Icarus's Wings (1)
There exists a constellation known as the Star of Heaven's Drift.
A literal reading yields something close to "the star that flows through the heavens," and it is sometimes called heaven's shooting star as well. Watch the Star of Heaven's Drift soaring astride its sky-whale and the epithet feels apt enough.
The sky-whale—the whale that devours stars—scatters the digested remnants of those stars with every motion. The scraps do not shine as brightly as true stars, yet they shine all the same. They trail from the whale's tail and leave a wake that looks for all the world like the path of a meteor.
Hence: the Star of Heaven's Drift.
The star that flows through heaven. Heaven's meteor.
Most people never questioned that reading of the name. But the constellations who had lived in the age when the Star of Heaven's Drift first made its fame would tilt their heads.
Because the characters were wrong.
It is not the Heavenly Flowing Star.
It is the Heavenly Wandering Star.
The interpretation of "heavenly meteor" is mistaken; the proper sense is closer to "heaven's play" or "the star that swims the sky." Of course, few alive today still know the truth.
"And one of those rare few is standing right in front of you."
Merlin cleared her throat with a little ahem and rolled her shoulders.
She had just finished explaining how to conquer the Star of Heaven's Drift. The faces of the imperial officials and commanders who had been listening went deathly pale. If one were to translate those expressions, they would read something like this:
You want us to do that? Seriously?
Does the Archmage think a human life comes with ten spare copies?
That was the general tenor. Najin, who had overheard the plan as well, simply nodded.
"Sounds doable."
"It does seem feasible."
Yuel Razian agreed. From an ordinary person's standpoint the strategy might have looked suicidal; from a transcendentalist's, it was sound. Merlin spent a while refining the operation in conversation, then abruptly turned a question on Yuel.
"You there."
"Yes? Are you addressing me?"
"I am."
Merlin leaned in and whispered into Yuel's ear. No one else should have been able to hear, yet Najin caught every word.
"Do you know the name Hermann?"
"Hermann?"
Yuel cocked her head.
"I do not. It is the first time I have heard it."
"…Is that so?"
Merlin muttered that ignorance was fine and returned to Najin's side. He asked her what the name meant.
"You know—I told you about it before."
She whispered again.
"Back in my era there was a madwoman who floated the theory that you could become a Sword Master just by killing enough people."
"Ah. You did mention that."
It was something she had said the first time they met Yuel.
"That madwoman's name was Hermann. I wondered if you might have heard of her, but if you haven't, never mind."
She spoke as though the matter were closed, yet her expression still caught on something. Najin pressed, but Merlin gave him no answer.
The Empire—and the entire continent with it—moved as one. Knights, knightly orders, and mercenaries gathered in throngs. No one had forced them, yet they came all the same.
They wished to carve their names into a page of the legend that Arthur's successor would write. The continent held no shortage of people willing to throw even their lives away for honor.
"So it really was you who claimed Excalibur."
Gerd, First Pillar of the Empire, gazed down over the realm from the summit of the One-Horn Tower as he spoke.
"You knew, Sir?"
"No. I only guessed. When I first met you it was suspicion. When you brought word of my master it became a question. The third time, it was all but certainty."
Gerd stroked his beard with a thoughtful hum.
"You rose to prominence right after Excalibur was drawn, and in less than two years you stood on the threshold of transcendence. It was not that Excalibur gifted you that talent; rather, you possessed the talent that allowed you to draw it."
The old man knew.
Excalibur selected those who already had talent; it did not bestow talent upon whoever pulled it free.
Looking at Najin, Gerd found himself remembering the past.
He too had tried, more than once, to draw Excalibur. Why had he been so obsessed with the sword? Until now he had never known, but after tasting Alderan's memories through Najin, the reason surfaced.
Because his master had challenged Excalibur.
And because, in the end, his master had failed to draw it.
Perhaps he had wanted to prove something to that master. I drew the sword you could not. The greatest glory a teacher can enjoy is to be surpassed by a disciple; let me become your glory.
That was what he had thought.
"Master would be pleased."
The old man smiled at the youth who shared the same teacher. Regret that he himself had never drawn the blade still lingered, yet joy outweighed it. Gerd exhaled a long breath.
