Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star (1)
Max and Rudni.
Until only yesterday, those names had lain buried in Blow Deblique's unconscious. Hearing them from Marta, of all people, left his feelings hopelessly tangled, and all he could do was wait for whatever she would say next.
"It has already been a year since I met them."
"Were they getting along all right?"
Sorrow gathered in Marta's eyes. Slowly, she opened her mouth.
"The place where I met them was Dardiloa Island."
"Dardiloa Island? Then..."
"Yes. They had Laprun. Max and Rudni..."
Laprun — the agonizing plague that rotted living flesh. Medicine had found no answer to it, and neither healing magic nor divine power could touch it, so people whispered that it must be the curse of Sethier, the demon of myth. It was not especially contagious, yet it warped the whole body into something hideous, and no domain or community would take the afflicted in. It had begun when a handful of the sick were abandoned on Dardiloa, once an uninhabited island; patients with nowhere else to go gathered there, and as the years stacked upon years, the island became the last refuge of those stricken with Laprun. To be there was as good as a sentence never to return to the continent, and Blow's expression hardened at once.
Marta forced the story of that time out of herself.
"...Back then, the Church sent me to deliver relief goods to Father Davian, who was serving on the island. I walked the place once, and then I went toward where the priest and the patients were."
"That took remarkable courage."
"No. I never managed to cross the fence where those people were."
Guilt wet her voice. Blow was quick to offer what comfort he could.
"Simply going there was already extraordinary, Saintess."
A brief silence passed, and Marta took up the thread again.
"When I arrived... the patients had gathered near the fence. Among all those voices, two came through with a strange clarity."
"Max and Rudni's?"
"Yes. So I spoke with them for a little while, and Rudni and Max said there were things they wanted to be forgiven for."
"..."
"They said they thought they had ended up that way because they had sinned against me, the Saintess."
Something clicked into place. Blow's mouth closed, and her hands were trembling, little by little.
"Max told me, one by one, everything he had done to me from the very beginning of life at the monastery. Hiding my cane. Sticking out a foot to trip me..."
At that, Blow glanced once at Aubio, seated behind her. The monk wore a complicated expression and let out a thin sigh.
"After that, they spoke of the wrongs they committed in their mercenary years, once the Blessing Ceremony was over."
"..."
"They laid it all out for me, one thing after another, and at the very end... your name came up as well, Young Master Blow."
"What happened then..."
"Yes. They told me everything — why you lost your temper in the latrine, and why you suffered so terribly at the lake."
"..."
The past rose up, and Blow drew a deep sigh before he knew it. Marta closed her hand around her teacup and went on.
"I think Max and Rudni were frightened, back then. As you know, I received a revelation from Lady Lunaria at the Blessing Ceremony."
"You became the Saintess overnight..."
"That's right. And I was soon to leave the monastery as well. We never met again after that. Not until I went to the island."
"..."
"Max and Rudni... they seemed full of regret. They knelt to me on legs that were rotting away."
Marta turned her head toward him, smiled bitterly, and said, "Max asked me, if I ever met Young Master Blow later, to tell you he was sorry. He said the two of you were bound to meet again someday, weren't you."
"Then Max is..."
Marta could not answer that, and Blow did not ask any further.
A long stretch of time passed between them before she spoke again.
"I should have thought a little harder then. I should have realized you would never have done such a thing."
"..."
"I am ashamed to say it, but at the time I — and everyone else — simply took it for granted that it had been you."
As he had told Yulia the day before, Blow had nothing to add about her having thought so, and no sense of being wronged. Had he stood in their place, he would likely have thought the same.
"I am sorry, Young Master. I ought to have come to see you long ago, but I could not find the courage."
"There is no need for you to feel that way, Saintess—"
"You worried a great deal over someone like me, didn't you? It is because my virtue was lacking."
"No. If I had conducted myself more wisely, none of it would have happened in the first place."
He waved the apology aside, and his voice rose with it. Marta let a little time pass, then asked him carefully.
"Young Master... does what happened at the Blessing Ceremony still weigh on you?"
"Many things weigh on me, but right now that day weighs heaviest of all. Now that I understand what the Blessing Ceremony means... even more so."
For the children, the Blessing Ceremony was the close of life at the monastery and the moment they took one step into the future. It was a rite that ought to be celebrated by everyone — in a sense, the brightest hour they would ever know. And yet, at the very moment she should have received that blessing, Marta had been made to stand barefoot upon the floor.
