Anne's Story (2)
The Northern Lands are a barren place. The soil is unfit for farming, and food is never plentiful. People here do not live in utter destitution — but neither do they live easily.
The Northern Lands are a dangerous place. Few souls make their homes here, and the monsters that haunt the surrounding wilds are many. With so little worth protecting, neither knights nor mages keep a post among them.
And yet a great many people still live in this land. Each for their own reasons. Because they cannot leave. Until the day their lives run out.
And that is precisely why bandits exist in the north as well. Where there are people, there are goods — and goods can be sold. Even without goods, it hardly matters. People themselves can be made into merchandise.
"Aaaagh!"
"Eek!"
Today, one particular village had become their target. It was not that there had been no resistance. The men of the village had fought with everything they had. But they were hopelessly outmatched — in numbers, in weapons, in everything. Some were killed. The rest were seized by the bandits, and the remaining villagers were herded into the open square, where they huddled and shook.
"Loot everything!"
The brief struggle was over. Now came the time for plunder. As if by unspoken agreement, their private festival began. Grain. Tools. Furniture. Anything that might fetch a coin.
"Tell me the truth, kid."
The bandits, it seemed, had come for a reason of their own. And the one they had dragged before them was none other than Anne.
"I hear you've got some very fine herbs. If you've got them, hand them over — and tell me where you found them."
A blade of glittering, pitiless steel came to rest against her throat. Anne trembled from head to toe. A piece of the past she had only just managed to forget came rushing back — her father, who had lost his life at the hands of men like these. Bandits as terrifying as any monster had appeared once more.
"What, is she a mute?"
"Shall we find out?"
One of the bandits snatched someone's hand, and Rone, who had been held captive, was yanked forward, limp and helpless.
"Anne!"
"Rone!"
"Huh. So she's not a mute. Then why won't she talk?!"
A dull thud, and Anne went tumbling across the ground. She clutched her stomach, a groan of pain tearing from her lips.
"Anne! Anne!!"
"What devoted sisters. I'm touched."
A brutal hand closed around Rone's throat. As her little sister thrashed, Anne threw herself at the chieftain's feet.
"My sister — please let my sister go. Please. Please…"
"Talk, and I will. That herb from the rumors. You've got more, don't you? Where did it come from?"
"I— that's…"
Anne's mind raced. How was she supposed to answer? That it had come from a monster? That she had received it from a red bird she had never seen before? They would never believe her. No one would. And even if they did — was it right to say such a thing? What if these bandits captured the Red Bird? Men this cruel to people would be worse still to a beast.
He had called it a price, but that bird had shown her grace. Her sister's illness was gone. Rone no longer lay wasting in a bed. How could she send the Red Bird to its death after a gift like that? It was not a person — but to betray a kindness so great?
"This little bitch still—! Hey! Bring me a bow!"
The chieftain took the bow, nocked an arrow, and drew the string taut. The point settled on its mark.
"I'll give you five seconds. If you still won't talk, your sister dies."
"Ah— ah! W-wait, please!"
Her last remaining family. Her little sister. Rone. Anne did not know what to do. She thought she might go mad. Betray the kindness she had been shown — or save her family.
"One. Five."
Cruel to the last. The arrow left the string.
In that instant, Anne made the best decision she could. A path that would not betray the kindness she had been shown — and would still save her sister.
A wet, terrible punch of impact.
"Anne!!"
"Ah, damn it!"
The arrow punched through Anne's back. The head burst from her chest, and crimson blood soaked through her clothes.
"Ro…ne…"
Her body listed to the side. No words would come. She could not draw breath. It hurt. It hurt so much.
"Goddamn it."
"Boss, what were you thinking, actually shooting?"
"How was I supposed to know the crazy girl would jump in front of it?"
The chieftain strode over and kicked her in irritation. With every blow, blood spilled from between the girl's lips. Life was going out. The flame was growing thinner. Her vision blurred. Anne looked ahead.
Her sister, struggling to break free of the bandits. The burning village. A world dyeing itself red. And far in the distance, a red bird…
Ah.
Had she seen it wrong? Beyond the sky, there was a red bird. It was looking at this place. It was looking down upon everything.
A great roar of fire.
"Wh-what?!"
"What is that! Aaaagh!"
