Side Colors III

by Isuna Hasekura

  While my master and I made our living doing such work, nothing lasts forever, and eventually we quit those labors, which we’d toiled at for so long. For my part, it was good to no longer begin every day with seeing my master’s worried profile as she surveyed the flock to make sure none had gone missing during the night.

  And yet, the loss of the carefree calls of the sheep did not sit well.

  It had been two weeks since my master and I began our travels—well past time for us to be over our lingering attachments. But no matter how firmly I might have believed that, as I looked up at my master’s distracted face, I found myself unable to resist putting my nose to her cheek and nuzzling her.

  I did not want to see her looking so delicate.

  “Mm…sorry. I’m fine.” My master held my face in both hands and smiled.

  While I had half wished for it, I will never forget my master’s face when she removed the bell that is the symbol of the shepherd from atop her staff.

  I gave a bark, and my breath was white.

  My master smiled self-consciously and regained her natural strength of spirit. “Well, shall we break our fast, then? Just a bit—I splurged a bit in the last town,” she said, and I couldn’t help but wince a little at the childish way she rummaged around in a burlap sack to produce some bread.

  Just because we had a bit of room in our travel budget was no cause for needless luxury, I thought, looking steadily at my master. Noticing my gaze, she giggled for some reason. “Come, Enek. Don’t be naughty.”

  She misunderstood me. My tail was not wagging because of the contents of the sack or any such frivolous reason, but rather because of my pleasure at her seemingly regaining her strength…

  “But look how white the bread is!” My master split the loaf in two and showed me the interior.

  And then the scent of the earth-nurtured wheat reached my nose.

  I wish to hold my canine nature up as a point of pride, and as such I did not try to fight my instincts.

  Around the time we were finishing our short meal, the sky began to pale.

  The stars, shining coldly in the sky like tiny fragments of ice, began to melt away, and with each step we took, we could see farther and farther.

  That said, it was not as though it was much warmer, and our breath lingered behind us in a long ribbon, the land as cold as always.

  “It’s easier not having the sheep around, but it would be nice to stay somewhere with a roof soon.” My master walked along with a strength you’d never imagine she possessed just by looking at her, planting her now bell-less staff in the ground as she went. “But I think we’ll be there today or maybe tomorrow,” she said, opening up a map drawn on a sheepskin parchment.

  While they were the tools of her job, my master would cry when her sheep were injured, scold them when they did something dangerous, and feel lonely when she was away from them. In a way, she was like their mother. Given that, I would’ve thought that she would avoid using a sheepskin map, but strangely, that seemed not to be the case.

  There were still a few things I didn’t understand about humans.

  “Anyway, what do you think about the town rumors, Enek?” my master asked as she gazed at the map. She didn’t look up, perhaps from a faint sense of unease.

  I served my master, and it was my fate to walk whichever path she chose. If that path involved a certain amount of danger, then it fell to me to hearten her.

  Having determined that, I moved my gaze from my master to the path ahead, to indicate that if she’d made her decision, there was nothing to do but proceed.

  “You’re right. After all, they say employers pay only for danger or toil.”

  I gave a bark in response.

  My master had made a name for herself as a shepherdess, but circumstances had forced her to retire. Fortunately, she had been left with plenty of money—enough for her to make her own dream a reality. She had many times told me of her desire to become a seamstress. I certainly didn’t mind her sharing her dreams with me, although I did not much like the way she spoke of them as things that could never happen.

  Given that, while I would do my utmost to help her achieve her dream now that it seemed possible, I could not do so as happily as I might have—because, as she’d said, to make one’s dream come true, one had to be prepared for a certain amount of danger.

  “They say half the people in town have died from illness.”

  If she’s afraid, then we ought to turn back, was my foolish thought.

  But my master had a reason for wanting to risk such danger. During our travels, she’d heard tell of a village stricken with sickness. The population had declined, and with it the available workers, so for the town to recover there was a need for labor.

  If true, then it would be easy for someone like my master, who had neither connections nor experience, to find work.

  But the situation would not last long. Once word began to spread that the illness had run its course, people from all around would come seeking work—which meant that the opportunity had to be seized now.

  It was a brave merchant who’d told my master of this, one who, even amid all the talk of people taking pains to avoid the town, had gone there to do business. According to him, he’d even go to the depths of hell, so long as there was someone there to trade with. Admirable of him.

  According to him, the sickness that plagued the town of Kuskov was beginning to lift, and soon there would be little to worry about—and moreover, that it was only a matter of time before word of this began to spread throughout the region.

  Time was of the essence, my master said, and no sooner had she heard the merchant’s tale than we set out. Earlier that very same day, my master had had her wish to become a seamstress flatly turned down, so that was probably another reason for her haste.

  “Still, for half the town to have died, I wonder if the Church’s prayers had no effect…,” said my master vaguely as she folded up the map.

