Of Adventures Worth Telling with Laughter (2)
Don Quixote adventured.
Across lands filled with pure white marble. Across the Salt Sea. Through blue forests. Along crimson shores lapped by gentle waves, through forests blanketed in obsidian, past the Sword Grave where tens of thousands of blades stood thrust into the earth, through the domain of a constellation embroidered with musical instruments, through gardens in full bloom, past great trees that soared high into the sky…
Don Quixote adventured through countless places in the Outer Land.
"The world is full of mysteries!"
He ran with all his might.
"If anyone claims that the Outer Land—the world beyond the world—is nothing but a harsh, cruel, and miserable place,"
he declared, marching at the very front while waving a military banner painted with a sunflower that looked for all the world like a child's scribble,
"then I, the ingenious gentleman Don Quixote of Quijano, shall answer thus: How could a world so steeped in mystery fail to be delightful? Clearly you simply do not know how to enjoy an adventure!"
Stars walked in his wake.
Dozens of constellations, stars already turning into the undead, and those who had merely postponed their own deaths—would-be suicides who gladly followed Don Quixote for one last joyous adventure.
"So come with me."
Don Quixote laughed.
"I shall give you a splendid adventure—the finest kind, one you can laugh and chatter about again and again."
The star of Dalso, the Star of Laughter and Chatter, shone in ridiculous, brilliant colors.
So that those who gazed upon it might smile, so that they might set down their burdens and laugh until their sides ached, Dalso gladly painted the dark night sky in every hue imaginable.
"Let's go, Sancho."
The ingenious gentleman Don Quixote laughed again today. The dreamer who had once cried that the world lacked laughter had, before he knew it, become a knight leading dozens of stars.
"To La Mancha!"
Just like the hero of the fairy tale The Knights of La Mancha.
Najin closed his eyes and remembered the journey.
Recalling a trek that had spanned months—or years—was not particularly painful. After all, just as Don Quixote had declared, it had been an adventure worth laughing over and telling.
The domain of a peevish constellation embroidered with musical instruments.
There, Don Quixote had abruptly seized an instrument and begun to play. The performance was comical and utterly lacking in skill—so much so that even the constellation, who had been about to attack the intruders, could not help but let out a sigh.
"That's not how you hold a violin. That's not how you play it. Watch carefully. Like this! This is how it's done."
Instead of the sword she had raised to stab Don Quixote, the constellation picked up a nearby violin and began to play. At the sound, Don Quixote clapped and suddenly broke into song. A bard supplied the calls, a shepherd danced, and a gardener added harmony.
For a moment the constellation was flustered by the sudden performance; then she burst out laughing and kept playing.
"Really now—I've lived for centuries and I've never met the likes of you. Fine. I lose. I'll admit it."
The peevish constellation who had attacked indiscriminately anyone who invaded her domain said, "That was a joyful performance. An entertaining show," and opened the road for Don Quixote and his company—as if settling the debt for the pleasure she had received.
And on another day…
There was a constellation dying in self-imposed exile atop a spire that seemed to pierce the heavens. She was the last princess of a fallen ancient kingdom, wasting away over long years in despair that she alone had survived.
"A wicked witch has locked a princess in that tower! Any knight worth the name must rescue a kidnapped princess at least once. Come—let us free the princess imprisoned in that tower!"
Bare-handed, Don Quixote somehow climbed the tower and brought the princess out. When she demanded to know why he was interfering with her wish to die, Don Quixote proposed, "Rather than dying locked away in a place like this, why not come with me to heaven?"
"I am a sinner. I failed to fulfill my duty as royalty; I am nothing more than a criminal who fled and survived alone. I have no right to enter heaven. Leave me to die."
So said the princess.
"Everyone in the world is a sinner, Princess!"
Don Quixote cried.
"Everyone lives while committing sins. Does that mean sinners cannot go to heaven? No—according to what I heard from my faithful believer Rocinante here, the divine is not nearly so finicky. Isn't that right, Rocinante?"
"Indeed, my lord. Of course He would never grant heaven to beings as wicked as demons, but for this pitiable princess, I am quite certain He would spare a place."
"There you have it, Princess. Come with us. I shall gladly escort you all the way to heaven."
The sophistry that followed, delivered in a tone as if he were performing a play, finally made the princess burst out laughing. Reluctantly, she too joined Don Quixote's journey.
Most of Don Quixote's adventures unfolded in just that fashion—unimaginable methods that made getting angry feel foolish. No matter how grave the situation, he laughed, and once they laughed, the situation somehow resolved itself.
Yet not every journey could be like that.
Sometimes companions were lost. Sometimes a comrade who could no longer endure the erosion finally became one of the undead.
