Anne's Story (1)

I opened my eyes. How long I had slept, I could not say. Ever since this body had become mine, the very concept of time had slipped away from me. I had managed to count as far as a hundred years; past that, it had simply become too hard.

Today, I could not hear the storm. I stepped outside, and sure enough, the sky was clear. A residual chill still hung in the air, but this much I could live with. I spread my wings and climbed toward the heavens.

At first, I had never even imagined I could fly. The mere fact of having wings had been so alien that it took everything I had just to manage. But now, being up here in the sky felt better than anything else in the world.

The lake has thawed.

A place that had been frozen nearly every day showed ripples on its surface this morning. Chances like this were rare, so I settled quickly to the ground. The reflection looking back at me from the water had not changed in the slightest from the beginning. A red bird. A little large for a bird, perhaps, but a bird all the same.

At this size, I'd be bigger than an ostrich.

It had not always been this way. In my memory, I had been far larger. Perhaps the cold had shrunk me. Perhaps I had simply slept too much. Whatever the reason, I paid it no mind. This size suited me well enough.

When I had first discovered my nest, my body had been so vast I had barely squeezed inside. I had even wondered, for a moment, whether I might get stuck and die in there.

Hm?

A strange sensation pricked at me, and I lifted my head. A girl stood there, a fishing rod clutched in her hands.

"Ah—ahh…"

I had made a mistake. If the weather had broken, I would not be the only thing stirring. A lake this large would be thick with fish—and anything that needed to eat would come looking. Animals. People, too.

"Ah. Aaaah…"

I had heard that when a person is truly terrified, the words will not come. Nothing but a thin, broken sound spilled from between her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠parted lips. A twinge of guilt moved through me, and I shifted my body, meaning to put some distance between us.

"N-no! P-please! Don't!"

The girl flung her fishing rod aside and dropped to her knees. The sky had cleared, yes, but it was still bitterly cold—and this was a bed of gravel. Her knees had to be hurting her terribly.

"Hhk… hh…"

Did I really look that frightening? A little aggrieved, I glanced down at the water. My body was large, granted, but I was hardly some monster. The crimson feathers caught the eye, but no flames were rising from them. My features were sharp, perhaps, but they were not grotesque.

The impulse to tell her it was all right rose up before I could stop it. I opened my mouth—no, my beak—and shut it again at once. I had tried this several times already. Human speech would not come. All that left me was a sound like a whistle. If I used that, the girl would only be more terrified than she already was.

Huh?

It was not reaching me through my ears. It was a desperate cry passing straight through my mind. I looked at the girl trembling on the ground before me. It seemed I could hear what was in her heart.

If I can hear her… then perhaps I can speak to her as well?

I had no idea whether it would work. Then again, I had already become a bird. What was one more impossibility?

The problem is, I don't know how…

I thought for a moment, then fixed my gaze on the girl. And in my mind, I formed the words I wished to give her.

I will not eat you.

Anne was an exceedingly stouthearted girl. Even after both her parents had been taken from her in sudden accidents. Even after the world had left her with no one but herself and her little sister. She had not surrendered her courage. She had lived with everything she had.

"Anne. Where are you off to?"

"The weather's cleared, so I'm going fishing at the lake!"

"Be careful, dear. A break in the weather means the monsters will be stirring too."

"Yes, ma'am! Thank you!"

Anne gathered up her fishing rod and set out from the village. The middle-aged woman watched her go and clicked her tongue. She would have helped if her own circumstances had allowed it, but they did not. The north was always a barren place—hard enough just to keep one's own body alive. All she could offer was a worried warning to be careful.

If only it hadn't been for those bandits.

A few years past, Anne's father had fallen to a band of thieves. He had fought bravely for the village, and he had lost his life for it. The place of the head of the household had stood empty, and so her mother had stepped forward. But the misfortune Heaven had seen fit to send them had not ended there. Anne's mother had been taken by a monster while she was out working.

I wonder if Anne can bear it.

When the girl came back, the woman decided, she would at least warm some goat's milk for her.

Meanwhile, Anne ran hard for the lake.

Monsters are quieter during the day. I'll catch something fast and get home!

Her little sister, Rone, had never been well—not the way Anne was. She had always been frail, and losing both parents one after the other had taken a terrible toll. Every meal that kept that child alive was Anne's to provide.

When she reached the lake, a great deal of the ice had indeed melted away. With the weather easing even a little, the fish would be moving. She threaded a hook onto the line and baited it. One fish would be enough. Two would be wonderful.

God… I don't suppose three would be too much to ask?

She was just about to cast her line, a little greed warming her prayer, when—

A sudden wash of heat bloomed against her skin, as if a fire had flared to life right beside her. Startled, Anne looked around—and then she saw it.

"Ah—ahh…"

A monster of unknown kind, its entire body steeped in crimson.

"Ah. Aaaah…"

The first thought that struck her was of her mother, carried off by a monster. The next was of Rone, left alone, in pain.

The creature shifted.

"N-no! P-please! Don't!"

Anne collapsed where she stood. The thought of running did not even occur to her. She was too afraid. She did not want to hurt. She wanted even less to die. But more than either of those things, she could not bear the thought of her sick little sister being left behind alone. Rone was still so young. She still needed looking after. If she lost the sister she had left, after already losing their parents—she would not survive it. She would surely die.

"Hhk. Hh…"

I don't want to be eaten. I'm so scared.

No. If I die, what's going to happen to my little sister?

God, please. Just once—just once, grant me your mercy…

"…?"