  While she was employed as a shepherdess, my master was treated unbelievably poorly by the Church. Perhaps envious of her skill, they branded her a witch. In the face of such treatment, she maintained a pleasant heart, but it’s also true that it was a terrible burden on her. And it was perhaps a source of pride for me to serve under one who could endure such treatment without merrily taking her revenge.

  Still, I can’t help but feel some irritation at my master’s excessive honesty, which made her reluctant to take even the mildest revenge, and because of which she even now continues to acknowledge the Church’s authority.

  So I simply looked ahead without replying.

  Regardless of whether or not she knew what I was thinking, my master is not the most eloquent of humans at the best of times, so we continued down the road for a while in silence after that. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and as we warmed up, our pace quickened until we were traveling rather more quickly than the average traveler. Progress was good, and according to the map my master was consulting, we were approaching the town.

  Being an animal, more or less, I could sleep outside for as many days in a row as necessary, but my master, being human, was not so equipped. We would evidently be arriving in the evening of the next day, and rest would be the first priority—we could figure out the particulars of the plague later.

  My master was no delicate garden flower, but even the heartiest wildflower would wither if exposed to the cold wind for long enough. And she didn’t have enough meat on her bones besides.

  It seems to me that if humans don’t have fur like animals, the least they could do is try to be a little more substantial. As it is, she’d hardly have cause to complain if someone mistook her for an underfed young man.

  Just as I was thinking this—

  “Enek!”

  My tail fur stiffened at the calling of my name, but not because I’d been thinking about my master.

  When one enjoys such a close working relationship as my master and I have, many meanings can be conveyed with but
a single call of a name, depending on how it’s done.

  This particular call had a nostalgic echo to it, one that set my blood rushing.

  My master raised her staff and pointed ahead.

  “—!” I didn’t so much as think before I dashed away at such speed that I could barely hear her next call. My destination was the crest of the hill she’d pointed to.

  There were some stray, raggedy-looking sheep there, grazing lazily away.

  My claws bit into the earth, and the only sound I could hear was the wind rushing in my ears.

  The idle sheep finally seemed to take notice of me, and panicked, they tried to run. But I was not one to let these sluggish creatures escape.

  I ran and jumped with enough force to scoop divots of grass free, coming around in front of the sheep and barking a great bark.

  The sheep, pushed to the limits of confusion, merely stamped their feet, and then they were mine to instruct as I pleased. To inform them of that fact, I lifted my head skyward and loosed a howl.

  Of course, I knew that this was only a moment’s passing fancy, and indeed at the base of the hill, my master was walking toward me, laughing. But how could I resist the opportunity to howl a proud, gallant howl?

  While I felt a bit sorry for the cowed, frightened sheep, they were fortunate that I was not a ravenous wolf. When my master waved her staff, I released them and went to her side.

  When she scratched me behind the ears as though to say, Well done, it was all the reward I would ever need.

  “Sorry for startling you,” said my master to the sheep. Being wild sheep, they had a certain amount of their own pride, which they voiced with high bleats before running off. Stray sheep were not rare near towns. While only God knew how long they might live, that was just as true for me.

  I considered this as my master watched the fleeing sheep through narrowed eyes.

  She became aware of my gaze and smiled bashfully, her cheeks slightly flushed from her run. “I do feel a bit badly for the sheep, but that was fun.”

  My master had been rather bad herself.

  That evening we made camp moderately removed from the road in the space between two hills. The traveling conditions hadn’t been so bad, but we had yet to encounter a single other traveler—perhaps thanks to the rumors of a plague killing half the town’s population. Given the circumstances, we probably could have safely made camp at the roadside, but my master is a very careful person.

  Nonetheless, she found herself stunned into silence when a sparrow she was feeding scraps of bread to was taken by a hawk that swooped down from the sky and carried it off. It wasn’t the first time this sort of thing had happened, but my master never learns.

  And when she came to her senses, she took her frustration out on me, as she always does.

  I may be a knight, but there was little I could do about literally airborne attacks.

  But I obediently let my ears and tail droop, and waited for my master’s anger to pass.

  It was not long after that the sun set and we went to sleep. Without a fire, the only way to keep warm was to huddle together, and while it was less stressful not to have sheep to mind, it was unavoidable that we would drop our guard. I try to be mindful of our surroundings as I go to sleep, but it is hard to escape from that warmth. I no longer hesitated much to tuck my face back under the blanket when my master shifted, such that it was exposed to the cold. This made me little better than a house dog, I thought in my half-asleep state, but my body busied itself nestling back under my master’s arm.

  It was a difficult impulse to resist.

  Faced with choosing between my honor as a knight and the pleasant warmth of my master’s embrace, while I’m not certain whether I growled at the choice, I definitely agonized over it.

  Which is why I thought, for a moment, that what I sensed might have been my imagination.

  But immediately after realizing that it was not my imagination, I raised my head and pricked up my ears. Yet around my neck was not only the blanket but also my master’s arms, so squirming out to see was quite difficult.

  She was still asleep, and as I struggled to get out, she mumbled something and tightened her grasp, but finally I wriggled free and got my head out from under the blanket.

