Promise (1)
Daily life had not changed.
Only Sister Flora was gone.
We had sworn to protect and cherish one another, to stay together for the rest of our lives—but a promise like that could never mend a wound so quickly.
Ceria knelt before the cross the way Sister Flora once had. She could not have known how to pray properly, yet she did it anyway. She had always said she wanted to be just like her.
What she offered, though, was less prayer than penance. At an age when she should still have been allowed to be childish, she wept over every childish thing she had ever done. So I sat beside her and told her that instead of confessing, we should pray for Sister Flora. I taught her the only prayer I knew.
Simply to wish for happiness.
That single phrase was enough. After that, Ceria no longer cried when she prayed. Sometimes she would even peek around the doorway as if waiting for prayer time, watching for me.
"I like praying. It makes my heart feel quiet."
Claudia sat motionless, her tail already going dull and unkempt. One touch and she looked ready to break into tears; her eyes were empty. Sister Flora had always brushed that tail for her, and Claudia had kept it neat because of it. Not anymore.
So I brushed it myself. I stroked the wolf-beastkin ears, and in Sister Flora's place I stroked Claudia's hair. In those moments at least a little life returned to her, so I never missed a single day.
"…Only Riel gets to brush my tail, okay? Heehee. You didn't know that, did you?"
Whether it was genuine relief or sheer stubborn endurance, Rhea was the one who still looked almost normal.
"…Everyone, eat."
Together she and I took Sister Flora's place: we put grain on to boil into gruel, poured water for the younger ones, and tried to fill the empty seat at the table.
None of us ever ate at that table, though. We gathered instead in front of the cross, or beside the bed where Sister Flora had slept, or out in the snow before the freshly turned earth of her grave. Those were the places we shared our meals.
The words that should have filled the air were simply gone. Of all the empty spaces Sister Flora had left behind, the table felt the largest. So, whether we wanted to or not, we made ourselves play together at least once a day.
Or if we could not play, we still sat and talked. We had only one another left to lean on. For the first few months everyone went through the motions of tag or hide-and-seek for a few reluctant minutes and then stopped…
"…Hic. I miss Sister Flora, Riel…"
"I should never have interrupted her even once when she was praying…"
"…Rhea and Riel were both so grown-up, but Claudia and I… H-hwaaang—"
Still, playing and then crying was better than not playing at all, better than each of us suffering alone. When we cried together we knew the pain was shared, and that made it hurt a little less. I wanted them to lean on me.
"Cry as much as you need. It's all right. Really, it's all right."
We struggled, and sometimes without warning we would look at one another and laugh. In the same breath we clung to the "dreams" Sister Flora had left us and swore—absolutely, absolutely—that we would live well. For her sake we would live so well the whole world would see it. We giggled over those wild promises and spent our days dreaming of becoming the kind, good people she had taught us to be.
Time passed that way.
Rhea and I turned twelve; Ceria and Claudia turned eleven. Under the laws of the Kelian Kingdom we had reached the age when children could receive an education.
At twelve most children entered an academy. Even if it was not the great academy in the capital, they left home somewhere to study. If not an academy, then a guild or a church that would take them in. You had to learn how to live, how to become a priest or a mage or a knight—anything at all.
I did not want to betray Sister Flora's teachings. After she died people began saying a heretic had perished and that we orphans were to be pitied. There was still no real charity, but at least no one stopped us from working.
So for a full year I mixed with the same people who called her death a pity and scraped by on whatever jobs I could find. Even so, Rhea—whose dream had always been to become a mage—never set foot in an academy.
We simply could not afford it.
"…Must be nice."
On the days she trailed after me while I took even the smallest paid work, Rhea would murmur the words without thinking. Nice. Even in a village this small there were children who wore academy uniforms and sat in classrooms. Watching them made her envious.
"…If I become a mage, then Riel can…"
The words slipped out before she realized. I lifted my head. In the shadowed alley we were catching rats under the pretense of cleaning. Across the way, on a sunlit street, children our own age laughed in their uniforms. Rhea stared at them for a long time, then let out a short, soft sigh.
"…Ah."
Thud—!
I caught the last rat. While I packed the wriggling bodies neatly into the sack I wore a sad, apologetic face. My mouth twisted as if it might fall right off. You don't have to say anything, I thought. Feeling that way is only natural.
