The Wandering Blade (1)
The nuns had talked them out of eating in the dining hall, insisting they would draw far too many eyes, so the three of them settled instead in the parlor of the guest room where Yulia was staying.
Parlor was a generous word for it. The room was cramped, and the three of them ended up packed in shoulder to shoulder.
An awkward silence hung between them for a moment before Blow was the first to break it.
"Senior, what about the academy?"
"I made arrangements. Maxim is probably picking up the slack for me."
"Because of the Saintess?"
"Well, that, and a few other things..."
Yulia studied him as she said it, her gaze so direct that Blow found it a little hard to bear and let his eyes drift, as casually as he could manage, toward Jane.
"I did have something I meant to tell you in private, young master, but that can wait until tomorrow. Today there's something I'm rather curious about."
"Curious?"
"Yes. It seemed to me that something had happened between you and Saintess Marta. The Saintess isn't the sort of person who... how should I put it. She seemed rather stiff."
"......"
"And so did you, young master."
"Ah. Did it look that way?"
"It did. Sometimes these things ease once they're spoken aloud, and if the two of you are carrying some old feeling toward each other, I thought I might be able to help from the middle. I am on fairly close terms with the Saintess, you know."
While Blow turned that gentle voice over in his mind, Hans came in, set the food down, and slipped back out.
"Young master, shall we have a drink first and think after? They've brought out some rather tempting side dishes."
"As you know, I don't really know wine..."
"Then you can start learning now! Jane, you're all right with that, aren't you?"
"Yes, that's fine, Senior!"
"Then the young master gets the first glass."
As Blow took the cup from her, curiosity kindled in Jane's eyes as well. She had never heard a word about his days at the monastery.
Blow's own thoughts, of course, were a tangled mess.
He stalled for a moment, turning over everything that had happened today, and arrived at a conclusion: he would have to face Marta tomorrow anyway, and talking it through with Yulia—someone cut from much the same cloth—might actually help.
While he sat there sunk in thought, Yulia spoke first, her tone careful.
"If it's hard to talk about, you don't have to."
"No. I'll tell you."
With that he drained the wine in one long swallow and began a story he had never told anyone.
It was the afternoon of the day something awkward had passed between Marta and Blow in the chapel.
The children gathered there were deep in rehearsal for the Blessing Ceremony soon to come. Those taking part had been dressed in white, and after a lifetime of wearing nothing but hand-me-downs, every one of them looked quietly pleased to be in something new.
The clothes worn for the ceremony were called vestments: a pure-white dress falling to mid-shin, with white shoes made to each child's size. Only a single set was ever sewn for them, so most of the children took the garments out just long enough to practice, then folded them carefully back into their wardrobes when they were done.
Just now they had clustered together inside the chapel, chattering among themselves, and Marta was in among them. After what had happened earlier, facing her had grown even more awkward for Blow, so he sat nearly at the very back, leaning on the chair in front of him and watching them from a distance.
That was when Linz sauntered over, needling him.
"Blow."
"What?"
"Why didn't you come fishing earlier?"
"I fell asleep."
There is a saying that you grow close by fighting, and Linz—the dark-skinned boy Blow had clashed with at the start—had lately become someone he traded this and that with. Linz was one of the children in the ceremony too, so he wore the white as well, though the collar clearly bothered him.
"What a pain."
"What is?"
"The Blessing Ceremony. Do we really have to go through all this?"
"What do you mean?"
"We're getting sold off somewhere else anyway. What good is a blessing..."
His tone was cynical. Blow, who thought much the same, didn't bother to argue.
"Blow."
"What."
"Couldn't you talk to your parents? Get them to take me in at your estate."
"......"
"I'm at a loss. Going alone makes it worse. If it were next year, at least I'd be going with Max."
"You still don't know me?"
"You? I feel like I do."
"Then do you really think my father would listen to a word I said?"
Linz let out a short, helpless laugh.
"Sorry. Can't say you're wrong."
"It's the truth. So what."
"You coming to the ceremony?"
"If they haven't thrown me out by then. Though I doubt my blessing would do any of you much good."
