The Archer of Beast Woods

by Kanata Yanagino

  “Time marcheth on; nay, mayhap we are the travelers.” Bee’s voice, usually full of cheer, now took on a deep and mournful quality, the words carrying clearly through the night air. “The veritably strong, even the ingenious sage and holy maiden—they too perish alike with the turns of the moon, ’til nary a thing save for ash and a name endures...”

  The sounds of the strings echoed through the air.

  They had survived.

  “Wherefore let the melody play strong, praying meanwhile that their deeds be everlasting, their heroic names echo down the ages.”

  The sound of her voice was creating an indescribable sense of excitement inside me.

  They had survived.

  “Tonight I speak of the Killing of the Wyvern, but one of the many deeds of the Three Heroes...” Bee smiled at me. “Everyone, if I may have your silence and attention.”

  They had survived! Their names, even now, still survived!

  ◆

  In the small, dusty, and poorly lit shrine, the rebec’s melody echoed out with the crackling of the campfire.

  After her prologue, Bee spoke masterfully about the heroes that would feature in the story. I was in a trance, almost as if I was floating on air. I felt such pride, such happiness... I had such fond memories of those days.

  “The first, a child born in the south, in a remote settlement of savages. As he raised his first cry, a star fell from Leo, so it is told. The child grew and grew strong, and departed for parts unknown with his demonblade tempered by a shooting star. Known as the Lion, Star Sword, the Hired Blade, the Gods’ Gift to Warfare... this man was Blood, the War Ogre. His path was the course of a raging blood storm, and his shouts of victory boomed forth like the roars of a lion.”

  My heart was dancing. Damn you, Blood, you didn’t speak about yourself at all. So that was the history behind that sword...

  “In the islands of Middle-Sea was an infant with a gift: a natural affinity with Words. Bandits attacked his homeland; thereupon he confounded them with fog, and repelled them. The wise men of the time invited that child prodigy to their place of education. He leaped up the ranks thereof, two at a time. Yet soon he stood down from his position, and spake his immortal words: ‘There is no truth in academia.’ The Wild Wanderer, the Unrecognized Great Mind, the Torrent, the Culture Connoisseur—these are the names of Gus, the Wandering Sage. His true name unknown to the world, who knows now the depths of his mind and heart?”

  No one knew the name Augustus? Come to think of it, Gus had said that some sorcerers, being users of the Words, thought that names were Words of power themselves, and so concealed their own, and went by only a nickname or an initial. I guessed that the reason he’d so readily told me his real name was that he’d stopped being cautious about it after he died.

  “Whence hailed the woman? Perchance a shamanic noblewoman of our own land; perchance the princess of a land afar. Or it may have been that a constellation of fresh-verdure spirits coalesced and formed her sparkling eyes of emerald, and the resplendency of the heavens solidified and became her flowing, golden hair. Whencesoever she arose, how can we doubt that in such a divine form dwelt the soul of a goddess? The Saint of the South, the Unmercenary Maiden Martyr, the Bringer of Blessings, the Dainty Flower... Mary, known also as Mater’s Daughter. Her white and merciful hands, to which even fierce beasts bowed their heads, were the brilliant light that pierced through the darkness.”

  It seemed that Mary’s history was unknown, and she was speculated as being of noble birth. I had to agree that her dignified style brought that kind of thing to mind, but if Mary had said to me, “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I was born in a poor little hamlet!” I’d easily have been able to see that, too.

  After all, Mary loved puttering around in the garden, sowing flower seeds. And once spring came, even the garden beside that temple would burgeon with blossoms...

  “Long past now are those bygone days...”

  Their voices, their faces, their words—they filled the inside of my mind, and I felt tears starting to come to my eyes.

  “Ahh, memories and feelings as numerous as the stars: if thou hast no way home, I can but play thee loud, and carry thee on the blowing winds...”

  The tale began.