"…I'm sorry."
In the end I heard it. Rhea looked at me and apologized. We had all grown up far too young. We already knew, painfully well, that wanting something and being able to do it were two different things.
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
"…You work every single day because of us, and we can't do anything."
"It's fine."
If I could have, I would have sent Rhea to an academy myself. Even back when we lived on each other's warmth in the slums, even after we followed Sister Flora out of them, I had always known how she longed to be a mage.
"…Riel, aren't you tired?"
Her voice was full of worry. We spent every day together, looking after the two younger girls who were both sisters and friends. The days were hard—of course the honest answer should have been yes—yet somehow I shook my head. I worried about her every bit as much as she worried about me.
"Rhea, you're right here beside me. I'm not tired."
"…Can something like that really make it not hard?"
She seemed to think I was lying. That was when the old childhood promise—Let's get married—floated back to me. I smiled the way I used to when I was teasing her.
She looked prettier when she smiled. I liked seeing it.
"…If I'm going to marry Rhea, I can't let little things like this wear me out. You're too good for me as it is."
Silence fell. I had expected her to get angry, or to laugh and say What are you talking about? Instead she just stood there staring at me.
"…Really?"
Her voice trembled on the edge of tears. She opened her arms, stepped close, and gave me a careful hug. Rat blood was still on my hands; I tried to push her away, but she held on.
"…Hic. Would you really be okay marrying a fool like me?"
Even when she tried to hide it, Rhea always put herself down. That bothered me. From our earliest days in the slums she had sung about marriage. I needed to answer, yet the right words would not come, so I stayed quiet. When no reply arrived, her eyes reddened.
"I guess marriage is still a bit much…?"
The look that said Of course it is, the open sadness—both were plain on her face. I wiped my hands on my clothes, then gently wiped her tears. Smiling, I spoke. I held her so she could cry more easily.
"…I like you, Rhea."
There had never been any reason to stay with someone I did not like, not even in the slums. One day fragments of a past life had surfaced inside me—nothing more than a few feelings and ways of thinking. They had not made me someone else. From the very beginning I had liked Rhea.
She must have realized I was teasing her a little; her small hand thumped my shoulder.
"…I-I was being serious…! I-I really like you, Riel! I don't just tag along for no reason!"
"…I-I answered seriously too…?"
"…I know."
"Then why hit me…?"
Rhea blinked once, then spun around. We still had to carry the sack, collect our pay, and buy food for Ceria and Claudia. She stomped toward the mouth of the alley as if she meant to leave that very second.
"W-wait, Rhea!"
"…"
I had been about to apologize. She stopped short, turned, and carefully hugged me again.
"…I-I only did it because I was embarrassed. Sorry, Riel."
Lately there had been nothing but sadness. After Sister Flora left, Rhea and I had been so busy looking after Claudia and Ceria that we barely had time to breathe. Yet the moment I saw her face—eyes lowered in shy embarrassment, fingers fidgeting—
"…Heh."
"…Pfft."
Laughter spilled out of us like a pair of idiots. Rhea caught a fold of my clothes and asked once more.
"…Do you really like me?"
"Yeah. I like you."
She beamed, then dashed out of the alley waving. I took the cleaned-up proof of our work—rats and insects—back to the shopkeeper, collected the day's wages, and bought grain plus a few tomatoes everyone loved. On the walk home Rhea kept smiling to herself, then growing sad, then smiling again, until at last she spoke.
"…Riel, lean on me sometimes too. We're childhood friends, remember? Got it?"
She said it again and again.
…
For the first time in a long while we returned to the orphanage laughing, the sadness briefly forgotten. Ceria and Claudia were already hovering by the door as if they had been waiting for us.
They did not exactly look welcoming, yet Claudia's tail wagged hard and Ceria's eyes refused to leave us.
"Did you keep everything safe?"
When I asked, Claudia whipped her head away.
"…I hate you. You only ever go out and play with Rhea."
"…You skipped prayer, Riel."
Ceria was not much better, though a little softer. I pulled a tomato from the paper bag and held it out.
"Sorry. Next time Ceria and Claudia come with us, okay? Take this and stop being mad."
They spoke as if they were angry, but they knew better than anyone that we had not been out playing.