"The Empire's seven magic towers have assembled."
He pointed toward the heart of the imperial capital. The lords of each tower were converging on the central plaza—archmages, or those of comparable stature.
With the Lord of the Crimson Tower at their head, the towers had gathered.
One by one, strategic weapons capable of incinerating an entire city were taking the field.
"The Empire's knights have assembled as well."
Gerd moved a finger. Along the capital's outer perimeter the knights were already on the march—every order stationed within the city, and every knight scattered across the Empire besides.
"And the Empire's pillars have gathered."
With a deep thud he struck the grassy ground with his scabbard. A solemn bell pealed from the One-Horn Tower; at once the three towers, the One-Horn among them, resonated and trembled in answer.
First Pillar—Gerd Isabalt.
Eternal Brilliance Horn—Cypria Gachevska.
Pure Horn—Loren Aresche.
And—
Dawn Horn—Najin.
Four pillars, all save the one still vacant, rang in harmony. Stars blazed across the imperial sky. Beneath that radiant canopy Gerd spoke.
"The whole continent is moving. It points toward a single destination and advances as one. And the one who set this current in motion is none other than you."
He leveled a finger at Najin.
He looked the youth straight in the eye. He did not waste breath on the usual platitudes about the great war to come or the Outer Land that would be shaken. He compressed every such phrase into a single sentence.
"Are you ready?"
Slaying the Revelry Emperor is your part.
We will only open the road.
Facing the Revelry Emperor will fall to you.
"If you are not—"
Najin only smiled.
"I would never have drawn this sword in the first place."
Gerd nodded, as though that were precisely the answer he had wanted to hear.
He raised his blade and swept it toward the heavens.
Sword-qi shot upward like fireworks and split the clouds.
That was the signal. One by one they began to move—toward the Outer Land, toward the boundary of the Outer Land. Knights, mages, and mercenaries advanced as one to kill demons.
Humanity marched.
While the continent itself seemed to tremble under their footsteps, Najin stepped before Gerd.
"Sir Gerd."
He struck his fist against his pauldron—against the banner of Alderan Basaglia bound there. Gerd laughed aloud at the sight, then rapped his own fist against the emblem of the Empire's First Pillar fixed to his shoulder.
The captain of the Golden Horn Knights and the Empire's First Pillar faced each other.
Once both titles had pointed to a single knight; now they were shared between his two disciples. After a brief salute they each turned toward their stations.
Forces massed along the boundary of the Outer Land.
A handful of transcendentalists stood among them, yet the overwhelming majority were ordinary people who had never reached transcendence.
In a battle between transcendentalists, those who had not yet crossed that threshold could do very little. No one present was ignorant of the fact. Still they flocked to the border of the Outer Land.
They did not come to be the protagonists of this war, nor to become its heroes.
They knew they could not.
They could neither pioneer a path nor smash through the enemies that barred it; yet they could race along the road a hero had already broken open. Their role was to keep that road from closing again once the transcendentalists had forced it wide.
They were the rear guard.
Only when the transcendentalists of the vanguard opened the way could they advance.
Tension thickened the air.
One by one the continent's transcendentalists began to move.
Thousand Sword Star—Caron.
Heavenly Slaughter Star—Yuel Razian.
Polar Night Star—the Star Incarnation.
The constellations of the Sword Church, the Holy Blood Church, and the Holy Body Church.
First Pillar—Gerd Isabalt.
Eternal Brilliance Horn—Cypria Gachevska.
Pure Horn—Loren Aresche.
The Empire's own constellations.
A few remaining transcendentalists of the continent fell into step behind them. And at the very head of that column walked none other than Najin. He drove the Spear of the Crossed Star into the earth; the ground shuddered with a heavy thud.
Vanguard of the vanguard.
The foremost tip of the spear was Najin himself.
While every soul at the boundary held its breath, Najin alone began to walk toward the Outer Land. The moment his foot crossed the line and stepped inside—
Tak. The next stride landed.
The blue sky that had stretched across the continent vanished without a trace. Only a shattered firmament remained—an endless black night reaching to every horizon. It was a landscape of the Outer Land that had long since grown familiar to him.
