“This bird? Us?” Katchan’s eyes were rolling in his head again.
“Yeah. But, we still have to let it go.” The black bird didn’t fly so well. First it slammed into the railing, then it came to rest on the laundry pole where it strutted and fretted for a while. Katchan leaned out and swiped at the bird with his hand, knocking it into the air. At last, the little black bird took wing and sped off into the night.
“That all you wanted?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Wataru felt a great weight lift off his chest. He took a deep breath, smelling the familiar smells of Katchan’s room.
“Wataru…” Katchan began, sniffling.
“Thanks. I-I gotta go back.”
Somewhere, far down the Corridor of Light, a bell was ringing.
“Go back? Back where? What’s happened to you?”
I’m sorry, I can’t say anymore. Wataru felt his resolve strengthen anew. I have to get back to explain everything to Katchan, to tell him the story of all my adventures in Vision.
“I’ll be back soon, promise. Wait for me.”
Wataru stepped back toward the corridor. Katchan reached out to grab him, but then the strength left his arm and his hand dropped. “Wataru!”
Wataru could hear Katchan calling for him all the way back down the corridor.
Back at the sigil, back in the crystal city. Wataru was alone again.
Time to go meet Mitsuru.
Chapter 54
The Last Fight
Wataru walked on through the crystalline collage of all the towns and villages he had seen in Vision. Eventually he came upon a vast ruin that stretched as far as the eye could see.
The Imperial Capital of Solebria.
There was no mistaking the crumbled city wall and the flattened houses. Everything was fashioned from the same crystal, making the broken pillars and the stripped roofs more otherworldly. In a way, the cityscape was even more beautiful than anything he had seen thus far.
If the shapes had been abstract, it would have truly been a work of art. As it was, Wataru lacked the words to express the irony of the view, but he could taste it like a bitter tang in the back of his throat. He hadn’t been able to properly process the destruction of the real Solebria—the wounds were still too fresh in his mind. Though the translucent crystal rubble neutralized the feeling of tragedy, it could not lessen the rage, fear, and sadness he continued to feel.
He wondered what Meena and Kee Keema were doing. Did they make it safely to the Isle of Dragon? Had the south been warned about the demonkin invasion?
Wataru lowered his eyes and ran. He ran and ran and ran until something large and looming blocked his path. He had been going so fast he nearly collided with it. He caught his breath and looked up.
It was a large gate. It looked like the front gates to the Crystal Palace. Here, in this precise model of Solebria, the gates to the Imperial Palace stood impossibly unblemished.
For a moment, Wataru recalled the Porta Nectere. These gates were far smaller than the real thing.
The intricate crest carved in the middle of each door was most likely that of the Imperial Family. It looked kind of like a star chart with all the paths of the celestial bodies. Also included were a sword and shield, a night and dragon, and above it all, a single crown.
Wataru pushed and pulled at the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. A dead end.
He looked around, but saw nothing resembling a way out through the sparkling sea of rubble surrounding him. If he couldn’t get through the double doors, he wouldn’t be going any farther.
He contemplated climbing the gate, but soon gave up the idea. It was far too slippery for him to get a good grip.
How am I supposed to get beyond this point?
Scratching his head and walking in circles, Wataru felt his anger and frustration grow. He gave the door a swift kick.
Ouch! That hurt. Wataru looked down at his throbbing foot and saw the faint outline of a pattern or diagram on the ground. It vaguely resembled the Corridor of Light star sigil he had seen many times before. But this pattern was only about half the size of a manhole.
Wataru looked around and found others—he counted five in all. They were all laid out in a semi-circle in front of the gate.
He tried placing his feet on one of the patterns.
Suddenly Wataru felt an inexplicable joy well up inside his chest. He could hear laughter ringing in his ears. Who is that? What is this? He jumped back, startled, and the laughter faded.
He did it again and the same thing happened. He stepped onto another diagram and suddenly he felt angry. And just like before, the feeling disappeared when he jumped away.
