The Wandering Blade (2)
Thud—
Blow's fist slammed into the face of Max, who was still snickering even then. When Rudney saw him snap backward and go down headfirst, terror seized him, and he shouted at Blow.
"Wh-why are you doing this, Blow!"
But what met his eyes was a look he had never once seen — Blow's gaze, thick with killing intent. Instead of answering, Blow swept the boy's legs out from under him, climbed on top, and began to smash his face with everything he had.
"S-save me!!!"
Only now did they truly feel it — Rudney, and Max, whose mind had already gone blank at the first blow — how much Blow had been holding back every time he fought them.
"S-stop!!!"
They kept begging, but Blow heard nothing and saw nothing. He swung on regardless, until his fists went numb. The words that had begun as a search for a reason turned, somewhere along the way, into apologies.
"I-I'm sorry, Blow! I was wrong!!"
But Blow Deblique, his eyes already gone, offered not a single reply. He only kept throwing punches.
Then a commotion broke out by the door, and two monks came running toward him.
"Blow!! What in the world—!"
They seized him bodily. Even so, he thrashed their hands off and kept driving his fists into Max and Rudney.
And then a voice reached him that he was never meant to hear.
"B-Blow!! R-right now...! Ah... aah...."
With those words, Marta collapsed where she stood. Blow froze for an instant at the sight, and the two monks locked him down hard. Only then did Max and Rudney come into view, sprawled on the ground and staring up at him. The moment he saw their faces, the heat surged back, and he fought to tear himself free of the monks' arms.
"Let go! I'll kill them!"
"Blow! This has gone too far!"
The more he struggled, the tighter they gripped him. Dragged outside, he found the nuns and the children staring at him, seized by horror. Marta, still sobbing, didn't so much as glance his way as she went back inside. Only after he watched that retreating back did the strength drain out of his whole body.
That day, and through the emergency council that continued into the next, it was decided that Blow would be sent to solitary confinement and kept apart from the children. Max and Rudney, he was told, had buried their own fault and claimed that Blow had flown into a rage out of nowhere and beaten them.
Leave a problem alone, and it becomes a problem. Take it up, and it becomes a problem without end. Everything Blow had done since entering the monastery was the sort of thing that could be held against him. From striking the children on the first day to skipping his work, all of it turned on him. Even with the graffiti about Marta still there, no one seemed to believe that the boy who had looked at her as if she were livestock had lost his temper over that. And when the monks and nuns asked what on earth had happened, Blow offered no excuse at all. He simply clamped his mouth shut.
It wasn't defiance. He simply couldn't find what he was supposed to say. He was sunk in doubt and confusion.
Yesterday's anger had burned a color more vivid than any feeling he had ever known. One thing was certain: even if he went back to that moment, he would have crushed them just the same. What he wanted now was the reason. He couldn't understand why his rage had run that far.
...Really? Because of Marta? Because of that girl who, only a few days ago, had been nothing but a nuisance?
The moment his thoughts reached that far, fog seemed to pour into his head. His heart hammered as if he had come face to face with a beast, and so he fled it, forcing himself to think of something else. But thought chased its own tail, and whenever it arrived at Marta again, he scattered it by force. It went on like that from the day after the incident all the way into a night without a single thread of moonlight.
What stopped his blank staring was the sudden clack of the solitary cell's lock coming open. The door opened, and Marta came in. Startled by how sudden it was, Blow pressed himself to the wall as if he had seen a ghost.
"...What."
"Aubio brought me."
Only then did he notice Aubio, watching him with open displeasure. A key glinted in the boy's hand — wherever he had gotten it.
"...Sis, you have to finish quickly."
"I know. Thank you, Aubio."
Blow looked at Marta standing before him. She had cried so much yesterday and today that her whole face was ruined. Something in him twisted at the sight, but he turned his eyes to the window as if it were only a bother.
A long while passed before Marta spoke first.
"Blow... why did you do it?"
"Do what."
"Why did you do that to them?"
"Couldn't stand the sight of them."
"You call that a reason?!"
When Blow gave no answer, silence settled between them again. Then Marta, breathing hard in a way unlike her, managed to speak.
"If you tell the children you're sorry even now, the abbot will—"
"No."
"Blow, saying you're sorry isn't losing."
"...I don't have anything to be sorry for in the first place."
The colder his words grew with every sentence, the more Marta's hands trembled.
"You really, truly aren't sorry? After doing that to them?"
"......"
"F-for my sake, just once, all right...?"
"Go."
"I—I really, Blow..."
Marta clutched her face in both hands and spoke in a voice gone wet.
"I thought you were a good kid..."
"I said go. Stop bothering me."
"Hic... hngh...."
Tears began to fall from Marta's eyes. Sick to death of the whole situation, Blow bit down hard on his lower lip and looked at her.
In that moment, Blow was not truly facing what he felt. Negative feelings come from weakness. But unfortunately, the Blow of those days had neither the courage nor the maturity to face his own. What he was doing to her was nothing more than acting spoiled — a childish wish that she would understand his heart even if he said nothing, even if he turned that cold. Facing such a feeling for the first time, he had no idea how to let it out, or how he was supposed to treat the Marta standing in front of him. And so the Blow Deblique of those days was nothing but a blade gone wandering: wretched, and wretched again, thrashing against his own heart.
In the end, the choice the boy made was to run — from the feeling, and from the moment.
"If you're done talking, go."
"Hngh... hic..."
Marta's legs gave out. She sank to the floor and wept in earnest. Aubio, who had been standing outside the door all the while, came in with his fists clenched and glared at Blow as if he meant to kill him.
"I really hate you, Blow, you bastard...."
