Interlude: Stories (4)
Time passed, and the present returned.
On the voyage home, Najin told Lapis and Anton everything that had happened in the Black Spire.
"That's how it went."
The letters Najin had been sorting. Once Lapis heard the stories sealed inside them, she fell silent. A complicated look crossed her face as she chewed her lip.
"So I wasn't the only one locked in that tower? Lena was trapped there too? Then right now…"
"She's dreaming."
The choice Lena had made after entrusting him with the letters.
Najin didn't elaborate. He only answered that she had chosen to dream, that she had chosen to rest a while and wait for someone.
"I see."
That much was enough to understand the situation.
"So that was her choice."
Lapis let out a long breath.
She lifted her gaze to the sky, then looked down at her own wrists—still marked from years of bindings—and finally at Anton, perched on the bow.
"This is selfish, and a little rotten of me to say, but…"
Lapis smiled bitterly.
"I can't help thinking I got lucky."
"I don't know. Calling something you fought for mere luck feels like it cheapens the effort."
"I appreciate you saying that, but…"
She looked at the letters as she spoke.
"I can't deny I was lucky. Of course we worked for it. Anton never gave up through four hundred years, and I endured those same four hundred. But that doesn't mean Lena didn't fight just as hard, does it?"
That was true as well.
Lena, and Albert—the hero of the Allied Kingdoms who had loved her—had carved themselves to the bone for it. If the world ever kept a ledger of who deserved a beautiful ending, Lena and Albert had earned their place on it a dozen times over.
"They must have been one step from the finish. All they needed was a little luck, a little chance encounter. Anton and I had that…"
Lapis pointed at Najin.
The one who had guided Anton to the Black Spire, who had done everything in his power to make their reunion possible. The chance encounter that had become their miracle. Pointing at him, she said:
"Lena never got one. That's the only difference. Put another way… that ending could have been mine."
Something troubled sat in Lapis's expression as she spoke. Perhaps because the tragic ending she had once imagined—and miraculously escaped—was not so different from Lena's story. A kind of kinship seemed to settle over her.
"About that man Albert."
Lapis was not the only one who felt it. Anton, still seated on the bow and listening, spoke up.
"In a manner of speaking, he was something of a senior of mine."
"Senior?"
"There have only ever been three humans who loved a witch, myself included, and I was the third. The first is unknown. The second was that hero, Albert."
Anton Quijano folded his arms.
"And as with most things in this world, a junior learns from his senior—from the trailblazer."
"What are you talking about, Anton?"
"Nothing much, Lapis. A simple story."
A simple story.
Having set it up that way, Anton shrugged.
"Ways for a human and a witch to be joined. Ways to step past the taboo. Information on that is vanishingly rare. In a thousand years there were only two precedents to begin with… and of those, the first left no record at all, so I had no choice but to lean on the second."
A fragment of the story he had lived through those four hundred years.
"Albert's records, the diaries he left, every scrap of information connected to him—I gathered it all. Doing that, I roughly worked out the method. Didn't I tell you then, Lapis?"
Had he really not known she would make that choice? And did she think he would have spent four hundred years idly without preparing a countermeasure? Anton had said exactly that.
"That I could prepare one at all was thanks to the records Albert left behind. So I'm grateful to him. What pained me was that there was no way to repay the debt."
Anton pointed at the letters in Najin's hands.
"Now there is."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'd like you to pass a message to the person those letters are meant for—Albert's child. If she wants to meet her mother, tell her to come find us. We'll help as far as our hands can reach."
Anton glanced at Lapis.
You're thinking the same thing, aren't you? You want to help somehow too, don't you? his eyes asked. Lapis laughed as if she couldn't do a thing with him.
"Right. Miracles don't just happen on their own."
Brushing back hair that streamed in the sea wind, Lapis watched the Black Spire dwindle in the distance.
"Luck, chance encounters, and the failures of those who walked a similar road before you—the lessons you can take from those failures. Those things gather, and then a miracle is made."
Yes, she said.
"I hope that girl Roselyn is happy. The way her parents wanted her to be."
2.
A journey that was short if you called it short, and long if you called it long.
When their travels ended, Lapis and Anton returned to the little cabin from four hundred years before. At the sight of the red roses in full bloom before the door, Lapis's eyes went wide—and after that a rather embarrassing scene unfolded, but…
In any case, that was how Najin and Anton finished their voyage.
"Well then. Farewell, oarsman."
"You already look plenty happy, but enjoy the happy days, Captain."
"Of course. Miraculous days are waiting for me."
They exchanged chuckling farewells, and Najin set off. As he drew away, Anton Quijano called after him.
"We'll meet again, Najin."
Next time—on your stage.
Najin answered by raising a hand and waving.
Past the hills, across the Outer Land, Najin made for the Continent. He had grown familiar enough with the Outer Land's geography that finding the road was no great trouble. And when he did lose his way, an excellent guide was there to set him right.
Merlin.
"What?"
About Merlin's past that I saw in the Black Spire.
No matter how many times Merlin had asked about that past, Najin had refused to answer. Knowing she was irritated by his stubborn silence, he spoke briefly.
The reason I won't tell you isn't anything special.
"What is it, then?"
Finding out ahead of time would spoil the fun.
"What?"
Merlin let out a breath of pure disbelief.
"That's the only reason?"
That "only reason" is what kept you alive—Najin did not say that. He smiled instead.
"Well. We'll save that story for later."
The wind rose.
Far ahead, the Continent's boundary line began to show.
