It was around that time that she and Z began to converse in human language. She didn’t understand why, but it was what Z told her to do, so she diligently obeyed. Z’s observation of her continued every day, unrelenting. Seasons came and went, and Z and the girl continued their peculiar life together.
“Z, my head feels funny, and my back hurts. I think there’s something wrong with me,” said the girl after the day’s lessons had finished. Z lay a shimmering hand against her forehead.
Hmm... You have a temperature. I believe this is what they call “a cold,” it replied.
“What’s that?”
What indeed... Imagine there are bugs inside your body causing mischief and putting it out of balance.
“Bugs? Is it because I ate ants yesterday?” said the girl, now regretting the ants she had eaten instead of her snack.
I have told you not to eat ants. I also believe I said the bugs were imaginary, said Z, sounding exasperated.
“Well, what should I do? Am I going to die? If I die, will you gobble up my soul?”
The human body is not so feebly constructed that such a minor thing will kill you. That being said, we will forgo the rest of today’s training. Return to your room and go to bed. You will recover soon with proper rest.
“Okay.”
The girl tottered back to her room and dove right into bed. She slept for a while, only waking when she felt a faint presence. Turning her head, she saw Z’s wavering figure before her and did a double take—this was the first time Z had ever come into her room.
“Z? Have you come to eat my soul after all?”
I made you some soup, it said. Eat.
Z was, in fact, holding a tray with a bowl on it.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
That is because when you catch a cold, you also lose your appetite. Even if you are not hungry, you need to eat. You will get better faster, said Z. It sat down on the bed, gently helping her sit up. Then, it scooped up a spoonful of soup and held it up to her mouth. The girl stared.
Is something wrong? Come on, open your mouth.
“No, um...” mumbled the girl. She felt awkward and confused, but she opened her mouth as instructed. Z tilted the spoon slowly so that the soup ran down her throat. She felt the warmth spreading through her body.
How is it? I kept the flavors plain so that it would not upset your stomach.
“I-It’s nice,” said the girl, stifling a giggle.
Was there something wrong with it?
“No, ummm...”
Well, there does not appear to be any problem.
Z proceeded to shovel spoonful after spoonful into her mouth at an alarming pace, and before ten minutes had gone by, the bowl was empty.
“Thank you.”
Well done. You ate it all. Now drink this, said Z, placing a silver cup in the girl’s hands. A thick, green liquid sloshed around inside it; it brought to mind a monster from one of her picture books.
“This? It’s goopy and it smells weird. Is it really okay to drink?”
This is called “medicine.” If you drink it, you will get better even faster.
“You mean it?”
Have you ever known me to lie?
“No, never,” she said. She pinched her nose and downed the green liquid in one gulp. Even so, the bitter flavor spread through her mouth, wiping out all trace of the delicious soup.
“Z, it’s really bitter!”
Medicine is like that, by and large. Not that I have tried it, said Z, pulling a chair up beside the bed and sitting down. It casually drew a book from the shadows around where its chest might have been and began to flick through the pages.
“Are you... Are you going to stay with me?”
Hm? Oh, this is part of my observation. When next you wake, you should be well again. Now, if you are quite satisfied, go to sleep.
“Okay,” said the girl, giggling again. “Good night, Z.”
Good night, said Z, after a moment’s pause.
The next morning, the girl woke with the sense that she’d had a wonderful dream.
It had been fifteen years since Z and the girl had met.
The girl’s life continued as it always had. If anything had changed, it was the difficulty of her education and training. Z had also given her a name, saying it was to avoid future inconvenience.
The girl had just turned fifteen, however, and her body had changed a lot. Her physique, hardened by Z’s training, called to mind that of some lithe and ferocious beast. But she was still very clearly a fifteen-year-old girl—her lovely, slender figure and ample breasts both attested to that. Her features were beautifully proportioned, not unlike a doll, and had she lived in town, she’d likely have turned heads. She had grown into a beautiful, young woman.
The girl rose early, as she did every morning.
Rising with the sun, she jumped out of her canopy bed, yawning widely and feeling the satisfying crack of her joints as she stretched. She hung the towel from the wall around her neck, then wandered out from her room and down the dimly lit corridor. She loved the tranquility of dawn so much that she got up early just to experience it.