What if she had never received a revelation from the god? Would the chill of that floor not have left her wretched, and forlorn?
The thought came, and Blow barely managed to swallow a sigh. Marta smiled, soft and bright, and quietly took his trembling hand.
"If it is what happened at the Blessing Ceremony, then you did nothing wrong to me, Young Master Blow."
"What do you..."
"...I believed Lady Lunaria had some reason for granting me a revelation then. Because I wanted to know that reason, I went without shoes for a long while."
Behind her, Aubio gave a nod so slight it was hardly there. This was not the story Blow had expected. He straightened and listened closely.
"It was more uncomfortable than I had imagined. I had to feel even the smallest pebbles scattered underfoot. But from a certain moment on, the sensations in my feet began to show the world to me, who have no eyes."
"..."
"The cold of spring and the heat of autumn. The sharpness of a shard of broken glass left carelessly in the way. And gratitude toward the earth that endures all of it. I was able to lower myself without limit, and to think, and to do, a little more in keeping with the name of Saintess."
Marta folded her hands, paused, and then added, "And so neither you, Young Master Blow, nor Max and Rudni, who threw the shoes, did me any wrong in that matter."
Blow could not finish what he meant to say. Marta went on, her voice soothing as a hand laid gently over his.
"Because you did nothing wrong to me, there is nothing for which you need my forgiveness."
"Thank you, Saintess."
For the first time since he had brought Jane with him, Blow felt a hot sting rise at the bridge of his nose. Say one word more and he thought he might cry, so he sat a moment in silence and gathered himself. Marta took his hand once again.
"Young Master. Only now, it seems, have we stepped free of the past and come to stand at a starting line."
"What kind of..."
"The bond between you and me."
Let it pass, and it was only an ill-fated tie. Catch hold of it again, and it became a bond.
...He was glad he had come. Truly glad he had spoken with Marta. Glad he had not run.
Blow swept a hand back through his hair for no particular reason and lifted his gaze to the ceiling, low as it hung. As if she sensed it, a smile touched Marta's lips, and she spoke again in a warm voice, as though the words themselves were a healing.
"From now on, please come by the monastery often."
Something slipped from the corner of Blow's eye with a soft, single drop, and for a long while only the cries of birds and insects filled the room.
After his talk with Marta, Blow wandered the monastery for a long while, lost in thought. He watched the winter sky, slow to brighten, and the children who woke and came running to greet him, and somewhere inside himself a resolve was taking shape.
Jane, who had been looking for him, came at a run.
"Young Master!"
"Jane."
She studied his face closely, then let out a sigh of relief. "It went well, didn't it. I'm glad."
"Does it show?"
"A little, yes."
"That's thanks to you and Senior Yulia worrying over me."
"Let's go eat breakfast. Everyone will be waiting."
A short while later he stepped into the dining hall with Jane, her white hair swaying in time with their steps. The children who had arrived ahead of them rose to greet him. Blow returned the courtesy with a light nod, then stroked the head of Melo — still rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she made her bow — and took the seat beside her.
Breakfast began. Marta munched a potato for a good long while, then spoke to him in a pleased voice.
"Young Master, when the potatoes are done according to your recipe... the children's forks sound even livelier."
"The sisters learn quickly."
"They tasted something that delicious yesterday. Of course they were astonished."
When she said so, Blow answered in a voice full of mischief. "The price of the recipe is ten gold."
"Pardon?"
"I'm joking."
At that, the Saintess and the monastery folk nearby broke into quiet laughter, and only then could Yulia — who had been worrying over Blow all this time — press a hand to her chest and let the fear go.
The abbot, who had been watching the two of them with quiet satisfaction, put a gentle question to Blow.
"Ah, Young Master. When do you depart?"
"I mean to leave before lunch."
"Ah. I see. Then how about we speak right after breakfast?"
"Yes. Let's do that."
Blow reached for a second potato. Just then Liz, Melo's friend, came edging up beside him, hesitating.
"Um, Liz. What's the matter?"
Shy and fidgeting, she held out a handkerchief. On it was embroidered one very cute rabbit.
"Th-this — I made it yesterday to give to you, Young Master!"
"This is for me?"
"Yes!"
Before he could say anything more, Liz spun around and fled back to her seat. Blow called after her at once.
"Thank you, Liz. I'll put it to good use."
By the time she sat down, her face was red as a beet. Marta, once Aubio had explained what had just happened, smiled and said, "It seems you have found a place in Liz's heart. I... have one as well."