The next pattern made him sad. The fourth made him so happy he wanted to skip.
But the fifth pattern did nothing.
Wataru carefully stepped away from the fifth pattern and folded his arms across his chest.
Joy, anger, sadness, and happiness. One emotion for each pattern.
It’s just like the huts in the Village of the Watchers! Wayfinder Lau had been mad in the Hut of Anger, sad in the Hut of Sorrow, and gentle in the Hut of Kindness—all so his own mood wouldn’t influence how he treated each Traveler who came to him.
Maybe this works something like that. Each pattern has an emotion associated with it. It must be some sort of riddle—but what?
Joy. Wataru stood on the first of the patterns, closed his eyes, and searched his heart. He thought about things that had brought him joy in Vision. Kee Keema loomed in his mind’s eye. He remembered meeting him for the first time in the grasslands the day he left the Village of the Watchers.
“Oy! Ooooy! You there!”
That cheerful voice, and the darbaba cart racing across the grasslands, sending up a trail of dust into the sky.
“Don’t eat too many o’ those baquas now, y’hear?”
How he had been overjoyed when he heard Wataru was a Traveler—his “good luck charm.” He picked Wataru up, tossed him in the air. Now that was joy—without a doubt, the first joy Wataru had experienced since arriving in Vision. He had done nothing but worry about what he’d gotten himself into until that moment.
There was a dull clunk, and the pattern disappeared from beneath his feet. Wataru blinked. At the same time, a sliding noise came from the gate, as though a bolt had been released.
I guess I’ve cleared the first pattern.
The next was anger. He stepped on the pattern, and without even consciously thinking of it, an image came to mind. It was of the two ankha boys who had tricked Meena into helping them steal, then snuck into her hospital room and threatened her. Wataru could feel his skin burn just remembering it. He had dived through the window, forgetting his own safety in order to save her.
Thunk. The pattern disappeared. There was another creaking sound from the door.
Onto the third. Sadness. This was an easy one too. His heart was still bleeding from the wound left by Kutz’s death. She had tried to console him to her last breath. The feel of her gentle hand upon his cheek.
The third pattern disappeared. Wataru moved over to the fourth.
Happiness. This would be a hard one to narrow down. Listening to Meena singing atop the darbaba cart. The feast of the waterkin in Sakawa. All the good food he’d eaten at various lodgings. The conversations he’d had with his friends on the road. All the memories sparkled in his mind.
Then from among them, one memory stood out—the night he saw the performance of the Aeroga Elenora Spectacle Machine in the mountains outside Maquiba. Meena was a lively girl, but on stage she was incredible. Her high-wire tricks made Wataru fidget with fear even as they thrilled him. And he remembered the close of the show, when all the performers threw flowers. He looked at Meena and thought that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He had clapped until his hands were red and raw.
Thinking about it now, all of his happiness and sadness in Vision came from the times he was with his friends.
Thunk. T
he fourth pattern faded. Another clunk came from the gate, and with a slow groaning noise, it began to open.
I did it!
Wataru thrust his fists into the air. The riddle hadn’t been that hard to solve after all.
But what about the fifth pattern? It was still lying there on the ground.
Wataru tried stepping on the pattern again. Nothing happened. Maybe it was a blank, set there to confuse him?
Joy, anger, sadness, and happiness. What other emotions were there? Maybe it wasn’t worth worrying about. The gate had opened anyway.
Wataru was running out of time. He turned his feet toward the gate. His heart thumped in his chest.
As he walked through, everything swirled around him. For several seconds, he could see nothing but a dazzling whirlwind of light. When his vision cleared again, everything had changed.
He was in the Swamp of Grief.
