Spice & Wolf Page 2

  Specifically, he thought of the people he’d met in his travels.

  He thought of the merchants he had come to know when visiting a town repeatedly on business and the villagers he had become acquainted with at his destinations. The maidservant he’d fallen for during a long stay at an inn, waiting for a blizzard to pass. And on and on.

  In short, he longed for company more and more frequently.

  Such longing was an occupational hazard for merchants who spent the better part of a year alone in a wagon, but Lawrence had only recently begun to feel it. Until now, he’d always boasted that it would never happen to him.

  Still, having spent so many days alone with a horse, he started to feel that it would be nice if the horse could speak.

  Stories of carthorses becoming human were not uncommon among traveling merchants, and Lawrence had since the beginning laughed off such yarns as ridiculous, but lately he wondered if they could be true.

  When a young merchant went to buy a horse from a horse trader, some would even recommend a mare with a completely straight face, “just in case she turns human on you.”

  This had happened to Lawrence, who’d ignored the advice and bought a sturdy stallion.

  That same horse was working steadily in front of him even now, but as time passed and Lawrence grew lonely, he wondered if he mightn’t have been better off with a mare after all.

  On the other hand, that horse hauled heavy loads day in and day out. Even if it were to become a human, it seemed impossible that it would fall in love with its master or use its mysterious powers to bring them good fortune.

  It would probably want to be paid and given rest, Lawrence mused.

  As soon as this occurred to him, he felt that it was best if a horse stayed a horse, even if it did make him selfish. Lawrence smiled bitterly and sighed as if tired of himself.

  Presently he came to a river and decided to make camp for the night. The full moon was bright, but that did not guarantee that he wouldn’t fall into the river—and if that happened, calling it a “disaster” would be an understatement. He’d have to hang himself. That kind of trouble he didn’t need.

  Lawrence pulled back on the reins, and the horse stopped at the signal, heaving two or three sighs as it realized its long-anticipated rest was here.

  Giving the rest of his vegetables to the horse, Lawrence took a bucket out of the wagon bed and drew some water from the river, setting it before the animal. As it happily slurped at the bucket, Lawrence drank some of the water he’d gotten from the village.

  Wine would’ve been nicer, but drinking without a partner only made the loneliness worse. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t get staggering drunk, either, so Lawrence decided to go to bed.

  He’d halfheartedly nibbled on vegetables most of the way, so he had only a bit of beef before hopping back in the wagon bed. Normally he slept in the hempen tarp that covered the bed, but tonight he had a wagonload of marten pelts, so it would be a waste not to sleep in them. They might make him smell a bit beastly in the morning, but it was better than freezing.

  But jumping right into the pelts would crush the wheat sheaf, so in order to move them aside, he whisked the tarp off the wagon bed.

  The only reason he didn’t shout was because the sight that greeted him was flatly unbelievable.

  "..."

  Apparently, he had a guest.

  “Hey.”

  Lawrence wasn’t sure his voice actually made a sound. He was shocked and wondered if the loneliness had finally broken him and he was hallucinating.

  But after he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, his guest had not disappeared.

  The beautiful girl was sleeping so soundly it seemed a shame to wake her.

  “Hey, you there,” said Lawrence nonetheless, returning to his senses. He meant to inquire what exactly would motivate someone to sleep in a wagon bed. In the worse case, it might be a village runaway. He didn’t want that kind of trouble.

  “…hrm?” came the girls defenseless response to Lawrence, her eyes still closed, her voice so sweet that it would make a poor traveling merchant—accustomed only to the brothels of the cities—lightheaded.

  She had a terrifying allure despite her obvious youth, nestled there in the furs and illuminated by the moonlight.

  Lawrence gulped once before returning to reason.

  Given that she was so beautiful, if she was a prostitute, there was no telling how much he could be taken for if he was to so much as touch her.

