"Old man?"
"From Kei. His name is Matsuyama."
The two men exchanged glances. "What do you want with him?"
"Ask him. He saw my rucksack."
One of the men stood guard at the front door and gestured with his chin to his younger companion, who ran off down the hall. He said to Youko, "What've you got there in your left hand?"
"Nothing with any money in it."
"Maybe that's for me to decide."
"After we talk to the old man."
The man glared at Youko, taking her curt reply to mean she was hiding something. Soon came the sound of pounding footsteps and the young man returned.
"He's not here."
"Not here?"
"His stuff's not here, either. It looks like he took off."
The man blocking the doorway stood there clucking his tongue. The sound made Youko's blood boil. It was him. That old man did it. She closed her eyes. Despite them both being kaikyaku, he had betrayed her.
Maybe he couldn't forgive the fact that she had grown up knowing only the good life after the war, or that she could understand the language while he couldn't. Or rather, that robbing her had been his intent all along. She thought she had found herself a kindred spirit. He'd led her to believe that as well. After being tricked by Takki she didn't have the courage to trust any of these people, and now she'd let herself be fooled by a kaikyaku like herself.
Something painful rose up in her throat, anger that called up visions of storm-wracked seas. When that happened she knew she was about to turn into some kind of monster. Buffeted by these waves, she spat out, "He stole it."
The younger man said, "He was just a tramp. He got tired of working here."
"Stop making excuses and hand that thing over. I'll decide whether it's worth anything or not."
Youko grasped the sword. "I am the injured party here."
"And we've got a business to run. We can't be letting people stay here for free."
"Then you should run your business better."
"Shut up and hand it over."
The two men closed on her. Youko set herself into a defensive position, and with a flick of her wrist unraveled the covering on the sword. A beam of sunlight spilling in through a small window glittered off the blade.
"What the hell … . "
"Get out of the way. I told you, I am the injured party here."
The younger man yelped and ran off. The man left behind wavered back and forth, clearly flustered.
"Move it. If it's money you want, chase after that old man."
"This is what you had planned all along!"
"I already told you what happened. You catch the old man and the money in the rucksack is all yours."
She thrust out the sword in front of her, the man retreated. She advanced three more steps, the man hurriedly turned and fled. Youko feinted as if giving chase, and then fled at a run.
Summoned by the other man, a posse of men came running, swords drawn. They poured out of the inn and pushed their way through the crowds. Youko noticed that her arm ached badly, the same place where the old man had tightly held her arm the night before.
She wasn't going to trust anybody ever again, this she promised herself.
4-5
After that she went back to camping outdoors.
For no particular reason, she followed the road to the next town. Having no money, she couldn't rent a room or buy a meal. She would have preferred to sleep next to the castle walls like the refugees, but the guards at the gate looked alert and trying to mingle in with the crowds would be a pain. She gave up on the idea.
Nobody will be your ally. No one will help you. There's not a person here who will let you get away with a damn thing.
Anyway, when she thought about being tricked and being betrayed, she told herself she'd rather sleep under the stars and chase the youma away with the sword.
After changing clothes, instead of being recognized as a teenaged girl, she was taken more often for a younger boy. There was not much law and order out here. She tangled with shady-looking types a number of times, but she had lost any reluctance at all when it came to using the sword to make a threatening point.
During the day she walked while keeping a sharp eye on passers-by. During the night she walked while fighting the youma. She couldn't sleep at night without risking an attack, so she became a nocturnal animal, keeping on her toes at night and sleeping during the day.
There were families that sold food from huts along the road, but they only did business during the daytime, and, at any rate, Youko didn't have any money, so her meals pretty much tapered off to nothing.
When the hunger got too much to bear, she checked her indignation and looked for work. But the towns were flooded with refugees and there was no work to be had. She certainly couldn't expect to be hired when she looked for all the world like a helpless child.
The youma showed up every night, and, just to make things that much worse, sometimes during the day. On top of it all, there were the visions she saw in the sword and the blue monkey tormenting her.
Watching her mother cry was heartbreaking. She couldn't shake tempting thoughts of how much better things would be if that monkey were dead. Nevertheless, the desire to just see her mother, to see the place where she used to live, always won out. Just as the desire to talk to somebody, anybody always prevailed.
The sword's visions visited her at night, responding to her longings to go home. Whether the sword's extraordinary powers only showed themselves at night, or whether it was simply because that's when she was more often awake, Youko didn't know.
On the nights that the youma's relentless attacks didn't give her time to think about home, those nights left her body sore. The nights she did have time, those nights left her heart hurting. She knew that she ought to ignore it when the sword started to glow, but she lacked the resolve to do so.
On this night as well, the phosphorescent light was gathering above the blade. She had fled from the youma, forged her way into the mountains, and was resting against a white tree.
She had seen the white trees here and there deep in the mountains. They were like no trees she had seen before. The bark was pure white, the branches reached as wide as a house, though not very high. She didn't think the uppermost branches were more than six or seven feet off the ground.
The leafless branches hung low to the ground, slender but so incredibly hard that not even the sword could cut through them. It was like the branches were made from some kind of white metal. Yellow fruit was ripening on the branches, but it too held as firmly as if welded on.
The white trees glowed even in the darkness, all the more so when the moon was out. Youko found them quite pleasing to look at.
Despite the low-hanging branches, when she had slipped through and crawled up next to the trunk, there was enough space to sit down. For some reason, youma attacked less frequently when she was beneath these white trees and the wild dogs hardly bothered her at all. So when she needed to take a break, the trees were her first resort.
Concealed under the tree, leaning back against the trunk, Youko looked at the sword. Ten days had passed since meeting that old man, the other kaikyaku, in Takkyuu.
The sword cast off a faint light, the illuminated branches of the tree sparkled brightly. The fruit of the tree glowed in golden hues.
Instead of seeing her mother as usual, a number of people appeared, moving about. A group of young women, wearing black uniforms, in a room filled with rows of desks.
That's my classroom.
The girls seemed to be just hanging around, the kind of between-classes scene she was well used to. Seeing their beautiful blow-dried hair, pressed outfits, clean, white skin and comparing them to her present condition made Youko laugh out loud.