A Fleeting Dream
When he returned to his seat, he found a stranger there.
A neatly dressed man was pestering Yerina.
The mood was bad. Very bad.
She was looking at the dogged man as though he were something rotten. It seemed like she might kick him any second.
Either he didn’t notice how close he was to getting himself thrown out, or he simply didn’t care.
Either way, he showed no sign of giving up.
It would be a terrible thing if someone drew blood on a festival day.
Lawrence hurried over to her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“What’s this? You came here with a man?”
The festival wasn’t over yet, and there were plenty of women around.
The moment the man saw Lawrence, he turned on his heel without a shred of regret.
“You’re late. Is this the escort you studied so hard to become?”
“I have nothing to say.”
For once, Lawrence really had been in the wrong.
No matter what she was like on the inside, Yerina was beautiful on the outside.
On top of that, she had taken off her sister’s habit to attend the festival.
Right now, she looked so much like a noble young lady that no one would have thought twice about it.
Men would never just leave her alone.
Especially not in Frang Village, where so many mercenaries had gathered.
“Fine. You’re surprisingly good at drawing a firm line, junior.”
“You noticed?”
“I wasn’t looking because I wanted to.”
Lawrence tilted his head.
The distance from here to the stage area behind them was considerable. It wasn’t the sort of range where anyone could casually notice what was happening.
“That was the same in Rombamel, too. The kind of friend you think of, and the kind of friend other people think of, seem to have slightly different meanings, Lawrence.”
She must have been talking about Anne.
Luca had been there at the time, too.
“Letting someone run off with the wrong idea is worse. You did the right thing by drawing the line clearly, junior.”
“I think that’s one of your better qualities, Lawrence.”
“……”
He had nothing to say to that.
When Lawrence fell silent, the two women exchanged a glance.
No more conversation followed.
Only a quiet snort of laughter escaped them.
Good times always passed too quickly.
Before long, the festival was already rushing toward its end.
Like a candle burning brightest just before the flame died out.
The harbor was packed with people waiting for the finale.
As they had been told beforehand, the final ritual of the festival was to launch a boat onto the sea in prayer for a bountiful catch and safe return.
The little skiff was loaded with brightly colored flags and bundles of straw.
Countless candles floated nearby, all lit and waiting to accompany the skiff as it made its lonely way across the night sea. Their three candles, too, must have been among them.
The lighthouse beam drove back the darkness of the night.
Below it, the sea lane shone with floating markers.
The tolling of bells rang far and wide.
The man who stepped out in front of the pier raised his voice.
“Set sail!”
Following his lead, the villagers answered in unison.
“Set sail!”
The skiff began to ride the waves, then slowly drifted away from the pier.
“May peace settle over the village this year as well. May our homes know harmony. May we receive many blessings from the sea, mother of life.”
The same old ceremonial words continued.
The villagers standing aboard the anchored ships began throwing flowers.
A path of blossoms formed along the floating markers.
The skiff moved slowly, but steadily.
Following that flowered road, it disappeared beyond the horizon.
By contrast, the candles sank beneath the sea or were swallowed by the waves, and the flames that had taken such effort to light were snuffed out.
It was less impressive than he had expected.
After all, he’d gone to the trouble of spending a small fortune on candles.
It made him think that sending messages like this was really no more than an indulgence for oneself.
After all, the vodianoi who would have listened to such prayers was gone now.
The people who had joined the festival seemed to feel much the same.
There were plenty of clicks of the tongue and muttered complaints, and many didn’t bother hiding their annoyance as they swore under their breath.
But the villagers reacted differently.
From adults to children, they stood with both hands clasped tightly together, watching the skiff drift away across the water.
Among them, the older residents pressed their foreheads to the ground.
They held out their palms toward the sky.
Prayers filled with desperate wishes spilled from their lips.
“Oh spirit lord, please watch over us.”
The sight felt strangely familiar, and it wasn’t just his imagination.
It was the same posture Neil had taken when he offered prayers in the Ulbazar Swamp.
Spirits were pure forms born from wind and wish.
If human longing truly carried such power.
Then where, exactly, was the wind of the Holy Cross Order, with all its countless believers, blowing?
Before the festival fully ended, the three of them slipped out of the village.
They climbed the hill road leading to the monastery and looked down toward the sea.
Only a few flower-strewn markers remained along the sea lane.
The skiff and the candles could no longer be seen anywhere.
The ocean simply stretched on and on, like a starry sky meeting the stars themselves.
“People only seek out gods when they need something.”
Perhaps because no one was watching, Yerina had a cigarette between her lips, from which she exhaled a lazy stream of smoke.