  It was then that I knew for certain—this was the sound of fighting!

  “Mm…Enek?”

  Since we’d been released from our duties as a shepherd, I hadn’t been the only one to fall victim to the charms of uninterrupted sleep, but that was then. She soon saw from my state that what I had sensed was quite out of the ordinary, and her eyes went immediately wide as she scanned the area.

  “A wolf?” My master had lived near a wood where wolves frequently appeared. She wasn’t afraid, though—her voice carried with it her readiness to face them should they come. “No, not wolves…”

  My master lowered her ear to the ground. She was about as good as I was at listening to the sound and discerning numbers and directions.

  Soon concluding that there were no wolves, she stood and looked around. All the while my ears took in the sounds of fighting. I stared in the direction the sounds came from, trying to warn my master of what I heard.

  Shouts and the occasional clash of iron. It was a fight between warriors.

  “Bandits?”

  Humans fear their own kind more than any wolf or wild animal—one of the world’s great ironies. My master drew closer to me, and listened carefully. She seemed to realize by my lack of growl that the danger was not moving toward us.

  My master quickly gathered up our things and slowly stood.

  “…”

  She indicated forward with her staff.

  I began to walk, then trot toward the sound.

  The moon was faintly and occasionally visible through patches in the clouds, and I cannot say that visibility was good. I was well aware that my form was easily concealed in the gloom, but for that reason I looked back several times to make sure my master had not lost sight of me.

  Finally, I crested the hill and was able to command a complete view. I turned my gaze to my master; she was lagging behind me, her body low, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  Looking down from the top of the hill, it was easy to see what was happening, despite the considerable distance.

  Flames rose from an inn nestled up against the road. It didn’t take ears as keen as mine to hear the cries coming from it.

  The inn was being attacked by bandits.

  “Wh-what’ll we do?” my master murmured. I could hardly blame her. Given her personality, she was no doubt wondering whether to try to help—but from here, it was impossible to tell how many bandits there were or how they were armed.

  My master was a kind person to the end, but that could make things difficult sometimes. I prepared my body at least to defend her life.

  A shower of sparks flew up; perhaps the roof of one of the smaller buildings had collapsed.

  “Ah—!”

  A person came running out of the front door of the main building, which the tongues of flame had yet to reach. I couldn’t make out the face owing to the darkness and the smoke, but going by the person’s clothes, they seemed to be a traveler on their pilgrimage.

  I could also see the person wobble unsteadily, either from terror or injury.

  The person staggered toward the road, and then another came after the pilgrim. This one had a sword in hand and was clearly on the side of the attackers.

  The difference in speed was like that of an ox and a horse. The pilgrim would be caught very quickly, I was sure.

  But then another figure came out of the inn’s entrance, jumping at the attacker in the time it took him to turn around.

  Next, I heard something very clearly, which meant that it was probably at least faintly audible to my master as well. “Run, please!” was the cry.

  “Enek!”

  I have no doubt her words were half out of sheer instinct. But I am a proud knight, a servant of my master. At h
er order and her staff, I charged.

  At the end of my vision I saw the attacker throw off his assailant and plunge his sword at the fallen man, then pull it free.

  But in his excitement, the attacker’s steps were unsteady as though he was drunk. He was no match for me.

  The grass deadened the sound of my footfalls, and the sound of the burning stables was my ally as well.

  Completely unaware of me, the attacker walked toward the pilgrim, who was still trying to crawl away. The pilgrim seemed to hit upon some idea and began to pray, looking up to the heavens.

  From behind him his attacker approached, smiling a cruel smile and raising his sword. But the very instant he prepared to strike his defenseless opponent from behind with that blade, he surely saw a flicker of black streak across the corner of his vision.

  Surely he saw.

  And in the next moment, my fangs sank into the wrist of his right arm, sending his sword flying away. My jaws can tear through the thickly meated rear leg of a sheep.

  I felt his bones crack in my jaw and released my grip.

  The man looked as though he’d seen a demon in the night. He fell back, and I ripped mercilessly into his right calf.

  “Help! Heeelp!”

  Then by the time I realized I’d been careless, it was too late. When I looked up, there was another man with a sword at the entrance to the inn.

  I looked around and saw my master running in my direction. The only way to settle this would be to wipe out the bandits entirely.

  “Hey, what happened?” Fortunately, the man in the doorway didn’t seem to realize what was going on. I let go of the one in front of me and leaped over him, bolting straight ahead.

  At the end of my sight, I found a face filled with shock and fear.

  He dropped a heavy-looking sack, probably filled with loot from the inn, and readied his sword. I bared my fangs at him. Given the darkness, I’m sure I looked like a wolf to him and his comrades. That wasn’t my intention, but I was perfectly happy to use it.

  He used his sword not as a weapon, but as a shield, thrusting it feebly at me. I leaped at him, and I’d only begun to bite his face when he’d already fainted. The inside of the inn was a terrible mess, and there were three people on the floor who were wearing the same clothes as the pilgrim who’d tried to escape.