Brave Story

by Miyabe, Miyuki

  “Love is the most important thing a person can know,” Yacom said, his tone like that of a preacher giving a sermon. “If you should win love once, you’ll know it is harder than death to let go. Of course, I can guarantee you’ll never meet your true love.”

  Wataru let his gaze drop to the mud beneath his feet. “What about how Satami feels? What about the love she feels for you? Isn’t that real? If what you said is true, then won’t it be harder than death itself for Satami to give up her love?”

  Yacom shook his head. “Satami doesn’t love me. She was only clinging to me for a livelihood.”

  “How can you just decide that?!”

  “You seem to be making a lot of decisions about other people’s affairs yourself, boy.”

  Wataru didn’t back down. “What about Sara, then? What about the love she has for her father?”

  “That’s different. That’s the love between a parent and a child.”

  “You’re a coward. You’re making up logic just to suit your own whims. Did you know that every time an udai passes by Tearsheaven, Sara runs out as fast as her little legs will carry her. She thinks it’s you coming home. Tell me you can look her in the eye and say what you just told me.”

  For a moment, Yacom fell silent. Then, suddenly, his uninjured right hand moved swiftly, scooping up a clump of mud from the ground and flinging it at Wataru. The young boy ducked to the side, but the wet mud left a trail across his cheek. “Are you crazy?!”

  Yacom’s eyes were blazing. Hatred shone from them, just as it had when he first drew his magegun.

  “Kids…kids…kids!” Yacom shouted. “What’s so special about kids! She wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for me! Just being someone’s kid doesn’t give you the right to latch on to them for your whole life! Bah!” Yacom was raging now. “A life that depends on someone else is not even worth living. I’ll kill her myself, with my own hands if I have to. Satami too! If she can’t live without me, then I’ll spare her the trouble!”

  Wataru felt his breath catch in his throat. His cheeks were burning. He looks just like Dad. No, he is Dad. That voice in my ears isn’t Yacom’s, it’s his. This is Akira Mitani talking to me, saying these things.

  —I’ll never abandon you, Wataru.

  —If I didn’t exist, you never would have been born.

  —I’ll just pretend you weren’t born. It never happened. I wasn’t there.

  —I won’t abandon you. I’ll erase you.

  That’s what you want, isn’t it Wataru?

  Wataru felt dizzy. His legs buckled beneath him. The anger in his heart seethed like magma, yet at the same time, it felt impossibly distant, like his mind and his heart were at opposite ends of the galaxy.

  I’m going to fall.

  Wataru stuck out his hands, searching for something to hold on to. There was nothing. He wobbled and lurched to one side.

  “What’s wrong with you, boy?” he heard Yacom asking. His voice sounded muted, like he was hearing him from the other side of a window. It wasn’t just Yacom. Everything seemed turned down: the chill of the Swamp of Grief, the gloomy breeze; it was as though a translucent wall separated him from his surroundings. Like he was inside a fishbowl looking out at the world outside.

  “You should go home,” Yacom said, a slight smile playing across his lips. “Go home and ask your dad. Ask him which one of us is right—you or me. He’ll say I’m wrong, of course. But, boy, he is lying. It’s not the truth. It’s not what he really thinks. If he had to make a decision that would affect his entire life, the only life he gets, he’d come to the same conclusion as I have. You’d be abandoned. And what of it? He gave you your life. You should be grateful for that. And if he wants to throw you out, well, you’ll just have to live with it, won’t you?”

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 24

  A Vision of Death

  Falling. Pulled backward. Crashing into the ground straight as a board, looking up at the sky. Standing at the edge of the water, feeling the sand underneath your feet being washed away by the waves—that’s what it feels like. Falling, falling, falling…

  But Wataru didn’t fall.

  He watched himself split into two.

  A translucent Wataru stepped out of his body, like a soul leaving its earthly shell. The soul-Wataru stepped out on the muddy lake, turned and looked back, and smiled knowingly.

  Wataru didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He was paralyzed, unable to move a single finger.

  It was the mud.

