“As for us, we’d like to believe it.”
“Ha-ha,” laughed Vino, as though he was wondering what sort of a village they would be if they failed to believe their own legends. “Sometimes I go along with Mueller into town and hear all sorts of tales of gods and devils from poor villages like this one, and most of them are nonsense. I heard one about glittering eyes that shone every night on a mountain, and it turned out to be a gold vein. So it was probably something like that for us, too. But…”
Vino stopped short, and for a moment he looked very tired. Lawrence had seen similar expressions many times before. It was the expression that came as the world’s dark places were lit one by one, casting doubt upon things once embraced and making the world very different from the fantastical one within which it would be vastly preferable to live.
When Lawrence had left his village as a child, he too had been shocked as he had learned these things. Col seemed pained as he watched Vino, probably because his experiences of this process were much more recent. The only one looking at Vino unmoved was Holo.
But Lawrence very much doubted that her heart was at ease.
“If our village’s angel legend is like that, too, well…that’s a bit sad. Nothing to do about it, though.” Vino shrugged and took a sip of wine. “The clever ones of the village say it must have been the snow, blowing up in the light to look like angels’ wings. And perhaps that’s really so.”
Holo and Huskins alike knew what it was to be forgotten and left behind and to have to accommodate themselves to the human world, enduring constant trouble, unable to stand by and watch as humans severed their ties with the old world.
Lawrence hesitated to ask Vino any further questions. Everyone had times when they wished to return to being a child.
“Oh, and now I’ve shared this strange story with you important Church types. And here you probably hoped it was true, eh? But please don’t think the good people of Taussig are unbelievers with no faith in angels, eh? Even I want to believe, after all!”
Lawrence smiled and nodded. If the villagers felt this way about the angel legend, it let them keep a bit of space between themselves and the story of the witch. If Vino had been a truly hardheaded believer, he might have frozen up like the village elder at the first mention of said witch.
“Although…I don’t know that I should ask you to believe in our angel legend.”
“Hmm?” said Lawrence, which made Fran direct her gaze at him, too.
Vino stood with a quiet “Hup,” then spoke in a practiced, careful tone. “The talk of the witch, you see. It’s not unrelated to the legend of the angel,” he said, not looking at a single one of them as he sheathed the knife with which he had eaten the venison at his belt. He scratched his nose and seemed to stare far away. Finally his attention returned, his face that of a hunter.
“Misfortune always comes from the outside. Mueller’s always saying it.”
Being the very definition of something that came from the outside, Lawrence could find nothing to say.
So he began preparing to take his leave, rushing Holo and Col—though not Fran, of course—through finishing their last bowls of stew.
After saying their regards to Mueller and the others who were busy tanning the deer hides in the square, Lawrence and company left the village led by Vino. Evidently there was a path that led from the village into the forest, but it wasn’t one that horses or wagons could use. Heading out of the village, they would detour around the forest, up a now-unused path that ran along the river that flowed out of the lake.
The road commanded a view of the too-close mountains as it ran alongside the forested foothills, and it gave Lawrence a none-too-good feeling. The road felt likely to be swallowed up at any moment by the green that seemed to melt out of the mountains.
The wagon wheels slid over the snow on the road, and Lawrence wondered how much progress they were actually making.
Finally they reached the place where the stream emerged from the forest.
“Just go north from here. The riverbed’s really wide, see? Used to be the river filled it up all the way, they say.”
It was plenty wide enough to accommodate the wagon. And because the riverbed did not just seem like nothing but rocks beneath the snow, it must have been many years since the river had flowed through it.
“Still, I’m impressed that you go out to hunt in this weather. I was surprised to hear you’d gotten deer.”
At Lawrence’s careful words, Vino’s face turned pleased and proud for the first time since they had left the village. “It’s because you can see their tracks so clearly. Of course, they know that, too, and they know there are only certain places we can go in the snow, so they avoid those spots. But we’re as clever as wolves, so we hide in snow; we become the air; and then, when the time comes, we strike!”
His boastful talk did not really suit the taciturn hunter image, but since there was one such hunter very close by, Lawrence smiled indulgently and left it at that. And anyway, even if it was not so, he was perfectly aware of just how dangerous it was to be disliked by the population of a snowy mountain village.
“But there’s a lake, isn’t there? Seems like animals would gather there.”
“So you might think, but the hunting itself has been strange around here for years.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s because of the witch. The forest around the lake is the witch’s forest, and nobody from the village will go near it.”
Lawrence found himself a bit taken aback at how readily Vino admitted to this.
Vino seemed to notice Lawrence’s surprise, and his expression turned awkward. “Ah, this is just the sort of thing that makes people misunderstand. It’s not that we really think there’s a witch. Truly.”
Lawrence glanced at Holo, but apparently Vino was not lying. It seemed the witch occupied a strange, ineffable position in the minds of the villagers of Taussig.
“So when you say ‘witch,’ you mean…”
“I hear originally it had to do with some important nun. Er…” Vino looked up at Fran on her horse.
