42. The Yoke (6)
Even after turning every corner of the manor's first floor, the pounding in my chest refused to settle. I was hurrying toward the alchemy laboratory when I spotted Ellen coming out of it, and finally let out the breath I'd been holding.
"Ellen."
In that brief moment, Ellen wore a whole series of faces.
A face deep in thought about something. A face brightening at the sight of me. A pouty face painted on to cover it. And then a face with eyes gone wide with worry…
It struck me anew how many emotions could fit into one small face. Maybe it was because of those big eyes of hers.
"…What's wrong?" She stepped closer and reached out a cautious hand. I lowered my head slightly and accepted the pale hand against my cheek.
"You look pale."
"…We had a little problem."
"A problem? What kind of problem?"
Instead of answering, I pressed her hand to my cheek and held it there in silence for a while. Her hand was warm—almost hot. Or was it just that my own body was cold?
"…Foi?"
Taking her other hand from the bewildered girl, I pressed that one to my other cheek too.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
With both hands captured, Ellen stood hunched and awkward, like a scolded child. She squirmed weakly for a moment, then gave up, her flushed face turning slightly away.
"…What is this, seriously?"
"Cold, isn't it?"
"What?"
"My face. It's cold, isn't it?"
"What kind of question is that?" At the out-of-nowhere question, she mumbled over her lips for a moment before answering.
"…You've got an insulting sort of face, but, well, it's not unbearable to look at."
The answer dragged a laugh right out of me.
"Pfft— what are you even saying right now?"
"…What do you mean?"
"Not that— I mean my body temperature, isn't it cold?"
Ellen bit her lower lip with a look that said oops, but only for a moment. Then she smoothed over her expression and scowled.
"You confused me! You should've said what you meant from the start! And anyway, it's not like your body being like that is anything new."
"Huh? My body's cold, normally?"
"…Not cold, exactly. More on the cool side, usually. Why are you suddenly asking about this?"
"Nothing much. Your hand just felt warm, that's all."
Ellen went still for a breath, then hung her head and muttered, let go of me before you say things like that.
I let go obediently, and she straightened her robe and ran her hands down her face a couple of times. Having taken her moment to compose herself, Ellen raised her head.
"…So? What was this problem?"
"Problem? Oh."
I blinked a few times.
"Um… come to think of it, I'm fine now. Just a moment ago I was drowning in rage with no source, resentment with no target, an aching longing and a surging grief… I could barely breathe because of it all, really."
"Why aren't you answering?"
"Well, it's…"
Under Ellen's flat stare, I scratched idly at my brow.
My earlier excuse to her had been that I'd absorbed the soul and memories of a second dimension using Phoenix as the base. I couldn't very well tell her now that those memories had come with feelings attached, and that they were confusing me.
I sorted through my thoughts quickly and spoke.
"You remember what I told you before? The strange voice."
"…You heard it again?"
"Mm, something like that. That's actually why I was looking for you."
Meeting her serious expression, I just shrugged.
"The second I see you, my head clears right up. Strange, isn't it?"
"What is wrong with you."
When Ellen made a face like a deflating balloon, I chuckled and hooked my hands under her knees, lifting her up.
"Hyaah!"
Suddenly perched in my arms, Ellen gave a start and drummed her fists on my shoulder.
"Hey—you scared me! What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"
"All of a sudden? Until a couple weeks ago this was just daily life."
"That was— that was two whole weeks ago."
"We were on our way back to your room, right?"
When she nodded, I set off with a light step. Then I paused, ah, and added a request.
"Still, just in case—stay with me at night."
"Wh-what?"
"Hm?"
"At night, together? Wait, I haven't yet—"
Watching her stammer herself into knots, I furrowed my brow.
"What nonsense are you on about. I'm asking you to keep watch while I meditate."
"…Med-i-tate?"
"Yeah, meditation. I'm thinking of cutting back on sleep and extending my meditation hours. Just help me get started like last time."
"Oh…"
Ellen nodded blankly. Then, somehow deflated, she slumped her whole body against my chest.