“Even people who don’t believe in the Goddess in ordinary times will go looking for Her when death comes knocking. No matter how strong a person is, when the worst happens, they end up wanting someone to lean on.”
Maybe she’d said that because the spirit the villagers believed in had been sent back to the Spirit World.
Hearing it, Luca looked uneasy.
It may have been because the words weren’t aimed at her, and yet she’d somehow seen herself in them. Like someone clinging to a lifeline, the girl looked at Lawrence.
“So instead of thinking about what the Goddess can do for us, we should think about what we can do for the Goddess.”
“Instead of what the Goddess can do for us, what we can do for the Goddess…”
Luca repeated Lawrence’s words.
It was the same thing Sister Abeline had told him during their first meeting.
“Do you think there really is such a thing?”
“Who knows. It may be a question without a clear answer. That’s why everyone spends their lives desperately searching for one.”
From oneself.
Or perhaps from the world.
“If you change your outlook even a little, the whole world starts to look different.”
Yerina took a long drag from her cigarette and said,
“Don’t forget that mindset, junior. That’s the first step toward revelation. Miracles only come to those who yearn for them. I sincerely hope you get to hear the Goddess’s voice.”
* * *
That night, Lawrence went to Yerina’s room.
He had scarcely knocked before she showed her face, wearing only a thin one-piece dress and a coat thrown loosely over it.
“What is it, junior?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Yerina. I was hoping you could spare me a little time.”
“You know, coming to a woman’s room at this hour is…”
Yerina let the sentence trail off.
But only for a moment.
With an annoyed sigh, she raked a hand through her hair and opened the door.
“Get in, then.”
“Excuse me.”
Yerina’s room wasn’t much different from the one on the first floor.
Aside from the extra space between the bed and the table, it was almost the same.
On the desk, he saw a Bible and a bottle of wine.
Other than the neatly folded sister’s habit, all sorts of things were piled around in a messy clutter.
It would have been hard to put a foot down anywhere except the bed.
After offering him the chair in front of the desk, she sat down on the bed herself.
It was late.
Taking the seat, Lawrence got straight to the point.
“This is about Luca.”
“Luca?”
Yerina covered her mouth with a yawn, looking half dead from sleep.
“What about her?”
“I’d like you to heal the scar on her face.”
At once, the sleep vanished from her eyes.
“You’re talking about a miracle?”
“Yes. I’d like to borrow the power of a miracle.”
“Junior. Miracles aren’t all-powerful.”
Yerina said it flatly.
“If it’s a fresh wound, maybe. But an old scar isn’t something you can heal that easily. And Luca’s mark is…” She clicked her tongue. “To heal it so completely that not a trace remains, you’d need a saint to step in, plain and simple.”
“So even you’d have trouble with it.”
“Exactly. And you came all this way at this hour just to ask me that?”
Lawrence nodded.
“Yes. I’m truly sorry to bother you so late.”
“Forget it. You said we’re leaving for Mistra at dawn tomorrow, didn’t you? There probably wasn’t any other time to talk. Go on and sleep. Otherwise the journey tomorrow will be rough.”
She was right.
This had been the only time he could make.
If he’d known things would turn out this way, he should have spoken during the festival, but Luca had stayed by his side from beginning to end, and there had never really been a moment to bring it up.
At first, he had even considered giving up on the request.
But Raul and Ulric had gone out of their way to introduce it to him.
And since his business in Frang was finished, lingering any longer didn’t seem wise.
“Yerina.”
“What, did you forget something?”
Lawrence held the doorknob and looked back at her.
“I’m glad the one I met here was you.”
Yerina looked genuinely surprised for a second, then laughed as though he’d said something absurd.
“What are you talking about, junior?”
For a brief instant, her smile was so beautiful it made his chest ache.
* * *
At dawn, Yerina and Luca came to see Lawrence off as he left the monastery.
There was a strange sense of déjà vu in the sight of them.
It had been just like this when he left Saint Charmant Monastery.
Sister Joan. Sister Edith. Marjorie, his age then, too.
He wondered how everyone was doing now.
“Thank you both for everything.”
“Junior.”
Yerina stepped forward and handed him a belt.
There were two unopened blue vials hanging from it.
“Holy water I got when I came out of the Holy See. The stuff I gave you last time still looks untouched, too. Three bottles should be enough to get you through most dangerous situations.”
“Is it really all right to just give me holy water like this?”
“I got it, and I’m using it. Got a problem with that?”
“……”
That blunt answer was all he got.
“Now get going. And let me make one thing clear: that’s all there is.”
