Spice and Wolf - Volume 12 - Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The wagon swerved violently to one side. The motion seemed to have awakened Holo.

“…Have we arrived?” She yawned a great yawn, shaking her head lazily from side to side.

The now-close mountains were dotted with trees even in this cold season, and here and there white stuff could be seen. The grassy field looked like a flat plane but was actually a gentle slope, and if one looked upslope, it was clear it descended from an impressive height. It was not Lawrence’s imagination that the air was cooler here than in Kerube, and a thin layer of snow stuck to the road.

“If we turn down this road, then go straight, we’ll soon be at the village, apparently.”

The field of golden, knee-high grass stretched far to the east. If they did not turn and instead proceeded straight, they would evidently run straight into the foot of the mountains.

Lawrence and company had stopped their horses here to practice their various roles and stories before entering the village. Holo had grumbled the previous night but generally enjoyed such theatrical dissembling.

Once they had run through their stories, Fran took the lead and they set off again. Holo’s tail swished happily beneath her robe.

“Speaking of which, I neglected to ask you, but that wasn’t you in that tale, was it?” asked Lawrence suddenly, as Fran seemed in a hurry and had opened up a bit of distance between her and the wagon.

Holo replied without much interest as she ate a small piece of jerky. “Alas, I’ve no bird friends aside from that one lass from some time ago, and I’ve no feathers myself.”

“And no ideas, either?”

Holo shook her head wordlessly and sighed. “Had the legendary figure in question been me, they would’ve forced that fool to draw them a map…” She turned away as though apologizing for trouble she had caused.

If Lawrence suspected this as being an act, he would surely make her angry, and yet it had to be an act. Col seemed to be frantically trying to think of the words with which to console her, but meeting his eyes, Lawrence only smiled.

“If all goes well when we begin to ask around, how shall we fill our remaining time?” he asked.

Holo looked up suddenly and smiled. Partially because she was holding Col’s hand in a very sibling-like fashion, she suddenly seemed much like the young maiden she appeared to be.

No doubt she was not entirely in earnest, but at least some part of her was.

Soon a single, far-off thread of smoke appeared, probably from a distant hearth or stove, and soon after that they arrived at the town. Holo took one look at it. “Perhaps I ate a bit too much wheat bread,” she said sardonically.

It seemed unlikely that much wheat bread was baked in Taussig, nestled as it was at the foot of the mountains. Half buried in the foothills, it had an apologetic little excuse of a fence to keep out wild animals, hung with wards for driving off evil spirits—evidence of the Church.

Had they not already heard the rumors of a witch, the placement of those wards would have been strange, because indifferent to the darkness and danger that lurked in the mountains, they instead faced out toward the plains. It made Lawrence imagine inexperienced travelers who feared only the wolves before them, heedless of the bandits behind them.

He imagined Taussig to be a gloomy, sparsely peopled village, but it was not so. The sound of happy children’s voices could be heard from the houses, and sheep and goats grazed lazily in the village’s wide lanes. It seemed a perfectly normal village.

It was said that the source of most quarrels was mutual ignorance, and perhaps that was not so untrue.

Lawrence climbed off the wagon, looking to the still-mounted Fran. “If you would, please,” she said quietly.

With his left hand he took the reins of Fran’s horse, and with his right the reins of the wagon horse, and proceeded slowly into the village. Eventually an old man sitting on a roughly hewn wooden bench at one corner of the village’s entrance took notice of them.

“Now, then,” said Lawrence softly, putting on his best merchant’s smile.

“My, my…have we travelers here?” It looked as though the old man was out watching the livestock as they grazed. His hand gripped a shepherd’s staff.

“Greetings to you. I am a traveling merchant. My name is Kraft Lawrence.”

“Oh, a merchant, are you?” Wrinkles appeared around the old man’s eyes, as though he was wondering what business a merchant could possibly have in this town.

In the village, first the children and then the rest of the villagers began to take notice of their unusual visitors. Some watched from their eaves, others from cracks in their wooden windows.

“We’ve come from Ruvinheigen, a place far to the south.”

“Ruvin…”

“Ruvinheigen.”

The old man nodded and fixed his gaze on Lawrence and his party for a time. When the old man was not moving, he looked like a doll made from tree bark.

“It’s known as the city of the Church.”

Suddenly the man’s gaze moved from Lawrence to Fran, up on her horse—and then, moments later, to Holo and Col, who had climbed down from the wagon bed.

Then with a sudden sigh he looked back at Lawrence with a troubled gaze. “What business would people of the Church have with this village?”

Lawrence answered, with a huge smile that would have made a child burst into tears, “Actually, we’ve heard tell of a legend regarding a holy angel that came to earth here. As faithful servants of God, we were hoping we could hear more of the tale…” The old man did not immediately react, so Lawrence jokingly continued, “Is the angel here in the village now?”

“No! Don’t be absurd!”

The old man’s voice was so suddenly strident that Lawrence was momentarily taken aback. The loud voice startled the livestock as well; the hogs squealed and the goats stamped their hooves. The chickens, though flightless, flapped their wings to escape, and the old man looked Lawrence in the eye.

“It had nothing to do with this village. It’s true that it came through here but merely asked directions. It truly, truly had no business here!”

The man was desperately insistent. Lawrence hastily tried to clear his head and think things over. It came through here? And had nothing to do with the village?

“I understand. I understand!” It was all Lawrence could do to raise his hands in mollification. He certainly was not going to pose another question.

The old man’s shoulders moved with his heavy breathing, and he leaned forward, eyes wide, as though he had yet more to say. His lips trembled, either from overexcitement or simple anger.

But what had put him in such a state?

As Lawrence mulled it over, several men came out of the village.

Lawrence heard the rustle of clothing behind him; Col was making himself ready. Holo did likewise—because the men were all carrying large hatchets or knives.

Fran, meanwhile, did not so much as move, instead remaining hooded atop her horse.

Lawrence indicated with his hand that they should keep calm, but not because he was trying to preserve his pride in front of Fran, nor out of empty reassurance. If all the men had been carrying were weapons, he would have done an about-face on the spot, and the reason he had not was probably the same reason Fran had not.

The three men that approached were bloodstained up to their elbows, and their faces showed irritation at having been interrupted. The hatchets and knives had surely been used for butchering, and after all, when someone has proposed to kill another, their expression is not one of annoyance.

“Travelers, are you?” asked the most sturdily built of the three middle-aged men. The old man looked over his shoulder and tried to speak.

“It’s all right, elder. Calm yourself.”

