Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [197]
“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!
Chapter 22
Tearsheaven
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.”
When Wataru explained that a cyclone had picked him up and deposited him in the Swamp of Grief, the watchman’s mouth gaped even wider. But it didn’t seem to be the story of the cyclone that was the source of his amazement.
“The Swamp of Grief, eh?” he said in a low growl, whiskers twitching. “Did you run into anyone by the lakeside there, boy?”
Wataru mentioned how the woman dressed in black had helped him. He had only made it halfway through his story when the watchman practically howled with astonishment. “A hut? You’re telling me he’s built her a hut? Who’d have thought Yacom had it in him!” The beastkin looked at Wataru. “Boy, welcome to Tearsheaven. The mayor would like to meet you, I’m sure.”
The watchman took one look at Wataru’s limp and offered him a piggyback ride, which Wataru gladly