“You truly are a fool. ’Tis enough to make me wonder whether you have any aptitude for study at all.”
Sitting as she was upon the desk, Holo’s head was naturally higher than Lawrence’s, so it was no surprise that he found her high-handedness a bit irritating. But something about the color of Holo’s red-tinged amber irises said she would brook no argument.
Reason did not enter into it. He had learned this from hard experience during his travels with her.
“What did I just tell you? What did I just endure such embarrassment to tell you? I am right here, and yet you toil away there, alone…”
“Ah…”
She was right – they had just discussed that.
Holo had felt hesitant because she’d had nothing to do, and yet here again Lawrence was working alone.
She glared at him resentfully. What she needed from Lawrence was not an apology, but a request.
“Might I… er… borrow your wisdom?” He stumbled slightly over the words as Holo watched him through half-lidded, stoic eyes.
Her tail flicked back and forth as though weighing rejection against agreement. Finally she heaved a sigh. “I suppose I might be the biggest fool of all,” she said.
Lawrence was about to ask what she meant, but Holo kept talking, so he straightened up and listened.
“Hmph. Truth be told, all my wisdom amounts to is what I learned in that vexing village of Pasloe.”
“… Stone or wood markers can be moved, so we can’t use those. Even if we put the boundaries in writing, verifying the position of those boundaries is just another thing to argue about.”
Of course only God could create a perfect solution, but what Lawrence needed was something that everyone could acknowledge as being fair. And since they’d gone to the trouble of asking him for help, if all he could propose were obvious solutions, it would invite their despair rather than their trust.
Lawrence then wondered if Holo was going to show her true form, but just as the thought occurred to him, she punched him lightly. “Fool. Did you forget what it was that brought me to tears in Pasloe?”
So she wouldn’t be providing divine intervention.
Which meant that the only option that remained would be to gather all the villagers together and show them where the reference point was, such that everyone would remember.
“So what should we do, then? Without an astronomer we can’t accurately determine direction or position. We could use the mountains and springs as landmarks, like a sailor would, but recording that in writing is impossible. A map based only on landmarks is too vague.”
An imprecise map indicating landmarks was good enough for a traveler, but what they needed now was a far more accurate depiction of land divisions within the village.
“Yesterday during that scuffle, you said that people’s memories were too vague, did you not?”
“Huh? Er, yes, that’s why this needs to be in writing.”
“Hmm. I understand that people trust writing because once something’s written, it won’t change. But are people’s memories really so untrustworthy?”
Lawrence didn’t understand what Holo was getting at. He had no choice but to answer. “At the very least, when there’s a dispute between two people, it’s not objective to rely on anyone’s memory. And when it comes to land, records must last years, even decades.”
Holo listened to Lawrence’s argument. “I suppose that’s true,” she said. Then she added, “But suppose you did something like this?” She smiled an amused smile, leaned close to Lawrence’s ear, and whispered her solution.
Surprised, Lawrence looked up at her, and the wisewolf shook her head happily.
“As you say,” she continued, “great landmarks like mountains, springs, or hills are too broad, but if you combine several, you can determine locations quite accurately. When I was in the mountains, I could tell where I was by what I could see from the ridge.”
Even the villagers would be able to understand that – but with no good way to write it down, it would be another source of conflict. People could be especially emotional when it came to verifying borders, which made things doubly frustrating.
“However, it so happens that there are memories that everyone can agree upon.”
Lawrence had to admit that with Holo’s method, everyone would agree. And in any case, he didn’t have any better ideas.
He stood from his chair and took Holo’s hand.
Record keeping was always a difficult task. Stories of Holo’s homeland of Yoitsu existed only because they had been written down and then kept within stone walls or basements. And only a small number of people could do that, so God only knew whether such records would survive the centuries.
And when it came to just how unreliable verbal records were, the endless vicious arguments surrounding them ought to have made that quite clear.
Lacking a good solution, would people simply abandon a conflict? Nay, such was not the way of the world.
Somehow, solutions would be found, and after decades of fighting, people would put forth great mental effort to find compromises that all involved could agree to.
And it was just such a solution that Holo had chanced to hear of during her time in the wheat fields.
“Mr. Lawrence, the villagers have all been assembled.”
“Good work. Where’s the representative?”
“By God’s grace, there seems to be just one suitable person.” The village elder had heard the plan from Lawrence, and his reaction had been just the same as Lawrence’s when it had been conveyed to him by Holo. First, “Is that possible?” And then, “It just might be.”
It required no special technique, nor tools, nor funds. And yet the resulting record would remain clear for decades, and all around would be able to agree on its meaning.
The elder quickly gathered the villagers around the village well, which had evidently been nominated as a reference point in the past.
Next, they had to pick who among them would be responsible for making the record.
After much deliberation, the executor chosen was Holo.
