A Father's Heart
"Um, here…."
The medical examination, which had paused briefly at the boy's absence, resumed. Pablo, who had nearly met his end buried under the landslide, had suffered nothing worse than a few bruises, and thankfully had no serious injuries.
After receiving emergency treatment from Father Juan, the boy glanced around, then made his way over to Death, who stood alone at a distance, and held out his hand.
"What's this?"
Death, who had been shaking the water from his wet hair, frowned down at the boy. The child ducked his head in embarrassment as he answered.
"You said you were hungry…."
"Oh, so you're giving it to me to eat?"
The boy nodded vigorously. What he held out was a steamed potato brought from the capital—rescue rations distributed to the villagers, which the boy had saved instead of eating.
"And when exactly did you hear me complaining?"
Only Death himself remained unaware of it, but lately the complaints spilling from his lips had multiplied sharply. He had assumed he'd be able to eat far more delicious things once he reached Hamilton, and the drastic reduction in side dishes was steadily wearing on him.
Thanks to Lady Hoshue's consideration, he was at least eating his fill, but being unable to sample a variety of foods had him longing to return to Carrington. What displeased him most of all was how the amount of meat at meals had dwindled.
Shall we go out and hunt something ourselves?
Ten wild boars should be enough to fill everyone up, don't you think?
Is that all you've got? Add a dozen or so roe deer on top.
Just yesterday, he and Amon had genuinely been having that conversation.
"I've eaten potatoes until I'm sick of them. Save it to fill your own stomach."
"Please, I insist. You saved my life—this is the least I can do to repay you."
Though his stomach thundered with rumbles, Pablo could not bring himself to accept. From what he could see, this person was a commoner's servant, just like himself. Food would not be plentiful for him. Besides, how could he turn a blind eye to the man who had saved his life saying he was hungry?
"I told you, forget it."
The last thing Death wanted was to fill up on a potato. What he needed was properly seasoned meat. Ideally, the wonderfully fresh kind Rita made for him.
"I'm only thanking you. I thought I was going to die, trapped under that dirt with nowhere to go… and you saved me. I'm truly grateful. This is my token of appreciation, so please accept it."
"Token of appreciation?"
"Yes, I'm sorry it's all I have to give."
Death lifted his head and surveyed the crowd. Aside from a handful of villagers still receiving treatment from Father Juan, most of them sat gnawing on potatoes with happy expressions on their faces.
"If you give me that, what are you going to eat?"
"…I'll be fine."
There would be nothing worth eating at home either. The boy's stick-thin frame proved it.
"Not from where I'm standing, there isn't."
"I'll repay this debt someday, I swear. For now, please just take this potato—"
"Your despair is what called me."
"…Pardon?"
"I didn't step in out of any desire to help. There's no need to go on about debts and gratitude."
"B-but still…."
"If you truly want to give me something, I'll take it myself."
Pablo blinked, still clutching the potato, because he had no idea what the man was talking about. The only thing he had to offer was the potato he'd just received—so what on earth did he mean, he'd take it himself?
"I shall peel the despair away from you."
Strange words flowed from Death's lips. Just as when Tania had worked her mischief some time ago, a black, billowing cloud rose up from the boy's body.
"Despair is the wellspring of my power, you see."
As the black clouds were drawn into him, a faint smile spread across Death's face. Human despair carried a flavor entirely different from the kind he savored in his own world. And among them, a child's despair was a rare vintage indeed.
"You may well be a gift to me."
The clouds vanished. Pablo, who had stood there dazed for a moment, shuddered and came back to himself.
"So, how do you feel?"
"Thank you! I'm going to live my very best from now on!"
The light in Pablo's eyes as he answered so vigorously was completely transformed from moments before. His slumped shoulders squared, and his voice brimmed with confidence.
With the despair gone, what remained in the boy was nothing but hope—the conviction to try again.
"Pablo! Come over here and eat some more of this!"
One of the villagers called the boy over.
"Yes, sir! Coming!"
Pablo thanked Death three more times before running off to join the villagers.
"When Agos finds out, he's going to throw a fit."
Death could already picture it—the god hopping up and down in a rage, demanding to know what he'd done to one of his faithful. A swift kick to the backside would settle him, but that didn't make it any less exhausting.
That fool had better not hear about today until the last possible moment.
He was almost tempted to put in a request with the God of Hope, if only the man kept his communication lines open.
Chapter 7: A Father's Heart
The tour of the territory drew to a successful close. On the carriage ride back, Father Juan spared no words of praise, saying that thanks to the herbs Bayul had brought along, every single villager could be treated.
The crops had suffered heavy damage from the relentless rains that had fallen day after day, but the health of the territory's people had been deteriorating just as badly.
Thanks to this tour, they had been able to care for a number of patients whose illnesses might otherwise have worsened, and the life of the boy who might have died alone and pitiful had been saved. Father Juan could not remember a recent day so meaningful and fulfilling, and he wore a beaming smile the whole way back.
Innocent, Shame, Tempesta. You all worked so hard. Thank you, truly.
For his part, Bayul was brimming with pride in his three spirits. Unable to simply stand by and watch before leaving the village, he had asked them to mend this place and that.
