Chapter 132

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The land of the Salaman people was hot and dry. The sun stung fiercely enough to make one wonder whether summer had arrived, yet the wind was cold. There were no distinct seasons here; the weather stayed much the same all year round.

The eternal homeland of shepherds, the land where everything began. That was what people called the region of Lunadan.

Parched fields covered in short grass stretched far into the distance. The terrain was not entirely flat, but rose and fell in gentle curves.

Somewhere in that empty expanse stood a solitary old tree, easily hundreds of years old, perhaps far older. Bodies lay scattered beneath its shade.

In that shade, Ricard was pulling the shoes off a corpse and holding them against his bare feet. Finding that they did not seem to fit, he tossed them aside.

It looked as though he were robbing people, but the truth was quite the opposite. They had tried to rob him, so he had killed them instead and was now looting their bodies.

He went to remove another corpse's footwear, but the man wore sandals, so he moved on.

As he searched for someone wearing a decent pair of boots, Hashim called to him. Hashim himself was wearing sandals.

"Here, Riki. Try these on."

He had taken the shoes off another body before calling Ricard over. Ricard accepted them and held them against his feet. They looked about the right size.

He slipped them on and found them quite comfortable. Their upward-curled toes were an interesting touch. The soles were made of stiff leather, while the uppers were cloth that let some air through.

"They seem to fit."

"Good. There's a new one here, too. Come and sit down."

"A new what?"

Even as he asked, Ricard did as he was told and sat on the ground. Beyond the shade, the sunlight was scorching, but beneath the tree it was almost cold.

When Hashim tried to wrap a piece of cloth around his head, however, Ricard jerked away and looked back.

"What is that?"

"We have a long way to go. Unless you want the sun to strip your scalp bare, you'd best wear it."

"You could have said so."

Satisfied with that explanation, Ricard held still while Hashim wound the turban around his head. He pulled it snugly into place, then patted Ricard on the back, apparently finished.

In his ragged clothes, foreign shoes, and turban, Ricard looked quite ridiculous. But what did that matter? All he needed was to fight well and keep himself safe.

Ricard sat with his back against the tree on the side without any corpses and gazed out at the blazing sunshine. Turban or not, he had little desire to venture into it.

"Now I understand. You're not meant to travel here at midday. We should only move in the morning or evening. Wouldn't you say?"

"You can travel during the day once you grow accustomed to it. A camel or packhorse would make it much easier, of course."

"Are we going the right way, though?"

"There's nowhere to go here apart from the coast and the lakes. Traveling from oasis to oasis is throwing your life away unless you're a caravan merchant or a nomad. Keep the sea on your left and walk straight ahead, and you'll reach the Sultanate of Arslam. Keep it on your right, and you'll reach the Sultanate of Mayub. Beyond Mayub lies Sinatria. There are several sultans there as well. The Order of Flame is farther on, in the Keresi Highlands."

The way he described it made the journey sound short, but reaching Sinatria would take a month.

Thinking of Adelivari made Ricard impatient, yet part of him accepted that there was nothing to be done now. It was not as though he could fly. What other choice did he have?

He believed fretting over problems beyond his control did no good at all. He could only make the most of the present.

He had no desire to take a ship. His bad experience was part of the reason, but along Lunadan's coast, merchant ships were pirate ships, and pirate ships were merchant ships. It had been that way since ancient times.

The land was ill-suited to farming, and the region survived solely on livestock and trade. Such customs and practices seemed to have developed naturally as a result.

In any case, their best option now was to find a horse or camel...

"Is there any chance we could fly?" Ricard asked.

Hashim sat hunched over, rummaging through something.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a mage, aren't you?"

"I'd thought otherwise, but you have your prejudices too, I see. If a mage could do absolutely anything, wouldn't that make him a god or a demon rather than a human?"

"I was only asking. Where are you headed, anyway, Hashim?"

"I simply wander without a destination, searching for my lost memories."

As he spoke, he reached out and handed Ricard whatever he had been rummaging through. It turned out to be dried dates and some little round things looted from their enemies.

Ricard took the food, sniffed it, and tried a little. The dates were chewy and so sweet his eyes widened. Who knew such fruit existed?