She had the distinction of being a neutral outsider, which, it was reasoned, would make her decision that much more effective.
The villagers had been told only they were assembling to decide their property lines, and as such, they showed faces filled with doubt. This was hardly a surprise given how hard they themselves had been working to find a solution that all would accept.
The village elder placed his hand on the chosen representative’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “In the name of myself and the name of the village, I swear to almighty God to settle here and now the problem of land division that has plagued us for so long.”
His hoarse voice nonetheless carried well, as he had once been a cowherd who worked cattle on wide-open plains.
“You have all been gathered here to bear witness to this and to remember the events of today should we be so unfortunate as to again quarrel over this matter.”
Lawrence and Holo both kept their gazes downcast, and in Holo’s case at least this made her look all the more demure and lovely.
She’d eaten and drunk only in moderation the previous night, so as far as the villagers were aware, she was every bit the pious nun she appeared to be, which made her the perfect person to execute the agreement.
The village elder coughed again and spoke. “The ceremony we are about to witness was delivered to us by these two wise travelers and has long been used to settle property. As elder of this village, I recommend this boy as the representative for the ceremony.”
The elder then nudged forward a boy whose years could still be counted on one hand. His eyes were round and wide and his beautiful fair hair angelic.
Though he had not yet been told what he was to do, or perhaps what was to be done to him, he was surrounded by serious-faced adults. He was still with nervousness as the elder continued. “Are there any objections?”
While several villagers looke
d at one another, none raised a hand. This was not surprising given that none of them had been told the nature of the ceremony. Lawrence had explained that once it was complete, there would still be opportunity to hear from anyone who might feel it had been insufficient.
Lawrence and the elder agreed, though, that there would be no such complaints.
“Very well, then. Let us begin.”
No one said a word.
The elder leaned down and whispered something into the boy’s ear, then nudged him toward Lawrence and Holo.
The boy hesitated, looking back at the elder, then to Lawrence and Holo. The elder gestured for him to go, and the boy tremulously approached.
In a village like this that had so little contact with nearby towns, even an adult would be nervous around an outsider. As the boy came nearer, his nervous gaze alit on a particular spot in the assembled crowd.
It was clear who he had found, Lawrence thought. It was his mother.
“We thank you,” said Lawrence with a smile and an outstretched hand as the boy walked up.
The boy hesitantly took the hand and mumbled a reply.
Lawrence then indicated Holo next to him.
Holo was relatively small framed, but the boy was even smaller. While Holo wore her hood and continued to look down, the boy could see her face as he approached.
The boy suddenly straightened and gave a shy little grin, and Lawrence could tell this was because Holo smiled at him.
When he shook hands with her, his expression turned suddenly friendly – perhaps there were no young girls in this village.
“My name’s Holo. What’s yours?”
“Ah – it’s Clorri.”
“Clorri, eh? ’Tis a good name.”
The boy shied away ticklishly at the compliment and hair ruffle he received. The ceremony was probably the last thing on his mind at that moment, so happy he appeared.
“Now, then, Clorri, were going to play a bit of a game. Don’t worry, all will be well. ’Tis not difficult.”
Holo’s words brought him back to reality, and his face suddenly stiffened. But Holo gave him a gentle hug, which seemed to help him summon some courage. It seemed all men were alike, regardless of age.
“First, we face north and pray.”
“Pray?”
“Aye. Any prayer will do. You pray every day in this village, do you not?” Holo had some small knowledge of the Church.
The boy nodded and brought his still-shaky hands together in preparation for prayer.
“The north has its own special angels and so does the south. If you pray for tasty food, you might just receive it,” said Holo with a mischievous smile. “Try it,” she encouraged him, and the boy began to pray.
“When the angels and spirits hear your prayers, there are omens. You need to remember very carefully the lay of the land, so you don’t miss them.”
The boy nodded as Holo spoke, then with eyes as wide as saucers carefully memorized the scene before him, then gulped and began to pray.
North, east, south, west.
By the time he had prayed in each of the four directions, he’d no doubt thought of every tasty thing he could remember.
“Mm. Well done. Now then, Clorri.”
It was time.
“The angels and spirits love smiles. Give them your biggest smile!”
The boy obediently grinned a huge, toothy smile.
There was the sound of something whistling through the air, then – a terrific smack rang out.
“–!”
The assembled villagers all gasped audibly in unison as they looked on. To a one their gazes were nailed to the unfolding scene.
Holo shook her stinging hand and smiled sheepishly. She must not have held back at all.
She had bade the boy smile so he would not bite his tongue.
The boy’s eyes were wide in shock at having been slapped across the face with such force, and he neither moved nor wiped the blood at his nose as he stared up at Holo, who until that moment had seemed so angelic.
“Though human memory is vague, there are moments that none of us can forget. This brave boy, Clorri, will surely remember the scenery he memorized today for years and decades to come,” said Holo, smiling as she faced the villagers, whereupon a murmur finally rippled through the crowd.
