Wolf & Parchment, Volume 1

by Isuna Hasekura

  Copyright

  WOLF & PARCHMENT, Volume 1

  ISUNA HASEKURA

  Translation by Jasmine Bernhardt

  Cover art by Jyuu Ayakura

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  WOLF & PARCHMENT

  © ISUNA HASEKURA 2016

  Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS

  First published in Japan in 2016 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2017 by Yen Press, LLC

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  First Yen On Edition: November 2017

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hasekura, Isuna, 1982– author. | Bernhardt, Jasmine, translator. | Ayakura, Jyuu, 1981– artist.

  Title: Wolf & Parchment : new theory Spice & Wolf / Isuna Hasekura ; translation by Jasmine Bernhardt ; cover art by Jyuu Ayakura.

  Other titles: Shinsetsu ookami to koshinryo: ookami to youhishi. English

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York, NY : Yen On, 2017–

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017035577 | ISBN 9780316473453 (v. 1 : pbk.)

  Subjects: CYAC: Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Fantasy. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / Historical.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.H2687 Wo 2017 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017035577

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-47345-3 (paperback)

  978-0-316-47347-7 (ebook)

  E3-20171007-JV-PC

  PROLOGUE

  The rain during the warm seasons was ever so slightly sweet. She thought this while licking away a raindrop that rolled down her cheek.

  She had been given an errand, and on the way home, it started to rain. Like the region’s never-ending plains, the rain, too, was flat. The raindrops, so small they were almost invisible, doused the peaceful fields, and white mist covered the land for as far as she could see. It was a quiet world—she only noticed the ground beneath her feet and the beating of her heart. If she stood still, it felt as though she would be trapped in place forever.

  It was soft and calm, perfect for a nap—but if she had to be swallowed up, then somewhere else would be better. With this in mind, she quickened her pace.

  Her skirt might have grown heavy with water and splattered with mud, but that did not concern her. She simply ran and ran.

  Just as she began feeling as if she was caught in a bad dream, the wooden building appeared out of the mist.

  The structure was quite old and slanted a bit, but she found the oddity of it appealing. When the two of them had first arrived, the shanty had been unfit for people to live inside, but they worked hard to repair it until she found herself rather attached. Were she to be stuck there for an eternity with no way out, she would not mind. In the end, that slanted roof would collapse on her like a hug, and she even thought that could be wonderful.

  Picturing it, she smiled faintly.

  Then, as though her footsteps echoed particularly loudly on this quiet, rainy day, the door to the shanty opened, and out came a person wearing white. Together they had repaired this place, driving in the last nail with their hands intertwined around the same hammer.

  Seeing him, she lifted her head in happiness and widened her steps. A droplet fell into her mouth, and of course, it was sweet. As though pulled in by the taste, she jumped under the eaves.

  It was not frightening if she closed her eyes. She knew he would catch her.

  She leaped into his chest without waiting to catch her breath, declaring, “I’m home.”

  She could not hear an answer over her ragged breathing and the sound of her heart beating almost painfully in her chest.

  But that did not matter. She knew he responded in kind.

  It was only recently that she understood such thoughts were faith.

  There was no one else in this misty rain.

  Her eyes still closed, she repeated, “I’m home.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The day he set off was unusually sunny for winter. The blue sky seemed as though it might sweep him up, and the snow on the ground reflected the sunlight so brightly it hurt his eyes. Such beautiful, sunny winter days were rare in Nyohhira, a hot spring village deep in the northlands. It was a beautiful, picturesque day for departing on a journey, but it made him slightly nervous that this beginning might have consumed all his luck.

  However, when he dropped his gaze to his long, rough traveling mantle, it reminded him of a traveling priest’s garb. He reconsidered his fortune, thinking that there was no doubt this weather was a blessing from God for what was to come.

  A pier jutted out into a river that flowed through the village. Though it was crowded during the changing of the seasons as guests came for the springs or returned home, only a single cargo boat was moored there now. The captain, a bearded, portly, middle-aged man, was currently carrying his passenger’s luggage aboard while bustling about as though his vessel might sink at any moment. Contrary to his appearance, he moved to and fro easily and finished quickly.

  “We’ll be setting sail soon!”

  The captain looked over and called out to him, and he waved instead of replying. Then, he took a deep breath and hauled his bag onto his shoulders. It was quite heavy, filled with gifts from those cheering him on.

  “Col, do you have everything?”

  Hearing his name, he turned around. Behind him stood the bathhouse master who had cared for him for over ten years and was now intently reviewing the luggage, Kraft Lawrence.

  “You have money, a map, food, warm clothes, medicine, a short sword, and tinder, right?”

  Lawrence, who was once widely known as a traveling merchant, busied himself with travel preparations. In fact, the one actually leaving on the journey was not nearly as conscientious as the more experienced man and relied on him completely.

  “Sir, I’m sure he’s checked at least that much. He doesn’t have any more room, anyway.”

