Chapter 19

Hieronymus and Joanna were back.

From Hyungkesuni's confident bearing and the way Hieronymus answered it, they had clearly settled in advance that looking after me would fall to her.

Hmm?

Call it surveillance if you like. I have been watched straight through from the beginning, and I am not doing anything anyone could seize on as a fault.

Considering that my profession is witch, are they trying to study me? If so, I have no intention of sitting quietly and letting them. Grow careless in a case like this and end up sealed, and there goes any chance of warmth.

I still don't know whether a thing like a seal truly exists, but in a world that has magic, the chance that it doesn't is, if anything, small. Setting a lid over something you cannot bring yourself to face and throwing it at the future is something everyone does, isn't it? And of course, the results are usually poor.

Anyway, Hieronymus told me he had prepared warmth.

Wow! Finally!

I'm so excited!

He said a few more things in the meantime, but none of it mattered, so I hardly care!

He told me he would come for me after lunch, called Hyungkesuni, and the two of them slipped out together. Joanna and I were left behind.

Back to ordinary life.

Having arrived at a new nest, I got up and looked the room over from end to end. It was smaller than the last one, but there were so many windows that it felt far more open. The strange part was the clean, clear glass.

As I remembered it, hadn't glass come along quite late? Or, thinking of stained glass, had it been around since the Middle Ages? I wasn't sure. At least I could tell this world had developed after its own fashion.

Of course, through the memories of the people I have licked so far I know pieces of this world, though nothing in detail. Judging only by what can be seen, the scenery lies broken into fragments somewhere between the medieval and the modern, and between those fragments, tools made by magic form the infrastructure.

Magic is a fairly universal art. I saw it often enough in the house where Rebecca Rolf lived, and in Joanna's childhood, and in the days just after she was married, magical goods were a common sight. Of course, once she fell into poverty they all but vanished. At most, the lights that brightened the streets were the whole of what that art had produced.

I was estimating this world's level of technology against the glass when Joanna came over and threw the window wide open. Ah—did she think I was staring because I didn't know how to open it? Since it was open anyway, I looked outside.

Most of it was wasteland. Grassland showed here and there, but the greater part was rock and sand, and the trees looked like plants that had evolved into something close to cacti. It was certainly a region unfit for anyone to live in. Which is to say, a place people would have trouble approaching—a suitable environment for an enormous cult to coil itself up in.

Religious groups have always tended to withdraw into remote places like this. Hard to come in, and hard to go out. A perfect spot for a cult to flourish. Even if I ran, most of the villages around here belong to the Future Hope Church, so there would be nothing but enemies. And cults of this sort hunt apostates with a paranoid fervor and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠put them to public execution. Only then can they bind people with fear.

In other words, if it came to that, fleeing this cult would be grueling work. Otherwise, I would have to arrange things so I never needed to flee.

Slowly, I reversed the motions Joanna had made and closed the window. Then I sat down on my bed.

There was no especially ominous presence here. No—strictly speaking, not inside the room. It was outside. Less ominous than the four that had been underground, but about five times as many.

I must be quite frightening to them. I wish they would lower their guard a little more. I happen to be wearing the mask of a little girl. Well, my chest is rather large to call myself a child, but I am short enough that I can still pass for one. Isn't a little girl someone you are supposed to let your guard down around?

Thinking that, I rested in the room just as I had underground, and Joanna, just as she had underground, set to work. She cleaned the surroundings, and when the hour came she went out to prepare food. The difference from the underground was that her trips were extremely short. There was a dining hall nearby.

Befitting the Future Hope Church and its multitude of believers, there was a large kitchen. But Joanna did not go there. This building had several kitchens—a dedicated one that used fresh, precious ingredients, not cheap stuff chosen only for quantity. Even wearing the mask of religion, there was a separate place set aside for the lofty. Honestly, it was quite ridiculous.

I ate the meal Joanna brought, and when I returned the dishes to her she carried them off, washed them, dried them, and put them away.

But at an hour when Joanna was still in the dining hall, Hieronymus came looking for me.

"The place where you will bestow the blessing has been prepared. Please come with me."

At last I could obtain warmth! Gladly, I followed Hieronymus.

Did it not bother him, though, that Joanna was not there? Was she merely one believer among many, unworthy of interest? A shame. If Hieronymus thought her important, he would keep her at his side, and then I could see so much, couldn't I? Enemy or subordinate, I would get to watch ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how he responded. One shouldn't press for what isn't there.

I walked on after him. He did not take me outside. He took me underground. After we had gone some way, I realized where we were headed.

The altar. The place where I was first summoned.

