Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [232]
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.
The starseers were of many ages and races, but all of them wore coats with tubed sleeves like Shin Suxin’s, making them easy to spot. There appeared to be different ranks among them, as well, each with its own costume. By far the most elaborate of the garments Wataru saw among the starseers was worn by an ankha woman about his mother’s age. She had on a rich purple coat with golden embroidery on the sleeves and hem. Her odd, conical hat was adorned with the same five-star pattern as that on the hilt of the Brave’s Sword.
They had been traveling along the mountain road through mixed forest for half a day when they saw it.
“Look, there!” Kee Keema leaned forward in his seat, pointing ahead of them. “See that rounded roof? That’s the National Observatory!”
It was already evening. The dome sparkled majestically against a pinktinged sky. It looked exactly like a planetarium from Wataru’s world. There was a half-transparent dome, with a large window cut out from it—probably, for some sort of telescope. Judging from the size, it must have been ten or twenty times larger than the one he had used in Shin Suxin’s house.
They finally left the forest and arrived at a place where they could see the National Observatory and all the town spread around it. The town looked as though it had been carved from the side of the mountain. A