The elder’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. It seemed the men’s expressions of irritation were directed not at the outsiders, but instead at the village elder, the old man.

“Circa!”

The man turned around and shouted, and a woman emerged from one of the homes.

He indicated the elder with his posture, and the woman seemed to immediately understand and approached.

The man directed the woman he had called Circa over to the old man and patted his back reassuringly. He then looked over at Lawrence.

“Apologies, kind travelers. He didn’t say anything too terrible to you, did he?” he asked, dropping his hatchet on the ground. As he casually rubbed his gore-stained hands off on his trousers, he seemed to immediately know who among the band of travelers would speak for them. This was something townspeople always know, but those raised in small villages frequently struggled with the issue.

Lawrence found himself surprised by those who lived like this—people for whom status or wealth was a mere fantasy.

“No, not at all. However, I appear to have asked him something terrible, as he seemed deeply frightened…,” Lawrence said, trying to elicit useful information.

The bearded man smiled ruefully. “Misfortune always comes from the outside, after all.”

He seemed to know the way of the world. Perhaps he handled the village’s dealings with the outside world. So if Lawrence showed his thanks, perhaps it would be returned in kind.

“My name is Kraft Lawrence. I’m a traveling merchant,” he said, extending his right hand.

The man looked Lawrence straight in the face, then down to his own hand, then to the hand Lawrence offered. After a time, he finally took the hand. “Heureux Mueller,” he said. “So, there aren’t many possibilities for why the elder would be so afraid. One, his time has come. Two, a tax collector has come. Three, someone asking after bad rumors has come.”

Mountain villages relied on hunting in between stints of farming work. Mueller’s folded arms were twice as thick as Lawrence’s and splattered with blood up to their elbows, which made them seem even more intimidating. Though Lawrence felt no malice from him or the men on either side of him, these were men who radiated heat from head to toe, blades in hand, as though to offer proof they had just been doing hard labor.

But if he backed down here, it would be implying a debt on their part to him. “Actually, we’ve come to hear the legend of the angel.”

“The angel?” The man knit his brow and glanced at Lawrence’s traveling companions behind him. Then he continued, as though suddenly remembering something, “Oh! So that’s it, eh?”

“Might we be able to hear more?” Lawrence asked, his eyes upturned with a trace of humility.

Mueller laughed the hearty laugh of the hunter, though it had a trace of the farmer’s gentle smile in it. “Ha-ha-ha! You needn’t bow and scrape so. I’ll bet you’ve heard all sorts of bad things about this village in town. They all think anyone who doesn’t live in a town are ignorant and superstitious. And I suppose there are some ignorant villages around, but not us. I’ll tell you as much as you want to hear of the angel legend.”

If people could believe each other’s words, then there would be no liars or thieves anywhere in the world and no reason for doubt.

Even supposing the man was such a good liar that Lawrence could not see through him, Holo would not be deceived.

“Now then, kind traveler…Mr. Lawrence, was it? Have you and your companions eaten?”

Had he been traveling by himself, he would not have refused a meal even if he had already been full. But Lawrence gave Fran a questioning look, and the well-traveled Fran seemed to agree.

“No, we haven’t,” said Lawrence.

“Then we’ll treat you to some of the deer we’ve just slaughtered,” said Mueller. He looked around, perhaps searching for the person who would take on that duty.

“Vino, we’ll handle the tanning. Let us borrow your hearth, will you?”

“Ah, God’s will be done,” said the man called Vino jokingly. Tanning was hard work, so to instead lend one’s hearth out and entertain guests, knowing he would have his own share of meat and wine, was cause for a pleased word or two.

But Mueller’s face turned stern. “This isn’t leisure time, understand?” He was of goodly years in addition to his size, so when he turned intimidating, it was rather impressive.

Vino’s affability led him to duck his head. “I know, I know. ‘No wine,’ right?”

Lawrence chuckled a sincere laugh at the friendly antics of the villagers. But then he noticed Fran watching the proceedings with a look that could only be described as nostalgic. She had apparently grown up in the home of a wealthy money changer in the south, so it was a bit strange for her to be nostalgic for this kind of conversation.

Lawrence wondered if she was thinking about the things that had happened on her travels thus far, when Vino turned to him and spoke. “Now then, this way. Follow me!”

Vino led Lawrence and company into a typical village cottage. Beside the cottage was a little field without so much as a fence, and beside that were stakes to which goats and chickens were tied. A large awning hung out over the garden, under which a woman with a baby tied to her back sat on the ground, kerchief around her head as she worked grain on a grindstone in front of her.

Vino called out lightly to her, and as he approached, he gave the baby a kiss, leading Lawrence to wonder if he and the woman were husband and wife. The woman wiped the sweat from her brow and stood, clapping her hands free from dust as she approached Lawrence and looked the little group over in mild surprise. She then nodded as though she had accepted a great responsibility.

“I’ll go fetch some firewood, so please go and wait inside.”

Vino nodded, and Lawrence and his companions entered their home.

The floor was packed earth, and over the hearth hung a hook from the ceiling. There was a small, snug opening in the ceiling to let smoke escape, and Lawrence thought he could see traces of birds’ nests built boldly into the roof. In one corner of the room, straw raincoats and cages hung. It was every inch the winter cottage. There was a tenuous little fire smoldering in the hearth, which somehow made it look even colder.

Fran was content to play the guest and sat unhesitatingly down by the hearth. When Holo and Col started poking at the strings of onions hanging from the beams, Vino returned from the field behind the cottage with an armful of firewood.

“So you grind flour by hand in this village?”

“Hmm? Ah, oh yes. You can just leave your things there. We’ll just add these to the fire…there. I’ll go get some meat,” said Vino as he skillfully lay the firewood in the hearth. He gave it a couple of strong blows and then nodded in satisfaction before hurrying back out of the cottage.

“Why do you ask?” Holo asked.

“Hmm?”

Holo was gazing out through a crack in a wooden window set in one corner of the earth wall and had not even looked back when she had asked her question. Perhaps she meant the flour grinding.

“Oh, I was just thinking that it’s rare to see people grinding flour by hand when there’s a river nearby,” said Lawrence.

The millstone Vino’s wife had been using was essentially two flat stones placed one atop the other, and between them enough flour could be ground to suffice for a single family’s daily needs. But of course the bigger the stone, the greater the amount of flour that could be ground at once.

Since grinding enough to bake bread every day was crucial, most villages would build a water mill, if there was a river nearby, that all the villagers could use. But not for free—in most places, the local landowner would construct the mill and tax villagers or merchants for its use. The landlord could not collect taxes from villagers who ground their grain by hand, and it struck Lawrence as odd.

