Chapter 30
Hmm.
Back in my room, I sift once more through the memories I have gathered so far.
Of the recent Sacrifices, half come from the Kingdom of Anselus, and the other half are believers. Perhaps that is why so few of them know anything about a nation called the Theocracy of Yeongrang. Decades ago, Anselus destroyed that theocracy, and I had assumed Sacrifices taken from the kingdom would know a great deal about it. When I checked their memories, though, ordinary people knew nothing of it at all. At most they remembered that some strange religion had once existed—rather like an American who is not even sure whether another country is real.
I would like to know more, but luck has not seen fit to hand me every scrap of information.
Right now, half of the blessed are on the front between the kingdoms of Cogni and Rasbe, under Witga's command, and the other half are in the Kingdom of Anselus, where Hieronymus issues orders in person. On both sides, I can already see things drifting off the plan, little by little.
The front Witga commands, the one between those two kingdoms, is sliding toward a peace. Witga is doing everything possible to sow discord and stop it. Hieronymus's side is no different. He must have moved in a direction far too furtive, because the blessed are being caught and killed. Most of them have some ability to flee, so they do manage to get away—but those without a blessing have surely died in great numbers.
Day by day, the situation grows worse. Anselus is handling things well, of course, but there is another reason too.
Tisha.
Yes. The boy who fled back then. The one who set out for the Kingdom of Anselus because he wanted revenge.
But he could not cast off his nature. Along the way he would save someone, be misunderstood or run into trouble, and flee, and he repeated that over and over. Every good deed he has done may have helped someone else, but none of them helped him. Not at the time, at least. And yet those useless kindnesses piled up until they became the footing on which Anselus could trust him. The kingdom recognized him as an ally. He is still under separate watch, of course.
Even that was enough. Tisha was free to pour out everything he knew about the Church of Future Hope—its leader, Hieronymus, and the stories about me as well.
Yes. A girl the church calls the apostle of a god. The one who bestows blessings. He also explained that anyone who receives a blessing from me finds their hair turned purple, and gains a special ability.
After that, whenever Anselus captured a member of the Church of Future Hope with purple hair, it began dragging them straight to the laboratory, where they are subjected to experiments little short of torture until they die. I see all of it. The pain, the despair, the screams. My only thought is that warmth will be along soon. Death brings warmth anyway. It is a shame I cannot seize more of it by running wilder still, but whatever comes, comes, and it feels good.
I was also able to take the measure of the blessed. They ran experiments on how long a person can endure, and on how widely one person's abilities differ from another's. The people who work there talk among themselves while they take the blessed apart, and thanks to that I am learning a great deal. Magic, for instance.
I have licked people who use magic more than once, of course. Their light was no different from an ordinary person's, and their warmth was the same as anyone else's—some had a great deal, some very little. The problem is that I cannot sense mana at all.
When a mage uses magic, the memory of working that magic is there. The sense of mana varies from person to person, but only as a fingertip might be keen or dull; it is much the same. And yet no matter what I do, no magic comes forth. During the hours I spend running outside, I tried reciting incantations and could not feel mana in the slightest. Even when I retraced the moment someone first learned magic, there was nothing. It was as if no such power existed.
Does this body simply have no talent for mana at all? Or am I so full of it that I cannot feel it? I do not know.
But I did learn something. A mage who received my blessing might be able to wield an even greater power. They say it is fortunate, though, that a mage would never join the Church of Future Hope, because mages are, by nature, people of the upper strata. The more violent a world becomes, the more a special power places authority in your hands, and magic is no exception. If everyone could use it according to effort, things might be different, but magic depends heavily on talent. So every mage I have tasted was a Sacrifice.
Come to think of it, there was a stretch of a day or two when I had nothing but mages. Was that another experiment of Hieronymus's, or of Hyungkesuni's? There was no difference. A Sacrifice is a Sacrifice. A blessing is a blessing. In truth, between Hieronymus and me, Sacrifices and blessings have nothing to do with each other. It is only an unspoken understanding: one Sacrifice per person.
I imagine Hieronymus fears that if he locks in one blessing for each Sacrifice, it will become an obstacle in the wage negotiations later—the way I did with Andrew, two Sacrifices for a single blessing. That would be fine as well, but greed is not. Especially if you have no power. They could tip a bowl of steaming beef-bone broth up your nose and announce that one Sacrifice now buys a hundred blessings. What matters is arranging a situation in which we can respect each other. Against the day they truly believe me powerless, I have been raising my favor with them, little by little.