  The woman waiting beside Lawrence spoke with an exasperated chuckle. Her name was Hanna, and she ran the kitchen in Lawrence’s bathhouse, Spice and Wolf.

  “Oh, right. But still.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Lawrence. I once set off long ago with nothing but a single dried herring and whittled-down copper pieces.”

  When Col first met Lawrence, he was just a child of barely ten years. Back then, he visited the university cities in pursuit of knowledge as a wandering student, though that was merely in name. Truth be told, he was practically a beggar. With nowhere to go, he spent all his money and found himself lost in a foreign land with no one to depend on. Then, luck led him to Lawrence, the man who saved him.

  That was already ten—no—fifteen years ago. Whenever he wondered if he had grown since then, doubt gnawed at him. Lawrence’s youthful looks had not changed very much, standing in front of him as he was, so Col was under the illusion that he was still a young boy.

  But the hands pulling closed the string on his bag had grown stur
dy from hard labor in the bathhouse. His current height dwarfed his diminutive stature as a child, and his once silvery hair now appeared almost gold.

  Whether for good or ill, time flowed as it should.

  “Well, yes, that’s true…Plus, every clergyman acknowledges you as an intelligent young student now. I’m proud of you, too, and I could really stand to learn a thing or two from the late hours you keep for your studies.”

  “Please don’t, sir. If you did that, I would have to spend even more time buying garlic and onions, so I’d rather you not.”

  Lawrence’s compliment tickled him, but he shrank when Hanna spoke.

  He always studied after his work for the day was done. What was more, he constantly struggled to keep his eyes open when he was working on manuscripts and reciting the scriptures. To stay awake, he would munch on raw onions and garlic, which resulted in countless lectures from Hanna because she wound up with no ingredients for cooking.

  “But it’s been more than ten years. Thank you for supporting the business until now. Our bathhouse only got this far because of you, Col. You were a big help,” Lawrence said and spread his arms, pulling him into a big, strong, fatherly hug. Had he not met Lawrence, he did not know how he would have ended up. He should have been the one voicing his gratitude.

  “No, thank you…I’m sorry for taking off during such a busy season.”

  “Oh no. We’ve kept you in the bathhouse for too long. But if you go south and make it big, at least let us know.”

  Lawrence, ever the quintessential merchant, always reassured Col like this.

  “And…sorry the girls couldn’t come see you off,” he continued, his expression suddenly clouding.

  “Holo already said her good-byes about a week ago. She said if she saw me off, she might try and stop me.”

  Holo was Lawrence’s wife, and at times she acted like an elder sister or even second mother to young Col.

  “She doesn’t like to let people go. But maybe that’s wise of her.”

  Lawrence smiled dryly, and a sigh left his mouth.

  “And I’m sorry Myuri has caused you so much trouble.”

  “Oh no…”

  He was about to deny it, but he recalled the commotion of the past few days, especially the night before.

  “Well…she was threatening me with her fangs and then she finally did bite me.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  Lawrence pressed his hand against his forehead, as though he was suffering from a headache. Myuri was Lawrence and Holo’s only daughter, and she constantly wailed about wanting to leave the hot spring village and its remote region.

  And when Col mentioned that he was about to set off on a journey, it was perfectly obvious what happened next.

  “Both Myuri and Holo are strong of heart, but Holo knows when to give up and has the good judgment that comes with age. In that sense, Myuri is just like the midsummer sun.”

  Though she was his only daughter, more precious to him than anything in the world, Myuri’s antics were the cause of Lawrence’s aching temples. She had calmed down recently, but during her youth she had often gone out to play in the mountains and returned covered in blood.

  Now, she had reached where talk of marriage was fast approaching, so that was something else to deal with.

  “I haven’t seen her all day. Maybe she’s in the mountains, sulking and crying her eyes out to a bear,” said Lawrence.

  Col imagined Myuri clinging to the exasperated animal in its den, and he could not help but smile.

  “When I’ve settled in, I’ll send a letter. Please bring everyone for a visit when I do.”

  “Of course. But if you can, pick somewhere with lots of good food. Keeping those two happy during the trips is bound to be a hassle.”

  “I’ll do that,” Col responded with a smile as Lawrence extended his right hand. This was not the same person who had hired him, nor was it the one who had saved his life as a child ten years ago.

  This was the master of a bathhouse, offering a handshake while seeing off a traveler.

  “Take care.” As if he had noticed Col’s inadvertent tears, Lawrence smiled even bigger and gripped his hand harder.

  “Be careful of unboiled water and raw food.”

  “You too, Ms. Hanna…Be well.”

  He tried his hardest to hide the effect of his stuffed nose on his voice as he shook her hand as well. Then he hoisted up his bag.

  “Hey, are you ready?!” the boat captain called. He must have been paying careful attention, because he chose the perfect moment.