Holo nodded, though it was unclear whether she accepted Lawrence’s explanation or not—probably because she simply lacked interest.

Lawrence sat across the hearth from Fran, and Holo and Col followed him. He indicated that Holo should sit next to Fran. She was Fran’s chaperone, after all, so she could not very well do otherwise. Holo looked irritated but complied.

Fran, meanwhile, had been quiet the entire time, but Lawrence got the feeling she had paid attention during his explanation of the millstones. He would have to ask Holo about that later.

As the thought occurred to Lawrence, Vino returned, carrying a basket filled with venison.

Into a burbling, boiling pot hanging from the hook, which in turn hung from the ceiling, were tossed thin, meager carrots, burdock, and other vegetables. Beside the pot the pile of venison was made ready, and despite having eaten so much bread, Holo fidgeted beneath her robe at the sight of it.

Lawrence felt bad for being treated so and had offered something of theirs—not bread or jerky from their large stores, but rather a modest amount of salt. At this, Vino and his wife’s eyes had gone round, and Lawrence was reminded of how drastically conditions could change from one place to another. Here there was plenty of venison but obtaining salt was difficult.

If he was to tell Holo that this principle was the key to business, he would get nothing more than a disdainful sniff for his trouble, no doubt.

“Should be ready soon,” declared Vino as his wife stirred the pot of vegetables and added the meat.

Without the meat, it probably would not have been to Holo’s liking, but the stew had a familiar earthy smell. The meat was soon boiled and portioned out to Col, Lawrence, and Holo in order of proximity.

When it came time to serve the still-silent Fran, she spoke up slowly. “I-I cannot eat meat—”

“Oh!” said Vino’s wife, who was doing the ladling.

In a village like this one, with no church, it was possible that the knowledge that clergy members abstained from meat was rather sparse.

Vino’s wife looked hastily at Holo, who was nearly on the verge of tears at the prospect of not being able to eat meat.

Surprisingly it was Vino who spoke up next. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard that moderation pleases God, but…I believe you may at least eat some vegetables.”

Holo nodded, and Vino continued speaking.

“This deer ate nothing but leaves from the day it was born, so it’s no different than those plants it ate.” Vino took the ladle from his wife and served Holo five generous slices of venison. He offered to do the same for Fran, but beneath her hood she smiled and refused. Lawrence wondered if Vino would insist, but in the end, Fran’s bowl was filled with only broth and vegetables.

This was not because he was surprised by the depth of her piety, but rather because he had noticed the color of her skin. Vino’s shock was obvious. Given that even people in a busy town would have the same reaction, it was hardly strange that these villagers were surprised.

And being responsible for welcoming these guests, it would bring him shame if he treated them impolitely. “Now, then, please eat,” Vino said, recovering his composure.

Col ate the contents of the bowl he was given without his usual haste, instead seeming to savor each bite. Perhaps it reminded him of the food in his own village. That was the sort of stew they were given, after all.

“It’s delicious.”

It was such a standard phrase, but Vino and his wife smiled, pleased.

“The deer was butchered just this morning. You’re quite lucky.”

“It’s true, meat this good is hard to come by in towns.”

The key to being liked by villagers was to eat and drink well. Holo immediately asked for seconds, and Vino’s eyes went round as he laughed heartily.

“So, you’re here for the legend of the angel? You’d come all the way out here just for that?” Vino adjusted the logs in the hearth, causing sparks to go flying up toward the roof. The risk of fire made such actions unthinkable in a town, but here if the house burned, they could simply build another one, and there was little danger that the fire would spread to nearby buildings.

“Yes. Though we heard the broad strokes of it back in town.” Lawrence set his bowl down before wiping his mouth and gesturing to Fran. “Circumstances led to my becoming a guide for Miss Fran here, and she simply must learn more about the legend.”

“I see…But why would a nun wish to know such a thing?”

“While Miss Fran is a nun who’s pledged service to her holy order, she’s also an exceptional silversmith. The bishop has charged her to make a silver statue in the image of the angel.”

“I see…” Vino gave a hesitant smile as he regarded Fran. Fran averted her eyes as though used to this sort of treatment. In doing so, she did seem quite the godly nun.

By contrast, Holo opened her mouth wide, the better to accommodate a large piece of meat. Though she froze at a look from Lawrence, her devout smile was displayed only after she had filled her mouth with venison.

“Holo here is serving Miss Fran by the order of the bishop, and as the boy Col was born in the north, he’s acting as our guide. And my unworthy self is acting as our little group’s eyes and ears.” Lawrence cleared his throat and continued. “So, we’re hoping to hear more. And…” He leaned forward as though about to ask a favor. “If possible, we’d like to be taken to the place where the legend is said to have transpired.”

Vino stuck his knife into a slice of meat and ate it raw. Perhaps such eating habits were not rare in cold climes, for Col was unsurprised. Strangely it was Holo who seemed the most taken aback.

“Aye, I don’t mind doing that, but…”

Places of story and legend were often important to villagers. Lawrence had anticipated it being a point of contention even if he convinced them, but things were proceeding surprisingly smooth.

As he agreed, Vino’s face was, if anything, worried rather than unwilling. He continued, “I wonder if it will be all right, though. I saw your provisions when you arrived—do you plan on staying the night in the witch’s forest?”

“The witch’s…forest?”

“That’s the source of all the strange rumors about our village here. You’ve heard about the witch, haven’t you?”

Perhaps remembering Mueller’s warnings, Vino was only drinking small sips of the tart wine he had poured his guests, and he filled the cup in his hand with an irritated expression.

If there was a time to feign ignorance, this was it. “As far as that goes, we’d only heard that there were rumors…”

“Mm, is that so? Maybe the stories they tell in town are finally calming down. Anyway, it’s not a complicated tale. If you want to go to the witch’s forest, I can lead you right there. It’s not far.”

Lawrence met Fran’s eyes and saw her slight nod. “If it’s no trouble, then the sooner the better.”

“Ha-ha-ha, trouble? Thanks to you lot coming, I’ve gotten to eat venison and drink wine and call it work! I suppose merchants and nuns don’t do it often, but butchering a deer is hard work!”

The meat, skin, bones, and organs had to be separated and dealt with, each in their own way. Meat was preserved, skin was tanned before it rotted, and organs were boiled or made into sausage. Bones could become cooking implements, arrowheads, or trinkets while tendons could be made into tough, sturdy strings and ties.

But all of these parts would go bad if not tended to immediately, so it was difficult, hurried work.