It was a perfect replica. The flat surface of the water somehow managed to look just as ominous, even in crystal. He half imagined that somewhere down there was a crystal kalon, waiting for prey, its sawlike teeth bared and menacing. The meager clumps of grass growing around the edges of the lake would cut a man’s hand if he wasn’t careful. If his feet should catch on a root, and he fell into the water, his body would freeze. The black water of the Swamp of Grief would numb him with its poison, slowly robbing him of life.
Am I supposed to cross this?
Wataru hesitantly took a step and found the surface of the lake to be solid under his foot, as though it were frozen. No matter what shape it took, crystal was crystal after all. Still, with every step, Wataru couldn’t help but imagine the kalon swimming somewhere far below. What if it came up through the surface of the lake to claim its victim?
I’m fine, I’m fine. That can’t happen. He walked hesitantly at first, but soon regained his confidence. From then on he walked normally. I just need to make it to the other side of the lake.
As he walked, he remembered what had happened to him in the real Swamp of Grief. He couldn’t help it—the details of the vision he had seen there were etched indelibly into his memory: the other Wataru, the murder of Yacom and Lili Yannu, the stone-baby that had chased him.
Had it all been a hallucination brought on by the toxins in the swamp water? Had poison found a way into his heart when he met the pair who looked like his father and his father’s lover? That would explain the horrible outcome of that encounter. He never wanted to go back to the Swamp of Grief again, and here he was walking through it once more.
Let’s get this done with quickly. He tried to shut off his memories so he wouldn’t have to see the faces of Satami and Sara again. And he especially didn’t want to think about that crawling baby that continued to haunt him with every step he took. Wataru had to stop and shake his head to keep the phantoms at bay. He had reached the center of the lake. Seen from the middle, the Swamp of Grief was almost a perfect circle, rimmed by the marsh and thickets of sickly-looking grass.
Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to him. The circle is like a stage. I’m the only actor in a show of one. And my audience? The sullen swamp air and a few muddy clumps of reeds. Lovely.
Then he heard a voice.
—Traveler.
Wataru tensed.
—Young Traveler, Wataru.
The voice was mechanical, flat—if crystal itself could speak, it would probably sound just like this.
—If you come to kneel at my feet, you must prove beyond all doubt that you are a Brave.
To kneel? Is the Goddess talking to me?
—As the hand of the mother guides her child from morning to evening, I beseech you—call home the split soul, the wandering one. Call him back to you.
Call what back? How do I prove who I am?
The voice of the Goddess spoke again before Wataru had time to sort his muddled thoughts.
—Now, rise, and triumph!
At a loss, Wataru stood, then he saw it.
Something was approaching from the far edge of the lake—a person, walking toward him, one step at a time. Something about his gait seemed familiar—the shape of the head, the angle of the shoulders. Then he realized why it seemed so unnervingly familiar.
He was looking at his own reflection. It was another Wataru.
His jacket was off, a sword was stuck through the hempen belt at his waist, even the wear on the soles of his weather-beaten boots was identical. The only thing different was his expression. His mouth was twisted into a defiant smirk beneath a pair of eyes that were blazing with rage. The skin of his face was drawn tightly over his cheekbones, and Wataru thought he could see drops of blood splattered across the front of his shirt.
It was Wataru as he had seen him in the Swamp of Grief. Wataru the murderer.
That was just a hallucination. It wasn’t real. It was a nightmare. None of that really happened. It’s a lie, a liar, a lie!
Trembling, Wataru stepped backward. The other Wataru was rapidly closing the distance between the two of them. He came so close he could see the shadow his eyelashes cast on his face. In one smooth motion, the other Wataru drew his Brave’s Sword.
His evil twin opened his mouth, but the voice that he heard was that of the stone-baby who had chased him in the Swamp.
“I’ve been waiting for you, murderer.”
Then Wataru realized. This reproduction of the Swamp of Grief was no stage. It was an arena. A place of combat. He would have to fight this hallucination—this image of himself—right here and right now.
Rise, and triumph!
The other Wataru kicked the surface of the lake with the toe of his boot.
