Bluesteel Blasphemer Volume 2

by Ichirou Sakaki

  In other words, they couldn’t just stay inside and wait for the threat to pass. They had to call Yukinari back. He was the only one who could fight the demigod.

  “Well, gosh, that sounds useful!” Fiona was saying. “You couldn’t have told me a little sooner?”

  “Told you?” Arlen shot back. “Could you be any more selfish and arbitrary? As I recall, it was you and the Blue Angel who took all our tools from us to begin with!”

  “Lady Fiona, Mr. Lansdowne... You’re both making a bit of a racket...”

  The two stopped their bickering. Fiona was leading Berta and Arlen toward the town’s communal storehouse, moving from shadow to shadow so as not to be noticed by the demigod.

  The storehouse had been built to hold the village’s crops and everything else they had in common, as well as goods that were bought in bulk from visiting merchants. It had plenty of space, so the weapons and equipment that had been confiscated from the missionary knights had been stored there as well. And according to Arlen, that equipment included something that would allow them to contact Yukinari.

  Its original purpose had been to allow communications between the capital and units of the Missionary Order that had been sent to remote regions. In the past, messenger birds had been often used for this purpose, but a bird could always find itself picked off by a predator, including xenobeasts or demigods. So the birds had largely been replaced...

  “Okay... We’re here,” Fiona said, leading them up to a back entrance. As soon as they were inside—meaning under a roof and away from immediate danger of being attacked by the demigod—Arlen stretched out his back and took on the haughty attitude Fiona knew so well.

  “All right, start looking! We don’t have any time to lose! It’s a wooden box, about yea big, with red and white lettering on the side and—”

  “Don’t you order us around!” Fiona said. “Anyway, you’re the one who should be looking!”

  “I’ll be trying to find a vial of holy oil!”

  They took up shouting at each other as they searched.

  “Haven’t you already been in here? When you broke in to steal the weapons and armor?” She was referring to the weapon he had wielded during the fight with the demigod, one of the arms the knights had brought with them when they came to Friedland.

  “I told you, Arnold and his sympathizer Bartok did that on their own—we just made use of what they left behind... Those weapons belonged to us in the first place, anyway! What’s wrong with taking back what’s already ours?!”

  “You had to give them to Yukinari after he beat you, so they aren’t yours anymore!”

  “U-Um, Lady Fiona...”

  “What?!”

  “I think I found it...” Berta pointed hesitantly to a box that looked just like Arlen had described: made of wood, with the name of the Harris Church written in red and white letters on the side along with the inscription “Messenger Bird.”

  “This is it, right?” she asked.

  “Right. A mechanical bird—just like the guardian saint, a product of the Church’s unparalleled craftsmen. It’s beyond even the imagining of you country rubes, moving with the help of the Church’s miraculous holy oil—”

  “Why do you always have to be so high and mighty?” Fiona demanded, even as she opened the box. And indeed, inside rested a metal bird with a body of struts and cogs, and wings that seemed real. She took it gently in hand; it was lighter than it looked.

  “Is this how you control it?” Several tuning forks were in the box with the bird.

  “Don’t touch it!” Arlen exclaimed. “It’s delicate!” He grabbed the messenger bird from Fiona.

  It appeared the device was controlled through the use of notes, and by attaching small vials of holy oil, one could determine the melody and create a series of actions for the bird to execute. In that respect, it was much the same as the statue of the guardian saint.

  “Okay, Schillings, come here.” Arlen finished fiddling with the device and beckoned to Fiona.

  “Well, do you want me not to touch it or do you want me to come help you?”

  “I don’t want you to touch it. But with this messenger bird, you don’t write your message—you use your voice. You tell it your message, then it’ll go to its destination and repeat it.”

  “You use your voice...?”

  “Yes. Call the Blue Angel with your voice. It repeats a woman’s voice better. But it can’t remember much, so keep it simple.”

