Interlude: Daughter of Salvation
Inside a dim, snug tent, a woman slept atop a bed piled high with furs and blankets.
She was taller than most men, with a light bronze skin — a beauty of a kind rarely found anywhere in the kingdom.
Hoooowwl—
A cold wind swept across the wilderness at dawn, and the heavy tent canvas billowed, drenched to saturation with dew.
Perhaps it was that sound that disturbed her. The woman who had lain asleep as if she would never wake suddenly flinched her eyelids open.
"Ugh…"
Amber eyes blinked for a while, wandering unfocused through the darkness. Once her gaze sharpened a little, she fumbled weakly toward her pillow with one hand.
Her head was heavy and her eyes gritty. Her dulled senses failed her, and she missed the clay vessel of water entirely. With a clatter-crash, water and shards of pottery scattered in every direction.
Drawn by the noise, the tent flap burst open and two men rushed inside.
"My lady!"
It was the middle-aged man who shouted. A red kerchief bound around his brow, a number of bronze bracelets on both wrists — the garb of a Nudein tribal warrior.
While the woman blinked blankly, the middle-aged warrior turned to the young warriors who had followed him in. Then he snatched the lantern one of them carried and gave his orders.
"You — bring Agos. You — tell the ashun the lady has awakened!"
Once the two warriors hurried out, the middle-aged warrior approached the woman and knelt.
"My lady, are you in your right mind?"
"……Rubio."
The woman slowly pushed herself upright and parted her parched lips, her voice thick with sleep.
"Water. Give me water, first of all."
She took the waterskin Rubio handed her and drank deep. The goatskin waterskin gave off its characteristic musky reek, but to the woman just then it tasted sweeter than richly sweetened honey water.
"Whew."
After wetting her throat and wiping her mouth, the woman asked the warrior Rubio, "Where is this?"
"Rest assured, my lady. This is the clan's encampment." The lantern Rubio set down on the floor tinged her amber eyes a reddish gold.
Her gaze drifted beyond the tent.
There was no yellow earth, no green grass — only a land full of jet-black stone and crumbled sand.
Noticing where her eyes had gone, the middle-aged warrior added, "This is the region of Unlaydo."
"……Unlaydo. So we came west."
"Yes. We had to get out of Marba as quickly as we could."
The woman ran a hand down her face — and then, catching on something at her fingertips, she traced it out.
"Oh…?"
A headband had been wound around her forehead. It was tough leather layered over a chain, with something like a jewel set into its center.
"It is a suppressor, made by the elders pooling their strength."
"A suppressor?"
"Yes. They say it keeps the passage of the Void from running wild — even without an elder in attendance."
Long fingers traced the suppressor slowly.
"How much time has passed?"
"……You have awakened after three weeks, my lady."
"……Three weeks? Not three days?"
"Three weeks, my lady."
"Good grief."
As the woman's mouth hung slightly open, Rubio explained what had happened three weeks prior. The war had ended in defeat; she herself had been barely rescued by Agos; Doyle had been hanged; and the clan had fled west for the time being.
While listening to this succession of accounts, the woman looked down at her own hair.
The gray hair, once the color of leftover ash, had somehow taken on a pale violet sheen. The passage of the Void, connected through her pineal gland, had left its mark on her body.
She had been regarding her hair with an unreadable expression for some time when, accompanied by hurried footsteps, some nine or ten warriors arrived at the tent.
"Lady Atillia!"
"Agos."
The middle-aged man at the head of the warriors, Agos, knelt beside Rubio and spread both palms toward the ceiling of the tent.
"Lord Father, we give thanks for this grace. Oh, my lady. Truly, this is a mercy."
Not only Agos but all the other men wore faces of deep emotion.
These warriors had all been like uncles and elder brothers to the woman. And while they shared this joyful reunion with her, yet another warrior entered the tent.
"My lady, the chieftain summons you."
"……The chieftain?"
"Yes. You must come to the ashun at once."
At those words, the warrior Agos scowled fiercely.
"She has only just awakened after three weeks, and they summon her with no time to even recover?"
"As you know well, Lord Agos, the elders' sacred fury burns rather hot, so……"
When the young warrior invoked the elders, Agos clicked his tongue and fell silent.
Helped up by the warriors, the woman swayed for a moment before standing on her own.
"……Tell them I'm coming now."
"Yes, my lady."
The middle-aged warrior Rubio gazed at her with pitying eyes, then swept off his cloak and draped it around her shoulders.
"It is already October, my lady. Autumn in Unlaydo is as cold as winter in Seiben."
