“…The mist?”
Myuri, born and raised deep in the mountains, said the word with dread.
Sometimes mist grew so thick in the mountains, it became impossible to see your own outstretched fingers. Myuri understood that fear well. Even Myuri’s mother—a large wolf that towered over people and could only be described as a god—could lose her way and quail in such a phantasmal world.
What would happen if someone tried to curl up and cower in the mist, only to have their feet swallowed by the sea?
Yosef’s despair showed in the depth of the wrinkles on his face.
“We often say that this kind of mist is something you can grab, break, and eat. But it was nothing like that. It would have been better if we could grab it. The mist covered everything and everyone. We couldn’t see one another’s faces even though we all stood on the same deck. We stayed strangely quiet, like when goats or sheep sense something off. I’ve been caught in storms that whip up waves as big as hills and always stood steady. But in that mist, my legs were a shaky mess, and I reeled so many times.”
“When that happened to me on the mountain, I just kept screaming.”
Myuri sounded as though she was trying to comfort Yosef, who may as well have been still lost in the mist.
Yosef looked surprised before he smiled.
“Me, too. I didn’t know where I was, and I yelled with everything I had. My buddies later told me they did the same thing. But that thick, white mist swallows everything up. My voice barely reached my own ears.”
He gazed off into the distance before adding a little wood to the furnace.
“The rowers believed their heading was true, so they continued to row. No turns left or right, only straight ahead. Usually, you can tell where you are in the water by the current and resistance of the waves, even when your eyes are closed. But because it was so calm, we couldn’t tell anything. In the end, some of them started to randomly hit the water with their oars. By then, I was gripping this figure of the Black-Mother so hard I thought it might break. That’s a story we believe—that by this point, the Black-Mother will come to save us.”
Whenever matters were beyond the power of humans, they turned to the gods.
Yosef gripped the figure of the Holy Mother at his chest and continued.
“Creeping along the side of the ship, I made my way to the front, where I discovered all my buds had thought of the same thing. We didn’t have to say anything. Our lips drawn, we all nodded, and everyone held a figure of the Holy Mother in their hand.”
As though he would do just that, he held the figure of the Black-Mother up high.
“O, Our Mother, guide these pitiful lambs…We literally had lambs on board, too, but we chanted this and tossed our figures of the Black-Mother along with our prayers into the sea. Then…”
Myuri gulped and leaned forward, and Col found himself enraptured as well.
“The ship shook with a loud thunk. Someone yelled that we’d hit a reef. The seas around here are difficult, and accidents happen if the pilot doubts himself. I had been trembling in despair, but in the next moment, the ship began to move on its own.”
Col looked at Yosef as he spoke, and an odd state of mind overcame him.
It sounded too much like a made-up story, and he doubted that such a miracle could really happen so conveniently. But rather than obvious apprehension as the listener, it was the speaker himself who wore a complicated smile on his face. His expression suggested that it was they themselves who doubted if it was reality or fantasy.
“As though guided by a powerful force, the ship moved slowly across the water. Honestly, I thought I’d already died in a shipwreck and was being led to the underworld. But after a while, a large shadow suddenly appeared from the mist, and it was the island we always saw. The ship glided smoothly across the calm water before finally grounding on the shore. We stood on the tilted deck for a while, only looking at one another. We couldn’t believe that we were alive.”
Yosef shook his head and sighed.
“We just thought the gods had protected us, then let the sheep and goats onto the island, and then something happened when all our work was finished. Once the mist cleared, the wind came back, and the sea started to make waves again; the figures of the Black-Mother that we threw into the water washed up onto shore by the ship. It was like we’d ridden on her back, and she was the one who brought us there.”
He claimed the story was not mere hearsay, and it did not seem like he was lying.
Whether it was because she had been so excited or relieved that Yosef and his friends had made it out safely, Myuri’s eyes were watery and her nose was runny.
As though he was calming his own grandchild, Yosef smiled and wiped Myuri’s nose.
But Col was someone who wished to be a good priest, and he could not let his eyes be clouded.
“Has the Holy See requested to see the miracle?”
Col mentioned that any good believers would have done so. The Holy See was at the very center of the corrupt Church that needed to be reformed, but if they officially recognized a miracle here, it would raise the authority of the churches in the region whether anyone wanted that or not. It would also be an honor for the faith as a whole. In more ordinary terms, more pilgrims would visit and the land would profit financially as well.
On the other hand, the Holy See would certainly send inspectors to inquire about the veracity of the event.
As though Yosef had already anticipated Col’s thoughts quite a while ago, he slowly shrugged his massive shoulders.
“We argued about that. Even I think it was half miracle, half coincidence.”
“…Coincidence?”
“The sea is a complicated thing—no matter how calm the surface looks, it’s hard to tell what’s going on underneath. Boundaries between currents are clearer than mainlanders think, too. Once you pass a boundary, it sometimes feels like you’ve run into something.”