I was enjoying the warmth of her body heating my heart when a question occurred to me.
"Oh, right—Ellen. What was it you've been making lately?"
"…Hmm?"
"You said you were working on some potion with Master Castlight."
"Ah."
She fidgeted for a moment, then drew a small glass vial from inside her robe.
"This."
"What is it?"
"A replica of the Potion of Release."
"Oh, you managed to copy it? How?"
When I showed interest in the potion, Ellen shook her head with a sour look.
"Honestly, it failed. It's not the Potion of Release."
"Then what is it?"
"Just garbage. It disperses mana, sure, but it doesn't actually dispel the magic it's attached to."
"Aha."
"The incantation-blocking part is gone and only the side effects got amplified—one drink and you can't gather mana for at least three days."
In other words, the dispel effect had vanished and only the energy burn remained. Wait, that's basically a qi-scattering poison, isn't it?
"That sounds incredibly useful, actually?"
"What?"
"Feed it to a dangerous mage and you neutralize them. That's useful, no?"
"…Do you think mages are idiots? That they'd gulp down something this suspicious? And the smell on this thing is absolutely foul."
Looking again, the qi-scattering poison—or rather, the Potion of Mana Suppression—was a thick, viscous liquid with a faint sky-blue sheen to it. Anyone in their right mind wouldn't drink something like this…
"And what I make is medicine, not poison. People say medicine and poison are one blade's width apart, sure, but I've never made something that was nothing but poison before," Ellen grumbled on. "I was about to give up for lack of ingredients, but Mungchi brought back a mountain of herbs, so we tried—and I had no idea it would come out this much of a mess."
"Mungchi did?"
"Yeah. She gave me the herbs and borrowed the alchemy equipment on her way out."
"…And where exactly did she get herbs from?"
"She wanders all over picking them, apparently? One lap around the palisade and she comes back with a full basket." Huh. I hadn't known Mungchi had a knack for herbology.
…No wait, she's been learning the shin-line skill of dok—poison arts, Yongdok-gijutsu. Maybe that comes with a working knowledge of plants.
"Now that I think about it, I haven't seen Mungchi at all lately except when she sleeps."
"She's probably off scurrying around somewhere even now."
"You think?"
So saying, I stepped into the manor—and
"…Oh, Mungchi?"
Mungchi popped out from a corner of the entrance hall, beside the frosted glass windows.
"Foi. Ellen."
"Speak of the devil. We were just talking about you."
"Oh, we were…?"
Mungchi nodded, fidgeting with both hands. When I stared down at her oddly stiff movements, she met my eyes and—
"Uuu."
—averted her gaze, cheeks flushed pink.
…What's with her?
While I studied Mungchi in silence, Ellen spoke up in my place.
"Picking herbs again today?"
"Huh? Ah, no, no. Didn't pick any."
"Then what?"
"Um, I—"
After a moment of flustered fumbling, Mungchi pulled out some tiny object hanging from her sash.
"Made this."
"Isn't that a crossbow?"
"Yes. Little crossbow."
Along with her awkward Milanor, what Mungchi held out was a crossbow the size of her palm.
Forget checking her color—I burst out in admiration.
"You made this? Yourself?"
"Yes…"
"Wow, that's impressive. Can I take a look?"
"Yes, yes."
I took the crossbow from her and examined it. Crude at a glance, but the stock, trigger, and string were all properly fitted.
"Where'd you get the string?"
"Um—was picking oak leaves and vines, people ask-ed me. Said they make bowstrings, so, gave me some."
Piecing it together, she'd originally meant to twist a string from tree bark or the like, but Amias's crew had seen her at it and supplied her with proper ones.
"…Man, you've got good hands."
"It's nothing, really."
"It's not nothing. I can't even make a working rubber-band gun."
"Rubber—gun?"
"No, never mind. Point is, great job, our Mungchi."
When I handed the crossbow back and ruffled her hair, Mungchi bowed her head deep, a small smile slipping through anyway.
"Hee…"
Cheeks pink, fiddling with her little crossbow—she looked exactly like a child bursting with pride over a compliment.