  After a long pause, Fiona said, “Okay.” Arlen held the artificial bird out toward her, and Fiona spent a moment collecting her thoughts, deciding what to say. Then she took a deep breath.

  ●

  Riding on Sleipnir, which had been returned to them, Yukinari and Dasa came back to the village of Rostruch—and to their surprise, found the townspeople greeting them en masse, heads bowed respectfully.

  “I let them know that our misunderstanding has been resolved,” Ulrike, who had come with them, said with a hint of pride. Apparently, another familiar had been sent to the town to let everyone know that Yukinari and Dasa were not enemies of Yggdra, or of Rostruch.

  The familiars acted as Yggdra’s intermediaries, and the erdgod was able to communicate with them from quite a distance. Because the people offered up as living sacrifices became familiars, there was no need for priests to mediate between the people and the god. If anything, the familiars filled that role.

  If nothing else, it was certainly nice that the message had spread so quickly.

  Yukinari and the others were shown directly to the mayor’s residence and taken to something like a parlor. Yukinari would be explaining for the second time why he had come to Rostruch. If he hadn’t run into the priests, they could have had this conversation long ago.

  “Trade, you say?” the mayor asked, looking a bit surprised.

  He was a short but broad-shouldered man just entering old age. His square jaw and large nose stood out in an honest-looking face; he seemed like someone who might have been more comfortable hoeing a field than sitting at a desk doing government work.

  “It’s true that Rostruch is rather rich in crops,” he said, “but... We’ve had very little contact with the outside world. Forgive me for being blunt, but I’m not sure we have much to gain by trade.”

  “I see...”

  Certainly, Rostruch, which had the air of a hidden village, looked largely self-sufficient. This was part of what had contributed to its unique culture: not just people’s dress, but the architecture and even the religious rituals.

  “I haven’t seen the whole town, so I can’t say for sure,” Yukinari said, watching the mayor closely. “But do you have enough medicine? Are there any doctors here?”

  “I’m sorry...?”

  “It looks like you guys mostly have traditional treatments...”

  Medical science didn’t seem to have developed very far in Rostruch. The man they’d met in the seemingly abandoned building had gone blind because of an illness, and it wasn’t clear if it could have been prevented.

  For example, there’s something called nyctalopia, or “night blindness,” which was known as far back as the Edo period in Japan. It’s a condition of the eyes in which vision is more limited than it should be in dark places. Most people’s eyes can get used to the dark, but those with night blindness are unable to do so.

  Night blindness was supposed to be caused by a vitamin A deficiency. Folk wisdom in the Edo era held that one could stave off night blindness by eating eel, a common food in Japan and one rich in vitamin A. Did Rostruch have the same kind of knowledge?

  This wasn’t the only such connection that could be made. It’s common for deficiencies in diet to develop in isolated societies. The result is illnesses relatively unique to that society, some of which can be fatal. A lack of vitamin A, for example, can lead not just to night blindness, but can stunt children’s growth and produce learning disabilities.

  Of course, such problems can be resolved through long years of
trial and error. But for better and for worse, Rostruch had the system of living sacrifices to provide relief. It was possible the people of the town had never developed the technologies that might allow them to cling to life.

  And another thing...

  “When someone is slowly wasting away, that’s one thing. But what about major, sudden injuries, like from a severe accident, or a fast-moving illness? Say the person won’t even last three days. Are there cases like that, where they aren’t in time to receive Yggdra’s salvation?”

  “Well...” The mayor looked troubled. It seemed Yukinari was on the mark.

  “Dasa was born blind,” Yukinari said, indicating the girl sitting beside him.

  This seemed to take both Ulrike and the mayor by surprise.

  “...What?”

  “But that girl...”

  “Yeah. She can see now. I cured her.”

  The mayor went silent, studying Dasa. She must have found it a bit awkward, because she turned her head aside ever so slightly and pulled close to Yukinari.