I arrived. When the door opened onto the chamber where the altar stood, the inside was already packed with believers—even denser than when they summoned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me. More people had come than then. I did not know what they meant to do, but I followed quietly.

Together with Hieronymus I climbed the stairs cut into one face of the stepped pyramid. When we reached the stone chair atop the altar, he seated me there and, as befitted the leader of a cult, began to preach.

The flourishes ran long, but boiled down it was simple. You are unfortunate. But a god has picked you up. Believe, and happiness comes. The more you pray, the greater that happiness grows. Beneath it all lay the wish that someone would come and save them. On top of that, he introduced me as an apostle of the god they believed in, and said that from this moment they would behold the miracle. He explained that if they offered a Sacrifice, a blessing would be bestowed.

Mm. As I thought, he truly believed he had to give me warmth before I would grant a blessing. So that was why it had taken so long. It was my fault, in a sense, for never saying anything. But I have no intention of correcting it. If I am not asked, I will not answer. And if later they ask whether a Sacrifice was not necessary after all, I will tell them they never asked.

There is a hint. When I gave Joanna her blessing, I never received a Sacrifice. So the fault lies with Hieronymus, who did not ask.

I sat in the stone chair as he had bid me, and waited. Whose warmth would I take, and to whom would I give a blessing in its place?

When the sermon ended, Hieronymus called two people forward. A man and a woman. A pair.

No.

Not quite.

In the arms of the two figures walking toward us, there was a baby each. According to Hieronymus, they were husband and wife, and their children. The children were twins. To the pair who had come up, he said in a courteous voice that they had been chosen—that now, in order to receive the blessing, they must offer a Sacrifice. Rejoicing, and without a shred of doubt, they held the babies in their arms out to me.

Looking at the light, they shone plainly enough. But their warmth was meager beside that light. The couple before them had light a little smaller than the babies', and yet far more warmth. Seeing them, they truly were newborns. Bright red infants who could not even open their eyes properly.

An old memory of a man cried out. Would I really steal that baby's warmth? Was I truly willing to fall lower than human?

Well. Not really.

It isn't as though I particularly want a baby's warmth. I would much rather have the parents, who hold so much more of it. But that is not what Hieronymus wants.

Mm.

Then shall I at least leave one scar? Seated in the stone chair, I pointed at the babies.

"There's too little warmth. I want more warmth."

And I stood.

"But since Hieronymus wants it, I'll take the warmth."

Yes. Everything that happens from this moment is what you wanted. Offering babies as Sacrifices, bestowing blessings—that entire system was one you built.

I pushed myself a little farther into Rebecca Rolf's body. As always, deep rifts opened in the skin, and from between them a dark purple mist seeped out.

I rose from the stone chair and approached the place where the four were gathered. Looking at the parents, I spoke.

Once I had spoken the line I always speak, the two of them, faces overflowing with happiness, answered with a great yes.

First, in order to obtain the warmth, I set my gaze on the babies. Mist flowed from my body, crept slowly forward, and touched them.

Two faint warmths.

Slowly, the babies' skin stained blue. With a creaking crack their bodies twisted and their faces changed. The sockets bulged, and the eyes multiplied. Sharp horns and spines sprouted over the whole body; the skin split, and muscle pushed out.

The two who had been babies screamed.

Meanwhile the dark purple ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠smoke passed beyond them and touched the pair of parents. I pushed myself in.

Both of them, their skin turned white. Eyes and hair alike were dyed purple. The man grew a little taller and broader, and the woman's face grew lovelier, her figure shifting into a far more ideal shape. The changes on both sides ended almost at once.

Now the two who had become monsters lunged, each at its own parent. But the man honed the edge of his hand and split the monster that rushed him clean in half, and the woman sent a tentacle out from her arm, pierced her monster through, and killed it. Having done so, they looked their own bodies over this way and that, as if marveling.

Both of them dropped to their knees toward me, grinning from ear to ear. They had been ordinary people. The man had been swindled by a close friend and gone bankrupt; the woman, from nothing but bad luck, had been ostracized by the circle of women in her village. So they had fled, and joined the Future Hope Church.

They met inside and nurtured a love. But that did not mean their ruined hearts returned to what they had been. Rather, they believed the Future Hope Church had given them happiness, and they devoted themselves to it as fanatics. This was the result. They had received the blessing, and they were happy. Even sacrificing their own babies was nothing beside the Future Hope Church.

Standing before the two of them, Hieronymus cried out.

The cultists' frenzy filled the altar.

Within the ash-gray memories, a man nursed his resentment. But, well.

Is that more important than chasing warmth?

I want warmth.

For the sake of warmth, I'll do anything.

Anything.