Her eyelids grew heavy. Beyond them, the last sight Anne beheld: the flames that had been devouring the village were dancing, swaying, gathering. And the gathered fire began to sweep over the bandits.
Lord Red Bird.
That was as far as she got. Anne slowly closed her eyes.
"Gyaaaaah!"
"Help me! Help meee!!"
The bandits burned alive. They rolled across the ground to smother the fire. They flung water over themselves; some threw themselves into it entirely. But the flames would not go out. They only rose higher — as though purifying something filthy, as though incinerating something vile — devouring every last hair, every smallest scrap of flesh.
Rone crept to where Anne lay fallen.
"Anne."
"Anne. Please."
"…"
"I'm all better now. I can go fishing with you. I can run. Okay? There's so much I want to do with you. So please. Don't leave me behind."
No answer came. A human being cannot kindle a life that has already gone out.
"Nnh… ah… ahhh…"
Her chest hurt too much. She wanted to cry, and the tears would not come. Rone could only hold her sister.
That was why she did not notice when something came to her side. Only when something soft brushed her arm did she turn her head.
A bird. An enormous bird. A red bird. A bird could not be this large. Was it a monster? But Rone did not care. Nothing mattered anymore. Her last remaining family was dead. If she could just go with her, like this…
The Red Bird nudged Rone gently aside with a wing. There was strength in it — but nothing of force, as if it were only asking her to step aside for a moment. Rone stared at the bird in a daze, then laid Anne down.
The bird regarded Anne in silence. It held the child in prismatic eyes whose depths could not be fathomed. Slowly, it bowed its head, and set its brow against hers.
Every flame that had been billowing in every direction gathered in. To the Red Bird — and from the bird, into the girl.
The breath that had vanished returned.
The life that had gone out blazed once more.
"Hah—!"
"Anne!"
"R-Rone…?"
Rone collapsed into her arms, sobbing. Anne held her, soothing her, and then her hand went to her own chest.
It's gone.
She had been struck by an arrow. The head had come through. And yet there was nothing. No arrow. No wound. Nowhere at all.
What is this?
A gaze settled on her, and she turned. The Red Bird was looking at her.
"Did you… save my life?"
No answer came. Her mind, too, was quiet. But that silence was already answer enough.
"Thank you."
Anne sank to her knees and bowed her head — just as she had when she first encountered that being. But this time it was not fear she carried. Only awe, and gratitude, toward that great existence.
The Red Bird, still watching her, beat its wings with sudden power. Then it became a single shining star and soared into the night sky. A long cry lingered on the air, and was gone.
Anne gazed after the direction it had vanished, then slowly clasped her hands. Beside her, Rone followed her sister's lead.
"Thank you, Lord Red Bird."
"Thank you, Lord Red Bird."
The damage the bandits had done was considerable. Villagers dead and wounded. Houses broken and brought down. And yet there was hope on the people's faces. They grieved for those who had left them — but they did not despair.
The bandits who attacked the village had set it on fire. By all rights, everything should have been reduced to ash. Those flames had vanished as if they had never been.
"I'll help you, ma'am."
"Thank you, Anne."
"I'll help too!"
"Don't push yourself too hard, Rone."
The north is always like this. A barren place. But people live on — each carrying their own hope.
Anne watched the village being rebuilt, bit by bit. She had heard there had been a great fire, and yet almost nothing was burned.
He must have done this. Surely.
She touched her chest in silence. The arrow that had pierced her through. Her fading vision. She ought to have died — and she had been brought back. The being who had granted her that grace had vanished with the flames.
Had it truly been an angel sent by a god? Or some other great existence?
Hoping against hope, Anne set out. The place she walked toward was none other than the lake — the place where she and the Red Bird had first met.
She searched the surroundings for that presence. But there was nothing to be seen. Why had he granted her so great a kindness? Who was he? She wanted to know. She asked with all the earnestness in her heart, but no answer came.
Anne slowly lifted her face to the sky. Colorless. Harsh and cold and desolate. Then she thought of the Red Bird, and warmth touched her. A gentle heat was conveyed.
…Yes. Like him. Like the Red Bird.
As she had received, so someday to another. To share warmth in this colorless place. So that when, far from now, she encountered him again, she could say she had not wasted the life he bestowed. That with this flame, she had raised someone up.
The first Saintess of the Holy Fire Order.
Anne
Her flame began to burn on this very day.