  “Now, I can’t cure everything, of course. But this isn’t just about medical science. You guys seem very ready to give up on people here. Maybe we’ve figured out how to solve that in Friedland. I’ll bet if we looked, we could find meaningful knowledge and products that we could exchange.”

  He saw almost no tools made of metal in Rostruch. It was always possible that they were using stone tools, not even bronze ones. Metal objects might be very pricey. But for medicine, metal items would be indispensable: tools capable of delicate work, not liable to change shape or lose their edge in humidity or heat. They might not be dealing with surgical scalpels, but even suturing a wound required a needle.

  “It’s possible...”

  “I know people near death here consider it a joy and an honor to be offered to Yggdra. But if they could live instead, wouldn’t that be even better? And some people endure non-fatal illnesses and injuries. There’s a chance we could help them, too.”

  The mayor said nothing, but looked to Ulrike as if to discover what Yggdra thought about this. But the familiar showed no particular reaction. The mayor sighed and said, “I grant that your suggestion is attractive in some ways. But if we do what you’re saying, then... Lord Yggdra’s power...”

  He stumbled over his words a bit, but he was right. If the erdgod didn’t keep up its spiritual power and intelligence in some way, its consciousness would gradually spread thin and meld into the surrounding environment. Rostruch’s tradition of giving up its old and weak was not just a way of avoiding trouble, nor was it merely a useless superstition.

  Ulrike, who had been silent, opened her mouth. “As to that point, though I know not precisely to what extent, I can maintain myself by eating captured xenobeasts and demigods.”

  “But... Lord Yggdra...” The mayor looked distraught; no doubt he thought this wouldn’t be enough to support the erdgod.

  Yggdra was a massive plant, and its influence was strong and wide-ranging. Its consciousness might thin out quicker than that of other erdgods.

  “When Ulrike and I were first connected,” Ulrike began with a certain seriousness, “her head was full of the wish to see her mother or her father, and how lonely she was without them. She had come to the mountains in the first place because she wished to feed them mushroom soup. Before, when I was only a tree, I did not understand such feelings. But after watching over you, my offspring, for so long, and after being offered many sacrifices, I believe I understand, roughly.”

  She gave a gentle smile. She looked like such a young girl, but the smile was almost like that of a mother. “If there is a way for you to survive, try it. The desire to avoid death is common to all living things—to the beasts and the birds, yes, even the grass and the trees. There is no need to defy your own emotions out of consideration for me. When one of you feels they have had their fill of life, then let them come to me.”

  Ulrike stretched slightly to pat the mayor on the head. The impression was of a ten-year-old girl comforting her father, or even grandfather, and watching the scene, it was strangely difficult not to smile.

  “Lord Yggdra...”

  “On that note,” Yukinari said, glancing at Dasa, “it’s possible you might not need living sacrifices at all.”

  “...What do you speak of?”

  It was Dasa who answered. “Holy... oil. What the Harris Church... uses... for their ‘miracles.’”

  “Miracles...?”

  “A liquid... produced by alchemy. It can store up heat and power. Including spiritual power. At least... that was its original... purpose.”

  Dasa, who had been an assistant to her alchemist sister despite being blind, was in a better position than Yukinari to offer a simple and accurate explanation of this subject.

  “At the Great... Cathedral of the True Church of Harris, they circulate... holy oil to capture the spiritual power of the... believers’ prayers. The oil can also be used... to perform various ‘miracles.’”

  To the average believer, who knew nothing of any of this, it seemed miraculous that something like the statue of the guardian saint could move. And it was furthermore amazing that the devices were driven by a red liquid that looked like blood.

  “Demigods and xenobeasts want to eat humans... eat their brains... because of the wealth of spiritual power there. Spiritual power is the basis of intelligence, and humans have more of it than any other creature. Call us the top of the spiritual food chain. By... using the medium of prayer to gather spiritual power from people, and... holy oil to hold it, it’s possible to store up... spiritual power for use at another time...”

