Tell Me (5)
Til stood atop the wall and stared into the forest until her eyes burned. Officially she was watching for demons that might approach; her heart kept searching for something else entirely.
"Do you really think he'll come back?"
A wanderer who had wandered into the village without knowing better. Or a soft greenhorn who'd only survived the demons and beasts by luck. Or else a young master who had run away from home without the first idea how the world worked.
I don't have a choice.
The mage who smiled as if the whole thing were a bother and yet never once bent his stubborn will… the one who was clearly hiding something, and yet never felt untrustworthy for it.
"I hope he comes back."
They had only met today, and still she worried. A few words were enough to know what kind of man he was, and that made it worse. He was not the kind of person who deserved to die.
"I don't know… can he?"
"But he's a mage. Aren't mages different somehow?"
"Mm……"
Til knew next to nothing about mages. She was a country girl who had never even seen real magic, let alone a living practitioner, so it could hardly be helped.
But she knew the mages from the fairy tales. They raised walls of flame, overturned the earth, and called up waves. Couldn't he do the same?
Of course, every mage in those stories wore a pointed hat and a long white beard. The young man, by contrast, was very young and carried no staff at all. Still.
"I'd have to have seen a mage first to say. But… I hope so too."
"We should have given him a charm pouch at least."
"Oh no. You're right—I never even thought of that!"
And so the villagers, who had never once seen a real mage, gathered atop the wall and murmured prayers among themselves.
What they prayed for was a miracle they barely dared hope for.
A miracle that more soldiers had survived the crush of demons. A miracle that those soldiers would meet the young man. A miracle that all of them would return here safely.
That kind of miracle.
"Ah—there they are!"
And around the time the sun was sinking low, someone cried out.
"He actually brought people with him!"
"Lower the ropes, hurry!"
It was the moment the prayer was answered.
Deathbringer chose to stay awake rather than sleep with the tangle of thoughts in his head. Knowing they would leave at dawn tomorrow, he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes open for long—but he still didn't want to sleep just yet. If he pressed his face into the pillow now, nothing but strange thoughts would come pouring in.
"Ugh……"
"Why are you thrashing around like a dog that needs to take a shit?"
"──!"
He must have sunk too deep into thought. Of all people, he had failed to hear Meister's footsteps.
A soundless scream poured out through his ears and tail, both standing straight up. His heart hammered.
"W-why are you out here……"
"This."
Clink. Something in Meister's hand made a clear, liquid sound. It was a jar about the size of a human head, complete with a handle.
"…Just checking, because I really hope I'm wrong—is that alcohol?"
Of course the jar itself couldn't make that sound. Which meant there was liquid inside. And given that Meister had brought it outside, it was definitely not water.
"If you already know, why ask?"
"You crazy bastard. Where the hell did you even get that?"
"Village chief gave it to me as thanks for taking down the beast."
"You weren't the one who killed it."
"So what. Go ask him for some yourself, then."
The softie does all the work and this lunatic walks off with the reward.
Deathbringer's face twisted; it twisted further still when Meister squatted down right beside him.
"Get lost. This is my spot."
"Strictly speaking, the resident of this place is the village chief, so this is the chief's land—not yours."
"Ugh. You're the kind of guy who'd float face-up by the mouth alone if he fell in a river."
"Better to float than sink without even your mouth breaking the surface, no?"
"Was that a compliment?"
"Did it sound like one?"
The second the words left his mouth, Deathbringer and Meister flipped each other off. Neither of them moved from the spot, both operating under the same principle: If anyone's getting up, that bastard can get up. Why should I?
Pride, in the end, kept the two of them planted side by side.
Glug.
"……"
Separately from all that—this guy really was insane. Deathbringer let out a sigh at the sight of Meister drinking straight from the jar instead of pouring it into a cup.
He tried to ignore it, but a jar the size of a face wriggling at the edge of his vision made it impossible not to look. His legs moved of their own accord.
