The source of the illness, however, did not disperse. It remained lodged in Lunafreya’s body, and as she eliminated more and more of the daemons, she became home to greater and greater quantities of the tiny parasite.
It left her with a looming concern: what would happen to her own body over time?
She wasn’t able to get by without using the power whatsoever. Only the smallest of daemons could be vanquished with her spear and physical strength alone. For the ones that moved swiftly or possessed a stature exceeding her own, she had to rely on the power.
It had seemed to take everything she and Sol had to defeat the daemon of the day before, with its shape so evocative of a god of death. If they ever had to deal with an opponent stronger than that . . .
“ . . . what I think it means?”
Lunafreya had been so lost in thought that she missed most of the question. Flustered, she said to Sol, “I beg your pardon. Could you repeat that?”
“Your training. I was asking what else you had to do besides learn how to fight.”
Lunafreya thought back to the training ground. Ralmuell, she realized, was not so far from where they were now. It, too, was located somewhere in this narrow stretch of land lying between Eusciello and Succarpe.
“In the broadest sense,” Lunafreya responded, “it was a regimen for me to strengthen both body and mind. To increase my physical strength, I ran and swam. To sharpen my focus, I spent many hours in meditation. In addition to that, I was introduced to the relics of the Oracles of the past, that I might know them more intimately. And there were the chants and the dances.”
“Huh. Sounds kinda fun,” Sol smirked.
“I suppose at times, I did rather enjoy myself.”
Lunafreya had never shunned physical activity. Song, too, gave her joy. When she gave herself to the lyrics, bringing melody into the world with all she had, it always managed to drive the clouds of worry from her mind.
Of course, not all the training had been fun. It was almost always rigorous, designed to bring her to the verge of breaking. It was the surest way to sharpen her mind and build the endurance she would need.
“There were also periods of fasting. Those were rather difficult to endure. And the isolation for days at a time.”
“Ugh. Well, that part sounds awful. I could never make it through that.”
“Training is not training unless it requires you to endure.”
Sol scrunched her face and made another disgusted sound. Lunafreya couldn’t help but laugh at her companion’s obvious distaste.
“So why’d you go through all of it in the first place? Like, what’s the purpose of the training?”
The answer seemed so obvious Lunafreya wondered why anyone would ask. But the most basic questions sometimes had a way of getting at the heart of a matter and opening a path to deeper understanding. Sol’s question gave her pause, and she considered how best to put her thoughts into words.
“Why, to prepare me to fulfill my duties as Oracle, of course.”
“And what are your duties as Oracle?”
“To heed the words of the gods and aid the king.”
“And that makes you happy?”
“It is not a question of happiness.”
Sol’s next question was even more bewildering. “Well, then is the compensation good?”
Lunafreya stared at Sol blankly.
“You know, compensation. Pay. They must pay you pretty well for all that work, right?”
“The Oracle’s duties are a service to the people.”
“So you work for free? Are you kidding me?! I mean, I guess maybe if it was something you enjoyed. Like, when you talked about the parts of the training you liked. That I get. But there’s nothing fun about having to perform some public service. If you’re not getting paid for it, why even bother?”
How could Lunafreya explain that it was not a question of choice? The Oracle’s duties were mandated by the gods, and they must be carried out. It had always been that way, since long, long ago.
“Whatever,” Sol said. “Guess it’s just beyond me.”
Lunafreya, for her part, found Sol’s questions equally incomprehensible. Compensation? For her labors as Oracle? It seemed absurd.
The conversation ended without resolution, and they sat drinking the remainder of the tea in uneasy silence. After their usual dinner of one can each, they washed their own cups and utensils and set about their own tasks. Or rather, Sol began cleaning and checking her guns, while Lunafreya found herself with nothing in particular to do. It was still too early to sleep.
Suddenly she remembered the notebook from the day before. She’d forgotten to return it after Umbra’s refusal. It wasn’t until after they’d departed Wael that she realized the notebook was still among her belongings. As long as she had it, it seemed just as well to put it to use in keeping a record of the day’s events. And though the signal cabin didn’t boast nearly as many supplies as the outpost at Wael, it took only a quick look around the control room to find a pen.
Her scrawled message from before read, I’m safe.
Farther down the page, she noted her location. Railway signal cabin. And below that, she began her entry.
Dearest Noctis,
I am currently on a journey across the former lands of Niflheim, riding in the sidecar of a motorcycle driven by a hunter named Sol. My days are filled with new experiences, and though the difference in age between Sol and me is not so great, I’ve found our minds work in quite different ways. Already her companionship has yielded numerous surprises . . .
The following morning, before Luna woke, Sol slipped out of the control room for a moment alone. The rusty old door gave a harsh creak, but fortunately Luna didn’t stir in the slightest.
Come to think of it, the Oracle had slept like a log the previous day, too. Maybe the travel wore her out. Or maybe she just wasn’t a morning person. In any case, a bit of noise was apparently not enough to wake her. Not that Sol was complaining.
She took out her smartphone and flicked through her contacts. It didn’t bug her so much to speak to Cindy in front of Luna, but conversations with family were a different matter. Better safe than accidentally overheard.
She should have called home the previous day, but it was a little late to feel guilty about it. The whole day, she’d been fuming, convinced that if a certain someone was worried, it was their responsibility to call and make sure everything was all right. It was the logic of a petulant child―an unfortunate tendency of hers, one that she knew undermined her own constant demands to be treated more like an adult.