Wordlessly, the girl turned to look at the priest, her green hair billowing gently. Such a simple gesture, and yet she almost seemed to be dancing.
“My name is called Yggdra.” Her tone was solemn. “And the name of my familiar who stands before you, Ulrike.”
“An erdgod... with a name...?” Clifton breathed, amazed.
Erdgods and demigods rarely had names. Or at least, they rarely introduced themselves. While there might be one creature that served as its “core,” the erdgod itself was a conglomeration of xenobeasts and wild animals who had imbibed its divinity, meaning its concept of an “individual” was vastly different from that of any human. Or so it was said. Some erdgods did have names, but these were often invented by the humans who worshipped them, for convenience.
And here, not only the god itself, but...
“A familiar with a name, too?”
“We are many, and one. One, and many. Our messenger Ulrike is one of our progenitors and among our oldest familiars.”
Bartok and Clifton looked at each other, struck dumb. They did not entirely understand what she was saying, but...
“This is...”
The erdgod of the next town, the one Bartok and his companions had risked the dangers of the night to meet. They had heard only vague rumors, and even the priests hadn’t known what this deity looked like. But now, here it was before them.
●
In the biggest room in Yukinari’s “sanctuary,” on the floor.
The sheepskin map was spread open, Yukinari and the others sitting on the floor around it. They didn’t use chairs or a desk for the same reason they hadn’t at the Schillings mansion—they simply didn’t have a table big enough to hold the map.
“So we’re looking for somewhere close, ideally a one or two-day round trip, with relatively stable harvests.” Yukinari looked up from the map at Fiona, who was sitting directly across from him. “And if they have a large economy, that would be good, too. I know it’s a lot to hope for, but is there anywhere around here like that, Fiona?”
“Hmm...” Fiona furrowed her brow and looked at the map.
Incidentally, Yukinari had come into possession of the map when he stole it upon fleeing the Church in the capital. He had taken it so as to have some sense of where to go, rather than running blindly. It seemed to have originally been used to determine tax levies, and it depicted quite a large part of the kingdom, with the capital at the center. It was likely that few other maps showing such a large area existed. The one real problem with it was that unrolling the entire thing took a great deal of space.
“I think the most prosperous town around here would be... Rostruch, probably.” Fiona leaned over toward what, from Yukinari’s perspective, was the right side of the map, near where Friedland was positioned.
“Probably?” Fiona’s answer had included an uncharacteristic note of uncertainty.
At the moment, Yukinari and the others were trying to find a partner for trade. Obviously, any trade that utilized the main roads required the permission of the capital, but this was a sort of covert commerce, without too much emphasis on the covert. They wanted somewhere close by, somewhere they could trade with and not be noticed by the capital; ideally, somewhere richer in crops and livestock than Friedland was.
“You have to cross a mountain range to get there. If you go by horse along the main road, I hear it only takes half a day, but if you’re going to walk, I’d assume two days at least.” Fiona ran her finger horizontally along the map until she stopped at a certain point. “Rostruch is supposed to be right around here. The shortest route is through these mountains, but it’s a dangerous trip, so apparently most people go around, like th—”
“Fiona?” Yukinari cut her off. “I’m hearing an awful lot of ‘supposed to’ and ‘apparently.’ It sounds like hearsay.”
“That’s because it is.” Fiona shrugged. “Almost no one—in fact, no one at all—from Friedland has ever been to Rostruch, or vice versa. The town hardly does any trade. Apparently, it’s surrounded by plains, but those plains are surrounded by mountains, and there’s a swamp on the way, too. It’s supposed to be an awful lot of trouble to get there. To tell the truth, I didn’t even know it existed until I went to the capital.”
“So you’re saying it doesn’t really have relations with the surrounding areas. Maybe they’re isolationists, or like to keep to themselves. I mean, maybe Rostruch just doesn’t want to trade with anyone else?”
“I’ve never heard anyone say anything like that...”
At least, the merchants that periodically visited Friedland seemed to stop by Rostruch, too. It seemed a richer place for business than Friedland, although the merchants apparently visited only once in every several journeys.
The area of Rostruch seemed to produce quite enough for itself, and might never have had to seriously contemplate trade with the rest of the world. That meant, of course, that it wouldn’t get word of cultural or technological developments, but insofar as they had no word from the outside world, the people there wouldn’t know what they were missing.
“It’s no island, but it’s a lot like Japan when it cut itself off from the world in the seventeenth century...”
Fiona was quick to notice the unfamiliar word. “Ja...pan...? Is that the name of a town somewhere?”
“Yeah, sort of.” Trying to explain that it was in another world would only invite trouble, so Yukinari left it at that. Instead, he went back to the business at hand: “Okay, for starters we want to work on establishing regular trade relations with this Rostruch place. If it goes well, it might even lead to new opportunities. Maybe we should go out and see the place ourselves. I wonder what we can bring from Friedland that they’d like...”
It was a question of value. The same object might be worth different amounts in different places. The best-case scenario was that Friedland would have something considered unusual in Rostruch. But if not, Yukinari could always use his powers as an “angel” to make something. It was certainly more efficient than just producing a food supply.
