SALP Chapter 21

As she turned the page, Raphlang's seasons deepened and white snow fell.

The scene showed a snow angel-making competition—her favorite. Human-sized snow angels stood alongside rows of tiny snow angels made as children, grinning beside them.

The faces of people smiling happily beside the snow angels modeled after the guardian angel protecting their kingdom resembled her neighbors. Resembled Aunt Louise. Resembled Erin, who'd been the village's youngest child.

Lanthe stroked the page gently with her fingertips so as not to damage the paper.

Lovely. Lovely.

A world so longed-for and beloved had lived and breathed long ago, across the Mediterranean Sea.

Long ago, there had been a time when they existed freely, singing and dancing on broad and fertile land.

'What's so great about the Kingdom of Raphlang being revived? That place has nothing to do with us.'

So this was what a homeland kingdom felt like. That we Raphlish people had a homeland kingdom.

'If Raphlang had existed until now—we'd have more friends, more family, wouldn't we? Then we'd have been so much happier.'

Like fruit that loves the roots of the tree that bore it—buried so deep in the earth it has never once seen them with its own eyes, and loves them anyway.

She understood now. What the village chief's daughter had meant. What the longing was, for a kingdom your parents lived in before you were born.

She too had seen Roas's fall with her own eyes, seen the history of the Kingdom of Raphlang in letters and pictures, and only then did she know.

I could feel the same things they did.

I was Raphlish too.

'If we'd had our own kingdom, we would have been freer than we are now.'

Lanthe thought about her people. After the kingdom's destruction, only a few hundred had survived, binding together even more tightly to protect each other. She had been one of them. She was them.

...November's last day. People gather at the large hearth installed in each village's church. While adults tend the fire and bake bread, children make snow angels and sing together, building festival atmosphere. After sharing freshly baked bread and fruit drinks and even giving the snow angels names, one can watch the early winter sunset descend upon the landscape. They melt away the cold and fatigue in the sauna room installed above the hearth, closing out the year...

The landscape in the book gradually sank into twilight.

Lanthe raised her head and looked at the passage in the corner of the room.

The sunlight that had been pouring in brightly had grown dim. Clouds must be passing the sun's feet. She hadn't noticed the time passing.

Nina, who'd been rolling around with a book beside her chattering away, had at some point become completely absorbed in Residents of the Oden Forest, an animal picture book, and lay still without moving.

...So leave what will disappear outside the castle gate. Leave behind all the worries belonging to the outside world. Listen only to the angel's song and walk following its guidance. You who came alone in shabby state with empty fists will gain countless brothers and sisters who will gladly feed you and pray for you without any price.

On the book's last page spread a large landscape painting drawn in three colors—blue ink, red ink, and green ink. It was a bird's-eye view as if looking down on the entire small kingdom.

The angel of Raphlang appeared there for the first time.

An angel with large wings, long curly hair, and gentle eyes sat atop the western wall looking down at the earth. Only the angel was depicted in blue ink. As if it were an invisible existence to human eyes, or wanting to express it as symbolic, only the angel was depicted semi-transparently in blue pointillism atop the green landscape.

And on the opposite side of the angel, atop the eastern wall, sat a dragon drawn in contrasting red ink with wings folded.

'His Majesty Derek will soon obtain Raphlang's red dragon.'

The red dragon.

'The red dragon is the weapon of Raphlang's king. It's been speculated to be a miraculous famous sword, bow, or powerful siege weapon. But given current inability to cross the Northern Sea, if it's something that could be brought to Penmark land and discovered, it's unlikely to be a large siege weapon.'

'I suspect it's a 'bow.' Given the name 'red dragon' carries images of 'fire' and 'wind,' the weapon's actual form is most likely a special fire arrow.'

If Fiarelle's speculation was correct, that dangerous weapon might already be somewhere in Penmark territory.

Red dragon. The image of fire arrows pouring down like rain from high castle walls suddenly flashed through Lanthe's mind.

She could see the ominous vision clearly. A baptism of fire arrows with power comparable to a fire-breathing dragon burning the living things on the ground. The arrival of catastrophe like the day Derek burned Roas...

A chill moved through her. She rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arm and shook her head.

No. It's not. It's a weapon from a kingdom that fell 500 years ago. Even if it was called a great kingdom that prospered for a thousand years, you can't just assume their military power was overwhelming compared to Penmark's kingdoms.

