Sins Cradled in Both Hands (1)

"They were the children of the gods?"

"Who swallowed what with which maw?"

At least Pontima could not even speak. He merely opened and closed his mouth like a nutcracker doll.

"Oh, dear."

The bird that had dropped two bombs in succession shrank back, gauging their reactions. Like a naive child who makes a cruel joke and then grows frightened by the silence that follows.

"Still, this must be fortunate for you."

The three of them openly displayed expressions of utter incomprehension. Fortunate? In what way? The tale that humanity had lost its gods? Or the horrifying story that the gods had devoured their own kind?

"The fact that I, too, make mistakes. That it is not an omnipotent being too clever to oppose who seeks to manipulate your lives, but an entity that commits errors on equal footing and asks for your cooperation. I am not the all-powerful being that abandoned humanity often imagines. To put it bluntly, you could call me nothing more than a powerful spirit. As is the case with most gods."

Nathan’s hand, hidden inside his pocket, tightened into a fist.

"Excellent relationships are usually forged more firmly when both sides are honest about their weaknesses."

Neither an untouchable existence nor one that would force its will. The words sounded tempting. It was the very concern they had harbored since Santra first revealed her identity. If a transcendent being capable of reading thoughts decided to manipulate them, there would be no way to resist.

The crow made a show of sighing. If an ordinary crow imitated a human it might have been amusing or praiseworthy, but given its enormous size the gesture was grotesquely disturbing.

"There is an order to things. At least, this was not what I intended to tell you now. Eventually you will all need to know—but no, no. I will not force you to forget or erase your memories."

Who had harbored that particular fear was plain on their faces.

"…And I will not play the game of poking earthworms and pecking them when they crawl out to breathe. Naturally I will not harm you in any other way either. You possess a richer imagination than you appear, Pontima Peres. The reason I did not intend to reveal it immediately is simply that it is a secret the Heavens wish to keep hidden, and it could place you in danger."

Pontima, rigid as if sugar-preserved by tension, collapsed into the armchair like a puppet with cut strings. Yet Aspen did not relax.

"You will not erase our memories? It sounds very much as though you are saying you could if you wished."

"For the Peres family, yes. Every god can exert influence over the minds of the mortals they protect."

Whatever color had begun to return to Pontima’s face drained away once more.

"But such interference does not suit my taste. Earning your suspicion would only make it harder to receive voluntary help."

"Voluntary help, you say?"

"My liberation."

The crow shook its feathers with a violent quiver. The hall was more than ample for a monarch, yet to a crow the size of a house it appeared painfully cramped.

"There is only one thing I desire. To break free of this bondage and leave the lands of the Heavens. Yet I lack the power to escape this constraint. After all, I am merely a half-formed avatar parasitizing the personality of an Eleim named Santra. That has been my state for the past fifteen hundred years."

Aspen, who had been staring at the crow with emotionless eyes, gave up. There was no point in trying to hide her confusion and suspicion. The avatar before her seemed capable of seeing straight through expressions. She must have noticed already.

That if the blood of Peres was to be spilled uselessly, Aspen Peres had considered raising her sword against her master.

"You are correct, Aspen."

Yet the crow god, knowing that, had not cast Aspen aside. Nor had she sent subordinates to attack while Aspen lay unconscious.

Then…

"For the sake of my own pride, let me state this clearly: I would never have sent an assassin against Andau’s child. And for the sake of Andau’s honor, let me add that the Peres family was never meant to be sacrificed as mere arrow fodder. That was never the plan—neither now nor in the future."

At the mention of their father’s name, Pontima’s face hardened. Then it swiftly changed to one of desperate pleading. He yearned to know what his sister was thinking.

"If I were the sort of being who would do such a thing, Andau would not have brought the entire family to the Heavens—including the infants and the guests. When a man of such ability takes action, it is only fair to assume he has something he believes in."

Aspen continued pondering something unspoken, and the crow continued answering the words she had not voiced.

"And yes. Andau came to the Heavens for your safety. But as I have said repeatedly, it was not an escape. Andau intended to pay a fair price."

"Correct. The cost was not you, nor the rest of the family’s young. The elders of the Peres family, including Andau, sought to purchase your future by standing as the vanguard in the coming battle."

"Correct. For humanity to possess a god, just as the other races do. That was the vision Andau desired, the gamble he chose."

"Correct. We have finally found a way to break free. After completing all preparations, I urged Andau to join the war. After long deliberation, he agreed to participate in my plan—the operation to rescue a god from the Heavens. That is enough for now."