"Thank you, Rubio."
It was around the time dawn was slowly breaking that the woman stepped outside the tent, wrapped in the coarse cloak.
She filled her chest with the cold air. Savoring the chill spreading through her airway and lungs, she looked up.
Above the black silhouette of a great mountain range, the dawn sky was beautiful. Across the blue-black heavens drifted many clumps of cloud — some shaded dark, but most dyed pink, rippling gorgeously.
While the woman stood dazed, filling her eyes and her chest with the morning sky, the Al Kadari clan's encampment awoke with a murmur.
"She's awake."
"Lord Father has watched over her."
"Sister Atillia—"
A one-armed man in his middle years, a blind old man, a woman who had lost her husband, small children, a half-naked man and a gaunt girl…
None of them were warriors, or merchants, or thieves, or shamans.
Because she knew all too well that the powerless peeked at their future through her, the woman broke into a wide smile.
Even as she walked, she exchanged brief greetings with the people surrounding her.
"It's been a while, everyone."
"Oh, my lady."
"The wind is cold. Go back inside your tents — all of you, too."
Despite her somewhat haggard face, the woman's smile was still healthy and lovely. Thanks to it, the clan members found themselves blooming with laughter in turn.
Rubio, Agos, and the rest of the warriors naturally fell in behind her. Around the time they had passed fifty or sixty tents, the woman and the warriors came to a halt.
It was before the great, magnificent ashun — crowned with a round ornament at its peak, red banners hung from every face.
"My lady."
Just as the woman was about to kneel, the warrior Agos spoke. Her face, which had at some point hardened into blankness, turned toward him.
"There is something I forgot to tell you."
"You forgot?"
"……Sir Phoenix left a message."
"Nix… did?"
The woman's golden eyes wavered for an instant.
"What — what did he say?"
"He said," — Agos pushed past a brief hesitation and continued — "that he believes he will see you again someday, once you are free."
"……Is that all?"
"Yes."
With her eyes closed, the woman turned the words over in her mind.
"……He believes we will meet again. Someday, once I have reclaimed my freedom……"
For a moment she smiled faintly, then nodded.
Once the warriors withdrew, the woman knelt before the ashun.
"Atillia, daughter of Al Kadari, begs entrance to the ashun."
The Hares Kees, the sacred warriors, drew back a pale green cloth, and she entered the tent on her knees. Then she bowed her head before the leadership of the Al Kadari clan.
"It is an honor to enter the ashun."
"Oh, Atillia."
The half-gray-haired middle-aged man seated on the silk cushion at the center rose at once and embraced her.
"You've awakened. I was so very worried."
The middle-aged man — the chieftain, Giamo — patted her back and stroked her hair, asking whether anything hurt or troubled her. The woman shook her head with an awkward expression.
"Good. That's good. Truly good."
Following his lead, the elders each offered a word of blessing as well. The woman felt her chest warm against her will, and a hollow laugh welled up inside her.
'They did all that to me, and now they wag their tails. How am I any different from a dog?'
As if seconding that thought, the chieftain Giamo wrapped up the assorted small talk and brought out the real matter.
"A fine opportunity has come to the clan, Atillia."
"……An opportunity?"
"Count Tristan and Doyle made their proposal — and now Countess Clarisa has made the very same one."
When the woman looked perplexed, the hawk-nosed old woman seated at Giamo's right scowled.
"Tch. This — this dim-witted thing. Have you already forgotten? The manor, girl. The manor."
"……The manor? Do you mean… 'Glattershire'?"
At her words, the mood in the ashun stirred with excitement.
"Yes, Glattershire. A remarkably fertile manor half a day's ride from Multingham…" As the old woman trailed off, her eyes clouded with greed, Giamo nodded along and picked up the thread.
"That's right. The new mistress of Marba intends to grant us that manor."
"Then the price would be—"
"A little service."
Giamo noticed the anxiety rising on the woman's face and gave a reassuring smile.
"The Countess wants you to work for House Mullin, Atillia. She heard of your exploits — how you blew open the gateway of Longville — and her interest was piqued."
So that's how it is. Swallowing her scorn, the woman spoke. "Then what am I to do?"
"That has not yet been decided."
"……Then until you give the order, I shall rest—"
"No, there's no need for that."
Giamo continued, still smiling. "You are to leave tomorrow, at the latest. The sooner you meet the Countess, the sooner the day the clan takes Glattershire."
The woman bowed her head and let out a sigh. The fur of the plush carpet swayed softly.
Then, she heard words she had never expected.
"Ten years is not such a long time, Atillia."
"………Pardon?"