Ellen watched the scene for a while, gave a thoughtful little hmm, and spoke up.
"Mungchi."
"Yes?"
"Make me one of those too."
"Little crossbow?"
"Yeah. But instead of arrows, make it shoot stones."
"Stones?"
"Mm. You know what a ballista is?"
At Ellen's words, Mungchi tilted her head.
"Um… stones are easy to block. Hard to kill people with."
"Doesn't matter. It's a ballista in name only—I'm planning to shoot things other than stones."
"Other things?"
"Yeah. Oil, potions, things like that. It'd be great if you could mount different stuff on it and fire it all."
"Oh."
As we headed back to the rooms together, Ellen and Mungchi traded talk about ballistae—weight, stopping power, effective range—and listening to it stirred an odd discomfort in me.
Mungchi had a face younger than her years because of her race. And Ellen was a seventeen-year-old kid.
Maybe that was why, watching them discuss weapons for killing people, it struck me as unbearably harsh.
…Well, nothing to be done. This is the Middle World, not South Korea.
Right—no wallowing in pointless sentiment. Focus on the fact that Ellen is talking with Mungchi so comfortably.
Watching them quietly, I thought a shy, endlessly gentle Mungchi might actually be a decent conversational partner for Ellen, who had all the social grace of a rock. I hoped the two would grow close.
"What are you staring at?"
"…Nothing, nothing at all."
At Ellen, glaring at me with narrowed eyes, and Mungchi, blinking her big lidless eyes, I flashed a bright smile.
"Let's hurry and get some lunch."
As the sun began its slow descent, I climbed the inner keep at the far end of Longville. Up the knock-down wooden stairs built for easy teardown, past the second floor stacked with food and oil stores, past the third floor where Knight Aria of the Nogi was holding a meeting.
The fourth floor, where I finally arrived, was dark and bare. The fading sunlight and the wavering glow of torches lit two soldiers and a mountain of crates stuffed with arrows.
Leaving behind the crisp salutes of the sentries, I walked out onto the hoarding—the timbered gallery that ringed the keep like a terrace.
Creak.
At the sound of the boards, the hulking man sitting on the railing turned his head.
"Phoenix."
"What are you doing up here all alone, looking pathetic?"
His hair, braided long like cords, fluttered in the breeze. Utekwai turned his head back toward Longville and moved the charcoal pencil in his hand.
"Drawing the estate."
"…What?"
Looking again, sure enough, a large sheet of paper lay across his thigh. On the cheap, fuzzy paper, frayed with fibers here and there, spread a view of Longville.
"Don't tell me—you drew that?"
"Yes."
What's with today? Mungchi, and now Utekwai—everyone showing off hidden talents.
"…I didn't know you had that kind of artistic sense."
Even to a layman like me, Utekwai's work looked pretty damn good. His rendition of Longville had no sense of perspective, but instead an inexplicable vitality flowed through it.
"I am a great warrior. Drawing is a great warrior's nourishment."
"Honestly, the nonsense out of you."
"It's true."
Typical Utekwai, I supposed—spouting garbage while remaining utterly unashamed. I laughed at that shameless attitude and sat down beside him.
Hm, our combined weight had to be well past three hundred kilos. Surely this railing won't collapse… right?
"What brings you here?"
"You didn't show after mealtime. Steedman told me you've been up here for days. All because of the drawing?"
"Yes."
"What could be so urgent about a picture that you skip meals?"
Utekwai turned his head quietly toward the west.
"Wind is blowing."
"Wind?"
"Yes. War wind."
"…You know expressions like that? Your Milanor's gotten scary good."
Utekwai let out a rolling laugh, then moved the charcoal again, deepening the shadows between the gate and the palisade.
"The estate you see now—today is the last day."
"War changes everything. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, this land—Longville—will wear a different face."
I fell silent for a while, gazing out over Longville. Then I asked him.
"You said you hated getting involved in politics, but you've been pretty hands-on with training the conscripts?"
"Said this before. Helping them be forged into warriors."