Santra’s voice, which had resonated clearly through the hall, fell silent.

"Having poured out stories I had kept sealed like secrets, I seem to have grown somewhat carried away. I have kept the patients here too long."

"Patients?"

At Nathan’s question the crow pointed its beak at Pontima. Pontima, who looked as though he might collapse from dehydration, belatedly pointed at himself in bewilderment.

"M-me?"

"Both of you siblings. I summoned you merely to confirm whether your bodies had recovered. There was also the matter Andau requested in his will. He asked that if anything happened to him, I reveal my identity at once and guide you."

Aspen’s eyes drooped with sorrow, then blazed the next instant.

"I lacked consideration. Withdraw and rest now."

"No, I am fi—"

"True. Hearing a few more words will not cause you to collapse and die. Your thirst for the full story is likely deeper than any immediate need for rest. But these past days have been too cruel to you both. I do not want disposable slaves I may consume at will. I want subjects who will serve me in good health for a long time to come."

The crow paused, then spat something out. The motion resembled a mother feeding worms to her young, yet the bundle carried not a single drop of saliva.

"What is this?"

"Andau’s journal, the Peres family seal, and the ‘Guillotine.’ While you were unconscious, the adults of your house tried to elect a new head. It was pitiful to watch them convulse once the family’s head had vanished. I hid it for you—the successor Andau himself acknowledged."

He had written down every matter that needed to be conveyed. Return and read it slowly. It was one of the last messages their father had left. Through a gap in the bundle an old leather notebook was visible. Aspen bit her lip, carefully wrapped it, and clutched it to her chest.

"I intended to deliver this a little later as well, but seeing your face, my heart aches too much to delay. Rest when I tell you to rest. You may hear the remaining detailed explanations from Benny."

Whether that was the greatest consideration she could manage, Benny—who had been pretending not to hear until now—flinched.

"What? What do I—"

She was given no time to answer. Nor any chance to leave on her own. A dizzying sensation of falling arrived without warning. Thanks to prior experience Benny barely avoided biting her tongue, yet the feeling of falling was something she could never grow accustomed to no matter how many years passed.

"Wait—wait a moment—!"

The crow god snapped its beak shut. A transfer gate opened beneath everyone’s feet. The Peres siblings and Benny plunged into the round hole and vanished. Only their shrill screams echoed sharply.

The crow god, who detested high pitches, shrank back and shook the sound from itself as though its feathers had grown wet, trembling.

"A rather abrupt dismissal."

As if some other urgent business awaited. The knowledge that those words were true only fueled Nathan’s irritation. The giant crow turned to the single person who had not been sent away.

"But to be honest, I do not wish to remain here either. Why did you exclude me and send the others?"

Nathan glared discontentedly at the ground beneath his feet where nothing had occurred.

"So, should I call you Santra, or Keres?"

----------

"Why did you target me?"

The crow did not answer.

"Does that method of rescuing the gods involve me as well? Is that why you brought me to the Heavens—no, no. It’s strange to believe any of it in the first place. Swallowing gods and such—just fabricating plausible-sounding nonsense to manipulate events, isn’t it?"

The crow did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not answer.

"I don’t believe a single word from your maw. Not one. You who threatened Aspen’s life behind her back now offer her kind wishes for recovery to her face?"

The crow did not answer.

Nathan was not merely speaking aloud. A mere glance at the torrent of curses swirling inside his mind would have been enough to induce dizziness.

"Before answering the words I have spoken, I will first answer those I have not."

Keres cut off Nathan’s gruffly continuing questions.

"Yes. I dislike you."

"That is what I should be saying."

"Allow me to correct myself. I, too, dislike you. As much as you dislike me."

"Right. You fucking conscienceless bird-brained bitch. It only makes sense for the victim—me—to hate you first."

The moment Nathan became certain the other party could read thoughts, he abandoned even the pretense of decorum. Yet even Keres had not expected him to charge forward so recklessly. If the surging hostility could neither be erased nor hidden, he seemed to have resolved to be as rude as possible. The attitude of a cornered rat baring its teeth, daring the other to kill it if they dared.

"Since every curse you were thinking has already been overheard, it’s ‘whatever happens, happens’? I understand the logic, yet your opponent is still a god in name. No matter how much one has lived without regard for etiquette, fear usually serves as a rein and causes hesitation."

The crow exhaled a sigh that sounded almost like the cry of a bird. This time it did not seem feigned.

