Malice, At Last (1)
Deep in the night, when every living soul had drifted off to sleep.
Moonlight poured down over the plain, already stripped bare of its harvest, leaving nothing behind but the brown stubble of old roots.
In just a few days, the fields would be set alight, the roots burned to ash that would return to the earth as nourishment — such was the cycle of the Medial Plain.
And far in the distance, the stronghold of the Heavenly God Church stood bathed in that silver light.
The Wall of Purity gleamed so brightly that its immaculate whiteness shone even under the moonlight alone.
— So, the plan failed?
The shadow of a snake sprawled across the ground was a strange thing to behold.
It was no larger than a calf, and its body was that of a serpent, but its head bristled with countless writhing heads, evoking the silhouette of a well-ripened cluster of grapes.
"Impossible."
The shadow sitting beside the snake stretched lazily as it answered, its voice carrying a half-suppressed laugh, light and careless as could be.
"I never expected it to succeed in the first place. So you can hardly call it a failure."
— I cannot fathom your schemes, woman. A single miserable healer, one you could keep in the palm of your hand and play with as you please — why must you make everything so needlessly convoluted?
"A miserable single healer? You mustn't think so lightly of her."
The woman's shadow turned her head to look at the snake, her jaw shifting as though she were smiling.
"You must deliver the worst misfortune at the moment of their greatest happiness. Only then does a vessel become a proper vessel, don't you think?"
— What does any of that matter? A vessel is but a vessel. Is it not enough to simply use it well?
Ssshhk — scales scraped against scales, producing a skin-crawling sound.
With every coil it made, the shadow changed shape.
A shadow that left no trace whatsoever on the ground.
"Is it because you're a snake-head that you understand nothing of the aesthetics of sacrifice? This is exactly why demons get a reputation for being all brawn and no brains."
SSSHKKKKK— A furious hiss reverberated through the night.
The shadow that had been no bigger than a calf swelled to the size of a bull in an instant, its darkness deepening in equal measure.
The shadow cast upon the moonlight grew and grew, and its hissing turned rougher and rougher, until the woman's shadow spun her head a full revolution and fixed it upon the snake.
"That's enough, you damned snake. If you weren't neutral, I'd never have partnered with a moron like you in the first place. Just do as you're told — keep the demons from running their mouths any further. Especially that vampire. Rein him in before I go tear him apart with my own hands. Understood?"
— ………
"If you understand, then get lost before I kill you. Do what you're told to do. Mind your own station. Did you hear me?"
The moment her words ended, the serpent's form began to fade.
When it had vanished entirely, the woman's shadow was left alone in that place.
"…Working with a pack of idiots is going to drive me mad. But if the Lord is returning, there's no help for it… Heh."
Slowly, the woman's shadow melted away as well.
In that empty place, only the moonlight continued to fall, soft and undisturbed.
Tomorrow, they would depart.
Sleep refused to come to Yona, and she tossed and turned in the vast bed without managing a wink.
Only that afternoon had she left Rubina at the orphanage.
I'll come back for you — I promise. Wait just a little while longer, and I'll come find you. She had promised and promised again, over and over, until the words wore smooth.
Perhaps that was why Rubina hadn't shed a single tear, even as she watched Yona's back recede down the road.
It was so unlike a child that it only made Yona's heart ache all the more.
And now, in this very moment, the emptiness of this bed — where Rubina had always nestled beside her — was almost unbearable.
'It was the right choice… right?'
She already knew the answer.
From Rubina's perspective, it was the right choice. Of that much, no one could possibly argue otherwise.
With Ceres as her guardian, and the child entrusted to the orphanage by the Pope's direct order, absolutely no one — no one — would dare mistreat her.
At the very least, she was certain to receive far more attentive and special care than any of the other children in the orphanage.
So yes — from Rubina's standpoint, it had been the right thing.
But from Yona's own standpoint, whether it had been right was a question she couldn't bring herself to answer.
It was a ridiculous thing.
Hadn't she told herself she wouldn't form attachments?
She would give no affection, would simply escort the child from Carpatia Port to the Infula Holy See, and that would be the end of their road together.
That was the deal. So why was it Yona, and Yona alone, who lay here suffering for it?
She couldn't bring herself to understand the reason.
"…Ugh, to hell with it."
Yona finally sat up with a jerk.
By all rights, sitting up should have meant finding Alec or Kayak keeping watch by the fire — but in reality, she was alone in the moon-drenched guest room, occupying an enormous bed all by herself.
There was nothing to worry about now, and nothing to fear.
