A New Life (1)
How much time had passed since the cool days first settled over the island? One afternoon, during lunch, Chester and Monia discovered ant-wolf tracks near the house.
“Huh? Is it their active season already?”
“Hard to say. We still don’t know this island that well.”
Chester said it while scanning the surroundings. Alongside the ant-wolf tracks were drag marks where some creature they had hunted had been hauled away.
“Still, they just woke up from hibernation, so they’re probably starving and hunting hard.”
“They’re just like us, then.”
Monia thought of the fish wrapped in leaves tucked inside her pack. After winter ended they had set traps, but for a while nothing had come. Today, for the first time in ages, fish had been caught. The island teemed with life and delicious creatures, yet this fish remained Monia’s favorite.
“We’ll finish the beach today, right?”
“Yeah. Wrap up the shoreline work, then we start building the warehouse and the villa in earnest.”
They were about to head home when Ant began barking. It was the signal they had taught him—to alert them whenever he found something new. Chester and Monia hurried over.
“Huh? Did flowers like this bloom here before?”
“Ah, dandelions. We’ve come far enough that we’re finding these now.”
Thinking that this was exactly why they could never stop expanding their search range, Chester pulled a dandelion up by the roots, examined it, then chewed a leaf.
“Is it edible?”
“Here.”
He held one out. Monia took it and chewed without thinking. The bitter taste flooded her mouth and her brow furrowed on its own.
“Mm… ugh. This is…”
“How is it?”
“Not inedible, at least.”
Chester tore off another leaf, ate it, and studied the root. Every part of a dandelion was edible, but it had other uses too.
One was as a glue substitute. The stem produced a white sap that could be used like paste.
And next—
“With these we can drink coffee.”
“What?”
Monia’s eyes went round at the casual remark.
“Coffee? From this?”
“Yeah. I’ve never had real coffee, but I’ve drunk a lot of dandelion coffee.”
He signaled Ant to start searching for more dandelions.
“Let’s find them and plant them in the yard. They grow like weeds—once we put them in the ground they’ll multiply on their own.”
The three of them wandered the area until they had gathered a decent heap, then returned home. They planted some of the haul and went inside to prepare coffee.
Chester first cut off the roots, set the leaves, stems, and flowers aside for dinner, and washed the roots clean.
“Now we dry them.”
“Okay.”
Following his lead, Monia scrubbed diligently until not a speck of dirt remained, then carefully hung the roots above the fire.
While they waited for the dandelions to dry, they discussed how to build the underground warehouse.
“There might be burrowing animals, so I want the walls solid.”
“Hmm… stones? Should we set stones into the walls?”
“That’s probably best. We don’t know how strong mud bricks would be yet…”
They decided to try firing mud into bricks as a test and wrote it into their schedule. The schedule lived in a notebook salvaged from the shipwreck.
There had been books on the ship as well—probably packed to kill time on a long voyage. Most were in languages they couldn’t read, but one captain’s log, this notebook, and a couple of novels were usable.
From the log, written since the captain’s childhood, they learned his origins and name, but neither Chester nor Monia bothered to remember them. They tore out the blank pages and stored them in the firewood shed for kindling when it grew scarce.
They had no quill or ink, so they used a stick with a softened tip for a pen and plant juice for dye.
“…Hey. If we can make bricks, do we even need to put the warehouse underground?”
“Hm?”
“We could build it tall like a tower so we can still get inside even when snow piles up, and put the entrance in the roof.”
Chester nodded.
“It’s not impossible, but…”
“But?”
“Monia, you’re talking about a grain silo, right?”
“Yes. The tall ones on the estate. Of course we couldn’t make it that big.”
“Those are built by carpenters who’ve spent generations perfecting the design so the grain doesn’t rot, insects don’t get in, and rats stay out. Every measurement is calculated down to the last detail.”
“….”
The moment she heard him, Monia understood.
“Yeah. We can’t make that.”
“Right. If the weather turned cold we might manage, but by the time it got cold it would already be too late to start.”
He looked at her. She had thought it was a good idea, only to find reality less cooperative, and disappointment showed on her face.
“I figured it would be less work than digging, but I guess not.”
Watching her nod in reluctant acceptance, Chester organized his thoughts and spoke again.
“How about this? We build two kinds of warehouses. The tower type you suggested, and the simple one we’ve been using up in the trees.”
“Oh?”
“We store things in the tree warehouse until it gets cold, then move everything into the underground one. What do you think?”
“…Building a warehouse in the trees isn’t that hard.”
It was still work, but both of them had lived a full year in the forest and in the canopy. After all the tasks they had done up there, constructing a bamboo storehouse was nothing.