Eventually, she arrived at the courtyard, where dappled light filtered in through the canopy of lush, green leaves. Narrowing her eyes slightly against the glare, she headed for the well with a bucket in hand. Once she had a decent amount of water, she washed her face over the bucket, swallowing a mouthful. The water made her smile as it filled her empty stomach.
“Ahh, delicious,” she murmured in contentment. Next, she headed for the kitchen and dining room. It was a simple affair—just a brick oven and a small table. With practiced motions, she tossed some logs on the fire, then concentrated power into the index finger of her right hand.
This was the magic power that slept inside her.
She imagined herself binding together the trace magical elements in the air. A moment later, particles of blue-white light gathered at her fingertips, the mark of a successful binding. When the light converged to a single point, it morphed into a tiny ball of flame the size of a pea.
“Success.” She smiled at the fireball she had created, then tossed it at the logs. Blue-white flames sprang up around them, and she took a poker down from the wall and used it to stoke the fire.
Back when she’d first started learning how to make a fireball, she hadn’t been able to control its strength. She’d lost track of how many times she had ended up destroying the oven. It had always reappeared soon enough, though, fixed up good as new. At first, the girl had thought that this mysterious phenomenon was the work of a mischief-loving fairy called Comet, who showed up in one of her books. In the tale, the cowardly Comet came up with all kinds of schemes so that it could secretly laugh at the surprise of the humans who fell for its tricks.
The girl thought she’d surprise the fairy back, and spent the whole night hidden in a corner of her room keeping watch for the fairy. Eventually morning rolled around with no sign of Comet, and with education time approaching, the girl had no choice but to reluctantly leave the kitchen. When she returned at lunchtime, the oven sat there, good as new. The girl, getting stubborn, spent the next several days staking out the kitchen, but to no avail. Much to her disappointment, she later spotted Z using its magic to repair the oven.
The girl shook her head at these youthful memories, wiping the sweat from her brow. She put a pot of soup leftover from the previous day on top of the oven to reheat, and soon enough, the pot began to bubble and release a delicious aroma. She ate alone, then said her thanks for the food, quickly tidied up her dishes, and left for the education room.
There were a number of rooms in the temple besides the girl’s bedroom, but most were in a state of total disrepair. It was only natural, with no one looking after them. The education room was no different. The girl pushed open the familiar door, adorned with magical designs—only for it to suddenly fall to the ground with a dramatic thud, apparently rotted so badly that it had fallen right off its hinges. She didn’t pay this any special attention, treading on the fallen door as she went and sat down at the single, ramshackle desk that stood in the center of the room. Now all there was to do was wait for Z to materialize out of nothing as it always did. She didn’t suspect anything.
Not at first.
“Z’s running late...” she mumbled to herself. She waited, and waited, and waited some more, but Z made no sign of appearing. This had never happened before. This is odd, she thought. Then she noticed a number of items sitting on Z’s teacher’s desk: an ebony sword she hadn’t seen before, something that looked like a letter, and a scarlet jewel. She went up to the desk, and reached for the parchment. Sure enough, it was a letter—one addressed to her. She read it from start to finish once, then again, and again, then she snatched up the sword and dashed out of the temple.
“Z!” she cried as she ran. “Z! Z!”
It took her by surprise, the moment she realized the voice calling out for Z so loudly was her own. But Z did not answer the girl’s call. Her voice merely echoed into the emptiness. Still she kept calling, desperate and pleading, until her voice grew hoarse. But Z did not appear.
“Z... Z... Z...” she murmured, over and over. Something warm was overflowing from her eyes, blurring her vision, and as her fingers touched the damp tracks running down her cheeks, she understood that she was “crying,” something that happened when you felt sad. What she didn’t understand was this crushing pain in her chest. It was unlike any she’d ever felt during her training, and none of her books had ever mentioned it.
How much time passed, she couldn’t say.
It was when the girl reached to wipe away her tears with her sleeve that she noticed something. A black mist drifted around the blade of the ebony sword she still clutched in her left hand.
This is...
Its shape had changed, but this was unmistakably Z’s great scythe. The girl held it close to her, and looked down in silence.
That day, the girl left the temple, never to return.