Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [203]
Wataru had no script for what he would say when he met Yacom. He only knew how much Sara missed her father, and how much pain she felt. If he could only get that across, things would work out. They had to.
As he passed through the woods and approached Lili Yannu’s hut, he noticed that the windows were boarded and no smoke came from the chimney. Wataru knocked on the door and the windows, but he got no response.
Maybe they had left together? He tried waiting around, but no one came. Wataru mounted his udai again, and set off toward the lake. He couldn’t imagine anyone going there voluntarily, but who knows? If you make your living in the swamp, perhaps a trip to the lake is a requirement.
The swamp water was jet black, even under the midday sun. Not a single ripple marred its dull matte surface. Knowing that all the impurities from the town’s rainwater had been dumped here, Wataru couldn’t help but feel something horribly unclean lurked beneath the surface. It was as if the water itself was a giant living thing, like an amoeba, silently waiting. If anyone approached, thought Wataru, the creature would lash out with a giant tentacle like a pseudopod. Once it had devoured its prey, it would settle back, perfectly still, pretending to be a great black lake once again.
Even evil and filth needs to sustain itself with energy from somewhere.
Wataru chided himself. Why do I make these things up? Is it just to scare myself? He gave himself a rap on the head with his knuckles, and urged his steed to hurry forward toward the deserted shore.
Just then he heard a faint sound coming from the underbrush at the edge of the lake.
—Kee…
Wataru stopped his udai and listened. Had he been hearing things? Had it been a bird or an animal of some kind? But nothing lived here in this swamp.
—Kee keee, kuh kuh kuh.
It was definitely some sort of animal. It sounded weak. Wataru looked around. Then he heard it again, close.
A clump of reeds just ahead of him rustled suspiciously. For the briefest of moments he caught a glimpse of something that looked like a red wing.
Wataru got off his udai, and drawing his Brave’s Sword, he slowly approached the clump. Brushing aside the reeds with his empty hand, he found the red wing immediately. To his surprise, it wasn’t a bird. Instead of down and feathers, he saw scales—deep crimson scales. And at the tip of the wing, there was a claw as big as Wataru’s own hand.
It’s a dragon.
Wataru was so startled he forgot to breathe. A dragon was lying on its side, half submerged in the water of the Swamp of Grief. Its wings and forelimbs moved weakly. It seemed to be in pain.
The dragon’s dark eyes blinked, and its long mouth snapped open. Fangs glowed white like pearls in its maw.
“Oh? A man-child!” the dragon said, raising its voice. “Yer a good manchild, aren’tcha? Help a dragon out?”
Wataru was stunned. Here was this magnificent, fantastical beast—albeit lying on its side half submerged in mud—and it spoke in a voice that was plain, almost childish.
“What’s the matter?” Wataru asked, stepping closer to the dragon, careful not to step in any puddles. The dragon lashed out a long, forked tongue and made a short barking sound. Wataru froze.
“Touch the water and you’ll regret it!” the dragon warned.
“It’s fine, I’m wearing boots. As long as I don’t lose my footing…”
The dragon assessed the youngster in front of him. “I see. Good manchild, you’ll put that sword away won’t you? Promise not to bite.”
Wataru sheathed his sword and took another step closer. Gingerly, he reached out a hand, and touched the dragon near the neck. The scales were dry and warm to the touch. A bit like Kee Keema’s shoulder.
“Are you wounded?”
The dragon lowered its eyes mournfully. “I was doin’ a few loop-de-loops and kinda got carried away, see. Lost my balance…and ended up like this.”
Now that’s funny. So dragons make mistakes too.
“So you fell? Well, you’re lucky that the ground you landed on was so soft…”
“Lucky?!” the dragon cut him off. “This swamp water is like some kind of numbing potion!