“Yes. Lord Yukinari......... Ahem.” She looked down at her knees for a moment. “Are we not to your preferences, Lord Yukinari...?”

  “Say what?”

  “I mean, your... your desires!” There was an unusual edge to her voice, a sense that she was resolved to this—there was a decisiveness in her tone that was very uncharacteristic of her. Perhaps she had had to work herself up to saying this, because immediately after, she flushed red and looked at the ground.

  “Is this about what we were talking about at the Schillings place?” Yukinari sighed.

  True, the subject had come up, but Yukinari had passed it off lightly, as though it were a joke. But Berta, it seemed, hadn’t been able to accept that. He hadn’t expected it to come back to haunt him like this. And then...

  “Who’s... ‘we’? Does it in...clude me?” Dasa asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Us. All of us.”

  “That’s surprising. I’m very much within Yuki’s preferences,” Dasa said. “He likes girls with glasses... and silver hair... I think.”

  “Hey, wait. Don’t put words in my mouth,” Yukinari said.

  “Am I... wrong...?”

  The look Dasa gave him brought him up short.

  Her expression and tone were as blasé as ever, but there were subtle hints of anxiety that Yukinari was able to discern.

  It would have been a lie to say he didn’t see Dasa as a member of the opposite sex. It was the same with Berta. Even Ulrike—when he had seen her at her “morning exercises,” buck naked, he had felt a certain sexual stirring. He was an angel now, but if he wanted to, he could probably have sexual intercourse just like when he’d been human. But...

  “Arrgh,” he groaned.

  Berta wasn’t finished yet. “I’m the shrine maiden who’s been offered to you, so I want to help you in any way I can. If I can change myself to suit your tastes better, I will.”

  “Look, it’s like I said before, it’s not your duty to—”

  “This isn’t about duty!” Berta said hotly—before turning red again and looking at the ground.

  He had never known Berta to be so forward. Something had changed within her. Now that Yukinari thought about it, he realized how long it had been since the two of them had talked face-to-face like this, what with Berta living at the Schillings mansion to look after Angela ever since the last battle. Maybe the key lay somewhere in that fight.

  What am I gonna do?

  Quite apart from his instinctual physical desires, Yukinari cared deeply for all the women in front of him. But was that reason enough to make love to them?

  What the heck... is going on here...?

  Despite the question he asked himself, Yukinari had a fairly good idea of the truth of things. He had trouble picturing himself in that sort of relationship with Dasa or Berta, or for that matter Ulrike. It just didn’t seem real, somehow.

  Who would do, then? One image floated up in his mind...

  An outstretched hand. Inviting. Healing.

  The hand belonged to Jirina, the first person he’d seen when he arrived in this world, and it belonged to the last person he’d seen in his previous one.

  Big Sis...

  Amano Hatsune. His older sister by blood.

  Of course, carnal desire for one’s own sister was not something that was normally smiled upon. So who was he to criticize Ulrike if her ideas seemed a little off?

  But at the moment immediately before his “transference,” immediately before the Amano household was engulfed in flames, it had been full of a strange atmosphere. One that made common sense madness, and madness common sense. The place somehow turned systems of value on their head, caused taboos to lose their force.

  Common sense wouldn’t make them happy. Common sense held no salvation for them.

  Yukinari, and Hatsune, too, had understood that all too clearly.

  That was why they had spent their days in each other’s arms. That was why—

  Suddenly, it came to Yukinari. The guilt. The sense that he had been wrong.

  Hatsune was long dead now. If that was his punishment for allowing improper feelings between siblings... then how could he go on to be happy with someone else, as though he had simply forgotten what happened?

  “Well, uh...” he said. “Honestly, I’ve just been so busy lately... I haven’t had time to think about it.”

  So he forced a smile onto his face, at least for now.

  ●

  It was twilight. The day was ending, and everything was bathed in a golden light. It wasn’t the best time for humans, with their poor night vision, to be out and about. All the more so when they were outside the town walls, where there was no artificial illumination. Many of the most dangerous animals were nocturnal, and everyone who had busied themselves with farm work beyond the walls during the day tried to get home early.

  Amongst the fields near Friedland...

  A man and his wife were walking back to town. The man was wearing work clothes specked with the mud of the field.

  “Well, that’s another day’s work done,” he said with a smile, resting his hoe on his shoulder. With his free hand he scratched just under his nose. The gesture was as innocent as a child’s. The mud on his hands wound up on his face.

  “Hehe! Dear, now you’ve got mud on your face.”

  “Oh! Have I, now?” The man kept smiling.

  The woman, who appeared to be his wife, was wearing a plain but clean outfit. It seemed she had not been engaged in outdoor work. Most likely, she had come from town to see her husband home. A wife who would come all the way out to meet her partner was rare indeed; it spoke to what a happy couple they were.

  They were still young, in their early twenties. As they walked, an odd distance could be sensed between them—a sort of mutual hesitance toward each other. They would need time yet before they could intuit each other’s thoughts. Most likely, they hadn’t been together for very long.

  “Thanks for taking the trouble to come out and meet me every day.”

  “Don’t worry. I enjoy it.”