His chest grew warm.
Lawrence gently pulled her into an embrace.
“W-what are you doing all of a sudden!?”
“Thank you, Yerina. I’m leaving after taking only from you, all the way to the end.”
The surprise didn’t last long.
Realizing he wasn’t up to anything improper, her hand came up and settled on his back.
“Honestly. That kind of thing doesn’t suit me at all… But when I’m with you, I can’t help feeling like I’m becoming a good person, junior.”
“Don’t say that. You’re a good person, Yerina.”
“Good, my ass.”
It was even her muttering, trying to hide her embarrassment.
When they let go and stepped back, her face was a little red.
“Take care of yourself, Yerina.”
“You too. See you at the Holy See next time.”
After saying goodbye to Yerina, Lawrence turned to Luca.
Fortunately, she wasn’t crying.
Even so, she couldn’t quite hide the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
“From here on, it’s up to you to keep walking.”
“Yes. Thank you for everything until now. Meeting you, Lawrence, was the greatest blessing of my life.”
Her face looked as though she might burst into tears at any second.
The way her voice caught in her throat made it clear she was holding herself back with everything she had.
Holding back was something he knew well.
He remembered Luca’s habit of saying so.
“One last question before I leave.”
The girl looked up at him.
“Are you still dreaming?”
Lawrence asked her the same thing she had once said to him.
“…No. That fleeting dream is over now.”
The answer came a beat later.
“This is my reality.”
The tears did not fall.
In that voice, Luca’s will rang clear and firm.
After the farewells were done, Lawrence descended the hill road.
It seemed winter had already given its final warning.
The garden, once thick with dead grass, was now sprouting green shoots.
The season of hardship and endurance was over.
The breath of spring, with its promise of new life, was already close enough to touch.
The girl would move forward without ever looking back.
Of course, no one could walk through life with eyes fixed only ahead.
There would be moments of hesitation.
There would be trials that made her stop in her tracks.
There was no such thing as a life without bends and breaks.
Still, that was fine.
She now knew how to stand up on her own.
No matter how rough the road became, she would keep walking without collapsing.
He was certain of that.
Just as the boy once had, the girl had passed out of a cramped alley and into a wider world.
“It was a journey without a fixed destination. Sometimes we walked alone. Sometimes we walked together. Before long, the traces of the road we traveled became a path for those who would come after us. But the road I walked, and the road you walked, were never the only roads. So don’t give up, wanderer. If you look back at the end of your journey, the road you walked will have become a lamp for someone else, too.”
He found himself missing Veles today of all days.
Lawrence moved toward a landscape he had not yet seen.
* * *
And so the one who changed her world set out on the road.
If I said I wasn’t a little sad to see him leave without once looking back, I’d be lying.
And yet, in a way, it felt exactly like him.
He wasn’t cold.
That warm-hearted man was certain this wasn’t goodbye.
If we could meet again, there was no reason to grieve.
He was convinced, without a doubt, that one day we would meet at the Holy See.
That unshakable faith might be what made him so strong.
I wonder if I can ever come to possess that kind of belief myself.
“……”
The tears that fell were not carrying sorrow alone.
The child who had once cried helplessly in the back alleys was no longer there.
He didn’t take my hand and lead me forward.
He only watched from a distance close enough for his hand to reach.
He knew.
That unless I stood up on my own, it meant nothing.
In the darkness, light shows itself most clearly.
Now I know that too.
A road can’t be made unless I walk it myself.
Then there’s no time for crying.
And so the girl who had always only had things taken from her began her small act of resistance.
“From here on, you’ll have a lot to learn.”
“Just tell me what to do, Sister Yekaterina.”
Sisters don’t offer words of comfort.
And yet that seemingly indifferent attitude was the greatest strength I could have asked for right now.
“The next time you see your junior, I want you to be the one who surprises him.”
“Yes. I’ll do exactly that!”
I don’t know when this road will cross his again.
But even if he isn’t by my side, I’ll keep moving through the dark, one step at a time.
Now I know how to walk on my own.
And when the day comes, sooner or later, that our roads cross again…
…
……
The rippling water shook and shook again.
The white candle drifting along the sea was caught in the waves.
For a brief moment, it vanished from sight.
Then, just as it seemed it might be swallowed by the water, the candle lifted its face above the surface once more.
As if refusing to yield to hardship of this kind.
Before the surging waves, the candle bobbed like a buoy, rising and sinking, rising and sinking.
And with it, a half-erased message came into view.
May I become someone who can stand proudly before that person.
The candle carrying the girl’s wish finally set out upon a far-off journey.