Brave Story (74 page)

“A demon?”

“Yes. But not a demon as you might imagine one to be. This demon is not of venom and darkness, but of sweetness and light. It lingers near you—it is near you even now. This is what the Elder says.”

That voice that talked to him on the beach the night before—the voice that had been with him since that night in his room, in the real world. Was that whom he meant?

The Elder nodded and said something else to the adviser.

“It seems you have been aware of this.”

Wataru put his head in his hands. “But I…”

“Do not be frightened,” the adviser said. “The demon feeds on your fear. Look up, look into the Elder’s eyes.”

After being prompted a few more times, Wataru finally looked up.

The Elder, sitting there in a heap, seemed unfit even to stand on his own two feet, let alone support the hopes of an entire village. Yet his eyes—blue like the sea—burned with a light brighter than that of a man in his prime. The Elder spoke and the adviser relayed his words. “Traveler, we ancients know that Halnera is more than a trial for our people. It is a test for the two Travelers, as well.”

“You know that? You know that I might be the sacrifice?”

“I know it all. Since ancient times, whenever it has come time to renew the Great Barrier of Light, the Goddess has made things this way.”

Wataru leaned forward. “Then, how can you let it happen? It’s cruel to sacrifice people like that!”

The Elder seemed unfazed. “Vision has its own ways. You were summoned here by the Goddess, a visitor to our world…It is not your place to meddle.”

“But why don’t you do anything about it?”

“The doubt you hold in your heart—you will not be able to ease it on your own.”

Wataru’s doubt. Wataru’s dead end.

“All that you consider now—your fears of being chosen as a sacrifice, of leaving your friend behind, of abandoning your quest. All these fears you have created, and given shape, but none of these fears will disappear on their own.”

He really did know everything. Wataru sat back down weakly. He hadn’t said a word, and yet the old waterkin had seen it all.

“Traveler, you are summoned here by the Goddess, yet even still your faith in her wavers. You are losing the objective of your journey. The demon seeks to lead you from your path and into the darkness.”

The Elder continued talking and the adviser dutifully relayed his words. “These things that trouble you, they are like a mirage in the desert. You fear what does not exist, and seek to escape what cannot chase you. You are merely wasting your time. Go, meet the Goddess. The world rests within her heart.”

“But Mitsuru will get there before me…”

“It is not always the Traveler who runs fastest who will reach the Tower of Destiny.”

Huh?

“The Tower of Destiny appears only before the Traveler who has walked the true path. Young Traveler, let go of your doubts, make for the Tower of Destiny. There you will find the truth. Only when you ask the Goddess will you receive your answer.”

The Elder smiled faintly. “And only when you reach the tower and stand before the Goddess will you know the question you must ask.”

He then instructed Wataru to make for Sasaya. “Now is the time to borrow the knowledge of the great scholars. They have studied the history of Vision, and wish to know of its making. The Tower of Destiny, where sits the Goddess, is distant indeed. Yet the true path goes there directly. You must find it. Only the starseers who possess the power and knowledge of the ancients know the whereabouts of the gemstone that lights the way to that path.”

With that, the Elder leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. The adviser stood and placed a small blanket over the old waterkin’s knees.

“He is weary now,” the adviser said. “Do not forget what he has said. My hopes go with you as well, Traveler.”

Wataru hesitated and then nodded. “I will go to Sasaya as you have requested.”

“Good,” the adviser replied. “The National Observatory is there. It is a great gathering place for starseers. You will find the Observatory in the town of Lourdes. Take a darbaba. You should reach your destination in five days.”

Without thinking, Wataru grasped the adviser’s hand. “I-I don’t even know if I want to change my destiny anymore. I’m not even sure what that means.”

“Do not fret. All Travelers who come to Vision know this doubt at one time. Some are able to free themselves from it, and others are not, and fall off the path.”

“What happens if you fall off the path?”

The adviser shook his head. “That is something not known to us who live in Vision. It is something for the Goddess to decide and know.”

“That’s what I don’t get,” Wataru blurted. “How can you all just trust the Goddess to do everything, without even bothering to question it? Isn’t the weakening faith throughout Vision a sign of something? Aren’t the disturbances in Arikita and Bog a sign of unhappiness?”

Wataru had no doubt that the people upset with the news of the sacrifice and Halnera would understand how he felt. They might even go along with that suggestion—destroy the Goddess, she had said.
What if that was the correct way? What if that was the true path?

Wataru heard the gravelly voice of the Elder. The adviser quickly moved to his side, put his ear to the Elder’s lips, and returned to Wataru. “Now go, Traveler.”

The adviser put his hand on Wataru’s back and gave him a gentle push. “If your path is true, you will not see us again. In parting, let me tell you what the Elder has just said, his final words for you.”

How can you defeat a god in whom you do not believe?

Chapter 29
The National Observatory of Lourdes

The journey across Sasaya to the town of Lourdes was more depressing than Wataru could have imagined.

For one thing, he was still thinking about his discussion with Meena by the pagoda in Sakawa. For another, he couldn’t easily forget the advice he received from the Elder. He needed to put aside all his distractions and find the Goddess. But that was easier said than done…

He also wondered how Mitsuru was faring. He thought about it all the time. Where
could he be?
Wherever he was, Wataru was sure that he wasn’t wavering from the path. Undoubtedly he was using the powerful sorcery he had acquired in Vision and making a beeline straight toward the Tower of Destiny.

He’s not as weak as I am.

Now that he thought about it, he realized it had always been that way. Mitsuru was totally amazing when he saved Wataru’s life at the Triankha Hospital. The wind storm he conjured destroyed the barrier around the hospital and reduced the sula woods to a barren field of stumps.