Vino took a drink of wine. “Now, then. I suppose I’ll need to tell you the legend of the angel before we go. It’ll be no good if I wind up telling you the tale in the middle of the witch’s forest,” he said with a grin.

For all that the villagers avoided the witch’s forest, they did not seem to do so in a particularly exaggerated fashion. They seemed to simply acknowledge it as an unlucky place.

“So how much do you all know?”

“That by a forest lake near this village, a beast howled as a door to heaven opened; then an angel flew up into it…roughly.”

Vino was ladling more stew into his bowl as Lawrence spoke and wordlessly asked Holo and Col if they wanted another serving. Fran had quietly sipped the broth, leaving even the vegetables in her bowl untouched.

“That’s about the size of it. The ‘forest’ in this case runs along a river that flows from the lake. This happened back when the village elder was a boy, during a cold, cold winter.”

Vino filled Holo’s and Col’s bowls back up and gave a sort of downcast smile, as though embarrassed to be relating a story like this.

“On one windy day, it was so cold that people’s ears seemed about to freeze solid and be blown away. The village hunters had been trapped in the forest for three or four days, thanks to a sudden blizzard. Fortunately there was a small charcoal-making cottage beside the waterfall that flowed from the lake. The night the snow finally stopped falling, the skies cleared until there wasn’t a cloud to be seen, and the moon shined so brightly they say it was like the sun. The wind still blew fiercely, howling terribly through the forest, but the hunters had been up in the cottage for days, and they all wanted to breathe some of the outside air. They gathered their strength and went out, and just then—”

Everyone was listening intently. A log crackled faintly in the fire.

“—They heard a low, long howl. Ooooo…ooooo…it went, and they were all terribly afraid. There were spirits in the forests and mountains, they remembered, and so they decided to go back into the charcoal cottage. But the moment they tried to do so, the howl stopped. And then they looked toward the lake.”

Vino’s eyes glanced up at the ceiling, as though to evoke the hunters’ gazes at the waterfall.

“And then in that moment they saw a silver, shining angel of pure white, a pair of wings on its back. From the bottom of the waterfall, it beat those wings, flying up through golden doors that had opened in the heavens.”

His gaze finally fell, and he put his wine cup to his lips and seemed quite clearly embarrassed. No doubt he enjoyed this particular tale.

“Or so the story goes. It’s been passed down as the legend of the angel ever since.”

“I see…” Lawrence felt as though he could still see the angel flying up to the heavens on that moonlit night. Myths and superstitions were always extraordinary things. But because they still had a strange ring of reality to them, they were nonetheless passed down over the generations.

“But nobody’s seen an angel since. I hear the story once reached town and our village was quite lively for a while, but lately all it’s good for is making children happy.” Vino’s eyes narrowed in a self-deprecating smile.

“So, Mr. Vino, do you…”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it’s just a legend, too?” It was an unfair question to ask, but Lawrence asked it anyway.

“Well…Who knows, eh?” Unsurprisingly, Vino looked down at his hands, smiling bashfully. It seemed as though he wanted to believe, but was unable to quite bring himself to do so.

“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 earth.

“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?

Lawrence wondered about it as he wiped sweat from his brow. Holo looked into the room from a passage that led to another room farther in, her head pushing aside a hanging animal skin that divided the two rooms and could not have been there for very long.

“Where’s the fool?”

She meant Fran. Lawrence pointed outside. “She went to fetch her silversmithing tools from the wagon. I suppose she didn’t want me touching them.”

“Mm.” Holo nodded, cracking her neck audibly.

“Where’s Col?” Lawrence did not joke about her having again left him somewhere.

“You’ll find out when you come back here.” Holo let the skin partition fall and hide her face, and Lawrence heard her footsteps disappear farther into the room.

Just as he was wondering what was back there, Fran returned. Her chisel, hammer, rasp, bellows, and anvil were each small, but taken together accounted for a goodly weight. Fran had impressively packed them all up and hefted them over her shoulder. When she traveled alone, just what sorts of treacherous mountain roads did she face with such aplomb?

She seemed so well accustomed to the load that Lawrence could easily imagine it.

“The other two are in the back?”

“Yes. Ah, let me help you.” It was harder to set down a heavy load than it was to carry it.

But Fran shook her head and bent at the knees, well used to the process of setting the tools down.

How many times had Lawrence’s master scolded him for picking up or putting down heavy loads with his back? It was all too easy for such labor to result in pain. Physical labor had its own sort of wisdom to it, and Lawrence wondered where she had picked it up.

“Is there something more back there?” Lawrence asked Fran as she got out the straw and flint needed to light a fire, but she did not immediately answer. Instead, she faced him with the straw and flint and then looked meaningfully at the hearth. Lawrence could only assume she meant him to busy himself with starting a fire, but seen from outside, he imagined it looked rather pathetic for him to be ordered around so.

But he took the stone and straw and knelt down in front of the hearth to attend to the fire. It was then that she answered him.

“You’ll understand when you see. Anyway, I’ll need to borrow something.”

“…Huh?” Lawrence did not even have time to ask what she wanted to borrow before Fran disappeared behind the skin partition. He wondered what she could be referring to as he started the fire. Presently, two sets of footsteps approached him.

“You’ll be cold dressed like that. Put these on.” Fran produced a pair of fine boots from her things and presented them to Col.

They were made from several layers of beautifully tanned leather, and buying them would have cost a good amount. Col accepted the boots, looking at Lawrence uncertainly. Lawrence nodded—it was not as though Fran was going to eat the boy when he put them on.

“We’ll be back before sunset. Can I leave dinner in your hands?”

Lawrence was the one who needed her to draw him a map of the northlands, so he had little room to refuse her. Far from it—that she had said anything at all made it feel like she was opening up a little bit, so Lawrence answered in a pleasant affirmative. Holo might have been irritated at him had she been there, but Fran nodded and took Col’s hand, leading him outside, his boots clunking against the floor as he went.

Once Lawrence had the fire good and lit, he stood up and headed for the back room.

The floor of the hallway was plain earth, and even with boots on, he could tell how cold the air was. And yet, here too it was neat and tidy and free from cobwebs. Strangely, there was not even a single mouse hole gnawed in the walls.

Lawrence looked this way and that as he entered the room where the hallway led, and there he found Holo, sitting on a chair, regarding an old Church crest that was leaning against the wall.

“Huh?” That was all wrong—Holo was standing in front of the bookshelf, sniffing at the dusty books there.

So who was sitting in the chair?

