“Woof! Woof!” Two black-haired watch dogs leapt and barked on the hard sand before the granary, the thin iron chains at their necks clinking madly.
“I didn’t set the fire—it was Hunter Emmo.”
Nolan had been temporarily locked in the Headman’s disused granary. Because he was injured, they hadn’t trussed him up like a thief; only his right hand was tied to a post.
“Cyril, that’s only your side of it. Mrs. Emmo clearly points to you as the one who set the fire.”
The Headman, leaning on his staff, stood with two burly, bodyguard-like farmers at his back. His face was grave as he said:
“How many years has it been? Nothing this vile has ever happened in Lotte Village.”
“Mrs. Emmo never even saw what happened!” Nolan protested. “She was in a room and only came out screaming when the flames grew!”
“Then tell me—why were you in Hunter Emmo’s house?”
The Headman struck the ground hard with his staff, then demanded:
“I went to steal those gray jackal corpses—” Nolan fell silent, then spoke. “Hunter Emmo hauled them home saying he’d skin them. I only wanted to steal them first. How could I possibly burn them in his house?”
“Then how did the fire start?” the Headman pressed. “By your account, why would Emmo set fire to his own home?”
“It was like this—” Nolan dropped his gaze, thinking back to last night. “I climbed into Emmo’s place, trying to find the gray jackals, and went into his storehouse.”
“The door to the storehouse was open, so I peeked in. And… I saw Emmo. He was… not right.”
“Not right?” The Headman frowned. “Don’t try to befog me with vague talk—”
“I’m not lying. At first glance I didn’t recognize him as Emmo—I thought some beast had gotten in. He had a jackal hide draped over him. When he turned, I realized it was Emmo.”
“You mean—Emmo was wearing a jackal hide? Wearing a jackal hide to do what?” The Headman stared, as Nolan’s expression shifted.
“Well? Speak!”
“He was…” Nolan stammered. “He was wearing the hide and gnawing on the dead jackals—like an animal. His mouth was full of blood, his belly swollen. Then he saw me and muttered something I couldn’t make out, and threw an oil lamp at me. He missed and set the piled hay ablaze.”
“Go on.”
Nolan thought, then continued:
“When I saw the fire catch, I tried to use the water vat by the door to put it out, but I couldn’t move it alone. Then Emmo came over—I thought he was coming to help, but he swung at me. Of course I dodged. Somehow he smashed the vat. The flames grew. I had no choice, so I ran out to call people—but Emmo never seemed to come out.”
“Nonsense—beyond belief.” The Headman, shocked by Nolan’s account, drew a long breath, then looked to the villagers beside him.
“You heard him. What do you think?”
“Last night, Nolan really did go door to door waking people.”
“But Mrs. Emmo says she saw Nolan set the fire…”
The two onlookers gave their replies.
“So the ones burned to death… were Emmo’s mother—and Emmo himself?” the Headman pondered.
“Not sure—” one villager denied. “We only found Emmo’s mother’s body. Emmo’s own—we haven’t found it… His wife did make it out.”
“She truly said she saw Nolan set the fire?”
“That’s what she said… no, not exactly.” The villager hesitated. “What Mrs. Emmo said was, ‘I knew it was Nolan.’”
“Bring Mrs. Emmo to identify him.” After a moment’s thought, the Headman gave the order. Before long, a disheveled woman wrapped in a wool blanket came in.
“Of course it was him! Who else! Sneaking into our house at midnight to steal! My husband caught him in the act, and he flew into a rage, trying to kill us to shut our mouths! Headman, you must uphold justice!”
Mrs. Emmo shrieked, the venom in her eyes as if to scorch Nolan where he was tied.
“What exactly happened last night? If you won’t make it clear, how am I to judge?” the Headman said.
“Oh, what’s there to say? You know it too—yesterday in the day my husband and this brat quarreled over those pelts. At night my husband said he feared the brat would play some dirty trick, so he took a mat and slept in the storehouse. See? He drew in this wild dog, this venomous wolf, and now my husband’s dead!”
