What was the point of dying then, Ohfan?
After enduring so much to get this far, was that all he’d achieved? A fracture so small it would quickly vanish? Once again, the stench and gut-wrenching roar of the explosion burst into Van’s mind, and he grimaced. “Was anyone else hurt?” he asked.
Sae’s eyes darkened, as though a curtain had been drawn across them. “One person was killed, and some others were badly injured.” There was a quiver in her voice.
Turning his head to peer at Sae, Van stiffened. She blames herself. Because she shot that rider when he was near the crowd. Even if she hadn’t, people still would’ve died—just differently. Yet she can’t help blaming herself.
“It’s not your fault.”
The specter of a smile touched Sae’s pale lips. “I know.”
She knew, but she would still carry this burden forever.
“I wish I were a lousy archer.”
Van exhaled slowly. “If you were, I’d be dead.”
Sae grinned more earnestly, although the expression was grim. “You were the only thing I saw,” she said, the words rushing from her mouth. “My only thought was to save you. I just wanted to stop him with my arrows. I didn’t even see the others.”
Van reached out a hand and placed it on Sae’s knee. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she crumpled forward, burying her face in his pillow and sobbing like a child. He stroked her shuddering back until the waves of sorrow ebbed and died. At last, she pulled herself away and wiped her face with her hands, keeping her head down as though embarrassed.
Van stared blankly at a seam in the tent ceiling. “Years ago,” he began, speaking the first words that came into his head, “my father told me that we humans are a sorry bunch. No matter what we do, we’ll always be left with regrets. We think the lives of animals are so much simpler, that they aren’t plagued with any hard choices, but that’s just a selfish human assumption. He told me that animals likely have their own problems, too. Every creature alive is likely weighed down by regret.”
Recalling his father’s expression, Van gave a rueful smile. “My father was a dour sort. He mocked anything that other people praised. But he was sentimental, too, and cried easily. He could be a bit of a pain, yet some of the things he said stuck in my mind.”
A memory formed before Van’s eyes. His father’s face lit by the campfire, one corner of his mouth crooked upward as he stared at the flames, lost in thought. Ah, I remember now. That was the same night he talked about the Deer King.
“He told me and my clan mates that he’d seen a Deer King once,” Van said.
Sae frowned. “The one who gives his life to save the herd?”
Van nodded, then gave a lopsided smile. “But the way he talked about it seemed completely different from the stories we’d listened to as boys. I suppose that was his gift to us, to mark our passage into manhood.”
Sae wiped stray tears from her eyes and waited silently for Van to continue.
“We were all fifteen. We’d just finished the secret rites that made us men and were lounging around the campfire, exhausted.”
The shadows of the braces supporting the canopy wavered each time the flames flickered in the firepit. Van fixed his eyes on them as he spoke. “Pyuika are usually too fast to be caught by wolves or ossam and can even pick their way down sheer cliffs. But if they’re attacked on flat ground, the yearlings may get tired and start to lag behind. At a time like that, my father saw a single deer prance out and face the wolves. A mature buck, past his prime.”
Van saw his father gesturing as he went on. “While the rest of the herd loped away, this buck stood alone in front of the pack and leaped and danced, challenging them.”
Sae listened intently, wet streaks still marking her face.
“A deer on its own is vulnerable. It’s foolhardy to face a pack of wolves alone, even for a strong, sturdy buck. Yet my father claimed that he danced, showing off how proud he was to be alive, defying the death that came to greet him.”
Van smiled. “‘He was a fool,’ my father said. ‘No matter how strong, that pyuika would never escape so many wolves. Only a fool jumped into danger willing and risked their life.’
“We were all young men, and his words made us angry. ‘That’s not true,’ we protested. ‘He gave his life to protect the herd. That’s what makes him king.’”
Van recalled the color of the campfire and the faces of friends he’d surely never meet again.
“My father laughed. ‘You’re all fools,’ he said, pointing at each of us. ‘You think you can be heroes, that you’d gladly throw your lives away for the sake of your clan? Don’t be ridiculous. Young cubs should fight to live. If you succeed, consider yourself lucky. In the midst of battle, it’s hard enough to keep yourself alive, let alone save someone else. If you recognize that your enemy’s too strong, run. Run for your life, so that you can pass that life on to your children. That’s your real job.’”
Van heard his father’s gruff voice. And his own, raised in protest. “‘But what if there are others who can’t escape?’ I asked him. ‘What if the children are too slow? Isn’t it the duty of a warrior to save them?’”
“And what did your father say?” Sae asked.
Van remembered how his father’s smile had vanished as he stared at his son. “He turned all serious. ‘Leave that job for someone capable,’ he said. “‘A buck that can face his enemy alone has been blessed with the body and mind for that right from the start. Talent is a cruel blessing. At times, it can drive a man to his death. If he’d never been cursed with that gift, he could’ve lived his life to the fullest. Don’t you think that’s sad?’” Van had heard the sigh in his father’s voice.
“‘It makes me sick,’ my father told us, ‘to hear people carry on like you do, thoughtlessly praising such a deer as a king. It’s true that the weak will survive thanks to that buck, and they should be grateful for that. But I can’t stand what motivates people to glorify the one who gives his life to save the herd.’”
Sorrow swelled in Van’s chest, a quiet sadness such as he had never felt when he was young. His father had been right, although Van had been too young to understand it at the time. “Do you remember what Hohsalle said about the hand?” he asked. “How fetuses have webbed fingers, but that the web dies so that the fingers can move freely?”
“Yes.”
“When I heard that, I remembered the Deer King. He forfeits his life so that others can live. And I wondered if that was inevitable because that’s the way he was born.”
Van took a soft breath and then added, “For some reason, that thought gives me the chills. Something in me rebels against the idea that we live and die simply because that’s the way we are. Even though I know there’s probably no particular meaning in life—that we are, just because we are, and die, just because we die.”
Van closed his eyes and covered his face with his good hand. The only sound was the flutter of the tent in the wind.