  “And that lunch you packed me—delicious!”

  “Really? I’m so glad to hear it.”

  “You came all the way out to give it to me. I could hardly complain about it, could I?”

  “Well, everything tastes better fresh.”

  Perhaps they still found it somewhat awkward to walk along together in silence, because the man kept up a steady stream of chatter. The touch of overeagerness in his tone was innocent and sweet.

  It seemed the woman didn’t just come out to meet him at twilight; she brought him lunch during the day, too. She appeared to see this as a wife’s duty—or perhaps it was simply an excuse to see the man.

  “Today we, ah, we worked on the irrigation ditch and the new fields Lord Yukinari suggested.”

  “Oh, did you?” So far the woman had simply nodded along with what the man was saying, but now she asked a question of her own. “I’ve never met Lord Yukinari myself... What’s he like?”

  “Lord Yukinari?!” the man said, his eyes aglow. “He’s a wonderful person. He’s taught us how to widen rivers and even change their paths! He suggested new fields and even fertilizer. I was worried when our previous erdgod passed, but I don’t think we need to be concerned about this autumn’s harvest at all!”

  The man seemed more than a little excited. Apparently, he really did venerate Yukinari.

  “Wow, really? Have you seen Lord Yukinari do one of his mighty works?”

  “One of his mighty works? Yes!” the man replied excitedly. “Yes, I have! Oh, how I’ve seen it! Once, there was a boulder practically the size of our house. And he just touched it—his hand glowed, and a second later the whole thing turned to dust!”

  He was quite enraptured by Yukinari—by Friedland’s new god. He happily answered all his wife’s questions about “Lord Yukinari.” He talked about the girls Berta and Dasa, who were always by Yukinari’s side; he told the story of how Yukinari himself had gone to Rostruch to initiate trade; and then he recounted the recent battle with the knights of the Missionary Order...

  “Wow, really? What about Lady Ulrike, then?”

  “Lady Ulrike? Ah, the child-goddess who’s with Lord Yukinari? She’s quite pleasant, that erdgod of Rostruch... In fact, I’m impressed you know her name,” he said, blinking. “In fact... Wait...”

  “Yes? Is something wrong?”

  “Now that I think about it, didn’t you... Didn’t you meet Lord Yukinari when he took off those things the missionaries had put on us? The Holy Mark?”

  When the Missionary Order had first come to Friedland, they had deceived the townsfolk with their words and yoked the majority of them with the Holy Mark, a collar not unlike that which might be used on livestock. The symbol inscribed on it was indeed that of the True Church of Harris, but it was possible for the missionary knights to heat these collars, burning any townsperson who dared to go against them. And of course, the Marks could not be removed by the townspeople.

  Yet Yukinari had removed them with nothing more than a touch of his hand. This was the first “mighty work” of his that many of the townspeople saw.

  “H-Hey...” The man gave his wife a suspicious look; she hadn’t answered his question, but had fallen silent. “Why’re you so interested in Lord Yukinari, anyway...?”

  The woman still didn’t respond, but only gave the man a gentle smile. The man blinked repeatedly at his wife.

  “Wait... What the... You’re you, but... are you?” He was very confused. He didn’t quite understand why this all felt so wrong to him. Wasn’t that his wife’s face he was looking at? And yet... “...You... You...”

  Humans judge other humans by more than just their most obvious facial features. Subtle changes of expression, posture, gesture, the way someone walks or even breathes—there are infinite combinations of these things, and together they mark out a unique individual. It might be possible to replicate each one, yet taken together, they might still look not quite right.

  “Are you really... you?” The man felt like he was beginning to doubt his own sanity. But on the other hand, it was in some sense a display of how much he loved his wife. Even if he couldn’t put his finger on the tiny differences, he knew her so well that he could perceive them.

  There was no one else around but the two of them. So there was no one to laugh at the man’s ridiculous question.

  Even the woman in front of him stayed silent.

  “It’s... It’s almost as if you’re...”

  ...someone else.

  That was probably what he had intended to say. But what came out of his mouth next was not words, but blood.

  “Hrggh—?”

  The man looked at his own chest in surprise. When had it happened? It had occurred so suddenly, his astonishment was understandable. But now a long, thin sword was piercing him through. The blade had gone all the way into him, through his heart, and out his back. And his wife was holding the grip.

  No. No she wasn’t. This woman wasn’t his wife.

  The man dropped his hoe with a clatter.

  “Wh— y— ...?”

  He could form no more words.

  The woman let go of the sword and the man fell to his knees, his blood dribbling down his chest, then fell farther to one side. The woman looked at him quietly for a moment. Then she murmured, “Oops, you found me out. Did I get too greedy?”

  But the man on the ground couldn’t answer her. He had lost copious amounts of blood, and his death throes had begun; maybe he couldn’t even hear her. But if he could have, he would have realized his suspicions had been right: the woman’s voice was different from before, no longer that of his wife.

  ●

  It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. Fiona had been called out to a humble home on the outskirts of Friedland. This wasn’t a personal visit; it was a request to the deputy mayor from the community watch, which was charged with preserving public safety.

