In a World without God

“You know, I thought you were very sly and cunning. I’ve told Lady Ygraine several times she shouldn’t trust you,” the black-haired woman who spoke to Bosha said. She was dressed in light black robes, ill-suited for the battlefield.

“That’s right, Laotou, you know me best.”

“Not at all,” Laotou snorted. “If you were truly cunning, you wouldn’t be lying here like this.”

Bosha’s body lay on the ground like a tattered rag, blood oozing from his eyes and mouth like tar.

“I thought you were clever!” Laotou continued as she crouched beside him. “What is this, eh? You’ve gone through Count Cyros, and now you’re facing a witch’s spawn alone! You could have made a decent run for it!”

Bosha knew she was right, but he couldn’t help it. If he had made a run for it, Ygraine’s army would have been cut off from their supplies, and it would have been chaos. Someone had to keep the witch’s minions from attacking, and Bosha was the only one who could.

He had succeeded in buying them time. The Black Fangs had rushed to Lady Ygraine’s army and informed them of Count Cyros’ treachery. Eventually, Laotou arrived with reinforcements, and they were able to secure the supply lines.

It was a successful plan. Only one life was lost in its execution: Bosha’s own. In return, he had saved countless others. Most importantly, he had saved Ygraine from the witch. That single fact alone filled Bosha’s heart with pride.

“Show some respect,” Bosha replied hoarsely. Despite being in pain, he still managed to make a small joke. “There’s nothing strange about a mercenary dying on the battlefield.”

Bosha closed his eyes. He felt uncomfortable looking at Laotou’s sullen face. He was used to seeing her drunkenly chanting, “Give me a drink, give me a drink!” with a wide grin that split her face in two.

One by one, fat teardrops began to fall from Laotou’s big black eyes. Her thin body shuddered as she tried to hide her sorrow.

“You’ll handle my funeral arrangements, won’t you?” Bosha asked, opening one eye to look up at Laotou.

“You stupid bastard! I was sent to save you! How could you ask me to… What the hell am I to tell Lady Lutea?” Laotou stopped crying and shouted at Bosha.

“You’ll work something out, I’m sure.”

“Shut up before I kill you off myself!”

Bosha smiled weakly.

If Ygraine is the reincarnation of the Goddess Lutea, then her right-hand soldier, Laotou, could not be any ordinary human. Laotou was acknowledged as the Goddess of the Loom by the people who lived in the eastern part of the continent. With a woman’s torso, Laotou’s lower body was that of a giant spider. She was known as an apostle of the Goddess Lutea and had lived for many years.

Having lived so long, one would think Laotou would be used to seeing people die. Instead, she sat on the ground beside Bosha and wept.

Bosha looked up at Laotou and then winced in pain, his eyes closed tightly. He tried not to make any noise, but his insides were burning from the poison the witch had left behind. The venom was slowly dissolving his flesh and bones, causing pain like he had never known before.

Anyone else experiencing such pain would have wanted to hasten their death. But Bosha chewed the flesh on the inside of his cheek to stay awake as the poison slowly coursed through his body.

One thing kept him holding on, fighting through the pain: to see Ygraine one last time.

How many times did he almost lose consciousness? He couldn’t tell. He thought she might never come or that she might arrive too late. Then, he heard the voice he’d been waiting for. Finally, she was here. With her head bowed, Laotou called out to her.

“Lady Lutea! I… I couldn’t save him. I tried to cleanse the poison somehow, but…”

“Raise your head, Laotou. This is all because of my foolishness.”

Ygraine, still so poised, dropped her holy spear to the floor and sat beside Bosha. She wiped away the smears of blood from the corners of Bosha’s eyes and stroked his forehead. Ygraine’s scent flooded Bosha’s nose.

He opened his eyes to look at Ygraine. It took all the strength he had left to do so.

“I wanted to see you, but…” Bosha began to speak, but Ygraine quieted him.

“Shhh,” she said. “Save your strength.”

Bosha’s last wish had not been granted. The witch’s poison had already reached his eyes. Hard as he tried, he could no longer see Ygraine clearly, just a shadowy outline leaning over him, cradling his face.

“Maybe because I’ve sinned too many times,” Bosha mumbled and smiled bitterly. “Did you get rid of the witch?”

“Thanks to you,” Ygraine spoke to him softly.

“Good,” Bosha sighed and closed his eyes. He felt like he was sinking down, a deep sleep reaching over him, smothering the pain he felt. He realized it was time to accept that this was his end.

