Spice & Wolf I (6 page)

Lawrence readied himself to catch the prevarication he was sure would come, but come it didn’t.

When he looked at her, she wore an expression completely different from what he had seen so far; she looked angry and near tears as she stared into the corner of the wagon bed.

“Er … what’s wrong?” Lawrence had to ask.

“The village’s abundant harvests will continue without me,” she spat, her voice surprisingly irate.

“Is that so?” asked Lawrence, overwhelmed by the piercing anger that emanated from Holo.

Holo nodded, squaring her shoulders. She gripped the furs tightly, her hands white from the effort.

“Long did I stay in that village; as many years as I have hairs on my tail. Eventually I wished to leave, but for the sake of the village’s wheat I stayed.

Long ago, you see, I made a promise with a youth of the village, that I would ensure the village’s harvest. And so I kept my promise.”

Perhaps because she couldn’t stomach it, she did not so much as look at Lawrence as she spoke.

Earlier her wit and words had been quick and easy; now she stumbled uncertainly.

“I...I am the wolf that lives in the wheat. My knowledge of wheat, of things that grow in the ground, is second to none. That is why I made the village’s fields so magnificent, as I promised. But to do that, occasionally the harvest must be poor. Forcing the land to produce requires compensation. But whenever the harvest was poor, the villagers attributed it to my caprices, and it has only gotten worse in recent years. I have been wanting to leave. I can stand it no longer. I long ago fulfilled my promise.”

Lawrence understood Holo’s anger. Some years ago, Pasloe had come under the care of Count Ehrendott, and since then new farming techniques had been imported from the south, increasing yield.

Holo thus felt that her presence was no longer necessary. Indeed, the rumor was proliferating that not even the god of the Church existed. It was not impossible that a countryside hamlet’s harvest god had gotten wrapped up in such talk.

“The village’s good harvests will continue. There will be a poor yield every few years, but that will be their own doing. And they’ll overcome it on their own. The land doesn’t need me, and the people certainly don’t need me either.”

Getting her words out all in one breath, Holo sighed deeply and fell over on the pile of furs yet again. She curled up, pulling the furs around her and burying her face in them.

He could not see her face to make certain, but it seemed not impossible that she was crying. Lawrence scratched his head, unsure of what to say.

He looked helplessly at her slender shoulders and wolf ears.

Perhaps this was how a real god acted: now full of bluster and bravado, now wielding a sharp wit, now showing a childish temper.

Lawrence was at a loss at how to treat the girl now. Nevertheless, he couldn’t very well remain silent, so he took a new approach.

“In any case, setting aside the question of whether or not that’s all true…

“You think me a liar?” snapped Holo at his preamble. He faltered, but Holo seemed to realize that she herself was being too emotional. She stopped, abashed, and muttered a quick “Sorry,” before burying her head in the furs again.

“I understand your resentment. But where do you plan to go, having left the village?”

She did not answer immediately, but Lawrence saw her ears prick at his question, so he waited patiently. She had just delivered a significant confession, and Lawrence expected that she simply couldn’t face anyone for a moment.

At length, Holo guiltily looked into the corner of the wagon bed, confirming Lawrence’s suspicions.

“I wish to return north,” she said flatly.

“North?”

Holo nodded, turning her gaze up and off into the distance. Lawrence didn’t have to follow it to know where she was looking: true north.

“My birthplace. The forest of Yoitsu. So many years have passed that I can no longer count them....I wish to return home.”

The word birthplace left Lawrence momentarily shocked, and he looked at Holo’s profile. He himself had not visited his hometown once since embarking on the life of a wandering merchant.

It was a poor and cramped place of which he had few good memories, but after long days in the driver’s seat, sometimes loneliness overcame him and he couldn’t help thinking fondly of the place.

If Holo was telling the truth, not only had she left her home hundreds of years ago, but she’d endured neglect and ridicule at the place in which she’d settled…

He could guess at her loneliness.

“But I’d like to travel a bit. I’ve come all the way to this distant place, after all. And surely much has changed over the months and years, so it would be good to broaden my perspective,” said Holo, looking at Lawrence, her face a picture of calm. “So long as you’ll not take me back to Pasloe or turn me in to the Church, I’d like to travel with you. You’re a wandering merchant, are you not?”

She regarded Lawrence with a friendly smile that suggested she’d seen right through him and knew he would not betray her. She sounded like an old friend asking a simple favor.

Lawrence had yet to determine whether or not he believed Holo’s story, but as far as he could tell, she was not a bad sort. And he’d begun to enjoy conversing with this strange girl.