"To my dear July—Armand July."
Even then,
"This is not farewell. I have not forgotten my promise to take you all the way to heaven. The songs you sang, the laughter you shared—I remember them clearly."
Don Quixote never lost his smile.
"Come with me, July."
His urn no longer held only the people of the Quijano fief. The stars who had journeyed with him were placed in the urn as well, continuing the road at Don Quixote's side.
Time flowed on and on until—
"…"
Najin
"Ah."
opened his eyes.
The recollection ended.
When he opened his eyes and looked ahead, the destination of their journey lay there.
"We've finally arrived, my lord."
"Yes. So we have, Sancho."
A land bathed in warm sunlight.
A place so peaceful one could scarcely believe it lay in the heart of the Outer Land, where a gentle breeze blew. Looking up, one saw a blue sky. In the Outer Land, it was a place that lacked nothing to be called a utopia.
"Rocinante."
"Yes, my lord."
"Is this truly the heaven we set as our destination?"
"It seems so. A place like heaven, after all."
At the end of their long journey, they had arrived in heaven.
"We've finally arrived, Master."
"Truly, no word but heaven can describe this place. Could this be the heaven the knight spoke of?"
"…Not bad."
"How long has it been since I felt real sunlight? Not the imaginary kind, not the false light of a domain—actual sunlight…"
As the companions who had shared the journey offered their remarks one by one, Don Quixote drew a long breath. Taking a deep lungful of air, he looked around. Green fields and apple trees, a vast garden, flower petals swaying in the wind.
Having taken in the sight of heaven, Don Quixote turned.
There stood the companions who had adventured with him all this way. Their numbers, once more than several dozen, had dwindled; only a little over ten remained. Yet if one counted the urn in Don Quixote's hands, every last one of them had arrived in heaven.
"My dear friends."
Don Quixote spoke. Under the gaze of every companion, he drove the banner-staff he held into the field.
"This is our destination."
The end of the journey.
"A place where warm sunlight falls. A place where green fields stretch far into the distance. Flowers in full bloom, green trees growing—truly a place that can be called heaven."
In truth, Don Quixote knew.
"This is the very heaven we sought."
Not only Don Quixote—everyone who had shared the journey knew.
"La Mancha."
They all knew this was not heaven.
Of course they did. Heaven was a place that existed nowhere. It had never been real. This was merely a spot where chance upon chance had left the sky unbroken—a byproduct formed when shattered skies overlapped.
In other words, a place made by pure coincidence.
Yet Don Quixote called it "heaven."
He gave it the name La Mancha.
"In the Outer Land the sun does not rise. Sunlight does not enter, and a blue sky cannot exist. Is that not the common sense of the Outer Land, my friends?"
Don Quixote laughed.
"But here, things that cannot exist do exist. Warm sunlight falls, a blue sky hangs above, and green fields and flowers are here."
Smiling, he spun his usual sophistry.
"Therefore this is the place that exists nowhere—heaven itself. This is the very La Mancha we sought."
At Don Quixote's sophistry the stars burst into laughter. After coming this far, whether heaven was real or not no longer mattered much.
"If Master says so, then it must be so."
"If the knight says it is so."
"It does look like heaven, after all."
They had been stars searching for a place to be buried. They had been those waiting for the day they would die as erosion slowly claimed them, those who had already resolved to die, those who simply wanted one last joyful adventure.
Thus the form of heaven did not matter.
What mattered were the adventures they had lived on the way here.
Turning those adventures over in their minds, they made this place their final destination.
"Thank you for everything, Master. It was the finest adventure. One worth turning over again and again, and laughing until you clutch your sides every time you do."
"Especially when we gave the Heavenly Wandering Star the slip—what fun that was."
"And we can't leave out the feast we held in the Tomb of Instruments."
"What about the time we charged across the land on demonic beasts?"
"Please don't forget the ball either!"
Trading memories, they settled one by one into heaven. Then they let their eroding stars fall upon that heaven.
"Don Quixote."
"Master."
"My lord."
"Sir Knight."
"You."
"My knight."
"My prince."
"My dear, irreplaceable friend."
Each called Don Quixote's name in their own way and offered their farewells. They closed their eyes smiling. Together with their falling stars, they made this place their tomb.
And then something no one had imagined occurred.
Ordinarily a Graveyard of Stars holds domains that belong to each star alone—realms untouched by the outside, belonging only to themselves. Yet the domains of the constellations who chose to be buried in La Mancha did not exist independently.
"Ah…"
They shared a single domain.
Within the one domain named La Mancha, they closed their eyes.
