Authors: Miyuki Miyabe
Brave Story (63 page)
He saw stars through a gap in the clouds below. But they were not stars; they were the lights of various towns. It was strangely quiet here in the eye of the cyclone. A constant, gentle updraft cradled him like a baby in its mother’s arms, ensuring he would not fall.
He descended gradually, at last breaking through the clouds. He had no way of knowing how far the storm had carried him—everything below was shrouded in darkness. He could see no signs of where he might be—no roofs of houses, or pastures, or mountain ridges. It seemed to him as though it wasn’t the cyclone that was descending, but rather that he was slowly moving toward the bottom of the funnel. It was like he was going down an elevator in the sky.
He touched ground. Released from the cyclone’s embrace, his right calf suddenly throbbed with pain, and he fell to the ground. The soil beneath him was wet, sodden, like a sea of mud.
He looked back around to see the silvery tail of the cyclone disappearing up through the clouds. The sky was still dark, and studded with stars.
Mitsuru had warned him that the cyclone wasn’t quite under his control. But the storm, ultimately, had been quite kind. Wherever he was now, it was certainly better than where he had been moments before. When he had seen that guillotine, it was like death had been staring him in the face. It had even been worse than the night he spent in that Gasara cell.
His life had been saved two times along the way.
The mud where he lay was cold but soft. Chilly air wrapped around him. Realizing he couldn’t sit there forever, he tried to stand, but the ground was so slippery even that proved difficult. He looked around for something to hold on to, but the only thing nearby was a patch of thin reeds, and they provided little in the way of support.
By the time he was standing on two feet again, Wataru was covered in mud. The bandage around the arrow wound on his calf was black and filthy. He knew he had to change it soon.
What was that horrible disease Mom was always saying I’d get? Tetanus or something?
Wataru parted the stand of reeds with his hands and saw a flat black expanse of ground ahead.
A clearing
, he thought. But when he approached, he found it was less of a clearing and more of a muddy lake. The water rippled faintly in the night breeze, reflecting the starlight. He stood at the quiet shore, and the cold night air enveloped him.
Wataru sneezed. He began to shiver.
Where am I now? It’s so dark here, so cold. I’m practically freezing.
He examined his surroundings by the starlight. The muddy lake was so large that much of it faded into the dark distance and he could not see the far shoreline. Behind him a wide expanse of reeds and other swamp grass extended to the edge of his vision as well. There was one irregularity: up ahead and to the right he could see a larger lump of darkness, like a small forest. A faint light came from its center. Wataru stared at it a long time but couldn’t tell what it was.
Wataru hugged himself, trying to stay warm, and began to walk.
May as well go and see what I find. Better than staying here and dying of pneumonia.
Walking will keep me warm, and maybe dawn will come soon.
The closer he got to the forest, the better he could see the object that caught his eye. It was a lantern, or maybe even a torch.
The cool, muddy flats seemed completely devoid of life. The silent night was punctuated by the soft cooing of wild birds. He could make out a small, triangular roof among the trees. It was a hut, somewhat smaller than the one where he had first met Wayfinder Lau. Even though it was partially obscured by trees, Wataru could tell the light he’d seen in the distance was emanating from its window.
He knocked on the door and called out, “Hello? Is anybody home?”
There was no answer. He knocked at the door again, announcing himself as a traveler on the road who had lost his way. There was the sound of faint footsteps, and the door opened inward. A small robed individual peered out—the robe’s hood completely masked the person’s identity.
“Sorry to call so late at night,” Wataru said, bowing his head. “I’ve lost my way, and I saw your light so I thought—if it’s not too much trouble, might I rest here a moment? Perhaps you could help me find my way?”
The voice that came from under the hood was surprisingly soft. “You’re wounded.”
It’s a woman.
Wataru looked at the fingers holding open the door. They were white and slender.
“Please, come in. That wound of yours needs tending to.”
The woman stepped to the side and let Wataru into the small room beyond. A fire was burning brightly in the fireplace. A lamp sat in the window. There was a small rocking chair—still rocking slightly—next to the fireplace where the woman had most likely been sitting a moment before.
She motioned for Wataru to sit on a small wooden stool. She immediately began to tend his injury. A while later, she brought him a mug of something hot and warm.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The woman nodded, her face still hidden in the shadow of her hood.
“You should change. I’m afraid I don’t have clothes your size, though.”
“It’s okay.”
“Perhaps just a shirt, then. I believe I have one large enough.”
Wataru was glad for her charity. Grabbing his muddy shirt and the bloodsoaked bandages, the woman stepped outside.
The inside of the hut was sparsely furnished. A small basket sat next to the rocking chair with balls of wool dyed jet black. A half-knit garment was nearby. Comfortable now, and growing more curious, Wataru looked inside the basket. The clothes were tiny—like something a child might wear. He noticed a pair of socks, also small.
Maybe she has a child?
Still, that seemed odd. The half-knitted garments in the basket, and the socks, were all black.
Who gives their child black clothes to wear?
Of course, her clothes were all black too.
“Excuse me,” Wataru asked when the woman returned. “Would you, by any chance, happen to be a sorcerer?”
The woman stopped. She seemed to be staring at Wataru.
“It’s just that, you’re wearing that hood. Maybe, perhaps, you’re a starseer? Are you doing research out here?”
The hood tilted, as though the woman was looking down at the floor. Then she slowly walked over to the rocking chair, sat, and said in a small voice, “It is perhaps best that you do not know much of me.” Her voice sounded sad, somehow. “It will soon be dawn. Already, the sky in the east grows light. Go to the far side of this woods and you will find a small road that will take you to the town of Tearsheaven. Speak to the mayor there. He shows kindness to travelers upon the road such as yourself.”
