Brave Story (100 page)

But the farther one strayed from the center of town, the shabbier things became. There was a deep moat between the city center and the outer ring of town, forming a rift, a natural line of separation that was clear to see from Mitsuru’s vantage point.

The capital city of Solebria was, in essence, a castle town. The city walls, much expanded and strengthened over the years, were always a remarkable sight to the merchants who visited from the southern continent. But beyond these walls and the single gate that led to the bustling Merchants Corridor, visitors never saw anything else of the city. That even here, within the city, there existed not one but two Solebrias, was hidden from their eyes. One of these Solebrias belonged to the rich, the other to the poor. The oppressors and the oppressed. Those who were served and those who served.

Farther still from the Crystal Palace, to the northeast, lay the prison where outlaws and criminals were held. This was an area abhorred by the geomancers of the north, their divinations honed by years of coping with the harsh climate of the northern continent.

Behind the prison edifice stood another gate that led outside the city walls. Many people considered this the gate of no return. The road leading to the northeast from this gate was referred to as the Captives Road, and the location of the forced labor camp at its end wasn’t marked on any official maps of the Empire. No one knew exactly how large it was, or how many souls it held.

Those who survived the camp knew they were guilty of only one crime: they were beastkin. They knew this, but they could not speak it out loud. The only power they had was the power to forget. The blank spot on the map was one way. If one could forget something that had existed, it never did.

Still, truth has a way of finding the chinks in even the strongest armor. Even if people are silent, buildings speak. The land speaks—and there are some who write down what they hear. On this, his tenth day in the Imperial Capital, Mitsuru already had an excellent grasp of the Empire’s history and the true conditions of life here. Much of his understanding came from the documents he found in the archives of the Crystal Palace itself.

Mitsuru had been welcomed as the emperor’s personal guest, and enjoyed considerable freedom in the palace. He spent many hours in the archives, and the researchers welcomed his curiosity and helped him in any way they could. Mitsuru, for his part, knew that the history they fed him had been cosmetically altered to suit their needs. Consequently, he took what he could use and ignored the rest. Many of the older books were locked up with a variety of magical locks, but these were easy enough for a sorcerer of his caliber to undo.

In this way did Mitsuru glean intelligence that even spies from the south had not been able to gather after years of searching. Yet the information he truly sought lay maddeningly beyond his reach. All he had gained from his research was a vague idea of how he might acquire that knowledge…

Which is why, these days, he spent his time looking up into the sky, casting his thoughts against the clouds.

The sky in the north seemed somewhat paler than in the south—frozen, drained of color. Even though this season was supposedly the mildest of the year, the cold wind whipped around him and slipped down his collar and out the sleeves of his robe.

The harsh climate had given rise to a harsh society. It was a vicious cycle—the thought brought an almost childlike frown to Mitsuru’s face. The ankha in the north had gained their dominance by stomping out the other races. Yet even with a unified populace, peace had not come to the Empire. Now different factions among the ankha vied for power. The dual structure of the capital city stood as a testament to that. The ankha of the north, their history stained with the blood of beastkin, had become addicted to the oppression of others—it was their way of life. And so it continued as a matter of fact, and nobody caught in the cycle was any the wiser.

I’ve never seen a greater gathering of self-deluded idiots.

Mitsuru had no sympathy for the people of the north. He couldn’t even pity them. He wasn’t angry, nor did he want to censure them. In this, he was just being impartial. It would make little difference to Mitsuru if the people in the north were the most enlightened in the land.

Everything in Vision is just that—an illusion, a mirage.
A fleeting dream that would disappear the moment he returned to the real world.

The very moment he became a Traveler, Mitsuru abandoned the boy he had been in the real world. He had been freed.

It was even possible that Mitsuru was now not wholly human. A Traveler was all he was. And to a Traveler there is only the objective. Nothing extraneous such as feelings of empathy, affection, friendship, or loyalty remained to hinder his progress toward his goal.

The problem before him now was how to deal with this capital city of Solebria. He would have to make plans, concrete plans. Squinting against the chilling breeze, Mitsuru schemed. He would not wait much longer.

He had been lucky. Few obstacles had lain in his path until now. It took him only three days to cross the sea separating the northern and southern continents. After wresting the sea charts from the old captain of the sailship, he had little need for the man. Once he was out on the open sea, and had a feel for direction and distance, he did not need to depend on such unreliable physical means of transport as the sailship. Magic was far more efficient. The sailship merely served as a convenient place to keep his feet dry during the crossing.

When he arrived on the northern continent, he sank the ship along with the captain in the shallow waters near the coast.

On firm land once again, he hid himself in a convenient port town to rest up, then made straight for the Imperial Capital. Along the way, fortune smiled on him again. He encountered a tax collector’s party returning to the capital from their rounds in the provinces. This saved him the effort of asking directions and gained him more valuable resources. The remains of the tax collector and his entourage were easily disposed of with a little wind magic that neatly covered his tracks. Some official might be waiting at the tax bureau in the capital for his delayed collector, but that was hardly Mitsuru’s concern.

Once in the capital, he used enveiling magic to slip inside the Crystal Palace. He took stock of the layout and let himself into the imperial quarters. After that, it was simple. He waited for nightfall and made his way directly to the bedside of Gama Agrilius VII. Waking up the emperor, he calmly announced his business.

The emperor had been quite startled, of course, and—still in his nightclothes—prostrated himself in abject fear at Mitsuru’s feet. It was a better reaction than even he could’ve hoped for.

In the south, Mitsuru had few occasions to announce his status as Traveler to anyone, nor did his easy progress require him to do so at any point. Now, standing before the emperor, Mitsuru realized exactly what it meant to be a Traveler in Vision.