  “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re so busy, Deputy Mayor,” said a middle-aged man, a manager in the community watch. He had a square face framed by his hair and a full beard. Combined with his large frame, he looked a bit like a bear standing on its hind legs. His name was Hans Cutel. His family had been leaders of the community watch for three generations.

  “Not at all,” Fiona replied. “You said something about a strange happening...?”

  “Yes. Let’s talk inside.” Hans nodded and gestured into the house.

  As she walked along behind him, Fiona said, “I believe I heard someone died in this incident...”

  “Yes, ma’am. If it were any normal death, we wouldn’t have to bother the deputy mayor with it. But in this case...”

  As noted, Hans’s family had been part of the community watch since his grandfather’s time and had been involved in many of the goings-on in Friedland. They had encountered more than a few dead bodies and several murders in their work. They knew perfectly well how to deal with these cases, and a simple murder wouldn’t have required Fiona’s attention. The community watch could simply have dealt with everything itself. They would have submitted a report, and that would have been that.

  “Ugh...”

  No sooner had she entered the building than Fiona put a hand to her mouth. The air inside was thick, and—

  “I’m sorry. We tried to get the air moving, but the smell won’t go away.” Hans didn’t seem especially bothered by it; perhaps he was already used to it.

  “No, it’s all right. Don’t worry about it.” Fiona steeled herself and headed farther inside.

  It was unmistakably the smell of death that pervaded the house—the smell of rotting flesh.

  This was a fairly standard Friedlandian private dwelling. It contained all the things one would have seen in any house in the town, and nothing one wouldn’t. It was normalcy itself. Perhaps the furniture was on the new side. From what Fiona had heard on her way over, the house had belonged to a young married couple.

  “Over here.”

  She followed Hans’s guidance to a bedroom. On the bed in the center of the room lay a single corpse. The stench of rot was practically visible now; Fiona squinted. She had seen many things as the deputy mayor, and this was not her first corpse, but she had never seen one so thoroughly decomposed.

  Decomposition was to be expected when someone died in the mountains or drowned in a river—someplace where it might take time for the body to be discovered. But right here in town, in the person’s own house—it was very strange.

  Fiona found it difficult to want to get close enough to examine the particulars of the corpse. From what she could see, though, the chest area was especially dark. The color didn’t suggest decomposition so much as a large amount of dried blood.

  Had the person vomited blood? Or...

  “Did they die of illness? Or was it murder...?”

  It was hard to imagine someone dying accidentally while lying in bed. Friedland was a comparatively peaceful town, but anywhere there were large gatherings of humans, it would be impossible to avoid serious arguments. And unfortunately, it would be impossible to go without the sort of fighting that sometimes led to killing.

  “Murder,” Hans confirmed. “There’s an external wound—looks like a bladed weapon. On the left side of the chest. One thrust, straight through the heart.” He pointed at his own chest.

  Hans must have brought Fiona to this room because he wanted her to see the body for herself. Seeing that it might be too hard for her to stay any longer, he ushered her back out of the bedroom.

  “The body is that of the man who lived in this house.”

  “So he was killed in his own home.”

  “That’s still under investigation, ma’am. There are some traces of blood in the hallway, so it’s possible he was killed somewhere else and then moved here.” Hans sounded calm, practically dispassionate. So he and his people had already examined not just the corpse, but the inside of the house. “He was recently married. And speaking of his wife—”

  “Let me guess. Missing?”

  “As you surmise,” Hans nodded.

  If his wife had been around, the body might have been noticed sooner.

  “Meaning there’s some chance she was abducted?” Fiona said.

  “No, ma’am. That would certainly make things simpler.” Hans frowned with his bearded face. “As it happens, this man was working on the development of one of our new fields outside town. Apparently, he failed to show up for work several days in a row.”

  The other people working on the same project had become concerned about the man’s absence, and had gone to his house to check on him. As Hans told it, this had been seven days earlier.

  “When they showed up, his wife came to the door and said her husband was indisposed, had a cold.”

  Fiona had a bad feeling as she listened to Hans’s story. Seven days ago. Not ten or even twelve.

  “I’m no specialist,” Fiona said, trying not to vomit at the stench even as she spoke. “But I would have sworn that body had been there at least ten days...”

  “We thought the very same, Deputy Mayor. And it so happens that the man’s unexplained absences from work began exactly ten days ago.”

  Fiona didn’t say anything. In other words, if this man had died ten days earlier, and seven days earlier his wife had met the visiting villagers, then she knew of the man’s death and lied to them. Or, wait. If the man had been killed somewhere else and brought to his house only later, it was possible the woman didn’t know about her husband’s death when she spoke to his coworkers. But if so, he would still have been missing for three days at that point. And yet she told them he had a cold.

  The lie had been enough to get the man’s colleagues to go on their way. But when he still hadn’t shown up for work four days later, they began to get suspicious. If his cold wasn’t getting any better, he might at least send word. They worried that perhaps the illness had spread to his wife and that both of them were indisposed, so the colleagues went back to the man’s house.

  This time, however, neither the man nor his wife came to the door. It was locked soundly, but a neighbor said they had seen the man’s wife leaving the house that morning.

 

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