One of the villagers who had been chugging down water finished his drink with an audible sigh of satisfaction. “Elder,” he said, “it ain’t a good idea to give people you’re gonna be hangin’ a chance to chat. You start feelin’ sorry for ’em and then it ain’t so easy to do the deed. Stuff like this is best done quick.”
I could see a few people agreeing.
The people this far out were probably reasonably used to rough things like this. The fact that they half-knew their attackers probably had a lot to do with it as well.
“Surely you must agree it’s dangerous to remain ignorant of the facts? Besides, it wouldn’t be good to make the holy warrior who helped us out think we’ve got something to hide.” Tom seemed to have gotten the villagers onto his side. He turned to look at me.
I nodded back.
Menel may have had a blunt personality, but he hadn’t looked like a person who enjoyed killing people and stealing their goods to me. And although I’d entertained the possibility, it didn’t seem like the people of this village knew any reason why they deserved to be attacked, either.
What on earth happened here? What was the reason that these people had attacked their neighbors?
While pondering that mystery, I went from person to person and undid the Words.
After unbinding the people from the neighboring village and asking them to explain themselves, a situation jumped out at us that was even more dreadful than before.
“Demons. Our village was done in by demons...”
“Many people died.”
“They brought beasts the likes of which I’d never seen...”
To summarize what they told us: Their village, which was about a day from here, had apparently been devastated by an attack from demons and the beasts they brought with them. Around half the villagers had been killed, several buildings had been burned to the ground, and those lucky enough to have escaped with their lives had nowhere to go. With women, children, and the injured to protect, they were left to simply await death in the bitterness of winter, without food, walls, a roof, or a single possession.
That was the situation they were in when—
“I was the one who suggested looting,” Menel said in a low tone, his head down. “They wouldn’t have stood a chance of beating demons backed up by beasts. Instead of just lying down and dying, I suggested they go loot somewhere nearby, fill their bellies, and go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
Apparently, Menel had happened to pass by that village while tracking the wild boar and had quickly gathered their situation. Then he’d hunted down the boar to satisfy their immediate needs and returned with the meat as they stood freezing in the forest. That was when he had suggested looting, and rallied the men together to carry out a night raid.
From their point of view, this village likely couldn’t afford to take in many refugees, and even if they attempted to ask for their help, they could see the rejection coming. If the village was concerned about them becoming thieves, they might even be attacked. In which case, they might as well become thieves in the first place, attack before the village understood the situation, take the goods, and get away from the demons.
In a place where the kingdom’s power didn’t reach, it certainly was a logical decision to make in a crisis. But then, Menel—
“You didn’t live in that village, right?” I asked. “Why did you go so far out of your way for them?”
“Marple, the old lady from the village,” he said briefly. “She did a lot for me.”
“What happened to Marple?” Tom asked, frowning.
“They said she died.”
“...I see.” He nodded quietly.
“I was the one who suggested it. Hang me. I led the others astray. Let them go. Please.”
The discussion was thrown into disorder. Screams and shouts began to be traded back and forth: some crying, “Like hell we can do that, hang ’em all,” others saying they should find some way to offer protection to old acquaintances, while others insisted they couldn’t possibly provide for them.
John and Tom wore grim expressions.
“Elder...”
“Mm.”
They were in a situation where village-destroying demons were right nearby, but before that discussion could get underway, they first had to pass judgment on these people, who were both their neighbors and originally victims themselves. It must have been frustrating.
“We have a debt to the hunter, and I sympathize with the plight of our neighbors... However,” he said painfully, “they must hang.”
Even if the villagers released them, they would still have no place to go and would probably plan another raid. Which meant that now that they’d attacked, the village had no choice but to kill them, both for their own protection and to save face.
Even if unavoidable circumstances had led the raiders to this, the villagers would still kill them for safety; they had neither the methods nor the resources to save them. The attackers, too, knew that even if they had asked for help, no mercy or tolerance would have been afforded them, and that was why they’d had no choice but to opt for violent methods from the beginning.
Being rational meant being cruel. This was the exact concern my parents had voiced about the outside world. The state of things out here was indeed dark.
Many people would have called this a hopeless situation. They would have said that was the kind of violence and cruelty often found in remote places, and no good could come of getting tangled up in it.
I had neither a reason to intervene in this incident nor a duty to get involved to begin with. I could just pretend I hadn’t seen a thing, and keep on heading to the town up north. I was sure I could find some way to fit in if I found an urban area that was slightly more civilized. There was no point in getting caught up in every bit of trouble I came across.
I knew that would be the wise decision.
However.
My mom had told me that she wanted me to do good, to love people without being afraid of loss. My dad had told me to always move forward and have confidence in the outcome, to not let my worries hold me back. And their words were still there in my heart.
And so I decided to say, “Screw being wise,” and take a tiny but daring step forward.
“Excuse me!”
For the sake of the words my parents had left me, for the sake of keeping the oath I’d made to my god, I was going to try to overturn the “hopeless situation” before me.
I raised my voice as loud as possible, and to my relief, everyone turned my way. Enunciation was important to using the magic of Words effectively. I was using the training Gus had given me to its fullest.
Spreading my arms wide exaggeratedly to focus their attention, I chose my first words carefully—
“Can this be solved with money?!”
The villagers’ eyes looked as if they might pop out of their heads. I pressed on, trying to stay one step ahead of their comprehension.
“Compensation. Atonement money. Do you have a custom like that here?”
According to Gus, it was a custom in many regions that when some kind of wrong had been committed, the matter could be settled with a payment of silver or livestock instead of blood. The knowledge I had from my previous life supported that claim. Such customs had been followed in regions all over the world, from Germanic to Celtic, Russian, and Scandinavian. I read somewhere that it still existed in some modern-day Islamic areas, where you could choose between qisas or diya—retaliation or compensation.
At this rate, blood would be shed. If I could solve that with money, then that was what I was going to do. I could imagine what Gus would say: ‘How wonderful money is—it can even buy blood and retribution!’