"You are still young, so you wouldn't understand. But for me, or for the other elders, ten years—"
"Ten years? What are you talking about?"
At the woman's bewildered face, Giamo went, ah, and raised one eyebrow.
"I've gone and forgotten the most important part."
"The chieftain is getting old, it seems."
"Ha, so it appears. And here I thought my mind was still sharp…" The chieftain chuckled at the elders, then carried on with his explanation.
Stripping away the jokes and chatter, the gist was this — Countess Clarisa, rating the woman's power highly, wished to take her into her service; and on the condition of ten years of service, she would grant Glattershire to the Al Kadari clan.
"Ten years…" The woman was struck speechless. To her, who was only twenty-three this year, the span of ten years felt impossibly distant.
"They say that had the elders not developed that suppressor you wear now, it would have been impossible."
"……What do you mean?"
"Taking a child with power as formidable as yours into one's service is a terribly dangerous business, is it not?"
Saying this, the chieftain Giamo drew out a rod from behind his cushion. A short wand with a deep-green jewel set into its tip.
"This is the counterpart to that suppressor. Only by a great stroke of luck was it completed."
When the wand pointed at her, the woman involuntarily touched the band on her forehead — no, the suppressor.
"Like the pendant, it can control you — no, rather, it holds a power that aids you when you cannot control your own strength."
The woman's power was founded on her mental fortitude. That was why, when her mind scattered, the sorcery and power of the Void she wielded scattered with it.
And so the chieftain and elders had often used the Pendant of Prohibition to inflict pain upon her, scattering her mind…
"The difference from the pendant is this — even one who knows nothing of the clan's shamanism can wield this wand."
To the woman, whose clenched fist trembled finely, the chieftain Giamo offered words of comfort along with a kindly smile.
"Do not worry. They say the new Countess is devout and gentle. Even if she comes to hold this wand, she will not treat you roughly."
"But — no matter how you look at it, I am a heathen to that person. To hand over something like that—"
"Come now. Without such a basic safeguard, do you think the Countess would accept the deal? Speak no nonsense."
"This is no different from selling me into slavery. Why on earth would you—"
She stopped mid-sentence. Something had dawned on her, and the woman's mouth fell open in horror.
"……The Countess didn't propose this first, did she."
When Giamo's eyebrows twitched and he fell silent, the elders clicked their tongues and threw out remarks, one by one.
"Slips of the tongue have grown frequent of late, have they not."
"Indeed. And how many times have we warned you to be careful."
Stung by their scorn, Giamo's face flushed red with rage. With a groan, he barked at the woman.
"This was decided after long deliberation with the elders seated here! No more quibbling — withdraw!"
"But Chieftain — no, Father!"
"Enough! Withdraw at once!"
With the shout, the wand in Giamo's grip flashed brilliantly. At once the woman, who had been crawling toward him on her knees, cried out and collapsed forward.
"Nngh—"
"Go! Go and make your preparations for Multingham!"
"Ugh — this is — this isn't right. Father, please—"
As the woman writhed, her limbs shuddering with pain, the hawk-nosed old woman spoke with a stern face.
"Withdraw at once, Atillia. You are delaying the ritual."
"……The — the ritual?"
"Yes, the ritual! The sacred ritual to elect a new elder!"
Shaking the pain from her head, the woman looked around.
"Delotto and Maurio were attending to you, and both perished screaming! Surely you haven't forgotten?"
The leadership of the clan — the ashun — had originally consisted of one chieftain and seven elders.
But two of the elders had been slain at some assassin's hands, so only five elders now sat in the ashun.
"Honestly, the sun will rise soon."
"Do you want the Hares Kees dragging you out, Atillia!"
Looking from the one chieftain to the five elders, the woman trembled as if struck by lightning. I grow strong. I kill six. I become the Daughter of Salvation. And then — I gain my freedom.
On the heels of that realization, the woman thought of a certain man.
She remembered hands rough yet gentle, a breath hot and bewitching, an embrace firm yet warm.
"Hah."
Yes — now was the time.
The time to answer fate's summons. The time to live up to Phoenix's faith…
Now — this very moment.
Her golden eyes burned with a brighter light. The woman smiled faintly and opened her mouth.
"I kill six."
Murmuring those words, she slowly rose to her feet.
Sensing that something had gone terribly wrong, the chieftain raised his wand — but the woman lifted one hand and stripped the suppressor, the shackle, from her brow in a single motion.
"A — Atillia — ! What in the world do you think you're doing!"
The instant the suppressor came off, the power of the Void surged up through her pineal gland.