Lawrence looked back again, and thanks to the sliver of light that made it through a crack in the wooden window, he realized that the figure in the chair was slightly taller than Holo, her hood was worn, and the hem of her robe was riddled with patches.

“I expect this is the ‘witch’ the villagers were on about,” Holo said casually, returning a book to the shelf and then poking the figure in the head.

“H-hey!”

“What? It’s fine. She’s long since dried out. I thought Col might be frightened, but he’s a stronger lad than I reckoned.”

In places closed off by snow, it was not uncommon to encounter desiccated corpses from time to time. This led Lawrence to wonder if Col had been taken out on a mountain search.

“Still, to die gazing at a symbol of the Church…hard to imagine she was a witch.”

“Col says she was a rather well-known person.”

“Oh?”

The shelves in the room were all full of books and bundles of parchment. There was no mistaking it any longer.

After the nun came here on her eccentric journey, there was someone else who had come to adore her and was still coming to this place even after her death. Otherwise the books would not be so orderly, the cottage so clean and tidy.

Lawrence put his hands together lightly and offered a short prayer for the dead nun before turning his attention to the papers on the desk. They were dusty and aging, but the letters on them could still be made out. Evidently there had been an inquiry into her faith. It seemed that while she was alive her religious fervor had caused her to be viewed with suspicion, but she may very well have been a simple nun.

A single look at the wildflower arranged at the corner of the desk dismissed all worries of her being a witch.

“Still, you.”

“Hmm?”

Holo was again looking intently at the contents of the bookshelf, and she pointed to one of the shelves in particular.

“Have a look at this.”

“Where?”

Lawrence looked at the shelf, where there was a space just large enough for one missing volume.

“It must be somewhere else, right?”

“Fool. Have a look at the dust. It’s different there than elsewhere.”

No matter how thoroughly a room was cleaned, dust would settle in it. And when Lawrence looked closely at the gap, he saw that while there was indeed a thin layer of dust there, it was less than elsewhere.

“I don’t know how long ago, but at some point someone took a single volume from here.”

“So what are you saying?”

Holo gave the room another brief look and then regarded Lawrence suspiciously.

“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you? Someone’s been coming here.”

She was referring to the onetime residence of the nun. Vino the villager had said no one would approach it. But as Holo had not called him out, there was no reason to believe he was lying. Which meant it had to be someone unrelated to the village. Or a villager of whose actions Vino was unaware.

And what book had been taken?

“That little fool knew of this place before we came here,” said Holo finally, glaring at Lawrence. “Don’t let your guard down,” her eyes said.

“I know. But where did she say she was going with Col?”

“Hmm. She said she was going to have a look at the lake.”

“The lake?”

“Don’t ask me why. I’ve no idea.”

Given her displeasure, Holo was probably irritated at Fran’s ordering around of not only Lawrence, but Col as well. But then he hit upon an idea.

“Shall we go look as well?” he said, at which Holo brightened.

“Mm. You seem to have gotten a bit cleverer,” she said, taking his arm cheerily.

Lawrence had but a moment to chuckle at Holo’s rare moment of misunderstanding before she began to drag him bodily out of the cottage. “H-hey!”

She refused listen to him and paid the redly burning hearth no mind, silently making for the front door. Holo only stopped when Lawrence found his vision blurred by the brightly shining snow.

“What do you make of the dried-out nun, eh?”

It was not that bright outside. His vision blurred from the reflected light only because it had been so dim inside the cottage. Lawrence held a hand up to shade his eyes, squinting to look at Holo. “What do you mean, ‘What’?”

“I can’t imagine the term witch is very apt, myself.”

Holo did not know much about the Church or the faith of its adherents, but her impression seemed to be very clear. And yet Lawrence had gotten quite a strong impression from the single dried flower on the nun’s desk, and he was similarly unable to see her as a witch.

“Nor do I. You saw the flower on her desk, right?” said Lawrence, but Holo did not seem to understand what he was getting at. Perhaps it didn’t much matter to her one way or another if the woman had been a witch.

Holo tugged again on his arm as he thought on it. “I’ve seen human females of her like many times before. The word kindhearted may as well have been invented to describe them.”

Come to think of it, Lawrence seemed to recall Holo saying something similar when they had first met. He nodded, and Holo slowly began to walk—her face downcast as usual.

“She was one of their like. Or so I suppose.”

“Ah,” said Lawrence, but instead of prompting her to go on, he simply took her hand.

“And, you know…”

“Hmm?”

Holo nodded and went on. “They say she led her wild dogs into the forest.” She looked up with an unexpectedly hard expression. Something about it made Lawrence feel she was fighting to hold back tears. “But they may just as well have been wolves, eh? So tread lightly, you.”

Lawrence’s heart skipped a beat.

Holo let go of his arm and went skipping off ahead. Knowing full well there were no other people nearby, she let her tail slip free from beneath the hem of her robe. Its white tip was as beautiful as the white snow over which it danced, like a fairy’s sash of light.

“Well, I must say I understand our dried-out nun’s feelings.” She clasped her hands behind her and then spun around to face Lawrence with her usual invincible, good-humored smile. White snow fell on mossy rocks with a background of an aquamarine waterfall. For a path supposedly taken by an angel ascending to the heavens, it certainly looked the part.

“Why’s that?” Lawrence asked, taking her small, chilly hand and following her.

“We’re both patient but overreact in equal measure to our stored-up frustration,” said Holo with a self-reproachful smile.

Lawrence looked at a rock that was jutting so far out it seemed about to fall at any moment and replied, “Like jumping naked into the wagon bed of a traveling merchant?”

“Or heading south in search of a friend.”

Lawrence wanted to reach his hand out to Holo’s face but thought better of it. Ever since arriving in the snowy mountains, Holo had surely been thinking about it. What would she do after they arrived in Yoitsu? The remains of one possible choice lay back in that cottage and in the reaction of the surrounding villagers. He just could not get used to her lightly frolicsome mood.

Lawrence and Holo held hands and made their way slowly around the waterfall. It seemed as though they might walk without any particular goal, but Fran’s and Col’s footprints ran there, so Lawrence and Holo followed them.

It was as though they were looking for some kind of precedent, any kind—but to say it aloud would be far too sentimental. As the thought occurred to Lawrence, he looked at Holo, and she lifted her gaze from the footprints in front of them and met his. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

She had long since kicked such worries aside, though.

That was the right answer, but above all they would avoid regret this way.

Lawrence squeezed Holo’s hand a bit tighter as the thought struck him.

“So, is the story that an angel passed this way true?”

