reasons?
Ella wanted to snap back—what possible "reasons" could justify massacring dozens of innocent children? Instead she swallowed her fury and turned her head toward the window.
As they drew nearer the village, they all sensed something was deeply off. Snarling and human screams traded turns in the air. The Ratmen, sensitive to scent, twitched their noses.
"Blood!"
"That's the smell of blood!"
No one gave the order, but every troupe member began looking for something that could serve as a weapon.
Ella slipped a hand inside her coat for her dagger—and her fingers brushed against something else. The object Wonderstein had given her. She swore under her breath, then drew the dagger anyway.
When they reached the village entrance, the gate in the wooden palisade swung open. A handful of people who looked like villagers burst out. They spotted the lanterns on the wagons and approached with relieved expressions—until Yobel, the closest to them, got a clear look at their faces and shrieked.
"Monsters!"
The villagers, for their part, noticed the conspicuously caged Umon and started screaming too.
"Monsters!"
They thrust their farm tools forward. The troupe members still inside the wagons recoiled.
Blood, scraps of flesh, and bits of human body parts dangled and swung from the tips of those plows and pitchforks.
"They're killers!"
"Dangerous bastards!"
The troupe threw open the wagon doors and spilled out. When the villagers saw so many figures pouring into the open at once, they shrieked and convulsed in panic.
"What is wrong with these people?"
They checked on the fallen villagers. Yobel hadn't called them monsters without reason. Strange growths had erupted across some of their faces.
"Looks like some kind of epidemic's going around."
"Look at their skin. I've never seen anyone more hideous than Bandik."
"You done?"
The troupe chatted among themselves over the collapsed villagers.
Ella barely choked back a scream. Not because their state was so gruesome—she'd seen this before.
Before she could get a word out, Sven spoke.
"It's the Curse Plague."
His voice was grave. Ella had never seen him like this; he was always forcing a clown's high spirits no matter what, yet now he was utterly serious.
Umon, curiosity alight, asked,
"What's that?"
Yobel scratched his head and mumbled with little confidence.
"Isn't that a really famous epidemic?"
"Seems quite a few of you don't know. Heh heh. The Curse Plague. By another name: Devolut. A curse that concerns us all."
Sven gave a brief explanation of Devolut. As they listened, people nodded. Some members had heard versions of the story from their parents.
"No question the Troupe Leader and Miss Maya are in trouble down there. If the Curse Plague is spreading, people like us showing up won't exactly be welcomed."
"What happened over there?"
"Hard to say. Look at the blood and flesh on their weapons. Brawl among the locals? Or maybe the lord sent soldiers to wipe out the cursed..."
"They're killing them?"
"Before they understood how Devolut works, such things happened all the time."
"Ha-ha, best we hurry. We've more or less grasped the situation."
"B-but... are we really safe?"
"Ha-ha. Well, I only know what I've heard. Who knows? Maybe if I'm exposed to Devolut, I'll start sprouting flesh of my own."
"Are... are you serious?"
Bandik's bandages shifted as he asked. Sven had recovered his jester's manner by then and cackled.
"Of course it's a joke."
"You damned old coot..."
While the others seemed relieved to have a few answers, Ella's expression stayed frozen.
This—the villagers transformed like this. It was exactly what Wonderstein had done when he attacked her homeland.
- Kill me! Just kill me, please!
- The demon did it! He waved his hand through the air, and everyone collapsed, and they all turned into... into this!
People crawling along the ground, tangled together, twisted into every conceivable horror.
Sven was telling everyone how the Curse Plague had originated from a demon called the Plague Lord.
If a demon like that really existed, Ella thought she knew exactly who it was.
***
Inside the chapel, the air was thick with wailing. The grief and fear everyone had been holding back erupted the moment the immediate crisis settled.
Valentina wanted to comfort them—to soothe the souls of the dead. But the disaster was not yet over. She raised her voice to the villagers.
"That frenzy just now clearly targeted those afflicted with the Curse Plague! Please—set aside your grief for a moment and come forward to be treated!"
Valentina and Wonderstein returned to the seats they'd occupied before and began calling patients forward one by one. But nobody lined up in front of Wonderstein.
The open hostility from before was gone. He had, after all, saved their lives.
That didn't change the fact that he was the suspicious figure who led the Monster Circus Troupe around.
Fewer than fifty patients remained in the chapel. Most had decided they'd rather receive treatment from a nun of the Holy Church than put their trust in some unverified, uneasy method.
Watching every last patient queue up before Valentina, Wonderstein allowed himself a bitter smile.
"It seems my work here is done."
"You're... leaving?"
Valentina's eyes widened as she looked at him. He shook his head, a tired grin on his face.
"No. I'm going to go get some sleep. Heh heh. Valentina, you'll have to keep at it a while longer."
"Wha—! That's too... I mean! Thank you for your hard work! Thank you!"
Wonderstein swept his tattered, rag-like habit aside and made his way out. Outside, the exhausted knight was directing the less-injured survivors to gather the corpses.
"Sir Ivanenko. As we discussed—can you provide a campsite for my troupe?"
"No need. The village hall is empty. Take all your people there and get some rest. You've earned that much. Most of the village's population is dead anyway, so there's no one left to raise an objection."
Wonderstein thanked him and left the chapel grounds. He had just reached the slope leading down into the village when he spotted Maya running up toward him.
"Troupe Leader!"
She had been too occupied helping the armed villagers fight the infected to keep track of the remaining afflicted. When the thunderous noise from the church reached her, she'd sprinted over.
"Miss Maya, you're unharmed. That's a relief."
"...You, too."
She let out a breath when she saw him walking around under his own power, even though blood streaked him here and there.
She glanced past him. The villagers' eyes were far from friendly.
"What happened?"
"A problem came and went. All finished now. Heh. Let's head down. We should see to our troupe."
"...All right."
Together, they descended the hillside road.
From the bell tower, the church's bell-ringer watched them vanish into the darkness. Most of the villagers were dead, but the old man—who hadn't missed a single day of ringing the bell in over thirty years—had climbed up here to do his duty.
He pulled the rope to sound the bell. It didn't ring clear the way it used to.
During the earlier fighting, a crack had spread through part of the bell tower, warping the metal.
Screech. Scraaape.
The scrape of twisted metal echoed through the village.
Midnight had come. The hour when the things that crouch in darkness draw their greatest strength.
Screech. Scraaape.
Over a thousand people had died. The corrupted spiritual waves they emitted as they died had left the local spiritual defenses grievously weakened.
Screech. Scraaape.
Someone born with spirit-sight would be able to see it now: cracks spreading across the empty air.
Screech. Scraaape.
Someone born with spirit-hearing would be able to catch it now: the sound of the empty air cracking.
Screech. Scraaape.
In streets buried under the dead. In alleys sloshing with blood. In the thickest folds of the dark.
Screech. Scraaape.
The barrier that divides this world from the Abyss tore open. Through the rent, vast shadows began to straighten and rise. Crimson eyes, hungry for slaughter, flared to life.