Chapter 9
Long ago, on the day the terror that had stained Quaalid finally came to an end.
On a wide plain, twelve-year-old Tarmin trembled as he gripped the taut rope of a trap.
The trap was made of sharpened wooden spears bent down and buried beneath the earth. The moment Tarmin cut the rope with his hand ax, their pent-up spring would send them shooting forward.
The spearheads would pierce their prey before it had a chance to react, or at the very least stop its charge.
And the one assigned to trigger the trap when the werewolf charged was young Tarmin.
But now he was trembling, practically hanging from the rope.
“Don’t cut it while you’re still holding it. You’ll get hurt.”
At the warning, Tarmin let go of the taut rope.
“This may be your last moment, so show me what it means to be a man.”
His father said this from behind him.
Though trembling, Tarmin retorted to his father, his teacher, and the hunter who was saying something so dreadful.
“Father, if just the two of us—an adult and a kid—are going after a werewolf, isn’t that manly enough?”
“Not enough. Nowhere near enough.”
His father, using his son as a shield, held a horn bow behind him.
Tarmin had already voiced his displeasure about his position.
His father had retorted, ‘Then you hold the bow,’ and Tarmin had decided that even if he stood in front, his odds of survival were better with his father holding the bow.
He thought his father’s mighty bow, which an ordinary person couldn’t even draw, might make the miracle of killing a werewolf possible.
His father’s bow, which could pierce shields and armor alike, would penetrate a werewolf’s hide and inflict a fatal wound.
After a brief silence, his father spoke again.
“Do you know why we’re doing this?”
“Because it killed people?”
“Can’t you give me a better answer?”
“Because we’re getting paid?”
“Pathetic. Have you no pride as a hunter?”
The son decided to ignore his father.
When this sort of subject came up, it usually led to stories of his father riding across the plains in his youth.
If his father got misty-eyed and failed to aim properly at the werewolf, they were done for.
“I met your mother on the endless plains beneath a sea of stars... If I’d known I’d have a worthless son like you.”
“Will it come?”
“Hm? What?”
“We’ve laid an obvious trap and are calling it over. Do you think it’ll come?”
“That’s why we prepared bait, too.”
His father pointed at the bait lying at their feet. It had a protruding snout and eyes like a wolf, and its whole body was covered in fur.
It was a dead werewolf, shaped like a huge, fur-covered person.
“If it doesn’t take the bait, that’s a problem in itself. It’d mean it’s gone completely mad, not even recognizing its own wife.”
“Even so, I think it’s a little cruel.”
His father laughed fiercely.
“Who’s cruel? The werewolf that attacks people it won’t even eat is cruel, not me for using one bitch as bait.”
“Even so.”
He’d expected a more dramatic contest between beast and hunter; he hadn’t imagined an atmosphere more like an execution ground.
Seeing his young son sympathize with the werewolf, his father tried to soothe him.
“I’m actually counting on the werewolf’s human side. If it doesn’t come, figuring it can just find another wife, I’ll strip the human part from the word ‘werewolf’ and kill their daughter, too. Then it’ll be beyond a hunter’s reach, and we’ll have to call in the army.”
“I know it’s awful to say, but I wish you’d run away with the daughter.”
“That might ease your conscience, but we’d go hungry tonight.”
At dusk, the werewolf appeared.
The enormous werewolf, nearly three meters tall and covered in dark red fur, had claws so sharp they made the wooden spears whittled overnight look ridiculous.
The monster, which looked like a walking city gate, began to howl a moment later.
Instead of growling, it let out a mournful, rolling howl.
Was it calling for its mate? But the female werewolf didn’t answer. His father had beaten her to death.
His father laughed harshly and mocked it.
“Wondering if she’s dead or alive? Come and see for yourself.”
As if those words were a signal, it charged.
It dropped to all fours and accelerated, shoving aside everything in its way. Facing the werewolf as it closed in at tremendous speed, Tarmin was unexpectedly not trembling.
In this dangerous moment, it wasn’t his father but Tarmin who grew melancholy. He wanted to see the werewolf’s eyes.
Were they full of rage, or sorrow?
“Tarmin! Cut it!”
That was why he was a little slow to react to his father’s voice.
“Cut the rope!”
His father’s bow bent as if it would break, and the wind of the plains gathered around it.
**
Tarmin’s father was a veteran hunter who believed only what he had seen.
He distrusted magic for a simple reason: he’d never seen it.
Rather than give money to a temple that believed in what couldn’t be seen, he’d choose to buy another piece of dried meat.
The hunter’s son wasn’t as stubbornly empirical as his father, but he thought the attitude of believing only what you’d seen was quite reasonable.
And he believed in magic for the obvious reason that he had seen it.
As for the werewolf, the terror of Lake Dumo, until Tarmin saw it for himself, he’d thought it was merely a vicious beast.
If you asked Tarmin whether he believed in the legend of the Sky Garden, he’d say he didn’t, either.
He’d never seen whether a great wizard had existed, or whether magic had really cured a girl with an incurable disease.
But he knew one person to whom something unusual happened during the festival.
“I’m coming in.”
The inside of the temporary lodging was dark and cramped, with every window blocked off.
The space had been small to begin with, and the iron-barred enclosure meant to keep someone inside took up so much room that the area within the bars was actually larger.
The cramped space was divided into an inside and an outside by the iron bars, and Tarmin was in the outside area.