Light streaming through her hair, a wild gleam bursting from her eyes, a third eye opening upon her brow…
"Stop her!"
The elders fumbled out their Pendants of Prohibition. Along with murmured incantations, the deep-green jewels lit up — and Atillia screamed in agony.
"Kiiiyaaaaaah—!"
It was a scream of bizarre pitch.
Any ordinary woman would have blacked out instantly from such pain, but the woman clung to consciousness to the very end. Her rage at the ashun, the exhilaration of a prophecy fulfilled, her longing for a life of freedom, and her desire for Phoenix's embrace — all of them held her spirit upright.
"Oh — oooh — Lord Father—"
The chieftain Giamo fumbled out his own pendant with trembling hands. But before it could emit its light, violet tendrils erupted from the woman's cervical vertebrae.
Six Void Lances shot forth — and in an instant, they skewered one middle-aged man and five elders.
"Gyaaargh!"
"Atil — Atillia, spare—"
The Void Lances ground savagely, rotating.
Six bodies became twelve lumps of flesh, and the screams, moans, and pleading stopped.
"Defend the ashun!"
"Treason—!"
The Hares Kees roared and charged into the tent.
Having slaughtered the chieftain and elders wholesale, Atillia stood dazed — then rose into the air, light blazing from her eyes.
The Void Lances swept and clawed wildly in every direction. The red banners were reduced to rags; the thick pillars snapped and crashed down.
The Hares Kees fled the collapsed ashun and looked up at the woman.
She hovered buoyantly in midair, six tendrils writhing. The sacred warriors of the ashun drew their scimitars, leveled them at her, and shouted.
"Treason—!"
"Atillia has slain the chieftain and the elders!"
The uproar did not last long.
Because the Void Lances came crashing down upon the Hares Kees.
Thwock!
The woman's mind was swollen high with sinister exhilaration and dizzying liberation. The violet tendrils pierced the thick scale armor far too easily.
"Kah—"
"Ugh — tra — traitor—"
A dozen-odd Hares Kees, pierced through shoulder or thigh, rolled across the ground. Even as they crawled, they made no effort to hide their hatred of her.
At the sight of the collapsed ashun and the bleeding Hares Kees, the warriors — Agos and Rubio among them — wore expressions of horror.
"My lady—"
"This — what is this…"
The woman descended slowly toward the ground, halting her fall with only a handspan left between her and the earth.
All three of her eyes still blazed, and her six tendrils writhed threateningly.
The Al Kadari clansmen who had burst outside at the sudden commotion trembled with fear at the sight of her.
In that situation, where no one dared open their mouth, the warrior Agos gritted his teeth and stepped forward.
"My lady — what in the world is the meaning of this!"
The woman gazed quietly down at Agos.
Her expression was slightly dazed. She was diverting her mind to control the power of the Void welling up from her pineal gland. And so she answered his question in a manner a little unlike her usual self.
"I have erased the ashun."
"………Lady Atillia?"
"I am not Atillia."
The woman recalled a name.
A name she had heard from her mother and buried deep within her heart.
A name that a certain man had dug out and cradled of his own accord.
"My name is Atalante."
Just then, the crimson sun revealed itself in the east. The dawn light that had been flooding the sky shone upon the woman, and a strange shadow was carved into the wilderness.
"I am the one who will save you all."
Was it the power Atalante had displayed that overwhelmed them? Or had they grasped that a prophecy they had once heard would now come to pass?
Not only the ordinary clansmen, but even the valiant warriors and the wise shamans could not draw breath.
Agos forced his frozen jaw to move and produced a voice.
"You — you say you will — save us?"
"That is the prophecy. And my destiny."
Agos thought of someone he had seen twenty-three years ago. A man who was Atalante's father — and a son of god.
He dropped to his knees at once and bowed his head.
"……Daughter of Salvation."
Following him, the warriors prostrated themselves. Following the warriors, the clansmen prostrated themselves.
"Daughter of Salvation—"
Centered on the collapsed ashun, the prostration spread outward in every direction like a rolling wave.
Atalante was not looking at the people. She was gazing at the rising sun — no, at the east.
After floating there in silence for a long while, Atalante was asked a question by the warrior Rubio.
"Where will you lead us? To the east?"
With most of her mind devoted to the passage of the Void just now, suppressing her yearnings and desires was no ordinary feat.
"………No."
But Atalante managed it.
Because she knew full well that to truly achieve what she desired, the prophecy had to be completed first.
The savior of the prophecy looked down at Rubio — at the Al Kadari clan.
"To the west. We go to the west."