"What. Why are you back?"
"Because some bastard is chugging the whole jar right in front of me."
Whish. One of the two wooden cups Deathbringer had swiped from the kitchen sailed toward Meister's hands. He'd thrown it gently enough that even an ordinary person could catch it; Meister took it without difficulty.
Deathbringer sat back down where he'd started.
"I never said I was sharing."
"And I never asked for any."
Like I'd ever ask. Deathbringer snorted and set down the wooden cup he'd brought for himself.
"I brought it so I could steal some."
"So you're a thief, then?"
"You're only figuring that out now?"
Brushing past Meister's half-hearted interference, Deathbringer's cup dipped into the jar. A rich, earthy smell rose up—homemade liquor, by the scent of it.
"Hah."
No sweetness, just a sharp, bitter tang—properly aged. Deathbringer smacked his lips over the hard liquor he hadn't tasted in a long time. Relatively hard, anyway.
"Can't even compare to the pre-meal wine they keep at the temple……"
"That stuff is just a beverage."
"Yeah, it is."
What kind of wine could you give to kids and still call it wine? It was just a drink.
Deathbringer stole another cup of the homemade liquor and tipped it back. He deliberately ignored the hangover that would come for him tomorrow. He just felt like drinking.
"Might I have a cup as well?"
"What is this, why are so many people trying to steal—"
"Pffhah—!"
And then—wait. At the voice that cut in, Deathbringer sprayed the liquor still in his mouth. Meister blinked twice, clearly rattled as well.
"Cough, cough."
"You all right?"
Damn it, it went up my nose. Deathbringer coughed a couple of times, enduring the burn. A hand approached and patted his back. He was not particularly grateful for it.
"Y-you—why are you out here, greenhorn?"
"Is there some reason I'm not allowed to come out?"
"Well—no, but……"
Why the hell is the Inquisitor out here? More than that—if he'd heard right, had the Inquisitor just asked for a drink?
Deathbringer's eyes twitched as he wondered whether his cognitive faculties had already abandoned him.
"Here."
In the meantime, Meister was already pouring liquor into the cup the Inquisitor held out.
"…You know how to drink?"
"……? Of course?"
Deathbringer saw the puzzled look in the greenhorn's eyes and realized his mistake. She was temple-raised too. The temple that brought out light wine with every meal.
"If I'd known, I would've gotten two jars."
"It's fine. I won't drink much."
But temple wine was so weak you could put away several bottles and never get drunk. Was it really all right to hand properly made homemade liquor to someone like that……?
Deathbringer fretted for a moment, then gave up. It was already too late. The greenhorn's lips were already on the cup.
"…It's stronger than I expected."
"This isn't even one of the strong ones."
In the end the three of them—Deathbringer included—squatted side by side in front of the house and sipped. No conversation passed between them. Silence and moonlight were their only side dishes.
"…Meister. Does magic exist that can quiet confusion?"
And when the jar was nearly empty, the Inquisitor spoke. Deathbringer's hand, lifting the last of the liquor, hesitated; Meister set down his empty cup.
"My head's pretty good, but even I have a hard time following something that vague."
"I mean… the kind of confusion that lives in the heart."
"Like a heart-devil?"
"Yes. Yes."
"Would it work?"
"…I see."
"What even is a heart-devil to begin with. It just means your heart is in turmoil, and hearts usually end up in turmoil because your surroundings are fucked or your situation is fucked, something like that. And you want to fix that with one little spell? If that were possible, you wouldn't be a mage—you'd be a god."
Though some problems do get solved with a single fireball, he added, which was entirely useless advice. By that standard there was no problem in the world a sword couldn't solve.
"Then……"
"Or there's this method."
"……?"
"Messing with the head."
"…Messing with what?"
And then—wait. Deathbringer, having lost all patience, found himself cutting in without meaning to. Meister's finger tapped his own temple.