He took the preserved foods he’d bought at the market, things like jerky, and gathered them in one corner. In the cramped space, without so much as a chair or table, he lit a candle and carefully set it on the floor.
Despite all the noise he’d made, the person inside the bars didn’t answer.
The candle lit the room. He peered inside cautiously and called her name.
“Sigona?”
If there were no one inside the bars, the hunter would have a job to do.
“Big Brother Tarmin.”
Sigona answered from inside the bars.
“I told you there was no need to come anymore.”
Sigona came closer to the bars, revealing herself.
A waitress at a tavern just off the main street of the city square.
Long red hair and eyes that looked fierce but curved softly when she smiled.
She had wolf ears on top of her head.
“I just came to check.”
She was the daughter of a werewolf.
He didn’t believe the legend about a wizard’s flower curing an incurable disease. But during the festival, the werewolves in the area grew more ferocious.
He didn’t know whether only werewolves were affected, or how other beastfolk were affected, either. He’d never seen any other beastfolk in Quaalid.
More important was the fact that Sigona’s parents had been overcome by the beast within them.
Her father had argued that the girl should be put down, too, to pay for the sins of her werewolf parents.
The son had asked for a chance, promising to lock the girl up during the festival and keep watch over her.
Time passed, and the hunter’s son and the werewolf girl came of age.
“You said that last year, too.”
“Then I guess I said this, too, but how are you feeling?”
Sigona fiddled with the animal ears sprouting from her head.
“I did my best to suppress it this year, too, but I can’t stop my ears from growing.”
“So there is something about this time of year after all.”
Whether the legend of the Sky Garden was true or not.
As a child, Sigona hadn’t been able to suppress her power and had turned into a full-fledged werewolf. She’d been unable to control her emotions, either, and had rampaged all over the place.
The thick, sturdy bars, strong enough to hold even a werewolf, had been necessary back then.
It had taken years before she could keep her reason and talk during this time of year.
“Just the ears? What about the tail?”
If only her ears showed, perhaps she could wear a hat and enjoy the festival.
A tail, summoned from beneath Sigona’s skirt, shot upward.
As the full, fluffy tail with its red fur lifted her skirt, it seemed to reveal the area around her soft-looking thighs.
He jerked his head away reflexively.
“Looks like you’ll have to stay here and miss the festival again.”
“I suppose so.”
“What a shame. There’s a city called Eranche to the southwest, and there’s even a werewolf count living there...”
After making sure her skirt had settled, he turned back. Sigona was looking at him with a faint smile.
She’d caught him.
Though she’d grown quite a bit, he still treated her like a little sister. He was embarrassed to realize he’d stolen a glance without thinking, so he cleared his throat and changed the subject.
“Ahem. So, how are you feeling?”
“As usual: a pounding heart, fatigue, and a little exhilaration... excitement.”
As she said this, Sigona ran her hands over her body.
Her long, exposed neckline and the way her clothes pulled taut over her chest made her look openly seductive.
He couldn’t let that go without a warning.
“...Don’t get cocky just because you’ve grown up.”
“Ahaha. Sorry.”
Though she apologized, the tail peeking out from beneath her skirt swished back and forth, unable to hide her delight.
Tarmin thought it was a problem that he couldn’t bring himself to get any angrier.
“Are you going to punish me?”
“Punish you for what?”
“You’re not going to punish me?”
“You, seriously.”
Perhaps because they were talking across the iron bars, their relationship was usually limited to simple greetings.
She’d deliberately shown him her legs, and today she was acting a little strange.
All her provocations had left him feeling dizzy.
Sigona seemed to be getting into it. She grabbed the bars and began pretending to be pitiful.
“I’m a bad werewolf, so the hunter caught me and locked me up here. What’s big brother hunter going to do with me?”
“...Sigona.”
When Tarmin quietly called her name, Sigona flinched.
“Yes?”
“Could you bring your head over here for a moment?”
Tarmin approached the bars and reached out.
At the sight of the large hand silently extended through the bars, Sigona’s heart pounded.
Maybe, maybe he’d stroke her head with that hand.
No one but her parents had ever touched her wolf ears.
Blushing, Sigona hesitated, then slowly leaned her head toward the hand.
With Sigona’s animal ears twitching,
Tarmin bopped her on the head.
Thump!
“Ow!”
Sigona clutched her head and curled up with a groan.
“I told you not to get cocky.”
“That’s so mean. A girl’s head...”
“I bopped a bad werewolf on the head, didn’t I?”
“Oh, honestly.”
Sigona groaned for so long that Tarmin started to feel a little guilty, then sat down right there.
“...Was that too hard? Sorry.”
“I’m sorry for teasing you, too. I’ll stop.”
Tarmin chuckled and took a seat.
“Yeah. I’m tired already. There’s still a whole day ahead.”
At that, Sigona burst out laughing. It seemed the hunter planned to spend this year’s festival with his prey, too.
“What story are you going to tell me this time?”
“Have I told you all the stories about joining the hero’s adventure?”
“I want to hear them again.”
“All right.”
There was just one thing: he thought of the blonde girl who’d been flaunting how close she was to the hunter at the tavern, even going so far as to put a collar on him.
“But are you sure it’s okay to spend all your time here?”
“What?”
“That woman you were with—Enya, was it? I heard she was going to work at the festival in my place?”