  ◆

  Blood had apparently once been a wandering sword for hire. The Union Age was mostly a time of peace, but even then, there had been a lot of fighting in outlying areas like this, against goblins, beasts, and other humans. Blood was one of those ruffians full of fight, earning his money by risking his life sticking his neck into all kinds of conflicts.

  Come to think of it, I remembered him once giving me a suspiciously detailed lecture on the secrets to staying out of trouble when selling your sword skills. That must have referred to this.

  And one day, a certain incident led Blood to meet Gus, and they resolved that problem together. The barbaric swordsman learned of the way of the wise man, and learned to rein in his wild nature and add the sharpness of intelligence to his blade—or so Bee’s story went. But if they were the same back then as when I had known them, I could see Gus as the admittedly intelligent loose cannon, and Blood as the one with a surprising amount of common sense who followed after him, astounded by but used to the wizard’s antics.

  Their free-roaming journey continued, and one day, Mary entered the picture. Where that happened and what brought them together were apparently shrouded in mystery, but it was known that Mary established herself within the party as a surprising source of strength and decisiveness—yeah, I could imagine that—and the three, their abilities and personalities now balanced, built up a name for themselves as heroes of the hinterlands.

  With that introduction out of the way, Bee began her recital of the story proper, saying that it was just one of their many deeds. It had occurred near some remote villages, and there had been a monster in the nearby mountains: a wyvern.

  Wyverns were winged demidragons capable of flight, although if I remembered Gus’s lectures correctly, it was the subject of academic debate whether to categorize them as demidragons or beasts. Although wyverns breathed fire like dragons, they had no front legs and were smaller, weaker, and more simpleminded.

  Even so, they were still a significant threat. Hunting a wyvern required a reasonably sized, trained team to attack its nest. It was extremely difficult to secure a victory on flat land against a wyvern when it had absolute control over the sky.

  It was also said that some rare wyverns could speak the language of dragons. These wyverns served the dragons, and lizardmen exalted them. As for the wyvern in these mountains, it was one like a beast: it had low intelligence and was unable to talk.

  From time to time, when the wyvern got hungry, it would attack the villages, destroy the barns, and carry off the beasts of burden.

  The people of the villages discussed the problem together, and decided to offer up one person a year as a sacrifice for the wyvern. In remote regions such as these, work animals’ lives were often more valuable than people’s.

  The one chosen that year was a beautiful half-elf girl from a nearby village. Her elven side came from her grandparents; the parents she was born to were both human. Naturally, the father suspected the mother of being unfaithful, and there were considerable arguments between them.

  As she grew up, the girl herself became a source of discord due to her beauty. Some fought over her, while others looked at her with jealousy and envy and treated her as an outcast. The resulting strife led people to keep their distance, and from there, it was inevitable that she would be the one chosen to be sacrificed.

  I once heard from my parents that it was hard for a half-elf to gain equal treatment living among humans, or even elves. Half-elves were beautiful, skilled, and lived long lives, yet not to the same extent as elves. Their only options were to stand in their natural place at the top of society, be placed at the bottom, or distance themselves entirely and live as hermits. Too exceptional to be a human and too quickly maturing t
o be an elf, it was hard for them to be treated as equals in either society. Menel’s past had unfortunately followed the same pattern.

  When Mary, Blood, and Gus dropped by the village and heard the situation, they had differing opinions. As the story went, Mary was strongly in favor of rescuing her, Blood asked if Mary planned on raising her as well and where the hell the money was going to come from, and Gus remained silent in contemplation.

  It felt to me as though the actual conversation had probably been similar, but slightly different. The personalities the characters had in the story felt slightly off, particularly where Gus and Blood were concerned, and especially with respect to Gus’s fixation on money.

  In any case, what ended up happening was that Blood gathered the villagers together and told them, “We can kill the wyvern. Is there anyone who can pay? Would you like to pay money to have the wyvern killed?”

