She wanted him to understand this.
That night, she had said it would be troublesome if he understood, but now that the conversation had come to this point, it was quite clear she had decided that the opposite was true.
Holo was a wisewolf. She did not do pointless things, and she was very rarely wrong.
So this had to be something he could understand from what he had been presented with here.
Lawrence’s mind raced.
His keen memory, which was a point of pride for Lawrence as a merchant, worked to recollect everything.
Eve’s words. Holo suddenly wanting to leave. Something that being a merchant, he should be able to understand. And Holo’s fear.
None of them seemed to have anything to do with one another, and he didn’t have the faintest idea how they connected.
Wasn’t the fact that the journey had been bright and joyful reason enough to want it to continue?
Every journey came to its end, but Holo surely wasn’t trying to evade that inescapable fact. She should have understood that all along; Lawrence certainly did. He was confident that at the journey’s proper end, they would part with smiles.
There had to be some meaning to her wanting to abandon the journey in the middle.
The middle of the journey. This particular opportunity. Because she couldn’t hold out until they reached her homeland…
When he got that far, Lawrence began to feel like he was finding the connections.
Joyful. Journey. Timing. Merchant.
He froze, stricken, unable to hide the shock he felt.
“Have you realized?” she asked with a measure of exasperation, removing herself from Lawrence’s lap and standing. “In truth, I would have preferred you not to, but if I let it go any longer, I’d lose the best chance. You understand, don’t you, what I mean by this?”
Lawrence nodded.
He understood all too well.
No. He had vaguely known all along. He just hadn’t wanted to accept it.
Holo drew away from Lawrence without betraying much reluctance, then stood from the bed.
Watched by those red-brown eyes of Holo’s, he murmured, “Even you haven’t seen such a tale?”
“Tale? Whatever do you mean…? Oh, I see. You’re quite clever with your words.”
Broadly speaking, there were two types of tales in the world. Some tales had happy endings while others had unhappy endings.
In truth, there were really four types, but the remaining two were too difficult for humans to create, and humans were too imperfect to understand them.
If there were any who could create and read those tales, that would be a god, and it was that which the Church promised after death.
“Stories where they live happily ever after,” said Lawrence.
Holo walked wordlessly over to the corner of the room, picking up the pitcher of wine that sat there next to their things. When she looked back, she smiled. “There is no such thing. Of course, I enjoy speaking with you. I enjoy it too much – so much I just want to eat you up.”
If Lawrence had heard her say this when they’d first met, if he had looked into her narrowed, red-tinged eyes then, there was no doubt he would have been afraid.
And yet now he felt no particular worry.
Holo wanted to return to the way they were when they had first met. That fact pierced his heart.
“But no matter how delicious the treat, one cannot go on eating the same thing forever, can they? It becomes tiresome, does it not? And worst of all, as I enjoy it more and more, I’ll begin to need more and more stimulation, and then what? You know, don’t you, what lies at the top of those stairs?”
Once Lawrence had trembled to hold her hand, but now Holo could embrace him without incident, and he kissed her hand as easily as one could please.
When he counted the things beyond that, Lawrence understood something that terrified him.
In the face of the long time that stretched ahead of them, there was not much they could do.
They could change hands and change goods, but the end would come before they knew it.
They could continue to climb the stairs.
But there was no guarantee those stairs would always exist.
“Eventually I will not be able to get what I crave, and all the talk that was once such a delight will fade, its joy remaining only in memory. And it’s then that I will think back to how much fun it was when we first met.”
Her unkind look seemed deliberate.
“That is why I was frightened. Frightened of the way it sped the erosion of this delight. The way your” – Holo took a drink of wine from the pitcher – “kindness did,” she finished as though accusing herself.
Holo the Wisewolf.
A wolf who had lived for centuries, who had ensured the wheat harvest, and who feared loneliness above all else.
There was an aspect of this fear that was difficult to understand. The way she hated being respected and feared as a god could not be understood simply with reason, Lawrence felt.
Of course, because she lived for such a long time, the number of creatures who lived as long as she did was very low, which made her particularly susceptible to loneliness.
But here and now, Lawrence finally understood the answer, the reason why despite living as long as she did, Holo did not seek out similar creatures to her – no, couldn’t.
Holo had said that she was not a god.
And this was the true reason.
God, it was said, had created a heavenly kingdom where neither old age nor sickness existed, where bliss was eternal.
But Holo could do no such thing.
Just like a human, she could only become accustomed to something, then tire of it, passing the dim night thinking, Ah, it was such fun at first.
She could not stay happy forever.
And this wisewolf, having lived as long as she had, knew all too well that her simple, girlish wish could never come true.
“I’ve long been impressed at how clever you humans are to have the saying, ‘All’s well that ends well.’ Though I might think to myself, ‘Oh aye, it’s quite so,’ I still find myself unable to summon the resolve to end something that gives me pleasure. I don’t know what would happen if you came with me all the way to my homeland. That’s why I wish to end our travels here, so that it can be a delight from start to finish.”