  Suddenly, Dasa stopped, blinking as if she had just realized something. “...You understand?”

  “Eh, more or less,” Yukinari said with a half-smile. He glanced at the mayor and Ulrike—or rather, Yggdra—who both nodded.

  The mayor said, “So... Instead of offering living sacrifices, we could offer our prayers, and then use the holy oil...”

  “As a substitute, yes.” Dasa nodded. “As long as we have the ingredients, I can make... holy oil. Yuki can... too. We can also teach... anyone who wants to learn. Though we’ll need... tools.”

  The mayor made a sound of wonder.

  Tradition is an important link between the present and the past, but keeping to it too slavishly can prevent the introduction of new ideas. Because the system of living sacrifices had never been a real issue over the course of hundreds of years, the people of Rostruch had never considered replacing it with something else.

  “We’re not saying you need to change everything right away,” Yukinari said, feeling relieved that things seemed to be going well. “But it might be good to have some options available.”

  What types of goods the two towns might trade, including holy oil, was something they would have to work out in more detail. But since Rostruch seemed open to the idea, Friedland stood to become a more prosperous place. Then, maybe the Friedlanders would feel they had enough excess to support the children at the orphanage.

  “Now that I think of it,” Ulrike said, “there were those priests and knights from Friedland...”

  “...Er...” Yukinari and Dasa were suddenly reminded of the people who had gotten them into this mess to begin with.

  “The question remains of what to do with them,” the familiar said. “There is no doubt they deceived me. But they came to Rostruch despite attacks by xenobeasts that ate several of their companions. They must have had a reason for doing so. I cannot say they deserve death, but neither can they be left alone.”

  “I suspect—”

  Yukinari was about to explain what he thought they were there for when they were interrupted by a sound as loud as thunder:

  Yuuuukiiiinaaaaaaariiiiii!

  They all jumped at the noise, which called Yukinari’s name from directly overhead.

  Heeeellllllllpppp uuuuuussssss!

  “Wh-What the hell?!”

  “A sound from outside, it would seem.”


  “I think it came from over here.” The mayor walked to the window and opened the shutter. Yukinari and Dasa thanked him, then rushed over to look out.

  “Yuki, there.” Dasa pointed to the sky. Something white flew through the cloudless blue. It was flapping its wings like a bird, but he had never heard of a bird that could shout “Yukinari, help us!” loudly enough to be heard all over Rostruch. And although the voice had been somewhat distorted—by the volume or the altitude, he wasn’t sure—it had sounded an awful lot like Fiona’s.

  The bird, or whatever it was, circled in the sky over the town, repeating “Yukinari”—“help us”—“the demigod from earlier...”

  “The demigod? No way...”

  She couldn’t mean the four-winged monster. Yukinari had left it on the brink of death, but just as Dasa had said, it didn’t seem to have left any particular impression in that bird-like head. Or maybe it wanted revenge, or a rematch with Yukinari. Whatever the reason, it had attacked Friedland.

  He didn’t know how quickly the birdlike object could fly, but it was unlikely that it could transport itself instantaneously from Friedland to Rostruch. That meant a fair amount of time had probably passed since the town had been attacked.

  “Right when I leave for a few days...!”

  He’d left three Durandalls and about a hundred bullets behind, and while that might have been one thing against a normal land-bound demigod, the short-range pistol rounds Durandall used would be much harder to aim at an enemy that could fly in the sky. All the worse if the person with the gun wasn’t used to shooting. Meaning...

  “Damn! It’ll take at least half a day to get back, even on Sleipnir!”

  Who knew if Fiona and the others could hold out that long? In the worst-case scenario, it was even possible the demigod had already wreaked havoc on Friedland. People might be dead—dozens, hundreds.

  “We’ve got to get home as quick as we can,” Yukinari said, his voice starting to strain with panic. He was about to dash from the mayor’s house when someone took his hand.