Anyway. Back to the Kingdom of Anselus.
Anselus passed a law that names the blessed the Fallen and sets them apart. It is not the old method of identifying witches, of course—throw someone on the water, and if they float they are a wicked witch, if they sink they are ordinary. The kingdom built a special device. In shape it resembles a folding fan, and they inspect a person by sweeping it over them. If that person has received my blessing, the fan grows so heavy it can barely be waved.
I seem to act as a powerful resistance. Test it on someone who has been blessed, and the fan stops dead in the air, as if it has struck a stone. Put your strength into pressing it down, and still it descends only very slowly. In other words, it can find them even if they change their hair with something like dye.
Fascinating.
In that fashion, the Kingdom of Anselus is dealing with the Church of Future Hope one careful step at a time. Can Hieronymus bring the kingdom down before then? However it rolls, I am fine with it. No—I would rather they put it off a little. I still have not grown close to Hieronymus.
Hehe.
The Church of Future Hope is a cult cobbled together from people at the very bottom. There is no way it climbs easily. It has discipline, and it has laws, but desire is stronger. We have lost so much until now. Surely we are allowed to take a little? Bit by bit, that overflow has sorted every person into exactly two kinds—those of the Church of Future Hope, and those who are not—and set them to plundering the ones who are not.
Of course, it is not as if no one has found salvation here. To someone else's eyes it may be nothing but exploitation, but to that person it can be something else.
Even so, no.
This place has already crossed the line. It was built, from the start, somewhere past the line. Its fall is already decided, so before that happens I have to scrape up everything I can and go.
Yes. The most important goal of all.
The method of summoning me.
Ah—no. There is an experiment I need to run, for later. I have to do it while people are still coming for a blessing at a steady three a day. If not now, when will I ever receive them so reliably? I have set one experiment down as a secondary goal.
What sort of experiment? An experiment in putting information into them.
Where to begin—yes. I will keep it simple. First, shall I plant the title of Outer God? Hyungkesuni is the only one who calls me that. Now I mean to spread it. While I bestow the blessing, I insert one specific piece of information.
Will it work?
No. I have to work until it does. Only then can I do the things that will make me happier later.
"Hello, Hyungkesuni."
And so I greeted her as she came back into the room. These days she takes my greetings as if they were only natural.
"Yes, Rebecca. Honestly, what does Yasle think he's doing? If he's going to take revenge, I wish he'd look after himself a little more."
Just inside the entrance, on the left, there is a space set aside for her. Hyungkesuni tossed the cloth she had been wrapped in onto the sofa, set the staff made from a skull beside her, and sat in her place.
"Joanna. The usual."
"Yes, Lady Hyungkesuni."
She slumps in the chair and orders a drink from Joanna. It means the seat has grown comfortable for her. One word, though, catches at me.
"Who is Yasle?"
Sunk into the chair, Hyungkesuni answered in a languid voice, one hand waving.
"Hieronymus's real name. The idiot. He survived, and still he chose revenge of all things. Built a dump like this, and now he's going to fall apart from overwork before he even gets that revenge?"
Aha. So that was his real name.
Yasle.
Yes. I will remember it. I will have to dig through people's memories again. Will anything new come of it? Even so, I must not make a mistake here. Pretend I do not know. Even if I know the name, pretend I have no interest in it.
"Are you having a hard time too, Hyungkesuni? Would you like a blessing?"
I tucked a small wish into it, if I could, and asked a question meant to tug her mind somewhere else.
"I don't need one. No matter what happens, I won't take help from something like you."
Yes. I know. Her wariness has eased a great deal, but it has never gone out. She is dull about other people, yet when it concerns herself she reacts to the point of paranoia. Which is why—
"You understand, don't you, Rebecca? I have no intention of ever making a contract with something like you again."
She sits there glaring at me as she gives her answer. A witch who has lived more than a hundred years. Hyungkesuni.
Is that because she once made a contract with someone? Does that make her someone else's portion? Even so, for the sake of warmth, I can take what belongs to another. A time limit has been set on me, but there is still time. And so I say this.
"If it gets hard, call for me, Hyungkesuni. I'll come find you."
If the knowledge that called me into this world lies with her, I have no intention of letting it slip away.
"In your dreams."
At that, Hyungkesuni made a face of pure revulsion, answered in a handful of words, and simply threw herself down on the sofa.
Hehe.
See? The name Yasle has already flown off to the far side of her memory, hasn't it?