Yona climbed down from the bed and pulled on her nun's habit.
She kept no daily clothes or travel wear of her own — the only thing she had to wear was that single habit.
Even that had been newly issued upon entering the church territory, so it was practically brand new.
The only thing she had maintained all this time was the Holy Shroud wound around her right arm.
Habit donned, Yona opened the door of her room.
The carpeted corridor swallowed even the sound of footsteps.
She walked across it toward a room a short distance away.
Knock, knock.
There was no way he'd be asleep at this hour.
Yona was certain of it, and her certainty proved correct — before long, Alec's voice came through the door, asking who it was.
"It's me. Can I come in?"
— Oh. Come on in.
The reply came without a moment's hesitation.
Yona turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The room's layout was identical to hers, but instead of the bed, Alec had been sitting by the window. He rose from the windowsill to greet her, brightening visibly as she stepped inside.
"What brings you here?"
"Can't sleep."
Yona answered offhandedly, walked in as if it were her own room, and dropped into the chair at the table set in the middle of Alec's quarters.
Alec sat down across from her with a foolish grin.
"What are you smiling at?"
"I couldn't sleep either. We've had it comfortable lately, I'll admit — but maybe we've gotten too comfortable. Now sleep won't come at all."
"Is that so."
With that, Yona fell silent.
Alec, too, looked away from her, and without another word turned his gaze out the window.
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
They didn't even look at each other — didn't exchange so much as a glance.
They simply sat facing one another, as naturally as if each were a person who was simply supposed to be there, their eyes resting on entirely different places.
"Hey. What are you going to do when you turn back into a man?"
"Go back to my original world, obviously."
It was an abrupt question, but Yona answered it without missing a beat.
Alec said nothing in reply.
His gaze remained fixed out the window.
"And if you… can't go back? What then?"
"Well then… hmm."
"And if you can't turn back into a man? What then?"
It was around then that Yona noticed it.
Something in Alec's bearing was off — badly off.
"…What? What's wrong with you? Is something going on?"
"I'm just asking because I'm curious. Am I not allowed to ask?"
Only then did Alec turn to look at her.
He looked at her, flashing that easy grin of his — a smile no different from any ordinary day.
"Well… Alevian did say the Wizard Community would have some way of managing it, so that's where I'm headed. That's the whole point of going."
That fairy — whose gaze was somehow always a little too strange.
That fairy in his square-framed spectacles, whose eyes gleamed in the most unsettling ways.
The fairy Alec knew all too well.
The fairy with far more people who loathed him than loved him — Alevian.
"But what if that fairy's got it wrong?"
Alec spoke as though he were playing dumb.
He wanted to ask — how could that be possible, did she really trust a word out of Alevian's mouth? — but saying so might only earn him another of Yona's irritated glares.
Whether she sensed his meaning or not, Yona smacked her lips a few times before answering.
"It's not like I trust Alevian completely either… but he did say this. A few hundred years ago, there was someone like me — someone who fell in from another world, and in the process turned from a man into a woman. And he said there were mages in the Wizard Community who researched exactly that kind of magic. That's why I'm going. It'll… yeah, it'll be fine."
The truth was, Yona knew it too.
She knew the two great longings she had pursued so relentlessly.
To return to her original world — and to become a man again.
Three years of living as a woman, and still she had not been able to let go of that second dream.
She couldn't say why, exactly, but she refused to accept her identity — refused to admit that she had become a woman.
Was there some inviolable reason she had to become a man again? No, not really.
But neither was there any part of her that wished to remain a woman.
"…Is that so."
There was no strength in Alec's voice.
"Yeah. Yeah… a few hundred years ago, in Marlene, something like that happened. There was a man who — well, someone who fell into this world and became a woman. It definitely happened, that much is true. But Yona, do you know what became of that person?"
Yona didn't bother answering.
She simply watched Alec, quiet and still.
"…That person never went back. I don't know whether a way home even existed — but I'd guess it probably did. And in the end, they never returned. They stayed in this world, and lived out their days with the one they loved. So they say."
"I know that story. That's the God of Matrimony, isn't it? The descendant of the Heavenly God… what was the name again… whatever, doesn't matter."
"Ricardo the God-Spear. And his wife, Lise."
"Ah, right. That was it. Anyway, I know the story of the Dual Deity. They taught it to us at the cathedral. But I'm different. Lise — was it Lise? Seli? Whatever — that demigod chose the God-Spear of their own will, but that's not me. And above all, I have absolutely no intention of falling in love with a man."
"…Is that so."
With those words, Alec fell silent.