  Considering the economics of the situation was a tonic far more effective than any prayer. Lawrence regained his composure and raised his voice once again.

  “Hey, you there. What are you playing at, sleeping in someone’s cart?”

  The girl did not awaken.

  Fed up with this girl who slept so obstinately, Lawrence grabbed the pelt that supported her head and jerked it out from under her. The girl’s head flopped into the gap left by the pelt, and finally he heard her irritated squawk.

  He was about to raise his voice at her again, but then he froze.

  The girl had dog ears on her head.

  “Mm...hah...”

  Now that the girl seemed to be finally awake, Lawrence summoned his courage and spoke again.

  “You there, what are you doing, climbing in my wagon bed?”

  Lawrence had been robbed more than once by thieves and bandits as he crossed the countryside. He considered himself bolder and more courageous than the average person. He wasn’t one to quail just because the girl in front of him happened to have the ears of an animal.

  Despite the fact that the girl hadn’t answered his questions, Lawrence did not pose them again.

  This was because the girl, slowly awakening before him and entirely naked, was unspeakably beautiful.

  Her hair, illuminated by the moonlight in the wagon, looked as soft as silk and fell over her shoulders like the finest cloak. The strands that fell down her neck to her collarbone drew a line so beautiful it put the finest painting of the Virgin Mary to shame; her supple arms were so fine they seemed carved from ice.

  And exposed now in the middle of her body were her two small breasts, so beautiful they gave the impression of being carved from some inorganic material. They gave off a strangely vital scent, as if housed within her arresting charm was a warmth.

  But such a fascinating spectacle could just as soon go awry.

  The girl slowly opened her mouth and looked skyward. Closing her eyes, she howled.

  “Auwoooooooooooo!”

  Lawrence felt a sudden fear—it blew through his body like a wind.

  The howl was the song a wolf would use to call its comrades, to chase and corner a human.

  This was no howl like Yarei had uttered earlier. It was a true howl. Lawrence dropped the bite of beef from his mouth; his horse reared, startled.

  Then he realized something.

  The moonlit girl’s form—with the ears on her head. The ears of a beast.

  “… Hmph. ’Tis a good moon. Have you no wine?” she said, letting the howl fade away, drawing her chin up, and smiling slightly. Lawrence came back to himself at the sound of her voice.

  What was before him was neither dog nor wolf. It was a beautiful girl with the ears of such an animal, though.

  “I have none. And what are you? Why do you sleep in my cart? Were you to be sold in town? Did you escape?” Lawrence meant to ask as authoritatively as he could, but the girl did not so much as move.

  “What, so you have no wine? Food, then …? My, such waste,” said the girl unconcernedly, her nose twitching. She spied the bit of beef Lawrence had almost eaten earlier, snapping it up and popping it into her mouth.

  As she chewed it, Lawrence did not fail to note the two sharp fangs behind the girl’s lips.

  “Are you some kind of demon?” he asked, his hand falling to the dagger at his waist.

  As traveling merchants often needed to convert large amounts of currency, they often carried their money in th
e form of items. The silver dagger was one such item, and silver was known as a holy metal, strong against evil.

  However, when Lawrence put his hand to the dagger and posed his question, the girl looked blankly at him, then laughed heartily.

  “Ah-ha-ha-ha! Me, a demon now?”

  Her mouth thrown open wide enough to drop the piece of meat, the girl was so adorable as to be disarming.

  Her two sharp fangs only added to her charm.

  However, being laughed at made Lawrence angry.

  “H-how is that so amusing?”

  “Oh, it’s amusing, it is! That is surely the first time I’ve been called a demon.”

  Still giggling to herself, the girl picked up the meat again and chewed it. She did have fangs. Add in her ears, and it was clear enough that she was no mere human.

  “What are you?”

  “Me?”

  “Who but you would I be talking to?”

  “The horse, say.”

  “…”

  When Lawrence drew his dagger, the girl’s smile disappeared. Her red-tinged amber eyes narrowed.