Wataru didn’t have time to think. He didn’t even have time to reach for his sword. In a flash, his double had closed the distance between them, and the Brave’s Sword cut keenly through the air just below Wataru’s chin. Wataru’s legs buckled and he fell flat on his back, looking up at the sky. The inertia of his fall sent him skidding across the crystallized water.
Unable to change his direction, Wataru slid until he collided with the feet of his double who had run ahead of him. The sword was coming down straight at him. Wataru screamed and rolled off to one side. The edge of the sword bit into the surface of the lake, sending shards of crystal flying through the air.
Wataru crawled away, finally managing to regain his feet. His murderous double was behind him now. The sword swung a second time, coming so close that the wind from the blade’s passage through the air was enough to slice into Wataru’s ear. Blood trickled down his neck.
He didn’t have time to feel pain. The blood was warm on his cheek, and droplets soaked into his shirt. Wataru’s head spun with such fear and confusion that he couldn’t tell which one of them led and which followed, which was real, and which was merely an image. Is it him? Is it me?
Wataru ran, but his reflection grabbed his shirt from behind, and pulled him down. They both fell to the hard surface of the lake. Wataru felt the coldness of the boy beneath him, and it sent a shiver down his spine. What is this thing? It felt like it was made out of ice.
But it’s real, it moves, even though it’s not alive and it’s certainly not a ghost.
Wataru’s adversary swung his arm, bringing the hilt of the Brave’s Sword in his hand down on Wataru’s head.
“I’m gonna kill you!” his double screamed, mocking him with his own words. The hatred emanating from his reflection was palpable.
Finally he managed to grab the hilt of his own sword. He couldn’t think of any words, he merely prayed. Fly!
It was enough. In the blink of an eye, Wataru found himself on his back at the edge of the lake. He hadn’t escaped completely, but at least he had time to stand up, catch his breath, and draw his sword. His legs and hands continued to shake and his shoulders heaved.
The other Wataru was still in the middle of the lake, standing straight and calm as though nothing had happened. Even his posture mocks me. His face was still twisted in an evil smile. He seemed ready to laug
h out loud. This was the hardest thing to believe. No matter how low I sink, I could never smile like that.
“H-hey, you!” Wataru said through trembling lips. He lifted his Brave’s Sword. It wasn’t a fighting pose. He was gripping the hilt of the sword like a drowning man grips a life preserver.
“You’re not me! You’re not! You don’t exist! You’re a hallucination!”
Wataru fired a magebullet. His double easily dodged the glowing bolt as it arced over the lake. The next shot he caught with the blade of his sword, sending it straight into the sky like a meteor in reverse.
“You’re not real!” With that as his battle cry, Wataru launched himself at his double. His look-alike broke into a run too, coming straight for him. Just when he thought his blade was in reach, the double leaped. His foot came down on the hand in which Wataru held his sword and jumped clear over his head.
Uh-oh! Wataru sensed the kick coming even before it hit him in the back. He went sprawling face first.
He’s too fast. There’s no way I can beat him like this. Despair and powerlessness morphed into fear. What do I do now? How do I win? How can I even survive? I need to hide.
Barrier magic!
Bracing himself against the pain, Wataru chanted a quick spell and moved the tip of his blade in the shape of a cross. His heart was already beating fast. The added strain of raising the barrier made his heart and lungs scream.
Wataru disappeared. His double narrowed his eyes, one hand at his waist, the other hand letting his sword point dangle down toward the lake. He was grinning.
Safe behind his barrier, Wataru began to move, slowly. If I can only get close enough to strike.
He could feel his strength draining away. The pain made his eyes pop out of his head. White noise filled his head. His consciousness began to slip.
His double stood straight and tall as if to say I have nothing to fear from you, little boy.
His back is turned. He can’t see me. Now’s my chance. I have to do this, I have to!
Three more steps. Two more. One more step and I’ll reach his back.
Brave Story Page 84