But then, Ygraine spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Ygraine whispered to him, her hand trembling as she stroked Bosha’s forehead. “I promised you love. I promised you happiness. But I failed to fulfill that promise.”

A faint sigh escaped Bosha’s lips. He hadn’t expected a goddess to be like this, to be so full of regret and self-pity.

Bosha felt sorry for her. He wanted to comfort her but didn’t know the right words.

“No. You kept it,” he finally managed to reply.

“What?” Ygraine asked, confused.

“I’m happy. Right now, in this moment.”

Bosha suddenly realized that it was not just this moment. He had been happy every moment he spent with her. Because of her, Bosha had lived as a man and would now die as a man.

Ygraine had been right. Bosha’s heart was a wound that had never healed. It was constantly bleeding. His body was as strong as iron, but his heart was as fragile as a newborn chick.

There had been a gaping hole in his heart for his entire adult life, and he thought he could fill it by seeking power and wealth. But it was like trying to quench your thirst with salt water. The longer he lived, the deeper the hole grew, and the more he resented the world.

Even though he had only known her briefly, Ygraine helped fill that hole. Ygraine had taught Bosha a new way of life. She showed him that he could take pleasure in the pleasure of others, share his sorrows with others, and endure them together. She showed him that when you reach out to the weak, your heart can be saved and that someone like Bosha could love someone and find joy in the existence of another.

Bosha felt a well of emotions building inside him, emotions that no human should have to hold onto all on their own. He opened his mouth to try and speak them, but couldn’t find the strength.

“Go, please, and make the world a better place,” was all he could say.

But Ygraine didn’t leave. She held onto Bosha’s hand.

“It mustn’t end like this. I wanted to say something to you, Bosha, not as the Goddess Lutea but as Ygraine. Something that I must… that I must say.”

Bosha was losing the last of his strength fast. He had only a handful of the magic keeping him alive left and could barely hear Ygrainne anymore. In the thick of his last moments, Bosha heard Ygraine’s voice reach out to him.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again, and when we do, make sure you’re…”

Moments later, Bosha’s pain was gone. A warmth like springtime enveloped his body, and Ygraine’s scent seemed to continue to waft around him.

Death is so comfortable, Bosha thought.

***

“Ugh!”

“What’s wrong, Ed?”

“My head… my head hurts.”

Edulis Le Fay, nicknamed Ed, groaned, wrapping his hands around his head. His father, Glyon Le Fay, stroked his son’s silvery hair.

“I’m sorry, boy. I wish I could let you rest, but I can’t. Will you walk slowly?”

“Yes, Father.”

From the moment Ed had stepped into the Memorial Hall in Trisis, the Holy City of the Astania Kingdom, he had been plagued by a severe headache. It felt like someone had taken an axe to his skull.

His father was a kind and loving man. Normally, he would have told Ed to go home and rest, but not today. A child born into the Le Fay family was obligated to visit the Memorial on their tenth birthday, as mandated by law. The Memorial Hall of the Holy War was a pagoda-shaped building with many stairs. It had been a strenuous climb for a ten-year-old, even if Ed hadn’t been feeling unwell. But he had to keep walking. He had needed to reach the top floor on his own two feet by the end of the day.

Trudging slowly up the stairs, Ed finally reached the first memorial room. A giant statue stood in the center of the room. The plaque in front of it read: Captain of the Black Fangs.

Before he could finish reading the words, Ed suddenly fell to the ground.

“Ed, Ed!”

Ed found himself gasping as he struggled to catch his breath. His father, Glyon, immediately began to panic. He had only one son, who was born late in his life. How miserable would it be to lose him in a place like this?

The guards watched Ed from afar but did not come to his aid. Although they were forbidden by law to assist him, that didn’t stop them from feeling sorry for him in his moment of need.

“What’s wrong? Where are you hurting?!”

“Ugh… black…”

All Glyon could do was stroke his son’s back. Ed’s heart was beating terribly fast.

“Guards, get me some water here. Isn’t that allowed, at least? Please!”

One of the guards rushed over and brought him some water. Ed was desperately thirsty but struggled to gulp the water down between his difficulty breathing.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, Ed’s breathing suddenly calmed and returned to normal. His heartbeat slowed, and he felt fine once more. It was as though nothing had happened.

“Hey, are you okay? Can you walk?” Glyon asked, puzzled by the sudden change but relieved to see his son looking well again.

“Yes.” Ed’s answer was firm.

