Kazuo Ishiguro - The Buried Giant

“What was that, Axl?”

“I was wondering what the medicine woman said to you about your pain.”

“She said it was nothing but what’s to be expected with the years.”

“Just what I always said, princess. Didn’t I tell you there was no need for worry?”

“I wasn’t the one worrying, husband. It was you insisting we go see the woman tonight.”

“It’s as well we did, for now we needn’t worry about your pain, if ever we did before.”

She gently freed herself from his embrace and allowed her chair to rock back. “Axl,” she said. “The medicine woman mentioned an old monk she says is even wiser than her. He’s helped many from this village, a monk called Jonus. His monastery’s a day from here, up on the mountain road east.”

“The mountain road east.” Axl wandered towards the door, which Ivor had left ajar, and looked out into the darkness. “I’m thinking, princess, we could as easily take the higher road tomorrow as the low one through the woods.”

“That’s a hard road, Axl. A lot of climbing. It will add at least a day to our journey and there’s our own son anxious for our arrival.”

“That’s all true. But it seems a pity, having come this far, not to visit this wise monk.”

“It was only something the medicine woman said, thinking we were travelling that way. I told her our son’s village was more easily reached by the low road, and she agreed herself then it was hardly worth our while, there being nothing troubling me but the usual aches that come with the years.”

Axl went on gazing through the doorway into the dark. “Even so, princess, we might think about it yet. But here’s Ivor returning, and not looking happy.”

Ivor came striding in, breathing heavily, and sitting down in a wide chair piled with skins, allowed his staff to fall with a clatter at his feet. “A young fool swears he sees a fiend scaled the outside of our fence and now peeking at us over the top of it. A mighty commotion, I needn’t tell you, and it’s all I can do to raise a party to go and see if it’s true. Of course, there’s nothing where he points but the night sky, but he goes on saying the fiend’s there looking at us, and the rest of them cowering behind me like children with their hoes and spears. Then the fool confesses he fell asleep on his watch and saw the fiend in his dream, and even then do they hasten back to their posts? They’re so terrified, I have to swear to beat them till their own kin mistake them for mutton.” He looked around him, still taking heavy breaths. “Excuse your host, friends. I’ll be sleeping in that inner room if I’m to sleep at all tonight, so do what you can to find comfort here, though there’s little on offer.”

“On the contrary, sir,” Axl said, “you’ve offered us wondrously comfortable lodgings and we’re grateful for it. I’m sorry it wasn’t better news called you out just now.”

“We must wait, perhaps well into the night and the morning too. To where do you travel, friends?”

“We’ll set off east tomorrow, sir, to our son’s village, where he anxiously awaits us. But on this matter you may be of help, for my wife and I were just arguing the best road to take. We hear of a wise monk by the name of Jonus at a monastery up on the mountain road whom we might consult on a small matter.”

“Jonus certainly has a revered name, though I’ve never met the man face to face. Go to him by all means, but be warned, the journey to the monastery’s no easy one. The path will climb steeply for much of your day. And when at last it levels you must take care not to lose your way, for you’ll be in Querig country.”

“Querig, the she-dragon? I’ve not heard talk of her in a long time. Is she still feared in this country?”

“She rarely leaves the mountains now,” Ivor said. “Though she may on a whim attack a passing traveller, it’s likely she’s often blamed for the work of wild animals or bandits. In my view Querig’s menace comes less from her own actions than from the fact of her continuing presence. So long as she’s left at liberty, all manner of evil can’t help but breed across our land like a pestilence. Take these fiends which curse us tonight. Where did they come from? They’re no mere ogres. No one here has seen their like before. Why did they journey here, to make camp on our riverbank? Querig may rarely show herself, but many a dark force stems from her and it’s a disgrace she remains unslain all these years.”

“But Ivor,” Beatrice said, “who’d wish to challenge such a beast? By all accounts Querig’s a dragon of great fierceness, and hidden in difficult terrain.”

“You’re right, Mistress Beatrice, it’s a daunting task. It happens there’s an aged knight left from Arthur’s days, charged by that great king many years ago to slay Querig. You may come across him should you take the mountain road. He’s not easily missed, dressed in rusted chainmail and mounted on a weary steed, always eager to proclaim his sacred mission, though I’d guess the old fool has never given that she-dragon a single moment of anxiety. We’ll reach a great age waiting for the day he fulfils his duty. By all means, friends, travel to the monastery, but go with caution and be sure to reach safe shelter by nightfall.”

Ivor began to move to the inner room, but Beatrice quickly sat up and said:

“You were talking earlier, Ivor, about the mist. How you heard something of the cause for it, but then were called away before you could say more. We’re anxious now to hear you speak on this matter.”

“Ah, the mist. A good name for it. Who knows how much truth there is in what we hear, Mistress Beatrice? I suppose I was speaking of the stranger riding through our country last year and sheltered here. He was from the fens, much like our brave visitor tonight, though speaking a dialect often hard to understand. I offered him use of this poor house, as I’ve done you, and we talked on many matters through the evening, among them this mist, as you so aptly call it. Our strange affliction interested him greatly, and he questioned me again and again on the matter. And then he ventured something I dismissed at the time, but have since much pondered. The stranger thought it might be God himself had forgotten much from our pasts, events far distant, events of the same day. And if a thing is not in God’s mind, then what chance of it remaining in those of mortal men?”

Beatrice stared at him. “Can such a thing be possible, Ivor? We’re each of us his dear child. Would God really forget what we have done and what’s happened to us?”

“My question exactly, Mistress Beatrice, and the stranger could offer no answer. But since that time, I’ve found myself thinking more and more of his words. Perhaps it’s as good an explanation as any for what you name the mist. Now forgive me, friends, I must take some rest while I can.”

Axl became aware that Beatrice was shaking his shoulder. He had no idea how long they had slept: it was still dark, but there were noises outside, and he heard Ivor say somewhere above him: “Let’s pray it’s good news and not our end.” When Axl sat up, however, their host had already gone, and Beatrice said: “Hurry, Axl, and we’ll see which it is.”

Bleary with sleep, he slipped his arm through his wife’s and together they stumbled out into the night. There were many more torches lit now, some blazing from the ramparts, making it much easier than before to see one’s way. People were moving everywhere, dogs barking and children crying. Then some order seemed to impose itself, and Axl and Beatrice found themselves in a procession hurrying in a single direction. They came to an abrupt halt, and Axl was surprised to see they were already at the central square — there was obviously a more direct route from Ivor’s house than the one they had taken earlier. The bonfire was blazing more fiercely than ever, so much so that Axl thought for an instant it was its heat that had caused the villagers to stop. But looking past the rows of heads, he saw the warrior had returned. He was standing there quite calmly, to the left of the fire, one side of his figure illuminated, the other in shadow. The visible part of his face was covered in what Axl recognised as tiny spots of blood, as if he had just come walking through a fine mist of the stuff. His long hair, though still tied, had come loose and looked wet. His clothes were covered in mud and perhaps blood, and the cloak he had nonchalantly flung over his shoulder at his departure was now torn in several places. But the man himself appeared uninjured, and he was now talking quietly to three of the village elders, Ivor among them. Axl could see too that the warrior was holding some object in the crook of his arm.