"Take Marta and get out. We've got nothing left to see each other for. I'm holding back one more time."
Marta's sobbing gradually quieted, and she looked up at him. There wasn't a scrap of moonlight, and yet light seemed to fill her face, vivid and clear. She scrubbed away even the tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, then lifted the corners of her mouth in an awkward smile.
"I'm sorry. You were probably sleeping, and I only came and got in the way..."
Aubio's face and Blow's twisted at the same time. Unable to make any sense of it, Blow muttered,
"What are you even— why would you...?"
But Marta didn't answer him. She braced on her cane and slowly rose.
"I'll pray to Lady Lunaria, and ask that your days ahead be filled with blessing too..."
At her words, Blow's irritation turned to anger.
...What has that damned Lunaria ever done for you? She took your eyes, made you an orphan, and she's still making you suffer like this.
Blow ground his teeth — and then he said the thing he never should have said.
"Cut it out."
At his words, Marta's cane fell weakly to the floor.
"What... are you saying?"
"...Lunaria? To hell with Lunaria!"
"Blow! You—!!!"
For the first time she rushed him, seized hold of him, and began striking his chest.
"Take it back! Right now!"
"Go tell that damned Lunaria to take these words back, too."
"Blow!!!!"
He caught her arms, peeled them off, and shouted at her.
"Get out before I say something worse."
"I said take it back!!!"
"Aubio! You bastard, I told you to take her!"
Aubio stared at him as if he would kill him, then dropped his gaze and took hold of Marta. But the girl's grip on Blow's hand showed no sign of loosening.
"Just go!"
Blow clamped her arm and shoved her toward Aubio. The force of it sent Marta and Aubio sprawling on the floor. Shocked, Blow started toward them and then faltered. Aubio was already checking on her.
"Sis!!"
Marta, as if stunned, stared at the floor for a long time. Seeing that, Aubio shot to his feet and lunged at Blow. But before he could reach him, Marta seized his leg and held him back.
"Hic.... hngh... hic......."
After sobbing for a long while, Marta slowly pushed herself up, knelt, and pressed her hands together.
Merciful Lady Lunaria, forgive this child heavy with sin, and bestow Your blessing upon the days ahead of Blow.
When the prayer was done, Marta managed to rise on her cane and, leaning on Aubio, went out of the room. Until then Blow said nothing. He only watched her back — and then he hurled everything in sight against the wall.
Blow was let out of solitary two days later.
"For the time that remains, see that you spend it faithfully, Young Master Blow..."
After hearing the abbot's sunken voice, and the pity in the eyes turned on him, he was living among the monks. It was meant as punishment, so he rose at dawn with them, sat in silent meditation, labored, and ate. And Blow followed the routine without a word of complaint. It felt as if time passed a little faster that way.
At some point he began to notice, more and more often, children in white passing far off. Watching them, he felt how little time remained until the Blessing Ceremony — and how little time remained until he would return to his family's lands. It went without saying that he decided not to attend. He agreed with the monk who told him it would be better for both sides.
He worked straight through the day, and once the children had eaten dinner and gone into their quarters, he was given time to rest. In those hours he did nothing at all. He only stared blankly at the ceiling.
Several days passed that way, and the eve of the Blessing Ceremony arrived. Even if he tried not to care, the monks and the nuns talked of nothing else, and the children's laughter, and a faint sadness, reached even his eyes as he watched from a distance. So Blow spoke to the monk in charge of him, his tone calm.
"I'll stay inside today."
"Why?"
"The Blessing Ceremony is tomorrow. I'm afraid I might run into them. I don't think anyone wants to see my face."
"Even so, not working won't do. Once the children splitting firewood are finished, help with the pruning in the woods."
"Fine."
Late afternoon. When the children returned to their rooms for a short rest before dinner, Blow went the other way, into the forest. A few laborers who lived nearby cut the branches; his job was to stuff those branches into sacks. It was only a matter of putting in light twigs, so the work itself wasn't hard on his body. But the full cold of winter drove from his fingertips into the deepest part of him, and even keeping his eyes open was truly difficult.
"Let's rest a bit!"
About an hour later, when the sky had already darkened, one of the laborers — their leader — called out to everyone. All of them, who had been waiting for just those words, found places to sit. Blow, with nothing to say to them, sat apart. He looked down at the clothes and trousers that had shared his life at the monastery and let out a thin sigh.
...When I get home, I'm burning every stitch I wore here.
While he was thinking that, he heard someone moving deep in the woods. Two boys were heading into the forest. From the hats, they looked like Rudney and Max — the ones he had beaten in the washroom. He tried not to pay them any more mind, but something in their hands caught his eye. Something pale and flickering, something that looked familiar. Before he knew it, Blow was on his feet and walking that way.
Drawing near, he could hear Max and Rudney.
"Where do we hide it?"
"Throw it in the ravine. They'll never find it."
"Think it's frozen?"
"It was fine until yesterday."
As he spoke, Max was clutching his own shoulder — and Blow could tell easily enough that it was the place he had crushed. He closed to within a few steps behind them and tried to make out what they were holding, but he couldn't see it properly. Before he knew it, he had reached the stretch of ravine at the forest's edge, where the water ran down into the lake.
"...Is this really all right?"
"Who cares. Once the Blessing Ceremony's over tomorrow, nobody's going to care anyway."
Then, at last, Blow recognized what they were holding, and his eyes went wide. White shoes, worked with gold embroidery. Marta's shoes. But before he could do anything, Max threw them into the ravine. The shoes swept away on the fast water, and their snickering followed. Before he knew it, Blow was running out toward the ravine.