From the Saintess's pocket came a handkerchief faded with age, its rabbit embroidery a little cruder than the one Blow had just received. He looked at it in open admiration and gave a small shrug.
"I can't compete with you, Saintess."
"Didn't you meet Liz only yesterday? To come this far in a single day — you must be very popular, Young Master Blow."
The words left him too embarrassed to answer. Yulia, who had been quiet until then, suddenly slipped in.
"He is tremendously popular, Young Master Blow."
"What?"
Blow turned to see what on earth she meant. Yulia smiled, sweet and slight, and added, "Even Lady Rachel holds him dear, you know."
"Lady Rachel — you mean Lady Rachel Campbell?"
"Yes. And he seemed thick as thieves with Lady Skadi, too."
"Oh, even Count Bjorn's daughter! Remarkable, Young Master Blow."
The praise kept coming, and Blow, thoroughly embarrassed, offered no reply at all and quietly pushed the last potato into his mouth. Marta turned her head that way and spoke in a gentle tone.
"Young Master Blow. You have received a gift from Liz as well, so I do think you must come again."
"Yes, Saintess. I'll stop by from time to time."
At his answer, color bloomed on the faces of the children seated nearby, and Melo, beside him, turned a bright smile toward Liz where she sat apart. Their breakfast was drawing to a close.
They would have to leave soon after the meal, so Melo was spending one last little while with Liz.
"I'll come back no matter what. Even if I have to nag Young Master into it."
"Mm..."
"I mean it."
"I believe you, Melo."
The answer was bright, but something sad lingered on Liz's face, and it bothered Melo. She wanted to plead with Blow to take at least Liz with them. If she did, though, her young master would only be burdened, and she would not be able to look the other children in the eye, so she held the wish down and kept it there.
They sat hand in hand, talking of this and that, when Liz's eyes went round and she spoke in a startled voice.
"Oh? It's Tommy."
Melo turned where Liz was looking. Tommy, a wooden sword in hand, was glancing around as he came out of the building. Then his eyes met Melo's. Something resolved itself in his face, and he came slowly toward them.
"Melo."
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. I was wrong yesterday..."
The boy could not even meet her eyes as he said it. Melo only took his hand and smiled, bright as anything.
"I'm sorry too!"
Only then did Tommy seem to relax. He smiled, scratched at a reddening cheek, and offered his praise. "You really are good at cooking. Sorry I looked down on you."
"Nobody ever believes me."
"N-next time you come, my swordsmanship... it'll be way better."
"Really?"
"Someday... I'll even beat Young Master Blow."
"Yeah. You can do it, Tommy."
The boy saw her smiling and spun around to hide his face, then broke into a run for the empty yard he had meant to reach all along. Melo watched him go, turned to Liz, and smiled brighter than she had in a long time.
While Tommy and Melo made their peace, Abbot Francis, the Saintess, Aubio, Blow, Jane, Hans — and Yulia, who had inserted herself for reasons no one could quite name — had gathered in the abbot's office to talk.
Ordinary things passed between them: the weather, the year's harvest. Then the abbot, who had been listening quietly, turned his gaze on Blow.
"Young Master Blow."
"Yes, Abbot."
"The truth is... you came because there was something you wished to say, didn't you?"
"..."
The man had seen through everything. Blow pondered for a long while how to answer, then slowly opened his mouth.
"There was something I meant to tell you.... I think it would be better to offer it later."
Jane and Hans looked over in surprise. By all rights, this was the moment he ought to have raised the matter of beer and wine with the abbot. But Blow only gazed at him quietly, as if his mind were already made up. Abbot Francis studied that expression, then answered with a broad, easy laugh.
"Words have their appointed time, after all. If you wish, later is perfectly fine."
"I'll come by often. I learned and felt far too much on this visit."
"Hmm. What you learned — yes. Young Master Blow, if you don't mind, might I ask what it is you came to feel?"
Blow answered with a sheepish smile. "The truth is, it's a story about a distant future..."
"A future — then it is a dream, Young Master Blow?"
"Yes. In a way, it is."
"I'm a little curious myself, Young Master Blow."
"So am I."
The Saintess had turned her head toward him, and beside her Yulia Edfolk was watching with open curiosity. Every eye on him left Blow embarrassed, and he hesitated. The abbot added, in a gentle voice, "A dream, you see, grows clearer the more one speaks of it."
Blow turned the words over once, and then again. He let out a breath, and when he spoke, his voice was calm.