"What the hell do you want me to—"

"The name of the abyss demon attached to you is the Mark of the Beast."

Nathan fell silent. Even the voice inside his head.

Keres nearly felt grateful for the sudden peace.

"It seems better to begin with the main point from now on. It helps shut your mouth."

"The Mark of the Beast?"

"Of course that is not its true name. But its true name must not be known. The fewer beings who know it, the better for this world."

"You sound like some abyss demon. If it were a lowly ghost that drowned in a well, maybe."

"No one becomes a ghost merely by dying. The soul of a farmer who perished in an accident could not possibly possess the power to dominate anyone."

At the word dominate Nathan’s eyes narrowed. He did not seem to have considered that yet. It appeared he truly did know something.

No, he doesn’t. He might have rummaged through my head to learn it. Or he could have read Aspen’s thoughts to discover the facts I only roughly told her—

"I told you. Do not interpret the world’s gestures favorably. That is golden advice someone like you must engrave into your bones."

"The world has never been favorable to me, so what kind of bullshit is that? Where do you see an optimist in me?"

The crow that had been glaring gruffly fluttered toward Santra’s sprawled corpse and pecked at it fiercely. A bizarre spectacle of venting rage upon its own body. Nathan swiftly erased the bewilderment that had risen for an instant. He wondered whether such an act could even be called pathetic self-harm. To provoke the anger of the thought-reading crow. The reason he did not feel fear the next moment stemmed from a similar motive. If that monster saw through his terror in every detail, there would be few things more infuriating.

The crow Keres, clutching Santra’s severed neck in its beak, stood before Nathan. The clotted black hair served in place of the torn veil, covering the face.

"I hope you are prepared to face that unkind truth."

"As if you have any right to speak of unkindness. Truth or nonsense, it’s uncomfortable for both of us, so why not send me away as well?"

Even as he spoke, Nathan somehow could not tear his eyes from Santra’s head. The head, gripped by its hair, spun slowly. Gradually, like a mobile hanging from a baby’s ceiling. And the moment the hair drooped limply—

The unfocused, pure white face—

"What do you see in the face?"

----------

Nathan felt a sense of absurdity. They had faced each other at their first meeting yet nothing had happened, had it?

"What do I see? Nothing—"

Yet smell reached him before sight. At the piercing metallic stench of blood Nathan tensed. Everything had changed. The dimness of the poorly lit room had become a sky covered in ash. The piles of treasure and junk had transformed into broken, shattered weapons. The being that should be called Santra or Keres had vanished without a trace. What remained was… a single warrior clutching the corpse of a young boy soldier, stroking the child’s eyes, nose, and mouth while wailing.

"This… this—"

He did not know who the man was. Deep-set eyes and thick arms. From the fact that his poor armament was still relatively superior to those of his comrades’ corpses, one could only guess he had been the commander. Yet Nathan understood. That the child had held great meaning for the man, and therefore the infinitely deep pain the man was enduring. And the pain the man would soon endure as well.

A group of orcs with gray skin approached, mocking him. In the middle of a battlefield littered solely with human corpses, the only one still breathing was the last toy left in the orcs’ hands.

The man shouted. Where was the promised reinforcement? If anyone could hear, come running even now and at least recover my child. As though it would be a waste to end it in a single blow, the orcs put away their large weapons. They reached out carefully toward the defeated soldier—

The man’s face twisted grotesquely. Darkness descended upon the world as if the sun had closed its eyes.

"…What?"

And the world that brightened again the next moment was somehow different. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was clearly unlike the desolate landscape of a moment before. The plains that had burned and exhaled flames into the sky had turned green. The soldiers who had lain dead were now advancing majestically. The commander stood at their head. He was even reclining. Riding atop a giant elephant. The engraved patterns on armor far more refined ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than before were inlaid with gold, making the designs vivid. The armament had grown far more costly, yet on the man whose flesh had grown plump there was no longer the same tragic beauty. Of course he looked far happier that way.

When the man gestured twice, his safely living children rode up to follow the elephant. They exchanged a few jokes, laughed, and celebrated. What? Their victory. The brilliant and great days of the past decades that had completely freed humanity from the orcs’ oppression.

The great emperor’s army marched majestically beyond the horizon. From poles tied to the backs of the livestock following the army hung terrifying shapes that radiated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠deep malice. Impaled messily upon those sharp points were the heads of living beings. Not only orcs. A great many belonged to human traitors. Regardless of race, age, gender, or status. Tens of thousands at least.

"What… is this?"