Glyon heaved a sigh of relief. It took a moment for his own heart rate to calm down after he had worried so intensely about his son that he didn’t notice the newfound strength in Ed’s voice that hadn’t been there before. A gleam of bravery glinted in Ed’s eyes. Seeing the statue reminded him of who he was.

“Surely we will meet again.” Ed suddenly remembered Ygraine’s words as other memories surfaced.

It was now the year 556 of the Astanian calendar, eighty years after Bosha’s death. The last moments of Bosha’s life flashed through Ed’s mind, the moments that ended without him ever seeing Ygraine’s face clearly as had been his dying wish.

A tiny flicker of anticipation grew in Ed’s heart.

Will we really see each other again? Will I be able to ask her what she wanted to tell me then? Ed thought as more memories returned to him, and he remembered Ygraine’s unfinished final words to him as Bosha.

Goddesses are immortal, so perhaps Lutea is still in this world? If she is, what form does she take? If I meet Ygraine again, what will I say to her? While thinking about this, Ed realized something was bothering him. He approached the statue and finished reading the plaque on the tombstone:

Vala Ishtar, Captain of the Black Fangs.

After discovering the treachery of Count Cyros, he slew him and protected the supply lines of the Astanias. In honor of his deeds, he was given the surname Ishtar, and this statue was erected in the year 479 of the Astanian calendar in the month of Blue Moon.

What the hell is this? Ed thought.

The Black Fangs would have been doomed long ago if that fool had been in charge. Vala was never one for power; he only cared about women.

He found out about Count Cyros’ treachery? He probably doesn’t even know he broke through to Cyros’ territory. He was just a guy who followed Bosha’s orders without question!

The statue, with its sharp jawline, was modeled after no one. Vala looked like a mountain beast with a wide, angular jaw.

What was even more unacceptable was the shape of the statue’s sword. As the name implies, the Mercenary of the Black Fangs wielded a black curved sword like a fang. It had a wide hilt and a crude net pattern. This statue, however, held a straight longsword. Frustrated, Ed turned to his father.

“Let’s go to the next floor.”

Ed hurried up the stairs. Seeing him leap up two, then three flights of stairs, Glyon became anxious.

“Hey, don’t overdo it. Take it easy, my boy.”

Ed couldn’t. The Holy City. The war between Saint Ygraine and the witch Granadilla. A war fought by the Goddess Lutea to save humanity. Bosha was the only human who knew about it. At the very least, the significance of the war must be told correctly. Lutea dreamed of a world where everyone lived together in peace. Does this memorial speak to that? Does it do Lutea’s vision justice?

As Ed approached the next floor of the memorial, he had a sinking feeling in his gut. After all, the first floor had been completely false.

Unfortunately, his feeling was right. The next floor, and the next, and the next were the same.

Saint Laotou

Skilled in strategy and tactics, she served on the Astanian military staff. In the year 474 Astanian, she was slain in the Battle of Vaidor against the Witch’s Bunche. A statue was erected in her honor in the year 479 of the Astanian calendar in the month of the Breeze.

The statue depicted a woman, her lengthy hair flowing and her face reflecting strength.

Who is this woman? Ed thought.

The Laotou Ed remembered always wore her hair cut short to her neck and, except when Ygraine was scolding her, she looked drunk and disheveled. She was a no-holds-barred martial artist who believed that ’superior strategy crumbles in the face of superior force.’ This memorial made her sound like a strategist.

This is strange. Whatever’s wrong, it’s wrong big time.

Ed continued climbing the stairs. Bosha’s deeds had been replaced with those of others, and Ed began to feel uneasy. He wondered if the records about Ygraine had also been distorted. It wasn’t an accident, Ed was certain. Someone was deliberately rewriting history. But why would they do that?

Ed raced even more quickly up the stairs.

“Oh, my knee! Ed, slow down!”

He ignored his father’s words. It took him half a day to climb a tower that would have taken a child a whole day.

When he finally reached the top floor, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him, and he understood at once. It was obvious why the person who had rewritten history had given Bosha’s accomplishments to someone else. The name on the tombstone was unmistakable: Bosha Le Fay.

Seeing the tombstone and the statue, Ed tried gathering magic without any luck. He should smash the stupid statue right now! If he were the hooded Bosha, he could break it with his bare hands. But Ed could not. He was too young.

In his frustration, Ed clenched his fist so tightly that his nails cut into the palm of his hand, drawing blood.

The plaque on the tombstone in front of Bosha’s statue read:

For defeating Ygraine Le Fay, the incarnation of the witch Granadilla, this statue is erected in honor of his great deed in the year 478 of the Astanian calendar, the month of Ice and Snow.