The Lambs and the Starry Throat of the Infinite Nebula (Part 2)
The tribe had a variety of livestock. Horses as well as sheep and goats. Even larger beasts like horses were easy to spot.
The vast prairie spread out before one without needing to climb to high places. The view was perfect.
The horses here were not confined to narrow stables.
They lived with unbridled freedom.
A herd of horses galloped across the prairie.
They carried no burden of ownership.
They ran as they wished, paired naturally without being matched.
Under the setting sun they seemed ready to conquer every stretch of that vast, melting land.
Just watching them left one breathless.
“So you live with these horses.”
“Yes. You will see them every day from now on.”
The one who gave the clear answer was Ahor.
“Is that so.”
Her reply pleased him more than expected.
“To live surrounded by such scenery every day… That is what being nomadic truly means.”
The horses chasing the tail of their pair looked like a massive circle dance around the wind.
Like.
Like the horses of any centaur.
[In this world all winds…]
“It seems the winds are gathering.”
Even after finishing the horse viewing and turning back, the whirlpool still lingered in one corner of Vesta’s chest.
*
“Are there centaurs among the Khan’s servants?”
“Centaur, you mean?”
“Yes, the one shining with golden fur.”
To Vesta centaurs were neither unfamiliar nor special.
But there was one that stood out in memory.
The centaur who had stood beside the Khan that night.
She looked different.
The centaurs Vesta knew were mighty warriors, but none so graceful as her.
“Golden, you say. Indeed, such a color is rarely seen.”
“Is she one of the Khan’s people?”
“Yes.”
“A guard?”
“If I may put it in imperial terms, she is the Khan’s knight.”
Knight. A centaur knight.
Truly a being of complete excellence.
If Vesta had been an imperial soldier he might have felt awe bordering on dread.
“…When the Khan stopped the Empire’s great army, among the allied centaurs some performed especially great deeds.”
The war had been merciless.
“The Khan bestowed upon them wealth and names full of meaning. Those names…”
“Passed on to their heirs.”
“Yes, they became surnames and the surnames became clans.”
“Centaur military clans. Knightly houses.”
“In a sense, yes. Special beings. Clans that can contract with the Khan.”
She clearly received special treatment.
Knights were not ordinary servants.
They had no lord, only a master.
They only swore loyalty, never submission.
“The name her ancestors received was Altangerel.”
“Golden.”
“Yes, shining in gold. Bia of Altangerel is her name.”
“Does she live in the tribe as well?”
“Yes. But she goes out so often that yesterday she did not return.”
“Is that so.”
“She went on patrol. She will be back within a few days. Give her greetings then.”
“Yes. Thank you for the information.”
“Are you very interested in centaurs?”
“Hmm.”
In the Empire being interested in centaurs would earn rather hostile looks.
They would be seen as friendly to killer beasts.
It would be a common rejection.
‘Partly because of the things the centaur-friendly group did.’
They did not even fear the Emperor. Truly.
[If centaurs are livestock, are we, who are one with them, also livestock?]
[Answer me, Emperor. According to your answer, we must break the Empire and turn it into prairie.]
[These crazy horse children, blocking the Emperor’s path right now-]
“Perhaps that is why I owe them a debt.”
Vesta forced a laugh to cover his hesitation. Ahor looked at it with an expressionless face and nodded.
She would not ask if he did not want to speak.
“We should return. Food is probably already being prepared.”
Following her words, a caravan of camels appeared at just the right moment.
The mothers had left their foals behind and gone far to graze.
*
“Those camels are not tied?”
“The foals are tied, so there is no need to tie the mothers.”
“They cannot run away because of the foals.”
Vesta looked at the mother camels with fresh eyes after hearing Ahor.
Their clear eyes, which had seemed foolish, now looked faintly sorrowful.
Huuuuuuu-
A low moan rose from the camels.
“Do not pity them too much.”
Vesta and Ahor both looked at the mother camels as she spoke.
“We may seem cruel.”
Ahor’s voice was calm and clear.
How much time had passed for a woman who had never been born on the prairie to speak like this.
“As much as these children are our blood, flesh, water, and clothing.”
“Do not misunderstand. They are livestock. Their blood and flesh remind us what we live for.”
“That is true.”
Vesta had only felt pity. He did not think it unnecessary.