The path that led to the lake wound around the side of the waterfall, and it seemed Fran and Col were up at its head.

Holo and Lawrence ran up the shortcut, and as they came suddenly face-to-face with the waterfall, Holo spoke. “If they were anything like you or Mr. Hugues, they might have been mistaken for an angel.”

“Mmm…I did see a bird once on the island.” Holo sniffed the air.

“How long would a scent even last?”

“Hmph. It was just a try. And anyway, even years later, I can still get a sense of the place. This doesn’t have that feel. ’Tis a weak forest that humans might easily do as they wish to it.”

The statement had a certain level of authority behind it, given that Holo had once led a pack that protected such a forest.

Holo seemed to notice Lawrence’s concern and smiled a deliberately sharp-fanged smile. “It was probably just a drift of snow blown up into the air. You humans are cowards, but cowards invent the best monsters.”

She sounded so amused as she said it that Lawrence wondered if she had personal experience. “Do you know of any?”

The path that zigzagged up the slope behind the waterfall was surprisingly well made. Since they were following Col and Fran, progress was comparatively easy to make.

“Plenty from back when I lived among the wheat. When night fell, youngsters would get up to mischief in the fields. I’d say there were ten kinds of wheat monsters, at least.”

Lawrence felt bad for the mischief-making youngsters but suddenly understood where many eerie stories must have originated.

“Though sometimes they saw monsters that had nothing to do with my kind.” Holo had a nostalgic look in her eye.

“For example?”

“The one I’m remembering now was a boy who tripped and fell in the mountains and thought the sound of his own crying as it echoed through the valley was the howl of a monster. So then he got even more scared and cried louder.”

“Oh, like that. But…ah…I see.”

“Hmm?”

The path wound left, then right, and before they knew it, they were making good progress up the steep slope. Whoever had come up with this way of constructing a trail was very clever. They had come a good distance but were still only halfway.

“I just remembered the story of a famous miracle whose trick was revealed.”

“Oh ho.” A large tree root formed a steep step, so Lawrence climbed it first and then held out a hand to pull Holo up.

“It has to do with the northern campaign. Every traveler knows the story.” Just as Lawrence began to talk, he suddenly paused. “But it involves the Church, so don’t tell Col.”

Holo’s blank expression shifted to a mischievous smile. “Fortunately there’s nothing else between us that needs to be kept a secret.”

Lawrence could only smile ruefully, and at Holo’s urging, he continued his story. “A famous troupe of knights was participating in the campaign and was losing a fierce battle to pagan forces. As the sky grew red with approaching night, the knights’ commander was about to order the retreat—when suddenly, a huge shadow covered the battlefield. The moment he looked up to see what it was, everyone there seemed to spot it. A huge, white Church crest drifting across the sky.”

Lawrence looked up at the sky, which prompted Holo to do the same. She looked back down, her voice thoughtful. “Birds, weren’t they?”

Always so clever. Lawrence nodded and continued, “That’s right. A flock of birds migrating. But the knights took it as a sign that victory was assured and somehow, in the small amount of daylight left, managed to escape their poor position and win the day. The flag of the nation that was founded on that land has a red background with a white Church crest on it to commemorate that day. And thus had a miracle occurred. The end!”

So there was no small possibility that the angel legend had come from some sort of natural phenomenon. No doubt Fran had taken Col along to investigate just that possibility.

“Mm. But if so, how might one summon the angel again?”

They came around the last switchback and continued on to the top of the hill. Looking down, the waterfall’s splash pool was strangely tiny.

“What a beautiful lake,” said Holo in a bright voice, not the least bit winded.

The lake was like a mirror bordering the mountains, reflecting the gray clouds that threatened snow at any moment.

Unlike the riverbank below, there were many small rocks fringing the lake. The dusting of snow atop the small black rocks made for a lovely contrast.

The lake was mostly free of reeds and quite transparent, and it seemed entirely possible to walk all the way around its edge. It would be easily navigable by boat and easy, too, to catch fish.

“I’d rather come in summertime,” said Holo, and Lawrence could understand why.

“Can you swim?” Lawrence asked.

“Aye. ’Tis a lovely feeling, having most of one’s weight borne by the water.”

Lawrence could not help but smile at the thought of a wolf so huge it could eat a human in a single bite jumping into a lake and swimming about like a dog. “But if you jumped into the lake in that huge body of yours, all the water would overflow.”

In reality, it was the water from the waterfall that caused the lake to overflow. Lawrence had meant it as a little joke, but Holo fell silent, her expression serious.

“But if I were to jump in with this body, then you’d be the one to overflow.”

She was like a boomerang. Lawrence ignored her; she replied with a deep breath, which she then exhaled.

Taking a walk around such a beautiful lakefront was quite a luxury for a busy traveling merchant. “I suppose Col and Fran must have gone quite a ways.”

Their footprints seemed to go all the way around to the foggy opposite shore that lay at the foot of a tall mountain, its peak entirely obscured by clouds.

“Mm,” Holo muttered noncommittally, looking at the waterfall to which they had walked.

“Is something the matter?”

“Mm. This waterfall may be quite new.”

“Huh?” Lawrence said, and Holo nodded after taking another glance around their surroundings.

“I suppose you humans wouldn’t exactly call it recent, but look, there. Does it not look as though that cliff collapsed?” Holo said, pointing at the base of the mountain by the waterfall. “The rocks or whatever fell from there piled up to create the waterfall spot. The lake was originally bowl shaped and surrounded by mountains like so.” She made a circle with her arms, perfectly demonstrating what she meant.

It did seem like the sort of thing that Holo, who had lived for centuries, was likely to know.

“But if the river level dropped, that means…”

“That’s why. You can’t fill a chipped bowl past the edge of its chip. If the water rises, it will drain down to that level.”

Now that she pointed it out, Lawrence saw that there was a sharp rock at the top of the waterfall that divided its flow in two, and it looked as though it had been somehow stuck there after the fact.

Perhaps someone had seen the moment of that landslide and mistaken it for the angel’s ascension. Lawrence thought about it and decided it was unlikely. It was hard, after all, to mistake falling rocks for an angel’s wings.

“Or perhaps the angel made a foothold so that it could leap up into the heavens from it,” said Lawrence a bit affectedly, at which Holo made a face and pulled away.

“You truly are a dreamer,” she said, heaving a great sigh.

They prepared dinner and waited, and when Col and Fran finally returned, they were soaking wet, as though they had played around in the snow all day. Their bodies had stayed warm beneath their coats, but their arms and legs were like sticks of ice.