"Tons of people are coming, they say. It'll get watered down a little. Whatever."
That was the end of it, and the two of them snickered. Even so, for all his talk, Linz clearly hoped Blow would come. Blow saw it, and decided to do him the favor.
"I'll come."
"You promise?"
"Yeah."
They were still talking when Marta passed beside them, feeling her way with her cane. She wore the same clothes as the other children, but her shoes had her name embroidered in yellow thread—a kindness from the nun in charge, so Marta could find her own pair by touch.
Watching her go, Linz pulled a sour face and heaved a deep sigh.
"Hah. Finally, next week I get to say goodbye to that too."
"What are you talking about?"
"You don't know. You have no idea how much of a nuisance she's been the whole time we've been here."
"......"
"I bet hardly any of the boys like her. What is she, our mother? A nun? The nagging never stops."
Listening to Linz grumble, Blow felt irritation rising for reasons he couldn't name, but he didn't say anything about it. He would be gone soon enough, and leaving well enough alone was better. From what he'd heard, Marta had chosen to stay at the monastery. He hoped his leaving wouldn't make her quiet days any more troublesome.
And he was a little startled to realize he had thought that at all. Considering someone else's feelings—that was so unknown to him that it left him frightened, almost lost.
"Blow?"
"...Yeah?"
"Let's eat fish later. The ones I caught. I'll grill them so well you won't believe it."
"All right. I'll bring some salt, at least."
"Hm? How?"
"How do you think?"
Linz caught the gesture that said he'd simply steal it, snorted a laugh, and went on ahead.
Not long after, the rehearsal for the Blessing Ceremony began. It was winter, yet the sky outside was without a single cloud. Light passed through the plain stained glass and fell across the white vestments, and for a moment the children looked like angels come down from heaven. Those who weren't part of the ceremony itself were meant to help—scattering flower petals as the others entered, or joining the choir. Blow belonged to none of it, so he only watched, blankly.
The rehearsal ran on until it reached the final recessional hymn. Then Nora, the little girl at the very front of the choir, broke off mid-note and began to sob.
"Hic... hngh..."
"Nora! What's wrong?!"
In an instant every child crowded around her. Nora cried for a long while before she managed, with difficulty, to pick out the words.
"Hic... once the Blessing Ceremony is over, we won't get to see each other..."
Tears spread with terrible ease. From Nora to the children of the choir, and soon to those taking part in the ceremony itself. Even cynical Linz stood with his fists clenched tight, staring at the floor.
"N-Nora! Stop!"
The one who reached her before any nun was, of course, Marta. She had been standing in the sunlight. She drew Nora into a warm embrace and spoke in a voice that was calm and perfectly clear.
"Nora, where there is darkness there is light, and where there is meeting there is parting. It's only for a little while. Just a little while."
"Hic..."
"Even after you go to the city, everyone will write. R-right? Bode?"
"...Yeah."
"Reina?"
"...Mm!"
"Waaah..."
But once Nora's crying had broken loose, it showed no sign of stopping. Marta held her tight and stroked her back, and from his place at the very rear, Blow saw the look on Marta's face. She had her lower lip bitten hard, barely holding her own tears in.
...When she was the saddest of them all.
He couldn't stand to look at her any longer. He shot to his feet, glared at the altar behind the sea of weeping children, and ground his teeth.
...Damn you, Lunaria. Omnipotent? You're nothing but useless.
He spat once on the chapel floor and walked out.
Rehearsal ran every afternoon, and watching it only soured his mood, so Blow slacked off as much as he reasonably could. He had a little over nine days left. These days he had quietly taken to splitting his own share of firewood. More than anything, he hated hearing the strength drain out of Marta's scolding as the ceremony drew nearer. He had studied swordsmanship, so he worked at twice the speed of the other children.
He finished his share quickly and was about to head for the woods when Marta came toward him, hesitant and slow.
"Blow..."
"What is it?"
"Um, Rudny isn't feeling well today, so I was wondering if you might do his share of the firewood too..."
