Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [231]
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,