Seeds of the Heart
The old man shook his bony fist with an expression that suggested he would gladly shove a handful of roasted beans into his mouth if only he could, and answered.
“Isn’t it the very duty of a seed to grow into a plant?”
“But then again, didn’t the Goddess make every kind of seed far too delicious? And aren’t they incredibly good for your health? The same goes for the feelings you said you wished to forget, my devotee. Do not pretend not to see them and bury them in the ground. Instead, take a moment to truly savor their taste.”
When Nyx still looked confused, the saint rolled his hands gently and explained with kindness.
“Didn’t you say your heart fluttered? That you felt a thrill while speaking with a woman you had never met before?”
“It had been a long time… No. This was the first time I’ve ever experienced anything like it, so…”
“Oh my. Then this must remain an exceptionally precious and special memory in your life, my devotee. What a valuable experience you’ve had. Wouldn’t you say?”
“A valuable experience… When I accomplished nothing at all? Can I really think of it that way?”
“You shared a warm, friendly conversation with a woman you found likable. You even reached a moment so harmonious that you wondered if she might be interested in you too. In that case, was the emotion you felt in that moment a good one, or a bad one?”
“Of course… Of course it felt good at the time. But that was only because I misunderstood—”
“Then is this an emotion you never wish to feel again, or one you would like to experience once more?”
…….
“Do you wish to return to the time before you ever knew that flutter of excitement, my devotee?”
Nyx Farrow’s heart would race whenever he saw a woman.
That was because a person’s pulse quickens when they are startled, afraid, or angry.
But the reason his heart pounded when he looked at Tichite had nothing to do with those negative emotions. A person could become tense and their chest could thunder not from fear, but from anticipation. Thanks to Tichite, Nyx learned this truth for the first time.
It was certainly uncomfortable that his heart would thump wildly on its own, and this kind of fluttering felt strange and unfamiliar. Yet if someone asked whether he wanted to feel it again…
“…Yes. If the opportunity arises, I would like to feel it once more.”
Though human emotions could not be so neatly divided in two, he could answer with confidence that it had been a good feeling—even to that childish question of whether it belonged to the good side or the bad.
“That’s right. We move forward by using such good memories as our stepping stones. Accept your emotions exactly as they are. If they are good feelings, then by all means, let them become the vitality that sustains your life.”
“I think I understand what you’re trying to tell me. I’ll take your words to heart—that I should cherish it as a precious memory.”
Nyx pushed through his confusion and organized (zhengli) his feelings. The saint smiled contentedly and nodded.
“Your face looks considerably more at ease now, my boy.”
The old man picked up the cane he had set on the floor and finished his lesson.
“Now, let us pray. There was no sin in your emotions, my devotee. However, since you feel remorse for having raised your voice to a woman, you need only pray about that part. Still, sins acquired in relationships with others should not end with repentance alone. It would be better to apologize directly to the person involved.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
Nyx straightened his posture once more. He pressed his nose to his interlaced fingers, closed his eyes, and offered a question to the absolute being who lived and breathed in his heart—both near and far.
‘Beloved Moon Mother, is there truly no sin in my feelings?’
If so, was it all right for someone with this hideous face to like another person?
Was a heart that suffered alone in secret free from condemnation?
Only through the lips of the Goddess he loved could he receive the answer to those questions.
After being chased out of Nyx’s room, Tichite came down to the first floor carrying a cloud of discontent. She had stayed mixed in among the tavern’s patrons ever since.
The clamor of loud voices, laughter, singing, and the miserable melody of a lute assaulted her eardrums. In that place, only Tichite sat with a listless expression, steeped in gloomy thoughts.
‘What? You don’t need me? I’m overstepping?’
The duke… no, Nyx Farrow, who had seemed on the verge of opening his heart to her. She recalled how he had suddenly bared his teeth in displeasure again, and her chest ached.
‘…I suppose I might have gone a little too far.’
She rubbed the back of her hand, chewing over regret and worry.
To lift her dampened mood, she looked around.
It was an unremarkable scene. Taverns gave off similar impressions no matter where you went, yet the differences from the Pearl Oyster Tavern in Saltcoast stood out. The most noticeable distinction was the makeup of the clientele.
Here, there were far more farmers reeking of cow dung than sailors smelling of fish. There were also quite a few women wearing bib-like aprons. That balanced gender ratio was precisely why Tichite could sip her drink in peace.
Milvian had given her money. After receiving dinner and a glass of warm mulled wine, she still had four karso left.
‘I should save this money and use it toward buying a new set of clothes next time.’
Tichite hiked up the loose hem of her trousers and made up her mind. Of course, that plan required the assumption that Milvian would continue handing her ten karso without fail at every meal.
She clenched the four coins tightly and resolved to act as if she had spent every last one.
Just then, the voice of the bard singing inside the tavern gradually grew louder. The man’s voice was less pretty than it was booming. He stood on a small stage prepared in one corner of the tavern, sleeves rolled up, performing with passionate fervor.
Aaah, let us drive them from this land. Let us begin upon this fertile soil. Let us reclaim it. Drive them out. Repel them. Restore it. Eradicate them. Aaah, let us bring bright light back to this land. Bearing fierce hatred and vengeance, revering the duty and mission of moonlight, let us advance. Let us press forward. Let us punish them. Let us answer their challenge.
The noisy tale was reaching its climax. It was an extremely propagandistic poem.
The content was a common heroic epic. Since it wasn’t a part Tichite personally found interesting, she listened with only half an ear.
The man spent several verses describing a thunderous war. Then, at one point, he thrust one hand sharply upward as if to pierce the ceiling.
“I, Nyx Farrow, have returned to prove that solemn oath I made then!”
The man uttered a familiar name. This time even Tichite jolted like someone who had hiccupped and turned to stare at the bard.
He’s famous enough to have songs written about him?
Caught between disbelief and fascination, she couldn’t help but listen closely.
The man thickened his voice more than necessary to produce a suitably weighty, protagonist-like tone and recited the lines.
“Ooh, Princess Isanta. The curse and calamity you cast upon my fate have not yet faded. Receive your just reward! I shall condemn your bedchamber filled with evil and cast off the heavy yoke upon my soul!”
The man sang with his chin raised high, then suddenly clamped his mouth shut as if he had forgotten the next note. With an intensely emotional expression, he closed his eyes and moved his lips as though about to speak but didn’t.
After he dragged out the pause for quite some time, impatient audience members began tossing coins into his hat. They urged him on with voices mixed with expectation and complaint, telling him to hurry up and continue the story.
“So what happened next?”
“Did he kill the princess?”
Pressed by the crowd, he opened his eyes wide again and resumed acting.
“Where are you? Where have you hidden, Isanta!”
The man stretched his hand toward the audience and shouted roughly. He swept his gaze broadly left and right as if searching for a plausible target.
And then, with truly fortunate timing, he spotted a Tilamin woman. The bard’s eyes widened dramatically.
“Here! I have found that lewd Princess Isanta!”
In that instant, Tichite realized she had locked eyes with the man and her body froze solid.
The bard forgot that he was supposed to be imitating the solemn Duke Farrow and broke into a wide grin. Leaving aside the man’s smile, the situation was ominous. There was no room for doubt.
The man strode forward. Tichite shot up from her chair. But her movement was a beat too late to escape. The man seized her wrist, and she ended up looking as if she had stood to cooperate with the performance.
“Come here, Isanta.”
The man yanked her wrist roughly. In the blink of an eye he had dragged her onto the stage and forced her into his little play.