----------

"What do you see in the face?"

Keres spoke gruffly and waited for an answer. Nathan said nothing. He merely stared blankly at the corpse’s head and eyes. Keres stomped his foot in displeasure.

"Yes. That is it. That is your problem. That you see nothing. Those who look upon my face are meant to confront what they fear. The sins they committed in the past. Important turning points stained by personal regret. Gazing at paths not taken—"

Keres’s words slammed to a halt. He had sensed something abnormal. Nathan’s face was twisting in a manner difficult to describe with language.

"Nathan?"

----------

Before he could interpret what it meant, Nathan was hurled somewhere once more. To a different time, a different space. Seeing the ground rush up, Nathan recoiled in horror. Fortunately, though he fell onto a gravel field, there was no pain. As he carefully tried to rise, a stream flowed before his eyes—water stained and swirling with blood. Nathan jerked his head up and saw an elf. The pointed ears instantly put him on guard. Yet the elf seemed to have no attention to spare for Nathan. He was too busy weeping in grief. Holding a woman whose chest had been pierced by an arrow. Stroking, caressing, kissing, mourning. Yet the very bolt lodged in her chest bore the same fletching as those in the elf’s own quiver. The woman stroked the elf’s jawline one final time, then let her arm fall into the stream—

The woman’s face twisted grotesquely. Darkness descended upon the world as if the sun had closed its eyes.

The next moment the forest elf’s face had grown calm. With an exceedingly peaceful expression he washed his lover’s feet in the stream. Upon an expensive ebony chair the woman enjoyed the tickling sensation with an expression of utter happiness. Yet a contrasting scene lay behind them. Someone watched them with pity. Beyond the dense bushes not far from the stream, a group of the forest elf’s kin—bloodied and bruised. Even while being dragged away in chains they tried desperately to shout something through mouths sewn shut.

"No."

The moment the forest elf’s shattered composure turned that way, the woman seized his chin and glared. And she said: Just as you did, I will not apologize either. Taking those words as a signal, a band of human soldiers hurled fireballs into the forest.

"No, wait. Hey! You can’t do that!"

And leaning close to the long ear, whispering something inaudible with a terrifying expression—

Nathan, stepping forward in outrage, was hurled somewhere once more.

----------

A painter who had smashed a young woman’s head with a brick. Brown hair matted with blood that stuck everywhere. The painter, insisting this was not what he had intended, tore at his own hair; then his face twisted grotesquely and vanished. The next moment the brown-haired woman was alive and well. She hugged the painter—absorbed in his work—tightly and led him toward the bathroom. The painting he was creating resembled something. At a glance it resembled a flower. At another glance it resembled the bloodstains of a vanished past splattered when someone was shattered against brick. The painter who rose with a quiet smile followed his lover without a sound. What he held in his hand was—

"Stop."

The merchant betrayed by everyone twists. In the revised future he swindles numerous kingdoms through fraud. While bankrupt nobles weep bloody tears and wail, handing over their lands for a few loaves of bread, he burns every devalued sugarcane field. Not purely from revenge. To cultivate spices that would bring a fortune once the war ended in six months—

"Stop. It’s too much."

The hero betrayed by love twists. In the revised future he burns everything belonging to his lover. The princess whose body, heart, and every part of her being had been violated gives up even begging. On the face that wails why are you doing this to me, the hero carefully applies fragrant oil, filling both hands. Then, after wiping his hands, he strikes a match—

"How much more do I have to see!"

Come to think of it, you haven’t tried eating this yet. Come to think of it, I’ve never killed before. Come to think of it, what does a pancreas feel like. Come to think of it. Horrible thoughts and grotesque desires unfold. Nathan struggled to turn his eyes from the debauchery of those countless figures. It was difficult to comprehend, and attempting to comprehend it felt as though it would drive him mad instead. They repay what was done to them. They commit what was not done to them. Within repeating desire they can no longer distinguish love from rape. Like a starving pauper who catches a beast and boils even its entrails to consume every last scrap, they savor every possible scenario without omission. And at some point, when they can feel no emotional disturbance no matter what they do, they seek new stimulation—

"—You have come looking for me."

Nathan, who realized the identity of the evil spirit, shuddered. The moment he realized its identity, his gaze turned inward. Nathan met eyes with the shadow lurking inside him. The shadow with many faces shrank back at Nathan’s distorted expression. It realized its sins had been laid bare.

Dozens of faces twisted in terror.

Hundreds of arms shoved Nathan away.