They’d finally come back to the moment after being stunned so, and the murmur soon became a commotion, which then turned to laughter.
When they came to this village, the villagers had left behind their familiar former lands. Before setting out on the journey to their new home, surely each of them had stood at the edge of their former village or town, hearts full of worry and anticipation. There they would carve the sights in every direction into their memories before beginning their journey.
If later asked about it, they would be completely able to answer with perfect precision exactly where they had been that day, the day they turned back and looked at their homeland for the final time.
“If there be anyone who objects to this ceremony, raise your hand!” shouted the village elder, and the villagers fell silent and then shouted, “No!” in unison.
Villager after villager came up to offer words of thanks to Holo and to God, and some even danced.
Holo, the elder, and – quite naturally – the boy’s mother all came up to him, and when he was given a hand and helped to his feet, he finally seemed to understand what had happened. He burst into tears like tinder set aflame, bawling away as he clung to his mother’s generous bosom.
“In my old village, we didn’t use slaps – we threw stones.”
The mother – who was the only one who’d been told ahead of time what was to happen – half smiled, but seemed to feel genuine pride that her son had been chosen for such an important role. She thanked Lawrence and Holo both in God’s name.
“Mm. Well, this should settle things,” Holo said proudly, standing a little taller.
Villages everywhere commemorated the days of events important to them, most commonly with feasts. Jisahz was no different, and that night there was a grand celebration.
The village elder shook their hands so frequently in thanks that Holo’s and Lawrence’s palms began to swell, claiming that their names would go down in history as being of great importance to the village’s development.
Given that, it was certain that maintaining a long-term relationship with the village would be no difficulty at all.
Lawrence was unable to keep his delight at this from reaching his face as they waited for evening to arrive and the villagers to complete their feast preparations.
When he raised both arms to stretch, he looked at Holo and saw her sprawled out on the bed, tending to her tail.
“Finished, are you?”
“Yes, somehow.”
“Well, then, we can drink and carouse to our hearts’ content.”
“I still have to complete my business negotiations, though. Of course…” Lawrence paused and brought his hand deliberately to his breast, then continued in a courteous tone. “This is all thanks to my wise traveling companion.”
Holo replied to this artificially exaggerated thanks by puffing her chest out with equal exaggeration.
Of course, while this was only half-serious, the truth was she had been of great help to him. He owed her more than just a few chickens – a wagonload of ale would probably be about right.
“It seems I’ve wound up owing you the greater part yet again. How would you like your payment?” he asked jokingly, his heart dancing at the thought of the next day’s negotiations. The village had great potential for further development, and if the abbey was completed, it might even become a true town.
“Mm… I can have anything?”
“‘Anything’ is a frightening promise to make, but let’s say a hundred silver pieces. That would certainly get you another set of fine clothes like what you’re wearing now.”
Holo looked over her clothes carefully, then closed her eyes. What was she dre
aming of? Apples? Honeyed peach preserves?
Holo’s tail wagged, and then she seemed to hit upon something. But her face was hesitant, so whatever she was thinking of had to be something of significant value.
“If it’s impossible, I’ll give up on it, but…”
“That’s surprisingly magnanimous of you,” teased Lawrence, at which she smiled, then pointed at him.
“The work you were just now doing.”
“Work? You mean this?”
“Yes, that writing work. You said if they’d asked someone in a town to do it, it would’ve cost a goodly amount.”
Reading and writing were considered specialized skills in their own right. Writing a letter was itself a service, but creating an official document carried a commensurate price.
“Oh, you want me to write something for you?”
“Hmm? Er… well, aye…”
“If that’s all, that’s a small favor indeed. You want nothing else – no apples, no honeyed peach preserves?”
It was unusual for Holo to prize anything above food. After all the talk of record keeping, did she wish to record tales of her own homeland?
“Such things are surely tempting, but food once eaten is gone. You said it yourself – the written word does not change and endures for ages,” she said, and her bashfulness as she did so made Lawrence realize he’d guessed correctly.
Lawrence nodded. “I can’t write you a thick volume, though.”
“Nay, ’twill not be such a long thing to write.” Holo stood from the bed and lightly sat down on the table.
If it wouldn’t be lengthy, did she want him to write it right now, this instant?
“So, what shall I write?” Lawrence asked.
Holo gazed into the distance and did not answer immediately.
Whatever it was, Lawrence realized it was very important, so he waited for her to answer.
Seemingly coming to a conclusion after long thought, Holo finally took a deep breath, a sound like a quiet wind.
“The title is this: the Wisewolf Holo’s…” Lawrence hastily reached for his pen and spread an unused sheet of parchment out in front of him. Meanwhile, Holo continued speaking. “… Homecoming Guide Contract.”
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