Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [363]
Joy, anger, sadness, and happiness. What other emotions were there? Maybe it wasn’t worth worrying about. The gate had opened anyway.
Wataru was running out of time. He turned his feet toward the gate. His heart thumped in his chest.
As he walked through, everything swirled around him. For several seconds, he could see nothing but a dazzling whirlwind of light. When his vision cleared again, everything had changed.
He was in the Swamp of Grief.
It was a perfect replica. The flat surface of the water somehow managed to look just as ominous, even in crystal. He half imagined that somewhere down there was a crystal kalon, waiting for prey, its sawlike teeth bared and menacing. The meager clumps of grass growing around the edges of the lake would cut a man’s hand if he wasn’t careful. If his feet should catch on a root, and he fell into the water, his body would freeze. The black water of the Swamp of Grief would numb him with its poison, slowly robbing him of life.
Am I supposed to cross this?
Wataru hesitantly took a step and found the surface of the lake to be solid under his foot, as though it were frozen. No matter what shape it took, crystal was crystal after all. Still, with every step, Wataru couldn’t help but imagine the kalon swimming somewhere far below. What if it came up through the surface of the lake to claim its victim?
I’m fine, I’m fine. That can’t happen. He walked hesitantly at first, but soon regained his confidence. From then on he walked normally. I just need to make it to the other side of the lake.
As he walked, he remembered what had happened to him in the real Swamp of Grief. He couldn’t help it—the details of the vision he had seen there were etched indelibly into his memory: the other Wataru, the murder of Yacom and Lili Yannu, the stone-baby that had chased him.
Had it all been a hallucination brought on by the toxins in the swamp water? Had poison found a way into his heart when he met the pair who looked like his father and his father’s lover? That would explain the horrible outcome of that encounter. He never wanted to go back to the Swamp of Grief again, and here he was walking through it once more.
Let’s get this done with quickly. He tried to shut off his memories so he wouldn’t have to see the faces of Satami and Sara again. And he especially didn’t want to think about that crawling baby that continued to haunt him with every step he took. Wataru had to stop and shake his head to keep the phantoms at bay. He had reached the center of the lake. Seen from the middle, the Swamp of Grief was almost a perfect circle, rimmed by the marsh and thickets of sickly-looking grass.
Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to him. The circle is like a stage. I’m the only actor in a show of one. And my audience? The sullen swamp air and a few muddy clumps of reeds. Lovely.
Then he heard a voice.
—Traveler.
Wataru tensed.
—Young Traveler, Wataru.
The voice was mechanical, flat—if crystal itself could speak, it would probably sound just like this.
—If you come to kneel at my feet, you must prove beyond all doubt that you are a Brave.
To kneel? Is the Goddess talking to me?
—As the hand of the mother guides her child from morning to evening, I beseech you—call home the split soul, the wandering one. Call him back to you.
Call what back? How do I prove who I am?
The voice of the Goddess spoke again before Wataru had time to sort his muddled thoughts.
—Now, rise, and triumph!
At a loss, Wataru stood, then he saw it.
Something was approaching from the far edge of the lake—a person, walking toward him, one step at a time. Something about his gait seemed familiar—the shape of the head, the angle of the shoulders. Then he realized why it seemed so unnervingly familiar.
He was looking at his own reflection. It was another Wataru.
His jacket was off, a sword was stuck through the hempen belt at his waist, even the wear on the soles of his weather-beaten boots was identical. The only thing different was his expression. His mouth