“Exactly. Digging and planning a full underground warehouse would get huge—time and effort both. If we make the underground one just for winter use, it’s not bad at all.”
“True. And if we put it right under the tree, moving things back and forth is easy.”
Monia smiled and nodded.
Hehe. I helped.
Chester smiled at how pleased she looked.
Just coming up with the idea is already excellent.
There were many kinds of people. The ones Chester disliked most were those who simply shut their mouths and followed orders because it was easier. Fine as subordinates, but disqualified as partners who walked beside you.
As long as they carry out what they’re told, it’s fine. But that type never speaks up even when they make a mistake or don’t understand something.
When he had worked as Monia’s personal butler there had been plenty like that—trained from childhood only to obey, until any personal opinion vanished.
Ideas you can use right away only come after experience piles up. The fact that Monia can already produce ideas we can adapt and use is more than enough.
When someone offers an idea, never simply scold or reject it. Redirect it, praise it, encourage it. That is how people grow.
If you only ever shut them down, they shrink instead of growing.
Even when you have to refuse, explain the real reasons clearly. Saying “no” without explanation is the worst.
“Then I’ll leave the tower to you, Monia.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll still work on it, of course. But you’ve got a better eye for detail than I do. If I build something like a tower it’ll just collapse.”
She pictured their house with its uneven bamboo lengths sticking out every which way.
“So for that part I’m counting on you. Teach me well.”
Hearing that, Monia beamed and nodded hard.
“Okay! I’ll do my best!”
Watching her brighten, Chester organized the schedule in the notebook.
The kingdom’s condition only grew worse.
Using the revolutionary army to strike the kingdom, waiting until supply lines collapsed under the damage, then slamming the front forward. Neutralize “that weapon” in one stroke and take the capital.
The duke’s plan had succeeded as far as pushing the front to the outskirts of the capital. But the moment the capital teetered on the brink of fall, the neighboring countries joined the war.
Exactly as Chester had expected: the surrounding nations would never simply watch a powerful rival descend into chaos. They had observed the fighting between the royal army and the duke’s forces, then struck at the perfect moment—when the royal army was weakened and the duke’s army was exhausted from overextension.
A war sparked by a foolish, shortsighted prince and a commoner girl had spilled beyond the kingdom’s borders and begun to sweep the entire continent.
And in the midst of that chaos, Tiara—having fled Jordy and wandered aimlessly—had entered a village, where she suffered again today.
Winter on the island was over.
But winter in the kingdom had not yet ended.
The frozen ground and the hearts of people broken by war made it plain: nowhere welcomed Tiara. In times like these, nothing was more dreadful than another useless mouth to feed.
In ordinary days the village men might have been swayed by her beauty and offered help. But by Jordy’s royal decree every able-bodied young man—and even the old men still capable of standing—had been conscripted. No helping hands remained.
Worse, until recently she had lived as royalty. For months she had endured brutal training in speech, bearing, and every manner befitting the royal family. That polish had not yet washed off.
She looked like a noble.
Like the nobles who had started this war. Like the nobles who had stolen their families. Like the nobles who had squeezed them dry of gold, food, and everything else in the name of war.
Being driven out of a village was the best she could hope for. Few villages stopped at mere expulsion.
Toward “a noble who had fled the war without family power or guards,” they poured out every grudge accumulated in peacetime and every rage born of the war. They vented their feelings and released their stress.
“Give me back my husband!”
“My son—where is my son? What’s happening with the war?!”
“What? You’re hungry? You want food?! My child starved to death last night! Dead! Not even three years old!!”
“We’re livestock, are we?! You’re the trash! Why! Why! Why do only we have to suffer!!”
Tiara knew nothing about the war. And that did not matter to them.
“We have to kill her. We have to! If she leaves here she’ll throw herself on some other noble and tell them about us!”
“That’s right! Just kill her! How many people die every day because of this damn war? One more won’t even show!”
“No—don’t kill her! Just killing her would be too easy for the bitch!”
“Right. Lock her in a pen! We’re livestock? Let’s see how you like being livestock!”
Some exploded in rage. Some stared with pure hatred. Some cursed her. Some beat and kicked her. Some spat on her as she trembled in pain. Some forced her to swallow food not even fit for animals when she said she was hungry.
And only then did Tiara understand.
She had abandoned the family that loved her, the village where she was born and raised, her lover—everything. Whenever something displeased her, she discarded it and fled from it.
Never once thinking of the consequences.
Having lived by throwing everything away, caring only whether the present moment felt comfortable and never considering the future or other people, the world was now bringing the iron hammer down upon her.
A new life unfolded for Tiara. Or perhaps it was simply the life she deserved.
“…Someone… please help me.”
There was no one left beside her to hear her voice.
Because she had thrown them all away.