To them, La Mancha was not merely a word for heaven. The journey that had led them to heaven—all those delightful adventures—they took as their tomb. In the heaven where warm sunlight fell, their laughter echoed softly.
"…"
Only three remained: Don Quixote, Sancho, and Rocinante.
The three of them looked out over La Mancha and smiled.
"My lord."
"Yes, Sancho."
"You must bury them."
Don Quixote buried the urn he carried in La Mancha. The people of the Quijano fief who had been burned to ash, the companions who had journeyed with him, the comrades who had become the undead—every one of them was laid to rest in La Mancha.
Here they would find their rest.
Don Quixote had accomplished everything he had set out to do. He had lived an adventure worth laughing and chattering about, and at the end of that adventure he had arrived in heaven.
"What will you do now, my lord?"
And Najin asked.
What would he do now?
"Hmm. First I suppose I ought to grant you a portion of this heavenly land, Sancho? By the decree of the ingenious gentleman Don Quixote of Quijano, you, Sancho, are hereby the lord of La Mancha!"
With the corner of his mouth curled up, Don Quixote named Najin the lord of heaven. Najin merely shrugged.
"And…"
Having finished that business, Don Quixote looked up at the sky.
"I,"
The blue sky, and beyond it the countless stars that glimmered faintly. Gazing upon his companions who had found rest in La Mancha, Don Quixote smiled.
"I think I shall continue adventuring a little longer."
"Continue, my lord?"
"Yes. Are there not still many people in this Outer Land who cannot laugh? The world is still short of laughter."
Don Quixote rapped his armor.
It had been armor pieced together from fakes, antiques, and false things—yet through the journey it had become a true Star Relic.
"Therefore we must laugh."
He laughed.
"We must create even more adventure tales worth telling with laughter, must we not? Don Quixote's journey continues!"
His laughter proved contagious. Rocinante and Najin both found themselves laughing without meaning to. Yes, of course, my lord. The three of them laughed for a long while.
"Then I shall accompany you, my lord. I too wish to run a little farther."
"Rocinante, if you are with me there is nothing to fear. Sancho—what of you?"
"How could I be left out of my lord's journey? You still can't even put on your armor properly."
"Ahahaha! I knew you would say that. With the lord of heaven at my side, what could there be to fear!"
One story had lowered its curtain, yet that was not the end of the story. It was only the beginning of a new one. Speaking as though they were already telling the tale, the three prepared to set out on a new road of adventure.
"To my dear nephew, Anton Quijano."
For a moment Don Quixote returned to being Alonso Quijano and sent a letter to Anton Quijano.
Dear my beloved nephew, Anton Quijano,
I have arrived in La Mancha. Once your revenge is complete, I hope you will come here as well. This is an invitation from your uncle Alonso Quijano, and from the ingenious gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha.
— Alonso Quijano / Don Quixote of La Mancha
He was no longer merely the ingenious gentleman Don Quixote of Quijano. He was the gentleman of La Mancha who had found La Mancha and would guide countless others to heaven.
"Now then, my dear friends."
Don Quixote rose.
"Let us set out to collect new adventures—splendid adventures, magnificent adventure tales we can tell our friends resting here. As always, adventures full of laughter!"
With that cry, Don Quixote stepped forward.
Or rather, he tried to.
"Aha."
Laughter.
"I quite agree. The world is short of laughter."
Someone stood before them.
Jet-black hair that spilled down like silk.
A dress that called the night sky to mind.
A woman wrapped in a magnificent gown fit for a ball addressed them in a soft, languid voice.
"I too am fond of laughter. Laughter is like black paint—whatever has been painted before, it covers everything over with laughter. Before laughter, all things lose their color."
She was a beautiful woman. Yet when she smiled, her smile was not beautiful in the least. It was not even comical. A smile filled only with mockery was simply unpleasant.
"Before laughter, everyone rejoices. They shed tears because they cannot contain their joy, and they open their mouths and cry out."
Hwan—Revelry.
"They dance for joy. They sing and laugh. They laugh as if screaming, until the world itself is swept away. Laugh! Laugh and laugh again! For nothing in the world holds value except laughter! Therefore laughter alone is the sole truth!"
Rak—Joy.
"You—"
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
"I am the mistress of the laughing, chattering jesters. Perhaps a king—or an emperor."
Je—Emperor.
"The Revelry Emperor."
The Revelry Emperor.
"As for another name… well."
The Revelry Emperor smiled.
"There is Dulcinea, Don Quixote."
"…What?"
"The knight who will laugh for me for all eternity. Your lady has come to find you."
It was a smile of surpassing beauty.
And then—
Clap.
The Revelry Emperor brought her hands together.