"Easy to say—truth is, at this point, even if a fight breaks out, running isn't really an option anymore, is it?"
"Mm, yes."
When he nodded readily, I paused to choose my words, then sighed.
"Well… sorry about that."
"About what?"
"Dragging you into things that have nothing to do with you."
"Not nothing to do with me. This too is the Mother Goddess's will."
As I scratched idly at my brow, Utekwai spoke first.
"Why did you get involved?"
"In things here, you mean?"
"Yes."
"It's complicated, in a dozen different ways. There's my entanglement with Prince Ulkar."
Utekwai, who'd been twirling the charcoal, lowered his head slowly.
"You do not regard Prince Ulkar as your liege."
"…No, I don't. But I do owe Ulkar a debt."
"Debt?"
"The charter of manorial rights. Without proof of nobility, how comfortably do you think a heathen and an unlicensed mage could have traveled? All the busybodies picking fights at every crossroad would've given us one headache after another."
"Mm, that is true. But ordinary people do not go to war over such a small debt."
"…Fair. Honestly, some of it was just getting swept in whether I liked it or not."
When I trailed off, Utekwai gave a short snort.
"You had chances to walk away. It was not being swept in. It was your choice."
"…You bastard, why are you picking fights with me today of all days?"
At my grumbling, Utekwai chuckled low in his throat.
"Be honest, Phoenix. You fight because of the people of this fief."
…This guy. Look closely and his instincts are surprisingly sharp.
"It's not only because of Dionea."
"There will be others. Chester, Beldin, the fat owner of the Golden Blade tavern, the men dragged here without knowing why, the children frightened by the war wind."
…Honestly, I'd never given the others much thought, but I didn't bother saying so.
"Compassion is good. To go to war for good reasons—the Mother Goddess looks down upon it favorably."
"…Well. That's kind of you to say."
"So. Nothing to be sorry for."
The drawing seemed finished; Utekwai spread the paper and compared it against the view itself. Longville as a bird would see it, laid out in black and white.
He nodded, satisfied, and went on.
"I, great warrior. To stand beside a friend who fights for good reasons—of course it is right."
…Good reasons, huh. Did I have something like that? I couldn't really say. But I didn't care to correct his thinking either.
Utekwai tucked the charcoal into a leather case, gathered himself up off the railing, rolled the drawing tight—and brought it to the torch.
"Whoa! Hey, what are you doing?"
"Hm?"
I snatched the paper away just as the first flame caught it, and Utekwai looked genuinely puzzled.
"Hey, why would you burn something you put all that work into?"
"It is useless anyway."
"Wasn't the whole point to remember Longville's last stretch of peace? A meaningful picture, and all that?"
"Remembering the peace is my work. Not a picture's."
"Even so—"
Having barely beaten out the flame and saved the drawing, I suddenly thought of something and looked up.
"Did you do this in Southharbor too? Or Inverie?"
"Inverie, no. Too busy hunting herbs. No time for drawing."
"…Then in Southharbor, or other places?"
"Drew."
"And burned them all?"
"Yes."
"Insane."
The whole point of travel is what you bring back with you—and he drew picture after picture and burned every one? God, what a waste…
…Yeah. Who's to blame, though? I never cared what Utekwai got up to. That's on me.
"From now on, when you draw something like this, don't burn it—bring it to me."
"To you?"
"Yeah. How nice will it be to have things like this when we're reminiscing someday?"
"Memories are not sold."
"Ugh, that's not what reminiscing means… Look, just don't burn them up for nothing, and bring every one to me. Got it?"
Utekwai shrugged as if he understood none of it, but agreed readily enough.
Then, on a sudden impulse, I turned toward the sinking sun. From far off, through the gap in the mountain valley, something like a tremor was rolling in.
"Phoenix, what do you watch?"
"Look there."
"Ooooh."
Utekwai followed my gaze and narrowed his eyes to slits. We held that gaze for a moment, and then—
Buuuuuu—
A horn call rolled out from somewhere along the palisade, and all of Longville awoke at once.
Count Tristan's army had arrived.