Lawrence had no words. He took the pitcher when Holo walked over to him and offered it.
There was nothing positive in her words, yet somehow he heard a note of resolve in her voice, perhaps because she was close to turning defiant.
“Are you not close to achieving your dream? Is this not the perfect time to bring this chapter of your story to a close?”
“I… suppose so,” said Lawrence. It was why he hadn’t interrupted her.
“Also, I was thinking of telling you later and surprising you.” Holo suppressed a giggle, sitting down next to Lawrence as though the entire conversation had never happened. She twisted around and picked up the book that lay at the bedside. “I was in the book,” she said with a strangely rueful smile, which was surely because of Lawrence’s surprise upon hearing those words.
Even though he had not betrayed the slightest emotion when she spoke of his dream being near.
“There were all sorts of things in the past, things I’d forgotten about entirely until seeing them,” said Holo, flipping through the pages, then turning the book toward Lawrence.
As if to say, “Read.”
Lawrence traded the book for the pitcher, dropping his eyes to the page.
The tales, written in a precise, ceremonious hand, were of a time when people still lived in ignorance and darkness.
The name of the Church was nothing more than a mere rumor from a far-off land.
And there, just as the chronicler Diana in the pagan town of Kumersun had said, was Holo’s name.
“‘Wheaten tail,’ they say. Such complicated words,” said Holo.
Lawrence
felt as though the phrase was not far off the mark but said nothing.
“Looks like you’ve been a heavy drinker since ancient times,” he said, resigned, as he read the relevant section, and far from injuring her mood, Holo puffed out her chest and sniffed proudly.
“I remember it vividly even now. There was a rival drinker, a girl a bit younger than you, arid we weren’t so much drunk as we were unable to fit any more liquor in. And in the end, it was even more heroic, you see–”
“No thanks. I don’t want to hear any more,” said Lawrence, waving her off. He didn’t even have to think about this in order to know how she had put an end to the contest.
And yet, while there was indeed a tale of a drinking contest, it seemed more like a heroic saga of Holo and the girl she had drunk against than anything else.
Perhaps that wasn’t surprising.
Holo giggled. “Ah, but that’s nostalgic. And I’d forgotten it entirely until reading it.”
“Drinking, eating, singing, dancing. I’m sure it’s been rewritten any number of times, but the fun atmosphere still comes through. Surely most of the old legends were comedies.”
“Aye. ’Twas a delight. Come now, stand up.”
“…?”
Lawrence did as he was told, standing up from the bed.
He then set the book down as Holo directed him to.
Just as he wondered what she was doing, Holo strode toward him and took his hand.
“Right, right, left, left, left, right – you see, do you not?”
He didn’t even have to think about this.
It was the ancient dance that Holo had danced in the story.
But when he stood near her, Lawrence understood.
It was obvious what lay beneath her bright exterior.
Holo said that she wanted to stop traveling because it was too much fun.
“This dance is bad if you’re drinking, though. Your eyes will start to swim before you know it,” she said, looking up at Lawrence and smiling, then dropping her gaze to the floor. “So it’s right, right, left and left, left, right – got it? Right, here we go!”
Lawrence had never danced a proper dance before, although Holo had forced him out into the streets on Kumersun’s festival night where he had danced all night.
With that much practice, anyone would be halfway decent.
When Holo cried out “There!” and put her foot out, Lawrence matched her and did likewise.
Norah the shepherdess had done the shepherds dance to prove her identity. Dances were everywhere. There were countless dances, but they all resembled one another.
Lawrence matched his steps to hers on the first go, which visibly surprised Holo.
“Hmph.”
She had probably looked forward to making fun of his clumsiness, thinking it would not go so easily.
Step, step, step… They moved their bodies lightly and easily, and soon it was Lawrence who was leading Holo, her feet being more prone to getting tangled. Once a person understood that this sort of thing was more about confidence than technique, all one needed was audacity.
But Holo’s surprise only dulled her movements for a moment.
Soon she was gliding smoothly, occasionally becoming slightly confused in an obviously deliberate manner. Lawrence wondered if she was trying to make him step on her feet.
He would not fall for it, of course.
“Hnn – hmph.”
They looked like two puppets whose strings were being controlled in unison. That was how closely their movements matched.
Right, right, left, left, left, right – the movements were simple, but they continued through the steps of the dance there in the small room without stopping once.
It was only when Holo surprisingly stepped on Lawrence’s foot that the dance came to an end.
“Whoops–” was all Lawrence had time to say before they fortunately wound up together on the bed.
Their hands remained clasped together.
Lawrence unpleasantly suspected Holo of doing this on purpose, but she looked stunned, as though she had no idea of what had just happened.
At length, she returned to herself and met Lawrence’s eyes.