But then Fiona spoke up, a shocked look on her face. “Yukinari? You can’t possibly mean to go yourself?”
“Well, yeah, that’s what I was thinking...” He could send a representative, but it would be so much quicker to do it himself.
“Rostruch—I’ve heard that area has its own erdgod. I don’t know the specifics, but he’s supposed to be pretty powerful. If you, another god, show up there, what do you think’s going to happen?”
“What do you mean? You think he would just assume I was an enemy and attack me?”
“A new erdgod—usually a former demigod—takes over when the old one is killed.” An erdgod, spiritually bound to the land, was typically immortal. Left alone, its sense of self would gradually weaken, until it became part of the very earth—essentially a natural phenomenon. But in any event, it wouldn’t grow old and die the way mortal creatures did. That was why demigods who sought divine status frequently attacked existing erdgods.
“But I’m not a demigod,” Yukinari said. The Friedlanders called him a god for convenience, but he was something different from either the demigods or the erdgods of this world.
“But demigods do come after you just like any other erdgod, right?” Fiona said.
“Well... true.” Yukinari frowned as he remembered the birdlike creature from earlier. “I wonder what makes them think of me that way.”
“Probably... the strength of your... spiritual power.” It was Dasa who now entered the conversation. “Yours is... great enough to be called... a god, Yuki.”
“Spiritual power, huh? Gotta admit, I’ve never really understood that.”
Yukinari’s powers of physical reconstitution, as well as the erdgods’ ability to control the environment, were supposed to be products of this spiritual power. It was also what was supposed to be stored up in the holy oil that made the Harris Church’s guardian saint statue move. But Yukinari had never directly perceived this power
with his own senses. Heat and electricity, for example, were things a person could sense and understand, but spiritual power was not. That was why being told that he had great spiritual power didn’t quite sit right with him.
“Anyway... We’ll figure out some way to throw them off about that.” For that matter, Yukinari could probably just fell the other erdgod. But to do so would be to eliminate the power of that same god, the power that supported Rostruch. The town would decline into poverty; in a word, it would run directly counter to his goals.
Even in Friedland, the erdgod hadn’t had much to do with people’s daily lives. It would appear just once every several years for the ritual of the sacrifice, and otherwise wouldn’t be seen. Apparently, this sort of behavior was quite common. Yukinari was assuming there was a possibility they could conduct trade without ever encountering the local deity.
“But Yukinari.” Fiona narrowed her eyes and glanced at Berta. The other girl had been staring into space for some time now, perhaps unable to follow the conversation. “Most erdgods want sacrifices. You killed ours when you happened across the sacrificial ritual, right?”
It was true that Yukinari had killed Friedland’s erdgod in an attempt to rescue Berta, who was supposed to be sacrificed to it.
“Well... We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it.” Yukinari sighed. “It won’t help us to sit here imagining all the bad things that could happen. We have to go and try to get a feel for the area—and for Rostruch. I’ll try my best not to be noticed by the erdgod.”
“...All right.” Fiona gave a sigh of her own, perhaps realizing there was no way to stop Yukinari from going. She backed off.
“For this first trip, just Dasa and I will go. Fiona, I want you to focus on the work here in town. Berta, help her however you can. And... Well, what could be a better chance for some ambitious demigod than while I’m away? If some upwardly mobile pseudo-deity does show up, just leave him alone and try not to antagonize him.”
It was said that forming the spiritual bond with the land that was necessary for a demigod to become an erdgod took several days in which they were not interrupted.
“Just for safety’s sake, I’ll make three Durandalls and leave them here. If anything comes up, you can use them.”
With a gun, it wasn’t impossible for a human to kill a demigod or even an erdgod. Sharpshooting practice was necessary, of course, but a demigod large enough to challenge for the position of erdgod would be no fool. If the humans were armed with powerful weapons, it would be smart enough to think twice before attacking them. From that perspective, firearms with their great explosions were a nice, easy form of intimidation.
“Okay,” Fiona said. “And I’ll write you a letter of introduction to the mayor of Rostruch. I don’t know how much help it’ll be, but I don’t think it could hurt.”
“That’d be great.” Yukinari nodded, starting to roll up the map. Dasa helped him.
“It’s been... a while since it was just the... two of us,” she whispered.
“Did you say something?” he asked, not quite catching the words.
For a second, Dasa pursed her lips as if she were going to pout. But then she said, “Nothing,” and shook her head.
●
The Great Cathedral overflowed with people of every type: old and young, men and women. Passion rippled through the air from the solemn sound of a pipe organ and the swelling harmonies of the believers’ hymns. The place was packed with more people than it had been built to hold. They were crammed in, in the hopes that everyone who wanted to attend could do so.
But they were not only there because they desired to worship. There was also the expectation on the part of those holding the service that all the hot air the believers expelled would begin to dull their senses.
Humans are group creatures. Put them in a small space together, and they begin to lose their individuality. It becomes easier to just go along, and to be roped into the opinions of those one is sharing the space with.