Taking foals as hostages, castrating the flocks collectively.
All harsh methods, yet not unnecessary.
There was no expert in raising livestock equal to them.
Whether the civilization built by farming or by nomadism, both required choices to survive.
“Of course I can understand. That is simply how life is.”
“…Is that so.”
Vesta had spoken to prevent the prejudice of nomads from taking root.
She was a deep person.
“Shall we go eat lamb?”
“…Yes. Let us go.”
Ahor nodded in agreement.
*
Other dishes were mostly prepared, but the lamb dish had only just begun.
“In the prairie when grilling meat they usually do not remove the blood.”
An elven woman explained cooking to Vesta.
He helped prepare while listening.
“Blood is also a material.”
‘So she was Altaia.’
Memories came to him of how the Khan had been delighted to hear her name.
“You came from the Empire, right? You may be surprised.”
Altaia placed the goat’s body, head and legs already removed.
“It will be quick with a young lamb.”
Speaking cheerfully she suddenly reached her arm deep into the throat.
To the elbow.
“Eh?”
Altaia smiled sweetly at Vesta’s startled face, then pulled out her own arm.
“Ooh.”
On her white slender hand clung the goat’s intestines.
The scene did not end there.
“Are you gutting it without cutting open the belly?”
Vesta’s eyes widened.
“This is how it is done… really!”
She shook her hand up and down, and indeed pulled out the bones.
With a knife inside the body she severed all the muscles and tendons that had held the ribs.
She did not need long to dissect a single goat.
“The bones are given to the dogs and the intestines used separately for blood sausage.”
Saying this Altaia lifted the goat and it became a piece of meat still with hide.
“How is it?”
“Amazing.”
Her eyes were wide. Cooking, no, more like a feat.
“How do you handle the fur?”
“I will show you directly.”
Altaia led him to the fire pit.
The flames were weak. Because the firewood was poor.
The prairie had far fewer trees than expected and firewood was scarce.
“Shall I gather more firewood?”
“No need.”
“Will the heat not be insufficient?”
“There are always ways.”
She pulled out something and showed him.
A transparent stone. It looked like honey frozen hard, like a gourd.
“Gourd…? No, tree resin?”
The resin, formed by coagulating sap, was an excellent fire starter.
Yet doubt lingered. In a place with few trees, could such resin be found?
“It is not tree resin. It is the resin made by elves with spirit arts. Do you know it as fairy stone?”
“Ah, then is this…?”
“Yes. It is the essence of fairy stone. How wondrous.”
It could only be wondrous.
In the Empire it was no longer obtainable and treated as a precious jewel.
Yet here among elves it was treated as ordinary firewood.
An item worthy of being set in noblewomen’s necklaces was thrown into a pit of flames.
Whoosh-
The fire roared to life.
Altaia, watching the fire, picked a stone from the ashes and put it inside the goat’s throat.
To use the heat of the heated stone.
“The resin and firewood are more valuable the longer they last.”
The lamb meat was buried in the roaring ashes.
“With fairy stone the heat will last gently and long. If not for this we would have had to cook it from afternoon.”
“How wondrous. It feels like I have been surprised all day.”
“Hehe. Is that so? Blood sausages we will make ourselves, so come stand with me.”
“W-Well, I have not married yet.”
Altaia laughed heartily at Vesta’s answer.
“Then stay even closer.”
*
The Khan had left the tent and stood with her back to it, gazing into the distance.
From her came a presence that could not be touched.
Like a princess in a story, or a graceful raptor fallen to the prairie.
Vesta approached carefully and her ears perked.
The Khan slowly turned and looked at him.
“You have come.”
“Yes.”
“How was your day today?”
“A continuous series of surprises.”
“I see. Did it exceed your strength?”
“Much better than worrying. I thought it was fun.”
He felt like he had almost spoken a mistake. How could he say their difficult life was enjoyable?
“Is that so. I am glad.”
Unlike worry, the Khan did not rebuke him. She seemed genuinely happy.
They spoke little to each other.
When sharing well-cooked lamb, when handling the heated stones, when sharing wine.
Only,
“Welcome, Vesta.”
Standing with her back to the infinite stars and wind of the prairie, smiling at him
Vesta
found himself expecting even a little of life on the prairie.
— The Starry Throat of the Infinite Nebula Woven from Wool —