Holo reluctantly covered Fran’s hands with her own and placed her feet against Fran’s feet because the best way to warm someone up was with another body. Lawrence stuck Col’s hands underneath his own coat and warmed the boy’s feet up with his own hands.

“So, did you find anything?”

Col’s fine, layered leather boots had soaked up so much water they were like lead. Wherever they had gone must have had thick snow, so they would have needed good reason to be there, Lawrence reasoned—but Fran shook her head. She looked a bit sad as she did so, perhaps out of exhaustion.

“Well, once you’re settled in, we’ll have dinner.”

At these words, Col nodded. Lawrence looked at him and saw him begin to nod off now that he was suddenly in a much warmer place.

Lawrence removed Col’s wet coat and replaced it with a dry blanket, wrapping it around Col’s arms. He was a bit smaller than Holo, so it was easily managed. He smelled faintly musty. Perhaps after having spent so much time around Holo, he was beginning to take on a hint of her scent.

Fran’s limbs seemed to finally thaw, and she said a brief word of thanks to Holo before drawing her arms and legs back in toward herself.

“You have a fine traveling companion,” she said as she accepted a bowlful of the pot’s contents.

When Lawrence realized she was talking about Col, he smiled. “He’s been a great help to us. Though it seems he was a bit short on stamina today.”

Col looked frail and thin, but he had been perfectly fine managing winter travel with thin, meager clothing, and his endurance was at least equal to Lawrence’s, perhaps better. If they had walked around enough to tire him out so thoroughly, then it might be that Fran was the exceptional one.

“Not at all…,” said Fran, sipping the soup. Even when eating, she seemed to have a certain aura about her.

Anyone who came inside after wandering around in the cold all day would have a moment of unguarded relief—but not Fran. Her alertness reminded Lawrence of some forest animal.

“By the way, we did some thinking about the legend of the angel,” said Lawrence as he filled Holo’s bowl with meat, at which Fran’s hand froze. “Have you ever seen the flag of the Torhildt Republic?”

Fran’s eyes were fixed intently on Lawrence. She had taken the bait more thoroughly than he had anticipated.

“…Have you knowledge of the story?”

“Some.” The ember of her interest, so bright before, seemed to have gone out. Fran did not elaborate and sipped her soup as though deliberately regaining her composure. She cut the contents of the bowl up with her wooden spoon and then ate them, carefully scooping the last bite up and bringing it to her mouth.

Her every movement was smooth and efficient, and she ate rather quickly.

The higher in status one rose, the slower one tended to take one’s meals—and so went the opposite. Col was a perfect example, being a traveling scholar whose eating was mostly indistinguishable from that of a thief or beggar.

According to Hugues, Fran had identified herself as a former slave. Perhaps that was true, Lawrence mused.

“I suppose I also think it was a bit of snow or something being blown up on the wind,” she said. The same thing Vino the villager said. Going by boring common sense, it was the most reasonable response.

“Or maybe the real thing.”

Fran revealed a surprisingly honest smile at Lawrence’s joke. “That would certainly be the best answer. However…”

“…I understand you’ve investigated too many legends to truly believe that.”

Fran’s eyes closed and her smile vanished. Her slow breathing made it seem as though she were trying to control her anger, but Lawrence felt it was just the opposite. She was trying to keep herself from laughing.

Her slow breathing stopped, and she exhaled. Her expression was soft, just as Lawrence had expected. “That’s right. Most were shams. A few were from people who mistook what they saw and jumped to conclusions. And still fewer were truly special, truly real, as though something genuinely extraordinary had happened there.”

“And which do you suppose this is?” Lawrence asked, at which Fran shook her head. It seemed like she was both giving her answer and admitting that she did not know.

But Fran’s gaze went into the distance and suddenly she spoke. “I originally heard the angel legend from a dear friend.”

Lawrence was surprised. He had not expected Fran to talk about such a thing. Fran herself seemed to understand this. She glanced at him, embarrassed, a slight bashfulness playing about the corners of her mouth.

“They admitted they could not remember where they’d seen it. But what they told me about was largely the same as this legend.”

Eyes that looked into the past were always sad. In front of the flickering light of the hearth, this was doubly true.

“They exaggerate, but they don’t lie. And after so many years…”

“You think you’ve finally found out.”

Fran nodded and relaxed her sitting posture a bit. It seemed to Lawrence that she had finally taken down some of the barriers she had built. He offered her some wine.

Fran took it without much hesitation. “I can’t bring myself to believe that the legend here is nonsense. I believe it exists and is something that can be seen. The—” Fran’s gaze moved to the rough, tanned skin hanging over the entrance to the back room. “—The nun there believed in it and came here.”

Her faith had caused her to be driven from towns and villages and to be dubbed a witch. It was hard to imagine someone with such deep faith, no matter how eccentric she might be, following a truly phony legend. Such legends and stories were countless. Only a truly special occurrence would remain in minds and capture hearts the way this one had.

“I do believe my friend saw it as well. Something that could be called a miracle…” Her eyes were slightly downcast, a sad smile on her face that was not merely a trick of the hearth’s flickering shadows. “But it is to laugh…to see such a thing and not remember where you saw it.”

Her smile was an almost exasperated one.

Any man would find himself faintly jealous seeing such a smile. Lawrence wondered if she was fond of the person she was talking about. Her use of the word friend felt like an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

But with this, it seemed as though Fran’s desire to discover the truth behind the legend was not merely out of passion as a silversmith. She had another reason in her heart, and that was what had driven her to come all this way.

In any case, Fran’s smile was full of shadows.

“Ah, I shouldn’t,” said Fran, putting her wine cup down. She had not drunk much, but perhaps she lacked much tolerance for drink. Or perhaps she was more worried about the temptation to let it loosen her tongue so that she would spill the contents of her heart.

Silence fell.

Lawrence could not help but ask, “Why would you tell me this?”

Her reply was quick. “As an apology.”

“An apology?” Lawrence echoed, hearing a derisive sniff from behind him.

He looked and saw Holo glaring at Fran with suspicious eyes.

“Back at the trading company…”

Had something happened that required an apology? Was she talking about her utter intractability? Even so, an apology would be strange, so Lawrence just sat there stupidly as Fran looked into her reflection in the wine cup on the floor and continued.

“I could have spoken with you differently. I thought you were merely another greedy merchant.”

“No, that’s quite all right…”

“I thought you only wanted a map of the north so you could profit from it.” Fran looked up and smiled apologetically.

Lawrence had told her the previous night that he wanted the map in order to help Holo. So what reason did she have for apologizing? She was apologizing not for her response, but rather the manner of her response. What a strange notion.