He meant it was quite possible they collided with a current when their senses were heightened after their vision had been taken away by the thick mist.
“And that beach has always been a common place to find things washed ashore by the current. Had we drawn close enough, we would have arrived there eventually, even without touching the oars. If we make all this fuss about what happened and then it comes out that moment wasn’t a miracle, we would accomplish nothing but draw even more suspicion to this region, which people already suspect is a place for heathens.”
Like yourself—Yosef’s eyes glinted with a hint of mischief and he smiled.
“That is why we decided that it was half miracle, half coincidence. Personally, I’ve been taking greater care of the Black-Mother ever since.”
Col could see the determination that, even if he was declared a heretic, he had no intentions of changing his mind.
And Col had not come here to convert these people.
He had come to determine if those who believed in the Black-Mother would be strong allies in their fight against the corrupt pope.
“And there are other stories that could be either coincidences or miracles, like a fire on a boat put out by a big wave after the men on board threw their figures of the Black-Mother into the sea or those saved by the Black-Mother after falling into the water.”
When he mentioned falling into the water, Myuri glanced at Col with a bit of a meaningful gaze, but he pretended not to notice.
“Of course, the biggest one…”
Yosef, who had spoken fluently thus far, cut off his words and smiled shyly, having strained himself, then continued softly.
“No, you should see the traces of it for yourself. Would you be heading to the main island by any chance?”
The island called Caeson was the pirates’ stronghold. Col heard from the Debau Company that it was the center of the northern islands.
“I was told that I must go there if I hope to venture into the waters beyond.”
“That’s because there are many poachers a
nd outsiders who plunder defenseless villages, you know. If you make yourself known on the main island, then you’ll avoid larger problems. Especially if you want to build a base on an island somewhere. It doesn’t matter which noble’s patronage you have; we are all powerless at sea.”
The authorities of the Kingdom of Winfiel and Ploania, the northernmost country on the mainland, did not reach this far.
“The only thing that can protect us is the Black-Mother, then.”
Yosef showed his polite merchant’s smile in response to Col’s sentiment and nodded.
“The main island also houses this region’s only monastery. You may find it useful to visit the monk there. He is the one who crafts all the figures of the Holy Mother. Though rather old, he is a pious and outstanding man.”
It seemed that his figure and the one Hyland showed him looked similar because they were made by the same person.
And since the Church’s jurisdiction did not reach this far, it wasn’t impossible that this man simply called himself a monk and his house a monastery. Monasteries did not have the privilege of collecting money each time one presided over baptisms, marriages, or funerals, so the Church was generally not too strict with their organization. Problems only arose if they got in the way with the pope’s business.
Nobles wanted to build monasteries instead of churches because they were less likely to cause trouble.
“But recently, all the big coal mines on every island have been cleaned out. Production of jet has drastically decreased. The less we find, the more our trade will naturally thin out, but so will the protection for the people of the sea—in other words, us. What a dilemma.”
Yosef likely did not mean to grumble so. After finishing his reflection, he suddenly came to himself and seemed uncomfortable, as though he had just heard his own complaining.
“How boring all this talk must be for travelers.”
In a merchantlike manner, Yosef suddenly smiled and directed his gaze to the furnace.
“Have you had enough yet? There’s plenty of fish, so feel free to have as much as you like.”
Six skewers were lined up at Myuri’s feet, the ends all burned. They all seemed to be of the same length and thickness in the trick of the long, dark night.
“No, thank you. We are grateful for your hospitality.”
“By God’s will.”
Yosef proceeded to show them to their room. The reason the two were given a whole room to themselves was due to the lack of sufficient fuel, which meant the furnace could not be left on all night. It would be much too cold to sleep in the empty, vast atrium. Instead, their host gave them each a stone that had been heated by the furnace. Once placed inside a sack, the stone would warm them until morning if kept under the covers.
Then he brought them to a room that seemed to be typically offered to honorable captains of large commercial ships, and Myuri’s eyes widened at the sight of the woolen bed.
“I might get hungry sleeping in a bed like this.”
Myuri sounded like the daughter of wolves, but Col knew her being hungry was simply a matter of course.
As Myuri bounced around excitedly, Col found a worn metal washbowl, so he took out a handkerchief from his luggage, sprinkled the contents of a waterskin over it, and wrung it tightly.
“Look, Myuri.”
“Huh?”
Myuri had been sitting on the bed, staring blankly. He sighed because he noticed bits of charcoal from the fish still around her mouth.
“Honestly.”
Exasperated, he did not have the energy to point it out to her, so he walked over and wiped her face with the wet handkerchief.
“You are a girl. Are you not bothered by how salty your body feels after a day at sea?”
At first, it seemed as though she would resist, but then she started to point out places she wanted him to wipe. He wiped her cheeks, her temples, her forehead, and both sides of her nose. When he refolded the handkerchief to switch to the clean side, her wolf ears and tail popped out. She showed her neck to him as a sign for him to wipe that, too, and her tail began to wag out of impatience.