“So then—you heard what Emmo said, not saw it yourself?”
“Oh, who else but this brat—sneaking into my house at midnight, was he there to do good? Headman, you have to stand up for me, or how am I to live—”
The Headman exchanged a glance with the two villagers, then had them lead the cursing, sobbing Mrs. Emmo out of the granary, telling her to rest a bit.
“If she didn’t see it herself, this is hard to say.”
“You see? I told you—I didn’t set the fire.” Nolan shook his head.
The Headman sighed and looked at him. “Don’t think it’s over. You’re still the prime suspect.”
“What do you mean?”
“I… I’ll draft a letter and ask the Baron to send a constable to judge the case. Until then, you’ll be kept here.” The Headman thought a moment, then spoke.
“I understand.” Nolan lowered his head again. “Then… my sister? How is she?”
“She’s waiting outside.” The Headman gave a soft cough. “Now you remember family? Why didn’t you think of them before you did something foolish?”
“I’m sorry. But… this was something I just had to do.”
“All for a few forest gray jackals?” The Headman shook his head. “Right—you mentioned that gray-haired girl you picked up told you to do it?”
“No—” Nolan shook his head. “At first I used her as a shield. But I thought it through. Destroying those jackals—that was my own will. It had nothing to do with her.”
“Why?” the Headman asked, looking at him.
“I can’t explain it. It’s a feeling—that night I was hunted by those gray jackals. They… felt terrifying, not like ordinary beasts. I just felt I wouldn’t be at ease unless I ground them to dust and ash.” Nolan chose his words slowly.
“A feeling… only a feeling?” The Headman pondered, then looked down at him.
“Cyril, you’re twelve this year, aren’t you?”
“Yes…” Nolan was puzzled why the Headman had suddenly asked his age.
“Children may speak without heed. But at twelve you’re half-grown. You must take responsibility for your words and deeds.”
“I understand…” Nolan nodded.
“In any case, stay here for now… Your sister will bring your meals.”
With that, the Headman gave Nolan a once-over, then turned and left the granary. Nolan watched the wooden door swing shut, darkness pooling in the corners of the room.
“It sounds very much like demonic possession…”
Inside the chapel, Mr. Berli listened to the Headman’s account, a thoughtful look on his face.
“What do you think we should do…?” the Headman asked.
“The urgent matter is to find Hunter Emmo first,” Berli said after a moment.
So that was it. Clytia, hugging her knees, sat quietly beneath the side window of the chapel; thus I could hear the Headman and Berli talking.
By rights, Clytia shouldn’t have been here. But I understood the reason—she had lost her way.
I think she meant to find Nolan and Diya, but she didn’t know the roads and didn’t think to ask. I could only watch as she wandered the village half the day and finally came to the most conspicuous place—the chapel.
And stumbled into the Headman and Berli’s conversation—
I kept alert to the sounds in the chapel and heard Berli say:
“If you truly fear possession, I can write to the nearest sanctuary and ask a cleric of Holy Light to come perform an exorcism.”
“No… best not,” the Headman said, hesitating.
Berli studied his expression, then, as if enlightened, said:
“You needn’t worry. I know a few reasonable gentlemen—pastors with merciful hearts. We can petition them specifically. They won’t broaden the net and drag others in.”
“Ah—you don’t understand…” the Headman muttered. “If it were the sanctuary’s own clerics, that would be fine. Whatever offerings we had to pay, we’d do it willingly. But by Church rules, if an evil incident is confirmed, then for two years straight there will be monthly inspections. We… truly can’t host that.”
At that, Berli fell silent. Those inspections would certainly not be carried out by the sanctuary’s clerics of Holy Light, but by ordinary outer clergy—mixed fish and dragons, full of petty extortionists.
“So… is there any other way?” the Headman asked.
“Mm…” Berli thought for a while. “If it truly is evil at work, the problem will lie with those gray jackals.”
“So—those jackals… who killed them?” Berli asked.