Lawrence remained at a loss, and it was finally Holo who spoke up. “So what was it that changed your mind, eh?” Her tone was still a bit harsh, but she seemed amused, too. Looking at her face, Lawrence saw that she seemed in better spirits and wore a faint smile.

Fran drew back deliberately at the question and regarded Holo silently. For a while, the two girls seemed to have a conversation entirely with their eyes.

“Now that we’ve come this far, you wish our help, perhaps?”

Fran nodded slowly.

Lawrence still had no idea what they were talking about, but at the familiar sound of the word help, he started to see where this was going. But before he could interject, Holo spoke.

“Aye, fine then.” The haste with which Holo agreed reminded him of his own failure at the Hugues Company. Lawrence could not help but open his mouth to speak, but then Holo slapped his back. “We’re asking for your help as well, so ’tis hardly the time for holding grudges.”

Her exasperated smile had a strangely good humor to it.

Across the hearth, Fran seemed happy.

Lawrence did not really understand why, but it seemed best to leave things as they were. He nodded.

“Well, then,” murmured Fran, her dark eyes shining with intelligence. “Did you notice anything strange when we arrived in Taussig?”

“As a merchant?”

“Yes.”

Lawrence nodded. “They were grinding flour by hand…even though there’s such a high waterfall so close by.”

Fran gave Lawrence a long, hard look. He had been right.

Lawrence continued.

“In springtime when the thaw comes, there would be plenty of water for a waterwheel, and it’s not so very far from the village. So the only reason the landlord wouldn’t have built a mill is out of pity for the villagers, or…”

“Or if the villagers themselves resisted the idea. And the answer is indeed the latter.” As she spoke, Fran reached into her things and produced a dusty, old book.

It was more a stack of papers than a book so unmatched and disorganized were the parchments and letters that comprised it. Even a brief glance made it clear that it was very old. The pages rustled weakly as she flipped through them.

“The village originally used the legend of the angel as a reason not to build a water mill,” she said matter-of-factly.

“That’s…”

“If a mill were built, it would be for extracting more labor from the villagers—they would have been made to construct the very tool that would choke them. Meanwhile, the northern campaigns were reaching their peak, the landlord, wanting to borrow the Church’s might, took the profit of using the legend of the angel to flatter the Church over the profit of the increased output of a water mill.”

It was often the case that a landlord would lack sufficient military or financial power to protect his own holdings. Fran went on.

“But as times changed, the pagans grew stronger. I assume you know that the northern campaign has been canceled.”

Lawrence nodded. “In other words,” he said, “with the recent decline of Church power, things can turn bad if the landlord gets a whiff of their involvement.”

“Yes. In the past, money was made in providing the northern campaign with supplies, but…lacking shame or concern, and any sort of fear of God, the attitude has changed completely. As you might imagine, in an area like this with so many pagan landlords, it can be dangerous to appease the Church while its power is on the decline. So far their reaction has gone well.”

If you can’t beat them, join them. It was hardly a bad strategy for a long life. However, sometimes it would only make you look like a coward.

“After much worrying, the landlord hit upon an idea. Claim the devout nun who came all the way out here chasing the angel legend was a witch.”

Lawrence drew in breath, but he was the only one. Holo’s expression did not so much as twitch. She knew in her bones just how selfish humans could be.

“By claiming a witch had come and was causing trouble, he wouldn’t have to defy the Church, but could save face with the villagers. And for the villagers themselves it was awfully convenient; since they didn’t want to build a water mill, a witch in the forest gave them the perfect excuse not to enter it. A mill would mean increased taxation, which would instantly make their lives much harder.”

This also explained why they treated salt as such a precious substance. But there was still something Lawrence did not understand.

“Miss Fran…where did you learn all of this?”

In response to his question, Fran casually held up the book. On its opened pages, Lawrence could see writing in a neat, masculine hand.

“It’s all written right here. This is the diary of Katerina Lucci, the nun laid to rest in the next room.”

A single book had been missing from the shelf. This book.

“I expect one of the villagers had an attack of conscience and wanted to let the world know the truth. It’s a total coincidence that it should end up in my hands. An acquaintance of mine who handles such things just happened to mention it.”

She flipped through the pages, her eyes glancing over them. She was not reading the pages, instead perhaps trying to guess at the thoughts of the woman who had written them.

“But if that’s true…why would you tell us? I mean, to begin with…” Lawrence trailed off.

If she knew so much about the landlord, then Fran’s reason for bringing Lawrence along was not simply to help her learn about the angel legend.

Lawrence looked at Fran dubiously. She had been planning to set them up all along.

He felt like the corners of her eyes crinkled just a bit in a mischievous smile. “It won’t be long before the bells ring and the Church arrives.”

A powerful faction was like a big fish. When it moved, water rippled around it, splashing up onto the ground. And the world was one big pond.

“So it’s the Debau Company, eh?”

Fran’s eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. “So you’re familiar. As you’ve guessed, if the Church comes again, the claim that there’s a witch in their domain won’t work. So this is an extremely dangerous place.”

That much was certainly true.

If the Church came into a volatile situation like this, it would be difficult for Fran to handle it alone, no matter how perversely stubborn she might be.

Fran regarded Lawrence. “The villagers and landlord alike are probably terrified that an investigation into the witch rumors would be a precursor to another round of Church attacks on the north,” she said.

“So what we need to do is act such that we calm those fears.”

Perhaps something about the way Lawrence spoke was amusing to her, for Fran displayed a quiet smile. But there was a disparity between her smile and the words she spoke next. “On our way back around the lakeside, there was someone observing this place.”

This was why Fran had been willing to compromise.

It was such an obvious reason that Lawrence wanted to sigh. But he swallowed it back; it did not often happen that he got what he wanted taking the easy path.

“Naturally I’m not asking you to stay here with me from here on. Just until the snow melts will be fine. I expect the legend of the angel only applies in wintertime.”

“And then you’ll draw us a map of the north?”

Fran nodded. “So you’ll help me, then?”

If they failed to pack their things and leave immediately, they would lose what little room to maneuver they had. But Fran had let them in on the secret, then asked for help.

It was a cunning move. Like a battlefield general.

He needed that map of the north, and there was Hugues to consider. Knowing the situation, Lawrence could not very well leave Fran on her own here.

Time-wise it would be a hardship to wait for spring, but depending on how circumstances changed, he might have another chance to negotiate. Holo did not move, so the answer was clear.

“Of course,” said Lawrence shortly.