  A stir ran through the crowd of villagers, and their only response was silence. As things stood, the villages were functioning. What would happen if this failed and the wyvern was only injured and became enraged? And supposing they succeeded, adventurers who could kill a wyvern would command an enormous sum in reward money. Did they really want to go so far to save the sacrifices?

  Amid the silence, Blood clucked his tongue and headed back to their lodging, leaving Mary with the words, “See that? That’s reality.”

  But that night, the three were visited by a poor farm boy. The boy, who by the looks of it hadn’t been taught any manners, gruffly held out several coins for them to take: copper coins coated in verdigris, and silver coins with worn-down edges and blackened faces. He didn’t speak, but these were clearly the boy’s entire savings.

  Blood said, “You want us to fight a wyvern for this pittance?”

  But Gus snatched the coins from the boy’s hand, took a good, long look at the dirty currency, which didn’t even have a hint of a shine, and said, “Ohh, yes, this is good money. Look at how it sparkles.”

  I was sure that was word for word what he said because I could visualize the scene as clear as day.

  “Don’t you agree, Mary?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t agree more, Gus. We’ve been given something very special.”

  “Mm. And I think, in light of the fact that we have received something of such value...”

  “We’ll have to do our job, won’t we?” Mary smiled warmly, softly.

  Blood scratched his head in frustration. “Goddamned softies. Working for nothing,” he muttered.

  Then, the boy stepped up to Blood and proclaimed, “If it’s not enough, I’ll pay with myself. You saw them. No one here’d have the guts to come after me if you took me away. Sell me to a slave dealer or whatever you want.”

  “You ain’t worth jack,” Blood said, returning him a hard stare.

  The boy didn’t look away.

  Blood broke into a broad smile. “Heh. So you do have guts. Guess even runts can be warriors.” He cast his eyes over the boy. "I’m a warrior, too. And when one of us warriors swallows his pride and asks for help, we oughta support each other. So... what the hell." He ruffled the boy’s hair, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get it done.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mm.”

  And the three took on the wyvern.

  ◆

  The wyvern soared. It flew fast against the wind, acting as if the sky was all its own. It was thinking that today was about the day for its food to get placed on the field at the base of the mountain. It was simpleminded, but it had enough intelligence to roughly follow the passage of time.

  There was a simple altar in the field, and by it stood the sacrifice, wearing a veil and with her head lowered towards the ground. The creature swooped down, intent on devouring her.

  At that moment, the wyvern was knocked back by an expanding wall of light. Rich, golden hair flowed from behind the sacrifice’s veil.

  It was Mary.

  Without allowing the wyvern a second to recover, Gus appeared from behind the altar and cast the Word of Knotting. The wyvern immediately attempted to withdraw from this unexpected situation, but it had no freedom to resist. In an instant, its wings were magically bound, and it plummeted to earth.

  The sound it made as it hit the ground was booming, but the wyvern’s body was tough. It drew a deep breath, preparing to defend itself against its sudden adversaries. Blood raised a war cry and charged, his sword firmly gripped in both hands, ready to strike.

  The wyvern breathed fire.

  Behind Blood, Mary was praying. Her blessing protected him and scattered the flames. Gus’s fingers drew the Word of Knotting again and again, forbidding the monster flight. The sky denied to it, the wyvern bared its fangs and thrust its head at its attackers. A single swing of Blood’s two-handed sword sent it flying from the rest of its body.

  In that instant, did the wyvern’s head realize what had happened to it? Three little “meals”—that was all there had been. And those little meals had killed it. Of course, its consciousness probably faded in a second or less as jets of blood spouted and soaked the earth.

  The following day, the villagers came to check on the sacrificial altar and discovered the decapitated corpse of the wyvern, stripped of every part that could be exchanged for cash.

  After that, Mary, Gus, and Blood took the poor boy and the half-elf girl with them and headed for a city. There was no place in the village for those two anymore.

  Blood asked them what they were going to do, and the boy replied he’d come up with something. Hearing this, Blood gave the boy a dagger to keep with him. It was a magical dagger engraved with Words.