Fran slowly looked back at him, then cocked her head curiously and smiled a gentle smile. “?”
“Ah, apologies. I can’t seem to remember her name…but anyway, she existed. From a town called Enos on the Woam River?”
“Perhaps you mean Lenos and the Roam River.”
“Ah, yes, that. Anyway, that’s where she was, and she was beautiful and clever. She gave such wonderful sermons that even God would be enchanted by them, they say.”
Holo looked over at Lawrence as she nodded. She could always be counted upon to react whenever talk of a beautiful woman came up.
Lawrence shrugged and then returned his attention to Vino.
“Her fervor reformed many a wicked heart. But because she preached every waking hour of every day, eventually she had run out of people in the town who needed to hear her message. So then she began to give her message to a different group.”
Lawrence found himself hanging on Vino’s words. He had done the same during the angel story—the man was a skilled storyteller. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why he had been put in charge of handling them.
“She began with birds and cats. Everyone in town praised her mercy and her charity. But then she began to preach to pigs and rats, and then the wind began to change. Eventually the stray dogs that wandered the city began to chase her, and yet still she preached like a woman possessed. The people of the town wanted her to stop, but she wouldn’t consider it. Then one day…”
Their footsteps crunched in the icy snow. Col was so taken in by the story that both of his hands were clenched into fists as he listened.
“…She vanished. Along with the dogs that had hounded her for her sermons.”
Vino blew into his hands as though scattering downy feathers.
Col followed their imaginary path up into the sky with his gaze before hastily bringing his attention back down to ear
th.
“Er—then what happened? She disappeared and what happened to her?”
“Now, now, don’t worry yourself so. This was a story Mueller heard in town. From here on out, it becomes the story as we saw it ourselves.”
Ah, Lawrence thought. He had wondered how the story was so detailed. Apparently Mueller had been the village representative and had gone into town, hearing the tale while he was there. Then they had probably seen an eccentric nun passing through.
“It was the height of a hot summer. It was a terrible season. We were suffering out in the wheat fields, and insects swarmed everywhere. Maybe ten years ago, it was. That’s when the nun came, wearing robes too thick even for winter. We were all astonished to see her because behind her trailed countless stray dogs.”
Lawrence imagined a heavily dressed nun arriving with a procession of stray dogs behind her on a shimmering-hot summer day. It was a deeply eerie image.
Col grabbed on to Holo’s robe.
“The elder said it was a fallen angel here to herald the end of days, falling over himself in his desperation. Ever since, he sits out in front of the village, raising a great fuss whenever travelers come by.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that…”
“Ah, he was such a bother then; it’s a mercy he’s quieter now. Anyway, back to the nun outside of town. Mueller was brave enough to go out to ask her what her intentions were—who she was, and where she came from, what she wanted. And this is how she answered.”
She had heard that here was a path taken by an angel. It was as though they could hear her hoarse voice speaking.
“We realized she was talking about the legend of the angel that was connected to the forest and the lake. Even Mueller wanted to be rid of her, so we led her straight there. But—”
Lawrence was sure he could hear Col swallow nervously.
“—The moment we arrived at the forest, the nun ordered her dogs to attack. Here, here’s the scar I got.”
Vino bared his arm, showing it to Col, who, of all of them, was the most taken in by the tale.
Lawrence and Holo both peered over to get a look for themselves, and then their gazes met.
Neither of them said anything or betrayed any expression, but the scar was surely a strike from a club or stick. And it seemed quite old—undoubtedly from Vino’s childhood.
But his tale was so entertaining that neither Holo nor Lawrence threw cold water on it.
“After that, she took the forest with her dogs and let none enter, living there as though it belonged to her. They were our best hunting grounds, but we had no choice but to find new places to hunt. A terrible story, is it not? That’s why everyone calls her a witch. It’s out of spite, and that’s a fact.”
“So, what happened to the witch?” Lawrence asked.
Vino sighed resentfully. “Who knows? No one’s seen her for years, so maybe she’s gone somewhere else…But since no one will venture to check, there’s no way to be sure. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, after all, don’t you think?”
Lawrence nodded slowly. Things were different for a traveling merchant who could easily move from one town to another. They could have a look and move on if conditions looked dangerous—but such options were not available to villagers.
“We don’t want to invite any extra trouble, so we’ve just stopped going to the forest. Will you all really be all right staying the night there?”
Only those who had never faced the mountains at night and the true terror of the forest would mock their fear of the so-called witch. Even supposing the term witch was no more than a name they had settled on, fear was a natural reaction.
So Lawrence made sure to respond brightly, “Oh yes. After all, three of us are servants of God.”
Fran and Holo looked the part, but Vino seemed not to understand about Col.
“He’s an apprentice scribe, you see, training to copy the scriptures. It’s a blessed vocation.”
Vino seemed surprised and apologized. “Ah, excuse my rudeness.”
“If anything, it’s more dangerous for them to spend the night with me.” It was a more obvious joke than it was clever. Vino laughed aloud, but Lawrence made a serious face. “Ah, that said…”
“Hmm?”
