‘Bury me secretly so people won’t notice. Don’t get strange misunderstandings.’
‘Yes, Master. I will do so.’
Elijah sincerely respected and loved his master. His master had specially cherished him more than the other children. There were many days when he secretly gave him an extra piece of bread.
Once, late at night, he called him and gave him a bowl of soup with finely chopped meat in it, and to Elijah, who had known only bread hardened like stone as food, it was truly the taste of heaven.
‘Elijah, you are a truly outstanding mage. Far more so than any of those who were with you until now.’
His master’s hand, stiff but still warm, covered Elijah’s hand. It was a phrase he’d always heard, so Elijah wasn’t particularly moved.
‘I’ve never told you this before, but…’
His master continued speaking to him as he calmly nodded.
‘You are a far greater mage than even me.’
‘Please don’t say such things…’
‘No, it’s true. You will become one who survives the longest on this earth, more than words can express. Far exceeding human lifespan… for a very, very long time…’
This was something he’d never heard before. No matter how strong one’s magic power, could one live that long? Well, looking at his master, it was somewhat understandable. His master was a full 98 years old.
‘Perhaps without even aging… you might live forever.’
At that moment, Elijah turned his head to look at the mirror hanging on the wall. Come to think of it, his own face seemed unchanged from some point on.
‘The magic power you possess is infinite. Enough for everyone to covet… So if anyone comes to know of you, that person will surely try to use you.’
Elijah slowly nodded and listened carefully to his words. What his master said was always right. Nothing bad had ever happened from listening to his master. Except for just once.
‘To protect yourself, never appear before people.’
His fingers, trembling without strength, pointed somewhere outside the window.
The mountain range that wrapped around the Lantes River and extended like wings toward the eastern edge. The deep forest of the upper river that flowed in winding curves between the ridges.
‘Write letters every day, you fool. Heaven will be very boring because there are no people doing bad things. Tell me lots of interesting stories. I’m curious how old you’ll live to be.’
The master finished saying only what he had to say to Elijah, and left this world that day. That the whimsical joke uttered in his death throes felt to Elijah like an irrevocable last will—that only lasted a few years.
Now Elijah knows. There’s no way his master would read those letters in heaven.
The reason the Lantes River is called the ‘Cradle of Heaven’ by the world is simply because its scenery is beautiful, not because it has any actual connection to the afterlife.
The letters would never reach anyone in the first place. They would surely be swept around by the current and eventually sink into the water.
So perhaps these paper boats that Elijah sends every day now are more accurately diaries he writes and sends off alone, rather than letters.
Without a single grain of longing or affection toward his master, or any noble sense of duty or loyalty to uphold his will.
Just a kind of habit formed like an obsession, something that became a daily task he must naturally do after repeating it every day for 200 years.
Elijah sighed and transferred the soup from the pot into two bowls. The soup was almost gone now, showing the bottom. Which meant he had to scrub the stuck-on pot this afternoon.
Unless something special happened, he usually played chess with Igrit or took naps after finishing meals, but today it seemed he’d have to spend the entire day scrubbing the stuck-on pot.
“How unusual that you’re eating well without complaining. If only you’d done that yesterday too.”
Elijah looked sullenly at Igrit sitting across from him, then stirred his soup.
“Fine. I’m sorry too, Igrit.”
Unlike the previous day, the meal was peaceful, but the mushrooms that had turned mushy tasted more burnt than yesterday. Elijah reflexively swallowed the bitter and astringent mushrooms and nodded.
“Right? I think this cooking is really terrible too.”
Having slowly emptied all the soup, Elijah stood up and cleared Igrit’s bowl and his own.
One cleanly emptied bowl and one bowl with contents that hadn’t decreased at all from the initial amount were placed side by side in the sink.
* * *
“August 14th.
Are you well, Master?
The sky cleared up today. I am doing fine.
—From your inadequate disciple, Eli—
Yesterday evening, I found a baby by the riverside.
—From your inadequate disciple, Elijah.”