They restored the ruined farmland, carved drainage channels nearby to keep the water circulating properly, and even used trees and stones to patch the holes in ceilings and walls. Every so often, Tempesta stirred up a breeze to sweep away the refuse and opened passages in the air so warm currents could flow in.
All of it, of course, was done under the noses of Duke Randert and the Full Moon Knight Order. Aside from the pang he felt sensing the spirits' energy growing weary from the effort, it was a rewarding time for Bayul, rich with lessons.
But the greatest achievement of all was that, for the first time in so long, he had spoken with his father and mother about them—about Bayil and Yvette. He hadn't managed to ask everything he wanted to ask, but he felt that next time, he would be able to summon his courage more easily than today. That alone was enough to make Bayul happy.
First things first. I have to go pay my respects to my brother.
As if the rain itself knew that today was Bayil's memorial day, the downpour had slackened considerably. Thanks to that, Bayul was making his way to his brother wearing only a light rain cape, flowers in hand.
"Arf! Arf!"
Jasper bounded far ahead, barking at Bayul to hurry up.
"Do you know what today is?"
Something about the way the dog rushed along made it seem as though he, too, was desperate to greet Bayil—and Bayul's throat tightened without warning.
Once upon a time, it hadn't been the two of them. It had been three.
Himself, his brother, and Jasper.
Because Bayul had been an invalid, rarely able to leave the house, outings like this—taking Jasper out for the day—had always been his brother's role.
Did the dog remember those days too?
Back then, Jasper had been less than half the size he was now. If Jasper had been the full-grown hound he was today back when the accident happened, he might have leapt into the water and pulled Bayil out.
If only I had become a Spirit User sooner, he never would have fallen into the river at all….
That insidious what if, what if—the guilt of it gnawed away at Bayul. He told himself to stop, and yet here he was, doing it all over again. Perhaps this guilt was simply something he would never shake. Perhaps today, being his brother's memorial day, made it all the heavier.
"But I won't only grieve anymore."
Bayul murmured to himself, as if casting a spell on his own heart.
"Because that's not what my brother would want."
His brother's sunlit face seemed to shimmer behind Jasper's retreating back.
Bayul, why have you only come now? Do you have any idea how long I've waited?
It looked like reproach at a glance, but really, it would have been a face brimming with joy at seeing him. For two years, guilt had pressed him down so completely that he had never once come. His brother, of all people, must have longed for him to visit—and he had made excuse after excuse not to.
The past two years filled him with regret, with shame, with humiliation. If he had done wrong, the proper thing was to beg forgiveness, yet all he had done was run from it.
It was a mercy that such thoughts had finally come to him, even this late—and at the same time, he felt achingly sorry toward Bayil.
"Arf! Arf!"
Jasper leapt onto a great boulder by the riverbank and called to Bayul from atop it.
"Is it there?"
Bayul himself remembered nothing of the place. He had only ever been told that his brother had saved him and been swept away by the river. But Jasper had been there that day, and it occurred to Bayul that the dog might know the spot—so he had let Jasper lead the way.
"Arf arf arf arf!"
The rain had swollen the river until the water lapped at the very edge of the bank. As Bayul gazed at the churning current, Jasper suddenly began barking like a mad thing.
It seemed as if he were trying to say something, but the river was too loud and the dog too worked up for Bayul to make out a word.
"Grrrrr…"
"…Jasper?"
Then, in a flash, the dog bared his fangs and growled low at the water. Bayul whipped around to scan their surroundings, suspecting a wild animal—but he sensed nothing at all.
And no wonder. This whole area was a place his father personally kept watch over. Strangers were strictly barred from entering, and the knights made regular patrols to guard against dangerous beasts and monsters.
"Arf arf arf! Arf arf arf arf!"
"Jasper, it's all right. There's no one here. Calm down."
When Bayul came close and stroked him, the dog settled a little, but his eyes remained fixed on the river, fierce and unblinking.
"…Are you blaming the river?"
The water had swallowed his brother. Perhaps Jasper blamed the river itself for the accident—because his brother had never come out of those depths.
"Hoo."
It had taken two years to come this far. As Bayul stood at a distance, staring out over the river, tears welled slowly in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, brother…."
Bayul quietly set down the flowers he had brought on the riverbank. When he'd woken this morning, a bouquet had been waiting at the foot of his bed. No one had said a word about it, but it must have been Rita's doing.
She had always prepared them for Bayil's memorial day—flowers he was, for the first time, putting to their proper use today.
"…Are you doing well, wherever you are?"
The tears that had pooled in his eyes mingled with the rain and fell drop by drop to the earth.
To Bayul, Bayil had been his other half. His twin, born side by side, raised side by side, always there beside him—that was his brother.
Now the longing he had held in check for so long burst its banks, and the tears came down like a storm. He missed his brother so much it ached, and he hated himself so fiercely for what had happened to him that he couldn't stop. Once again, the thought that he should have been the one to die burrowed into his mind.
But at some point, without his noticing—
Duke Randert was standing there beside him. Without a word, his father laid a hand on his son's back and patted it, slowly, gently.
It felt as though his father was telling him it was all right now. As though he was telling him to let it all go. And at that, Bayul's emotions surged higher than ever. For the first time, he felt as if his father had truly forgiven him.