The prayers from the lips of all the people swirled through the Cathedral, on and on.
“Mm.”
From the second-floor terrace, someone looked down over all this and made a satisfied sound. It was a man just entering old age. He had narrow features and looked like the fastidious type. He wore white vestments over his slender frame, and on top of those, a cape embroidered to show his rank. It showed that he stood at the apex of this Cathedral—indeed, of the whole Harris Church.
Justin Chambers. Current Dominus Doctrinae of the True Church of Harris and the man who had single-handedly planned the conversion of the remote regions during his time as Cardinal. He had earned great acclaim for spreading the church’s teachings all the way to the frontier in a single swoop, and after the previous Dominus died, Chambers defeated a number of challengers to emerge as the new leader.
At the upper levels of the Church hierarchy, he was regarded as harboring unparalleled ambition, and some even suggested that in spite of his studious exterior, he was in favor of armed violence. It was true that many of the plans he had advanced, including expanding the Civilizing Expedition and ensuring that all of the brigades of the Missionary Order were fully armed and outfitted, to say nothing of the Inquisition, had more than a whiff of blood about them.
“That’s right. Pray. Prayer is strength.” Casting his eyes over all the fervently supplicating faithful, Justin smiled in a way that could almost have been called gentle. “And strength gives rise to miracles.” There was no one else on the terrace to hear him speak. Justin turned on his heel and began the long, long walk down the corridor alone.
This place was attached to the Great Cathedral, but regular believers were not allowed inside. A great many facts that the unwashed masses had no need to know were hidden here. Even priests below a certain rank were not permitted to enter. And there...
“Your Holiness, Dominus Doctrinae.”
A young woman was suddenly alongside Justin as he walked slowly down the hall. She was perhaps a little over twenty years old. Her long red hair was tied and draped over her left shoulder. Her clothes were mostly black, but revealed a great deal of her chest, giving her the air of a street worker. She seemed entirely out of place. On one hand she wore a white glove that reached to her elbow, and on the back was some kind of circle, along with some letters and a complicated design.
Her sharp features were heavily made up, making her appear glamorous—even bewitching. And yet a certain gloom could be detected in the woman’s expression.
“Jaroslava...” Justin spared a glance for the woman beside him.
Jaroslava Vernak. That was her name, but few spoke it. She was someone who was not supposed to exist within the Church, and many priests and acolytes, should they spot her, would act as if there were no one there. Everyone in the upper levels of the Church knew that if they attracted the attention of the Dominus Doctrinae by speaking out, they could lose not only their positions, but even their lives.
So they would say nothing. Not even if an alchemist, who embraced heresy, walked openly in the Church. Even if she was, for all intents and purposes, His Holiness’s lover.
“The result?”
“Perfect. As usual.”
An alchemist and the head of the Harris Church, talking as they walked down the hall. The ignorant average believer would no doubt have goggled to see it.
“And the device to circulate holy oil? No irregularities?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Excellent. Keep bringing me news like this.”
They began to descend a long staircase at the end of the hall. They went past the ground floor, then lower, into a basement. At the end of the stairs, the path was blocked by a thick iron door. It could only be opened by entering thirteen numbers, numbers only Justin and Jaroslava now knew. One other man had known them, but he was dead—Justin’s predecessor.
Wordlessly, they unlocked the door and pushed it open.
A bizarre scene greeted the
m. Those without the proper knowledge and education would no doubt have been at a complete loss to say what the place was for. Even those who knew something about the world might simply have taken it for a massive alcohol distillery.
Dozens of pipes crawled across the walls. They connected machines studded with more metal tubes. Valve levers and oversized pumps were conspicuous, along with a gigantic cylindrical filter.
“How is our honored ‘founder’?”
“No concerns, of course. With my abilities, there will never be any problems with that thing.” Jaroslava smiled.
“Please don’t refer to him as ‘that thing.’ What would you do if he heard you?” Justin narrowed his eyes. “That is no ordinary angel. He is our venerated founder.”
“...Yes. Certainly. My mistake.”
The two of them walked past the forest of pipes and tubes to stand before a massive glass cylinder positioned deep in the room. All of the tubes crossed ceiling and walls and floor to reach it.
A person floated inside. The cylinder was full of red holy oil, so it was impossible to make out the details of the figure within. But it was clearly a small person—a man, to judge by the features that could be glimpsed through the liquid. But it was impossible to say any more.
Justin gazed at the person floating in the blood-red stuff. “You have my thanks, Jaroslava. The former Dominus and all those close to him died so suddenly... There were rumors of the ‘founder,’ but not a single written reference. I could never have handled his sacred coffin with my knowledge and skills alone. And of course, I could hardly conduct an open search through the Church and beyond hoping to find someone with the right qualifications.”
“Of course. Absolutely.” She gave a modest smile.
“Can you imagine what would happen if I made public, or even thought of making public, that the source of all our miracles, the source of the power of the True Church of Harris, was this homunculus? An artificial life whose origins no one knows? The first time I saw him, even I was shocked.”
Bluesteel Blasphemer Volume 2 Page 7