  The mud that splashed against his cheek—its poison has begun to work on me. That’s why I’m paralyzed. And the Wataru standing in front of me, that’s an illusion, a phantom. The poison is making me see things.

  The phantom took a step toward Yacom. Then, smoothly, it drew the Brave’s Sword.

  Yacom was sitting in the mud, face twisted with fear. He was shouting something at it.

  The ghostly Wataru raised his sword. Yacom covered his face with his own wounded arm. He began screaming for his life.

  —No. I wouldn’t do that.

  The sword shone in the phantom’s hands, its edge gleaming.

  I don’t want to kill Yacom I don’t want to kill Dad I don’t hate Dad this isn’t my dad this isn’t me—

  Then the Brave’s Sword swung down.

  One stroke, two. Yacom screamed, crawling away on all fours. The blade stuck into his back. In vain, he tried to wrest the sword away from the Wataru apparition. The sharp edge cut into his palm.

  Yacom was covered in mud, his face streaked with his own blood. He trembled in fear and could barely move—yet still he tried to escape. The phantom grabbed him by the collar, and put the sword to his neck.

  No!

  The Brave’s Sword broke flesh and blood shot out like a fountain, splashing on the phantom’s shirt. Yacom groped desperately for some salvation, but none came. His arm dropped back down to the ground and did not move again.

  The specter drew the sword from Yacom’s body. He gave it an expert flick, and blood sprayed from the blade. Casually, the sword was resheathed, and Wataru’s supernatural twin gave the corpse a swift kick in the side.

  With another kick, Yacom’s body rolled deeper into the shallows. The lake water seeped into Yacom’s clothes, and finally, the weight dragged him down toward the bottom of the swamp.

  The dorsal fin of a kalon broke the water’s surface. Wataru stood paralyzed as before, frozen to his core with fear. The kalon traced a wide arc around the spot where the corpse sank. A tailfin like a great scythe lifted from the water and slapped at the surface of the lake. The great fish disappeared into the watery depths, leaving an evil silvery afterimage on Wataru’s retinas.

  The boy’s phantom was observing him, a kind smile on his face. Wataru wanted to shake his head, but he couldn’t move. He wanted to shout, What have you done? but he had no voice.

  Still smiling, the apparition turned his back and began to walk away. Wataru found himself following. Even though his legs couldn’t move, even though he couldn’t walk, he was following. It was almost as if Wataru were the ghost, immaterial, floating through the air.

  Where are we going? Wataru’s doppelgänger walked steadily forward. His feet squished down in the muck of the swamp, and his head bowed.

  Eventually, Lili Yannu’s hut came into view. The phantom Wataru walked toward it. He opened the door without knocking or hesitating. Then he stepped inside.

  The woman dressed in black was sitting silently in her chair. She held her hands over her face, beneath a large cowl.

  Wataru stood next to her, and Lili looked up. Tears streaked her face.

  “Ah,” she gasped. “You have killed him.”

  The avenging specter drew his Brave’s Sword and smiled.

  “I helped you, yet you killed the man I love,” Lili said, reaching out and clinging to the hem of his robe. “Why? Why did you kill my Yacom? What evil did he—did we do? We were only in love. We had final
ly found our true love. Why did you cut him down a like a common criminal? Why did you sink him in the lake, and leave him for the kalon to eat?”

  Wataru’s phantom image readied his sword. “You are evil,” he said. Still smiling, he drove his sword through Lili Yannu’s chest. She slumped from the chair without a word onto the floor—a lifeless pile of black cloth.

  Sheathing his sword, the apparition stepped closer to Wataru. Suddenly, his head snapped upright, as though waking from a daydream, and his entire body tensed with the shock of suddenly being whole again.

  He found himself standing outside Lili Yannu’s hut. The door was shut tightly. Wataru was out of breath, as if he had been running at full speed. He was drenched in sweat.

  It was all a nightmare.

  I was seeing things. None of this really happened. If I just reach out my hand and open the door, Lili Yannu will be sitting there in that chair, knitting baby clothes out of black wool. She’s not dead. She’s not dead because I didn’t kill her.

