Tending the Sapling (2)
When spring came, the forest stretched and yawned awake.
Sprouts pushed up between the soil to bask in the sun, moss crept over the trunks and wrapped them in green, and upon bare branches still stripped of their leaves, spring blossoms opened alone.
"What a beautiful sight."
The Crown Prince sat leaning against me, murmuring to himself.
―So you think so too, hm? I like watching the scenery around here. In the morning the sunlight filters down through the leaves, and at night the shadows swallow the rocks.
The Crown Prince gazed blankly at the view. In the middle of that view, the Water Drop Girl lay sprawled on a blade of grass, watching him.
"Tree... hmm, what should I call you?"
―Names don't matter much. Call me whatever feels comfortable.
"I do have a name in mind, but it embarrasses me to say, so I shall simply call you Tree."
―Good idea.
The Crown Prince drifted into thought for a while.
"Tree, what do you think of me? Speak honestly, I beg you."
I had never really thought about it.
But if I had to be perfectly honest...
―Someone who grew up so privileged that he never learned to understand or respect others? Someone so addicted to self-pity that he simply lets his time slip by, neither improving nor growing?
The Crown Prince whipped his head around, his face frozen in shock.
"Isn't that— isn't that a bit too harsh?"
―I was going to soften it, honestly. But I've never heard anyone else say it to you, and I doubt anyone will in the future, so I thought I'd say it once.
I let out a rustle of laughter. Maybe this was how Thermia felt whenever she teased someone.
―Doesn't hearing it feel strangely refreshing, though?
The Crown Prince gave an awkward laugh.
"It is, in truth, rather refreshing."
His gaze drifted back to the scenery.
"Did Velesa tell you? I just came from apologizing to her. I certainly meant no ill intent, but looking back on it, my words were far too vague. I didn't think it through. So I took another slap as the price, you see."
The palm print on his cheek was plain as day.
Whoa?
So that's how it went. Well, if the two of them had settled things between themselves, there was nothing left for an outsider like me to say.
―Then let me correct myself: someone who grew up so privileged that understanding and respecting others came slowly to him.
The Crown Prince gave another hollow laugh.
"How very kind of you."
Then he looked over at the Water Drop Girl perched on her blade of grass.
"...That little one did lead me here, but I have no qualms about saying it."
His eyes grew damp with the past.
"I can now stand before my sister's grave without weeping, and I can pass my father in the corridor without feeling my temper rise. It has been ten years since my sister died. What governs my life now is not my sister, but the past I have chosen for myself."
No person is strong enough to devote themselves to a single emotion for the length of time it takes mountains and rivers to change their course.
Revenge, hatred—sooner or later, they are all forgotten in the simple pleasure of a breakfast eaten one ordinary morning.
"I wonder how it came to this."
The Crown Prince sank into contemplation.
"I have come too far to turn back now."
I had no particular intention of butting in on a man's soliloquy, but—
―Too far in what way, exactly?
"My circumstances, I mean."
The Crown Prince muttered with bitter self-mockery.
"I wasted ten years in idle dissipation. How does one reclaim lost years? I have simply come too far."
Does he, now?
―Why do you assume you have to reclaim them? The past can't be undone to begin with. Even if you only realize a mistake after the fact, the answer isn't to pick the past back up—it's to face the person and apologize. Same as you just did.
I called the Water Drop Girl over with a flicker of divine will.
A water droplet came flying in and jabbed the Crown Prince squarely in the bruised cheek.
"Gah! Would you stop— that stings, blasted thing!"
The Crown Prince recoiled in alarm.
―The way I see it, you're already ready to live your life without reclaiming those ten years. Owning your mistakes and walking into a slap isn't something just anyone can do, you know.
"...Those are kind words to hear."
The Crown Prince smiled bitterly.
―Though I'll say, I'm not a fan of how hard you're savoring your self-pity right now. I can see the spoiled brat who grew up coddled, and frankly it's a shame to watch. Sitting around curating a melancholy mood and waiting for someone to comfort you—that's what wasting ten years actually looks like.
"What?"
For a moment, the Crown Prince simply gaped.
He sputtered for a while, then spun around to face me.
"Isn't that— you are being far too humiliating all of a sudden!"
―But throwing a tantrum at the neighborhood tree is embarrassing, no? I'd think you'd be mortified if word got around.
"That's— you are not a neighborhood tree, you are—... hoo."
The Crown Prince dragged a hand down his face.
"Your sense of humor is merciless."
I let another rustle of laughter escape my leaves.
