The Flower That Bleeds in the Desert
The words hung between them like a blade that refused to fall.
“That is the only receipt I require.”
Not the paper note of the merchant, but the living word of the tongue itself. You have no choice but to believe me.
Is there any other transaction in this world so foolishly absurd?
“Ah, one more thing.”
Do you believe it? Even the Emperor himself could not obtain what I am offering you.
It was as if the very structure of master and servant had been replaced by something lighter, something freer. The way she handed over her trust without hesitation mirrored her trust to the last degree.
Ashtien had taught him that, and so had the women of the grassland. Their faith was not the fragile thing of court or capital; it was the soil itself, rich and unyielding.
Yet it was precisely because of those two that Vesta finally understood what it truly meant to give one’s trust.
He returned it to Ahor with a quiet voice.
“I cannot give you an answer. Not yet.”
It was not rejection. It was the refusal to lie.
Words were light, almost insubstantial, but belief carried weight. Sometimes the very thing that had no form was heavier than anything forged in iron.
“The Khan never asked me where my heart leans,” he said.
Thinking back, it was strange. She must have wondered more than anyone.
“Am I overstepping?”
“No. Not at all.”
“You asked something the Khan did not. Does that not bother you?”
“No. I do not think so.”
She had never imagined it was a secret. She had simply lacked the time to ask. And perhaps Ashtien had already sensed the truth in him and chosen not to press.
“Time has passed a great deal.”
He had spent spring on the grassland. So he could speak of spring itself.
“Truthfully, I find the life here rather to my liking.”
He spoke from the heart, and she looked at him with an expression that suggested she could not quite believe it. She asked again, as though testing the truth.
“Hardship, a wandering life, and threats from orcs that never sleep. Even so, you find it pleasant?”
The judgment was blunt, yet honest.
Yet.
“It is a harsh life, but not a bad one. Is it not?”
Hardship was not necessarily evil. A man could live with purpose even in the most unforgiving land.
“…Yes, that is correct.”
—It is a rather pleasant life, isn’t it?
A gentle warmth settled across her face.
She was, in a way, living the same life as he had once lived.
Vesta stood at the crossroads of choice; Ahor had already chosen long ago.
Perhaps she loved the grassland even more than most elves born upon it.
“Frankly, it is far more interesting than living in the Empire. Everyone here is kind.”
One must grant the highest score to the simple fact that good people had been found.
He looked at Ushun and Orolbai, the two elders he knew best.
Ushun would fight gods themselves for the sake of her oath. At the same time she was the guardian of the clan’s children.
Orolbai was a proud father, diligent, and a neighbor who could offer kindness to anyone.
Where else could one meet such people?
“Lucky,” he said without hesitation.
What had it been like in the Empire?
“Even then there had been many friends…”
Could one call them friends? They had been both friends and enemies.
The next day one would laugh and drink together, only to face each other across the arena the following morning to try and kill the other.
[I feel the mocking hand of fate when I see the friend I shared a cup with the night before at the gladiatorial ground.]
[Don’t listen.]
[And when it comes time to kill a brat like you…]
[Do you think the Emperor will save you because you refuse to listen?]
[No. They crave blood. You cannot understand; it is understandable. A fight is cruel, after all. That is why it is called a fight.]
—And we are not slaves of the Emperor, but slaves of the arena. That is all we are.
[Do not bear a grudge.]
—And I bear none either. Orlon.
The arena felt as if it had never been meant for friendship at all.
Even when they laughed together, a cold tension always lingered.
Compared to that, it was far better.
“I lived with my master too. It was not so different.”
The danger had been the same.
How many bandit bands had they faced while traveling with their wandering teacher?
“Baatar-nim. The grassland is open.”
“It sounds attractive. But…”
Vesta cut her off softly.
“You cannot.”
Ahor listened to his words with perfect attention.
“Baatar, Vesta. One day I will have to choose between the two names.”
“Yes. The day will come.”
Because the one who answered was Ahor, the weight of the words landed differently.
“Until then there is still much to do. Both on the grassland and in the Empire.”
On the grassland, the contract with the Khan remained unfinished.
In the Empire, what remained unfinished…
“You value your homeland so highly?”
For someone who had decided to forget her homeland, the question must have been hard to accept.
“If there is something you left behind, it naturally hurts.”
“…May I ask what you left?”
“No. I think I should tell the Khan first.”
“Indeed. Then I will not ask.”
“Ahor. What do you suppose I was doing in the Empire?”
This time it was Vesta who asked.
“At first I thought you were the heir of the Muran family.”
“The Muran family’s heir…”
Vesta was not a man of refined breeding.
“He probably colored it gold.”
He had not even considered him a bastard, perhaps.
The guess was wrong, yet somehow it had been reasonable.
Vesta had been born in the arena and had inherited its ways.
“There is someone I should tell first. Then I will tell you.”
“…You already know everything.”
If Ahor had noticed, Ashtien must have noticed as well.
“Certainly, that is likely.”
Still, the words had to be spoken.
The decision had been made.
Once this battle ends and he returns. Once summer has come and Ashtien is here.
“I will still tell you.”
He would tell her.
“Very well.”
“It must have been a difficult choice. I am sorry.”
“It is not. I was simply delaying.”
Ahor withdrew her trust. It did not mean her heart had been cut away.
“Thank you for telling me. I am glad you did not choose rashly. Truly.”
Ahor did not appear disappointed at all. Refusing to answer had been enough.
*
“Ahor. There is something I wish to ask.”
“Speak.”
“Does the Khan truly possess the ability to foresee the future?”
“Hm?”
Ahor asked as though she had heard an extremely strange thing.
“Eh, the reaction is different from what I expected.”
She stroked her chin, as if unsure where to begin.
“The Khan does possess great insight and intuition. But whether one can call it foresight, I do not know.”
“Yet the Khan herself said…”
She hated lies, after all…
“Just a moment.”
Vesta searched his memory. The memory of their first meeting was still vivid.
[If my foresight has chosen you, how does that sound?]
It had been nothing more than a casual remark. She had not pressed the point…
And when he had met the Ekarkwidae, it had been the same.
[You foresaw this, did you not?]
[Haha, what nonsense.]
[…You used foresight?]
[No.]
The answer had been firm.
“…What?”
While Vesta recalled Ashtien’s words, Ahor answered.
“It was clearly meant as a joke.”
It had indeed been playful.
“…?”
“Ahor-nim?”
He called her by name.
He answered with silence, standing blankly as though lost in thought.
The thought had been:
Then why me?
*
“Khan-nim.”
Arin asked Ashtien.
Ashtien sat upright upon the mobile yurt-palace Ordo.
“Why so?”
“I have a question…”
“Ask freely.”
“The Khan, what about Vesta-nim do you find most pleasing?”
“Oh, what a sudden question?”
“The women of the grassland are all curious, no doubt.”
“So you are asking in your representative capacity?”
“Hehe…”
A clear, unforced laugh brought a smile to Ashtien’s face as well.
“If I tell you, within a day or two the entire grassland will know.”
Arin could not bring herself to refuse.
“It is a secret. A secret.”
“Will you not tell me?”
“No. It is too embarrassing.”
“…Huh?”
Embarrassing?
She asked in bewilderment.
“Oh my, oh my.”
“…You sound just like Altaira.”
Ashtien shook her head as though she had made a mistake.
“By tomorrow the entire world will be talking about my story.”
She thought of safely unloading the luggage and turning back toward the desert.