  It was the easiest thing in the world to check. All he had to do was knock on the door. Hello, is anyone home? She would open the door, and he would smile.

  Well, what are you waiting for? Do it.

  —I can’t.

  Though he didn’t consciously think to do so, Wataru’s legs moved him away from the door.

  I can’t do it. I can’t.

  Back to the lakeshore. There, where I helped Jozo out of the water, my udai will still be standing, waiting for me. I’ll mount up, and go back to Tearsheaven. I’ll have the doctor take a look at me. The lake water hit my cheek. I need an antidote. Then I’ll change into a dry shirt, and go see how Sara is doing.

  The door to Lili Yannu’s hut suddenly opened. Through a gap of maybe four inches came a tiny hand. Followed by an arm, then a face.

  It was an infant. It was naked, with chubby round arms and legs. Its face looked like a cherub from some painting, except that its eyes were closed.

  Something about it was wrong. Something was strange. This wasn’t an ordinary child. Its skin…

  Its skin was gray. The color of stone. A child made of stone.

  The stone-baby stepped clear of the door and turned to Wataru, its eyes still tightly shut. Wataru realized with a start that the child was blind. Then the baby opened its mouth and spoke, not with the voice of a child, but with the heavy, gravelly voice of an old man.

  “Killer,” it said. “Killer without blood. Killer without tears.”

  Wataru’s hair stood on end. His legs began to shake.

  “When you took their lives, you took mine as well. Never will my eyes know the light of day, never will my mouth know my mother’s breast, never will my ears know her soft lullaby, never will my feet know the feel of the earth beneath them.”

  Wataru stepped back, slowly shaking his head. “It wasn’t me.” His voice came in trembling fits and starts. “I didn’t kill them.”

  “Your excuses are empty,” said the baby, pointing a chubby finger in accusation. “What will become of your tainted soul? What will become of my sorrow? My body is stone, my tears are dry.”

  Wataru screamed. “I didn’t kill them!”

  The baby’s mouth twisted into a hideous scowl. “I will take your sword, stab your body, and carve your soul from it. Your flesh will rot, your bones left bare to the wind upon the frozen ground, singing hollow curses for a hundred nights and a hundred dawns. You will never know the peace of death, and your soul will wander, forever burning in the hellfires of sin, deep within the chaotic abyss!”

  Then the baby came at Wataru with unbelievable speed, crawling on its arms and legs. Wataru turned and ran.

  No matter how far or how fast he ran, when he looked over his shoulder, there the stone-baby was, speeding after him. Wataru tripped and clawed his way back to his feet. And when he looked back over his shoulder again, for an instant he saw people in the air above the child’s face. Yacom, Lili Yannu, Satami were there. So was his father, and his mother. And Rikako, and countless others. Everyone who had ever hated or cursed someone was there. Everyone who had ever wounded another, or kicked another when he was down…

  And there, in the crowd, he saw his own face.

  Wataru ran. He ran past his udai, standing stiffly by the water’s edge. He ran past Yacom’s cart, filled with glass jars of swamp water. He ran and ran, and as he ran, he noticed the dorsal fin of a kalon cutting through the surface of the lake, keeping pace with him.

  It knows there’s prey to be had. It’s waiting for the stone-baby to catch me, knock me to the ground, and throw me in the water. Wataru ran and ran on, tears of fright streaming down his face, his breath harsh and ragged in his throat.

  Before long, a white mist began to creep through the swamp around him. The ground under his feet, the black water of the swamp—all were soon covered in a gauzy white veil. Wataru ran, swimming through the thickening mist. He looked over his shoulder and could no longer see the baby behind him.

  I can’t stop now. I have to run.

  Yet his feet were slowing. His knees bent, and buckled down to the ground. He couldn’t stand.

  No. No! I have to run.

  Wataru felt his soul inside him, quivering with fright, screaming for help. It was the last thing he heard before blacking out. Darkness crept under the blanket of the white mist. Soon blankness filled everything, and Wataru lay there, face down, utterly drained. He was asleep.

  Croak… Croak…

  From somewhere came the sound of a frog.