But he wasn’t so won over by her charm as to forget his merchant’s instincts. A good merchant had the audacity to face a god and the caution to doubt a close relative.

Lawrence thought it over, then spoke quietly.

“I cannot make this decision quickly.”

He expected complaint but had underestimated Holo. She nodded in comprehension. “It is good to be cautious. But I never misread a person. I don’t believe you’re so cold as to turn someone away.”

Holo spoke with a mischievous smile playing across her lips. She then turned and hopped back into the pile of furs, albeit without the sulkiness she’d shown before. It seemed as though she was saying, “Enough talk for today.”

As she’d derailed of the conversation yet again, Lawrence could only grin in spite of himself as he watched Holo.

He thought he could see her ears moving, then her head popped out and she looked at him.

“Surely you’ll not tell me to sleep outside,” she said, obviously aware that he could do no such thing. Lawrence shrugged; Holo giggled and returned to the fur pile.

Seeing her like this, Lawrence wondered if her actions earlier were something of an act, as if she were trying to play the part of the imprisoned princess.

Nevertheless, he doubted that her dissatisfaction with the village or her desire to return home were lies.

And if those weren’t lies, then he must believe that she was the real Holo, because a mere demon-possessed girl would not be able to make it all up. Lawrence sighed as he realized that more thought would not yield any new answers; he decided to go to sleep and leave further ruminations for the morrow.

The furs that Holo slept in belonged to Lawrence. It was ludicrous to think that their owner would forgo their comfort and sleep on the wagon’s driving bench. Telling her to move over to one side, he, too, snuggled into the fur pile.

From behind him, he heard the quiet sounds of Holo’s breathing. Although he’d told her he couldn’t make a quick decision, Lawrence had already decided that as long as Holo had not made off with his goods in the morning, he would travel with her.

He doubted that she was that sort of troublemaker—but if she was, he thought, she would surely make off with his entire load.

He looked forward to the next day.

After all, it had been a long time since he’d slept beside another. It was impossible to be unhappy with her slightly sweet scent piercing the strong smelling furs.

The horse heaved a sigh, as if reading Lawrence’s simple thought.

Perhaps horses really could understand humans and simply preferred not to speak.

Lawrence grinned ruefully and closed his eyes.

Lawrence rose early the next morning. He was like most merchants who awoke early in order to extract the most profit from the day. However, when he opened his eyes to the morning mist, Holo was already up, sitting next to him, and rummaging through something. For an instant Lawrence wondered if his estimation of her had been wrong, but if so, she was truly audacious. He raised his head and looked over his shoulder, and it appeared she had gone looking for clothes among his things and was just now tying her shoes.

“Hey, now! Those are mine!”

Even if it wasn’t actual theft, even a god shouldn’t be rummaging around through other people’s things.

Holo turned around at Lawrence’s rebuke, but there was not so much as a trace of guilt on her face.

“Hm? Oh, you are awake. What think you of this? Does it look good?” she asked, completely unconcerned as she spread her arms. Far from chastened, she seemed actually proud. Seeing her like this made the uncertain, overwrought Holo of yesterday seem like something out of a dream. Indeed it seemed that the real Holo, the one he’d have to contend with from here on out, was this impudent, prancing thing.

Incidentally, the clothes she now wore were Lawrence’s best, the one outfit he reserved for negotiations with rich traders and the like. The top was an indigo blue shirt underneath a three -quarters-length vest. The trousers were a rare combination of linen and leather, with a skirt that wrapped fully around her lower body, tied with a fine sheepskin sash. The boots were a rare prize, made of tanned leather and triple-layered, good even in the snowy mountains. Over all this she wore a bearskin greatcoat.

Merchants take pride in their practical, dignified clothing. To buy these Lawrence had saved gradually beginning in his apprenticeship—it had taken him ten years. If he showed up to a negotiation wearing these with a nicely groomed beard, he would have most people at a disadvantage.

And Holo now wore those garments.

He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with her, though.

All the clothes were clearly too big for her, which made it all the more charming.

“The greatcoat is black—my brown hair looks lovely against it, eh? These trousers, though—they get in the way of my tail. Might I put a hole in them?”

The trousers she spoke of so lightly had been made by a master craftsman only after significant effort on Lawrence’s part. A hole would likely prove impossible to repair. He shook his head resolutely.

“Hrm. Well, fortunately they’re still large. I’ll find a way to make them work.”

Holo seemed not to harbor the faintest concern that she would be asked to take the clothes off. Lawrence didn’t think she was likely to run away while wearing them, but nevertheless he rose and regarded her. If she were to go a city and sell them, they would fetch a tidy amount of gold.