“This really goes to show how thankful we are for the baths at Nyohhira.”
Myuri’s ears and tail twitched in comfort as he wiped her neck, and then she sneezed, perhaps from the water.
“Sniff…Brother!”
Her nose began to run and she looked at him.
“After I wipe your face.”
When he quickly began to wipe her face with the few remaining clean parts he hadn’t used yet left on the handkerchief, Myuri immediately began to rub her nose with her sleeve.
“But still…”
As Myuri began to speak, she insisted he continue wiping, so he had no choice but to look after her thin ankles and small feet as well.
“…that was an amazing story.”
It was truly amazing that she was making him, the closest thing she had to a brother, towel off her feet as though he was her servant, but he knew it was partly because he couldn’t help but meddle whenever it came to Myuri.
“If it is true, that is.”
In the scripture, saints always washed the feet of the poor starting with the left foot for some reason, and it was done this way in ceremonies as well. Col had never thought about it, but he understood when he did it himself. It was simply because it was natural to start on the left for people who were right-handed.
“You don’t believe the story about the black Holy Mother?”
When he finished wiping her left foot, it felt rather cool. They had the heated stone, but Col was still worried that Myuri might get frostbite, so out from his luggage came a shell packed with bear oil for warding off the chill. With a knife, he chiseled a bit that had frozen from the cold, then warmed it with the fire of a fish-oil candle.
“Or maybe…there really is a witch.”
Myuri mused on her theory as he scooped the softened oil onto his finger and rubbed it along her foot. He looked up, and her expression was rather serious.
“Because the boat moved on its own and the water poured on them, too!”
She sounded slightly angry, perhaps because the expression on his face was irritated.
As he rubbed the oil into Myuri’s delicate skin, he spoke.
“Mr. Yosef said it himself—it was a coincidence.”
“…A coincidence?”
“It could even be called a misunderstanding or bias. In any case, nothing good will come of assuming these things are a blessing from God. It will most likely only lead to bad things.”
When he finished with her left foot, he started on her right, swabbing his finger into the oil.
“There are so many examples of this happening if you learn theological history. A mistaken faith is more wicked than no faith at all. It is not that difficult to teach people new things, but it is not easy to change a person’s way of thinking.”
Like making someone give up her crush on her older brother. The words came to mind, but he swallowed them.
Perhaps the story of the Black-Mother fell into a similar vein.
“So you must be cautious. There, all finished.”
Once he had finished coating both her feet in rubbing oil, he tapped them lightly and urged her to stuff them under the blanket. He used his hardworking handkerchief to plug the gaps in the window as its final job.
“But isn’t it the same as a person helping them? Is that still wrong?”
As he stuffed the cloth into the gap of the window, he turned back to Myuri because he thought she seemed rather stubborn on this topic.
Under the blanket, she was thinking hard.
“Someone who is oddly nice to you in town might want to kidnap you. It is the same thing.”
It was not something that could be easily believed. The scripture expounded the importance of not taking God’s name in vain.
He finished stuffing the cloth in the gap, and as he checked to see if the cold wind was no longer coming through, Myuri had pulled th
e blanket up to her nose.
“You’re always so mean whenever you talk about God.”
And for some reason, she was pouting.
“I am not being mean, just calm.”
Myuri did not respond. Only her ears twitched.
“Besides, our host told us we can see what remains of the miracle. It won’t be too late to pass judgment after actually seeing it for yourself.”
There were several similar sightseeing spots throughout the world. Col had heard many behind-the-scenes stories from guests who came to stay at the bathhouse he worked in for over ten years. He had the confidence that he would immediately be able to see through any false faith.
“Come now, move in a bit more.”
He blew out the light, and the room suddenly fell into darkness. Groping around, he tried to slide under the blanket when Myuri, who could see well in the dark, reached out to him. As he had just wiped her hands with a wet handkerchief, they were rather cold.
And yet, under four blankets, it was already much warmer thanks to her body heat. On top of that, the bed was woolen instead of straw, and there also was her fluffy tail. There was little chance they would get sick.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked only tentatively.
Without any hesitation or consideration for him, Myuri buried her face in his chest, yawned, and shook her head. Maybe she was not answering his question but actually wiping away tears in her eyes. Either way, she did not seem discontent.
Once the light went out and they both stopped stirring, suddenly a number of sounds became clear. There was the sea wind knocking on the window, a clattering on the roof of the trading house, the bending of wood. Oddly louder than the rest were the waves.
This was not the bathhouse in Nyohhira that Col had grown so used to living in but a practically empty building on an island even closer to the edge of the world.
“Hey, Brother?”
Myuri whispered so quietly into his chest it was almost as though she had not spoken at all.
Wolf & Parchment, Volume 2 Page 7