Spice & Wolf II (10 page)

“Well, if you say so, we’ll stay the course. The fields suit our wagon quite well.”

Holo nodded silently as Lawrence took up the reins.

The wagon traveled along the thin road through the plains, and at length, white dots that might have been sheep became visible in the distance.

Holo’s irritated expression remained.

Lawrence noticed when he stole a glance at her, and the sharp-eyed wolf girl seemed to notice.

She sniffed, twisting her lip. “I’ve despised shepherds longer than you’ve been alive. Getting along with them now is impossible,” she said, sighing as she looked down. “There’s all that delicious meat just walking about, but imagine just having to look at It, never tasting it—you’d hate them, too, would you not?”

Her somber tone was amusing, but it was clear that she was in fact very serious, so Lawrence made an effort to keep a straight lace as he looked ahead.

They had now gotten close enough to the flock of sheep that Lawrence could tell one from another.

The sheep were grouped closely together, so it was hard to be sure of the precise number, but it was a score, certainly, that roamed lazily across the grass, chewing away placidly.

Of course, it was not only sheep on the plains. Holo’s nemesis, the shepherd, was there as well, accompanied by a sheepdog.

The shepherd wore a robe the color of dry grass, and he had a horn fixed at the waist with a mist-gray sash. He also carried a staff longer than he was tall, with a palm-sized bell affixed to the top.

A black-furred sheepdog paced to and fro about its master, as if keeping guard. Its long fur made it seem like a tongue of black flame as it sprinted across the plains.

It was said that there were two things travelers needed to be careful of when encountering a shepherd on their travels.

The first was not to offend the shepherd. The second was to make sure the shepherd robes did not conceal a demon.

The shepherds, who wandered the vast plains with naught but sheepdogs for company, evoked such strange warnings because their lives were even lonelier than those of traveling merchants—they were often seen as nearly inhuman.

Leading their flocks across the plains alone, controlling the animals with nothing but staff and horn in hand—it was easy to imagine shepherds as some kind of pagan sorcerers.

Some said that meeting a shepherd while traveling ensured protection from accidents for a week, thanks to the spirits of the land—others said that shepherds were demons in disguise, and if you let your guard down, they would imprison your soul within one of the sheep they tended.

For his part, Lawrence found nothing strange in these beliefs. Shepherds were mysterious enough to warrant such ideas.

He raised his hand and waved it thrice in the way that had become ritual for greeting shepherds, and he was relieved to see the shepherd raise and lower his staff four times in the traditional fashion. At the very least, this shepherd was not a ghost.

This first barrier had been cleared, but the real test would come when he got closer and could ascertain whether or not the shepherd was a demon in disguise.

“I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant. This is my companion, Holo,” declared Lawrence by way of introduction once he got close enough to make out the patchwork on the shepherd’s cloak and brought his horse to a stop. The shepherd was rather small of stature, only a bit taller than Holo.

While Lawrence talked, the dog that had been rounding up the sheep came trotting over to its master, sitting beside the shepherd like a faithful knight.

Gray eyes tinged with blue steadily scrutinized Lawrence and Holo.

The shepherd was silent.

“I have come by this road and met you by the grace of God, and if you are a good shepherd and true, you’ll be well met.”

A true shepherd would be able to prove himself with the traditional hymn and dance of his kind.

The shepherd nodded slowly and planted his staff directly in front of him.

Lawrence found himself surprised at the shepherd’s small, slender hand, but he was even more surprised at what came next.

“By the blessing of God in the heavens...

The voice that intoned the shepherd’s hymn was that of a young girl’s.

“By the protection of the spirits of the land...”

Moving her staff with skill, the shepherdess drew an arrow in the dirt with practiced ease and then, starting from the tip of the arrow, inscribed a circle around herself counterclockwise.

“The word of God is carried on the wind, and the blessings of the spirits of the land inhabit the very grass eaten by the lamb.”

Once her circle reached the tip of the arrow, she began to stamp her feet in the earth.

“The lambs are led by the shepherd, and the shepherd by God.”

Finally, she held her staff still, aligned with the tip of the arrow in the earth.

“By the grace of God, the shepherd follows the path of righteousness.”

No matter the country, the shepherd’s hymn was always the same. It was not the habit of shepherds to associate the way craftsmen or merchants

did, but it was no exaggeration to say that the hymn and its dance were universal.