And then the countless stars embedded in that night sky—
the eyes of countless transcendentalists—
the innumerable rays of starlight they cast—
all of it poured down upon Najin in a single instant. He felt the weight of their gazes. The entire world was looking at him. This was no mere figure of speech. Transcendentalists, each of whom carried a world of their own, were watching him.
Silence. An ominous hush that felt ready to shatter at any second.
The stillness just before a storm.
Roughly ten seconds passed.
To an ordinary person it would have been a blink; to transcendentalists it was an eternity—more than enough time to reach a decision.
Crack.
Without warning the sky tore open. As though some colossal beast had yawned, the rent heavens spilled stars. One, two, three—dozens, hundreds of stars descended. All for a single purpose.
Kill Arthur's successor.
Bury that terrible light.
On the continent they might have hesitated; this was the Outer Land. Even at a cost they came down to slay Najin. He recognized at once that the hole gaping above had been torn open by the Revelry Emperor.
Stars that hated Arthur.
Fallen stars, stars reduced to the dead, Reverse Stars, and the jesters who served the witches—stars beyond counting descended as one. Their combined light turned the dark sky of the Outer Land bright as midday.
Yet not every star that arrived was Najin's enemy.
Stars of ancient heroes, stars indebted to the Round Table, stars that still shone for humanity's sake, stars ready to give anything if only they could kill a demon—they too poured down in a glittering cascade.
The Outer Land was a battlefield of stars.
Standing in the midst of a field where dozens, even hundreds of transcendentalists were about to descend, Najin raised Excalibur.
A light fierce enough to swallow every other radiance.
Platinum starlight flooded forth. Just as that brilliance began to goad and draw the constellations, heating the air of the battlefield—
Every star flinched and froze.
Those still attempting to descend suddenly looked behind them.
…
A sound reached them. Soft at first, then growing clearer. Beyond the torn sky, a beast was crying.
Buoooo…
A strange, resonant cry—less the voice of an animal than the vibration of nature itself, like water trembling—rolled across the field. The stars that had been descending halted in mid-air and fell silent. Every one of them knew.
It is coming.
Buooooooooooo…
The mad star is coming.
————————————————!
Noise layered upon noise. Resonance stacked upon resonance. A vibration beyond any letters that could describe it swept the battlefield. Beyond the rent sky something of immense mass revealed itself.
The oldest whale.
Mother of every whale.
A whale larger than the imperial capital itself emerged from the broken heavens. An instant later it dove back into the sky as though the night were an ocean, and began to swim.
To the whale, the sky was simply another sea.
To the Star of Heaven's Drift—the star that swims the heavens—the sky was both playground and boundless ocean, an infinite sea that could be sailed forever.
The Star of Heaven's Drift blazed.
He unfurled his stage.
The sky heaved. Every time the whale swam, the night sky reeled and rolled like waves. Stars caught in those waves vanished soundlessly into the Dark Sea.
The night sky became the stage of the Star of Heaven's Drift.
…Fallen though he might be now, the Star of Heaven's Drift had once been a constellation of ten stars.
The instant that stage unfurled, Najin understood. Back when they had encountered him on the road to La Mancha, the Star of Heaven's Drift had pursued them purely for sport.
And now?
It was different.
He had not appeared here for play, nor to swallow a meal.
"The Star of Heaven's Drift admired Arthur."
"Icarus—the Star of Heaven's Drift—was originally an adventurer who wanted to become someone like Arthur. An explorer, too."
"He loved the tales of adventure he heard from Arthur."
"He hoped he himself might one day live an adventure like Arthur's."
A being who had transcended more than nine hundred years ago, the greatest navigator who had ever lived, the one who had led hundreds of thousands of whales into the sky.
"Even after he forgot himself—"
"he still wants to reach Arthur's star."
"Because that was Icarus's very first wish."
The Star of Heaven's Drift—Icarus—was drawn to the starlight Excalibur created. The star of misfortune who had longed to touch Arthur and, in the end, had fallen without ever reaching her still dreamed that dream.
Whales numbered now not in the hundreds of thousands but in the millions.
Whales swollen many times over by the power of the stage plummeted toward Najin as one.
To reach the star.
To reach the Arthur they had never been able to touch.