Chapter 43

He came to his senses while exhaling breath that reeked of blood.

It was sleep he’d experienced after a long time. Not his body reaching its limit and his consciousness dropping off in a faint, but falling asleep alongside a sense of fullness.

Thud.

Another apple fell from above his head.

Quilbion found the apple with practiced hand movements and set it beside him.

At first, he’d eaten frantically. There’d been no time to think about later.

Only after devouring three or four did he start worrying about ‘tomorrow.’ Fortunately, the apples kept falling steadily.

At regular intervals. Thud, thud, toward his head.

The one bringing him the apples was a bird of unknown identity.

Screeee, the sound of salvation reached him again.

“Thank you! Really, thank you!”

Why the bird dropped apples for him, why it kept coming back, why it threw down apples and then disappeared—there was a heap of questions, but he quickly erased them from his mind.

What did any of it matter?

What was important was that it gave him food.

Quilbion fumbled with his hand and stroked the pile of apples he’d gathered together.

This was his lifeline. He absolutely couldn’t lose it.

“I’m counting on you going forward too!”

A beast’s kindness was keeping a human alive. Thinking that made a hollow laugh escape.

*

Thud.

He opened his eyes at an apple that fell onto his face.

He crawled after the rolling sound it made. He gripped the apple and fumbled around his surroundings.

His fingertips caught on a stone jutting up crookedly. It was a stone he’d deliberately driven in to establish direction.

Was it thanks to living over two weeks as a blind man?

He’d become able to picture his living space inside his head.

If I go this far, the storage should appear.

Just as expected, he felt the apples. The storage was really just a tiny pit built up with mud and stones.

Even calling it a pit was generous—the walls touched when he stretched out his hands, and the height was lower than his forearm.

It would be just perfect for a rabbit making its nest.

He stretched his hand out and pulled out an apple from deep inside. Then he organized today’s received apple in order.

They might spoil, so he had to eat them in sequence.

He chewed the apple thoroughly and crawled to the stream to drink water. He crossed the stream to relieve himself.

Eating apples the bird threw him, sleeping, waking up and taking a shit.

It felt like he’d become a plant. There was nothing else he could do.

The employer had once said something.

That people are cunning.

He’d come to understand what that meant.

After getting past the brink of death, he wanted to live, and once life became bearable, he started wishing for what came next.

Quilbion raised his head. Though he couldn’t see, the bird would be up there, right?

“I feel really bad asking, but is there anything besides apples?”

After speaking, he scratched his head.

Crazy bastard.

Making requests to a bird.

“Get your head on straight, you crazy fuck.”

He slapped his cheek hard enough to make a sharp sound and crawled to ‘his nest.’ A makeshift bed made by gathering damp leaves.

Based on the surrounding environment he pictured in his head, he stretched out his hand. His hand caught on a stick.

A long tree branch.

This was Quilbion’s eyes.

“Today is…”

After firmly planting a stone that would serve as a landmark, he swept his surroundings with his foot.

There’s nothing dangerous.

He advanced with the stick held before him.

Tap tap, tap tap. He tapped the ground, and when something caught, he lowered his posture and reached out his hand.

Most of it was shrubbery.

He placed each step carefully. With every movement, he etched the terrain into his mind as much as possible.

If he repeated this, he’d become familiar with it, and once familiar, he’d be able to move around the nearby area easily, right?

How long had he walked?

Sweat beaded up. Though it felt like he’d only walked about an hour, all his strength was drained.

Moving while keeping all his senses on edge was this exhausting—Quilbion leaned his weary body against a tree.

Rustle rustle, the sound of leaves brushing made.

Was it because senses other than sight had to do what his eyes should do? His ears had become especially sensitive.

Had the world always been this noisy?

Screeee.

A bird’s cry came from high above.

Had it followed him?

Thud, something fell above his head. Thinking it was an apple, he fumbled around and gripped the fallen object.

The shape was different. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. A faint earthy smell rose along with a bitter scent.

A potato?

He bit the end lightly with his teeth. Between the soil that crunched, he felt the astringent taste of potato.

Why suddenly a potato?

Then it suddenly struck him—the words he’d shouted toward the sky.

“You don’t actually understand what I’m saying, do you?”

He tried speaking into empty air. The bird was nearby. He could keep hearing the sounds of it folding its wings and scratching the ground with its talons.

“You’re right there, aren’t you? Can you hear my voice?”

It was when he cautiously reached out his hand. Along with the sound of flapping wings, a shallow breeze blew.

The bird had left.

“Don’t go! Listen to what I’m saying!”

He shouted toward the sky, but the bird didn’t return.

It hadn’t left entirely, right?

If the bird that was no different from his savior disappeared, he’d starve to death soon.

Anxiety made him drop the potato he was holding.

And.

“Really, you should have been careful. You have to treat animals gently.”

A hallucination he hadn’t heard in a while started up again.

Twella’s voice gradually grew closer.

“Why are you still alive?”

“Just shut up.”

“Don’t use such harsh language. This is what you wanted. A fantasy created by your loneliness. You know that, right?”

“I know, so just fuck off!”

He swung his hand forcefully. The hallucination got jumbled for a moment but quickly revived.

“How sad. I appeared thinking you needed someone to talk to.”

“When did you try to kill me, and now?”

“Let’s forget the past. Besides, you’re alive, aren’t you? Isn’t that what matters?”

“Crazy bitch.”