“We are quite enamored of the real world,” the emperor told him. “To us, it is a sacred land. A land of the gods. It is my most sincere wish to fashion my empire to be as much like the real world as I can make it.”

This revelation brought a smile to Mitsuru’s lips. Considering the wars and slaughter that had taken place in the real world, and comparing those to what he knew of the north, it seemed like the emperor had already been quite successful in his mission, whether he knew it or not. Still, something struck him as odd. Though he had learned it only in passing, Mitsuru was sure that the Northern Empire embraced the beliefs of the Old God rather than the Goddess. Travelers, everyone knew, were the servants of the Goddess—yet the emperor seemed quite pleased to make his acquaintance.

He asked about this, and the emperor hesitantly replied.

“Of course, as a Traveler you are well informed. I’m impressed to hear you know of our country’s religion. Indeed, our empire is, on the surface, a bastion of faith in the Old God. But this is merely a convenient means to an end. It became necessary to spread this religion to unite our people against the nations of the south where the Goddess is worshiped. That is all.”

“So, do you mean to say that you, in fact, worship the Goddess as Creator?”

The emperor laughed at the question. “No, no! Of course, the Tower of Destiny does exist somewhere here in Vision, and a Goddess surely lives there who controls the fates of those in the real world. But she is no god of Vision. The Goddess who sits in the Tower of Destiny is a goddess only to those from the real world. She has nothing to do with any of us who live here in Vision.”

The true creator of Vision is none other than the real world itself, the emperor explained. “Do you know how Vision was formed? Vision is a world created by the imaginative energies of people living in your world—the real world. It follows that the gods of Vision, if we must name them, are actually the people of the real world. Is this not so?”

It certainly did make logical sense. “Then why support a religion that teaches people to mistrust Travelers? That completely goes against what you just told me.”

The emperor waved away Mitsuru’s objection. “Master Mitsuru, we know that the Porta Nectere opens once every ten years. But we do not know what kind of person will visit us. If they are talented and wise, this is a good thing. But sometimes, they may be evil or weak. It falls to us to create a difficult environment to separate the good from the bad. If they are truly emissaries from the holy land, they will gain our admiration and worship.”

Mitsuru was stunned. Then he remembered something Wayfinder Lau had mentioned earlier. Many Travelers, he said, abandoned their journey, unable to stand the hardships along the way. They lost their lives somewhere in Vision, or disappeared, never to return to the real world.

“Yet you, Master Mitsuru, have reached our palace. All by yourself, you have penetrated its most heavily defended chamber.” The emperor bowed deeply. “You have proven your worth beyond all doubt. I’m honored to greet you as a guest in our world. You will be accorded all the respect an emissary of the gods deserves, and I welcome you as a trusted ally. But first, you must rest, for I fear your journey has been quite long.”

And so, Mitsuru became a guest at the Crystal Palace.

Mitsuru later asked how many Travelers like him had visited the palace before.

Only one, the emperor told him. Once during the peak of the war to unify the north. “The records say that this Traveler, too, was a man of great power. It was he who first proposed the idea that land should be governed by a single race. He taught us that peace, prosperity, wealth, and power come only to those unified by blood. This became the basis for our empire, and brought us victory in the war of unification.”

Mitsuru wasn’t sure whether to be astonished or bemused. So the source of the oppression of non-ankha, and the genocide that had occurred in the north, had all been another Traveler’s idea. Not to mention the fact that the emperor seemed to think this Traveler was a true emissary of the gods.

Mitsuru was surprised at his own shock. He had decided a long time ago that after what he had been through in the real world, nothing could surprise him.

Still, his bewilderment lasted only a moment.
I’ve got more important things to do,
he told himself.
Events in Vision have nothing to do with me. I need only to reach the Tower of Destiny and do what I came here to do. Then I’ll go home. And I’ll use whatever means I have at my disposal.

The next day, when he awoke in the luxurious guest chambers, his life as an honored guest of the palace had already begun. He was brought before the beaming emperor, his family, and the retainers at the Crystal Palace, and informed that an elaborate welcoming ceremony was in the works. He was shown around the palace and told about its making, and he began to learn the history of the Empire.

But, of course, Mitsuru wanted none of this. Feeling unusually pressed for time, he sought another private meeting with the emperor.

This was when he revealed the reason he came to the north. He told the emperor that the last gemstone he sought was none other than the one adorning the Imperial Crown. If he only had this, the way to the Tower of Destiny would open to him. And he needed it as soon as possible.

He also explained how he had learned of a need for haste in his journey. By this, of course, he was referring to Halnera.

Mitsuru did not care to lose to Wataru in the race to reach the tower. Not that he was worried. But now that there was a danger of one of them being chosen as the sacrifice, it behooved him to achieve his goals and make it back to the real world as swiftly as possible.

But the emperor’s only response to Mitsuru’s urgent request was to laugh. “We know nothing of this Halnera in our empire. Nor do any of our scholars acknowledge such a thing. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was all a legend cooked up by the United Southern Nations government. I’m afraid you’ve been hoodwinked, Master Mitsuru.”

This was a possibility. But the reverse was also true.
Maybe you’re just ignorant.
Mitsuru gritted his teeth in silence, and it took a great deal of effort to not let his frustrations show.

“Then, are you saying that I am not to worry about Halnera?”

“Why concern yourself with something that does not exist, my dear Master Mitsuru?”

“Yet, even if Halnera is merely some scheme dreamed up by the south, I would like to reach the Tower of Destiny and finish my journey as soon as possible.”