“… What are we doing here?”
“I suspect it would be better not to ask.”
Holo ducked her head ticklishly and showed her canines.
She seemed genuinely happy.
Perhaps that is how she found the ability to continue.
“The direction to my homeland was also written.”
Lawrence remembered the contents of the book, a smile lingering on his face from their foolish exchange, and nodded.
In the book, it was written that Holoh of the Wheat Tail came from the mountains of Roef, twenty days’ journey on foot in the direction of sleep and birth.
North was sleep, and east was birth. Giving meanings to directions like this was not uncommon.
And the most decisive part of the tale was the reference to the mountains of Roef.
Lawrence knew the name.
It was the name of a tributary of the Roam River, which itself flowed past Lenos.
There was very little doubt that within the mountains of Roef were the headwaters of the Roef River. With this much information, Holo could easily find her way home, even on her own.
And Lawrence doubted his expectations were wrong.
His only mistake had been loading that wheat into his wagon bed that day in Pasloe.
“So, have you read them all?” Lawrence asked quickly, lest the silence expose their lies for what they were.
As Lawrence and Holo began to sit up, their joined hands separated.
“I have. The oldest tells the tale of the beginning of this town, of the person who set up the first pillar of the first building for people to live in, though it was uncertain whether he was really a person.”
“A friend of yours, then?”
“Maybe.” Holo laughed at the banter. “Still,” she said, righting herself, “we ought to return the books before we spill wine on them. It’s not as though we need to copy them, and most of it was already in my head to begin with.”
“Indeed. And there’s no guarantee you won’t fall asleep on them and get drool all over the pages.”
“I do not do such things.”
“I know. Just like you don’t snore,” said Lawrence with a smile, standing up from the bed – pretending as though if he didn’t, he was liable to be bitten.
“Would you like me to tell you just what things you talk about in your sleep?” Holo asked, eyes half-lidded.
Lawrence’s heart skipped a beat at her words.
It was all he could do to keep the sadness he felt at this exchange from showing on his face.
“I expect it goes something like this: ‘I beg you, please, don’t eat anymore!’”
There were also frequent dreams where he was able to eat as much delicious food as he wanted.
Yet since meeting Holo, he had seen his nightmare of having to foot the bill for someone eating like that come true many a time.
“You’re making fully enough to pay for it,” retorted Holo, climbing off the bed opposite Lawrence.
As if they were pretending to quarrel.
“Sure, in hindsight. If we hadn’t made money in Kumersun, you would literally be devouring all my assets.”
“Hmph. Doesn’t the saying go, ‘If you’ve eaten poison, you may as well eat the whole dish?’ If it came to that, I’d just gobble you up, too.” Holo licked her lips theatrically, looking at Lawrence with hunger in her eyes.
He had known this was an act for ages.
But something different lay behind that look that he now understood painfully well.
Somewhere along the line, their bond had been broken. It was very sad, but not so sad that he couldn’t bear it.
What was saddest was that it was because of a mean-spirited god.
“I’ll just bet. So, once we’ve returned the book, what do you want to eat?” quer
ied Lawrence.
Holo’s tail swished as she smiled unpleasantly. “We’ll decide that once we’re there.”
Their conversations, at least, were as fun as they always had been.
Chapter Four
The next day Holo and Lawrence left the inn shortly past noon, telling Arold that they were going to Rigolo’s house but would return.
It seemed unlikely that during the short time they would be out, the council’s decision would be made public, but there was always a chance. Arold nodded silently, never taking his eyes off the charcoal fire.
They ventured out into the town, again walking down its cramped, narrow streets.
Unlike the previous time, puddles were in short supply – as was conversation.
Holo asked him over and over again about details of the deal she had long since understood, just to show she was being thoughtful.
“Seems all is going well, then,” she finally said.
One of the spots where Lawrence had so gallantly lent Holo his hand to help her cross was gone. In its place was a hole, perhaps dug by some mischievous youngster, and although the water level was lower, it was still a puddle.
Thus, it was the only opportunity Lawrence had to once again extend his hand, which Holo accepted before crossing the hole.
“Yes, all’s well. A little too well,” he said.
“You’ve been burned many times in the past,” said Holo, eliciting a smile from Lawrence.
His fear was mostly because of the size of the profit that awaited him on the other side of the deal.
He didn’t think Eve was laying a trap for him, and in any case, luring someone into a clever setup was not such a simple thing to do.
They were borrowing money, buying up goods, and selling them at a profit – that was all.
As long as their trading succeeded, there was naught to worry about.
If she were trying to strong-arm him into some kind of trap, like forcibly stealing the goods from him midway, she wouldn’t have suggested a ship for transport.
The river was a more important trade route than the road, and many vessels plied it.
It would be nearly impossible for a robbery to be carried out along it without someone noticing.
There really seemed to be no problems.
“How many thousands did my body fetch, I wonder?”
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