―But you do agree that until just now you were someone so addicted to self-pity that you let the years burn away without improving or growing one bit? Or would you like to fight me on that one too, with all your might? A slap to the cheek might settle it.
"How wonderfully spirited of you."
The Crown Prince rubbed his cheek. Whether it really had bruised or not, he winced and hissed as he kneaded it.
He stared blankly at the scenery for a long while before asking, slowly:
"...What do you think I ought to do?"
―What do you think you ought to do?
The answer came back at once, as if he'd been waiting all this time to say it.
"I suppose I must return to my neglected studies and training."
Murmuring it a second time, the Crown Prince brushed himself off and rose to his feet.
He dusted off his clothes, glanced back at me—then gave me a look that was half mischief.
"I will repay the indignities I have suffered today. Be prepared."
―Ooh, how terrifying. I'll look forward to it.
The Crown Prince smiled faintly.
"Do look forward to it. Even if my progress is slow."
And with that, he turned away.
"I shall take my leave, Sacred Tree."
His footsteps faded into the distance.
A water droplet slipped quietly after him.
Soon his retreating figure was gone from view.
And there he goes.
I watched the direction he'd gone for a moment, then spoke up slyly.
―You can come out now, I think.
My leaves rustled and shook.
Thermia, still with a leaf stuck to her head, clambered down with a groan.
"He could've just left. I panicked and climbed up for nothing."
―Tell me about it. That conversation ran a lot longer than I expected.
Because the Water Drop Girl had suddenly dragged the Crown Prince over, Thermia—who had originally come to talk to me—had been trapped hiding there the whole time.
"I can't decide if I was even supposed to hear all that."
Thermia looked sheepish.
"I had no idea that menace's heart was so tangled up inside. You really do have to look at people deeply, don't you."
He's still a menace, though. Fair enough, that.
"Well, it remains to be seen, but if he actually quits being a menace, I suppose I could consider not putting an arrow in his backside when I come back."
Thermia said it as though she were doing him a great kindness.
"Velesa unnie already tied that bow, and it'd be rude of me to second-guess her handiwork."
―Honestly, I don't think Velesa needs any worrying. This is the woman who hunts wolves alone, after all.
"Exactly. She only became a seamstress because sewing is her passion—her hunting skills are top-tier in the village."
Then, as if adding a footnote of tremendous importance, Thermia cleared her throat.
"I've also hunted a wolf alone, mind you!"
The girl snickered, hee-hee.
"By the way, the menace called you 'Sacred Tree.' Hmm, I rather like the sound of that. Which do you prefer—World Tree or Sacred Tree? I'm fonder of World Tree since I came up with it myself, but still."
Whoa—wait? You came up with it?
Thermia furrowed her brow in grave deliberation.
―Please stop agonizing over that. The World Tree thing was theatrical staging, remember?
Oh. Right. It was.
―By the way, now that the Lord's Castle operation is finished and the settlers have more or less settled in, don't you think it's about time we told the village the truth?
The girl glanced at me sidelong and pretended not to hear.
―Excuse me...?
I turned to reading the books in the village chief's study.
So there really is an enormous difference in taste and yield between wild fruit and cultivated fruit.
Gambling the whole winter on wild berries alone may genuinely have been flying by the seat of our pants.
―Thermia, when you come back with those seeds, you're helping with the land clearing, right?
At my question, the Pebble Girl gave a listless nod.
―Thanks. If you'll cut back on your sleep and work, everyone will have it easier.
...Whoa? Now that I've said it out loud, that came out kind of wrong.
But the Pebble Girl really does do nothing but sleep all day, so I suppose I can't help being greedy and hoping she'd get along with more people too.
I went looking for the Water Drop Girl to chat with her as well, but she was nowhere in my domain.
Apparently she was off watching the Crown Prince learn swordsmanship from his guards or do the homework the Teacher had assigned him. And she found that entertaining?
Everyone has something to do, it seems. I'm the only one lazing about.
Not that trees are supposed to be busy, but still.
Unlike a lazy tree like me, Thermia had hurried off to the walled frontier city, and I worried whether she was all right.
The lord had abandoned his fief and marched on the royal capital—the security out there could not possibly be holding up.
The sacks of flour, hoarded and left uneaten, had been given as support from the Lord's Castle—and in a truly enormous quantity. A pack of bandits would take one look and start salivating.
Should they have arrived by now? Or not yet? Were they in the middle of the road somewhere?
At the very least, I wanted to see where they were.
And then, quite suddenly, my divine will brushed against something beyond my domain.
The living wooden bow—made from my own body, and now far away.
Whoa—what?