Then he tried one of the round things. It tasted like chicken that had been pressed together with salt, steamed, and dried.

"They slaughter chickens to make traveling rations here? You'd think they'd keep them for the eggs. Are there that many chickens?"

"It isn't chicken."

"What is it, then?"

"Minced lizard."

Ricard froze. He considered spitting out what was in his mouth, then decided to swallow it. It would all be the same once it reached his stomach...

He tipped the rest of the minced lizard into his mouth and chewed it all up. Eating it at once made the saltiness overwhelming, but he hurriedly finished it off.

He took a mouthful of water, swished it around, swallowed, and spoke.

"What are these memories you've lost?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be searching for them, would I? The feeling that I've lost something terribly important follows me everywhere, like a shadow."

"Is that true of all mages?"

"I don't know. But I've met a few people like myself. They're the ones who taught me magic."

"So the more magic you use, the more memories you lose?"

"That's right."

"What happens when you lose them all?"

"You become a madman spouting nonsense, or you're absorbed into the abyss. That is what I've seen and heard."

Magic certainly seemed a dangerous art. It was a realm beyond Ricard's understanding, so he offered no judgment.

He simply chewed on another date and asked, "Tell me, could I learn magic too?"

"No. You couldn't. The human mind grows rigid with age. The unfathomable must be accepted through feeling, not understood through reason, so once the right age has passed, you can no longer learn. Yet it also requires profound knowledge. Knowledge and sensibility together bring an understanding of the 'world beyond,' allowing you to draw power from it. That is how the magic I learned works."

"So what sort of magic can you perform? Shooting fire from your hands, bringing down rain, summoning thunder and lightning?"

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Hashim narrowed his eyes at Ricard's continued string of questions based on preconceived notions. Ricard merely laughed.

"Even I don't know exactly. The moment I use magic, I lose my memory. All that remains is a faint sensation, like a dream. I don't know how it works for other mages, but that's the kind I learned."

"How ironic. You're trying to recover your memories, yet the more magic you use, the more you lose."

"Aren't irony and contradiction part of human nature? Perhaps this too is a lesson from God."

"That's an optimistic view. But I agree."

Someone who wandered the wilderness without a destination, searching for lost memories. To Ricard, that was what it meant to be a mage of the wilderness.

Ricard and the mage rested in the shade, sheltered from the sun's burning gaze, then rose when the sunset began to blaze red.

Should they be grateful to the robbers for the food, the little money, the shoes, and the turban they had taken from them? Life was truly ironic.

Lunadan was so dry and bare that traveling at night by moonlight posed little difficulty. Of course, they would have to exercise some restraint on pitch-black nights without even the moon to light their way.

The stars seemed far more brilliant and beautiful here than they did in the Empire. There were no mountains or forests, only earth and sky.

The Milky Way streamed down toward the distant horizon like poured milk.

Ricard and Hashim walked beneath starlight that showered down like rain. Their bodies ached with fatigue, but the twinkling stars seemed to cheer them on, and that made it bearable.

They walked all night. As dawn approached and the starlight faded, the two men reached a city.

Although morning had not yet broken, the gates stood open. There were no soldiers guarding them, either.

Did this city have no ruler? Surely that could not be.

"This is a holy city. A sacred place to us all."

"Here?"

"Yes. That is why there are no laws within these walls. People fear God's judgment. No one wishes to go to hell when they die, so everyone restrains themselves here."

Ricard believed in God, but he was not a particularly fervent believer, so he was not greatly moved. No, that was not quite true. His heart did beat faster, though he did not know why.

Yet shortly after entering the city, he saw people sleeping in cages. All of them were slaves. God had not forbidden the slave trade.

With safety assured, trade was all the more open and vigorous here. Trade in anything at all.

Trade inevitably brought disputes, but even when people fought, they took their fights outside the city. As a result, the holy city was unusually safe.

"Would you like to climb the sacred hill?"

"We can't come all this way and not go up."

Following Hashim's lead, Ricard passed through narrow alleys that sloped gently upward. As he looked around on the climb, all he saw was an ordinary place where people lived, albeit with a foreign feel.

He sensed little sacredness or divine majesty.

Then, at some point, the buildings gave way to a bare hill. This was the very place where God was said to have delivered a revelation.