It was enough to lend credence to the idea that shepherds could converse across great distances by sending their words on the wind.

“My apologies for doubting you. You surely are a shepherdess,” said Lawrence as he climbed down from the wagon. The shepherd girl’s mouth quirked in a smile. Her hood still obscured much of her face, so it was difficult to be sure, but based on what was visible, she was a beauty.

Even as he remained gentlemanly, Lawrence was filled with curiosity.

Female merchants were rare, but shepherdesses were rarer still. Given that she was also a fetching young lass, a curious merchant could hardly fail to be interested.

However, merchants are completely hopeless at anything outside of the mercantile world.

Lawrence was a fine example of this. Unable to find a topic of conversation beyond their encounter on the road, he suppressed his curiosity and stuck only to the most standard of greetings.

“Having met you by the grace of God, I would have you pray for our safe travels, shepherdess.”

“With pleasure.”

At the sound of the girl’s voice, calm as a grazing sheep, Lawrence’s curiosity grew larger than a summer cloud. He didn’t show it, but it was only with effort that he kept his inquisitiveness hidden. It was not his nature to ask shamelessly personal questions—nor did his nature grant him any gift for smooth talk. As he approached the shepherdess to receive her prayer, he thought of Weiz, the money changer in Pazzio, and envied him his easy way with women.

Added to that was Holo sitting in the wagon—Holo who hated all shepherds.

Somehow, that last fact was the weightiest reason for stifling his curiosity.

As Lawrence considered this, the shepherdess held her staff high to give the prayer for safe travel that had been requested of her. “
Palti, mis, tuero. Le, spinzio, tiratto, cul.
”

The ancient words from scripture, used by shepherds in every country no matter what the language, retained their mysterious quality no matter how many times Lawrence heard them.

Shepherds did not know the true meaning of the words, but when praying for safe travels, they always used the same ones as if by some ancient agreement.

The way in which the shepherdess lowered her staff and blew a long note on her horn was also thus.

Lawrence gave his thanks for the prayer of safety and produced a brown copper coin. Copper, rather than gold or silver, was customary as a token of thanks for a shepherd, and it was also traditional for the shepherd not to refuse the token. The girl extended her hand, just slightly larger than

Holo’s, and Lawrence thanked her again as he placed the coin in her palm.

Unable to find any reason to continue his conversation with her, Lawrence reluctantly gave up.

“Well, then,” he said, taking his leave—though his feet were slow to move as he tried to return to the wagon.

Unexpectedly, it was the shepherdess who spoke next.

“Er, are you perchance bound for Ruvinheigen?”

Her clear voice was different from Holo’s, and it was hard to imagine that she could be counted among those who chose the harsh life of the shepherd. Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at Holo, who looked off in a different direction. She seemed quite bored.

“Yes, we’re on our way there from Poroson.”

“How did you come to hear of this path?”

“It’s the pilgrimage road of Saint Metrogius. We heard of it just the other day.”

“I see...Er, have you heard about the wolves, then?”

With these words, Lawrence understood why the girl had gone to the trouble of starting a conversation.

She no doubt took Lawrence for a simple merchant who had chosen this route without any information.

"I have indeed,” he replied. “But I’m in a hurry, so I decided to take the risk.”

There was no need to explain about Holo. For enough profit, any merchant would risk a wolf-infested road so there was no reason for suspicion.

But the shepherdess’s reaction was strange.

She seemed almost disappointed.

“I see...” she muttered quietly, her shoulders slumping. She had clearly been hoping for something—but what?

Lawrence mulled the conversation over—there were not many possibilities.

Either she had hoped he didn’t know about the wolves or she was in no hurry.

That was all he could guess from their brief exchange.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

Were he not to ask the girl what her troubles were, it would be his failing not as a merchant, but as a man. He put on his most gentlemanly manner and gave her a businesslike smile.

Behind him, Holo was probably quite irritated by now, but he put the thought out of his mind.

“Er, well, um...that is...”

“Anything at all—is there something you need?”

When it came to negotiating, Lawrence was in his element. Selling her something would let him find out more about this rare female shepherd—even fairies were more common. Of course, behind his smile he was trying to work out exactly what he could sell her.