“I’m not the one who’s crazy—it’s you.”

Keke, with that laughter, Twella’s hallucination disappeared.

Not a single thing she said was wrong. The one who’s crazy is me.

Quilbion laughed bitterly and gripped the stick.

Let’s go back. Home.

Picturing the small hill made of leaves, he moved his feet.

*

“How about trying to light a fire?”

It was Twella, speaking to him without fail. Though he couldn’t see ahead, somehow it seemed like he could see Twella smiling brightly.

Quilbion didn’t answer.

“Are you just going to keep letting me talk by myself?”

He let the chattering voice flow through one ear and bit into an apple.

Fortunately, the bird hadn’t left. Instead, the food it dropped had become more varied.

Potatoes, sweet potatoes, small radishes. Beyond that, it threw him vegetables and fruits whose names he didn’t know.

He separated and stored what he could eat immediately versus what needed cooking.

“Why aren’t you using sorcery? You know the sorcery for making sparks, don’t you? It doesn’t even need a talisman.”

She prattled on disgustingly.

Quilbion lay down and spoke.

“The nark won’t move.”

“Why?”

“If I knew that, would I be doing this? I would’ve made a fire and roasted potatoes and sweet potatoes to eat.”

“The nark won’t move—I wonder why?”

“I don’t know! Just stop chattering and disappear. You probably got something in exchange for selling me to that woman, right? Take that and live well! Please stop tormenting me now that I’m a blind cripple.”

“Tormenting you? I’m whispering like this for your sake, you know?”

“Fucking annoying, really.”

As time passed, the hallucination grew clearer. It felt like his brain had split in two.

The brain that heard his words, the brain that ignored his words like a dog. Those divided brains fighting each other.

The moment he went to bed, and even in his dreams, he could hear whispering.

“But why you of all people?”

Quilbion turned his head toward where the hallucination came from.

“Well, that’s obvious.”

Over the landscape that was all black, his head arbitrarily drew Twella’s face. That thing possessing Twella’s appearance and voice smiled brightly and spoke.

“Because you really loved me. And as much as you loved me, now you want to tear me apart and kill me. That’s why I keep appearing. Because I’m the biggest component that makes up the person called you. Even if it’s a negative element.”

Crash!

Quilbion struck down at the flickering illusion of Twella with a rock in his hand.

The rock that swept through empty air struck the ground. His palm tingled. It felt like his palm had torn and was bleeding.

“Oh my, that must hurt.”

Twella, wavering like a reflection in water, spoke.

*

Screeee.

A cry sounded.

He spread his palm and waited, preparing for the food that would fall soon.

Food didn’t fall.

Instead, a long cry continued.

Different from usual.

Quilbion stood up gripping the stick.

“What’s wrong?”

Had a problem occurred? What help could a human who couldn’t see even an inch ahead be, yet still, if there was a problem, he had to lend a hand.

Who else but the god of provisions was in trouble?

It was when he looked up at the sky endlessly, waiting for the bird’s call.

Flutter, the sound of wings flapping came from right beside him, and something grabbed his shoulder.

Along with sharp pain, his shoulder grew heavy.

Startled, he reached out his hand. He felt solid talons and feet, and a sturdy body.

When he stroked the stiff, dense feathers and moved his hand to the bird’s beak—the bird didn’t flinch and accepted Quilbion’s touch.

“It’s you.”

He was moved. The creature that had saved his life had allowed him close. He felt so grateful he wanted to hold it in his arms and hop around.

It was when he was gauging the bird’s form like that, stroking its nape.

There was something his fingers caught on. Between the feathers that lay down smoothly by grain, something heterogeneous was wound around.

It was a string.

A human-made string.

He placed the string between his thumb and index finger and moved it gently.

It was a necklace. He felt something like a small pendant.

The bird had an owner.

“I guess so.”

A wild animal wouldn’t throw food for no reason.

“Did your owner tell you to? To bring food? Or did you just do what you were trained to do?”

The latter was more likely than the former.

Quilbion had often gone to watch sheepdogs before. They herded flocks of sheep at the owner’s call, but even without the owner, they moved to keep the sheep from straying.

But thinking about it, it was strange.

Training something to bring food to people?

“Well, what does it matter? If it weren’t for you, I would’ve died long ago.”

When he tickled under its chin, he felt the bird quivering. It seemed to like it.

Peck peck, the bird lightly pecked the back of his hand, then spread its wings and flew up.

Then it circled above his head, crying out a long screeee.

“Right, take care!”

He’d thought it was a farewell, but it wasn’t.

It kept circling above.

How strange.

The bird approached again and pecked the back of his hand before flying away. A screeee sounded from a bit farther off.

Could it be?

Quilbion established direction with the stick and walked.

After he’d advanced quite a bit forward, this time it cried repeatedly from above and to the right.

He was certain now.

It was crying for him to follow.

There was no reason to hesitate. The one holding his lifeline was this bird of unknown identity.

He moved forward while keeping his nerves on edge.

It felt like he’d walked about two hours by his internal clock. The bird’s cry that had been coming from the distant sky was now at eye level.

He established direction and moved.

And then, something went thud against the tip of his stick.

He lowered his upper body and carefully felt what was in front of him.

The moment he confirmed the smooth surface, he could tell what it was.

“…It’s a bench.”

The white bench he’d wiped and cleaned countless times, that had been placed all around the dormitories.

That very one.