“Very well,” Wataru said, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you for everything. I’m sorry to have pried. But, really, I was in quite a fix, so thank you again. I just feel odd not even knowing your name or what you look like, and…”
Quizzically, the woman tilted her head slightly to the side. Then she lifted her white hands and drew back her hood.
Deep inside his heart, Wataru screamed.
Rikako Tanaka!
His father’s lover. The reason his father abandoned Wataru and his mother. The woman who came to their house and said it was all his mother’s fault. The similarity was uncanny. She was ghastly thin.
“Is that better?”
The woman’s voice was soft, gentle. She had not a trace of a smile on her face, and none of Rikako’s arrogance and aggression. But still, the voice sounded so much like hers. It was even possible to imagine that this was what Rikako’s voice sounded like, were she ever to speak softly.
“So long have I worn my clothes of grief, I had forgotten I was even wearing a hood.”
Wataru couldn’t speak. This, he thought, was a good thing. He had no confidence he would be able to say anything useful at the moment.
“Is something wrong? You seem quite startled,” the woman said, taking a half step toward him. Wataru took a step backward.
“My…” the woman put a hand to her cheek. “Have I frightened you, somehow? If that is so, I apologize. But please tell me, why?”
I apologize…
Those were words he could never imagine Rikako Tanaka ever saying as long as she lived.
This is Vision. This isn’t the real world. She can’t be here.
“I-I’m sorry,” Wataru said, shaking his head. “You look so much like someone I knew, it startled me.”
“I see.” The woman nodded but did not smile, not even a little. It occurred to Wataru that he was looking at a person very deep in grief.
“You said clothes of grief…are you sad?”
The woman quietly walked over to the window and put out the lamp. Then she nodded. “These wetlands, and this lake…are called the Swamp of Grief.”
Even with the lamp out, a dim light came through the window. It was nearly dawn. Wataru walked over to stand by her and look out on the black surface of the muddy lake.
“Only those in the deepest grief are permitted to live here on the shore. When our grief is gone, so too must we leave the swamp. While here, we must wear only clothes of black. When we leave, we throw these clothes into the lake.”
“And you’re not allowed to smile, I take it?”
“That’s right. While we remain.”
“Who decided all this?”
“It is the law in Tearsheaven.”
The woman looked down and rubbed her belly with one hand. “I used to live in town. Perhaps someday I shall return…”
Looking at her hand, something clicked.
I don’t believe it.
“Are you… pregnant?”
The woman nodded deeper. “Yes…”
Another thing she has in common with Rikako Tanaka. Is this a coincidence? Is there some sort of weird synchronization between Vision and the real world?
“What is it?” the woman asked, looking into Wataru’s eyes. “You’re sweating. I hope you’ve not caught a cold walking along the lake.”
Hearing the concern in her voice, Wataru tried to rein in his wildly roaming thoughts.
This isn’t her. She’s too kind. She must’ve lived an entirely different life from that woman.
Something else didn’t fit, though. A baby should be the happiest thing in the world. Yet here she was, sunken in grief.
I know,
Wataru thought,
I’ll bet the father of this child died. That’s why she’s here. That has to be it.
“I’m sure you’ll be better soon,” Wataru said, though he had no reason to believe she would. Still it gave him confidence to find that he could be gentle with this woman.
She’s not
her
.
The woman looked down at Wataru. Just then, the rising sun lit her face, casting a golden light on Rikako’s features. Wataru saw the reflected gleam in her eyes, and again the anger rose inside him, and again he forced it back down.
No. No! It’s not her!
“You’re kind to say that. Thank you.” The woman rubbed Wataru’s shoulder gently, then pushed him toward the door. “But, you should leave. And please, do not tell the people in Tearsheaven of the kind words you gave me.”
She closed the door without even saying goodbye.
Wataru walked around the hut, finding a small path leading out of the woods on the other side. The path wasn’t as wet as it had been on the shore of the muddy lake, and so Wataru walked, listening to the good-morning calls of little birds in the trees around him. Out of the woods, the road became wider, a path with ruts left from the weight of darbaba carts. Wataru came up on a sign.
Nearing Tearsheaven
Just below the neatly printed block letters announcing the town, someone had scrawled graffiti:
Happy? Stay away!
Nearing was an understatement.
The town sat in the middle of a large, even field, encircled by a pretty white stone fence. On the side facing the road was a gate much smaller than the one at Gasara. A heavily built watchman sat atop a small platform by the gate, smoking a cigarette.
Something seemed different to Wataru about this town from the other places he had visited in Vision, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. As he was thinking about it, the watchman called out in a booming voice. “You over there, boy! Have you business in Tearsheaven?”
Rubbing his hurting leg, Wataru thought. The graffiti he had seen on the sign was fresh in his mind.
Am I happy?
In the end, he replied simply, “I’m not sure.” It was the truth. “I got lost and—I’m not even really sure where this is. Am I still in the country of Bog?”
The watchman stuck his cigarette in his mouth and leapt down to the ground. He walked toward Wataru. “Not even close,” he said. “This here’s Arikita—though we’re a sight closer to the border with Bog than we are to the capital. Where did you come from again?”
“From outside Lyris.”
The watchman’s mouth gaped open, and his cigarette fell to the ground. He was a beastkin, with clear blue eyes. “That’s quite a journey! Don’t tell me you walked all that way on that leg? Looks like you got yourself into a bit of a scrape.”