"For now, let's finish delivering the letters."
Walking toward the Continent, Najin thought.
Just what was that thing called love, anyway?
It was the question he had thrown out before this voyage began. He had not been able to answer it then, but now he felt he could, if only a little.
Love is magic.
The greatest magic in the world!
Hearing Anton Quijano's story, Lapis's story, and Lena's story, he had roughly gotten a sense of what that thing called love was. Of course, he still had no idea what Anton meant by "the love that drives a person mad," but…
"Vitality."
Najin muttered. Vitality, vigor, life—words in that neighborhood, anyway. Thinking of the inexplicable energy that people in love seemed to carry, he found himself, without meaning to, thinking:
That he was a little envious of it.
That he wanted to feel something like it himself.
Someone who made him glad just to think of them. Someone he might want to see. Someone he might miss. When that thought crossed his mind, two faces rose unbidden. At the sudden appearance of those faces, Najin tilted his head.
"What? What are you thinking about?"
Nothing.
"That's not a 'nothing' face."
Were you thinking about me?
At Merlin's joking probe, Najin choked for a second. Her eyes went wide at the reaction, and she jabbed him in the side, needling him on.
You were thinking about me, weren't you? What were you thinking? Come on, say something—
Answering her half-heartedly, Najin found himself smiling. He still knew almost nothing. But the world was nothing but new things, so there was never a dull moment.
This or that—he'd figure it out eventually.
With that thought, Najin walked. Crossing the Outer Land's boundary, he set foot on the Continent's soil for the first time in months. The wind felt unusually cool. Beneath the bright, hard sunlight, Najin drew a long breath.
Letters mailed from the Outer Land to the Continent.
It was time to deliver six hundred years of accumulated mail.
3.
As far as Najin remembered, the letters' addressee was a common fixture in Cambria's taverns—nearly every night—so he headed for Cambria first.
The City of Opportunity, Cambria.
The place where Najin, fresh from the underground city, had begun his journey, and where he had first truly made his name. He had only left it a year ago, but after so much time spent in the Outer Land—where the flow of hours twisted at the slightest provocation—it felt more like three or four years.
Najin tugged his postman's cap firmly down.
Thump.
Walking the road into Cambria's center, he watched the people streaming through the streets. Countless adventurers and mercenaries, and the merchants hawking wares to them. As always, Cambria's avenues brimmed with life.
Perhaps even more than before he left.
Najin had no way of knowing the details, but it was true that after his departure the number of adventurers flocking to Cambria had multiplied several times over.
Sir Najin, the Dawn Star, began his journey in the "City of Opportunity, Cambria," and while sojourning there achieved great feats…
The Miracle of Cambria.
A year of dazzling adventure.
You can do it too—in Cambria!
The reason was that Cambria's central guild and the foundations that sponsored the city had aggressively pushed Najin's exploits in their publicity. At the very front of that charge stood Marquis Edelmar, blaring the trumpet for all he was worth; the marquis had even sent a theater troupe into the Empire's capital to set the publicity ablaze.
"Well, well…"
Looking at a poster stuck to a wall, Najin couldn't help but laugh. Between the portrait of himself painted on it and the slogan You can do it too—in Cambria!, holding back was impossible.
"If you have business in the central district, please complete the paperwork here. Holders of Blue-grade plates or higher, submit them."
The checkpoint into Cambria's center.
Perhaps because of the recent surge in transient traffic, inspections were being conducted on the road in. Najin had to suppress the urge to pull out his White Horn from his coat and shout, Don't you know who I am?
What do you think would happen if I pulled out the White Horn here? People around us going, Wait, is that—?
"…"
Is that the Najin from the posters? The legend of Cambria? One of only five White Horns in Cambria, the youngest Sword Seeker, the young—
"Please. Please don't."
If he did, Merlin might genuinely foam at the mouth and collapse. And even without that, he would draw far more attention than he wanted.
I'm joking. Just joking.
In truth, Najin had only been teasing Merlin; he had no real desire to gild his own face that thoroughly. And even without going that far, he had several ways to clear the checkpoint.
"Next."
When his turn came, Najin drew a single badge from his coat and showed it only to the guard. The guard, who had been checking papers with tired eyes, blinked. Then his eyes went wide, and he looked back and forth between Najin and the badge.
"I—I greet a knight of the Imp—"
"Quietly."
Najin settled the man, patted his shoulder a few times, and continued into the central district.
"What did you just show him?"
A badge marking a knight belonging to the Imperial House.
"You're not actually Imperial, are you?"
A cover identity.
Strictly speaking Najin was unaffiliated, but that did not mean he lacked backing. The most renowned figures in the Empire—including the Imperial House and Atanga's knights—stood ready to vouch for his identity.
When needed, he could belong to the Imperial House.
Or to Atanga's order of knights.
And so Najin also possessed a "badge announcing Imperial affiliation." One of the Free Knight's many, many privileges.
I'm kind of a big deal.
"What are you even saying?"
Shrugging, Najin walked on.
He had no way of knowing, of course—
but the eyes of the checkpoint clerk watching him leave were shaking wildly. Every kind of hypothesis and wild fantasy was racing through the man's head.
Why would an Imperial knight be in Cambria?
And so secretly?
Even disguised in a postman's uniform?
Could he be on a secret mission that must not become known?
While the man reeled in confusion, Najin headed into Cambria's center for the genuine purpose of delivering a letter—to the tavern where Roselyn Ascalo was a regular.