  “What are you, I say!”

  “Drawing a blade on me now? How lacking in manners.”

  “What?!”

  “Mm. Ah, I see. My escape was successful. My apologies! I had forgotten,” said the girl with a smile—a completely guileless and charming smile.

  The smile didn’t particularly sway him, but nevertheless Lawrence somehow felt that pointing a blade at a girl was an unseemly thing for a man to do, so he put it away.

  “I am called Holo. It has been some time since I’ve taken this form, but, well, it is quite nice.”

  As the girl looked herself over approvingly, Lawrence was so caught on the first half of what she’d said that he missed the second half.

  “Holo?”

  “Mm, Holo. A good name, no?”

  Lawrence had traveled far and wide over many lands, but there was only one place where he’d heard that name.

  None other than the harvest god of the village of Pasloe.

  “What a coincidence. I also know of one that goes by Holo.”

  It was bold of her to use the name of a god, but at least this told him that she was indeed a girl from the village. Perhaps she’d been hidden, raised in secret by her family, because of her ears and fangs. That would fit with her claim to have “escaped successfully.”

  Lawrence had heard talk of abnormal children like this being born. They were called demon-children, and it was thought that a devil or spirit had possessed them at birth. If the Church discovered them they—along with their families—would be burned at the stake for demon worshipping. Such children were thus either abandoned in the mountains or raised in secret.

  But this was the first time Lawrence had ever actually seen such a child. He had always assumed they would be disgustingly bestial, but judging from appearance alone, this one was a plausible goddess.

  “Oh, ho, I have never met another Holo. Whence do they hail?” As the girl chewed the meat, it was hard to see her trying to deceive anyone. It seemed possible that having been raised in confinement for so long, she really did believe herself to be a god.

  “It is the name of this areas harvest god. Are you a god?”

  At this, the girl’s moonlit face was slightly troubled for a moment before she smiled.

  “I have long been bound to this place and called its god. But I am nothing so great as a deity. I am merely Holo.”

  Lawrence guessed that this meant she’d been locked away in her home since she was born. He felt a certain sympathy for the girl.

  “By Tong,’ do you mean that you were born here?”

  “Oh, no.”

  This was an unexpected answer.

  “I was born far to the north.”

  “The north?”

  “Indeed. The summers there are short and the winters long. A world of silver.”

  Holo’s eyes narrowed as she seemed to gaze into the distance, and it was hard to imagine that she was lying. Her behavior as she reminisced about the lands of the north was too natural to be an act.

  “Have you ever been there?”

  Lawrence wondered if she was counterattacking, but if Holo was lying or merely repeating things she’d heard from others, he would have been able to tell immediately

  His travels as a merchant had in fact led him to the far north before.

  “I’ve been as far as Arohitostok. The year-round blowing snow is terrifying.”

  “Hm. Haven’t heard of it,” replied Holo, inclining her head slightly.

  He’d expected her to pretend to have knowledge. This was strange.

  “What places do you know?” he asked.

  “A place called Yoitsu.”

  Lawrence forced himself to say, “Don’t know it,” to quell the unease that rose within him. He did know of a place called Yoitsu, from an old story he’d heard at an inn in the north.

  “Were you born there?” he asked.

  “I was. How is Yoitsu doing these days? Is everyone well?” Holo asked, slumping slightly. It was such a fleeting gesture that it couldn’t be an act.

  Yet Lawrence could not possibly believe her.

  After all, according to the story, the town of Yoitsu had been destroyed by ursine monsters six hundred years ago.

  “Do you remember any other places?”

  “Mmm...it’s been so many centuries...ah, Nyohhira, there was a town called Nyohhira. It was a strange town, with hot springs. I would often go to bathe in them.”

  There were still hot springs in the north at Nyohhira, where royalty and nobility often visited.

  But how many people in this area would even know of its existence?