"…I'd rather you did go play… I'm sorry… for being so whiny…"
Claudia must have realized it too; her tail drooped as she hugged me tight. Ceria only apologized after she remembered again that the missed prayer was because of them. None of it mattered. We blamed no one and went inside the church.
Over the past year we had scavenged every scrap of wood we could find and woven simple beds from old chairs. While I was out earning money, Rhea and the other two had patched the church itself. Everywhere you looked, our hands had left marks. It no longer felt like an orphanage or a church so much as our home.
"I'll make something. You rest, Riel. I'll bring it to you."
"I'll help."
"I told you to rest. Just rest when I say rest. You'd only get in the way anyway. You can't cook."
Rhea's tone was a little cold. The affectionate way she spoke when we were alone might somehow break the promise we had made, and she was careful of that. Whenever it happened, Claudia or Ceria would come close and take my hand as if to comfort me. This time was no different.
"I want to go pray, Riel."
"…Riel, when are you going to brush my tail?"
"Ceria, wait for me in Sister Flora's room. I'll be right there."
"…Claudia first again?"
"If her tail gets tangled it hurts. Sorry—please understand, Ceria."
"You have to come soon?"
"I will. Come on, Claudia."
Claudia walked beside me, tail swishing happily. She must have played outside with Ceria earlier; the white fur was already knotted.
"Here, give me your tail."
"Okay!"
Swish—, swish—.
I took up the old comb and worked through the pure white fur. Not as much came out as I had feared. Before, Claudia used to tidy it herself or ask Sister Flora; after Sister Flora left she always asked me. By now I was fairly skilled at it.
"Hey, Riel?"
Claudia grinned and gave me a little hug while I brushed. She always did that when we were alone.
"When I hug you, do you like it too?"
"…Of course I do. Don't you?"
"N-no! I like it, that's why I hug you myself! And why I ask you to brush my tail."
"I'm glad. So Claudia likes me too."
"Listen—this is a secret, just between us—when it's only the two of us, Ceria says she likes you too."
"Really?"
"Mhm. She likes that you pray with her, that you're kind every day, that you're warm… and, um… that you're handsome. Heehee. Me too. After Sister Flora, I like you the most."
A warm feeling spread through my chest. I had known they leaned on me, but hearing it aloud was different. The exhaustion of hours spent cleaning alleys seemed to lift.
"Heehee."
Claudia kept trying to wag her tail, too happy to sit still. We had always been close, but the past year had drawn us even closer.
"Claudia, if you keep wagging I can't brush properly."
"I can't help it—I like you. And you said you like me too!"
"Still, I have to do it right. Among the wolf-beastkin a tail is like a face, isn't it?"
"Do you want me to be pretty, Riel?"
"No?"
"…Hiiing, whyyy?"
The teasing made her droop at once.
"You're already pretty, Claudia."
"…Even with my tail all tangled like this?"
"Yeah, pretty. But I want to make you even prettier, so just stay still a little longer."
"Okay, I'll stay still. You have to brush fast, though? I feel so good I want to swish around."
"All right."
She claimed she would stay still, yet the tail kept swaying. Sitting there she even swung her legs back and forth. Suddenly she asked:
"Hey, Riel—who are you going to marry out of all of us?"
Crack—!
"Ow!"
Without meaning to I had combed too hard; a clump of tangled fur came free. Before I could apologize I was already asking back.
"Marry?"
"…Hiiing. You're not a noble, so you can only marry one of us, right?"
Tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes from the pain, yet she still spoke brightly.
"Rhea acts like she hates you. She doesn't even notice how hard you work… She never used to be like that. She's always cold now and only scolds you. And Ceria says she wants to become a sister, that she wants to study… So if no one else is going to come between us… if we're not going to break the promise we made…"
Swish— the tail swayed.
"…I'd be happy to marry you, Riel. Heehee. You brush my tail, after all. Mama used to say only the person you love gets to brush your tail!"
"…Claudia."
"Hm? Do you like that too? If I'm with you… I think I could be a good mama and raise a pretty daughter! Because you're so kind!"
Just then came a long creak—the sound of old floorboards rubbing together. In Rhea's hands were tomatoes cut into neat pieces and bread she had baked herself.
"…What do you mean I hate Riel, Claudia?"
Rhea asked.