Looking back, that was probably the best way to deal with the situation at the time.
But what about what Kee Keema said?
The cyclone had left many wounded in its wake.
Of course. There would have been injuries with that many Old God followers milling about.
There were a hundred people or more, all snatched up by the cyclone.
The injured were probably the lucky ones.
How many people had died that night, Wataru wondered.

Who cares? You reap what you sow, don’t you? They attacked us first, anyway. They caught me, locked me up, were going to execute me.

But would I have been able to do the same thing? Without any hesitation?
Would I have used all my strength like he did?

—
I’ve no idea where we will be blown to. That’s up to the wind.

Could I have cast that spell, trusting my own life to fate like that?

Speaking of which…

Wataru remembered the incident that started it all—in the Taimatsu building, with Mitsuru surrounded by Kenji and his gang. Mitsuru had summoned a demon, and the situation had flipped dramatically. That thing, Balbylone, had devoured Kenji and his two goons—Kenji head first—and swallowed their souls.

What had Mitsuru intended to do with them, really? Did he know what Balbylone would do when he called her to attack? Did he know and do it all the same?

There hadn’t been a shred of hesitation in his face. They struck him so he struck back, that was all the rationale he required. Mitsuru was always like that—unwavering. No matter what difficulties awaited him on the way to the Tower of Destiny, he wouldn’t blanch or falter.

And then there was Wataru: weak and insecure. And he knew that when it came to competitions, the strong always won. The Elder in Sakawa had told him that it is not always the one who runs fastest who finds the tower first. But Mitsuru wasn’t just fast, he was determined. Wataru hadn’t had a chance from the very beginning.

Just thinking about it made him swoon so much he had to grab on to the side of the cart to keep from falling off. Even faking a smile for the sake of his friends was out of the question.

The scenery on their trip didn’t do much to raise their spirits, either. It was fine when they left Sakawa and camped their first night in a field by the sea. But when they reached the high road, things changed. There were more people traveling on the road now. Some had loaded furniture into crude carts, and others walked with large bundles on their backs. Some were elderly, and others carried children in their arms. Darbaba carts passed by now and again, carrying those too sick or old to walk.

In the beginning, Wataru had no idea what sort of people they might be, nor where they were headed. But on their second night out, when they were nearer to the border between Bog and Sasaya, the number of people on the road had greatly increased. And soon, they all began to trade food and share stories. That was when he found out who they were.

They were refugees—hiding themselves until Halnera had finished.

“I wouldn’t go against the Goddess, not me, but what if she took my husband? It would mean the death of me and our children,” a beastkin mother leading six small children behind her explained. They had brought a tent with them but had no idea how to set it up. Kee Keema and Wataru lent them a hand.

“Where are you headed to, then?”

“I was born in a woodcutters’ village in the mountains on the border. I’ve no home there and my parents are long gone, but we still have the original hut. We’ll live there while the Blood Star hangs red in the sky.”

Her husband, a large beastkin man walking next to her, watched this exchange with a frightful frown. Later Wataru heard him scolding her. “What if they want to come along with us? We’ve a place to hide, but not all are so fortunate. You keep our plans to yourself, woman!”

Indeed, there were many among the refugees that had no particular destination. They merely wanted to go someplace where they could blend in and drop out of sight. Some asked Wataru where he was going, noticing his Highlander armband. When Wataru told them Lourdes, one replied, “Ah, with the observatory. The starseers there might know how to avoid being chosen. You might learn something, eh? Be sure to pass it along now, son.”

In the end, some decided they’d go to Lourdes themselves, and it was the same with others they passed along the way.

At the end of all these conversations, Wataru would force a smile and say, “But only one person is chosen as a sacrifice. And there’s so many people here, it’s not like you, or anyone you know, would be the one chosen. I can’t see why everybody’s so worried.”

People would agree, nodding their heads and muttering about how true it was. Some would even smile back. But then someone would frown, and a cloud would pass over their face, and they would say, “But what if the odds went against us? If I’ve any chance of getting out of it entirely, I’ll take it.”

“The rich, the merchants, and the officials have it easy,” someone complained. “They hold prayer meetings to the Goddess every day, and make places of worship, and give her flowers. None of them will be chosen, for sure.”

Indeed, the refugees on the road were mostly poor, with hardly enough money to feed themselves. What could they give to the Goddess?

“And you think that makes you more likely to be sacrificed?” Wataru asked them.

“Sure. Why, our bodies are the only things of value we have left.”

The more refugees Wataru saw on the road, the more certain of it he became. The ones leaving their homes in fear of Halnera were almost entirely poor.

It wasn’t just the refugees—they saw other things along their journey to make it even more miserable. In one town just beyond the border, from a small chapel where they would expect to hear songs of praise to the Goddess, they heard shouting and crying—followed rather unexpectedly by something that sounded like many voices chanting a spell. They approached to find a chapel in flames, and before it, a young man in a black robe standing on top of a wooden box. He was shouting a sermon, his fist raised into the air. Villagers gathered around him and watched, entranced. Bathed in their attention, the man’s eyes sparkled like sunshine on shallow pools of water.
What if he’s the next Cactus Vira? Will he lead his new flock astray in the same way?
Wataru grew more and more worried.

On the afternoon of their second day in Sasaya, they came to a fork in the road. A sign announced that the right headed to the sea and the capital of Sasaya. The left led into the mountains, toward Lourdes. The road to the left had less refugee traffic but was crowded with starseers commanding darbaba carts and udai. Some were headed from Lourdes to the capital, others in the opposite direction.