A warm voice, whispering close beside her ear. Before she knew what she was doing, Anne lifted her head. The monster ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looking at her.

It was impossible. It could not be. And yet—why did it feel as though that monster was speaking?

The monster took a step back. A gentle warmth gathered in the air around it. A mild wind brushed across her skin. This voice—it belonged to the monster. There could be no doubt. She had never heard of such a thing. How could a monster speak as a person spoke? How could it send words straight into her mind?

What is your name?

Should she answer? Should she not? She hesitated for a breath—and then a presence she could not resist drew the words from her lips.

"A-Anne. It's Anne."

Anne.

She had spoken her name only once. Truly, that once had been all. And yet her chest swelled so full she could hardly breathe.

You came here to fish.

"Y-yes."

Go on, then. The weather has broken—the fish will bite well today.

The monster took another step back. Anne looked at it properly for the first time. A great red bird. It had the look of a monster, and yet it did not seem like one at all. She had been terrified at first. She was not terrified now. From its voice—from the air around it—a warmth reached her.

Watching it carefully, Anne eased her line out over the water. She stole a glance sideways, just in case, but the creature had not moved. It had gone still, as if to set her fear at rest.

There are a few things I would like to ask you. Will you answer them?

Anne nodded.

Where is this place? What is it called, and to what does it belong?

It sounded like a question a stranger to these lands would ask. Was it truly not a monster, then? She did not let go of all her caution—but she did let a little of the fear fall away.

"Th-this is the northern reach of the Empire. It's also called Nosland."

Anne answered the monster—no, the red bird—as thoroughly as she could. So this was the north, and it was very cold, and it belonged to a place called the Empire, and that Empire was the foremost power on the continent.

"Yes."

You were afraid of me because there are many wicked things here that do harm to people.

"…Yes."

The red bird was silent for a while. A small worry crept in, and Anne glanced at it, trying to read its mood.

Anne. Your rod.

"Pardon? Oh—oh!"

She hauled back with all her strength, and a fish came up on the line. It was not large, but it would fill one person's stomach. She would not be going home empty-handed!

Try for a little longer. Two more will come.

And just as the red bird had said, Anne caught two more after that. Three fish. By any measure, that was extraordinary luck.

"Um. Th-thank you."

Me?

"Yes. I mean… just—thank you."

Because it was not a monster. Because it had not been hostile. Because she would have been so afraid if she had been alone, and it had stayed beside her. Anne bowed her head, and the red bird's beak gave a small, startled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠twitch.

Anne.

"Yes."

You said your sister is unwell.

"What? H-how did you know that?"

It was a strange thing. She had never said so aloud.

Take this with you.

A crimson feather came drifting on the wind. As if guided by an unseen hand, it settled into the center of Anne's palm.

Take it home and set it by your sister's pillow.

"Why would you…"

A gift, for the first soul who offered me conversation.

The red bird spread its wings. It was beautiful. She could not look away. She felt as though she might be drawn forward and try to catch hold of it.

The heart that cares so for a younger sister is a precious thing.

With those words, the red bird rose into the sky. A single beat of its wings washed the world around her in crimson—brilliant, radiant, overwhelming. Anne could only stand and watch, dazed, as the light unfolded.

"…Ah."

The feather. Anne found the feather the red bird had given her. It had not blown away. It was still there. She closed her hand tightly around it. She was still reeling. One unbelievable thing had followed another. The feather she held now might yet do her some harm. And yet Anne found she did not believe that it would. If this had truly been a monster—if it had been one of those wicked things—it would have eaten her where she stood, or dragged her away.

Could this be… an angel sent down by God?

She did not know. What she did know was that she could go home. Anne gathered up the fish she had caught and the feather, and she returned to her house.

"Cough, cough. You're back, sis?"

"Rone. How are you feeling today?"

"I'm fine. Cough, cough!"

She was not fine. There was not a trace of color in her face. She looked like a candle about to go out, and that frightened Anne more than she could say. She could not bear the thought of her sister being left behind—and she could not bear the thought of being the one left behind, either.

"Ta-da. I caught three whole fish today."

"Wow. Really?"

"Mm-hm. I got lucky. I think God must be watching over us."

Before she started on supper, Anne took out the feather. She laid it with great care upon Rone's bed. If God had truly come and lingered at her side, even for a little while—then perhaps her sister, too. Please don't let her hurt anymore. Please let the two of us keep living, leaning on each other. Anne prayed with everything she had, turning the feather gently between her fingers.

The next day.

"S-sis."

"Rone!"

She could not believe it. A single day. In only a single day, Rone had left her bed. She had barely been able to move. She had been so pale she looked bloodless. And now the color had come back into her face. She was not coughing at all.

"What in the world…"

The villagers were astonished as well. They had all known the child would not live long. And now that illness had been washed away as if it had never been—as if a miracle of God had descended upon their little house.

"Anne. What on earth happened?"

"Well, that is—I mean…"

Anne hesitated for a moment, and then she answered like this:

"I, um, went out to catch some fish, and I found this plant that looked like an herb, so I cooked it with dinner! Maybe that was what did it?"

The red bird might find itself in an awkward position if she told the truth. So she did not. This much, she thought, ought to be enough.

But fortune has a way, now and then, of calling misfortune after it.

"Boss. Word is there's a rare herb in a village around here."

"That'll fetch a good price. Let's go clean them out."

A very small story, begun in a very small village, had found its way to the ears of bandits hunting for a windfall.