  “Old Gus engraved Words on it. It’ll do more for you than most amulets. Every warrior’s gotta have a short sword or a dagger. Can’t show off without one.”

  “Please take this, too,” Mary said, handing the girl a bag. “Take care of your bodies, and of each other. I’m sure you have lots of hard times ahead of you, but please, don’t forget how important it is to persevere.”

  They looked inside the bag. It was full of silver and copper coins.

  They both turned it down as fast as they could. This was more than the reward the boy had paid the three to do the job! The girl protested, too—they couldn’t accept something like this. But Gus shrugged and said, “Hmph. Whoever said I was giving it to you? This is an investment. I’m lending it, nothing more.”

  The two tilted their heads to the side in confusion. Lending it?

  “Here is what we want from you,” Gus said. “Live hard, increase your wealth, make a name for yourselves. Spread your names far and wide, so wherever they go, they are accompanied by thunderous applause. And when your names reach our ears, that is when we or a delegate we dispatch will come to collect what we lent you, plus interest.”

  Then Gus said he would tell them his real name, which they would use as a code word, and to remember it well. And so the boy and the girl learned the name of the Wandering Sage, the name unknown by anyone in this world.

  The boy and the girl took each other by the hand and headed to the city together, and the Three Heroes took the main road in search of new adventures. And so, under a blue sky, the tale of the Three Heroes’ Killing of the Wyvern came to an end.

  “And there’s a bit of a rumor that comes with this story...” Bee grinned mischievously. “Count Dagger of the Fertile Kingdom... They say his proper surname was Wizardsdagger.” The strings reverberated, the note and the story both lingering pleasantly. “Even today, at the count’s mansion, an old half-elf lady is waiting for the Sage’s delegate.”

  Then...

  “The Sage passed away, but she still believes that one day, a delegate who knows his true name will come.”

  Their names...

  “And she will return the dagger, the money she was lent, and the interest, as well as the amount that was entrusted to her husband.”

  Their names were still echoing.

  “And she will say her thanks for what
was done for her.”

  Over two hundred years later, and they were still echoing, right up to the present.

  “And that’s the end of my story. A story of great heroes that echoes down the ages, even today... Huh? Will? Will, are you crying?”

  As she tilted her head and peered into my face, I panicked. My face was bright red, and my eyes were blurry with tears. I was only moments from a complete breakdown. “C-Crying?! No, I’m not crying!”

  “Ohh yes you are! Your eyes are red!” Bee gave a satisfied laugh. “My awesome storytelling touched you, didn’t it?”

  “N-No, no it didn’t!”

  “Hehehe, fess up fess up!”

  We teased and ribbed each other a lot that evening. As we joked together, I felt that something warm had flared to life inside my chest.

  Blood, Mary, Gus.

  There are so many people in this world besides me who still remember you.

  There were so many.

  And I could cry for joy.

  ◆

  The following day, I was outside the shrine before the first light of dawn, practicing thrusting my spear and pulling it back. The fact that I had been on night watch duty since late last night had something to do with it, and I was just a little excited as well.

  I’d now heard about the “Fertile Kingdom.” It was a country that had expanded from Grassland down here to Southmark. Count Dagger was nobility, and the expansion of the Fertile Kingdom to Southmark was a new development of the past few decades, so the half-elf woman in the story was probably back on the other continent. Which meant that if I crossed the sea, I could find someone I could talk to about Blood, Mary, and Gus.

  I had a lot of things to deal with right now, so I couldn’t just drop everything, but one day I wanted to cross the sea and pay her a visit. Thrusting the spear forward again with a grunt, I thought about how I wanted to feel like I’d earned the right to say with pride, I was a member of their family.

  Mixing in some footwork, I jabbed out with my spear again, sharply. And sharper again.

  In the language of battle techniques, “sharpness” didn’t refer to simple speed. It referred to the swiftness of the switch between stillness and action.