  Ignoring Lawrence’s confused reverie, Holo spoke as if she were even now relaxing in the hot water, then suddenly she sneezed.

  “Mm. I do not mind taking human form, but it is unavoidably cold. Not enough fur,” said Holo, laughing and hiding herself again in the pile of marten pelts.

  Lawrence couldn’t help laughing at her appearance. There was something that still worried him, though, so he spoke to Holo as she snuggled into the fur pile.

  “You said something about changing forms earlier—what was that about?

  At his question, Holo poked her head out of the pile.

  “I meant just what I said. I haven’t taken human form in some time. Charming, no?” she said with a smile. Lawrence couldn’t help agreeing, but he kept a straight face as he replied. The girl could make him lose his composure, that was certain.

  “Aside from a few extra details, you’re a human. Or what else? Are you a dog turned human, like the stories of horses turning human?”

  Holo stood at the slight provocation. Turning her back to him, she looked over her shoulder at him and responded steadily.

  “You can doubtless tell from my ears and tail that I am a proud wolf! My fellow wolves, the animals of the forest, and the people of the village all acknowledge me. It is of the white tip of my tail that I am proudest. My ears anticipate every misfortune and hear every lie, and I have saved many friends from many dangers. When one speaks of the Wisewolf of Yoitsu, they speak of none other than me!”

  Holo sniffed proudly but soon remembered the cold and dove back under the furs. The tail at the base of her back was indeed moving.

  Not just ears, then—she had a tail as well.

  Lawrence thought back on her howl. It was a true wolf’s howl, unmistakably. Was this then truly Holo, wolf-god of the harvest?

  “No, it can’t be,” muttered Lawrence to himself as he reconsidered Holo. She seemed unconcerned about him as she narrowed her eyes in the warm furs. Seen thus, she was rather catlike, although that was not the issue at hand. Was Holo human or wasn’t she? That was the question.

  People who were actually possessed by demons didn’t fear the Church because their appearance was different—rather they feared it because the demon within them could cause outward calamities for which the Chur
ch made it widely known the penalty was death at the stake.

  But if Holo was instead a transformed animal like in the old tales, she might bring good fortune or perform miracles.

  Indeed, if she was the Holo, god of the harvest, a wheat trader could ask for no finer companion.

  Lawrence turned his attention back to Holo.

  “Holo, was it?”

  “Yes?”

  “You said you were a wolf.”

  “I did.”

  “But all you have are a wolf’s ears and tail. If you are truly a transformed wolf, you should be able to take a wolf’s form.”

  Holo stared absently for a while at Lawrence’s words before something seemed to occur to her.

  “Oh, you’re telling me to show you my wolf form.”

  Lawrence nodded at the truth of the statement but was in fact mildly surprised.

  He had expected her to either be flustered or to flatly lie.

  But she had done neither, instead looking simply irritated.

  T his expression of irritation was far more persuasive than the clumsy lie—the assurance that she could transform—that he expected.

  “I don’t want to,” she said plainly.

  “Why not?”

  “Why do you want me to?” she shot back, pouting.

  Lawrence winced at her retort, but the question of whether Holo was human or not was an important one to him. Recovering from his stumble, Lawrence put as much confidence as he could muster into his voice, trying to regain the conversational initiative.

  “If you were a person I would consider turning you in to the Church. Demons cause calamity, after all. But if you are really Holo, god of the harvest, in human form, then I needn’t turn you in.”

  Were she genuine, well—tales of transformed animals acting as envoys of good fortune still remained. Far from turning her in as a demon, he would happily offer her wine and bread. If not, the situation would be different.

  As Lawrence spoke, Holo wrinkled her nose, and her expression grew darker and darker.

  “From what I have heard, transformed animals can change to their original forms. If you are telling the truth, you should be able to do so as well, yes?”

  Holo listened with the same irritated expression. At length she sighed softly and slowly extracted herself from the pile of furs.