* * *
“August 15th.
Are you well, Master?
Today’s weather seems more or less similar to yesterday. I am doing fine.
No, actually I haven’t been doing fine. Not yesterday, not today.
First, I should tell you about what happened two days ago that I couldn’t write properly due to the chaos.
The day before yesterday, I had to wash the pot. I had accidentally burned the bottom a bit recently. But at the place where I usually draw water, I discovered some basket.
I’ll tell you in advance—I never touch other people’s things, following your teachings, Master.
But if I heard a baby crying from that basket, wouldn’t I have no choice but to open the lid? That really couldn’t be helped.
Anyway, to get to the point, there was a baby inside. A baby with red eyes and very white skin.
What would you have done in this situation, Master? I quickly left the spot thinking the mother might be nearby. Only after running all the way home did I realize I’d left the pot behind.
It was my one and only pot. It was something I absolutely couldn’t lose, so I returned to the river when it was almost evening. Thinking that by then, the baby would have vanished without a trace as if it had never been there.
But the baby was still there. Still crying in the basket. I don’t know how many hours it had been crying alone like that.
So now, it’s a bit of a difficult situation. The baby just cries all day and hasn’t had a single sip of water.
What should I do, Master? I don’t know how to care for a baby.
Should I put the baby back in its original place and pretend not to know?
—From your inadequate disciple, Eli—
One more thing I’ll ask.
If this baby isn’t human but ‘that thing,’ what should I do?
—From your inadequate disciple, Elijah.”
The paper boat floated down the clearly flowing stream. Elijah, who had been gathering the hem of his long cloak and hurrying along, suddenly lifted his head to look at the sky.
A few clouds were slowly gathering in the blue sky. It seemed the summer rainy season was approaching.
There were many things to do in advance during the rainy season. He needed to gather firewood and bring it inside, and plug the hole in the ceiling that he hadn’t been able to repair during the last rainy season.
…But right now, an even bigger problem was lurking in the house. That ‘thing’ the length of a forearm.
Elijah cringed at the crying sound that grew louder as he approached home. Having lived surrounded by silence for so long, he was vulnerable to noise. The two nights spent with the baby, who did nothing but fuss or cry at the top of its lungs, had been hell for him.
Today he planned to have an in-depth discussion about this problem with Igrit. Since asking his absent master for an answer through letters wouldn’t reach anyone anyway, it was ultimately a problem that Igrit and he had to face themselves.
Still, he was thankful Igrit was there. Alone, he wouldn’t have been able to endure the stress.
Elijah’s expression suddenly darkened considerably. Come to think of it, the baby hadn’t eaten anything for three days. How many days could ordinary babies go without food before dying? Being different from adults, even just three days would be dangerous.
But if it wasn’t a human baby, but ‘that thing’…
“Right, Igrit. It definitely resembles that in appearance.”
Elijah looked down at the baby he held awkwardly in his arms. Its throat should be a bit hoarse from crying so much, but the baby showed off its tremendous voice just as powerfully as the first day. He didn’t know where such energy came from when it hadn’t eaten anything.
Except for the fact that its severely scrunched face was reddened from crying, the baby was truly pure white. Long eyelashes soaked with tears stuck flat against its eyes.
Clumsily wiping away the tears hanging from the tips of the silver eyelashes, Elijah turned to look at Igrit. Lost in thought for a moment, he spoke.
“But even among ordinary humans, there are plenty of people with red eyes, aren’t there? Rose was similar too. Rather than red, it was closer to brown, but…”
‘Rose’ was the peer he’d been closest to among the disciples who had been together when his master was alive.
He couldn’t recall the face well, but he remembered the jet-black curly hair and pretty brown eyes. He’d thought the eyes suited the name well because they looked faintly red like blooming roses when they caught the sunlight.
Elijah, who had been looking at Igrit, suddenly widened his eyes.
“There are hardly any books left there… I used them all as kindling.”
He shuddered in disgust as he recalled something he didn’t want to remember.