  Crrrrroak. Wataru… Crrrrroak…

  What’s a frog doing in a place like this?

  Crrrroak. Wataru? Can you hear me?

  The voice was sweet. He had heard it many times before. I know who that is.

  Crrrroak. Don’t worry. You saw what happened. You did the right thing. You did what you had to do.

  Sometimes ending a life is the right thing to do. The people you killed were evil, Wataru. You were right…

  “No!” Wataru shouted. “I didn’t kill them!”

  He cupped a hand over his mouth, gasping for breath. He was shaking uncontrollably. Where am I? What is this place? Where’s that stone-baby?

  “You okay?” came a voice from right beside him. Wataru shouted again. He tried to run but only fell, rolling off something and onto a hard floor.

  “Oy, oy, calm down there. You’ve had quite the nightmare. But you are awake now. You’re safe.”

  Wataru opened his eyes to see a pair of concerned dark eyes staring back at him.

  Chapter 25

  The Blood Star

  The man leaning over Wataru was young and wore a gray robe like the one donned by the priest in Lyris. But the sleeves were longer, and the hem was shorter, making it look somewhat more practical.

  “Well now, how’s your fever?” he said, reaching out a hand to touch Wataru’s forehead. His face broke into a smile. “Very well, it seems to have gone down! Glad I had my analgesics with me. I was worried there for a bit.”

  They were in a small room with one door. Wataru lay upon a simple bed, with a thin blanket and a hard pillow. He was also quite grateful for a fluffy, warm comforter.

  “Where am I? Who are you?”

  The young man smiled and lowered his head. “My name is Shin Suxin. I am a researcher at the National Observatory in Sasaya.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Wataru managed. “You saved me, didn’t you? I owe you my thanks.”

  “Not at all. Hungry? I don’t have much, but some warm soup should do you good.”

  The man took a few steps to a small stove in the corner of the room. The only other furniture in the room was a small desk piled with books and a simple chair. The walls were covered with shelves; these too were crammed with books. Some of the books had drifted off the shelves into a pile on the floor, leaving only a narrow corridor between the bed and the stove.

  Wataru guessed he was in another hut. The roof was high, and there was a sort of loft halfway up. A ladder next to the
desk provided access.

  The National Observatory in Sasaya? Wataru thought back to all that Kee Keema had told him about Vision during their journey to Gasara.

  “Are you by any chance a starseer, Mr. Suxin?”

  The man nodded. “Yep. In training, that is. And please, call me Shin. Here you go, drink up.”

  A bowl filled with deliciously fragrant soup sat upon the tray Shin carried from the stove. “My instructor, Dr. Baksan, always says that a starseer should not be locked up in his observatory. He should travel, get to know the land, its seasons, and its crops. Only then may he look to the stars for guidance. That is the true path to knowledge.”

  This was the reason, he explained, most students spent a good portion of the year scattered across the southern continent. “Some choose a particular region for their observations. Others have their fate determined by Dr. Baksan. He’s a tough nut, our instructor. If there’s anything fishy with your observations, he’ll flunk you in a heartbeat,” Shin said, seeming perfectly happy regardless. For a moment, Wataru saw the face of Yutaro Miyahara, star student from his class back in the real world transposed over the face of the young researcher standing over him. He’s like Yutaro. He’s not some bookworm driven to study. He actually likes it…

  A great sense of nostalgia, combined with homesickness, and a desire to see his friends again filled Wataru. Even though he knew this was hardly the time, the feelings—and the questions—were impossible to stop. What am I doing here? What’s the whole point of this anyway?

  “Ah, sorry there,” Shin said, looking concerned. “Here I go running off at the mouth and you’ve only just awoken after three days asleep. I’ve been here alone for more than a year now, and the only conversation I get is from darbaba drivers. I’m a bit starved for chitchat, you might say. Now, drink your soup ’fore it gets cold.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” Wataru shook his head, trying to hold back the tears. I can’t cry in front of him. He’s worried enough as it is. “Was I really asleep for three days?” Wataru asked, cradling the bowl of soup in his hands.