My vision opened up around the bow. Narrower than my true range, but wide enough to make out most of what mattered.
Down the middle of a road cutting through the forest, a line of carts loaded with flour sacks rolled along in single file. Elf militiamen armed with bows and swords encircled the convoy, guarding it on all sides.
On one large cart, ushered along like something precious, sat Thermia and the elf Teacher.
While everyone else walked or kept watch, those two were traveling in comfort. Thermia ranked higher in the village than I'd realized. I never imagined she'd be seated alongside Teacher, of all elves.
Thermia groaned over a bundle of papers.
"Before a servant extends charity and mercy, he must first take care not to wound his lord's spirit. To swell one's honor and broadcast one's fame through good deeds is nothing but base greed—an act of usurpation that would overstep the lord's own name. If one truly serves with loyalty, then it is right that such honor and fame be spread abroad in the lord's name instead."
Whoa?
So the lesson is: if you show off your good deeds, your superiors will hear of your lofty reputation and take it as an insult—so watch yourself?
"Isn't the world a little too bleak for living like this? You wrote this by hand, didn't you, Teacher? You live by this thinking?"
The Teacher clicked his tongue.
"No chatter. Memorize all of it. A person's moral duty and the duty of navigating the world are two different things, and those who cannot tell the two apart do not live long."
Thermia groaned.
"This is just an extreme thought experiment meant to broaden my intellectual horizons, right? Since I still lack such wide and varied perspectives?"
"Not a hopeless head on your shoulders, I see."
The Teacher smiled, looking thoroughly pleased.
"Few are the men who grow jealous when a junior earns renown for good deeds. But the moment you spot a similar opening in a rival, you must recognize its uses at once and think of how to turn it—so these perspectives must be drilled into your head well in advance."
"Ugh, my head hurts. I've done today's portion, so I'm going to finish that history book instead."
Excuse me, you two.
As I understood it, this was supposed to be literacy tutoring, and what she's doing right now is not literacy tutoring, is it?
I find myself doubting the whole arrangement.
Thermia set the papers aside and picked up a thick volume instead. The vocabulary was apparently difficult, because she read with a noble's lexicon open beside her, flipping through it constantly.
Whoa? Is that a noble's vocabulary dictionary?
While she read, I got to work copying the dictionary.
I'd done this plenty of times before, and all my idle fiddling with solid mana had sharpened my crafting skills nicely—so the copy came together quickly.
Soon a thick, solid-mana dictionary rested on one of my branches.
Yoo-hoo, I've got a noble's vocabulary dictionary.
Just like that, I became a very clever little sapling—one who can now exchange letters with the nobility.
But the journey was not all smooth sailing.
Before long, the peaceful atmosphere came to an abrupt end.
"Charge!"
An armed band came pouring out of the woods on both sides, rushing the convoy.
Going by their solid kit and the guild tags tucked in their coats, they were mercenaries through and through—but today, they were just bandits.
The elves, who had already sensed the ambush, fired their arrows with calm efficiency. Prepared shields came up, and the mercenaries closed the distance in a blink.
W-whoa. This is the real deal. People are going to die.
Thermia's eyes swept the mercenaries.
"The captain's—"
A vicious-looking man in the back, shouting and pointing as he urged his men on.
The bow I had given her rose and drew in a flash. The mercenary captain turned, and their eyes met.
The string settled. The bow's living leaves twisted to correct the trajectory, and the bowstring flexed taut and springy, amplifying the shot's power.
A single trajectory cleaved the air.
The mercenary captain's eyes went wide as he threw up his shield. His body disappeared behind it, and what remained of his arm barred his vitals.
In that stretched-out sliver of time, the arrow's arc bent toward the shield.
That is definitely going to bounce off.
I wanted to help—even if I had to cheat a little.
My Divinity had leveled up, after all. Why not try anything and everything?
I poured my divine will into the arrow.
Mystery flowed through the bow and leapt across space.
If I am truly a sacred being, then this bow, made from a part of me, must also be sacred.
If that bow is truly sacred, then the arrow loosed from it must also be sacred.
O fragment of the world, fragment of nature, fragment of me—show me the result.
The wind rose.
The arrow struck the shield. The shield burst through with a deafening crack. The arrow ran the mercenary captain through and carried him bodily backward until he slammed into a tree.
The shockwave rolled across the field.
The shattered tree came down with a groan.
Soil and dust geysered upward.
A hush fell over the battlefield.
Every eye swung toward the culprit.
The girl blinked with a dumbstruck expression on her face.
"...Huh?"
Yoo-hoo. Bullseye, every single time.