To be honest, there was so little to see that it felt rather disappointing. There was only dry earth with patches of weeds.

Many melted, extinguished candles stood around the hill. A few still struggled to sustain their feeble flames.

There were signs of offerings as well. Rich or poor, wherever they came from, people had given what they could.

Flowers, money, weapons, shields, meat, even the tightly bandaged body of someone recently deceased. Every offering, or funeral, carried the hopes of those who had left it.

Looking back at Hashim, Ricard found him sitting upright with his eyes closed, either praying or meditating.

Ricard lifted his gaze to the sky. In the dim light before dawn, its deep blue was like the depths of the sea.

But only a desolate wind blew across the sacred hill. No divine voice could be heard. It seemed God had no revelation for him. Fair enough.

"God's language is silence. Say what you most wish to tell yourself. Then your words will reach him."

"Are you a monk rather than a mage?"

"Something like that."

Hashim smiled at Ricard's teasing remark, his eyes still closed. Come to think of it, when had Ricard last prayed?

Cradling his sword against his chest, he crouched on the hillside and gazed down at the city.

People were beginning to wake and emerge into the streets. A navy-blue breeze brushed his face.

He reflected on the days gone by, from his previous life to this one. He could not retrace every moment, but some memories rose unbidden. Were they regrets, or wishes?

Being the strongest swordsman in the world only made his anguish deeper.

He remembered what had happened at the Church of Judgment. He, too, had recovered lost memories. Or had he wanted to forget them? Had he refused to accept them?

The more he examined himself, the less he understood. Only one thing was clear: he knew nothing.

And so he could only pray, recalling the emotion he had felt when past and present reached out to meet.

Still holding his sword to his chest, Ricard closed his eyes as well.

Let me be someone who weeps quietly. Whether from joy, repentance, or simple sorrow.

Like the smile of a baby in its mother's arms, like the sun rising on a dawn of anguish, like mist settling gently over fertile earth, like water running from the tip of a tempered blade, like mourning clothes of white rather than black.

Let me be someone who weeps quietly like that...

He must have dozed off. When he opened his eyes again, the sun had risen and morning had come. Hashim had stayed beside him, and pilgrims were climbing the sacred hill in small groups.

"Let's go," Hashim said.

Ricard rose.

Hashim took him around the ancient sites: the Pool of Beda, a prophet's tomb, a temple built on the spot where another prophet had ascended to heaven, and more.

Some places were crowded, others quiet. Some drew mostly Franken visitors, while others drew mostly Salaman people.

Ricard found himself wondering whether the accounts in scripture described actual events rather than old tales or embellished stories. Yet seeing the sites in person, he found them unremarkable and, in truth, was not deeply moved.

After touring the ancient holy sites, they went to the market, already bustling that morning, and bought supplies from the merchants: dried food, tools for lighting fires, and a few pieces of firewood. That was all.

With a single sword and a light pack, Ricard set out once more.

Was he now filled with faith? Who could say? One thing was certain: walking beside him was a heathen, a mage, and a friend.

"What did you wish for, Hashim?"

"I have no wishes. I merely pray."

"So what did you pray for?"

"Do Franken people ask others what they pray about?"

"Not really. I was just curious."

"I prayed that you would reach the Order of Flame's headquarters, meet your brother, and live out your days happily with your family."

"... Really?"

"Why?"

"Not to recover your lost memories or something like that?"

"That is a fate I must bear. But you are my first friend, aren't you?"

"... Well. Now I feel ashamed."

"Why?"

"If I'd known, I'd have prayed for you to recover your memories too. I feel as though I owe you."

Hashim thought for a moment, then smiled gently.

"Take your time paying me back."

"Hahahaha!"

Ricard threw back his head and laughed aloud.

Despite their different faiths and homelands, the swordsman and the mage seemed to get along remarkably well.

Neither could say what connected them, but perhaps that very bond was a miracle of God.

In Lunadan, where temperatures varied greatly between day and night, the mornings were quite chilly. Soon it would grow warm, then sweltering again. When that happened, they could seek shade as they walked, or sit down and rest.

With someone to share it all, Ricard was not lonely in this unfamiliar land.