In truth, Raphlang's ability to exist for so long was likely due to being a small kingdom geographically isolated across the Mediterranean Sea. With a simple and gentle ethnic character that didn't cause internal division, stable governance would have been achieved...

Maybe this "red dragon" thing, when you look at it, is just an outdated antique with weak firepower compared to weapons modern Penmarkians have?

She hoped so. She hoped it would turn out to be something like a rusted bow when they actually excavated it. So those people would realize it was a waste of effort and give up trying to misuse Raphlang's power...

"Whoa, I finished it! The duck family and zebras were so cute. The baby lion was cute too. I wish zebras lived in Hermea too!"

At Nina's bright voice, Lanthe relaxed her stiffened shoulders and smiled.

"How many times did you read that thin book?"

"Three times!"

"This book has animal pictures too—want to see?"

Lanthe flipped through the pages and showed her the page depicting Raphlish people raising reindeer and goats. Though they were realistic drawings that might seem plain compared to Residents of the Oden Forest, which anthropomorphized animals to emphasize cuteness, Nina kept squealing in admiration.

"Look at these! They're bigger than the reindeer my dad raises! This one's as tall as a grown man!"

"Hmm. Maybe an artist who really loved reindeer deliberately drew only the reindeer extra large?"

"Hehe... But this reindeer is super big and cute..."

Nina pressed her face close to the book, observing the reindeer intently.

Then she suddenly looked at Lanthe and grinned.

"This is weird."

"What is?"

"You and the people here look really similar."

She pointed with her index finger at the drawing of a girl petting a baby reindeer.

"They braid their hair like this and tie ribbons here too, exactly the same. Right?"

"I guess?"

She'd thought nothing of it since it was a common hairstyle in Roas. But come to think of it, she hadn't seen anyone with this kind of hair in Penmark.

"Ah, I want to braid mine like this too! It's pretty. How do you do it?"

So I resembled them too. If people from other countries saw me too...

"All right. Sit here. I'll braid it for you."

Lanthe closed the book and sat up.

She could feel a quiet shifting current somewhere in her chest. Raphlang, which she'd thought was a world unrelated to herself, was somehow transforming inside her into "my homeland."

"Ow! You're pulling all my hair out!"

"Haha. Hold still. It's all tangled because you were rolling around earlier."

"Kyaaah! Kyaaaah!"

"Hold still, you rolling, rolling crow."

Lanthe thought she might be glad—and sad—in equal measure, to have finally come to understand what her neighbors had always carried.

Because it was too late. Because it was after losing those with whom she could share the same heart.

She'd mocked them as foolish people. Childishly pointed fingers and teased them as fools who loved things they'd never seen or known.

Missing terribly the warmth of neighbors who had smiled kindly at her even so, Lanthe braided Nina's hair carefully, remembering what they had done for her when she was young.

The lord of the castle was away. The feast of St. Marca was approaching. A feast day commemorating the achievements of Marca, who was called a great wizard in life, it was a common festival for believers who worshipped Penmark's four great gods—the goddess of earth, the god of fire, the goddess of wind, and the goddess of water.

It was also the day marking the beginning of the water season—winter proper—and the period when Hermea would close its outer gates and settle inside the castle like a hibernating beast.

Lanthe visited the Hestan Church again two days later. It had been truly ages since she'd attended worship. Her heart felt restless watching people recite prayers she knew and sing hymns. She even felt a slight sense of belonging sprouting, something she hadn't felt in those days when she'd sat dozing reluctantly beside Aunt Louise.

She finally understood what a privilege it was—to be able to make your wishes at a place where your heart turned.

The fact that she was more comfortable with the handsome priest standing behind the altar with a cool expression endlessly preaching about proper believer conduct than with Ailea priests prostrating themselves on the floor chanting spells over deer blood in silver dishes.

"Welcome, Miss Lanthe!"

"We've had a new member come to our church after 20 years, everyone!"

After worship ended, the congregation held a small welcoming ceremony for her. They'd heard from the priest in advance and even prepared a necklace woven from flowers to place around Lanthe's neck.

'I don't really have much faith. I just like the church as something like a place of old memories.'

Lanthe felt embarrassed and fiddled unnecessarily with the flower necklace around her neck, rolling her lips inward to bite back the sheepish laughter trying to escape.