  “I’m coming!” Col called back, looking at Lawrence and Hanna. Once he left, it was possible he would not see them for many years or ever again. It might also be the last time he ever laid eyes on Nyohhira and the rising steam from its hot baths.

  His legs would not move no matter how hard he tried, and that was when Lawrence patted him on the shoulder.

  “Go, lad. Venture out into a new world!”

  It would be false of him not to respond.

  “Don’t call me lad. I’m already the age you were when I first met you!”

  He took the first step, the second shortly followed, and he did not even think of the third.

  When he looked back, Lawrence was smiling calmly with his hands clasped behind his back, and Hanna was waving modestly. He shifted his gaze beyond them, more reluctant than ever to part with the village of Nyohhira, and he wondered if that tomboy Myuri was there. He would have liked to see her pouting face peeking out from behind a tree, but there was no sight of the young girl. She was just as stubborn as her mother. He smiled a little and walked toward the pier.

  “Did you finish saying your good-byes?”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “That’s the life of a captain for you. You can’t go down the same river twice. Not that regrets are a bad thing, though.”

  Steering a boat along the quiet rivers every day must naturally bring one wisdom.

  Col nodded deeply at the captain’s words and boarded the vessel from the pier.

  “You’re my only passenger. Feel free to take a nap on that pile of furs,” the captain said as he undid the rope tying down the boat.

  At the phrase “pile of furs,” a memory surfaced in the young man’s mind, a story he had heard long ago.

  A young traveling peddler had stopped in a certain village, and as was his custom, he spent the night in his wagon curled up atop his cargo of furs. When he did, a beautiful young girl appeared, asking him to bring her to her hometown. She had flaxen hair that was especially beautiful under the moonlight, as well as animal ears atop her head and a tail with the most exquisite fur on her behind. She called herself the wisewolf—the incarnation of a wolf that lived in the village’s wheat and commanded the harvest, a being who had lived for hundreds of years and would for many more. The peddler accepted the girl’s request, and together they set out on a journey. Together they experienced joy and sorrow, shared their feelings for each other, and then lived happily ever after. The end.

  Unable to imagine such a thing happening to him, he entered the pile of furs and groped around. It was all right. No one was hiding in them.

  Along with his impromptu bedding, the boat was crammed with barrels and sacks full of charcoal. The barrels were likely filled with leftover tree resin from the charcoal production process. The waterproof substance could be applied to prevent molding, and its strong burnt smell wafted toward him occasionally. The furs came from communities sprinkled through the mountains beyond Nyohhira. The people who inhabited these areas worked hard at hunting during the winter, and the sales from the pelts allowed them to purchase things they needed in town. It would be too much trouble for them to carry their wares all the way to market, so the furs were usually gathered in Nyohhira before being shipped off by boat. The same went for the charcoal and resin.

  “There’s a lot of furs this year.”

  “Yeah, business has been booming, fortunately. Nyohhira has alwa
ys been very prosperous, but things are picking up everywhere now. You know the war between the northern lands and the southern Church ended years back, right? That reckless fight was over long ago, but the official end of the hostilities has made a tremendous difference,” the captain explained earnestly, heaving up the rope before hopping on board himself.

  Strangely, the boat did not rock at all.

  “Once we set off, it’s the beginning of your journey.”

  Facing astern, the captain took hold of the pole. The craft slid forward slowly, gliding along the river’s surface. Though it was an ordinary day in Nyohhira’s long winter, the familiar sights of the village seemed different from the boat. This may very well be the first or even last time he saw Nyohhira as a traveler. When this thought crossed his mind, he suddenly could not help sitting up on his knees. Then, he waved to Lawrence and Hanna as they watched from the riverside.

  “Thank you!”

  Lawrence smiled and raised his hand casually. Hanna wore the same expression she did when the results of her cooking were satisfactory.

  And before he knew it, they, too, vanished from sight. Mountain rivers flowed quickly.

  “Well, you’ve said your good-byes. Now it’s time to look ahead,” the captain said to the young man staring back toward the village. His tone was not commanding but gentle, as if to encourage the young man. Slightly self-conscious, he gave the captain a strained smile and faced forward.

  Ah, I’m leaving on a journey—a strangely sad yet exciting feeling wrapped around him.

  “You were searching around in those furs a moment ago, weren’t you? Was there a rat or something?”

  “Huh? Ah…Actually, I was remembering a story.”

  Thus he told the captain about the meeting of the peddler and the wolf spirit. Such fantastic stories were everywhere, but the captain seemed quite interested.

  “There will be plenty of opportunity to tell those kinds of stories to while away the time on our voyage. It’s great if there’s more. But searching around in the fur after remembering that story means you’re pretty superstitious for a young one.”

  The captain would never believe him if Col said it was a true story, and if he mentioned that the daughter of that wolf could be hiding in the furs, the news might shock him. After all, the peddler in the tale was Lawrence, and the wolf hiding in his cargo was Holo.