"The head. More precisely, the brain under the skin and bone."
"…Why would you mess with that? No—what could you even do by messing with it?"
"You can erase emotion. Maybe memory too."
But the answer that came back exceeded all imagination. Deathbringer's words stuck in his throat. The Inquisitor seemed to feel much the same; she made no sound at all.
"Success rate's low, of course. From what I remember, ninety percent either die or end up as vegetables."
"…No, what the fuck—why would you recommend something with a ten-percent success rate?"
"That was twenty years ago. Who knows about now? Well… the temple would never have allowed those experiments, so they might still be stuck in place."
"For crying out loud……"
If the temple wouldn't allow it, the castle wouldn't either—which meant the procedure was illegal. And he was recommending it to someone from the temple.
Deathbringer thought that far and then, belatedly, realized something.
…How did Meister know an illegal procedure existed at all, let alone its success rate?
"Obviously I'm not seriously recommending it. I'm just saying… if you really can't find an answer, removing the ability to feel the pain itself is one option."
"…How is that any different from saying you'll be free once you're dead?"
He must have drunk too much. Deathbringer somehow wrung the words out of a throat gone dry with thirst. "Yeah." Meister's dry voice only made the thirst worse. It was a hell of a mood.
"…I see."
Meanwhile the Inquisitor showed no particular reaction one way or the other. Normally she would have recoiled in horror. The lack of that reaction was somehow ominous.
"It's late. We should go to sleep."
Don't tell me she's actually considering it? Deathbringer almost grabbed the Inquisitor's sleeve on pure reflex. The reason he didn't was the fear that she might answer yes.
"Yeah."
He was, truly, afraid.
"Is the food to your liking?"
I had come close to danger a few times while rescuing the soldiers, but in the end it had been a good decision.
Not only had the wariness I would normally have faced as an outsider vanished—I now had a place to sleep and an evening meal.
"Yes, it's truly delicious."
And the place I was staying the night was the village chief's own house. In other words, the same house where the wounded soldiers were, and where the man who had given me the clue about "Atya" was staying.
I had needed some way to get close to him anyway. With the chief inviting me to stay under his own roof, I no longer even needed an excuse.
I smiled happily at the results one gamble had brought. As expected, doing a good deed never hurt.
"Eat plenty."
"Yes."
"Have some meat too."
"Ahaha… yes."
Of course… the meat dishes he'd prepared, saying I'd had a hard time of it, were a little much. It was precious meat, offered purely out of goodwill, so I couldn't bring myself to refuse.
"How about a drink as well?"
"Ah—alcohol……"
I rolled my eyes, then gave an awkward laugh.
"Mages aren't supposed to drink……"
A complete lie, but if I was the only mage they'd ever seen, it hardly mattered. I spun the falsehood as naturally as breathing, and the village chief, looking genuinely sorry for me, swallowed it whole.
"Mages have it rough… having to abstain for life……"
"Haha… I'm still a trainee, so that plays a part. It isn't a lifelong ban."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. You need a clear mind to handle mana properly……"
Though it wasn't entirely untrue, was it? How well could anyone handle mana after a few drinks?
"I see. Then at least have more meat."
"Yes, yes."
I only took as much as the chief cut for me and packed the rest of my bowl with vegetables. Since I made a show of chewing meat whenever he looked my way, he seemed completely unaware that I was picky about my food.
"There's more meat left than I expected……?"
He did look a little puzzled toward the end… so I casually changed the subject, saying it might be nice to share the leftovers with the wounded once they woke.
I did wonder whether you were supposed to give people food you'd already started eating, but food—especially meat—was precious here, so no one said a word.
The people who were actually supposed to eat it were all still unconscious… so their opinions never made it into the decision.
"Father! One of the soldiers has woken up!"
But when they finally did wake, the leftover meat never even made it onto the cutting board.
"He says we have to get word to Munmunt right away… what should we do?"
A much larger problem was waiting for us.