“If the worst happens and we return to the village during the night, please don’t mistake us for the witch and chase us off, eh?”
Vino looked at Lawrence blankly for a moment. He then burst again into laughter. “Ha-ha, of course not! We’re used to life in the mountains, and even some of us have come crying home after our first night in the charcoal cottage. Our own children have to go into the mountains, so we smack them hard and send them back out. We won’t treat you the same way, though.”
Lawrence remembered the first time he went into the forest with his old master.
“The night road is dangerous, but every night has its dawn. I can tell you that much as a man of the mountains myself.”
He was a good villager. Lawrence nodded at his words with a smile.
“Well, then,” said Vino, taking a breath and bringing the jovial conversation to an end.
The scenery itself was a normal riverside road, which did not change for as far as it could be seen, up until the river took a turn out of sight, taking the road with it.
“If you follow this up, you’ll come to the waterfall. Beyond that is the lake, and right before the waterfall should be the charcoal cottage. And if you decide you can’t manage the stay, you can just come back to the village.” These last words he spoke in a calm voice, every bit the practical village farmer. “God’s blessing be with you.”
Just what you would expect from a villager whose forest harbored the legend of an angel, Lawrence thought.
The earthen path that emerged from the forest by the riverside was very smooth. What bumps existed were smoothed by snow, such that the wagon traveled very easily over them.
Once Vino passed out of view, Holo hopped up to the driver’s seat.
“I don’t like it,” were the first words out of her mouth. She had a small cask in her hand, which, if Lawrence’s memory served, was distilled liquor for emergency purposes.
He tried to snatch it away from her, but Holo bared her teeth intimidatingly. “We’ve gotten all she asked, and still she’s so haughty.”
Fran had taken the lead, as though she felt hurried. It was true they’d had no trouble getting the villagers to tell them their stories, but as Fran had said and Holo agreed, they had yet to learn the truth.
From that perspective, it was hardly surprising that Fran had little to say, but that did not improve Holo’s mood. “Are you not irritated yourself?” she asked.
Lawrence drew back slightly. “If I got angry at every little thing, my body wouldn’t be able to hold it all.”
Holo shot him a glare as she gnawed at the edge of the cask, but she no doubt understood his logic.
Perhaps she was already drunk. Lawrence sighed heavily as the thought occurred to him. The cask was thrust roughly at him.
“You’re too kind,” said Holo.
“—Hey!”
Before Lawrence could stop her, Holo had returned to the wagon bed.
Lawrence wondered what she was on about, then he looked at the cask and realized. The plug had been removed but little of the contents had been emptied, so it seemed unlikely that Holo was drunk.
But Holo did have a selfish streak, and he decided she was merely being uncooperative. He replaced the plug in the cask and picked the reins back up.
Thereafter progress was steady, and when Fran finally stopped her horse, they found themselves in front of the little charcoal cottage that commanded a fine view of the waterfall, which despite the small volume of water was quite impressive.
The cottage was huddled beneath two large trees, perhaps because there could be heavy snowfall here. “Don’t build a roof on a roof,” the old saying went, but in this case Lawrence felt it could be forgiven. The tree branches would handle snow
removal themselves as they bent under the weight of accumulated snow.
Fran climbed down from her horse and approached the cottage without any particular hesitation. Given Vino’s story about how the villagers had been driven away by dogs, Lawrence hastily came down from the driver’s seat of the wagon.
“It’s fine,” said Fran as she opened the doors. She did it so smoothly and quickly that there was no chance to stop her.
Lawrence stood there stunned, and Holo came over, dragging Col behind her, whose gaze flicked around their surroundings worriedly.
“She seems to be rather certain of herself.”
While he did not find Fran’s every move to be irritating the way Holo did, Lawrence had to agree with her in this case. It seemed as though this was not Fran’s first visit here.
Moreover, while the cottage seemed ancient, it didn’t have the dusty, dingy feeling of a place that had gone unused for long years. Vino claimed that the villagers no longer entered the forest, but Lawrence was postponing his belief in that particular story.
“Mr. Lawrence, our things,” said Fran, her head emerging from within the cottage.
Lawrence felt as though he had returned to his apprentice days. “I’ll get them right away,” he replied. And then, as he passed Holo on the way—“Don’t fight with her.”
He got a kick for his trouble, but Col’s face brightened at this when previously he had been visibly scared of the witch, so perhaps it was for the best.
Lawrence carried item after item back from the wagon bed, arranging them inside the cottage according to Fran’s direction. Food, wine, blankets, and firewood for four people was quite a lot of material, so when he finished bringing it all in, he had worked up a good sweat—but it all fit perfectly in the cottage, neither too much nor too little.
Moreover, while the interior of the cottage was a bit dusty, there were no spiderwebs, and the planks were free from rot, and the tidy little roof was even without holes.
Someone had to be visiting regularly to perform maintenance and cleaning. Had the last visit been before the snowfall?
Spice and Wolf, Vol. 12 Page 8