"You want me to?"
"I-if it's too much, just say so, and I'll ask the other children..."
"Forget it."
Blow took up the axe he had set down and split the wood again. Marta, standing quietly beside him, flinched each time the sound rang out.
"You can go somewhere else. I'll take care of it."
"N-no. I just like the sound."
"Suit yourself."
He thought her hopeless and went back to chopping. A little later he set the axe down, and Marta bent nearly double toward him.
"Th-thank you!! Blow."
"For what. Can I go now?"
"Y-yes!"
Being thanked left him feeling strangely off, and Blow snatched up his outer coat. From behind him came the hurried tap of a cane.
"B-Blow."
"What?"
"Th-thank you... Blow."
"For what?"
"For listening to me..."
She said it shyly, and Blow's eyes narrowed.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It felt like you answered my plea. Thank you..."
Talking to Marta was always like this. Some strange prickling, and with it the urge to be contrary. He barely held it down and spoke to her in a level voice.
"Right. You do throw thank-yous around, Marta."
He tossed the words out carelessly, but Marta showed not a trace of hurt. She only turned a bright smile toward him.
"Um... listen..."
"What?"
"The Blessing Ceremony... you'll come, won't you?"
"Yeah. Nothing else to do. Might as well go and watch."
"You didn't come to practice, so I was worried."
"I'll come to the ceremony. I-I'm going to see Linz, obviously."
Silence settled between them. After a while Marta spoke, her voice very small.
"You're a kind... boy... Blow..."
Blow froze, startled out of himself. Kind. In all his life, no one had ever said that to him. And because of that, his voice rose before he knew it.
"What are you talking about!"
"Hm? Kin—"
"Enough. Don't follow me."
He said it and broke into a run in the opposite direction.
If he had finished his days at the monastery well, his nature might have changed into what his mother had hoped for. But the thing happened the following evening.
After supper, Blow thought he might as well go to the latrine. If he waited until just before bed, the place was always crowded with children, and he couldn't be bothered. He had heard, in passing, that this monastery was of a decent size and looked after such things, so its latrine was better than most. In truth it was about on par with the one the servants used at his own estate—and it stayed that way in no small part because Marta, who had taken the cleaning upon herself, scrubbed it with fierce devotion.
He went in rubbing his hands against the cold, and found Max and Rudny, the younger boys close to Linz, snickering together. The moment they recognized him they went quiet, then offered a greeting as if nothing were amiss.
"Hi, Blow."
Something cold in their voices made him ask Max, who stood in front.
"What are you two doing?"
"Huh? Nothing, just..."
They traded an unpleasant look and stood in a way that blocked the stretch of wall behind them. He had been about to leave, but their faces kept nagging at him, so he faced them and said,
"Something on the wall? Move."
"Why?"
Alarm crossed Max's face. Sensing that something was wrong, Blow stepped in almost as if to shove him aside.
"I said move."
"......"
"Don't make me say it again."
Glancing at each other, Rudny and Max edged aside. What met his eyes then was six characters.
For an instant Blow couldn't breathe. His heart hammered. The hair on his arms stood up. He couldn't see what was in front of him. A thin ringing seemed to fill his ears. Without knowing he was doing it, he clenched his fists and turned his gaze on the two of them, shifting uneasily at his side.
"Ha ha ha, Blow, you won't tell the nuns, right?"
Sensing that his mood had turned, Max was stumbling over his words. Blow stared at him with burning eyes.
"...Did you do this?"
"Isn't it funny? You can't stand her either, Blow. Marta."
"It'll be gone by tomorrow anyway. She wipes it all off without understanding a thing. Want to add something, Blow?"
They forced out little giggles as they said it. Through Blow's mind passed the sight of Marta washing herself in the cold, shivering, because she mustn't smell. The sight of her at rehearsal, hiding her own sorrow while she held someone else's. The sight of her praying for everyone. The sight of her hesitating as she asked him to take on the firewood of Rudny, who now stood there cackling like a dog.
The images tangled together, then bleached white as sunlight—and something inside his head snapped clean through.